Read Part One
Check out all the stories in this collection by clicking HERE
BE MINE, SWEET QUARAN-TINE - PART TWO
Trisha bit her lip and shut her eyes. It was nothing. She just was being silly. She was sleep-deprived. She was stressed. She was anxious. It was all just in her head. Nothing was wrong.
She gasped as a loud boom roared outside her house.
She knew she wasn’t a good judge and was hardly in the right mindset, but it sounded like a bomb going off next door.
Getting up, she peeked outside her window. Nothing looked out of sorts outside. It all looked like a normal, if empty, evening.
She jumped away from the window at another blast, letting the curtain flutter shut.
She needed to calm down.
Except she couldn’t. Not with her nerves already shot. Months into this pandemic and civil upheaval, she was beyond stressed. She hadn’t been sleeping well, not with those things going off at all times of the night. Add in the fact that she’s spent days worried about Frank, who still hadn’t come into the diner, and she felt ready to cry all the time.
She felt like one of those damnable fireworks, ready to explode.
But she couldn’t. Because she was an essential part of the service industry, who was expected to keep a friendly attitude and a smile on her face, for everyone, at all times, even under her face mask. It was just too much.
She stared at her phone and wished she had someone to call. But she didn’t want to worry anyone. After all, what could they do? They couldn’t come over and she couldn’t go to them. She would just be adding to their anxiety for the slim chance it alleviated hers. No, she wouldn’t do it.
Her mind drifted to Carlos.
He’d told her to call him, if she was lonely or scared.
But she wasn’t lonely. She wasn't. Alone, sure. Isolated, of course; it was a quarantine, after all. But lonely? She still had friends and family. Even if she never saw them anymore, not really. And she saw people everyday at the diner, customers and coworkers. Even if it felt different now, with their faces obscured by masks, like a constant reminder of how much the world had changed.
And she wasn’t scared. Not really. She knew that it was nothing. Just some stir-crazy pyromaniac with too much time and money on their hands. But her mind kept flashing to news stories about unaffiliated agitators taking advantage of legitimate protests to cause chaos, about cops using horrifically excessive force like tear-gas and rubber bullets, about unidentified militias armed to the teeth kidnapping protesters in unmarked vans.
She remembered the houses around her home proudly flying Confederate flags or with “Don’t Tread on Me” signs sticking defiantly in the ground. A shiver ran down her spine. Those things had always unsettled her when she saw them, but they loomed ominously in her thoughts now.
Another, louder crash rocked her house and she felt it rattle her to her bones. Instinctively, she grabbed her phone.
To hell with it! She dialed Carlos’s number. She didn’t want to sit here, huddled by the window anymore. She was tired of being afraid. She just wanted a taste of normal again. To hear a friendly voice.
“Hello?”
She almost hung up. “Carlos?” She blushed, suddenly feeling silly.
“Trisha?” His voice sounded so smooth and comforting over the line. “Everything okay?”
Trisha froze, unable to speak, until she heard another loud boom. She shut her eyes and gripped her phone hard. “Someone’s setting off fireworks again, and it’s freaking me out, and I’m sorry to bug you, but I didn’t have anyone else to call, and you said to call you, if that happened again.” The words tumbled from her lips in an anxious rush.
“It’s okay.” Carlos’s voice softened. “You’re not bugging me. I’m glad you called.”
Her breath caught. “You are?”
She heard him sigh. “You’ve seemed,” he said cautiously, “out of sorts lately. But any time I ask you about it, you just wave it off like it’s nothing.”
She hadn’t wanted to burden him with her problems.
“You want to talk about it?”
But she was burdening him right now. She bit her lip. “I’m being silly.” She shook her head and leaned back against the wall. “It’s just fireworks.” She was sure of it. Pretty sure, anyway. It's just that the uncertainty, the heavy possibilities of what it could be, was killing her.
“It’s loud, destructive noises near your home,” he said sympathetically. “It’s natural to be bothered by it. Do you have someone you can call? A neighborhood watch or housing association? The police?”
No cops. “I don’t want to call anyone. I don’t want to start anything.” Increasing tensions seemed the worst thing to do right now. As a white woman, Trisha had grown up trusting the police to keep her and her community safe. But, after having her eyes opened to a side of law enforcement that she’d never seen before, she didn’t trust anyone’s ability right now to de-escalate things safely.
“Do you want me to come over?”
No. “Like I said, I’m over-reacting.”
He sighed. “It’s okay, Trisha. I’m not judging you. If it makes you feel safer, I can come over.”
“But quarantine…”
“I can wear a mask and stay six feet away from you, if you like.” He paused. “But I don’t like the idea of you being alone right now. Let me come over. I’ll sit in the yard with you, if that makes you feel better.”
Trisha worried her lip. That sounded like too much. She didn’t want to—
“It’s no bother,” he said, as if he could read her thoughts. “In fact, it’ll make me feel better.”
She sighed. She knew that he was just being kind—being Carlos; he was too nice a person to not help someone when he could, no matter what—but she was too relieved not to take him up on it. “Thank you.” She gave him her address.
“Sit tight,” he said as she heard clothes and keys rustle, “I’ll be right there.”
* * *
Carlos parked in Trisha’s driveway and grabbed his mask and phone. Putting on the mask, he checked himself in the rear view mirror. Not exactly his best look but, like he’d said, if it made Trisha feel better, he’d wear the damned thing all evening.
He got out of the car and walked up to her front window before calling her. “I’m here,” he told her when she picked up the line.
He waved when he saw her peek between the closed curtains. “You came.” He couldn’t tell by her voice or face if she was happy about that.
He shrugged. “I said I would.” He looked at her. “How are you?”
She looked...conflicted, fragile. He hated that. He’d grown up around resilient women. Admired and loved them. And, in doing so, he knew better than most that, when those who seemed too strong to bend did, they often broke.
He watched her teeth worry her lip. It was the first time in months that he’d seen her lips. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was just her mouth. But, in this moment, her lips looked so full and pink and soft, he couldn’t look away.
“This is ridiculous.” He watched her mouth form the words. “Do you want to come in?”
Right now, he felt like doing anything she told him to. “If you let me in, I’ll come in.”
She nodded. “Give me a minute; let me get the door.”
He walked to her stoop and waited.
He turned at a loud blast. Jeez, no wonder Trisha was nervous. Sure, he’d heard people lighting fireworks by his apartment, but they were always the safe, family-friendly kind sold at gas stations and grocery stores that pretty much just fizzled and popped.
The ones going off by Trisha’s place sounded like gunshots or small explosives. He frowned and hoped like hell that they weren’t as close as they sounded.
He turned when the door opened, only to have his frown deepen when he saw she’d put on a mask too. He understood that she was doing it for his protection. It was the kind and considerate thing to do. And part of him was grateful.
But another part missed those lips.
“Come on in.” She held the door open for him.
Carlos looked around as he stepped inside. He’d never been to Trisha’s house. It was nice. Cozy. She had a mismatch of furniture, a collection of rescued and rehomed pieces, from garage sales or handed down from a relative or friend, that shouldn’t have gone together but somehow did. Each piece, from her scratched but clean maple dining table to her overly ornate but cluttered oak coffee table to her faded but still fluffy beige couch, looked lived-in and well-loved. Overall, it looked homey.
“Sorry,” she said, “I should have cleaned up before you got here.”
He turned to her. “I like your home.” Looking around, he nodded approvingly. “It’s welcoming.”
He could see her smile, despite her mask, her eyes lighting up happily as her cute dimples barely showed right at the edge of the fabric. “Thank you.” She fidgeted. “Can I get you anything? Something to eat? Drink?”
He smiled and shook his head. “I’m good. Thanks.” Not that he could eat or drink with his mask on.
Awkwardly, she looked around. “I’m sorry, I don’t have much to do here.” She shrugged sheepishly, making Carlos wonder how many, if any, people—how many men—she’d ever entertained here. “We could watch a movie or something?”
She looked uncomfortable, like maybe she was regretting her decision. He’d be damned if he’d let her regret letting him in. “A movie sounds great.”
They settled on either end of her couch and agreed on an action movie that had come out right before quarantine that they both had meant to see but hadn’t gotten around to before all the theaters closed.
Carlos remembered being excited for the film, thinking it looked slick and exciting from the trailers. But, try as he might, he couldn’t concentrate on the screen. As he’d suspected, the film’s action thankfully helped mask the sounds coming from outside, allowing Trisha to relax and throw herself in the movie.
He was glad, enjoying watching her lean forward with her eyes wide at the super-human fight scenes. He couldn’t help but smile as her body instinctively ducked and dodged along with each punch and kick on screen. He liked seeing her like this, ready to take on anyone and anything. As entertaining as he was sure the movie was, he was more than happy to sit back from his side of the couch and watch her all night.
* * *
Trisha yawned and snuggled closer to the warmth she was holding. The strong, solid heat that held her. It was so nice that she wanted to just bury herself deeper and fall back asleep.
Except, something felt strange. Not really wrong, per se, but off. Her mind still sleep-fogged, she opened her heavy-lidded eyes and looked around at her dark living room. Wondering what she was doing here so late, she waited for her mind to catch up.
Trisha woke up instantly, her eyes popping open as her body froze. Oh God. Keeping her head rigidly still, she turned her gaze to look above her. At Carlos’s sleeping face. Oh God.
She looked down at herself, wrapped like a blanket around his slumbering body as his arms curled around her. She shut her eyes and cringed.
How had this happened?
She remembered watching movies with him on her couch. First the action film. Then a comedy special. Then a true crimes documentary. Thank God for streaming services. She must have fallen asleep during the documentary, but how had she ended up on his side of the couch, much less draped over him?
And, more importantly, how did she get off of him without waking him up?
She sighed at the humiliating ridiculousness of her situation. This was why she’d avoided this kind of thing. Having someone—having Carlos—here in her home was too much of a temptation. It felt too good to have him here, so much better than she could have imagined. She honestly hadn’t noticed exactly how stressed she’d been—for months now—until his strong, steady presence allowed her to relax.
Then she’d fallen asleep on him, like some ungrateful hostess, before climbing all over him while they both were unconscious.
God, she needed to get up right now. Before he woke up and discovered them like this.
The question was how.
It didn’t help that a part of her really didn’t want to. The part of her that had felt so tired and isolated before he’d arrived begged to just lie back down. To close her eyes and pretend she was none the wiser. To deal with the consequences later and just enjoy this while she had it.
And, shameful as it was, she almost did. Until she realized that she wasn’t wearing her mask anymore. Neither was he. She supposed it wasn’t easy to sleep with a mask on and, held on by nothing but flimsy ear straps, how could it not fall off your face as you shifted in your sleep?
It was an accident, but it also meant that she was putting him at risk. “Oh God.”
Carlos’s eyes opened as he sleepily looked around. “You okay?” He blinked down at her, studying her in the dark.
Oh God. Trisha sat up quickly, scuttling to the other side of the couch. She covered her mouth and nose. “I’m sorry.”
He stretched before sitting up. “For what?”
She shut her eyes. “I was laying…” She shook her head. “I mean, I fell asleep on you.”
He rolled his shoulders and shrugged. “You were tired. Besides, we both fell asleep.”
Yeah, but… “I mean, on you,” she said, gesturing to the length of his body, “on you.” All over him. She bit her lip, feeling her face flush.
She swore she heard him chuckle softly. “I don’t mind.”
But he should. She did.
Didn’t she?
She felt like she should. It felt like she’d done something wrong. “Our masks fell off.”
He reached up and touched his jaw. “They did.” He bent down to pick up the discarded bits of fabric. “We can put them back on, if it makes you feel better.”
“Seems a bit late now.” Her heart dropped. What had she done? “I’m sorry. First, I make you come over here over something as trivial as fireworks. Then I fall asleep on top of you, invading your personal space, while breathing all over you.” She felt her breath, warm and guilty, against her palm. “I’m sorry.” What if he got sick because of her? She felt awful.
“Hey.” She felt him touch her wrist, gently pulling her hand away from her face. “It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. “We’re supposed to be social distancing. Protecting each other.” And here she was putting him at risk because she was selfish.
Carlos smiled at her sympathetically. He settled closer to her on the couch and held her hand. “Okay, yeah, this isn’t exactly the best quarantine practices,” he admitted. “But,” he shrugged, saying, “it’ll be okay. I’m sure.” He didn’t sound like he was. He sounded like he really wanted to be. “I mean, we already work together. Neither of us really go anywhere else or see anyone else.”
Frank’s words came back to her. “Your risk levels are practically the same, right? All I’m saying is, take it from an old man, life is short. And, with all that’s going on in the world right now, it’s gotta be better than coming home to an empty house, right?”
Okay, maybe this wasn’t the wisest decision they’d ever made, but there were definitely worse ones. It wasn’t like they were going unmasked to bars or beaches or parties. It wasn't as if they were strangers. They've known each other for years. They knew each other's lives. And they cared for each other. This wasn't wise, sure, but it wasn't exactly reckless either. Right?
Carlos sighed. “I know you’re worried and I know I probably should be too.” He looks down at her hand, his fingers touching her palm so gently, almost reverently. “And I’ll leave if you want me to.” He looked up at her, his deep, brown eyes sincere and sweet. “But I’m glad I’m here.”
She smiled. Right or not, wise or not, safe or not, she was too. And it wasn’t as if either of them were making a habit of this. They weren’t risk-taking people, by nature. They were just two people trying to figure out how this new world worked.
As he stroked her palm, the small touch seemed so intimate, so intense, after months of isolation. Biting her lip, she felt herself weakening. She blinked and blushed when heat flared in his eyes as his gaze narrowed on her mouth. She shrugged. “So what happens now?”
Carlos met her gaze thoughtfully for a moment. “What do you want to happen now?”
That was a good question. “I don’t even know what the options are.” They were in new territory. Lord knew, she’d never been here before. Sure, of course, she’d dated before, had had men over to her place before, had had some of them even spend the night. But this felt wholly different. Both more and less intimate. Both more and less risky.
Carlos nodded, like he understood completely. “Well,” he said, “we could have breakfast first.”
“Breakfast sounds good.” Thinking on an empty stomach was never a good idea.
“Then, seeing as we both have the day off, we can see about making an appointment to get tested,” he said, clasping her hand in both of his. “I have a feeling that would probably make us both feel better, right?”
It wasn’t perfect—she’d heard stories about hard it can be to get tested, especially while not showing symptoms and without a doctor’s referral, and, even if you did, there were always worries like false or premature negatives—but, yeah, at least taking the steps to see what they could do would make her feel better. “Okay. What then?”
He paused, turning her hand in his to trace the lines of her palm. “Then I guess we decide if I go home to stay,” he said slowly before looking back up at her, “or to pack up some things to stay here.”
Trisha sucked in a harsh breath and sat straighter. This felt fast. Didn’t it?
“Just during quarantine. And I’d stay on the couch, of course,” Carlos assured her quickly. “I don’t mean that we’ll…” He gestured between them nervously. “I mean, I’m not trying to assume that we’re…” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m just saying that it was nice not being alone and the idea of going back…” He shrugged a little helplessly before wincing and dropping his gaze to look back down at their hands.
Yeah, she understood that. The idea of going back to being alone, of losing the comfort just having Carlos around gave her, broke her heart. She didn’t want to do it; honestly, didn’t think she could bear to. Trisha coughed. “I have a spare bedroom.” Her brow knit. “It’s not fancy. Just a pull-out couch that my sister uses when she comes into town.” She shrugged awkwardly. “But it’s an option.”
He smiled, settling something inside her that had been off for longer than she cared to think about, and nodded. “It’s an option.”
* * *
Carlos stepped out the The Plate's kitchen and watched Trisha sadly turn the front door sign from Open to Closed. “Still no Frank, huh?”
She turned to face him, her eyes so worried as she worried her lip beneath her mask. “Nope.” It’d been almost two weeks now.
He sighed and walked up to her, giving her a hug. Even while still masked at work, it was nice to be able to hold her now, to feel her arms around him. He couldn't wait to take her home, fill her with warm food and cuddle with her in front of the TV. “I’m sorry.” After living with her for a little bit, seeing her react to the news reports every morning and evening, he’d learned that uncertainty, even positive uncertainty, troubled her. Platitudes often left her feeling worse. She worked in the service industry; no one knew better what horrors were often covered by forced smiles and optimism. She’d rather just face reality head on. She'd always rather know for sure than hope for the best.
He hated that he couldn’t give her certainty. He wanted to tell her that Frank was fine. He wanted to tell her that they were fine. That the world would be fine. But he couldn’t. Not for sure. They were living in uncertain times. And the only thing he knew for certain was that he wished they weren’t. He lay his head on hers. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded and took a deep, calming breath. “I know.” She squeezed him tightly. “Thank you.”
They both turned when they heard a knock on the glass door.
“Frank?!” They both stared in shock.
The old man waved, his scarf swaying with the vigorous movement.
Trisha rushed to unlock the door. “Oh my God, Frank, where have you been?”
The old man waited until she backed up a few feet to stand with Carlos by the diner counter before entering. “My favorite grocery delivery person unfortunately tested positive so, just to play it safe, I’ve been quarantining myself in my house for two weeks.”
Trisha frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope they—and you, of course—are all right.”
Frank nodded. “Last I heard, from my new delivery person, he’s been laid pretty low but is on the mend now. So that’s good. And, as for me, like I said, it was just to be safe. And, luckily, I haven’t had any symptoms.”
Carlos clapped. “That’s fantastic news.” He winked at the old man, so very grateful that he was well. “How about we celebrate with some pie? I always keep a slice set aside for you, just in case.” Just because Trisha liked practical realism, didn’t mean he didn’t find his own comfort in hopeful optimism.
Because, sometimes, even under the worst conditions, hope paid off.
“Just let me wash up and grab that pie and some tea,” Carlos said, thankful that, even in dark times, light found a way to shine through. “On the house, as a celebration of your good heath and a thank you.” He gave Trisha a quick hug. “I’ll let Trisha fill you in on why.”
Available:
PayPal Copy
WANT MORE?
