Quarantine Romance: Multicultural Romance During a Pandemic

by L. P. Guleva

  Right. I knew there was a reason I agreed to this insanity. Living on no income whatsoever sucked.

  “If we’re still here in the winter, we’ll have to do something about that roof. It’ll collapse under the snow. It probably leaks too," Matt said. "Maybe we can just sister the damaged boards and dump roofing cement on it. Not like we bought the place and need to fix it for good. A little patch will do."

  Matt grabbed the first cooler and walked to the door where a strange plastic thing hung. He punched in a code to open it and pulled out the key.

  It can’t be that bad inside. Not at all. Probably an empty shell that we can fill with used furniture from Craigslist. Dust, sure, but it can’t be as bad as the outside.

  Matt swung the door open. Or tried to. Something blocked it halfway. He put the cooler down and pushed the door with his shoulder.

  Oh, good God. We didn’t need Craigslist. We needed a dumpster. A huge one. Or two.

  I came closer to see what exactly all the trash was. The smell punched me in the nose.

  “Did something die in there?”

  “Probably the fridge.” Matt put his mask on and went inside. Brave man. “Gorgeous, how do you feel about camping?”

  “I love it. Can’t live without it. Do you have a tent?”

  Matt came outside and heaved a few deep breaths. “I do. It’s small, but we’ll fit. And I took two inflatable mattresses, just in case. Not that both are gonna fit in the tent, but I didn’t count on that.” He gestured at the house.

  “One sounds great. What are we going to do with all the food?”

  Matt looked at the still open door. “I can go back there when it airs out a little and see if the fridge is broken or just turned off.”

  “It needs to be cleaned.”

  “Yeah, I figured. Nothing a little dishwashing soap and baking soda can’t do.”

  I nodded and pulled out my phone. “I’ll look for dumpsters.”

  Only one company in the area and, of course, they already closed for the night.

  “We’ll get one tomorrow. How about kabob cooked on the open fire?” Matt asked.

  I put the phone away and took a deep breath. Just one tiny bump on the road. Nothing catastrophic.

  “Yeah. I could use some food.”

  The grass in the firepit a few feet away waved at me. At least we had a pit. Could’ve been worse.

  While Matt dug through the bags and coolers, I pulled out the weeds so they wouldn't catch fire, then gathered a few dry branches from under the giant tree growing next to the house.

  “Zamira?” Matt lifted skewers in one hand and a bag of stew meat in the other. “Do I need anything else for the kabobs?”

  “White vinegar, onions, salt, and black pepper. It should be in the yellow shopping bag.”

  Now, how would I light this thing? I glanced at the car, then back at the firepit. The engine still rumbled. Right. That should work.

  I climbed in and heated the lighter Matt miraculously hadn’t thrown out or lost. With a small flame on a page of an old notebook, I got the tiniest twigs to catch fire.

  “Gorgeous, what do I do with all this?” Matt put all the ingredients and a few plates on the beat up picnic table.

  I threw the meat into vinegar, spiced it up, and set it aside. Onions came next. Good thing a little vinegar could turn them into a culinary masterpiece. Or just made them edible.

  “We need bread and whatever else you want. Sauce or veggies.”

  By the time the fire roared in the firepit, our table had everything we needed. I even pulled out a tablecloth.

  “There you go. You can still smile. I thought you were gonna dump me here.” Matt put a few pieces of meat on a skewer.

  “I’ll count this as an adventure.”

  “I’m glad we’re having this adventure together. I wouldn’t even know how to start a fire.”

  I put the meat around the flames, too hungry to wait for it to die down. “But you have a tent?”

  “I bought it a couple of years ago and never got around to using it. My friends were gonna go camping with me upstate, but they backed out last minute.”

  The evening wind swirled the leaves left on the ground since last fall. My tank top failed to keep out the chill that sent shivers up my arms.

  Matt took a blanket out of the trunk and put it over both of us. “Can’t have my girl freeze to death on our first night together.”

  “Your girl, huh?” I cuddled up closer.

  “You don’t wanna be my girl?”

  “I didn’t say that.” I took two skewers from the fire and handed one to Matt. “Every time I think I figured out how dating in the US works, someone proves me wrong.”

  He sighed. “You’re not wrong. I jumped the gun. This just feels bigger than if we were fooling around. I don’t know how to explain it without freaking you out.”

  “I don’t freak out easy.”

  “Bullshit.” He chuckled and took a lung full of the aroma. “This smells like heaven.”

  “It’s because of the vinegar. Stop trying to change the topic. What’s supposed to freak me out?”

  He chewed the first piece so thoroughly it must’ve digested in his mouth. “You feel right. Every time I feel like my life is spiraling out of control, I talk to you and…” He shrugged. “The world seems right again.”

  “I’m not doing anything special.”

  Did I feel the same way about him? Physical attraction definitely here and accounted for. We always had fun together.

  “I guess it does feel more stable,” I said. “Girlfriend and boyfriend status, I mean. It’s nice to have some well-defined lines.” Especially considering the way the world had turned upside down this year.

  Chapter 10

  Matt

  CRAP. SHE’S STILL ASLEEP, right? I moved back a few inches before Zamira noticed the boner trying to rip out of my pants.

  The air mattress under us groaned, shifted, and made Zamira roll closer to me. If I lie down on my back, my spinal cord would pop out and make a run for it. But I couldn’t have Zamira’s ass press up against my crotch either. Laying cock down wasn’t an option. That left two choices, turning away or getting up. Neither one of them appealed to me.

  Careful not to wake Zamira up, I climbed off the mattress and out of the tent. A shower would’ve been nice, especially a cold one, but there was no way in hell I would stick my nose in that bathroom.

  With a gallon of distilled water I had been lucky to find on the way here, I brushed my teeth and made oatmeal. Bacon and eggs were a thing of the past. Stuff of myths and legends.

  Zamira’s instant coffee didn’t kill me. It also didn’t make me stronger. The house still loomed in front of me like a great dragon that wanted to slay me and make my princess run away in disgust.

  I looked up the number for the dumpster company and got the biggest container I could. They promised to get it here in two hours.

  With a box of garbage bags in one hand and gloves in the other, I faced the opened door. No guts, no glory.

  The trash can-sized mold colony didn’t fit in the regular kitchen bag, so I put it outside. The fridge proved to be mostly empty. Whatever had caused the smell had turned into a gelatinous mass on the bottom. I scrubbed it as best I could, but the aroma of death persisted.

  The air turned thick and lethal, like a purple cloud in a cartoon. It floated around me and formed tiny fists that punched me in the nose from every direction.

  “Have you tried dumping baking soda on it?”

  I jumped. And smashed my head into the middle shelf of the fridge.

  “Sorry,” Zamira said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Not your fault. A stinky anthropomorphic cloud is distracting.”

  “A what?” Zamira gave me a box of soda.

  “I was imagining how I could animate this smell. My brain is a dumpster fire.”

  “I’m sure it’s not. You’re an artist.” She pushed me aside and pulled out the glass
shelf. “The fridge is easier to clean if you take everything out.”

  She took it to the sink, then groaned and went to the bathroom instead. The second mushroom colony occupied the stained steel basin.

  The rumbling outside announced the arrival of the dumpster. I came out to greet them and asked to put the giant container as close to the house as possible.

  By the time they left, my stomach grumbled for more of yesterday’s kebab. This mess needed to clean itself. Or a whole bunch of birds and squirrels needed to run in and sanitize the house to the happy, fairytale tune from Zamira.

  “Are they gone?” Zamira peeked out from the back door. “Oh. Good.” She came out with two bags of clinking garbage.

  “Are those dishes?”

  “Yes. I emptied the kitchen sink. We brought our own dishes, so I’m refusing to wash these.”

  “Wanna take a break from cleaning?”

  “I just started.”

  I took the bags from her and tossed them into the dumpster. “Yeah, but I’ve been at it for a couple of hours, and I’m starving. If I cook, it’s gonna be ramen.”

  “I’ll cook.” She went to the firepit, loaded it up with twigs, and lit them up.

  The flames didn’t play with shadows on her face the way they had last night. The crumpled up dress hiked up half an inch higher on one side. I came closer, turned her face to me, and gave her a proper good morning kiss.

  “You look even better fresh out of bed than I thought.”

  She groaned and pushed me away. “I can’t take a shower until we clean it. There’s a pink residue all over the bathtub. And I didn’t have time for makeup. And I didn’t know when the dumpster guys were supposed to show up, so I didn’t want to change in the tent.”

  “You look gorgeous.”

  She gave me a side eye before returning her attention to the food. Which was ramen noodles.

  “You want me to do this?”

  Zamira shook her head. “I don’t trust you not to ruin it.”

  “I’m not that bad of a cook.”

  She smirked, then put ground chicken and frozen, chopped carrots in the pot. Spices. One egg. Two packets of noodles.

  “Okay, you win. I’m the worst cook this world has ever seen.”

  “I doubt it.” She handed me a bowl of chicken noodle soup. “Do you think it’ll be safe to sleep in the bedroom tonight?”

  “I don’t know. I feel like all that mold is gonna kill us if we don’t kill it first. I wouldn’t wanna take chances.”

  “You’re just saying that because you want to press up against my butt for a couple more nights.”

  Busted. “That’s not how it happened. Your butt wanted to press up against me.”

  “I’m glad I came here with you,” she said. “I know the house is a disaster, but we can clean it and fix it a little. I hate cities.”

  “Too crowded?”

  “Crowded, loud, stinky. And my neighbors were awful. Besides, I haven’t sat by the open fire since I came to the States.” Her eyes clouded as she stared at the flames.

  “You miss home?”

  “Just my parents and friends.” She paused. “The people out here are different. I used to be more trusting. Not saying everyone is perfect in Uzbekistan, but you know what to expect.”

  “Because you know everyone in your town?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe it’s just the culture. We don’t smile unless we’re actually happy, for example.”

  I put my empty bowl down, turned Zamira’s face and gave her another kiss. “I really do think you look gorgeous with and without makeup.”

  She let out a nervous chuckle. “I didn’t mean that. Let’s finish cleaning, so we can at least put the food away. It won’t last in the coolers.”

  She smoothed her dress as she got up and headed to the house. Her steps didn’t look the same, as if she was too conscious of them.

  Chapter 11

  Zamira

  ANOTHER NIGHT IN THE TENT seemed inevitable. Probably longer, judging by how long it took us to scrub the kitchen.

  At least we now had a functional fridge, sink, and dinner table. All the food we had brought sat on the shelves. Small victories.

  “I guess I’ll clean the bathroom,” Matt said. “Can you make dinner or should we order something?”

  “I’ll cook. The whole point of coming here was to save money, right?”

  “You’re the best.” He gave me a brief kiss and dragged the mop and the broom to the bathroom.

  What could I make? I looked through our supplies. Ground turkey. Ground chicken. Ground beef. Whatever happened to the meat industry? Why didn’t anyone sell something I could chew?

  At least the fresh veggies didn’t disappoint, but I only had one box of pasta and no tomatoes. Oh well. Mashed potatoes would have to do.

  My phone chimed with a notification. Discord.

  TomG: @MattA @Zamira did you get there alright?

  Should I answer or let Matt do it for both of us? It was his friend. Before I could reply, another message popped up.

  MattA: Yeah, we made it. The place is trashed.

  TomG: At that price, I’d clean it with a toothbrush.

  MattA: Luckily, Zamira had cleaning supplies, so no toothbrush was harmed during the cleaning of this house.

  TomG: Where did she get cleaning supplies? I can’t even find a new mop head. Had to buy a whole new mop instead, but it fell apart after the first day.

  MattA: Must’ve had some from before the apocalypse.

  LaurieBell: Hi @MattA. I miss you so much. Wanna have dinner? I can make your favorite lasagna with zucchini.

  The green light next to Matt’s name turned gray. Did he see the invitation? She tagged him, so he had to know she was talking to him.

  Damn it, she was asking my Matt out. Either they really were dating, and I was the biggest idiot this world had ever seen, or… why wouldn’t she know that Matt had left New York with me? Maybe she was as much of an idiot as I was. One way to find out.

  Zamira: @LaurieBell, are you in Ohio? Because that’s where Matt and I are. Not far from Cleveland.

  She started typing. Stopped. Started again, then logged off.

  I shouldn’t have done this. Should I? Now I looked like some psycho fighting over a guy who might be two-timing us. But wouldn’t she tell me something? At least in private.

  Oh, hell, I needed to start cooking. Potatoes can’t peel themselves.

  Laurie had definitely meant my Matt when she had talked about her… what did she call him? Teddy bear? Must’ve been something ridiculous like that.

  I turned my phone back on, opened Discord, and looked at the tiny icon with her picture. Pretty, if you were into girls with sharp, pointed features that made them look like witches. Her nose was huge.

  Matt wouldn’t date her. Would he?

  Damn it. The girl must still be in New York. I was here, with him. I was the one making him dinner. Not his favorite lasagna with zucchini, but whatever.

  “Hey, gorgeous.” Matt hugged me from behind and kissed my shoulder. “I’m not done in there, but the shower is usable. What bag did you put your shampoo and whatnot in? I’ll get it ready for you.”

  “The medium size pocket on the front of the luggage bag.”

  He gave me another kiss and went to the car. Like nothing happened. Like some ugly blonde bitch didn’t invite him to dinner.

  I mashed the potatoes as thoroughly as I could. The ground turkey and the onions frying over a low flame smelled great. Better than some crappy lasagna.

  “Damn, gorgeous, you’re good.” He inhaled the aroma.

  He thought I was gorgeous. Nothing to obsess over. Unless he called me that so he wouldn’t accidentally call me by the wrong name.

  “Who’s Laurie?”

  Matt took the heaping plate to the table. “My ex.” He tasted the first forkful. “This is awesome.”

  “I wanted to make pasta with turkey, but I couldn’t find the tomato sauce.”
>
  “Good. The acidity in the tomatoes sometimes messes with my stomach.” He smirked and kissed my hand. “And I hate lasagna. Always get heartburn from it.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “Don’t pay attention to Lauren. She’s nuts.”

  Good. I had no way to get out of here if things turned sour.

  “Did you make any progress on Master and Margarita?” I asked.

  “I tried.” He gave me a guilty look. “Those names are confusing the hell out of me.”

  I nodded. “You won’t be able to figure them out without half a liter.”

  “Half a liter of what?”

  “Vodka. That’s the standard size for Russian vodka bottles.”

  “I don’t think getting wasted will help.”

  I put two cups of coffee and a plate of cookies on the table. A little extra energy was in order. “See, this is why no one understands us. You just don’t drink enough.”

  “Us? I thought you’re Uzbek.”

  “Kyrgyz. I grew up in Uzbekistan, but my parents are from Kyrgyzstan.”

  He arched an eyebrow at me, providing my point. If he drank a bottle or two before this conversation, he never would’ve questioned anything I said.

  “How about we go for a walk after dinner? You can try to explain Russian names to me, and I can breathe something other than bleach. Scrubbing the toilet sucks.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  We finished our food and cleaned up together. Matt did the dishes while I put away the leftovers. By the time we came outside, the day had cooled down enough not to want an AC.

  “So, if you don’t like lasagna, what’s your favorite dish?” I asked.

  “My mom makes good pork roasts with baked potatoes. And my dad’s ribs. He tried showing me how he prepares the meat, but it never stuck. There’re all these sauces and brown sugar, for some reason. Your kabob might be better, though. I would need to have it again just to make sure.”

  I laughed. “Nice trick. I have no problem making it again, but all we have is ground meat.”

  “It’s the meat processors. I think a couple of them had an outbreak in their facilities, so the meat supply is all screwed up.” Matt put his hand on my waist and moved closer, walking hip to hip with me. “What’s your favorite?”