Set against the backdrop of the 2020 Covid-19 outbreak, a young woman, Gravely Eaton, is stuck working at the family funeral home with a father she hates. The world is dying around her, but there seems no escape from her boring life with no friend...
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I don't recall Healy or me stirring during the night, not even to have a whizz. But as daylight dawned, I got the urge and pulled myself up to a sitting position on the side of the bed, eyes still shut. I reached behind me, groping for Healy. He wasn't there. I opened my eyes and looked to his side of the bed. I felt the mattress. No body warmth. My heart sank, but only momentarily, as I saw his backpack propped against a chair in the corner of the bedroom. I heard someone moving around in the kitchen, and caught a glimpse of my man through the open door. Relieved, I smiled and sighed.
Some pees are better than others, and evacuating my bladder that morning felt especially good. I sniffed my pits and, judging them to smell acceptable, I swished a cap of Listerine around my mouth to freshen my morning breath. There was a robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, and I draped myself in it. I always think a woman looks sexier when wearing something that can be pulled open by a man or playfully fall open. With that eventuality in mind, I didn't knot the robe sash tightly.
The smell of fresh perked coffee and toast greeting me as I entered the living room.
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I loved the idea of a man who could fend for himself and it was a plus that Healy had started our brekkie. He stood in front of the TV watching the local news on the local station, CP24, coffee cup in hand. When he spotted me coming out of the bedroom, he raised his cup and winked my way. He wore his jeans but no top, so I could see the cut on his shoulder had opened up during the night and bloodied the bandage.
"I'll have to change the dressing on your shoulder, I remarked as I filled a mug with Healy's black brew. I noticed a piece of buttered toast on a plate, barely touched.
"How's the tongue?" I called out cheerily.
Healy didn't answer. In fact, he didn't even turn around to face me. I put the coffee mug aside and walked to him. I needed a hug and to touch his warm skin. I wanted to reassure myself he was real and in my living room and mine. I pressed up against him but there was no response. Maybe too smothering, too needy, I realized. I pulled away.
"Tongue?" I repeated.
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