“You look really nice” is the first thing he says to me when we find each other. I laugh because I’m wearing a mask, sunglasses, and a baseball cap. I look like the invisible woman. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” I say back.

We don’t have much to catch each other up on. We’ve still been texting regularly, so we’re up-to-date on what TV shows the other person is bingeing or what homework assignments we’re trying to muster the energy to complete over the winter break. I try not to vent to him about how hard it is to have not one but two overbearing moms breathing down my neck. Wes only has his dad and little sister. His mom died of cancer three years ago. He says the isolation has been hard, because for the last few years, they had the routine of their busy lives to keep them from dealing with her death. Now they have to figure out other ways to cope. He and his sister spend most days at their grandparents’ house because their dad is having a hard time balancing work and parenthood on his own. It’s sort of tragic that I have two moms and he has grandparents who help take care of him. We each have what the other desperately wants.

“How has it been at your grandparents’ house?” I ask him as we walk. I’m not used to spending time with him without Parisa by our sides, too. He always used to clam up when it was just the two of us, so it’s nice to see what he’s like around me when he feels comfortable enough to speak.

“It’s okay,” Wes replies. “They’re glad to have us. We remind them of our mom. But, like, that makes it even harder to avoid the grief, you know? My grandma cries a lot.”

His voice breaks a little when he says it. I suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to hug him. This is unnatural, I think. How do you make someone feel better when you can’t even reach out and touch them? It’s hard for me to know if the feelings I’ve had for Wes, the ones I’ve avoided for so long, are actually growing or if I’m just starved for human interaction in general. But walking with him right now, the width of a parking lane between us, I start to see him, us, in a different light.

“I’m so sorry,” I reply. “I’m really glad you have a good support system, though.”

He nods and forces a smile.

“Yeah, thanks.… But she was my best support system, you know?” And then he really starts to cry.