Together We Stand

by JA Lafrance

  “I should be getting to bed myself,” I say, picking up my phone and turning the music off. “Get your shower and go to bed. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  I put my hand on the glass and he places his on the other side, both of us lingering there for a moment. “Goodnight, Alex.”

  “Sweet dreams, Hannah.”

  Day 55

  My phone rings. I stop working and check the screen. It’s Alex.

  “Hey there,” I murmur.

  “Hey,” he says. He sounds exhausted.

  “Just getting in?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I wanted to let you know I left something at your door for you.”

  “Hold on a sec,” I tell him, as I get up from my desk and go to the door.

  I open it and find a big bouquet of peonies in a gorgeous cut glass vase, a large silver bow tied around it.

  I bend down and lodge my phone between my chin and shoulder so I can use both hands to pick up the flowers.

  “Alex, they are absolutely stunning! Peonies are my favorite!” I exclaim. “Thank you!”

  “You’re very welcome, honey.”

  Mmmm… He called me honey. The word sounds amazing in his rich baritone.

  “Are you going to head to bed?” I ask.

  He lets out a yawn. “Yeah. I’m drained. But they told me tonight I’ll be back to my day shifts starting next week for good. They hired a couple of doctors who completed their residencies and they get the shit shifts.”

  “Well, that’s good news. For you. Not so much for the new guys,” I mutter.

  I can hear his soft chuckle and it makes me tingle in some very nice places.

  “Yeah. Listen… I want to let you know I really like you, Hannah. And as soon as we can, I would love to take you on a formal date.”

  Oh. My!

  “I would love that,” I whisper.

  “I’m glad,” he whispers back. “I’m going to shower and get to bed.”

  “Sweet dreams, Alex.”

  Day 70

  “Oh God, don’t stop,” I moan. “You were just getting to the good stuff!”

  “Chapter is done, honey. It’s also after midnight and we both need to be up early,” Alex says.

  I cross my arms and pout like a three-year-old. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” I mutter.

  “True enough.”

  “So, I hear they’re thinking of starting to reopen a bit,” I tell him.

  “Things are finally calming down and people are getting wiser, so it seems reasonable.”

  There is silence for a moment.

  “The day they do open things up, we are going out on a date. It may not be sitting on a rooftop patio having drinks after a fancy dinner, but that doesn’t matter to me. I’d be happy to just sit on either my or your balcony so I can actually see you while we hang out,” Alex says, softly.

  “I don’t need a fancy dinner or drinks on a rooftop patio, Alex. I just can’t wait to finally have this glass wall between us removed.”

  It’s the God’s honest truth. For seventy-four days, we have been getting to know each other. And the more I know about him, the harder I fall.

  True, we could have said to hell with it and set aside the rules and restrictions, but had we done that, aside from the risk, we wouldn’t have what we have now: an amazing foundation based on friendship.

  That being said, I still can’t wait for the day I get to finally see him in person, hold his hand, and maybe kiss him.

  “I can’t wait for that either,” Alex says, his voice gruff.

  “I should get to bed,” I say as I stand up. I place my hand on the glass partition. “Goodnight, Alex.”

  Alex lifts his hand and places it on the glass. “Sweet dreams, Hannah.”

  And I do have sweet dreams, imagining my first date with Alex.

  Day 87

  “Ohmigodohmigodohmigod!” I chant.

  “Jesus, Hannah,” my friend Cara laughs. “You act like you’ve never had a date before. And it’s not like you don’t know the guy.”

  “I know, but this is so different,” I tell her. “I like him, Cara. A lot. You know what a dork I am. What if I spill his drink on him or get spinach stuck in my teeth?”

  “Don’t order anything with spinach in it,” she deadpans.

  “Why did I even call you?” I ask.

  “Because I’m the only one who can calm your ass down. So, listen to me. This is Alex: the guy you have been getting to know for almost three months. You talk every day. He knows everything about you and he likes what he knows. So you have nothing to worry about,” Cara advises.

  I take a deep breath, hold it, and slowly let it out.

  “Thanks, Cara. That really helped. The tequila shots I have lined up on the counter will help even more.”

  I hear her laugh. “Glad to be of service. Although, I’d advise against tequila. Perhaps vodka. You’re less apt to start disrobing in public places.”

  “Fair point,” I concede. “Okay. I need to finish getting ready.”

  “Get him, tiger,” she says before disconnecting.

  I look at myself in the full-length mirror in the corner of my bedroom. We’re just walking to Starbucks to grab coffee and breakfast and sit out on the patio. Since it’s a nice day, I opted to wear a little ruched jersey dress and some gladiator sandals. My hair is up in an artfully messy bun and I put makeup on for the first time in months. I grab my bottle of Viva la Juicy Noir and spritz a mist in front of me before walking through. I grab my clutch purse and my mask and toss a travel size bottle of hand sanitizer from my bathroom closet in, as well.

  I hear a knock on the door. Ohmigodohmigodohmigod. It’s time!

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as I walk to the door, my clutch in my hand. I turn the lock, open the door, and my knees go weak.

  He looks positively edible in dark wash jeans, a white Oxford shirt untucked with his sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms.

  “Wow,” he says, his eyes traveling slowly from head to toe. “You’re even more stunning in person.”

  I press my lips together and turn my head to the side to hide my blush, whispering, “Thanks.”

  “Are you sure you want to brave the outside world? I mean, a lot has changed in eighty-seven days,” he teases.

  I turn back to him with a grin. “I have been out of the house, you know. I went to the LCBO just last week.”

  “Well, then, you’re ready!”

  I laugh at him. He holds his hand out to me, saying, “Don’t worry, I sanitized.”

  That gets another chuckle from me as I take his hand and walk through my door. I close it behind me and lock up. Then I turn to face him. He uses my hand to pull me closer, putting his other arm low on my back to press me in deeper, before he leans down and kisses me. It’s long, slow, and absolutely delicious. When he pulls back a whisper away, my eyes stay closed a moment before opening them to find him staring down at me.

  “Worth the wait,” he murmurs against my lips.

  “So totally worth the wait,” I whisper back.

  Quarantine Love

  Jean Kelso, Edits donated by Maria Vickers

  Getting diagnosed as immuno-compromised during a pandemic should scare me, but not with him becoming my living angel. — Quarantine Love

  Quarantine Love

  Celia

  “With all your serious health issues, it is my opinion that you are in no condition to work during the pandemic.” Doctor Ahmed frowns as he gives me the news. “You are extremely high risk, and at the young age of twenty-nine, I do not wish to see you as one of the patients you care for on a daily basis.” He turns toward his computer.

  The thought of not working, of not caring for people when they need me the most…how will I be able to do my part? My thoughts start to run as my heart pounds, and I stare at the doctor. “How long?”

  My doctor stops what he is doing, and with sympathy in his eyes, he tells me that my health is unstable. I am in one hell of a fl
are-up from my Lupus and combined with the damage to my lungs from continuous blood clots, he fears if I contract the virus, I may succumb to it.

  Reeling from the news, feelings of anger and hurt overwhelm me. I was sure my lungs were doing better. I took all the prescribed medications and went to all the designated rehab. In addition, I follow all the rules, and my nursing co-workers know my limits, but now, my doctor says it’s possible I could die from the virus. “I'll do what needs to be done,” I tell him, crestfallen because I will be stuck at home for the foreseeable future.

  Doctor Ahmed stands from his stool, grabs a paper from his printer, spins around, and hands it to me. “I have emailed a copy to your supervisor. This one is for your records. Stay safe, and call me if you have any symptoms. Please take care.” He heads out the door.

  Immunocompromised. No work. Fatal. Words scatter around my mind as I pull into the driveway of my little yellow house across from the park. This virus has made the fun and friendly crescent, kind of boring. An area where I could blend in with everyone during all festivities and be appreciated for my hard work is now quiet. No children are allowed to play at the park. No street barbecues are happening. And no neighbors are checking on anyone for party time. There are no parties. Everyone is scared. Am I ready to be alone? I guess I don't have a choice.

  It's been a few days since the doctor told me I had to stay home. Living alone, I don't buy a lot, so supplies are getting low. I should be going to the store and grabbing a few groceries, but those words keep popping up in the back of my mind. I know better than most about how to keep myself safe. Being a nurse, they put us through the wringer about precautions for situations like this, but Doctor Ahmed made it sound as if I really should stay home. What choice do I have?

  I pace my short, dark blue hallway, still in my long, red nightgown. “I have masks. I have sanitizer,” I tell myself, listing things off, trying to encourage myself to make a decision. “Fuck!” I yell and march toward my front door to open it. The sun is shining, a slight breeze blows in and over my skin. I stick my head out and look around while breathing in the fresh air. There isn't a soul in sight. Where are my neighbors when I need one?

  I sigh and begin to turn around. But as I do, I notice a curtain quickly closing across the street. Mrs. Flanders is not one to close her curtains during the day. She may be the oldest in the neighborhood at the age of fifty-two, but she is a riot, always bringing laughter to the group. I hope she is okay over there. Maybe I should call.

  Back in the house, I sit on my plush beige couch in front of my picture window with my cell phone.

  Noah

  “Hey, Aunt Mary, who's the redhead?” I step away from the window, and sit in the gray recliner next to my aunt, giving her one of my shit-eating grins.

  Aunt Mary chuckles while shaking her head. “It sure has been a long time since you've been here, Noah.” She shifts her position on the couch and picks up the remote from beside her. “But that lovely young lady is not a toy for you.” She switches the television on and starts flicking through the channels.

  Sure, years ago, I was known around town as a party boy, but I have outgrown those flirtatious ways. I'm thirty-five now and tired of being alone, of not having someone to share my bed with. I wish I had someone to hug and kiss goodnight and tell them I love them. I used to daydream about having a relationship like my parents, who always appeared happy, hugging, and never went to bed angry. After being cheated on and getting used for my money, I locked my heart and threw away the key. That's when I decided to live the high life. Lately, though, I've been thinking. My boyish good looks have gone, I look like a man now, and money can't buy me happiness. Mom always said, “There is a woman out there for you.” My “forever” woman. I thought my last girlfriend was “the one,” but was I ever wrong—just another gold digger.

  “I'm not that person anymore, Aunt Mary.” I pick up my glass of ice tea and take a few sips.

  Mary glances at me with sincerity in her eyes. “Celia is a sweet young woman. She works very hard and cares for many, but she is alone. Be nice. Don't hurt her! She recently had some health issues; however, I'm not sure of the outcome of that.” She sighs and turns back toward the television.

  Celia? There's no way it could be little Celia from my childhood. A very nice lady used to live in that house when I was a teenager, and when I visited, a little redhead always played in the yard, watching my friends and me. She was a beautiful young girl back then, but has fate brought us back together? Is it possible?

  The phone rings, and Aunt Mary quickly reaches for it.

  “Well, hello, dear.” She pauses to listen. “Everything is fine. My nephew is here to help me out.” Another pause and smirk. “No, no problem.” I can hear slight mumbles through the phone. “No, dear, not a problem at all. Yes, I think we can handle that. Take care, dear.” Mary hangs up and shifts her gaze to me.

  “What’s the look for?” I ask her with raised eyebrows. Do I dare ask her if it’s the same girl?

  Mary sets the phone back in the cradle and leans back. “It seems my sweet neighbor is stuck at home for a while and is in need of a few staple items.” She glances at me and smiles. “I nominate you for the job. Miss Celia is in need of some milk, bread, butter, and a jar of peanut butter, the kind with the nut on the top. Do you mind running to the store for her? She will leave some money in an envelope on her step for you.”

  Go to the store for the hot chick? This means I get to meet her to see if she is who I think she may be. “I believe I can handle it, Aunt Mary. And don't worry, I will behave,” I tell my aunt, careful not to sound too excited. I quickly get up from the chair, grab my wallet and keys off the counter in the foyer, and head out the door.

  Celia

  I'm glad Mary is doing well. Mom and Mary were friends back in the day, so I am relieved she has help when she needs it most. She kicked her husband out a few months ago. Apparently, he was cheating on her. What a dirty rotten bastard. But, she said her nephew? Mary mentioned a playboy type nephew who lived in the city once. He's here? She told me he hasn't been around for years. I used to know a nephew of hers, Noah, when I was younger, but it has been a long time. There's no way it could be the same nephew, could it? When I was sent away for school at a young age, my heart broke at not being able to see Noah during his visits. He was cute back then.

  “Shit!” I whisper to myself. She said we would handle it when I asked her to go to the store. Does that mean he will be coming by for the money? “Damn it,” I mumble to no one as I get off the couch and rush to my room to put on some clothing and make myself appear somewhat presentable.

  There's a knock on my door just as I pull up my leggings. “Just a second,” I yell as I stumble down the hall, grabbing my purse off the chair. I didn't get a chance to fix my hair or brush my teeth because he came over too quickly. I stop in front of the door and take a breath.

  Slowly, I open the door and then slam it closed again. “Shit, sorry. I forgot a mask.” I can never be too sure. I pick up a mask from the table by the door and put it on. I finally open the door again, flushed from rushing, and standing in front of me is a handsome, dark-haired man with the most vibrant ocean blue eyes I have ever seen. My mouth and throat both go dry. “Hi there,” I manage to squeak out. “I was expecting Mary, but I suppose you will work.” I chuckle lightly. Looking at him, I know it's Noah, and damn, he has grown into one fine specimen. “Noah,” I mumble. “I'm CiCi. Well, Celia, but I go by CiCi. Thank you so much for doing this.” I glance up at his alluring body. He is at least a foot taller than me. I wonder if he remembers me.

  “Well, hello, CiCi.” He smiles. So much so, you can see his eyes glisten. “I'm pleased to meet you…again.” He tries to sneak the last word in under his breath, but I heard it. “My aunt tells me you need a few things from the store. I'm more than happy to get those for you.” He shifts his stance on the step to fully take me, and I suddenly remember what we were doing in my doorway.

  I
shake some sense into myself. “Yes. Right. Well, let’s see what I've got here.” I dig into my purse and grab my wallet. Pulling out a twenty, I hand it to him. “I think this will do. I only need those few things for now.” I peer up at him. “Thank you so much for going. I would go if I could.” I point to my mask.

  He nods his head at me and grins. “It's my pleasure and not a problem. I will get your things for you and be back shortly.” He quickly spun around and walked away.

  I slowly started to close the door as I watch him cross the street. Damn, he definitely has a nice ass. Turning, I rip the mask off and lean against the door, lowering myself to the floor. I catch my breath and smile. Holy shit. It's Noah. My preteen dream boy back in my life when I need help. My heart starts to pound. Slow down heart. He will probably be like all men, but we can wish. I sigh.

  After regaining my wits, I get up off the floor and head to the bathroom to fix my hair, brush my teeth, and put on a little makeup. I want to look a little less like death when he returns.

  I'm sure I was in the bathroom for an extended amount of time because it wasn't long before there was a knock on the door. I take one last glance in the mirror and calmly but quickly rush down the short hall to the door. Grabbing my mask, I put it on and open the door. But Noah has already left. I notice him crossing the street, heading back toward Mary's. Discouraged that I missed him, I peer down at my step to notice a bag of groceries with a note taped to it.

  I look back up in time to watch him and his nice ass, finish crossing the street. Bringing the few groceries to the kitchen, I set the bag on the counter and snatch the note off of it.

  Noah 613-555-3720

  Call me anytime should you need anything.

  I smile at the gesture and tuck the note in my pocket. Pulling the items one by one out of the bag, I put them away in the proper spots and head to the living room. I pick up my cellphone and add his contact information, giddy like a schoolgirl. I've never had a dream man come into my life. Better take it one day at a time, just like I do with my illnesses.