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I woke to sunlight streaming into the room. My brain felt fuzzy, but I knew the sunlight didn’t make sense. It had just been nighttime, when Molly was walking me through the self-test.
I winced and touched my nose at the memory. That sucked.
After using the bathroom and drinking a big glass of water, I felt a little better. Molly hadn’t checked on me in a while. Maybe it was a good thing she was leaving me alone. I didn’t want her to worry about me.
There was an empty pit in my stomach, so I reheated the pasta from last night and ate it slowly. It wasn’t great, but I’d had worse before. And I appreciated the effort she had made to keep me fed. Her care meant more to me than any entree at a five-star restaurant.
I took my temperature. Thirty-eight point one. I didn’t bother converting it to Fahrenheit—I knew it was a slight fever. That explained why it felt socoldin my hotel room.
I closed my eyes and imagined soaking in the hot tub. Allowing the scalding heat to absorb into my skin, my muscles, and my bones. That would feel really good right about now.
But I could barely stand up, let alone walk all the way downstairs to the pool. If I tried, I’d probably slip on the tile and crack my skull open. That would be a really stupid way to go.
I guzzled the remains of a bottle of Gatorade from my mini-fridge. Even though it was lemon-lime, I could barely register any flavor. When all of this was over, I had better be able to taste food again. A chef without his sense of taste was like a deaf musician. Or a blind painter. Or one of those fancy French guys who sniffed perfume for a living losing his sense of smell.
Okay, too many metaphors. I needed to sit down.
I was still thirsty, but I didn’t want to bother Molly to get more Gatorade from downstairs. She hadn’t heard me moving around, which meant she was still asleep. The poor thing had probably sat up all night worrying about me. She had gone into caregiver mode as soon as I told her I was sick. It was endearing seeing Molly do her best to take care of me. She deserved to sleep in.
I went back to sleep, and woke sometime in the afternoon. Molly still hadn’t checked in on me.Thatwas weird.
Donovan: Morning, Feisty. I had a sex dream about you. If you bring me a Gatorade I’ll tell you all about it.
She didn’t respond. Maybe she was going for one of her walks around the hotel. If she was listening to a podcast she might not hear the text. Or maybe she was watching a movie in the lounge, or going for a swim. She was probably bored without me.
Because that’s what I felt right now: alone. I missed my quarantine girlfriend.
Cuddling with her.
Sleeping with her.
Holding her in my arms while staring into her eyes.
So far, being away from her was the worst part about this virus. But there was one silver lining: it gave me a strange sense of clarity about this trip, and about what would happen when it was over.
I didn’t want to go back to Boston. Not without Molly. I knew it with a certainty in my chest, more than anything I had ever known before.
But does Molly feel the same way?
I shook my head. We would boil that pasta when we came to it. If she ever got a response from the flight standby list. While I had slept, I’d received another email about my own status. It sat in my inbox, taunting me.
I left it unread and closed my phone before it could taunt me.
“Molly?” I knocked on the dividing door between our rooms. “You in there?”
When there was no response, I went out to my balcony. My brain was still fuzzy from all the sleeping, and it took me a few moments to remember what happened last night. She had made me pasta. Then I took the brain-violating test. What had happened after that?
I snapped my fingers. Molly took the test back to the site. To turn it in.
That was the last I had heard from her.
Adrenaline hit my body like a jolt of electricity. Molly had left, and she hadn’t returned.
“Molly!” I banged on the door. “Molly, answer me!” Panic surged through my brain and spots floated in my vision.
I put on some clothes and went searching for her. I checked the gym, then the lounge on the second floor. I used my shoulder to open doors so I wouldn’t have to touch the handles. She wasn’t in the pool room, nor the kitchen. In fact, the kitchen looked like it hadn’t been used since she made dinner last night.
I went to the front door. It was still unlocked. The sun was setting above the plaza buildings. I could barely see the top section of the Colosseum from here.
