I make my way to Heath’s bedroom, still clean, flawless, smelling like deodorant and masculinity. The party has been going on for hours, and much to my dismay, every time a group leaves, a new group of guys arrives. It’s clear they’re mostly Vic’s friends, but it’s also clear that there’s a connection between all of these men— they all serve the country, they all know what it’s like to fight, to be afraid, to overcome that fear. Vic’s friends or not, I see them all make their way to Heath and wish him good luck or offer to keep him in their prayers.

Which is nice, really— but…it goes on for hours, and hours, and hours, and the alcohol seems to be as endless as the stream of military buzz cuts. It’s ten o’clock now, according to my phone, which lights up Heath’s darkened room, casting shadows that make me very aware of how alone I am in here.

I’m being selfish. I know I’m being selfish, wanting him to come to me, wanting him to leave all these well-wishers behind and spend his last few hours with me alone. But I’m not used to this, this saying goodbye, this hardcore celebration over something that, to me, feels like anything but a celebratory event. At about eleven o’clock, I hear a chorus of cheers from the kitchen, and look out to see Heath and Vic competing in a keg stand. Heath loses to Vic, who high fives him before play punching him in the shoulder.

They’re both wildly drunk. I’m sure Vic has technically consumed far more alcohol than Heath, but Vic is also better trained at the art of being shit-faced. Heath is laughing loudly, loose on his feet, the strong shouldered confidence blurred at the edges. If this is how he’d looked the first time we met, I don’t know that I would have fallen so hard. This version of Heath isn’t in control, or cool, or firm. He’s incredibly attractive physically, but his demeanor makes you want to shake your head or help him to the car.

I close the door. I don’t want to watch this. Especially since Sierra’s words are echoing through my mind— that Heath was going to have to be rolled into bed tonight.

I didn’t know that. She did, because she knew how these parties worked. She knew how it’d feel for him to be gone. She knew what it was like to be a military girlfriend, and she appeared to be good at it.

But I don’t know anything. I don’t know Heath’s favorite color or how he feels about shooting an enemy. I don’t know who his first kiss was or what food he misses the most when he’s away. I don’t know his mom’s first name. I don’t know his middle name. And I definitely don’t know how to say goodbye for over six months, knowing I’ll have to do it all again because that’s just what it means when you’re with a SEAL.

Around two o’clock in the morning, the noise dies down, and I dare to creep out of the bedroom. To my surprise, the place isn’t totally trashed— but that’s clearly due to some helpful partygoers rather than Heath or Vic’s efforts, since they two of them are passed out in the main room. Heath is on the floor, sleeping flat-backed, a small pillow from the couch tucked behind his head. Vic, on the other hand, is sprawled across the couch like he was crumpled up and thrown there.

I carefully pick my way over to Heath and kneel down, thinking about how I wore this outfit specifically for him, about how I DIDN’T wear underwear specifically for him. About how tonight I wanted us to be together for the last time in who knows how long. I’d made mental notes to remember to focus on how his arms felt around me, on how he smelled, on how he tasted— things to keep with me after he left.

“Heath?” I say quietly, shaking his shoulder.

“Hm?” he asks, creaking his eyes open.

“Are you coming to bed?” I ask.

“Mmhmm, minute,” he mumbles, and closes his eyes again.

I wait for a second, and it’s clear he’s fallen back asleep. I prod at his shoulder a second time. “Heath?”

“What?” he asks, almost snapping, eyes opening. He can’t quite focus on me, not with all the alcohol in his system

I look at him, tears of hurt welling up. “I just wanted to see you tonight,” I whisper.

“Ok, ok,” he says, and starts to turn over, like he’s going to push himself up.

But then he goes still, and I realize he’s fallen asleep again. I bite my lip and look over my shoulder at Vic, snoring loudly on the couch. Even if the party went down this way, we were still supposed to have tonight, weren’t we?

I swallow and make my way back to Heath’s bedroom. I could go home, I guess, and I almost do— but I said I’d drive him to the airport tomorrow, and if I leave, then this will be the last time I see him: Drunk, on the floor, snapping at me.

Maybe tomorrow morning will be better. Maybe we’ll have time, or we can stop and get coffee or something, ANYTHING that doesn’t have Vic’s influence tainting it.

I sleep in my clothes, pulling Heath’s perfectly straight sheets up to my neck. I bury my face in his pillow, inhaling the scent of him. I’ll have this to remember, at least. This moment. Even if I’m as alone as I’ll be after Heath is gone.