“Negative,” I announce.

“Okay. I’ll pick you up at three…”

These days, my mom only has the same tone every time she speaks: worry, concern, trepidation. It feels like every sentence she utters ends with ellipses. I can tell she wants to say more but that she’s weighing whether it’s worth the reaction it’ll garner. Usually, I try to escape the car before she can decide whether to finish her thought. My parents think it’s their job to prepare me for the very real possibility that my best friend could die—as though it hasn’t crossed my mind. As though I haven’t lost sleep every night since Elena texted me that Gabs was in the hospital. I’ve made promises every night to a God I barely even believe in to spare my best friend. In return, I’ll do just about anything, including not seeing her until it’s absolutely safe for the both of us. I guess that’s what people call the bargaining stage of grief.

“See you at three,” I say to my mom as I hurry out of the car.

The door to the apartment is unlocked, and I let myself in. Julia sits at the dining room table and stares off into space. The news plays on the TV, and a series of talking heads discuss the efficacy of the latest vaccine. In the kitchen, Elena scoops avocados into a bowl, but her hands tremble in the process. I enter quietly, grab a knife and a cutting board, and start chopping a red onion next to her.

“Any word from her doctors this morning?” I ask.

Elena shakes her head. “But I got a text from Gabriela. She said her fever’s still down.”

“I got the same text. That’s good news, right?”

Elena nods. I’m not sure if Julia hears us, but she doesn’t join the conversation. She’s been quiet the last few days. None of us likes being in the apartment without Gabriela. We would never say it out loud, but it’s a terrifying preview of what the world may look like if she doesn’t make it. Every morning, we wake up and check our phones for signs of life. A text to tell us she’s still breathing and that we can worry a little less. After I respond to her text, I immediately check on Wes. I haven’t told Gabs, but he’s been a wreck since she got sick.

“I thought after my mom died that I’d never want to step foot in another hospital again,” he told me. “But now all I want to do is be there sitting next to her.”