A/N: Updated February 2024. I really overhauled this chapter quite extensively. I initially set out to do some minor edits and then a quick wrap-up to the story, but it's spiraled from there.
I also can't remember if Sandy was still working at the PD's office when he and Jimmy were doing the restaurant thing, but I'm making both happen simultaneously here. So Sandy and Jimmy are in the midst of their restaurant planning, and Sandy has a full caseload of public defense clients.
Chapter 9
"Honestly Cohen, you look like you're hiding from the paparazzi," Summer said with a giggle.
Seth was slouched in a beach chair, wearing baggy sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie, completing the look with a ratty baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses that were much too large for his face, both of which he'd borrowed from his dad.
"It's hard to be fashionable when you're freezing cold all the time," Seth grumbled, but it felt good-natured, what Ryan had learned to call a kvetch in the Cohen household. "Seems like you're scantily clad enough for the rest of us though." He smirked at Summer. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."
Summer threw a chip at Seth, who clumsily batted it away onto Summer's beach towel, and they both laughed.
Ryan looked on in amusement as he grabbed a Mountain Dew from the cooler. He leaned back in his own chair and closed his eyes, allowing their banter to wash over him without really making out what it was they were saying to each other.
Somehow the past few days had seemed to go by both at warp speed and with excruciating sluggishness. The days individually seemed to drag on, but they were also hurtling too fast towards the day that Seth would leave the Cohen household and take up residence in the cancer ward.
The pediatric cancer ward, Seth was quick to point out, with more than a touch of bitterness. It was infantilizing enough, how much the cancer sapped his energy and his strength and his independence, without the added indignity of being surrounded by actual little kids.
He'd toured the wing after his latest appointment and come back aghast.
"They had a clown visiting, Ryan. A clown." Seth shook his head. "And the nurses were perky. And not like, hot and down for kinky stuff perky, but like two seconds from patting me on the head and giving me a lollipop perky." He proceeded to work himself into a mini-frenzy contemplating ways to hack into the hospital computers and adjust his birth date by just a few years.
Ryan had pointed out that the adult wing probably didn't have an Xbox in their common room, which had given Seth some pause as he considered that, and Kirsten and Sandy had mouthed and gestured their gratitude at Ryan behind Seth's back.
Sandy and Kirsten were happy with anything that could bring Seth a moment of comfort or happiness or feeling better about his situation, and it sadly felt like only crumbs were available in that department.
Ryan took a long sip of Mountain Dew.
A lot had happened in just a few days.
The second opinion had come and gone as expected, quietly and without fanfare, and it felt fortunate that no one had seemed to have any real hopes riding on it.
Summer came by every day after school and stayed late into the night. Her father and step-mother didn't seem to mind, and she seemed to keep Seth both happy and distracted, so Sandy and Kirsten weren't about to force her to go home. Since Seth's bedroom had been declared off-limits, they posted up on the couch, Summer resting in his arms or, during his more tired moments, Seth leaning his head on her shoulder. They were like they were in that moment on the beach, bickering innocently and trading playful insults, but always with an underlying tenderness between them.
Sandy and Kirsten had met with Dr. Kim and assured Seth that it had been a promising meeting, that things were somewhat open-ended but that there were different options, that significant energy and thought would go into making sure that Seth didn't need to repeat a grade. Seth seemed skeptical but also resigned to the whole thing being out of his hands, and only put up a mild fuss when he was forbidden from attending school for the rest of the week.
And through all that, it was hard to get a good read on how Seth was feeling about other things: the cancer, the hospital, the uncertainty that was plaguing all of them.
It was one of the problems with the kvetch, Ryan had discovered. Despite his flagging energy, Seth was still able to expound at some length about aspects of his present state, but it was all delivered in the same sardonic fashion, so it was hard to gauge any actual emotion and hard to know how to respond.
An I'm sorry, man. That sounds painful/sad/disgusting/terrifying felt like an inappropriate response to a comedic monologue, even if said monologue was about chemotherapy and its many heinous side effects, or cancer survival rates, or the totally made-up but semi-plausible scenario that some mid-rate professional football player would decide to visit the cancer kids and Seth would end up getting his picture in the paper, bald and sickly and in a hospital gown, and then he could finally truly-for real this time-never show his face at Harbor School again.
Ryan could tell that that part was hard for Sandy and Kirsten too, knowing how to respond to Seth, how to not get awkward when he dropped cancer jokes or losing-his-hair jokes or death jokes.
Sometimes Seth seemed to pull his punches a little around his parents, but sometimes, for whatever reason Ryan couldn't figure out, he either couldn't or didn't want to.
And now they were getting closer to it, the thing that was heavy in the air but that no one was really talking about: Seth would be checking into the hospital the next day.
Sandy and Kirsten had reserved Seth's last evening at home for a family dinner and movie night, but Summer and Ryan had essentially been given free rein over his afternoon, with the only stern command that they weren't allowed to exhaust Seth.
It turned out that was a difficult command to follow, as you couldn't really bet on Seth having energy for much.
"Maybe I'm just leaning into this cancer thing, Ryan, but I feel a thousand times more like dog shit than I did a week ago," was how Seth put it when he needed to take a lengthy break between putting on his left shoe and putting on his right shoe.
Seth's cell phone went off, interrupting his back-and-forth with Summer.
Ryan glanced at Seth as he fumbled for his phone.
"My dad," Seth announced, squinting at the screen. "Better pick up or he'll be calling in the National Guard." He rolled his eyes as he flipped open the phone. "Oh hey dad," he said, tone overly bright. "I was so hoping you'd call."
Ryan snickered as he half-listened to Seth's exasperated end of the phone call. He anticipated a well-timed You'd think I had cancer from Seth upon hanging up.
He jolted a little in his chair when he felt something grazing his hand.
Summer's hand was warm as it found his.
He looked at her.
"Do you think it's going okay?" She asked quietly, eyeing Seth from the corner of her eye.
Ryan had spent almost an hour on the phone with her the previous night to finalize their plans. They'd settled on a day at the beach, figuring the movies wouldn't provide Seth with the fresh air he'd soon be so desperately lacking.
Summer had thrown herself into strategizing around all the details, how to stake out a choice spot on the sand that would be close enough to their car and to the bathrooms that Seth would be able to manage okay, which foods Seth was tolerating at the moment, and which of Summer's many beach chairs would be most comfortable for Seth and his aching joints.
Right around the time Summer was musing aloud about whether Seth's cancer meant he needed a stronger SPF sunblock, she'd abruptly stopped, her voice cracking.
"I just...I just want tomorrow to feel special, ya know?"
Ryan smiled at Summer and squeezed her hand back.
"It's perfect," he said softly.
And he meant it.
oooooooooooooooooooooo
Sandy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
He had a pounding headache, but he also had a long to-do list ahead of him before he could go home.
He'd wanted to feel on top of the restaurant situation before Seth went to the hospital, but he'd been finding it difficult to really apply himself to the work.
It was easier at the PD's office, each case with a kind of formulaic script that he could march through in his sleep. File for a continuance and kick a few cans down the road, show up at a status conference and give a quick update, have a few changes of plea and move a few clients off his caseload.
He was starting to wish he'd never gotten involved in the restaurant. It took a kind of energy and attention he just didn't have, and he had no idea when or if it would return.
Jimmy sat across from him, inhaling some Chinese food.
"You sure you don't want any, Sandy?" Jimmy held up his carton of moo shu pork.
"Huh?" Sandy glanced from Jimmy to the take-out carton. "Uh, no, thanks." He tried to smile, but he could feel it not quite landing on his face.
"Something wrong?" Jimmy asked, mouth half-full with moo shu. He plopped the carton on the table and reached over, shutting the account book Sandy was working in.
"Just trying to make sense of the numbers." Sandy tried to reopen the book, but Jimmy kept his hand pressed firmly over it.
"C'mon, Sandy. You've been in a daze this past week. You hardly talk, you don't eat..." Jimmy trailed off. "And no offense, but you look like hell. Don't try and tell me nothing's going on."
Sandy looked away. He wasn't sure if he was more touched or irritated by Jimmy's prying.
He hadn't told Jimmy yet.
To be more precise, he hadn't told anyone that didn't-strictly speaking-need to know. And that had felt wrenching in itself, putting it out into the world and receiving in return the stilted expressions of sympathy from Sandy's boss and Dr. Kim and the people Kirsten needed to coordinate with at The Newport Group.
"Sandy, we're friends now," Jimmy went on. "You can tell me what's going on." Jimmy looked concerned. "I mean, you and Kirsten always listen to my problems; it's starting to feel a little unfair."
Sandy toyed with his pen, twisting it around in his fingers. He wasn't sure how it would feel to tell Jimmy, or if he really wanted to, but it wasn't like he could hide it much longer.
And, he supposed, Jimmy was a colleague too, a partner. He would no doubt have some interest in Sandy's soon-to-be fluctuating availability.
"Seth..uh...Seth is sick," he said, voice coming out in a raspy half-whisper. God, the words hurt. "Leukemia." That particular word sent a nail into his side, and he winced.
"Oh wow, Sandy." Jimmy's eyes widened. He blew out a long breath, mouth faltering awkwardly. "I'm so...I'm so sorry." Jimmy paused. "Is there anything I can do for you or Kirsten...or Seth..oh man, I'm sorry."
It turned out that Jimmy's sympathy stung too, and felt no less awkward or stilted than it had at work or with Dr. Kim.
"I uh, I can't think of anything at the moment. But thank you, Jimmy. I appreciate it. I really do." Sandy forced a smile. "And Seth will be okay. It's going to be a lot, but he's tough." He forced his tiny smile to get a little wider.
For some reason all of these conversations seemed to lead to him trying to comfort and reassure the other person.
"That's so rough," Jimmy said, face screwing up into a sympathetic frown. "But look, you need anything, I'm right here." He paused, wringing his hands. "I mean, time off from the restaurant...someone to talk to...moo shu pork." He held up the takeout carton, and both men chuckled nervously.
"Thanks, Jimmy." Sandy tapped his fingers on the account book. "I just really have to get this done. Seth goes to the hospital tomorrow and we want to have a nice dinner at home tonight."
"Forget about it," Jimmy offered enthusiastically, grabbing the book from Sandy. "It'll be here whenever you're ready." He paused. "That is, assuming you don't trust me with the finances."
Sandy hesitated. "I'll uh, I'll take it with me," he offered. "I'm sure I'll need something to do in the hospital." He gave Jimmy an appraising look. "You sure it's okay if I cut out early?"
"Go," Jimmy insisted. "You need to be with your family."
"Thanks, Jimmy." Sandy stood up and started haphazardly shoving things into his briefcase. "I'll see ya."
"Take as much time as you need. It's really no problem." Jimmy gave him a reassuring smile. "And I'm sure he'll be okay. Give me a call, let me know, huh?"
"Thanks, I will." Checking his watch, Sandy hurried out of the restaurant to his car, more than ready to go home.
ooooooooooooooooooo
When the kids returned to the Cohen house, Kirsten and Sandy were sitting on the couch, trying to pretend like they hadn't been anxiously awaiting their arrival.
"How was your day?" Kirsten closed the magazine she hadn't been reading.
"Pretty good," Seth replied. He pulled off his sunglasses and hat, which he tossed on the couch. "I'm just going to walk Summer to her car, okay?"
"Of course, sweetie." Kirsten smiled warmly at Summer before looking back at Seth. "Dinner will be waiting, okay?"
The don't take too long was clearly implied.
"I'll just be a minute," Seth said, offering his mom a shaky smile.
Things were starting to feel real to Seth in a way that was distinctly uncomfortable. He was just going to walk Summer to her car, but it would also be the last time he'd see her before he went to the hospital.
And then he was going to go and have his last dinner at home before the hospital.
He'd initially been glad to have a few days at home before having to check in to the cancer unit, but right then he was wishing there hadn't been quite so much build-up around it, each last thing becoming a stupid momentous occasion.
Slinging his arm across Summer's shoulders, they quietly walked out of the house and down the driveway, Seth idly wondering if one or both of his parents were watching from the window to make sure he could successfully make it back up the driveway on his own.
It probably went without saying, but the past several days had sucked mightily.
"So...tomorrow?" Summer's voice trembled a little.
Seth smiled down at her. Her eyes looked wet. He hugged her close and kissed the top of her head.
"It'll be okay," he whispered. It was almost helpful, seeing her sad, seeing a thing he could do other than stew in his own thoughts and his own anxiety. He couldn't successfully reassure himself, but he could give it the old college try with Summer.
Summer pulled back a little and kissed Seth, one hand gently stroking his curls.
"I really do have to go," Summer said sadly, pulling away a little. "My dad wants me home."
Seth kissed her forehead. "It's okay. I have to go too."
Summer wrapped her arms around Seth's waist and hugged him closer, inhaling the scent of fabric softener and the soap he always used. She closed her eyes.
"I have something for you," she whispered into Seth's chest.
"So we're doing it in the car these days, huh?" Seth waggled his eyebrows. "Or against the car, I guess. Pretty kinky, but I'll take it."
Summer smacked his chest lightly. "Ew, no." She opened the passenger side door and grabbed something, which she held behind her back. She brushed the hair from her face with her other hand and smiled sweetly. "I wanted you and the Captain to have a friend." She produced Princess Sparkle from behind her back.
Seth pulled Summer into a one-armed hug and kissed her temple.
"Aw, Summer you don't have to give her up. Although Captain Oats will be most pleased with milady's hooves." He looked at Summer solemnly. "We'll take good care of her, I promise."
"You'd better." Summer hid her face in Seth's chest so he wouldn't see her teary eyes. Once she felt properly composed, she kissed him one last time, a long, slow kiss.
"I'll see ya, Cohen," she whispered softly.
"See ya, Summer."
Their hands lingered on each other until they finally parted.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
The Thai food containers were set out at each place when Seth made his way back into the house.
"How was that?" Sandy asked.
"Fine...it was fine." Seth waved a hand, his mouth twitching. He cleared his throat. "Um, so we're ready to eat?" he asked hoarsely, pulling out the chair next to Ryan.
"Ready if you are." Kirsten came up behind him with a stack of napkins.
Seth nodded and took a sip of water, trying to regain the steadfast composure he was almost certainly known for.
Ryan shifted in his chair, feeling uneasy.
It was hard not to feel like he was intruding. He'd offered to clear out of the house so that Sandy and Kirsten could have some alone time with Seth, but they'd insisted that they wanted him there, that it wouldn't be a family dinner without him, but he was sure that they just didn't want to hurt his feelings or upset Seth.
Ryan never questioned that Seth wanted him around.
Kirsten passed out napkins and silverware and sat down across from Ryan.
The atmosphere felt notably subdued as everyone started to eat.
It was weird.
The Cohens talked more than any people Ryan had ever met. Mealtimes were filled with chatter, overlapping conversation, wordplay, jokes and callbacks to old jokes, and heated but playful debates about topics Ryan would've never imagined anyone would ever care enough to have an opinion on.
It didn't feel like a Cohen family meal.
After what felt like an interminable silence, Sandy cleared his throat.
Ryan glanced up warily.
"I uh, I'm glad we decided to do Thai tonight," Sandy said slowly. He smiled a little. "It was either this or The Happy Clam Palace."
Seth's fork clattered onto the table. "Oh my god," he muttered.
This had the makings of a classic Sandy Cohen Yarn.
"The Happy Clam Palace?" Ryan asked, playing the role of dutiful audience member.
"Don't encourage him." Seth rolled his eyes, but he looked like he was trying to hold back an exasperated smile.
Kirsten laughed.
"For many years, The Happy Clam Palace was Seth's favorite restaurant," Sandy explained. "In fact, when we moved here, I think it was about the only thing he liked about Newport."
"This in spite of the truly terrible food," Kirsten added.
"Okay, I was like, four years old," Seth argued. "And they gave you a crown; who's going to turn down joining the royal family at that age?"
"A crown?"
"Yes Ryan, a crown," Seth reiterated. "A Happy Clam Crown, to be specific. It had a kind of maritime royalty theme going on, if you couldn't tell from the name."
"I'm sure we have a picture of Seth on The Happy Clam throne somewhere."
"Picture?" Kirsten snorted. "I think we filled an album."
"She's exaggerating," Seth said. "We didn't go that often."
"That's fair," Sandy agreed. "The charm wore off after not too long." He grinned. "I'm pretty sure the last time we went was the night of the eighth grade formal."
"God, this story again."
"What story?" Ryan asked.
Seth glared at him. "You're a traitor, Atwood."
"Seth didn't want to go to the 8th grade formal," Kirsten started.
"Yeah because I don't have a torture kink."
"Seth, don't say kink," Kirsten admonished him gently.
"But we wanted him to go," Sandy picked up the thread of Kirsten's story.
"...because they both have some latent masochistic tendencies," Seth chimed in.
"We didn't want you to feel like you'd missed out," Kirsten said.
Seth snorted loudly.
"So anyway, I gave Seth the choice between going to the formal and going out to dinner at The Happy Clam Palace."
"And I called the old man's bluff."
"So to The Happy Clam Palace we went."
"And do you want to know what this lunatic did, Ryan, what he's about to tell you about with, like, actual glee?"
"What?" Ryan glanced between all of the Cohens.
"He told them it was my birthday," Seth hissed.
Sandy and Kirsten laughed.
"Your birthday?" Ryan's brow wrinkled.
"My birthday, Ryan." Seth's nostrils flared. "Have you ever had a man in a giant clam costume sing you For He's a Jolly Good Fellow, Ryan?" He shivered. "I still have nightmares about it..."
"It was genius," Sandy insisted.
"Was it genius, or was it maybe one of your more psychotic moments as a parent?" Seth rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "And wait, how was it genius? You didn't get me to go to the dance like you wanted." He turned to Ryan. "He threatened an escalating series of mortifying moments if I didn't go." Seth gestured at Sandy. "Can you believe how well-adjusted I am, despite this kind of unhinged parenting?"
"Wait, you didn't go?" Sandy asked, confused.
"No, he didn't end up going," Kirsten said. "He called your bluff on that too."
"Really?" Sandy's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?" He shrugged. "Well, I'm sure there was some other reason it was genius then."
Ryan laughed.
It was a Cohen family meal.
ooooooooooooooo
"You coming to bed?" Kirsten stood in the doorway of their bedroom, looking back at Sandy. She had a deep weariness etched into her features and in her posture.
After the boys had gone to bed, it was like she'd deflated.
For his part, Sandy was sure he wasn't looking his best or brightest either.
They'd gamely attempted a Cohen Family Movie Night after dinner, but they'd barely made it through the credits before Seth had started nodding off.
Once they'd gotten Seth up to bed, Ryan had decided his time would be better spent studying and he'd retreated upstairs, to what Sandy had started to think of as Ryan's bedroom, but which he was careful not to refer to as Ryan's bedroom in front of Ryan.
Things like that seemed to spook Ryan.
And it was happening more and more, Seth making an exit and Ryan leaving swiftly in his wake.
It had felt like Ryan had slowly been becoming more comfortable with them, but since Seth's diagnosis, Sandy had been sensing an increased awkwardness and edginess with Ryan. He still seemed more or less at ease in Seth's presence-well, as more or less at ease as Ryan seemed capable of being-but not so much with his foster parents.
That was another issue Sandy didn't quite know what to do with.
Maybe encouraging Ryan to move into the main house had been a mistake, had made him feel smothered and cornered and like his privacy was slowly eroding.
It was hard to know with the kid.
"I'll be there in a few minutes," Sandy answered Kirsten. "I just wanna check on the boys."
After the boys had ditched Movie Night, Sandy and Kirsten had tried to make something of an evening of it, sipping wine and chatting, but everything with Seth made it too hard and too sad to talk or think about anything else, so bed had seemed like the best of all the bad options.
"Okay." Kirsten smiled thinly and turned away from him.
Sandy trudged up the stairs, his whole body feeling heavy.
He frowned, hearing an odd almost barking sound. He picked up his pace down the hall towards Seth's bedroom door, the barking sound followed as it was by loud garbled speech from that direction, a guttural No followed bya string of unintelligible gibberish.
He flicked on the light switch as he turned the corner into Seth's bedroom proper.
Seth was kicking and thrashing in bed, long limbs tangling with his sheets.
"Seth?" Sandy swiftly made his way to Seth's bedside.
"Unfff..."
"Seth, wake up." Sandy shook Seth's shoulder gently. He flinched, hand drawing back.
Seth was drenched in a cold sweat.
Feeling tentatively around Seth's body, Sandy found that Seth's sheets were soaked through and icy to the touch.
Not the ideal way to wake up, by any stretch of the imagination.
"Seth?"
Seth's eyes snapped open.
"Wha-D-dad?"
"Hey kiddo," Sandy said softly. "I think you might've had another weird dream." He mentally ran through the next steps to take.
Seth was going to need a fresh set of sheets, for one thing.
"F-freezing." Seth's whole body shivered, his teeth clacking together loudly. "Why's it so..." His question broke off part way by a short sharp sobbing sound bursting from his mouth. "What's..."
"Shhh...hey, it's okay." Sandy kept his voice low and soothing. "You're okay." He tried to remember the informational sheet from the hospital, so many bulleted points about so many different possible symptoms. "We can deal with this, okay?"
Night sweats hadn't sounded so terrible on paper.
"Did I pee…" Seth trailed off, horrified. His hands flailed out from under his covers and started patting all over his body, stopping to rest on his head. "…all over my body and on my own head…somehow?" The horror in his voice tapered off into confusion.
"No, I think this is one of those fun night sweats the doctor told us about. Worse than the other night, unfortunately."
"M-much worse; what the f-fuck?" Seth's breath shot out in ragged gasps through his chattering teeth. "'S so cold," he whispered.
"I know, honey. I'm sorry." Sandy stood up. "I'm going to turn on the bath, okay? That'll help you get warm."
Seth muttered something else unintelligible.
Sandy moved quickly, turning on the taps in Seth's bathtub and then grabbing some fresh sheets and pajamas from his dresser.
For his part, Seth lay on the bed, moaning and shivering, curling into himself as he trembled and shook.
ooooooooooo
It felt like an eternity before the tub was properly full, and then it was another effort to help Seth shed his sopping t-shirt and stumble over and into the tub.
Seth closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tile, the legs of his boxer shorts billowing up towards the surface of the water.
"I'm going to make up your bed, okay?"
Seth didn't respond.
Sandy darted out into the bedroom, reluctant to leave Seth alone for very long, but not seeing a better alternative without involving an already tapped out Kirsten. He quickly stripped and replaced the sheets and pillow case, grateful that the quilt had seemed to escape relatively unscathed.
He popped his head into the bathroom every so often, needing visual confirmation that Seth's head hadn't dipped below the surface of the water.
It was silly and overly paranoid, but Sandy had found both silly and paranoid to be cornerstones of his parenting.
When he'd finished with the sheets, Sandy returned to the bathroom.
"I can't get warm." Seth's voice wavered. "This fucking s-sucks."
Sandy wasn't about to argue with that sentiment.
He grabbed a tall plastic cup off Seth's sink and filled it with warm water before perching himself on the edge of the tub.
"What are you—"
"Tilt your head back a little." Sandy reached forward and gently pushed Seth's chin upwards. He rested his free hand flat against Seth's hairline and slowly tipped the warm water down Seth's head.
Seth went quiet, the warm water cascading down his hair, little rivulets following in their wake, slowly tracing their way down his face.
Sandy filled the cup a few more times, each time repeating the process, gratified to see Seth seeming to settle a little.
He frowned at the top of Seth's head, noting that his son's hair was greasy and a bit matted in spots.
Seth had been so rundown the past few weeks; he might not have had the energy to properly shower and wash his hair in some time.
Sandy's not sure how that had escaped his notice, or Kirsten's, except that you tended to stop noticing those things when your kids got a little older.
Seth's sickness had started to reverse some things in their household, throwing them into old roles that blurred with the new ones, Seth's relatively newfound teenage independence at times butting heads with the neediness of early childhood.
For all of Seth's jokes about being waited on hand and foot and the future prospect of getting a sponge bath from a hot nurse, it had been uneasy to navigate around for the past week, his pride and his dignity and his need for space and privacy.
When he was down for the count with the flu for a few days, he seemed to relish the opportunity to be doted on, to let himself be comforted and taken care of and pitied for his lamentable condition.
Maybe it was that The Cancer was longer and more uncertain and more pervasive, but it seemed to both irritate and wound Seth more, having no choice but to let himself be taken care of.
And while Seth was able to make a joke about most of the things in the informational packets from the hospital, Sandy could see that certain things truly scared him, particularly the prospect-however unlikely-of losing his teeth.
The previous night, when Sandy had come up to say goodnight to Seth, he'd found him standing frozen in front of his bathroom sink, on the verge of tears because his mouth hurt so badly that he could barely brush his teeth, let alone floss, which then set off a panic spiral that this would be only the first step on the road to a lifetime of dentures, a spiral he'd been too mentally and physically exhausted to think his own way out of.
In some of Seth's kvetching there seemed to be an underlying fear that some of that would be forever, that loss of ability and independence and needing his parents to talk him through or to fully take care of the things that had once been easy for him. To Sandy it wasn't a big deal and it was a single moment-Sandy holding out a plastic cap filled with mouthwash and trying to gently encourage and console Seth-but maybe it felt like much more than that to Seth, like a sentence of some kind.
It could be a difficult balance between being the parent and bulldozing in and taking care of every problem and allowing your kid-even your very sick kid-his pride and his space and his dignity, but sometimes you had to be the bulldozer.
Sandy slowly pushed open the cap of the shampoo bottle resting on the opposite edge of the tub, creating a loud cracking sound.
"What are you doing?" Seth asked weakly.
"Shhh, this'll help you feel better, okay?" Sandy squirted some shampoo into his hand and slowly started to work it into Seth's hair, carefully untangling snarls as he found them.
Seth went quiet again, his breathing slowing down and his body seeming to further melt into the water. He let out a long shuddering exhale of breath.
The room was quiet but for the soft scritching sound of Sandy's nails lightly tracing along Seth's scalp, and the quiet sloshing of water and its accompanying muted echo bouncing off the tiled walls.
"So uh, we'll never speak of this again, yes?" Seth coughed.
"Already forgotten." Sandy flicked loose soap bubbles from his fingers and reached for the plastic cup to fill it once more.