Someone is shaking my shoulder, and when I open my eyes it’s a man in a weird suit and I jump. And then I quickly remember where I am, why I’m here.

He laughs. “Sorry about that, Flora. You looked so peaceful, but we’re supposed to check vitals every two hours.”

Now that I’m waking up, I realize he’s younger than I thought. A college student, maybe? And he’s pretty cute too.

I smile at him. “It’s okay”—I look at his suit, like I’ll find a name tag—“you’re just doing your job.”

“Well, my internship, anyway,” he says, grinning. “And it’s Joey.”

I look into his eyes as he puts the thermometer in my mouth, and I think there are certainly worse places to be than here with him. The thermometer beeps, and I jump again, and he laughs again as he looks at it. “Still normal.” He makes a note on a clipboard, and he’s off. It’s silly, but I almost feel jealous that he so quickly moves on to the next passenger.

Oliver is sitting on his cot, staring at the TV. I feel a little bad for giving him such a hard time before, but I had a lot on my mind, and his anxiety was stressing me out. My mom always says I have a good bedside manner, that I could be a doctor or nurse, but there are limits to how much I can handle. “Hey,” I say softly.

“Oh, hey,” he says, playing with his phone.

I grab my phone and see it’s only 5:00 p.m. I would have been landing at LaGuardia right about now, greeted by my mom, who would be irate at the traffic, but really I’d know it was anger she had for my father. My cousin would be in the back seat asking me a bunch of super-specific questions about the planes I took, questions that I wouldn’t be able to answer, which would frustrate all of us.

Being here reminds me of the long flights I used to take visiting my dad before he married Goldy and moved to the DR, that powerful feeling of being nowhere, having to do nothing, be nobody. The three years of flights I took over summers and school breaks from New York to San Francisco were some of my most relaxing experiences. I was flying away from at least one parent, away from at least one set of emotions I didn’t want to get involved in or deal with, and I love Randy, but sometimes I just wanted a break from being the overprotective older cousin.

I decide to watch TV to take my mind off everything, and it works, because seeing people make cupcakes on TV is mesmerizing. My phone vibrates against my leg sometime during the next show, which is about some kind of bread-making competition, and it’s my mom calling. Finally! I texted her hours ago on the van from the plane to the warehouse, telling her about the quarantine and flight delay and telling her not to worry. I know I’m not really sick, but I’m still happy that the woman who gave birth to me wants to check on me.

“Hi, Mom.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you visit your father and that … that woman! I had a bad feeling about this trip all along. Maybe if your father could think about someone besides himself, he’d realize how selfish he is, how you have enough going on at home with your cousin—that you don’t need international travel thrown in. God, I can’t stand him. And her! Has she had more work done since you saw her last? I saw that Instagram picture she put up and she looks even more like a Barbie Doll than before …”

I begin to tune out, and those hot tears that started on the plane have returned. My mom prattles on and on. “I know he has all the time in the world, but my life is planned down to the second, and today is my day with Randy while Uncle Craig is at work and—”

“It’s just one day, Mom,” I interrupt, wiping at my eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

My mom sighs. “Tomorrow is no help for me today.”

“Well, I’m sorry. And quarantine is awesome, thanks for asking.”

I hang up and turn my phone off, tossing it back on my cot. Oliver must have heard everything. He catches me looking at him and blushes a little.

“You feeling better?” I ask, trying to distract us both, and before he can ask me about the conversation I just had.

He studies my face for a second before speaking. “Yeah. I guess. So far everyone here seems to be okay. That dude from our flight is in thirty-day quarantine somewhere different, but he’s the only person sick so far. His fever wasn’t even that high after all. Can you believe that?”

I don’t say anything. I look around the room, at people lounging on their cots, some reading, some watching TV. Everyone seems pretty relaxed now, and even Pillsbury is snoring on his cot. The late-afternoon light streams through the warehouse windows and casts a pretty glow across the room. I push the conversation with my mom even farther back in my brain and wiggle against my pillow. “Does this remind you of camping at all? Or do you feel like we’re on a big boat out in the middle of the ocean?” I ask.

Oliver looks confused. “No?”

I feel silly for saying it, so I change the subject. “Where in Brooklyn do you live, anyway?”

“Park Slope. You?”

“Wow, fancy-stroller capital of the world. Nice. I’m in Bay Ridge.”

Oliver looks mad for a second, then smiles. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. And my mom is a member of the co-op too.”

I like his smile.

“We’ll be back at the airport before you know it,” I say, to fill the space. For some reason I don’t totally believe myself.

He looks at me for a long time, and his smile leaves his face. “I hope you’re right,” he finally says.

Later, we get pizza for dinner. Who knew quarantine could be so tasty? One of the CDC workers checks my vitals again after I eat, and I wonder if the hot pizza will affect my temperature. I’m oddly disappointed when she says “Normal” and moves on to Oliver.

Oliver barely looks up from his phone as the cuff is placed on his arm and the thermometer is placed in his mouth. He’s been messing around with the thing all night.

The worker says “Normal,” but Oliver is so focused on his phone that he doesn’t hear her. She says “Normal” again, but he still doesn’t hear her. The worker is clearly annoyed and in a hurry, so she yanks the cuff off and pulls the thermometer out of his mouth.

Oliver looks up, startled, but the worker has already walked away. He rubs his bottom teeth. “Ouch,” he says quietly. He starts to pick up his phone again, but sees me watching him. “The service here is awful! I’m hardly getting any texts, even with Wi-Fi. Somehow my mom’s messages keep coming through.” He laughs nervously.

I want to tell him that the service isn’t the problem, but I don’t have the heart. Or the strength to help him through another panic attack. I turned my phone back on, but I’m not getting messages from anyone besides stupid Goldy, whose most recent message is a cartoon koala bear with a big bandage over its fuzzy ear. Great. Goldy is more concerned about me being in quarantine than my own mother is.

I watch TV the rest of the night, until they get turned off at ten. I doze a bit, but we all get woken up every two hours for vitals checks. Oliver is pretty groggy through the checks, but finally during one of them he rolls over to face me, and I wave at him.

He looks a little startled, but says, “Aren’t you tired?”

I ball the blanket up in my hand. “The sooner I go to sleep, the sooner I have to wake up and go home,” I say.

“Don’t you mean get to wake up and get to go home?”

I realize how bitter that sounded. “Yeah, something like that.”

He looks at me for a second, then yawns.

I can’t help asking, “What’s your hurry to get home, anyway?”

Oliver fidgets. “Oh, there was this party last night. It’s over with now, but I’m still hoping to see someone when I get back. I hope, maybe.” He looks at me sheepishly.

“Of course there’s a dumb girl,” I say to myself, but Oliver’s cot isn’t that far away from me, so he hears me.

“Good night, Flora.” He looks hurt, which just annoys me even more, and makes me feel even more terrible about everything.

Around 10:00 a.m., the workers bring us bagels. I think I hear Oliver humming as he eats his, which fills me with a rage I don’t understand. Shortly after, people are actually cleared to go back to the airport, and the passengers are joking and laughing, and I’m starting to feel a little panicked at how quickly the night went. Dread sits in my stomach like a lead weight.

Then it’s just Oliver and me. A worker stops by for our last vitals checks, but clearly the novelty of it all has worn off for her. She’s looking at the TVs, which have been switched back on and are now showing a soccer game somewhere in Europe. Before I really think about what I’m doing, I take the thermometer out of my mouth, rub it between my hands a few times, and pop it back in my mouth again.