It’s weird to have a roommate again. It’s weird that Oliver is my roommate again. It’s weird that things already feel weird with us. Again. Still.

But I’m still really tired and fall asleep fast that night without talking to Oliver again. When I wake up the next morning, my watch says it’s almost 9:00 a.m. I slept twelve hours. I wonder if this is how I’ll feel for the rest of my life. Always completely exhausted and like I can sleep for half a day and still be tired.

I feel my eyes close again and then my mom is here. “Morning, Flora. You still feeling okay?” she asks, a worried look on her face.

“Yeah,” I say. “Just tired.”

“Okay. Joey had said you probably would be for a few days. I wish I could stay longer. You understand I need to get back to your uncle and Randy, right? He’s never been alone with Randy for this long. I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking about me,” I say. “You were thinking about getting to your sick daughter in quarantine. Mom, cut yourself some slack.”

My mom smiles. “I can tell you’re feeling better. You’re making me feel better.”

I brush it off. “Well, it’s true. Randy will be okay. Will you be okay? I think you should get a massage. Or have brunch with your friends.” For some odd reason, I almost suggest that she have brunch with Oliver’s mom sometime, but I have no clue where that idea comes from.

She laughs. “Yes, Mom.”

“Can’t pour from an empty cup,” I say, grinning at her. My mom loves saying hokey old clichés just to annoy me.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” she says.

“The grass is always greener on the other side.”

“It’s definitely greener outside quarantine. Especially since there is no grass in here to begin with,” Joey says, stepping into the room.

I forgot about Joey’s dimples. The butterflies that I was too exhausted and sick to feel before are back.

“That’s a dad joke,” I say.

“I’m not a dad,” Joey says.

“No, I know. I just … it’s so cheesy, I meant it’s a dad joke. Because dads always tell cheesy jokes.”

I hear Oliver laughing on the other side of the curtain, but Joey just stares at me.

“Never mind,” I say. “Let’s make sure my temperature is still normal.”

“Good idea,” Joey agrees, moving on.

He puts the thermometer in my mouth and it beeps. “You’re good,” he says, looking at the results.

My mom beams. “Thank you.” She tries to clasp Joey’s hand, but he’s writing on his ever-present clipboard.

He looks up, distracted. “No need to thank me. Thank the virus for getting out of your daughter’s body. That was a wild ride, huh?”

“So wild,” I say. How could I have forgotten about his dimples?

“See you on the flip side. Or in a couple hours.”

“That’s another dad joke!” I say.

He looks confused again, and I hear Oliver laugh a second time. Joey salutes me, then opens the curtain to Oliver’s side of the room. “What’s so funny, Romeo?” But I can tell he’s trying to be lighthearted, buddy-buddy, since Oliver’s mom is there.

I don’t hear a response, and then realize Joey must have put the thermometer in his mouth when I hear beeping.

“Well, what does it say?” Oliver’s mom says impatiently.

“Your son remains healthy. Normal temperature. See ya later.”

Joey leaves, and I hear his mom say, “I don’t like him. I don’t care if he’s a doctor.”

My mom whispers to me, “I don’t either.” Though I don’t know why she’s whispering. And I don’t know why she doesn’t like Joey. She must not have noticed his dimples.