“You will not marry a military lifer if I can help
it.” My father was yelling from the living room
because I had told him I have a date this
evening with Steve, the guy I met just one
week ago at our home barbecue, the backyard
party my father decided to put on for some of
the military people from the local Reserve
Center in Penn Yan, New York, where we live.
The weather forecast, the day of the barbecue, had called for sunny skies, warm temperatures and little did I know,
with a mixture of love in the air.
The last thing I had planned on was meeting an Army man
that I’d soon become infatuated with.
I was used to seeing young men come and go at
our home most of my life, so this was nothing
They all apparently liked my dad a lot because they’d come over to see him and talk with him almost daily.
But I must admit, that sunny afternoon of the barbecue
though, I could not ever remember seeing so
many young men all at once at our home.
In fact, Our backyard was so full of handsome
young military men that day, my friend Angie
remarked: “It looks like a smorgasbord of men.
Something that every young woman dreams
I do remember looking for a place to sit down once
my plate was full of food.
Suddenly I found myself looking at one of the handsomest guys I had ever laid eyes on , and he was sitting by himself. He didn't notice me because he appeared to be pretty engrossed in the food on his plate.
I decided to work up my nerve and go sit down
across from him. He barely looked up, but for a brief moment he did smile, say hi but then immediately began
attacking his food again.
“I guess the chef here knows how to
He stopped chewing and looked up, with an
almost perplexed look on his face like he had
no idea what I was talking about. I smiled,
drew a breath and decided to begin again.
“I mean you seem to be very pleased with the
food, meaning the chef must be a pretty good
at barbecuing,” I said.
He nodded his head now as if he understood I was referring to the food on his plate. I couldn't help but notice his body. He was slender but muscular. I wondered how he stayed looking this good by eating so much.
“Oh, well, it’s just that I really do love a good
backyard barbecue. I suppose I look like I
haven’t eaten in a long time, kind of making a
pig of myself I guess.”
I suddenly felt embarrassed that he thought might be comparing him to a pig. I felt a flush creep across my cheeks.
Now almost stammering: “Oh, I just meant,” He cut me off before I could finish my lame apology.
“Hey, its fine, I know I was pretty wrapped up
in my plate here.” He reached out his hand:
“Hi, I’m Steve and I’m pleased to meet you.” I
took his extended hand .
“I’m Lacey Montgomery and I’m very pleased
to meet you too,” I said in return.
He paused for a moment as if he was deep in thought. “Montgomery as in:"
“Yes as in the same last name as the DI who
lives here; I’m his daughter,” I finished the sentence for him.
“So this is;”
Yes,” I interrupted again, “this is where I
Now his face seemed to turn a light shade of
pink, like he was embarrassed with this new
That’s how Steve and I first met, with me
practically calling him a pig and so I’m always
amazed he even liked me at all after that analogy.
But he did like me, in fact he liked me enough
to even accept an invitation to my 18th birthday
party my best friend Angie was throwing for me
the next weekend.
Here I was now, the weekend of my 18th birthday party, me looking in the mirror, checking my choice of attire and my dad embarrassing the hell out of me by yelling up the stairs like some crazy person.