My Funny Quarantine

by Rachel Abugov

Mike looked at the tower. It looked like it had been assembled perfectly, at least according to the diagram.

  “I can’t believe you did this on your own, Freddie,” said Mike. “I would have done it.”

  “I like doing things with my hands,” said Freddie. “That’s why I love sewing so much. When I was a kid, I used to go with my grandfather to the factory and watch them make jeans. That’s where the sewing machine came from. Old as dirt, but it runs like a dream. I thought making masks would be a good idea since I have a ton of fabric. Bolts and bolts of the stuff, and it all has to be cleared out before we can put the house on the market. Can you imagine the possibilities? There’s a ton of men’s suiting, lots of dark and light denim, maybe even some acid-wash, chambray and gold brocade. That’ll be haute couture, I suppose. I ordered tons of cotton for the backing and that should be here in a week’s time.”

  Faced with this level of enthusiasm, Mike was speechless. “How did you put this together so quickly? The idea, I mean.”

  Freddie looked at Mike with astonishment. “You’ve never had to adapt to changing circumstances? That doesn’t sound right. You were very quick to invite me to stay with you.”

  Ah, yes. There it was. The proverbial elephant in the room. Objectively, this had been the worst date Mike had ever been on. Freddie was annoying as hell, from her exaggerated vocal fry to the way she refused to eat gluten on principle, as if it was, oh, let’s say, carrying a pandemic-causing virus. The only thing he could come up with was that Freddie was on a quest to dumb herself down. There was only one type of person who ever did that.

  “Did you ever have your IQ tested?” Mike wasn’t usually a blurter, but his firmly positioned filter had clearly slipped.

  “I guess. When I was a kid.” Freddie shrugged and went back to her sketching. “What do you think goes better with gingham? Ruching or smocking?”

  “I have no clue what any of that means,” confessed Mike. “Not my area of expertise.” But from his actual area of expertise, he was beginning to figure out what made Freddie tick. If his hypothesis was accurate, and he was willing to bet a week’s pay that it was, she was trying to cover something up by acting so shallow and superficial. Like, maybe a genius IQ.

  “Hey! You know what would be fun,” he said with enthusiasm. “We can take IQ tests now.”

  “Or we could continue doing something else,” replied Freddie. “Like this – the suit jacket opens up to reveal a white shirt and you can insert the filter underneath. Isn’t that cute? If pleather was washable, I could do a motorcycle jacket. Oh, well.” She frowned and went back to sketching.

  “Let me know when it’s five-fifteen,” she said. “We have a Zoom call scheduled with The Grannies at five-thirty, and I want to be organized. We’re ordering them Chinese again, by the way. They like routine.”

  “So do I,” said Mike, who’d had very little of his routine preserved. No in-person teaching, no privacy, no bed. Just a forest’s worth of cardboard boxes needing to be recycled, and a houseguest who’d succeeded in upending everything. Scratch that – part of the credit had to be given to the pandemic. Under ordinary circumstances, Mike would have ditched Freddie after their disastrous date, moved on to someone much more suitable, and kept on keepin’ on, same as it ever was.

  That would have been cool. So very cool.

  Except that it wouldn’t have been. Not if Mike was being truthful with himself. Before the quarantine, he’d often joked that if they were to write a book about his life, it’d be called “Fifty Shades of Beige”. Whatever his life was now, it certainly wasn’t beige. It was dizzyingly kaleidoscopic, filled with new terms like “ruching” and “crewel”, which was a form of embroidery and not something that Elvis sang not to be. Jamily had bit the dust, Nana was showing so much fortitude that her picture should have been on the five-dollar bills, and Mike had intentionally ordered a beet burger. What the actual…

  Chapter 11

  Mike was falling for Freddie. Even he acknowledged it. Under normal circumstances, this would have been impossible. Despite what the Grannies said, there was no way this so-called “relationship” could ever last. And relationships were supposed to last. That was the rule.

  Freddie contemplated her sketch pad, clicking the cap of her pen again and again and again. This was one of the things she did to relax. But how could she relax under the circumstances? Her life was about to take a major pivot. Either she was going to let Mike know that she was starting to develop feelings for him or she was going to start a hugely successful business. Or maybe both. It was too soon to tell. Normally, this would have been an exciting proposition, but there was nothing normal about, well, anything.

  Mike was 360 degrees different from anyone she’d ever been involved with. No, wait. Three hundred and sixty degrees was a full circle. He’d have to be 180 degrees different. Numbers were important, especially when you were running a business. Pennies counted. Even fractions of pennies were important. She’d learned that from her grandparents, then her parents, and finally from the Caplanskys, who were masters at turning loose change into a fortune just by slapping their name on something and then making everyone want – no, crave – that exact thing. It was miraculous how influencers influenced. And Mike was an influencer at heart. He’d gotten his students to keep up with their studies, not the easiest thing to do when they were hospitalized. But even more so, he’d led by example with his love of learning, which kindled something within his students and made them want to fight a little harder to return to normal.

  Freddie had been thinking a lot about the Old Days versus the New Normal. If masks were going to become part of everyday attire, there would be a lasting market for facial garments that were on trend and attractive. Nothing was as wonderful as seeing someone smile at you, but if your mouth was covered, you’d have to smile with your eyes and wear a mask that reflected your mood. (Also, lipstick sales would probably plummet.)

  Smiling was the best, though. Mike smiled with his whole face. He had smile lines around his eyes that crinkled whenever one of his students chimed in with an answer, or even when he drank a non-sucky cup of coffee. He smiled when he looked at the Tomato Tower, he smiled when they unpacked the dinner order, and he even smiled when he was reading a book about history. Freddie didn’t know why he was so happy reading about guillotines and revolutions. There was a lot about Mike that was an enigma.

  Today, Mike was wearing jeans, as usual. He had on a band t-shirt, as usual. Today’s band was Deville, who Freddie only knew because their guitarist was friends with Deandre, Kendra Caplansky’s musician husband. And he was wearing a flannel shirt over everything, in a blue plaid. He seemed to have a drawer full of the same type of socks, probably purchased in bulk, and he had a collection of sneakers. Not the expensive and trendy kind that the Caplanskys endorsed. These were functional shoes, scuffed and worn, but obviously comfortable. He even had a collection of baseball caps, mostly Montreal Expos.

  Freddie knew every detail of Mike’s wardrobe, partly because he tended to wear the same thing, but mainly because she couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him. Without being skeezy about it, she was beginning to find Mike attractive. He was not her type at all. She’d be willing to bet that Mike only wore suits to weddings and funerals, or maybe if he had an appointment at the bank on Mortgage Renewal Day. There was nothing flashy about him. He didn’t wear any jewelry. His car was probably chosen because it got good mileage. There was no top-shelf alcohol in the house, just a six-pack of craft beer that he didn’t seem interested in drinking. His only vice was books. Shelves and shelves of them. Shelves that could have been used to display pretty things, like designer masks. Maybe she could convince Mike to move the books so she could stage a display of her products.

  Nah. By that time, she’d be installed at Bubbie’s, spending her time knee-deep in fabric and packaging, pulling order sheets from the printer and bustling to the post office with neatly-wrapped packages destined for shipment to the four corners of the
Earth. She’d be so proud. Her family would be so proud. Mike would be so –

  “Hey. Freddie. Five-minute warning.” Mike had brought her a cup of matcha tea and was motioning for her to join him on the couch so they could both be onscreen. No point in using two screens, when the servers were probably overloading from all the unexpected traffic. Right?

  Freddie sat down next to Mike and fluffed her hair. Their image appeared on screen and she grimaced. “Eww,” she said, looking down. “Oh. Geez. My roots are hideous! I shouldn’t be facing the world like this.”

  “Whoa. That’s crazy talk. I think you’re beautiful,” said Mike, immediately wishing he could press Rewind and take back the last part of what he’d said. What the hell was it with his recent onset of blurting?

  “But look at me…” Freddie’s voice trailed off. Only one person had ever called her beautiful without having an agenda, and there she was on screen, resplendent in a violet-patterned blouse and matching cardigan sweater, her World’s Greatest Grandma mug at hand. She was probably drinking Red Rose tea, with two packets of the yellow-enveloped artificial sweetener and a squeeze of juice from the plastic lemon she kept in her fridge.

  “Hi, Bubbie!” Freddie waved at the image on screen. Nana Frances was trying to connect but kept bouncing out. Freddie tapped Mike on his thigh then pointed to his phone. In a stage whisper, she said, “Call her. Maybe she needs some troubleshooting.”

  “No, I think she’s okay.” Mike whispered back. It was a surprisingly intimate moment, and it did not go unnoticed by Rose and Frances.

  “So. How are you two doing? Anything we should know?” Clearly, Bubbie Rose had years of experience putting other people under the microscope.

  Freddie blushed. So did Mike, at least a little.

  “Yeah. We’ve gotten this far and we haven’t killed each other,” said Mike after weighing his words for a few seconds.

  “It’s a triumph of the human spirit,” said Freddie with a giggle. “How about the two of you?” She sat forward, waiting for what she hoped would be a positive response.

  “I spoke with your parents today,” began Rose. “They’re stuck on the ship until they can find a port that will take them, but they were upgraded to a room with a balcony, so they are enjoying the view.”

  “Sounds fun,” said Mike. It didn’t sound like fun at all, being rejected by city after city because they may have been a hot spot. He’d seen how many people on the ship had been symptomatic, both staff and crew. So had Freddie, although she’d reserved comment. Actually, that wasn’t quite true. She’d shut down totally and left for the bathroom, for another spate of flushing. Mike realized that this was Crying Time and had decided to say nothing.

  “But they feel fine, both of them,” said Rose reassuringly.

  “Good,” said Freddie. “I keep trying to call them but I can’t get through. But, yeah. Things are going well. Next week at this time, I’ll be at your place and I’ll be sewing my little heart out making masks. I have a few designs, and once I have the prototypes, they’ll go up on my website and I’ll wait for the dollars to start rolling in. And I’m gonna pay you rent until the place is sold.”

  “No, Freydaleh. I won’t take a penny from you,” insisted Rose. “You’re doing me a favor by using up all that material. If it ended up in a landfill, it would be a shandah. Maybe you can donate to a good cause instead.”

  “Are you sure?” Freddie brightened and a smile lit up her face.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Listen to her,” urged Mike. “She’s a very insistent person. And the apple did not fall far from the tree.” Mike and Freddie exchanged smiles. Again.

  “Kids, if there’s something we should know…”

  “There is, Nana. What you should know is that according to the app, your dinner will be here in five minutes. So if you have something to say, you better say it now.”

  “Nothing,” said Frances with a sly smile. “Everything’s fine. Just remember that we’re doing karaoke in a few days.”

  Why they needed a reminder about karaoke was a mystery. Freddie and Mike shrugged it. They were probably starved for fun activities, and this had the potential of being fun.

  Freddie’s idea of fun had shifted. Karaoke was cool, but it took valuable minutes away from the business. She had purchased her website and business name, Mask Arrayed. It was a cute-ish pun, but the masks were more than just cute fashion accessories. For each mask sold, Freddie was going to donate a more functional (read: less fashionable) mask to a health care centre, where they could be worn by people who didn’t need PPE, preserving medical equipment for the people who needed them.

  Freddie’s time was spent sketching, number-crunching, and calling Bubbie Rose to make sure that she had everything she’d need once she moved in. She barely looked up from her notepad, even when the Prime Minister addressed the population. Once, she commented, “I’m going to send Justin a few masks. Maybe he’ll wear them on camera. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

  “I guess,” said Mike. Finally, he had the chance to crack the spine on one of the books he’d bought on that fateful first date with Freddie. Technically, weren’t they still on their first date? They hadn’t said goodbye and they were still hanging out together, if that’s what you’d call it. They might even be setting some kind of record, he thought, right before delving into Bob Woodward’s latest tome.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon in companionable silence, except for the fact that Freddie tended to talk to herself. It would have annoyed Mike under ordinary circumstances, but lately he’d been finding Freddie a lot less annoying. Maybe he was used to seeing her commandeering his space for her yoga routines. Maybe he really liked watching her in yoga mode. She was more serene, more focused, and the skin-tight athleisurewear was not the worst thing she could be wearing. Without the warpaint, she was incredibly attractive, which was shorthand for “Dammit. I’m attracted to Freddie”.

  Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have been a problem. The actual problem was that Mike couldn’t make a move without risking falling into slimeball territory. He had done a deep dive into the Weasel Incident, and he’d concluded that Freddie’s type was “toxic”. If he did anything that would be remotely like that, he’d be falling into the trap of toxicity, which was relationship quicksand. He wasn’t The Big Hurt, and he didn’t want to be The Big Jerk.

  Freddie kept glancing at Mike, engrossed in his book. It had a one-word title, “Fear”. That pretty well described where she was at. Freddie was afraid of failing at the mask venture, and yet she was also afraid of too much success. Running a one-person operation sounded really good in theory, but there were limits to what one person could realistically accomplish. She needed several extra pairs of hands.

  Once her parents were back from the cruise and their quarantine was over, maybe they could be pressed into service. Dad knew everything about the schmatta business and Mom had been an expert home sewer. At one point, she’d started making quilts for her friends’ grandkids, and yes, there was always a wistful comment or six about how one day she hoped to be making a quilt for Freddie’s little one. She’d compromised and made Freddie a quilted tote bag, with a strap to hold her yoga mat. Freddie had wanted her mother to open an Etsy shop, but she said that it would turn something she loved to do into something she had to do, and that wasn’t okay.

  “What’s the book about, Mike? It looks like a real page-turner.”

  “Politics,” he said. “Not what you’d call an easy read, but it makes you think.” He adjusted his reading glasses, then he changed his mind, slipped them off and stuck them in the pocket of his flannel shirt. “Wanna take a break? You’re working awfully hard.”

  “I can spare five minutes, I guess. It’s nice to have something to focus on,” Freddie sighed. “With the stories about what’s going on in the nursing homes – “

  “Whoa. Freddie. It’s not the same at all,” said Mike. Freddie sat down next to him on the couch and used her pencil to secure he
r hair into a messy bun.

  “The King Solomon is assisted living, not a nursing home. There haven’t been any cases there, and they made a point of letting us know that every precaution was being taken. So don’t worry. The Grannies will be fine.”

  “Actually, I’m not so sure about that,” said Freddie. Her lip was starting to tremble. Oh, no. Mike knew that this was the trigger for a crying session in the bathroom, punctuated by numerous flushes. “What do you think we should do?”

  “We should monitor the situation closely? I know that the food sucks and the only reason Nana moved in was because she didn’t have any family support. Rose is in a much better situation. She has your parents, when they’re able to help her take care of herself. Which will be soon,” he added reassuringly. “Very, very soon.”

  “Oh, Mike! You know exactly what to say. You’re the best,” said Freddie, leaping forward and wrapping her arms around Mike. It was the first time they’d embraced, and as Freddie’s brown eyes locked onto Mike’s green-eyed gaze, she knew exactly what she wanted to do.

  She kissed him, lightly. It was an invitation for more, and Mike was never one to turn down an invitation. He kissed Freddie back, and the sound of Fear tumbling to the ground only partially masked the little sigh of happiness that Freddie gave.

  Chapter 12

  “Are you gonna do Springsteen at karaoke,” asked Freddie several hours later.

  “Why? Are you a fan of The Boss?” Mike ran his fingers through his hair, still damp from the shower.

  “Not really. It’s just the way you look in those jeans reminds me of that album cover.” Freddie blushed, then returned to examining her cuticles. “These nails have to go,” she muttered. “I think I have everything I need. Where’s the tin foil? I’ll need a lot.”

  “Are you making us matching tin foil hats?” Mike went to the hall closet and retrieved a three-pack of foil that he’d bought at Costco because it was a good deal.