This, I think, is the cruelest part of this sickness. The isolation, the time spent cordoned off from your loved ones when you need them most, the inability to fight for your life with other people at your side, rooting you on. A text message will never take the place of a human being. I wonder how many people have died of this disease, and how many people have died from the sheer fear and loneliness it brought on.

The rest of the day moves relatively quickly. I help Elena and Julia load the car, and they agree to be in touch if they get any updates from the hospital. It’s tough to watch them keep their noses to the grindstone when we all know earning a paycheck was probably what got Gabriela sick in the first place, but Elena says it’s good for them to stay busy. My parents wanted to offer financial help, but I was worried Gab’s moms would be insulted and they would push me away in the process. I’m not ready to give up coming here, to be trapped in my own house again. Nothing at home feels like it did at the beginning of the pandemic. I can’t look my sister in the eye ever since I kissed her boyfriend. Or ever since he kissed me. Whatever you want to call it, I know I was complicit. So instead, with Gab’s blessing, I created a GoFundMe page to help pay for what’s likely to be an astronomical hospital bill. So far, we’ve raised ten thousand dollars and counting.

After Julia and Elena head to the park, I go back upstairs to the apartment and tidy up. Gabs’s portion of the living room has remained untouched since she went to the hospital. I grab a rag to dust off her desk and computer, and my gaze lands on the old photograph of her grandmother that Gabs has taped to a laminated map of Mexico. Abuela Reina. Julia’s mom. Reina Gonzales from East Palo Alto. The same house we’d drive to on those aimless days after school.

The sound of a car horn yanks me out of the memory. My dad is here to pick me up.

When I get into his car, I immediately plug Gabs’s grandmother’s address into the GPS and announce that we’re taking a detour.

“Where’s it taking us to, Parisa?” my dad asks.

“To Gabriela’s grandparents’ house. I want to tell them that they have a granddaughter and that she’s sick.”

“Honey, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“No,” I admit. “But I think Gabs would want this.”