"Riku, honey, we're back."
I lift my head and see Sora's parents. They look exhausted. I doubt they slept after they left the hospital.
"Is everything alright?" she asks, kissing my cheek. Her voice is tender, but strained. I stand and offer her the chair.
"He's the same," I say. She sits and takes her son's hand.
Sora's father massages her shoulders. "Thanks for staying, buddy." I nod in reply. "Everything is going to be alright," he whispers quietly into his wife's ear.
Sora's mom is wearing a thin blouse and black yoga pants. Her brownish-red hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. Sora's dad is unshaved and dons his signature baseball cap, blue jeans and white tee shirt. They haven't changed from this morning. I imagine I look a mess. Observing my paint stained cargo shorts, and musty black V-neck, I realize I've yet to brush my teeth today.
"Did the doctor stop by?" Sora's mom asks.
"No, but the nurse came to check on him a few times. Her name is Aerith. She's really nice," I explain.
"We'll have to be sure to thank her," she says to Sora's dad. He nods silently.
I consider Sora's parents to be my second family. My own fell apart. Dad cheated on my mom, and they separated when I was fifteen. I don't keep in contact with my father. After the divorce, my mom experienced severe, emotional mood swings. Our relationship finally deteriorated when she began to bring home a different man every night.
In high school, Sora's parents invited me over for dinner every weekend. Sora swore he never told them about my mom's promiscuity. It was obvious he did. It was more obvious they were trying to protect me.
"Riku, are you alright?" Sora's dad asks. His voice is deep, but not intimidating.
I must have zoned out. "Yeah, I'm fine, just tired is all," I say.
"Riku, go home and get some rest, honey. You've been at the hospital all day."
I look at Sora's mom. "I don't want to leave Sora."
"He won't be alone. We'll be here. I'll call if anything comes up," she urges.
I begin to argue, but I am struck by the look in her eyes. She is begging me to go. She needs time alone with her son. She needs time to say goodbye. So, I close my eyes and nod. I can feel the storm again.
"Thank you," she says, standing from the chair. We hug tightly. I smile weakly as we pull away.
"We'll call you," Sora's dad reassures. He embraces me. I can feel his large hands on my back, and the warmth of his body heat. He feels just like Sora. The storm begins to climb into my throat, and I push away before erupting again.
I move to Sora's bedside, and brush the bangs from his forehead. "I'll be back soon," I whisper in his ear. I leave the room, and shut the door softly behind me.
The clock on the microwave reads 4:42 AM. It is nearly twenty-four hours since Sora collapsed. I drop my keys on the kitchen counter, and open the fridge behind me. I have not eaten since yesterday. Beer, a bottle of Chardonnay, peanut butter, and leftover Chinese are my options. I grab the peanut butter and retrieve a loaf of white bread from the cabinet to my right. Spreading the peanut butter on the bread, I am careful each slice has the same amount. Placing them together, I cut off the crusts. This is how Sora ate his sandwiches.
Sora would eat anything, really. I've seen him eat food right off the floor. His mom used to say we were "two-peas-in-a-pod." Sora loved to eat, and I love to cook. I work mornings at a diner down the road, so I am home most of the afternoon. Sora, however, had graduate classes four nights a week. I'd time dinner so when he'd walk in the door, it was just about ready. Sora would come home, wrap his arms around my waist, kiss the nape of my neck, and whisper, "It smells great."
The other night, though, Sora came home and I wasn't in the kitchen. Instead, I was reading in our bedroom.
"Riku?" he called, dropping his backpack in the middle of the floor.
"In here," I answered flatly.
"When is dinner? I'm starving," Sora said from the doorway.
I was infuriated by his question. "I'm not your damn wife."
As he sat on the edge of our bed, Sora asked, "Do you want me to make dinner tonight?"
"That's not the point," I snapped.
It was rare for Sora and I to fight, mostly because Sora is fiercely unaggressive. So, he ordered Chinese, and we ate in silence. That night, we both went to bed angry. Actually, I was angry. Sora felt guilty.
Sora had no expectations, and I know he appreciated every meal I made. A fact proven when I woke up the next morning, and he brought me breakfast in bed.
Sora wasn't the cause of my anger. Earlier that morning, a coworker made some dick remark about my sexual preference. I usually let those comments slide. It is a skill I've learned from years of torture. Yet, that day his words stayed with me, and festered all afternoon. So, I directed my frustrations on the easiest target: Sora. And, I never told him the truth.