When I told Lindsay that I was hiring an independent publicist, all she’d said was “Sounds good! Just let me know once you find one so we can collaborate with them.” I’d been half hoping for her to pat me on the back and tell me how happy she was that I was being so proactive and that she wished all her authors could be like me, but oh well. In time, she’ll come to appreciate how on the ball I am, I’m sure. After all, what says “I’m invested in this book doing well” louder than me actually investing money in it?
But the news about COVID-19 doesn’t fade away as I had expected. In fact, it starts ramping up. It’s in the US now, apparently. When I go outside, I start seeing people wearing surgical masks, which creeps me outa little. The debut group #commiserations channel is full of unfortunate authors who have just debuted early in the year and are wailing about how all this news about COVID is drowning out their debuting news. More and more people are choosing not to come to events like book launches because they’re scared of crowds. I send replies telling them how sorry I am about it but that I’m sure their books will do well nevertheless, before privately thanking the universe that I’m not debuting just yet, when our government hasn’t figured out how to stop this strange new virus. But, I reassure myself, I’m sure that by the time September comes around, this will be long gone, just another news cycle we’ve forgotten about.
A couple of Annette’s clients cancel their photo shoots, saying that they’re worried about this new virus. Annette doesn’t show up for work one day, and stupidly, I wonder for a second if she has COVID, but when she does message me, of course it turns out to just be a stomach bug. I sigh and settle back in my seat with relief.
The relief turns out to be short lived. Things become worse; more cancellations come in, many of them asking for a refund. Then, before I can even worry about Annette’s business, I see an announcement that schools in New York are going to be shut down for a while. It is this piece of news, more than anything else I’ve read about COVID, that really hits home for me. I think it’s because New York City is one of the most competitive places in the world to live in, and I know how crazy it drives some parents. School is one of the most vital components of the city, something that New Yorkers are obnoxiously proud of, and for it to be shut down is unthinkable.
I’m not sure why, but I still go into work the next morning. An asinine decision, I realize, as soon as I step into my train and find it deserted. But I’m so used to this routine that the thought of stepping back out and simply returning home doesn’t even cross my mind. I continue with my commute, and when I get out of the subway station, I take in the largely empty streets as I walk to the office. Annette isn’t there when I arrive, but I go about setting everything up, making coffee and laying out the bagels that I made this morning. I fire up my computer and take a sip of coffee as I call up Annette’s calendar. My coffeecup pauses halfway down to the coaster. Annette’s calendar is empty, save for one measly shoot left in this month.
Do not panic, I tell myself. I click through to the work email and cross-check all our bookings alongside the messages of cancellations. And it all checks out. All our clients for the months of March and April really have canceled on us. Well, all except one couple. Melanie and Alex. I quickly compose an email.
Dear Melanie and Alex,
I hope you’re doing well! I’m just sending this email to confirm your photoshoot on the twenty-fourth of this month. If you need to discuss locations and outfits, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me. We’re so excited for this session!
Best wishes,
Fern
There. I’m being proactive. Proactive is my word for the year. I’m proud of myself. I could’ve slid back into my old, unhealthy ways, obsessing over Haven and bemoaning the fact that I don’t have a deal like hers. But I didn’t. I took charge of my publishing journey, hiring Sarah and making connections in the debut group, and I’m doing the same at my day job, making sure Annette’s clients are taken care of despite this—whatever this virus is. I send a quick email to Annette to let her know I’m at the office and that I will stay here until closing time. Never hurts to remind her what a dedicated employee I am. Then I settle down and open up Google Docs.
They say that the best time to work on your second book is before your first one comes out, and I’ve taken this piece of advice to heart. I’m twenty thousand words into my second novel, and it’s chugging along nicely. Myextremely healthy routine has been good for both my mental health and my creative energy, and I can’t wait to finish this draft and send it to Lindsay.
I’m happily tapping away at the keyboard when a new email pops up. It’s from Annette.
Fern, what in the world are you doing at the office? Have you not been keeping up with the news? There are no shoots going on, we’ve caught up with all of the editing work, so there’s nothing left to do at the office. Go home.
My mouth goes dry, and I read the message again. It’s brusque, which sounds very much like typical Annette, but there’s also an undercurrent of concern, which is not at all like her. A note of fear begins to keen softly, an annoying little pitch that I can’t quite shake off. I get up and throw away the bagels even though I have yet to have one myself, then I dump the rest of the coffee and lock up the office. On the commute home, it strikes me again how deserted the streets and subway stations are. Where is everybody?
I can’t get into my apartment fast enough. Inside, I lean against my door and force myself to take a few deep breaths before taking off my shoes and putting down my bags. I fire up my computer and check the group Slack. The mods have created a #covid channel, and it’s the most active channel now.
Felicity:They’ve shut down schools here, it’s crazy, what the hell am I supposed to do with my kids??
Yuna:Same. I have a 6yo boy, FML. I’ve just been sitting here guzzling wine and crying tbh
Haven:I’m so sorry to hear that, that is awful. My heart goes out to all the parents out there! Yall are heroes!
My own little group chat is also obsessively talking about it.
Lisa:Kill me now, my 7yo and my 3yo are fighting and James is pretending not to hear anything. He’s just shut himself in the home office but I bet he’s not really working, I don’t even know WTF is going on
Jenna:Girl, I hear you. The twins have been on each other’s throats the whole morning. How do teachers deal with it?? They’re not even allowed to hit them.How do they do ittt?
Fern:Omg sounds so stressful! I can’t even imagine!
My little platitudes feel so pathetic. Usually when people say things like “I can’t even imagine,” they’re just saying it to seem to convey sympathy. But I truly cannot imagine the stress that parents of small children must be going through to have the schools be shut down like that, and because I can’t imagine it, I feel like I’m walking through a minefield, unsure if I’m about to say something wrong. And it also feels like I’m not allowed to talk about how scared I feel, how shaky the future feels and how I don’t know what to do with myself. Oh god, I definitely can’t complain about not knowing what to do with myself to Lisa and Jenna, who currently have their hands full with their tiny kids.
It’s fine, I tell myself. The schools are only shut down for a little while, right? In a few weeks’ time, this will all be over, and everything will be back to normal. In a few months’ time, I won’t even remember that this happened. It’ll all be a weird memory we’ll laugh about. In the meanwhile, I should make good use of this time and work on book two.
Somehow, I manage to write a few hundred words, though they’re not very good words at all, then I hop on over to Twitter for a short break. When I next glance at the clock, I realize I’ve just been doomscrolling for the last ninety minutes. I get up from the computer and doa few stretches. The rest of the day crawls by, the hours stretching like taffy. I stare out the window and am struck once more by how empty the streets are. The sight is so disturbing that I close the curtains even though it’s still light outside. I make myself an early dinner, settle down in front of the TV for some Netflix, and end up ignoring the show and doomscrolling on Twitter until way past two in the morning.
I jerk awake the next morning on the sofa and scramble up, breathless. Judging from the angle of the sunlight streaming in through the gap in the curtains, I know it’s late morning. Possibly even noon. I’m going to be late to work, Annette is going to—
Reality catches up with me. Right. Annette has asked me to stay home until ... until things go back to normal. I look around blearily, locate my phone, and pounce on it. Maybe things are looking up. Maybe they’ve reversed the school shutdown.
Instead, things are looking even worse. Now there’s talk about a larger-scale shutdown. Nonessential businesses should prepare to be shut down. I’m not too sure what an “essential business” would be, exactly, but I know that prewedding photography is nowhere near essential. I look around my empty, silent apartment, and it hits me then how woefully unprepared I am in case of a quarantine. The last time I went to the supermarket was four days ago, and I only grabbed my usual stuff; I didn’t think to stock up on anything because I was so wrapped up in publishing and so in denial about COVID. With this realization sinking in, I rush to the bathroom to wash up and throw on some fresh clothes before rushing out the door.
The trip down to the neighborhood supermarket is surreal. The whole time, I feel as though I’m in some dystopian movie. But when I turn the corner, there is a long line snaking out of the supermarket. My heart sinks. I join the back, and the tension is so thick in the air that it’s nearly electric.
