I will never talk to you again if you use that filter.

Parisa

I would also need a filter that would remove my stomach hair. I was supposed to get laser hair treatments before all this happened. FML.

Gabriela

LOL. I’m actually seriously thinking about growing out my leg and armpit hair. What’s the point of shaving if I’m never leaving the house again?

Parisa

I’m not there yet, Gabs.

Gabriela

Haha, fair. I miss you.

Parisa

I hate this. I wish I could go visit you at Katie’s tomorrow.

Gabriela

Me too. Someday. Someday everything will go back to normal. Whatever normal even means anymore.

Parisa

I’m hearing it’s gonna be at least another eight weeks of this.

Gabriela

Eight weeks? OMG. I don’t know if I can handle that.

Parisa

Neither do I. It’s been pure hell so far.

Oh, Wes really wants us to all Zoom. Like I said, I’m the bridge.

Gabriela

Oof. I don’t know. I think it’s good for him to get a little distance from me. Maybe it’ll help him move on.

Parisa

Bite your tongue. By next week, we’ll hear he’s dating Mandy Chu or something. You’ll be waiting on him and Andrew on double dates and you’ll rue the day you wanted him to forget about you.

Gabriela

Ugh, you’re right. Okay, I’m gonna try to get back to painting.

Parisa

Awesome. I’m gonna get back to beating my head against my laptop.

Gabriela

Cool cool. Have fun!

PARISA

There’s a very brief window in every girl’s life when you don’t have to worry about acne or the size of your waistline or visible cellulite. I miss those days. I used to take great joy lingering in the living room when my aunts would come over for tea to catch up and gossip with my mom. As soon as they were too busy dissecting whether one of their cousin’s marital troubles would lead to divorce, I’d sneak a sugar cube into my mouth and smile as it slowly dissolved on my tongue.

Now I drink my coffee black because I don’t want the extra calories and I’d rather spend my sugar budget on Sprinkles Cupcakes. So naturally I’m seething with jealousy as I watch Neda put four packets of raw sugar into her latte while I sip my bitter one. It’s our first meal as a family since she was finally allowed to emerge from her room, and we’ve all gathered at the breakfast nook to eat my dad’s signature dish: baked eggs with Italian sausage and off-the-vine tomatoes, fresh from our garden.