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“I’m not hungry.” The words came out as an exhale, like he could barely summon the energy to say them.
“You need to eat. I’m going to go make dinner for myself, and I’ll bring you something.”
I went down to the kitchen and gathered supplies. Dry fettuccine noodles, creamy alfredo sauce from a jar, and more leftover chicken. I boiled the pasta and then mixed everything in a bowl, topping it with freshly-grated Parmesan cheese.
“Knock knock,” I said when I got back. “I’ve got fettuccine alfredo. Made from scratch.”
He laughed softly. “Youmade pasta from scratch?”
“I’m going to pretend you don’t sound so dubious.” I opened the door and placed his bowl in the partition, then closed it. “I even grated fresh Parmesan cheese on it.”
Donovan’s door opened and closed. I heard a fork clinking against a bowl. “Even without my taste buds, I can tell the difference between fresh pasta and dry stuff. The consistency is different.”
“Maybe I’m just really bad at making fresh pasta,” I suggested.
I heard him eating, so I took my own bowl and started chowing down. After being spoiled by Donovan’s cooking for so long, mine was definitely mediocre. But it was better than nothing.
“Thanks for making me eat,” he said through the door.
“You need your strength.”
After we ate, I looked up a video on how to self-administer the test. I sent him the link and then explained the process through the door.
“It’s a tough test,” I said. “It would be easier if I did it for you.”
“No.”
“You can open the door a sliver and let me do it through the crack. It’ll be safe! Just like when I gave you a hand-job through the door…”
“I won’t let you risk it. I’ll do it to myself.”
I heard the rustling of plastic as he prepared.
“I have to stick this all the way up my nose? To the marked line?” he asked incredulously.
“Told you it was tough. If you want me to do it for you…”
“Okay. No problem. Here I go. Three, two, one…”
He groaned on the other side of the door. I counted down fifteen seconds on my phone. “Make sure it’s deep enough.”
Instead of making a sex joke, Donovan replied with another muffled groan. He gasped and coughed when he pulled it out after fifteen seconds. “That was awful. I think I’d rather die of the virus.”
“If you think that’s bad, let me tell you about gynecologists.”
“You’ve got me there.”
I instructed him to break the tip off and place it in the plastic vial. Then he wiped it all down with the disinfectant wipe included in the test.
“Okay, it’s in the partition,” he said.
I opened the door and pulled it out. I gave it another wipe-down with my own disinfectant wipe, then pulled out the included forms.
“Full name?”
“Donovan Mark Russo.”
“Mark. Boring middle name. It’s a good thing you’re sexy. Age?”
