13. A Quarantine Love Story
In the beginning, I didn’t think it would be any different than a long sleepover. I thought we’d spend time together, watch more movies and shows then we could ever imagine, and eventually, we would come out the other side and things would go back to normal.
Normal still hasn’t returned.
Instead, we were both doing our best to bring in as much money as possible, manage our mental health, and try not to get too angry if one of us forgot to do the dishes or make dinner preparations. We were managing, and that was what was important.
Tensions were high these days, and I was just hoping to make it through this without us despising each other when it was over.
I stared at the two mugs on the counter, a different tea bag steeping in each of them. Darjeeling for them, and chamomile for me. Winter was back again, and worse than ever considering the pandemic we were living through already felt like the ice age.
An annoyed huff from the other room. An unintelligible mutter.
I pulled the tea bags from their hot baths, leaving them on an empty plate to cool. A spoonful of sugar for each mug, and a splash of milk to lighten the Darjeeling.
I picked up the mugs, carefully stepping out of the small kitchen in our shared apartment. I dodged the table we’d wedged into the corner and glanced up as my feet hit carpet, slowing to a stop.
I’d become used to the sight of them hunched over the small table we’d set up on the floor. They furiously typed on their laptop, a lock of blond-dyed hair slipping free from the bun they’d thrown it up in, their natural color clearly visible at the roots. Neither of us were brave enough to try and do much more than a trim, letting our hair grow out all these months.
Pens, notepads, and post-its filled most of the space around them as they made little notes and reminders for whatever story they were working on.
Maybe it was because I was used to this sight, or maybe it was because I couldn’t imagine anyone else taking their place, but I was surprised to realize I’d hate to see this space inhabited by anyone else. Or worse, empty.
“Tea’s done,” I said, mustering every ounce of cheeriness I could despite the snow that had been falling most of the day.
They looked up, taking a moment to focus on reality instead of the fictional world playing out on paper. Their gaze cleared and they grinned widely at me, the skin crinkling around their eyes.
They held out their hand expectantly, and I forced my feet to move, passing them their mug before retreating to the couch. I cradled my mug close, soaking in the warmth as I tried to process my new realization.
