I wake up to find Monica hurrying around, getting her things ready to go to the airport.

“Morning, beautiful.”

“Hey there,” she says, kissing me. She bends over from her standing position, since I’m still lying in bed.

I grab hold of her and bring her closer to me, kissing her deeply. I immediately think of how hot last night was. How she let me get rough with her, and seemed to like it. How I felt like she was mine.

She returns my kiss, but then continues scurrying around my room.

“I gotta go, I’m going to be late.”

“Then you’d miss your plane and we’d have to extend our Just One Weekend even more.”

“Very funny,” she says.

It’s not exactly the response I was hoping for.

She pauses again, looking down at me with a smile.

“Seems like you got a good night sleep,” she says. “No night terrors.”

“Must have been the great sex,” I say, with a wink.

“Or the massage, or the cuddles.”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “What am I ever gonna do without you?”

“Somehow I think you’ll manage just fine,” she says.

I throw on some clothes so that I can walk her to her car outside. I’m annoyed at myself for feeling disappointed at how our time together is ending. It has to end, and it didn’t mean anything, so what did I expect?

As we head out of the house, I see that my mom is sleeping on the living room couch. I’m not sure when she got home, and I’m mad at her for scaring me by staying away for so long, but I’m glad she’s safe.

At Monica’s car, I wrap my arms around her.

“Have a safe flight back,” I say, bending down to kiss her forehead.

It’s an almost paternalistic gesture, and I feel silly, but I also don’t want to be too forward, or put myself out there too much.

She stands on her tiptoes and looks up at me for a real kiss. Good.

I kiss her for a long, slow moment, savoring the last one I’ll have with her.

“Goodbye, Ramsey,” she says. “Thanks for an amazing Just For One Weekend.”

“Amazing indeed.”

I walk back into the house, determined not to look back. But she gives a little beep of her horn, and I turn around and wave, feeling as giddy as a school kid.

Well, that was that, I think, as I step back into the house.

“Ramsey Bradford, what do you think you’re doing, forgetting all about your ole Ma to run around with that girl for three days straight?”

My mom is standing up and walking over to me, if one could call it walking. More like staggering.

“What are you talking about?” I ask her, annoyed.

This is not what I need right now.

“Gallivanting around town with your new lover instead of being here to take care of your mom.”

I walk closer to her, but when we reach each other she throws up her arms as if she wants to hit me. I catch them, easily, in my hands. She reeks of alcohol.

This was just like the time she came late to Harlow’s birthday party and showed up with some male friends when she did finally arrive. They tried to extend their own party into Harlow’s celebration, but were too drunk from their own partying to be able to stand up straight.

I had to kick them out and tell her to never do that again. Not that she ever listened to me. Harlow was crushed but he tried to act strong, telling me he didn’t need our mom— he only needed me.

“Mom, I wasn’t gallivanting anywhere,” I tell her now. “I had training, remember? I was on base. And where were you?”

She glares at me, and it makes me sad to see confusion underneath her angry and empty stare— but I remember what Monica said— I need to think about what’s best for me. And Mom has made me really mad these past few days.

“Go lay back down, Mom,” I say, walking her back over to the couch.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she protests, but she flops back down onto the couch.

“Mom, I want you to stay here and sober up. I’m not leaving today, so you’re not either. But things have got to change. Once you’ve come to your senses, we’re going to have a long talk.”

“You can’t boss me around,” she says, glaring at me, but she quickly falls back asleep.

I get her a glass of water from the kitchen and place it on the coffee table for when she wakes up. Then I text Jensen and Harlow.

Found a place for Mom. Let’s meet later with her to let her know.

I sigh before I send it, because I really didn’t think it would come to this. But what other choice do I have? I can’t keep track of Mom from Afghanistan. I can’t even do a very good job of keeping track of her in my own house.

Her accusations about me gallivanting around town with my new girlfriend ring in my ears. Mom should know me better than that. Monica doesn’t live in this town. And, for better or worse, Monica isn’t my girlfriend.

I don’t do girlfriends.

I just have to remember to keep reminding myself of that, even though Monica is the closest I’ve ever come to falling for someone.