And I haven’t been to the studio for months.
When August rolls around, there’re heatwaves and wildfires, and a burning fucking pandemic happening all at once. It’s like the damnTwilight Zone.
“You know what I heard?” Seth says. His thumbs move over the PlayStation controller at rapid speed.
“What?” I keep my eyes glued to the TV as I dribble past one of his players.
“This girl on YouTube said there’re no reported cases of COVID on Svalbard.”
His team makes the final goal, and I place the controller on the coffee table, leaning back against the couch.
“Yeah? You think we should move?” I chuckle.
“Sure. If you don’t mind polar nights, midnight sun, polar bears—”
“Yeah, no. Hard pass.”
Seth chuckles and leans back against the couch, spreading his legs wide, before he turns to face me. “Wanna grab some food?”
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, raising my brows.
“I can run out and get some?”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know,” he says, already getting up from the couch. “Pizza okay?”
A few weeks after New Year’s, they finally lift the stay-at-home orders, after months of curfew. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or not.
“What do you mean, you’ve left the band?” Tara asks, gaping at me where she sits next to me on the couch, her hazel eyes wide.
“I’ve left the band. I’m not playing anymore.”
She shifts, facing me, and crosses her legs. “But, why?”
“It’s not like we’ve had a gig in forever anyway, so…” I shrug.
“No, but you can still meet up, and hang out and play together?”
I shrug again.
“So, why did you leave?” she prods. “Did you have a fight or something?”
I snort. “What? With Ollie and Finn? No. I just didn’t feel like it anymore.” It’s half a lie—I love playing with them, but the fear of getting sick weighs heavier.
My phone pings with an incoming text from Seth, telling me he’s here. I get up to buzz him in. When I drop down on the couch, Tara sighs.
“What?” I say, throwing my hands out.
“So, first kickboxing and now the band? What are you going to do when life goes back to normal? Keep sitting at home, doing nothing?” I don’t answer that before my front door swings open and Seth walks inside.
“Hey, babes!” he calls.
“Wash your hands.”
He stops in his tracks, tilting his head. “Dude, I just came from my house.”
I shrug one shoulder, shaking my head once. “Don’t care. Wash your hands.”
