She was perched on one of the two chairs at the front desk of the apartment building lobby. There were a myriad of unsorted boxes stacked in front of her. It was a Wednesday afternoon and I was surprised to see her there, but it was another example (albeit a small one) that everything had changed in the space of the pandemic, everything including staff schedules. It was atypical for there to be one individual at the front desk. It was atypical for me to be home on a weekday afternoon. I craved familiarity: she wore the black hijab that was a staple and greeted me with the same upward lilt in her voice — “hey AJ.” 

I was uncertain whether AJ was an intentional moniker or if she had forgotten my name. “Let me get your packages, you had a couple arrive today.” I smiled — it was forced. In the packages were masks that my parents had ordered on my behalf with the anticipation that they would be necessary. I had teased them but they were right. The other packages had the treasures of a good skincare regimen, delicious books, and clothing items for another time and place.