Semua Bab Love in the Time of Quarantine: Bab 21 - Bab 30

The next few days are awful. I stay up all night painting. I set an alarm on my phone to make sure I shower and grab something to eat before Ashton wakes up for work, then retreat to my room to work on some freelance graphic design jobs I picked up.Apparently, writing on those novel websites has blown up during COVID, and people need covers. I usually work until about 1:30—just after Ashton’s lunch break, when I know he’s in a Zoom meeting—so I can sneak into the kitchen without having to talk to him. After that, I take a walk around the block, get some fresh air, and then go to bed. I wake up around midnight and do it all over again.Ashton tries to talk to me. I make sure I’m too busy. I even fake being on calls with Ship just so he won’t start a conversation. I’m still working through how I feel, and I don’t need to manage his emotions while I do it.But I know it can’t last. Our fight happened on Monday night, and once the weekend hits, Ashton won’t have work as a distraction. He’

I walk down the sidewalk, mask on and sunglasses pulled low to hide my tears. I’d gotten in touch with Kora, and she was getting dressed and heading in from Hempstead—but it’d take about an hour for her to get here. That left me too much time to kill and way too much to think about.I told Kora to find me at my spot in Central Park. It’s a large overlook rock about ten minutes from our apartment, perched above a pond on the southern corner of the park. It’s usually filled with animals and people—great for sketching and getting lost in thought.Unfortunately, I didn’t bring anything with me. I usually keep a sketchbook or a notebook in my purse, but I’d filled the last one and hadn’t felt pressed to get a new one. I haven’t been going out much lately, after all.On the way to the park, I stop at a bodega and grab something to eat and drink, along with a new notebook and a pack of colored pencils. I’ve got a few pencil stubs and erasers floating in my bag. It’s not perfect, but it’ll be

There’s a light dusting of snow on the ground when I pull up to my parents’ house on Christmas Eve. I’ve waited until the last possible minute to come home—because of Matt. I’m ready to talk, ready to forgive and move on. But that doesn’t mean I actually want to do it. I know it’s going to be a hard conversation, one neither of us will enjoy, and I’m not looking forward to it. But… it’s been six months. It’s time we clear the air.The second I pull into the driveway, my parents are running out the door to greet me.“Wait!” I say, holding my hands out to stop them. “Don’t you want me to quarantine? Should you be hugging me?”“You and Kora haven’t been around anyone other than grocery runs. No symptoms. And we miss you!” Dad exclaims, wrapping his arms around me. Mom joins from the other side, and I’m sandwiched between them both.And honestly? I don’t have the heart to insist on quarantine. I’ve missed them so much. Staying away from Matt hasn’t just meant staying away from him—it’s mea

For the next month, I focus on getting back into the swing of the semester. The best part? I’m nearly done with all my gen eds. The only ones I have left count toward my major, which means—for the first time in my college career—I’m fully immersed in art. Not always my kind of art, but art all the same.I get back into jogging like I was before. I didn’t do it much in Ohio—the snow was too deep, barely anyone was on the streets, so the plows didn’t bother clearing sidewalks. I went to the gym a few times, but it wasn’t the same. I love the exercise, sure, but what I really craved was being outside. It cleared my head. It helped me forget.Forget the pain. Forget the betrayal. Forget... everything. Everything that happened with Ashton during quarantine.Being with my family made it easier to forget. Making up with Matt made it easier, too.And then Ashton had to show up and try to talk to me—waited until I was alone and tried to force his way back into my life, back past all the wall

It’s the day of my opening, and I’m a nervous fucking wreck. I barely slept last night and feel like a zombie right now. Finally, at 4 a.m., I decide to just get out of bed and get the day started. Ship told me to text him the second I was ready for breakfast—no matter what time it was. He said he’d let me know whether I was being insane or just a normal first-time exhibitor. I get the feeling he’s as nervous as I am.I go for a run. Yes, it’s 4 a.m., but it’s New York—there are always people out. Quarantine’s still a thing, but the city’s slowly pushing forward. I stick to the well-lit, busy areas and run for an hour, hoping to exhaust myself enough to crash on the couch when I get back.No such luck.Next, I take a long, leisurely bath—shaving, exfoliating, soaking in the tub. But I can’t relax, and I’m out and lotioning within twenty minutes. I decide not to stress about hair or makeup yet. The show isn’t until 7 p.m.—I’ve got more than twelve hours.Instead, I pack my bag with ever