“Hang in there, sis. Just hang in there.”
Why is she telling me that?
I blink again, and I’m sitting in a wheelchair, and itsort ofmakes sense; like I can recollect being told to sit in it in the middle of a dream I was just having. Zoey’s suddenly gone. My purse and gym bag are on my lap.
Someone’s standing in front of me wearing even more equipment than Zoey was. I honestly can’t tell if this person is a man or a woman. The badge affixed to their equipment says, RN, so I know they’re a nurse, and they reach to remove the mask from my face. They tell me to hold still as they veer close to my face with a long cotton swab. I blink and startle at the shocking, jarring sensation of being speared all the way through my nose to the back of my brain with it. They hand me a tissue so I can dab my nose, and then they put the mask back on my face.
They step away, and I nod off again.
It’s really cold in here.
“Ava.”
I blink my eyes open at the unfamiliar voice of another genderless nurse.
“We’re going to admit you. Your COVID test came back positive, and you also tested positive for influenza A.”
“Okay,” I respond weakly and automatically.
I blink again, and I’m staring at a whole lot of whitestuff. I’m lying on something that is hard enough to hurt my spine. The thought of my spine makes me think of Lucky’s fingers tapping out the rhythm of a song. Everything looks very clean, which makes sense because I manage to deduce that I’m in a hospital. Things are beeping.
I blink again, and I’m lying on something much softer. This is a bed. There’s a blanket draped over me. The surgical mask has been replaced by one of those clear plastic oxygen masks. My phone is in my hand, and I cut my eyes toward it.
The screen tells me it’sMonday. I don’t remember anything from the past five days. There’s a bunch of missed video calls from Lucky. A bunch of voicemails and text messages. A bunch of emails.
I wonder if I’m allowed to make a phone call.
I lazily slide my gaze across the room. Nobody’s even in here, so nobody can tell me no, I guess.
Zoey answers on the second ring. “Ava? How are you, my girl?”
“Zoe?”
“Yeah, can you hear me?” She sounds uncharacteristically fragile and somber.
“Did you take me to the hospital?”
“Yeah, babe.” Her voice breaks a little. “Nobody could get a hold of you for days, so I came by. You let me in, but then you kept passing out while I tried to ask you what was wrong. Your fever was above 105, and you were having a lot of trouble breathing, so I had to take you to the ER. I had a feeling they were going to admit you, but they wouldn’t let me in to wait with you, all of which I expected, so I packed a bunch of stuff in your gym bag. Your iPad’s in there, your chargers, your shampoo and all that, so you don’t have to use the hospital stuff. If you can think of anything else you need, just let me know and I’ll drop it off.” She pauses for what feels like a long time, and when she speaks again, her voice is pinched with stifled emotion. “You’re gonna be okay, sis. You just need to rest and fight, and rest and fight, and rinse and repeat. Let those nurses take care of you. Do everything they say.”
“Okay.” On some level, I understand, but it’s all still very confusing. The lights above me are so bright. “Thanks, Zoe. Love you.”
“I love you, Ava girl. You got this.”
Do I?
It’s abundantly clear that I’ve got something.
I’ve got the flu and that fucking virus.
I don’t know where or howI got it, but my mind drifts to the drive from New Orleans to Austin.
I can hear Lucky’s voice and his hateful words in the back of my brain.
Go ahead and get in that car and share a tiny breathing space with a perfect stranger for seven hours and see how that works out for you, he said.
That virus is gonna land your ass in the ICU, and then you’re gonna disappear forever,he said.
I’m not going to lose any sleep over it because I sheltered you from it as long as I could,he said.
