"What should I do?" Jessie says, clutching her phone with both hands like the device wants to fly away.

  This doesn’t sound right. I sit slowly on the bed, my knees protesting, head slightly pounding.

  "So, recap— Dean's cousin is asking for money because they are having money problems, and Dean doesn't wanna ask anyone for help?"

  "Yeah, she says she doesn't know who else to talk to, and I happened to text her, so…"

  "Isn't his family like, rich?" I squint at her.

  "Yeah, but maybe Dean doesn't want to tell his family?"

  "Does this sound a bit weird to you?"

  "Extremely…" She goes silent, like reviewing her thoughts. "It's true Dean wouldn't ask us for money though. Even if he needed it."

  "On that I agree... But, do you think we should give her money? We are about to get the Vain payment. Maybe if I ask for an advance—"

  Jessie's eyes light up. "And then we just split it with him. He gets what he needs, and we don't have to make it weird."

  "Right. He doesn't have to explain anything if he doesn't want to." I’m looking for my phone. Under the pillows, in between the blankets. "What time is it? I can do that right now."

  "It's almost five."

  Finally find it inside the pocket of my pillowcase: three missing calls, five unread messages.

  Daniel:‘I'm with Paul at Sunset. Do you need me?

  Daniel: Babe?

  Daniel: How are you feeling?

  Daniel: Do you need something from the pharmacy?

  Daniel: I'm on my way.'

  The last text is from twenty minutes ago. He must be close.

  I open my email, compose — I read out loud as I type —

  "What do you think?" I ask Jessie, suddenly unsure if this would make us look bad.

  "I think it makes sense. Many studios ask for an advance payment to start the project."

  "You are right, let's see what happens." Send.

  We hear the front door closing, and following Daniel's voice, "Babe?" His voice floats in from the hallway.

  "I'm in the room with Jessie," I shout from bed.

  He opens the door. "Hi guys, how are you doing?"

  Jessie waves her hands. "Hi, I'm fine, thanks. Emma almost didn't make it, though."

  I laugh. "So dramatic,"

  Jessie, "No, like for real. Don't scare me like that ever again." She grabs the thermometer. "You should take your temp and take your medicines in a while."

  Daniel drops his bags next to the door. "How much fever did she have?"

  "It reached thirty-eight point five," she says, getting up.

  "Damn, babe! And you were functioning?"

  "Barely," Jessie replies for me. "I couldn't keep her awake on our way here; she was pale and sweating. I was really worried, thinking about going directly to the hospital."

  "I hate hospitals." I made the little heart shape with my hands — her signature move. "Thanks for bringing me here and taking care of me."

  "You'd do the same for me." She smiles and leans in to give me a small hug.

  "Of course I'd do the same for you." I say firmly and squeeze her tight for a sec.

  "I'll get going, looks like my shift is over." Already with her bag on her shoulder.

  I nod.

  "Let me know about the e-email." She reminds me.

  "Sure. Talk later."

  She waves a lazy goodbye and disappears down the hallway with Daniel.

  Seconds later, he’s back in the room. "Okay. Now you — bed, water, medicine. In that order."

  I smile at him. "Paul asked you to go to work today?" I ask, curious.

  "No, I just went because he's training new staff and I didn't have anything else to do." He gives me a cup of water with some medicine. "Do you wanna watch something?"

  "I think I'll just sleep a bit more." I pull the blanket up to my chin.

  "Yeah, your fever is still pretty high. Rest babe." He kisses my head. "If you need something, call me" and leaves, closing the door.

  After a couple of seconds of confronting the ceiling, I decide to check on Ana.

  Me:

  Right away I can see the

  Ana:

  Ana:

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  Me:

  Ana:

  Ana:

  Ana:

  Ana:

  Me:

  Me:

  Ana:

  Ana:

  Ana:

  Me:

  Me:

  Me:

  Ana:

  Ana:

  Ana:

  Ana:

  Me:

  Me:

  Ana:

  Ana:

  Me:

  Ana:

  Ana:

  Me:

  I put my phone down on the nightstand.

  The fever has ebbed a little, but my thoughts haven't. Ana's words are still humming in my head.

  My phone lights up again. Video call. Mom.

  I stare at her name for a second, my first instinct is to let it ring out. I don't have the energy for performance right now. Then I imagine her feeling sad because I’m not getting in touch, and my finger hits accept before I can overthink it. Guilt is a bitch.

  Her face fills the screen.

  "Amooor," she says, smiling, the camera wobbling slightly as she walks through the house. "Tanto tiempo. Tenés a tu madre abandonada." ("Love" "It's been so long. You've forgot about your mother.")

  I smile weakly. "Hola, ma. Perdón, es que estamos con un montón de trabajo—" (Hi, Mom. Sorry, it's been crazy at work.)

  She stops walking. Squints at the screen. "?Estás en la cama? ?Qué hora es allá?" (Are you in bed? What time is it there?)

  "Son casi las seis," I say. "Pero… estoy con fiebre." ("It's almost six o'clock." "But… I have a fever.")

  Her smile disappears instantly. "?Cómo que fiebre?" Her voice lowers. "?Cuánto?" (What do you mean, fever? How high?)

  "Treinta y nueve," I say, exaggerating without even knowing why. Maybe because I want her to worry for me, so I can go back to that role of a small child. (Thirty nine)

  She brings a hand to her mouth. "Emma." She switches to English without noticing. "That’s high. That’s not a joke." And then her face softens, "?Daniel está ahí? ?Te está cuidando?" (Is Daniel there? Is he looking after you?)

  I smile at that. "Sí, él está acá." I pause. "Pero me siento horrible." ("Yes, he's here." "But I feel awful.")

  She exhales slowly, like she’s steadying herself. "Si estuviera ahí te haría quedar en la cama todo el día. No te moverías ni para ir al ba?o."(If I were there, I'd make you stay in bed all day. You wouldn't even move to go to the bathroom.)

  I roll my eyes with a smile "Sí, me acuerdo." (Yes, I remember.)

  "Wish I could be there," she says, eyes shining now. "Te extra?o, amor." (I miss you, love.)

  The words hit me somewhere deep and unprepared. I swallow. Hard. "Yo también." (Me too.)

  She notices immediately. She always did, even when she pretended not to. "No llores," she says gently. "Escuchame. ?Tenés té? ?Leche? Miel? Como cuando eras chica. Amabas." ("Don't cry" "Listen. Do you have tea? Milk? Honey? Like when you were a girl. You loved it.”)

  "Creo que tengo..." (I think I have...)

  She smiles sadly. "Y después a dormir. Nada de trabajar." (And then to sleep. No work.)

  I nod, even though she can’t enforce it from another continent.

  She glances off-screen and waves at someone. "Bueno, amor. Te dejo descansar." (Okay, love. I'll let you rest.)

  "Dale, ma." (Okay mom)

  "Escribime después, ?si? Para saber cómo estás." (Write to me later, okay? Just to know how you are.)

  A beat.

  "Te amo." (I love you)

  "Yo también" I whisper. "Después te escribo." ("Me too" "I'll write you later")

  The call ends. I stare at the dark screen for a moment.

  My mom worried about me, tender, present in a way I didn't expect. It's not that she was never cari?osa. She was. But her boiling point was unpredictable. Some days she’d tuck me in, make tea with honey and milk, sit on the edge of the bed until I fell asleep. Other days she’d vanish into herself, and I learned not to ask for too much, not to need too loudly.

  I think that’s when I learned how to be fine on my own.

  And then I met Daniel. This huge city would feel so alone without him. He dropped everything and came to take care of me. I reach to his side of the bed and focus on the safety of his presence. But something feels uncomfortable, like the pea under the mattress. —and the memory of him saying pops casually in my mind. Then at the table later, cutting on the raviolis quiet, distant, pretending not to notice anything at all.

  Daniel wouldn’t do that to me. He can be many things, but I never thought that he could do something like that. Ana fanning her eyes is proof that you think you know someone until…

  I brushed off the idea. There’s no way. Even in my most certain denial, there was already an open door. That thought goes right through my heart and lodges there. Expanding pain like a stain.

  I can’t lose him. How constant everything feels when he is around. The comfort of his hug, reaching out to him in bed and knowing he’s there.

  I look at my hand still extended for his invisible presence.

  I close my eyes just to see my dad He was moving to L.A. with his new family. I remember being excited for the sun and the beach. But he asked me not to, and then gave me this apartment to live in. How stupid I felt for thinking he would want me there. Why am I even complaining? He just didn't want a reminder of his old life I guess. I know more than one person that would love this deal. And grateful. Gratitude has a way of silencing grief.

  Loneliness slips under the blankets with me.

  Greta and Alfonso jump to bed to snuggle. Greta nudges her head under my chin, demanding to get under the covers.

  "At least I have you guys" I lift the blanket, and she curls into a cinnamon bun against me. While Alfonso just rests on my legs.

  I surrender to the warmth of their little bodies. As I’m dozing off I start to hear the tick tock, clear like a real clock. An episode, right now. Talking about kicking me when I’m down.

  It feels like a reminder of everything I'm doing wrong — Tick. I'm a performative person. Tock. I'm not really living. Tick. I'm not really a girlfriend. Tock. Or a friend. Tick. Or a daughter. Tock. I just try to ask the correct questions. Tick. Say the correct things. Tock. To not disturb. Tick. So no one thinks bad of me.

  I close my eyes and a few tears slip. Overflowed. I don’t even try to contain them, they just fall silently, wavering on their way down, like snow.