CHAPTER 0
It was only Tuesday evening, and I was already bone-tired. Wrung out. I stepped through the front door of our apartment, peeled off my white disposable KN95 filter mask. Dropped it in the small beige plastic trash bin my boyfriend, Gregory, had mounted on the wall. Squirted hand sanitizer into my palms and rubbed the stinging gel all over my hands and wrists. The alcohol burned inside my nose. I rolled my neck and shoulders to work some of the stiffness out. Unbuttoned my green wool peacoat and hung it and my purse on the coatrack.
I blamed my exhaustion on stress and anxiety. Last week, the world had gotten the worst Valentine’s Day present ever: a new pandemic called PVG. Polymorphic viral gastroencephalitis. It had popped up in London, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Toronto, Honolulu, Los Angeles, Seattle, New York City, and Mexico City at roughly the same time, which made finding Patient Zero (if he or she existed) a challenge. Nobody knew yet where it had come from, exactly how it spread, or what it was likely to do in the long run. All anyone knew for sure was that it was landing people in the hospital with scary symptoms.
Someone on CNN described it as “the stomach flu on nightmare mode,” but apparently it wasn’t an influenza virus. Or a rotavirus or a norovirus, everyone’s favorite cruise ship plagues. It was something new and strange. Our governor hadn’t declared a mask mandate yet, but many of us instinctively fell back on the protective measures we’d learned during the coronavirus years.
It was a relief to be home. Home felt safe. The outside world? Not so much. Even though Gregory and I had built a pretty cozy space for ourselves, I hated the idea that we might be in for months of depressing isolation and shitty delivery food. Months of mostly only getting to see the world secondhand, through screens. I silently prayed that the disease would burn itself out quickly.
“Erin, is that you?” It sounded like he was in the dining room.
“Nope, I’m a burglar.” I hung my keys on one of the brass hooks below our coupon-plastered corkboard. “I’m here to steal your Funko Pops.”
“You’re early! I was expecting the robbery around six thirty.” His tone was cheerful but held an anxious edge.
“Yeah, there wasn’t much traffic this evening.” It occurred to me that I’d just touched my keys, which I’d previously handled with possibly contaminated hands … so I gave myself another sanitizer squirt. We were probably going to have to buy the stuff by the gallon before this was over. Hopefully there hadn’t been a huge run on the stock at Costco yet.
I continued: “It looks like most of the other companies on the West Side have already shifted to work from home.”
My company was headed that direction, too, but it would be another week at least. Universal Corporate Computing had a huge, stegosaurian bureaucracy; change came slowly, when it came at all.
“That’s cool … but don’t come in here yet!” I could hear the scrape and clack of him shuffling china plates. “And don’t look down the hall! Just, uh, look at your feet or something.”
“Okay…” I stared down at my black Chuck Taylors and shucked them off with my toes.
A bright pink business card on the floor below the trash bin caught my eye. I picked it up. The card had an all-over design of fuchsia roses on a light pink background. It bore only a name—Savannah—and a local phone number. No business name, no address.
I didn’t have much time to wonder about the card, or to think to apply yet more hand sanitizer, because Gregory gave a triumphant “Ha! Done!” and rushed into the foyer, his white shirtsleeves rolled up and his shirttails half out over the belt of his khakis. A brown substance I hoped was chocolate was smeared on his breast pocket.
“Don’t look!” He blocked my view of the dining room, waving his arms like he was playing defense in a pickup basketball game. “Cover your eyes, please.”
“Uh, sure.” The alcoholic goo hadn’t quite dried on my hands, so I tucked my upper face into the crook of my arm. Pandemic dabbing.
He took me by the elbow and led me down the hall. As I stepped from carpet to the vinyl planks of our dining room, I smelled soy sauce and burning candles.
“Okay, open!” he declared proudly.
I dropped my arm and beheld our small dining room table decked out in fresh red roses and pink carnations, gold-and-silver streamers, and candles. A glittery gold HAPPY 5TH ANNIVERSARY! banner hung from the wall. Amidst the table decorations was a big platter of fresh sushi decorated with edible blossoms, two place settings from the good china set he’d inherited from his grandmother, lacquered red chopsticks, tall wine flutes, and a dewy green bottle of Riesling from Schaff’s Winery. Their vineyards were south of the city, and we’d gone on a tour there the first weekend we spent together, when we first started dating.
“Ta-da!” He spread his arms wide. “Are you surprised?”
I stared at the table, confused. “But our anniversary isn’t until next week.”
Then panic surged in my throat. Oh God. Had I gotten the dates mixed up? I’d ordered him a new tablet, but it wouldn’t arrive for a bit. “It’s not our anniversary today, is it?”
He laughed and said reassuringly, “No, our anniversary is next week. You’re fine. But it wouldn’t have been much of a surprise if I threw this the day of, would it?”
“No, I guess not.” I stared at the table, feeling a little stunned. And deeply touched. None of my previous boyfriends had ever done anything like this. Not even my family had thrown me a big party like this for my birthdays, not since I’d turned ten. Part of me was thrilled, but another part awkwardly wondered if all this was really for me or if I’d suddenly crossed over into the life of some other, more fortunate woman. “Wow, you went all out.”
“Ope!” He’d noticed his shirttail was flopping loose, so he quickly tucked it in, smoothed his short brown hair, and then pulled my chair out for me.
I sat down, absently setting the rosy business card on the table by my plate. “The sushi looks great.” There had to be at least ninety dollars’ worth of artfully sliced rolls and sashimi on the platter. Mostly salmon, tuna, and barbecued eel. My favorites.
“I got it at a new place called Oiwai Sushi.” He smiled. “My boss took our team there for lunch last week. I was really impressed with their tako sashimi. It was nice and firm and fresh. Not watery and limp.” He made a face. “The last time I got it at Hibachichan, it was really disappointing. Like it had been frozen and thawed a couple of times.”
“Yeah, they seem to have gone downhill since their chef quit.”
“Well, you know me … I like to support good places. Especially when it looks like they might be in for a rough ride.”
“Yeah.” I used my chopsticks to grab a couple of pieces of salmon sashimi for my plate. Perfect glossy rectangles of orange fish secured to plump mounds of rice with savory seaweed bands. My mouth was watering in anticipation. “So many good restaurants went under last time … I hope that doesn’t happen again.”
“Your words to God’s ears,” he said. “Anyhow, let’s talk about something more cheerful. How was your day?”
Copyright © 2023 by Lucy A. Snyder
