I look down at my food: scrambled eggs without my usual side of bacon. No one in our family is literally bringing home the bacon, because breakfast meat is a luxury we can no longer afford. Most mornings, regardless of what’s on my plate, I try to eat quickly, so I can minimize the time with my moms, but today, I’ve just been moving the food around on my plate. Andrew doesn’t get to eat anymore. I’m suddenly hit with a memory of him sitting across from me, eating shrimp tacos, while Parisa scratched at her throat and swore it was closing up. He smiled at me and subtly shook his head in a way that acknowledged she was just fine.

“I guess I’m not hungry,” I say.

Julia lets out a frustrated sigh. The woman could win a gold medal in the sport of the passive-aggressive exhale.

“You have to talk to us if you want to get through this, chiquita,” she says.

What a ridiculous piece of advice, I think to myself. As though talking to my moms will somehow make everything okay. But for once, maybe just to prove they don’t want to hear what I have to say, I decide to indulge her.

“You want me to talk? Well, Mom. Where should I start? I’m lonely and sad and scared this pandemic will never end. I’m heartbroken that Andrew is gone, and I know I should just be grateful that I’m healthy and alive, but instead, I’m feeling sorry for myself. I’m confused because I’m falling in love with Wes Bowen, who’s been my boyfriend for like months now—which is silly, because what even is dating in quarantine? Is what we’re feeling real or just a side effect of this god-awful pandemic? Oh, and also—every time I close my eyes, I can’t get the image of Andrew’s grandparents crying about him at his memorial out of my head. If I die, my grandparents wouldn’t cry because they don’t even know I exist. There, I talked. Are you guys happy?”

I take a giant bite of my eggs for dramatic effect and chew defiantly while I wait for a response. Julia and Elena look at each other, trying to silently communicate who should speak up first.

“Wes Bowen? So… what you’re trying to tell us is that you’re not gay?” Elena says, completely deadpan. “Well, Gabriela. I have never been more disappointed in you.”