I think I keep forgetting that the next thing after the airport is Oliver and me going our separate ways. His mom will pick him up, my mom will pick me up, and we’ll be on our way to our respective parts of Brooklyn, our respective lives.

But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to think about my life being removed from Oliver’s ever again.

I’ve listened to him breathe, sleep, brush his teeth, shower, eat, talk on the phone, text on the phone, talk to his girlfriend, fight with his girlfriend, break up with his girlfriend.

And now I have to figure out some way to tell him all of that before we get off the plane.

Before we get to baggage claim, where our moms are standing together, waiting for us, holding balloons.

Our moms hug us, and I look at Oliver over my mom’s shoulder, and he’s looking at me, and I still don’t know what to say to him. How to say good-bye to him.

I want to kiss him. A real kiss. But I can’t imagine he’d want to kiss me, formerly diseased Flora. The quaranteen.

“It’s so good to hug you without wearing that stupid suit!” my mom says to me, pulling away, tears in her eyes. “Let’s find your suitcase and get you home.”

Oliver and I look at each other. He says, “So I guess—”

“Hey! It’s the quaranteens!” someone yells. And even though we’re in a loud, crowded airport, people hear him, look around, and then we’re spotted.

I see my suitcase, grab it, watch Oliver do the same, and we’re running with our moms to the parking lot.

People follow us, and Oliver and his mom go one way and my mom and I go the other. My mom quickly unlocks the car door, we throw the suitcase in, and we’re off. I look around the parking lot, but I don’t see Oliver or his mom or their car anywhere.

Even if we only live a few miles away from each other, he’s not my roommate anymore. And he thinks I’m disgusting anyway.

“Bye,” I say softly as our car turns a corner and leaves the parking lot.