“What about mom?”
Grant makes this sound like there’s more going on and I hate his cryptic remarks.
“Mom is fine. Have you talked to dad?” Our father lives in San Francisco. We grew up, went off to school, and they amicably divorced deciding to live on opposite sides of the country. I guess like my brother and I, they weren’t suited to being in close proximately once we left the nest.
“I haven’t had a chance to call him yet. I know he had business oversea.”
“Yeah, he was on the last flight out of Hong Kong last night. He’s good, but now he’s self-quarantined to be sure. We face timed.”
“I’m glad he’s okay and he got out before they stopped flights.” Everyone close to me is okay right now, I guess that’s all I can ask for.
“Yes, I’ve shipped him the same order you sent mom.”
“Thanks.” If anything, they couldn’t say we weren’t good, thoughtful sons. “So how is it up there?”
“I’m annoyed if you can’t tell.” Grant grumbles.
“You? Nah.” I joke. I can’t think of a time when my brother isn’t in a rush or irritated by something. Mom says he was born cantankerous.
“I was supposed to have jury duty. I tried getting out of it, but no luck. It’s postponed for a month if we get out of this sooner rather than later.”
“That’s too bad. I can see how being at the beck and call of someone else cramps your style.” I tease. Grant must be crawling out of his skin unable to find a way around or out of this.
“I can’t convince you to come home? Hunker down in your old bedroom across the hall from mine?”
“Nope.” I say smiling through the phone.
“Alright. Stay safe and give me a call later this week.”
“Will do.” I hang up the phone and check off my anxiety toward my family. Mom, Dad, and Grant are fine, safe, and healthy which is a lot to be grateful for. No, my worries focus on a brunette associate who will be texting me sometime today.
3
Laurel
If anything good comes out of this self-isolation, at least I’ll have the cleanest pores of my entire life. As for the laser hair removal I scheduled with my work bonus…I’ll fill my hours of boredom by plucking each little hair out as well as finally master some of those pretzel yoga moves I want to try.
“Did you really think he was going to show up?” My sister Lavender - yes, my mother named us after herby flowers being the hippie spirit she is - shuffles into my bedroom holding a cup of steaming coffee.
It’s been radio silence for three days from my Text guy except to cancel our date.
“That was the plan.” I roll over in bed tossing a pillow over my head wanting to be anywhere else. Pretty sure things couldn’t get worse, but hey, here we are. It’s three days in and I’ve had morning meetings everyday working from home. I’m almost out of clean shirts so I’m thankful no one can see my bottom half.
“Auntie Slaur!” My niece jumps onto my bed pouncing on me. Hannah is adorable, wild, and going to drive us nuts before things resume any sense of normalcy.
I love it the way one loves picking out a splinter.
“Hannah Banana!” I roar rolling over catching her giggling, wriggling body.
“Did your boyfriend show up?” She asks with the most innocent of intentions.
“Hannah!” Lavender scowls and shoos her out of my bedroom.
Flopping back on my bed, I sigh. “I guess I’ll have to go out later and pick up a few things. I wonder how long this thing is going to last.” I pick fuzz off my blanket to distract myself. It’s not working.
“Who knows. I have a date with Jimmy though.”
“Lavender, you can’t go out. Social distancing, remember? Keeping the world safe. Flatten the curve.”
“Oh come on, if we have to stay inside for days on end…” I don’t remind my selfish sex seeking sister that this is for at least two weeks. “I’ll never get laid.”
“And, I will die a virgin. Yes, I got it. You need dick and I need to pick up the toilet paper. Remind me again, who is older and more responsible.” My eye roll game is hard core.
“Don’t throw that back in my face. I have a daughter and a business to run.” She sips her coffee obviously over this conversation.
I look at her, and shake my head with her faulty logic. “You rent a chair at a Cheap Cuts hair salon and left Hannah’s dad before she was born.”
“My talents are clearly wasted and he was married, now he’s single and ready to mingle.” She cocks her head and crosses her arms like she’s entitled to this date with Jimmie who is Hannah’s woefully absent biological father. I don’t have a way to respond where she’ll see reason, so I don’t. I don’t even point out that Hannah’s dad offered her child support which she turned down.
“Flowers.” My mother calls to us from the kitchen. Her voice is husky and chipped away from decades of being a smoker. She coughs loudly and I hear her wheeze. I worry about her after the latest medical briefing on the news.
“Ma?” I pull myself together and walk into the kitchen of our two-bedroom apartment. My room is technically a closet with a window and access to the fire escape. Lavender shares her bedroom with Hannah much to her displeasure and our mother has the master bedroom where she’s hoarded issues of The New Yorker for the last five years since my dad’s death. I happen to like the magazine, I just wish she’s let me recycle it. At this point, it might end up becoming emergency toilet paper if I can’t find any at the store.
“Are you going to the store?” She inquires.
“I am. I have a list.” I pass her the folded paper so she can write on it. She pulls out a pen and scribbles on it handing it back.
“Can you get me some of my flavored sodas? Black Cherry, but not the store brand.”
I go back into my room and pull out my purse checking my wallet. I have my debit card and some twenties. My paycheck gets deposited tomorrow, but if I need a cab with all the groceries it’s going to dig into my resources on top of my portion of the rent. Part of me wants to grumble, you get what you get and you don’t get upset, but I hold back my temper. It’s my momma and I love her. I’m totally stealing a few sodas and keeping them in a bottom drawer, for just in case.
“Yeah, sure Momma. I’ll get your soda, the toilet paper, and Hannah’s fruit snacks.”
“You’re a good girl, Laurel.” Ma pats my cheek and shuffles away to the open window where she has her cigarette resting on an old soap dish. The wind blows in the smoke and I swear I’ll never get the smell out of my hair.
“I need tampons too. Super. The good ones.” Lavender shouts.
I roll my eyes. Are there ever any good tampons?
“Money, please?” I hold out my hand. Lavender doesn’t pay toward anything and while I have a good job at an advertising company, I’m also the only one in the house gainfully employed and supporting the four of us.
“I’ll catch you next time.” She slaps my hand away and saunters back into her bedroom closing the door. Figures.