Twenty Seconds

Randi stared into the mirror, barefaced in an oversized burgundy t-shirt. The color of the shirt sat beautifully on the chestnut tone of her skin. She coated her hair with coconut oil, waiting a few moments before untwisting it. After she was finished, her hair fell ferociously at her shoulders like a shining lion's mane.
"Now, what to do with this face?" she asked herself. "Maybe just a smidge of foundation."
The glam she usually sported for her beauty blog needed to be toned down. Simpler would be better this week, she thought to herself.
She rummaged through her make-up bag and pulled out her foundation, she applied it to her cheeks with her middle finger.
"Thank you, Rihanna." she said, working the foundation in with her brush. "For making magic that dark-skinned girls can rely on."
She wanted to give off a casual, work-from-home vibe to her following. It would make them feel like they could relate to her, she thought to herself. It was important now— more than ever before—for her to connect with people online, as the word "quarantine" became the most popular hashtag on Instagram. People were shut up in their homes to "flatten the curve" of a global virus. The pandemic that took over the news blanketed the world with a not-so-cozy quilt of hysteria. People waited in lines at the grocery store—their carts stacked with essentials— and it seemed as though they had intentions of TP-ing, as supermarket shelves were emptied of toilet tissue. Randi took notice of the two packs of toilet tissue sitting next to the toilet. Did she think it was as serious as the news made it? At first no, the coronavirus — acronymically known as COVID-19— merely made her think of picking up a six-pack. Things took a turn, though, when sporting events got cancelled, concert dates were being postposed and restaurants closed down. What seemed like it was spreading more than the virus itself was— not just the panic— but the splatter of toothpaste on the bathroom mirror. Randi rolled her eyes, slamming her hands on the counter.
"Alejandro Ramon Suarez!" she shouted, stressing each syllable.
A sudden sound of commotion erupted from the living room. The scuffling of heavy-walking feet came toward the bathroom until, in the doorway, stood the man summoned with a laptop balancing on his palm. He wore a grey pull-over sweatshirt and Avenger pajama pants. He was six feet tall, slender but athletic. He had a tapered haircut with loose curls that fell just above his brow and olive skin, that was bestowed upon him from Venezuelan parents.
"Oh," he said, his eyebrow cocked. "I thought my mother was calling me. A simple 'Alex' would be just fine, mi reina."
Randi was not in the mood for his sarcasm. She did not speak but instead, turned to face him, her index finger pointing at the residual toothpaste he left behind on the mirror.
"I didn't do that." Alex said.
"Oh, no?" Randi said, clearly not convinced. "It wasn't like this last night when I was taking off my make-up."
"I like your hair, it's sexy." he said, blowing her a kiss. "Is that a Twist In?"
"Twist OUT." she corrected him, looking into the mirror. "And it just dried, so don't even think about it."
Alex smirked, closed the toilet lid and rested his laptop on it. He was on a video conference with his coworkers Gary and Wesley who, like him, were working from home. They were software engineers. Alex working from home gave Randi full exposure to a day in the life of his work.
"Gary," Wesley said, slightly annoyed. "I thought you said you fixed the bug in the chat feature."
"I never said that," Gary said. "You appointed yourself the one who was going to comb through the chat feature.
"No," said Wesley. "I said that I would help you when I was finished fixing the fact that the reciepts weren't showing up on the receiver, specifically because you had already left mistakes in the code from before."
"Hi guys." Randi interrupted.
"Hi Randi." they both said, in a unified monotone.
Alex grabbed the glass cleaner from underneath the sink and snatched off a few sheets of toilet tissue from the roll.  Randi gasped.
"What're you doing?"
"I'm cleaning up my mess." Alex said, leaning in to kiss her. "So that you may get back to painting your gorgeous face."
Randi grabbed the tissue from his hands.
"Use paper towel."
"Why?" Alex said. "It's basically the same thing—"
"No, it's not! What if we run out?! What if there's none left—"
Her words were broken off by a whimper and she wiped her eyes with her hands.
"Damnit!" she said. "I'm not supposed to touch my face."
Alex stepped forward and pulled her into a hug.
"Shh," he cooed. "It's going to be okay, babe."
"How do you know?" she said, her tears dampening his grey sweatshirt.
Alex smiled.
"Do you remember when we first met, you taught me the golden rule?"
"The golden rule?" Randi asked.
Alex grinned.  He raised his hand to touch Randi's hair, wrapping his finger in one of her curls.
"You told me," he said, "never to touch a—"
"Black woman's hair..." Randi said, turning back toward the mirror. "Which you just did!"
"Haha, yeah." Alex said. "But look how long I was able to do it, before you even noticed."
"Thats because I was distracted—"
"Or, because you love me." he said.
Randi rolled her eyes. Alex stuck his tongue out to touch his nose, something that was always able to make her smile. She couldn't resist his reliable goofiness; she giggled and he knew that he had successfully won her over.
"So," he said, his hands on her waist. "Who has it harder?"
Randi wrapped her arms around his neck, playing with the hair on the back with her fingers.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I mean, you can't touch your face. But I can't touch my face, your face or your hair."
Randi cackled.
"Boy, please." she said.
"But," Alex said, his hands trailing down to her backside. "Can I touch this?"
Randi squirmed out of his grasp.
"What," he said, stepping forward. "I don't mind that you wear my t-shirts. I think it's sexy."
"Your computer." she mouthed, pointing at his open laptop that sat on the toilet.
"Oh, fuck." he said.
Gary and Wesley were busy typing away to notice anything that was happening, let alone that Alex had actually not been present for a while. Alex crouched in front of the laptop.
"Hey, uh guys?"
"Yeah." they both said, the monotone unison still intact.
"I'm gonna meet up—I mean—video you guys in a bit."
"No problem, bro." Wesley said. "Maybe by then, Gary will have done his job correctly."
"You know what, Wes?" Gary said. "I'm sick of your shit—"
Alex closed out the window; he closed the laptop and sprang to his feet. Walking over to Randi, he scooped her up and placed her on the bathroom counter. They kissed, as his hands began to undress her.
"Can you do something for me again, babe?" he said, kissing her neck.
"What?" Randi asked.
"Say my name."
"Alex?"
"No, babe." he said, smiling. "I mean say my name."
"Oh..." she said, catching on. "Alejandro."
"YES." he said, taking off his sweat shirt and sliding off his Avengers pajama pants.
"But wait." Randi said.
Alex stepped back.
"What? I'm sorry I haven't had time to manscape since the quarantine."
Randi jumped off the counter and grabbed the tissue paper he had previously attempted to clean the mirror with. She used it to turn on the faucet. She pumped soap into her palm and began lathering her hands.
"Oh, not again!" Alex whined. "Not now!"
"C'mon hon'," Randi said, pumping soap in his hands. "And make sure you do it for twenty seconds."