We had just finished cooking our New Year’s Eve dinner and were preparing to gather. Then came the ominous words from our three-year-old son, who over the course of an hour had lost some of his trademark effervescence: “I’m not feeling well.”
Rip open the test. Scramble to read the instructions. Then wait 15 minutes? Ha! Within five, I could see our guest and my sister-in-law huddled over the Covid test, discussing its incipient results in hushed tones: positive, obviously. Within another 15 minutes, we had scooted our guest and her son out the door, packing them up dinner to go and tending to our ailing kid. This was supposed to be a long weekend with the family in Philadelphia; we left early the next morning.
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