Here we go again! Another Jeff/Annie get-together, grounded lightly in real-life happenings. I think I keep picturing the inflection point over and over because everything after that should be the same – HAPPILY EVER AFTER, DARN IT. Just choosing throw pillows and growing old together.
Also, TBC, I'm fat-positive, Jeff is just body-dysmorphic.
One month into lockdown, the study group weekly Zoom call is fizzling out. Not all at once – but Abed left early and Shirley arrived late, and soon enough everyone says their goodnights and see-you-soons and signs off, leaving only Annie and Jeff, gazing at each other.
"Hey," Jeff says.
"Hi," says Annie, smiling pleasantly. A silence falls. A moment later, they both say "…well…" as a prelude to goodbye, and laugh, awkwardly. They're silent again, but neither seems willing to be the first to leave.
"I'm sorry. I don't…my apartment just feels so quiet," Annie confesses, finally.
"I know what you mean!" Jeff says. "Shirley has her kids, Abed has Rachel, Craig has all those Greek sailors, Chang has his second personality…"
"Even Britta has her cats!" (Earlier that night, Britta had held aloft a particularly mangy feline, the dregs of the shelter, and crowed "I got the last one!").
"At least your place looks nice," Jeff offers.
Annie levels a yeah-right stare at him. It does look nice – airy, tidy, lots of healthy plants. "It's a virtual background." She switches it off and the room is the same. Only now it's dark and full of dead plants, and instead of being spacious with elegantly arranged, stylish yet comfortable furniture, everything is shoved against the walls to make space for an exercise machine, which itself seems to be holding all of Annie's unfolded laundry. "I've been so unmotivated lately. I don't even feel like doing the things I usually like, like organizing or…"
Jeff has stopped listening. His eyes have gone wide and hungry. "Is that an Escadrille?!"
Annie looks over her own shoulder and rolls her eyes. "What, the bike? Yeah, I never should have gotten it, but I didn't think I'd need the space –"
"They're backordered until June," Jeff says hoarsely.
"I already feel like I'm living in a cage, I don't need to feel like I'm on a hamster wheel, too." Annie snorts. "Biking to nowhere. Anyway, I'm tired of it. I'm just tired. You know what I wish I could do? Just leave my apartment and relax. Go somewhere else without worrying the whole time about some idiot sneezing on all the shopping carts."
"I'll trade with you," Jeff says instantly.
"What?!"
"Let's trade apartments." Annie stares at him, agog. "I don't mean forever. But the gym is closed. The parks are closed. All the exercise equipment is sold out. Look at this!" Jeff pops up from his seat, hauls up his shirt to reveal washboard abs, and pinches an invisible inch. "I'm disgusting!"
"Um," says Annie, distracted.
Jeff sits back and leans earnestly into the camera. "Annie. We can do this safely. We'll clean, and switch for one afternoon. You can rearrange my furniture." She's clearly considering the offer. "You can look inside my fridge. You can use my Netflix. You can…"
"Can I take a bath?" Jeff raises an eyebrow. "Like a spa day! My apartment only has a shower," she explains.
"Okay. Yes. You can…take a bath."
"Can I use your fancy homemade bath bombs?"
"What fancy homemade bath –" Jeff drops the nervous chuckle and, blank-faced, agrees, "Yes. But not the ylang-ylang."
"Deal." Annie straightens in her chair with a happy wiggle. She looks much perkier. "How about…in one week? Next Wednesday?"
"One week. Deal."
"Deal."