The part I like best is the after part. Wes and I are quietly lying in my sofa bed, holding each other and not really saying much. I’m happy we went through with it, but I was an idiot to convince myself it wouldn’t make saying goodbye even more excruciating. We spoon for almost an hour, and Wes promises me that he’ll come back no matter what.

“Even if my dad and sister stay in New York, I’m coming back for you. I can live with my grandparents. And by then, there will be a vaccine and we’ll get to go on real dates.”

I grin at the thought of us doing normal couple things like going out to dinner or to the movies, knowing that the only part of us that’s contagious is our happiness.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“I should probably go. I haven’t even started packing yet, and your moms will be home soon.”

“Yeah, of course,” I manage to say, but as I watch Wes get dressed, my stomach turns into an impossible knot of Christmas lights, tangled up and glowing at the same time. I remember hearing someone somewhere say that grief is love inside out, and that’s exactly what this feels like. We kiss goodbye over and over again while the Cure sings: I’ve waited hours for this. I’ve made myself so sick. I already know wherever I am and however many years have passed, I will always think of Wes when I hear this song. I can feel him reluctantly pulling away from me, and I finally let him.

“I haven’t felt this happy since before I lost my mom,” Wes says. “Thank you.”

“She raised the most wonderful human,” I tell him, on the verge of tears.

I open the door and we both say “I love you” again and kiss one last time. The moment he’s gone, I grab a painting I’ve started of my grandmother and let my tears fall freely on its canvas. It might seem silly, but I want this pain recorded in my work, and it feels appropriate to let them land on the image of a person who’s caused me so much anguish. I cry for everything I’ve gained this year, everything I’ve lost, and everything I’ve had to live without. The extremes are too overwhelming. I let myself sulk for a few more minutes, and then I decide that the only person who will understand what I’m feeling is Parisa. I FaceTime her, but she doesn’t answer.