Future Darkly: Pandemic - Laura's Delivery

Laura’s stretched out on the couch, yoga outfit doing nothing, eyes glued to Trudy’s sunny voice on the laptop. Six months inside down the drain since Michael got sick. Her phone buzzes: ‘Can you please help?’ from him. She stares at the screen and feels the air leave her lungs. In the bathroom she peels off the leggings, straps into gloves, gown, mask, shield—full armor. Deep breath. Door opens. A minute later she’s out again, tray in hand, leaning on the wall, staring at leftover food like it insulted her. Another breath. Kitchen. Plates rinsed, gear off. Outside a truck door slams. She kills the tap, turns, and there he is—the delivery guy—walking up masked, but smiling anyway. She watches from the window, heart kicking. Next day she’s in a thin robe, ready to flash a little more leg, a little more grin. Phone buzzes again—Michael needs water—but before she can curse, the guy’s back, drops boxes, walks off. Then he jogs back with a single flower, sets it on top, and Laura’s robe is open before she even thinks. She steps outside, lingerie showing, and his eyes go wide. ‘You’re very beautiful,’ he says. ‘So are you,’ she answers, then panics, hand to her face. He asks if she’s alone, she nods. Says he’d love a date when the world opens. She nods again. Steps closer. ‘Essential workers get tested every day,’ he murmurs, pulls the mask down, grins. ‘I’m negative. You’ve been solo this whole time—so are you.’ He takes her gloved hand away. They breathe the same air. He asks if they can skip the waiting. She kisses him hard, body lighting up for the first time in months. ‘May I come inside?’ he asks. She freezes, thinks of Michael, says ‘wait one minute,’ and slams the door.