My dad and Goldy have only been here for one whole day—three visits—and it already feels like three hundred. They don’t have tickets home yet, “just in case,” they say, but I want to tell them to just go home already. I can’t imagine another ten days of visits with them.

After everything my mom told me, there is so much I want to say to both of them, especially my dad, but I don’t, and it feels like my spring break all over again with us watching TV and talking but not about anything important. I feel like I’m intruding on them, like I’m an outsider in my own family, like I don’t fit in.

I’d almost rather listen to Oliver and his girlfriend. Almost.

Visiting hours are over for the day, so I turn on the TV, flip through the channels, but everything seems too loud, even with the volume off. I keep the news channel on for a bit, and there is a shot of a hospital, and I realize it’s the hospital we’re in. I turn the TV off. I don’t feel like hearing any more strangers talk about me.

I touch my face, feel how naked it is without the mask. It’s weird how I got used to feeling it on my face.

I pick up my phone, and it’s more strangers taunting me, asking about the kiss. Floriver. They really couldn’t think of a better name? Not that it matters, because Kelsey has made sure the entire Internet knows that Oliver is her boyfriend. I look under my curtain and see Oliver’s socked feet pacing the room.

I text him, What are you doing?

A few minutes later, he responds, Not much. You?

Which doesn’t necessarily make sense, but I’ll take it. I pull open the curtain, and Oliver has the same startled look on his face as when my dad and Goldy met him and his mom.

Before he can say anything, I plop myself down in the chair on his side of the room. “Are you busy?” I ask.

He looks around. “I think I can fit you in.”

I laugh. “You sure? You sure you don’t need to track down some feta?”

He laughs now. “It’s a good cheese!”

“Why are we still talking about cheese?”

“You brought it up,” he reminds me.

“Actually, you brought it up the first time,” I tell him.

He scratches his chin. “You sure about that? It might have been—”

“God, she’s just such a bimbo … and she’s my stepmom,” I interrupt.

“Goldy,” Oliver finishes.

“Just don’t say her name.”

“Whose?” Oliver says, grinning at me.

I almost answer him, then close my mouth again. “She’s awful, isn’t she?”

“Actually … I didn’t think so at all. I mean, I only talked to her for a few seconds, but she seems—”

“Please don’t say nice.”

“Well, I was going to say sweet. But nice too, yeah.”

I groan. “Great. You too?”

“Me too what?”

“Another straight male species member won over by my stepmom. Please don’t ask me how much older than me she is because it’s gross.”

“What? No, it’s not like that at all.”

“What is it like, then?” I realize I’m suddenly getting tired of the conversation.

“Remember what your mom said, though? About it being Goldy’s idea for you to visit?”

“How do you know about that?” I say, ice dripping from my voice.

“It was one of the first conversations you and your mom had when she came to visit. Before you got sick.”

“You were listening?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

“Yeah, I was. I was following your advice. You said being a good listener was important.”

“I did? When? What are you talking about?”

“In the girl handbook.”

He looks so confused, so earnest, and I finally say, “There’s a difference between listening and eavesdropping. I said being a good listener is important. I meant when the girl is talking to you, when she wants to talk to you, wants you to know things. Not when you’re stuck in quarantine together and you’re eavesdropping on a deeply personal family conversation.”

His face falls, and I can tell I’ve hurt him. “I was just trying to help,” he says softly.

I’m reminded of when my mom told me everything about my dad and Goldy, and I had the odd sensation of wanting to know that Oliver was listening, of wanting him to know all these things about me. And he did listen, and I didn’t even tell him to, and now his feelings are hurt. Again. Because of me.

“Thank you,” I say, touching his arm.

“For what? Being lousy at following instructions? For messing up the girl handbook, even when the author is my roommate?”

“Wait, messing up the girl handbook? What are you talking about?”

Oliver’s face turns red. “Um, nothing.”

“I don’t think you need any more help. You’ve got it pretty well memorized, judging by social media. It’s super clear to everyone that you have a girlfriend!” I wonder if my voice sounds as loud to Oliver as it does to me. I’m trying really hard again to squash the voice in the back of my head that is telling me maybe Kelsey likes the attention more than Oliver.

“Err, that’s right,” Oliver says. But his face is getting redder.

“Why did you bring up the girl handbook?” I ask.

“Nothing! I just … forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You already said that. It’s obviously something. Not nothing.” I realize how ridiculous I sound.

“Can you let it go, please?” Oliver begs.

“What am I letting go?”

Oliver’s face is getting redder by the second, and he wipes his forehead. He crosses his arms over his chest. I’m stressing him out, and I don’t know why it’s all bugging me so much.

“I’m going to bed,” I say abruptly, getting up.

“Um, it’s only nine o’clock. Are you feeling okay?” But Oliver looks relieved.

“I’m fine!” I say more forcefully than I intend to. “I mean, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

But I can tell he doesn’t know what I’m thanking him for, and I’m not entirely sure either.

He fans his face, and I go back to my side of the room. I wonder why after talking with Oliver I feel both better and more confused about everything.