31 “I’m going to make lunch”
31
“I’m going to make lunch”
Miranda
Tristan gently shakes me awake. The first thing I see is that he’s wearing a pilly brown sweater and old jeans. I’m confused. The light coming in makes me think it’s early but not early enough that we shouldn’t both be at work. Is it the weekend?
“Miranda…wake up…”
“What time is it?”
“Eight thirty.”
“What day?”
“Friday.”
“Shit, I’m gonna be late,” I say, sitting up.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry…we’re working from home, remember?”
I look at him from the bed. My head is still super foggy. I grab my phone automatically, and all my suspicions are confirmed: Friday, March 13, 2020. The government is about to declare a state of emergency because of the coronavirus.
“But still, it’s not early.”
“You stayed up working really late last night, getting ahead of things. You don’t need to rush,” he reminds me. “Miri…the office just called me.”
“And?”
“Get up, please. I think you need coffee before we talk about this.”
A cup of steaming coffee is waiting for me on the kitchen counter. All I’m wearing is a nightie and a silk robe. I sit on one of the high stools and take a sip, which warms me up immediately. Tristan is hopping from the bedroom to the living room, pulling his shoes on at the same time.
“Come on. What’s going on?” I call out, even though I already know.
“Umm…well, you know how one of the partners at the firm has a lot of connections, right?”
“Yes.” I nod.
“Well…someone tipped him off that they’re serious… They’re really going to lock us in our houses.”
“Define ‘lock us in our houses.’”
“The government is going to decree a state of emergency, and they’re going to limit leaving the house to essentials only: buying absolute necessities, going to the doctor only when it’s an emergency, and work that can’t be done virtually. Something like that. They asked us to come into the office to get any documents we need to work from home.”
“But you already brought your stuff home, right?”
“Yes. But I have to get a few other things. It’s probably going to last a while.”
I debate between playing dumb and continuing to ask questions or shutting up.
“Miri…it could last weeks. Go see your dad today. Ask him if he wants to come stay here or if he needs anything or…I don’t know.”
“I have to call Marisol to see how we’re going to handle it at the magazine. Luckily we installed VPN this week so we can access the computers in the office remotely. Otherwise, I have no idea how we would’ve done layout.”
He nods and put his hands on his thighs. He’s very solemn.
“Did you talk to your parents?” I ask.
“No. I was going to call them now. My mother’s going to lose it.”
“She’s a good planner. I’m sure her pantry is stocked already.”
“Yes. There’ll be no shortage in their house.” He smiles tensely. “It’s just that he’s a restless ass, and they’re both retired…”
“Don’t worry. As long as they have a deck of cards…”
He smiles and kisses me.
“I’m heading out.”
“Yeah. I’m going to drink this coffee and then go see my dad. Do you want me to buy anything?”
He looks at me, not sure how to answer. I know he feels like he’s getting carried away by the collective hysteria right now and he’s embarrassed, but in the end, he succumbs to it.
“I’m going to stop by the pharmacy again to see if they have any paracetamol. Just in case. We only have a half-empty box left,” he says.
“See if they have any approved face masks.”
He makes a face. At this point, it still all sounds so weird and extremist.
“Okay.”
“Should I go to the supermarket?” I insist.
“I’m scared, Miri. People are going crazy. You already saw what the shelves were like at the supermarket yesterday.”
“That’s why. We don’t have much at home. I could at least try to see what I can find.”
My father lives in Carabanchel, in the same apartment I grew up in. An apartment with the seventies charm of the public buildings in working-class neighborhoods. No frills but comfortable, with floral tiles in the kitchen and bathroom, which are ugly but coming back into fashion…because everything in fashion is cyclical. But I know that if I want to find him, I should forget about going there and head to the store instead. He refuses to close, even though no one has been there for days. The scene I stumble into is a man calmly reading the newspaper, sitting in a winged armchair and sipping coffee.
“Dad, this is ridiculous. Are you living under a rock, or are you so cool you think this global pandemic has nothing to do with you? As far as I know, you’re not part of the Avengers.”
“I think they’re kinda blowing this whole COVID thing out of proportion.”
“Well, I think I don’t want to end up without a father, so get up and get your stuff, we’re going.”
“Jeez Louise.”
I grab his sweater and shake him.
“Dad, I’m not fucking around. They’re sending everyone home. The government is going to declare a state of emergency tomorrow. Don’t act like a child.”
He raises his eyebrows, making like he’s scared.
“A state of emergency?”
“Yes. They let it slip to Tristan at work. It’s serious. It’s not a rumor. This thing is going to get ugly. The emergency rooms in hospitals are getting overwhelmed. A lot of people are dying, Dad. Don’t make jokes about it. Don’t make light of it.”
“Miri…”
“What?”
“I have lunch at home, and the sheets on your bed are clean. Do you want to come?”
I can’t help laughing.
“No, Dad. I have a house. Do you want to come to mine? Tristan suggested it. He’s worried that you’re alone.”
“Well, tell him I’m not senile, I’m seventy-five years old, and I can whip his butt in pelota.”
“Nobody plays pelota anymore, Dad.”
“Well, then paddle tennis.”
“They call it pickleball now.”
“Whatever it is.”
“Do you want to come to our house or not?” I blurt out desperately.
“What am I going to do shut up with my daughter and her boyfriend in a house that’s not mine? No, no. If you want, you can both come to mine. Plus, there’s only one bedroom in your house.”
“But if it’ll stop you being lonely, we can all make it work. Or if that will just make you more anxious, we can both come to yours.”
He shakes his head.
“It’ll just be for a few days. I don’t want Tristan to be uncomfortable.”
“He won’t be,” I lie.
“Miri, it’s only going to be a few days. You have to relax, sweetheart. You’re making me nervous.”
“Okay.” I sigh. Yeah…just a few days. “Do you remember how to FaceTime from your iPad?”
“Dear child”—he’s starting to get pissed off—“just because you’re so clever, that doesn’t mean your father is an idiot, okay?”
I give up.
“Close up shop, and take everything you need. We won’t be back for a long time. And we’re catching a cab.”
The pharmacy is mayhem, just as I remembered it. There’s almost nothing left. People are mostly trying to find prescription drugs for chronic diseases. My father takes tablets for his gout, and I force him to ask his pharmacist for enough for three months. And we manage to find some anti-inflammatories in case his knees act up and paracetamol. The mask thing is still in the realm of science fiction.
We carry the groceries (what little we were able to buy) up the stairs, just like I remember us doing the first time, because I wanted to avoid the canned air in the elevator. I also remember the paranoia and fear that I felt, and I appreciate knowing what I know now: that my father will be okay. I had a really hard time leaving him all alone. With everything unpacked in the kitchen and the bathroom, I make sure he charges his phone and his iPad, but I’m not satisfied.
“You should really come to our house.”
“To toss and turn on a couch, right?”
“It’s a pullout. We’ll sleep on the couch bed, and you can sleep in our bed.”
“No way. A couple needs privacy, and I’m going to get anxious. I’d rather stay here, Miri. If you were alone, you’d come here, and that’d be that. But having Tristan, you should be with him. He’s alone in Madrid, and his parents are far away. He must be worried. Go on, go be with him. We’ll see each other in a few days.”
“Don’t go out. Okay? Don’t go out for anything in the world. I’ll have groceries delivered for you, they’ll drop them at your door, and you can pick them up when they’re gone. And then you wash them all well, like I told you. Understood? And none of those games with your neighbors and all that stuff.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine here with your mother.”
I think that worries me even more.
I call Marisol on the way out of my father’s house. We had some foresight, and we’ve been preparing ourselves for this situation for the last few weeks. Hard times are coming, but at least we won’t need to go into the office. It’s all under control.
When I get home, carrying what I was able to make off with at the grocery store, I find Tristan sitting on the couch, in front of the computer, with his phone pressed to his ear.
“No, Mama. I can’t see you. You’re doing something wrong. Look. It doesn’t matter. I’ll show you another time because it looks like we’re going to have a lot of free time.” He looks up at me and rolls his eyes. “No, Mama, you’re getting hysterical. Okaaay. Okaaaaaaaay. Okay!”
He hangs up and throws the phone onto the coffee table and then rubs his face roughly.
“Please tell me it went better with your father.”
“Yes. Everything is under control.” I sit down next to him. “Don’t worry.”
“How can I not worry?” He looks at me sidelong. “Have you heard the death count today? And my sister is saying: ‘I don’t know. Look, don’t you think it’s all a setup?’”
I laugh and lean on his shoulder.
“You have to be patient.”
“That’s something I don’t have much of lately.”
“Well, you’re gonna need it, Tristan.” I kiss his shoulder and look at him. “Because we’re going to spend a lot of hours locked up inside here and long days without much information. And it’s going to be desperate and claustrophobic. And sad sometimes.”
He throws me a look that I translate as a very sarcastic “thanks, you’re a big help.”
“Yeah, I know. But I want us to be realistic.”
He sucks his teeth, staring unseeingly at the back of the room, and doesn’t answer.
“What?” I prod him to speak.
“Nothing.”
“No, come on, don’t go all silent. What’s going on?”
“You don’t think this is a big deal?”
“No, I do. But you got all… I don’t know. Tell me.”
“Nothing.” But he drags out the vowels reluctantly.
“Babe…we have to be realistic.”
“And we’ll die from realism, my love.” He stands up and heads to the kitchen. “I’m going to make lunch.”