Ryan idly nudged at a little spot of cream cheese that hung over the edge of his bagel, pushing it back into place on the bagel proper.
It didn't really make the bagel more appetizing.
It didn't really do anything.
"Morning all."
Sandy's voice was cheerful, didn't wobble or break or trail off.
It didn't really help anything either, but Ryan noted it all the same.
He glanced up, watching Sandy kiss Kirsten on the cheek, watching them whispering something between the two of them.
Seth was still asleep.
Part of Ryan had wanted to say bye to him that morning, but it made sense that Seth needed his sleep, and it made sense that seeing him off like that might make the whole thing feel harder or weirder or more dramatic for him, might give him more opportunities to feel the full weight of an indefinite hospital sentence.
There was this kind of intense strategizing that had started to happen in the Cohen household.
How to plan meals around Seth's nausea and his exhaustion.
How to accommodate Seth's symptoms without calling too much attention to them..
How to make going to the hospital feel as okay as it could.
"We are all about the consolation prizes these days, Ryan," Seth had said, after Sandy and Kirsten had come home with armfuls of graphic novels and some obscure handheld video game system he'd never played before. "You'd be a hero if you could figure out how I could weasel a car out of my current predicament," he'd added, waggling his eyebrows.
It created some kind of selfish pang in Ryan that he couldn't fully identify, knowing that he was going to go to school and come home and Seth would be gone.
He knew it was coming, but still, there was in it some whisper of older leavings, less announced and planned for and strategized around.
"Well, today's the big day," Sandy said, still cheerful.
Sandy always insisted on stating the obvious, a habit Ryan couldn't relate to and barely knew how to respond to on a good day.
He recognized it as some kind of invitation to speak, to state what was obvious about what he was thinking or feeling, or maybe just to add a little comment or question to help keep Sandy's dialogue going, but he couldn't bring himself to humor his foster father. He felt guilty about it-it was hard to know what Sandy or Kirsten or Seth needed and then deliberately withhold it from them-but he wasn't sure what would happen if he tried to formulate a response, even for Sandy's sake.
Instead he took a bite of his bagel and stared down at the plate, listening to himself chewing and breathing in and out and deliberately fuzzing the edges of whatever Sandy and Kirsten were saying to each other, so that he really had no idea what was going on around him.
A few minutes later, still memorizing each little inch of that stupid bagel plate, Ryan felt a heavy hand fall onto his shoulder.
It might've startled him, but even with all of his efforts to block everything out, he still seemed to know when someone was approaching him.
"I'll drive you to school, okay?" Sandy's voice was gentle and kind and non-confrontational, in a way that let Ryan know that he wouldn't try to make him talk, that he'd let the car ride be quiet.
Ryan nodded without looking up.
It was time for school.
oooooooooooooooooo
"Hey, Chino."
Ryan jumped a little.
Maybe he wasn't always so perfectly attuned to when someone was approaching. He slammed his locker door shut and turned towards Summer.
Seth's Bright Eyes t-shirt hung loosely on her small frame, and was almost certainly against the Harbor High dress code, but Ryan didn't envy anyone trying to pick a fight with her on that one.
"Scare ya?" Summer arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow.
"A little bit, yeah," Ryan admitted sheepishly. "You going to see Seth today?"
Summer looked down at her shoes.
"He said he wanted a day to 'get the lay of the land' before I visit," she said softly.
Ryan nodded. He was sure it had been hard for Seth to rebuff Summer, but Ryan was also sure that Seth wanted some time and space to figure out how to mitigate the weirdness of the pediatric cancer ward.
That made sense to Ryan. He couldn't imagine wanting a girl to visit him under those conditions: cohabitating with little kids and brightly colored walls and parents never far away. Seth had almost had an anxiety spiral the other day wondering whether or not he'd be forced to wear a hospital gown all day every day.
Some time to settle in, to get the lay of the land and a sense of the wardrobe, seemed fair.
And maybe Seth would need some time and space to sort his mind out, to make sure he could turn whatever he was feeling into an appropriately buoyant kvetch.
That sounded like Seth.
"You doing okay?" Ryan asked.
Summer shrugged, biting her lip. "It's just...it doesn't feel real. And it's so weird with Cohen. I never expected to like him so much, and now..." She hugged her arms around her waist and trailed off.
"Yeah."
Summer sighed. "I told my dad about everything and he like, thinks I should break up with Cohen, like him being sick is all going to be 'too much for me'." Her face collapsed into a look of panic and she grabbed Ryan's arm. "Please don't tell Cohen I told you that."
"Of course," Ryan agreed quickly. "I wouldn't."
Summer's grasp on his arm relaxed. "Sorry. I just...you do that whole one word answer thing and I guess I fill in the silences with things I definitely shouldn't be saying out loud." She exhaled sharply. "I guess I know how Cohen feels," she added, head tilting to the side as she contemplated that thought.
"Sorry," Ryan said. "It's okay to tell me about it though. I wouldn't tell Seth. And I'm sure that's hard, with your dad. I get needing to talk about it."
"Thanks, Atwood." Summer gave him a little smile.
Ryan's lips twitched into a little smile, wondering if Summer noticed that he'd gone from Chino to Atwood in the span of forty-five seconds.
If Seth were there, he'd probably expound for a good twenty minutes on what that meant, in terms of Ryan's presence in Summer's good graces and in her social circle.
And if Ryan decided to share that bit of information with Seth when he visited him later, he was sure he'd get the full breakdown there too.
It created some different kind of pang in him, realizing that Seth's rambling analysis of their lives and relationships and picking apart of minutiae would be on a time-delay now.
Seth would probably bemoan that it was also dependent on Ryan's ability to observe and then report on all of the relevant minutiae of their lives and their relationships.
Ryan wasn't so sure he was the man for that particular job either.
"And I mean, I wouldn't." Summer paused, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "Break up with Cohen. It's not like I can just turn it all off, you know, because it might be too much for me." She rolled her eyes.
"Like it's a business decision or something?" Ryan offered.
"Exactly!" Summer smacked his arm lightly. "Like, 'ooh, chemo's just not going to work with my social calendar, time to move on.'" She caught Ryan's eye and they both laughed a little, with only the hint of a nervous edge.
Seth had been encouraging everyone to make as many cancer jokes as they could possibly manage around him-"It's my process, you guys, and as the one with The Cancer, I think I get to make the rules here"-but it still felt a little awkward to meet Seth in the dark humor place sometimes.
A blur of red caught the corner of Ryan's eye, and he turned to see Marissa marching towards them, her expression livid, her eyes teary. She stopped, eyes darting between Ryan and Summer, as if she wasn't sure who to start with.
"How could you not tell me?" Marissa's voice was low and angry and had a dangerous edge to it, sounding the way she used to sound when she would call Ryan late at night and confess that she'd broken into her parents' liquor cabinet.
"Tell you what?" Summer's face was impassive.
Marissa snorted. "My dad asked me at breakfast if I'd gone to see Seth lately...the poor kid. Naturally, I had no idea what he was talking about. 'Gee honey, I thought you'd know. I thought you and Seth were pretty good friends.'" Her eyes flashed.
"Oh." Summer's eyebrows went up. "That."
Marissa zeroed in on Ryan. "All that time we talked on the phone, you never thought to mention that Seth has cancer?" Her voice chose that unfortunate moment to raise, just as the hallway chatter hit another unfortunately timed lull.
Said hallway chatter ground to an abrupt halt, students and teachers stopping what they were doing to stare at the trio.
Marissa looked abashed. She cleared her throat, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said, voice quieter as she glanced around. "It's just...Seth is my friend too. I thought we were all friends," she added weakly, eyes contrite and pleading.
The silence hung awkwardly in the air for a few beats.
Ryan glanced at Summer, noticing that her impassive expression was slowly transforming into what looked like the beginning stages of a rage blackout. He placed a hand on Marissa's back and attempted to gently guide her away from Summer.
"Why don't we talk about this later?" he asked quietly. "I can call you after school." He paused. "I mean, I'm seeing Seth after school, but after that."
"I'm really sorry, Ryan...I didn't mean to-" Marissa exhaled a frustrated breath. "And I know this must be-"
"I know you didn't," Ryan cut in. "It's okay. I..." he faltered, not exactly sure that it was okay, or that he got to decide that it was okay for her to do a thing like broadcast Seth's medical situation to the entire school, but he fell back on old instincts when it came to Marissa apologizing to him. He watched himself become quick to appease and quick to forgive, to give her the comfort she was asking for.
He could never really seem to tune into his own feelings until she was taken care of.
"We'll talk later." He tried to maintain soft steady eye contact, tried to convey well enough that he wasn't mad at her or frustrated with her, even though he might've been both of those things, and maybe for Seth's sake he should've been those things.
He really didn't know.
He felt loyalty to Seth but then something else to Marissa that he couldn't quite name, something that was driving him to tell her that it was going to be okay, that they were friends, that they would work it out, even if he didn't know if any of those things were really true either, and didn't know that he knew how to figure out what was true and what he was just saying so that she wouldn't be so upset with herself.
And for her part, Marissa nodded and said she was sorry again and gave him a slightly trembling smile before the bell rang and she moved towards her classroom and he moved towards his, and he didn't want to think about her, but all he could think about was his mom, and the way he'd lifted his hand to wave good-bye to her on the Cohens' patio, and even then, he'd wanted to tell her that it was all okay, that he wasn't mad, that they were still a family.
He'd wanted to, but he didn't.
ooooooooooooooooooooooo
Anna Stern took a quick inventory, making sure she had all the essentials. Lunch tray, of course, loaded up with an egg salad sandwich, a fruit cup, and a brownie. Everything seemed in order on that front. Small container of pineapple juice, check. Travel toothbrush, travel toothpaste, dental floss, check, check, check.
Lunchtime had arrived.
She scanned the courtyard for a friendly face.
Okay, so she was looking for one friendly face in particular. She hadn't talked to Seth in what felt like forever, even though she'd only been away for a week.
She was well aware that they had no chemistry as a couple, but having him as a friend suited her fine, or would suit her fine.
Maybe she still needed a little time on that one.
Anna nibbled her sandwich thoughtfully, wondering why she hadn't yet spotted Seth's distinctive mass of curls amongst the sea of perfectly coiffed-and generally blonde-manes.
"Yeah, man, he has cancer."
Anna's ears perked up. She wondered who the jocks at the table next to her were talking about.
"Dude, seriously?"
Anna's brow furrowed, trying to listen as closely as possible. It wasn't like she knew that many people around Newport, and she probably had no idea who they were even talking about, but once the urge to know someone else's business took root, it could never die. Not until she knew.
"Dude, who is this again?"
Anna tilted her head slightly, not wanting to miss it
"Umm...that really dorky kid. The one who gets his ass kicked all the time...What's his name?"
Anna froze, inhaling sharply. Her heart skipped a beat.
No.
"You mean the one that bagged Summer?"
"Yeah, that one. The emo freak with the bad hair."
Anna swallowed a lump in her throat.
No.
"Cohen. Seth Cohen," the jock spat out finally, sounding quite proud of himself.
Anna stood up quickly.
Some part of her brain was screaming that they were obviously wrong or misinformed or that maybe this was just the newest way that the popular crowd had decided to torture Seth-spreading twisted rumors to explain his absence when he'd probably just faked being sick so that he stay home and play video games with Captain Oats.
Still, she felt her heart beating too fast in her chest and she strode quickly to the trashcan, dumping her whole tray.
It was going to be ridiculous that she'd dumped an entire tray of food-like she was a character on some over-dramatic tv show-when she was going to find Seth in the Student Center and they'd laugh about Harbor High's ridiculous rumor mill and mourn together over the untimely loss of her egg salad sandwich.
It obviously couldn't be true. Seth couldn't just go and get cancer.
It was probably just a story they'd concocted so that Seth would return the next morning to some cruel and bizarre nicknames related to cancer or losing your hair or vomiting uncontrollably.
She pushed open the door to the Student Center and spotted Ryan and Summer on a couch, huddled closely together with grave expressions on their faces.
Anna knew she should just leave them alone, but she wasn't sure she could.
"Hey guys," she said quietly.
Summer looked up at her, eyes watery.
"I take it you heard?" Ryan's eyes always looked heavy and sad and tired to Anna, but they looked heavier and sadder and more tired than usual.
"So, it's true?" Anna crossed her arms.
Summer nodded, looking down at the floor.
"He was going to tell you," Ryan sounded a little nervous. "He said you weren't home when he called."
Anna nodded. She had a message from him on her answering machine-something about wanting to talk to her and how beautiful Tahiti must have been for her and how he wished he could go. It had seemed a little strange then, but when Seth wasn't sarcastic and kind of emotionally detached, he could be just a little bit earnest and just a little bit dreamy with her.
Now she couldn't help but wonder what he'd been feeling when he called.
"I'm sorry," Anna whispered. She turned to leave.
"Hey, Anna?"
"Yeah?" Anna paused, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Wanna sit down?" Summer gave her a little smile.
Anna sat down.
ooooooooooooooooooooo
"Seth...Seth...c'mon kiddo, time to wake up."
Seth groaned and squeezed his eyes shut tighter.
"Go away," he mumbled into his pillow, trying in vain to push his dad's hand off his shoulder without looking.
"C'mon, kid. I'd love to let you sleep in more, but we need to get you up."
"What time is it?" Seth mumbled, reluctantly opening his eyes to peer up at his dad.
"It's a little after ten. We need to get some breakfast into you before we go."
"Noon, right?" Seth yawned, trying-also in vain-to blink away some of his grogginess.
Groggy was pretty much his one mode, at the moment.
"Noon," Sandy confirmed, managing a smile. "Mom's going to meet us there. And hey, in case you're not feeling like a balanced breakfast this morning, I happened to pick up someone's favorite pie on my way home this morning," he added.
"A peanut butter pie? For me?" Seth smiled gamely. "Aw shucks, Dad. You sure know how to send a guy off in style."
"You betcha." Sandy's smile faltered a little, but he reached out and ruffled Seth's hair, chuckling as Seth tried to swat his hand away.
It was consolation prize atop consolation prize these days for Seth, but it was easy enough for him to humor his dad with the hoped-for reaction.
Oh boy, pie. Sure makes a guy forget that his body is attempting to murder him.
oooooooooooooooooooooooo
Sandy felt like was memorizing his son's face, sitting there at the kitchen island, picking at his slice of pie.
In his mind, Seth was still a mop-haired, hyperactive, exuberantly affectionate five-year-old running around with his toy horse. It didn't quite compute in his head that he was actually sixteen, closer to a man than to the little boy that he once was.
That he actually had cancer. That didn't quite compute either.
Seth shoved another forkful of pie into his mouth, hoping he was conveying a helpful amount of enthusiasm for his dad's gesture. He managed another few bites before pushing the plate away.
"I'm gonna go grab my bag," he said quietly.
There was a moment of awkward silence.
It was annoying, how dramatic and momentous every moment was continuing to feel for Seth.
It was just a stupid duffel bag.
That he was taking to the hospital.
For his cancer.
Awesome.
"Can I help?" Sandy asked.
"I'm good," Seth said, because I can still lift a duffel bag, you know, seemed a touch sassy for the occasion.
He made it to the first step before realizing he'd forgotten to ask if they could pick up batteries on the way. He turned back towards the kitchen.
"Hey Dad, can we-"
"Seth-
Seth stopped short in the kitchen doorway.
His dad was hastily wiping at his eyes. He sniffed and looked at Seth for a second before looking away.
"What do you need?" Sandy's voice was soft and strained and he gave Seth a shaky smile, but he wouldn't look directly at him as he wiped at his eyes again.
"I, uh, I just..." Seth swallowed a lump in his throat, a slow buzzing growing in his ears. His eyes felt hot suddenly. "Never mind." He turned, making a beeline for the stairs.
"Seth, wait," Sandy called after him.
Seth scaled the stairs as quickly as The Cancer would allow, needing to put as much distance between himself and whatever that was.
000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Seth stared blankly at the mural on the wall, taking in the puffy white clouds and the blend of colors attempting to resemble a sunset. He had some sharply worded feedback ready for whoever was responsible for this monstrosity, as he'd identified about a dozen ways he could've jazzed it up into something at least closer to a respectable piece of art.
"Sandy Cohen; I'm here with my son, Seth." A pause. "July 4th, 1988."
His dad was leaning close to the receptionist and speaking quietly, but Seth picked up every word, against his will.
His mom was meeting them at the hospital, but she wasn't there yet.
Seth wondered if it had felt like too much for her, being there for this part.
Hell, it felt like too much for him, but he didn't exactly have someone he could tag in when he needed a break.
A nurse walked by Seth, flashing him a sympathetic smile.
He was reasonably certain he might vomit.
"We're headed this way," Sandy said, placing a hand on Seth's shoulder and starting to guide him in the right direction.
Seth followed numbly.
A pretty nurse walked past them, pushing a young boy in a wheelchair.
The boy couldn't have been more than nine years old. His skin was stark white, and his lips were purple and chapped. He was bald, a truth of cancer treatment Seth hadn't yet been able to touch.
He was quite attached to his Jewfro, thank you.
"You okay?" His dad asked.
Seth nodded, but his head felt light.
The hospital felt far too real, far too soon.
Sandy frowned, wishing he could up with something comforting-or, failing that, at least something funny-to say. He didn't know how to make the moment any better or any easier for his son.
Did he promise him that everything was going to be okay for the little boy who needed his father's certainty, or did he hold back on the comfort because the sardonic teenager knew that his father obviously couldn't promise a thing like that?
And more to the point of the moment, did he acknowledge with Seth that he'd walked in on him crying so they could unpack that his father was optimistic, just also worried and stressed and sad for the pain his son was going through, or did he let it go without comment, leaving Seth alone to make of it what he would?
And then whose needs did either choice meet, Seth's or his?
ooooooooooooooooooo
Sandy flicked off the light in the bathroom and stepped back into Seth's room.
He stopped short, struck by the sight of Seth, who was eyeing the hospital bed warily.
It had to be a big step, getting into that bed.
A nurse had given them a quick rundown of some things, which was a bit of a mixed bag. Seth had been relieved to hear that he could more or less wear his own clothes, but the rehashing of the visitor's policies, with all of its hand-washing and screening for illnesses and possibility of protective equipment had put him off a bit-"Oh good, Summer's going to feel like she's visiting E.T. That'll get her hot."-as had the ensuing discussion about the possibility of stretches of isolation, with only his parents allowed to come into his room, if anyone was allowed in at all.
Seth hadn't been able to manage a smart remark about that one.
Admittedly, that discussion had filled Sandy with a fair bit of dread himself.
Seth tended to get stir crazy when he was laid up sick for more than a day or two. He'd probably set back a fair number of flus and colds-and the occasional broken bone-by his unwillingness to slow down and follow doctor's orders. Sandy, who could vividly recall reading Seth the riot act when he'd caught him out on his skateboard with a 102 degree fever, couldn't imagine what it'd be like for him to be isolated in a hospital room for days on end.
He made a mental note to ask someone about counseling for Seth.
In truth, they probably all needed it, but Sandy was feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of what Seth's day-to-day life was going to be like, his large world rapidly shrinking to one hospital and, potentially at some point, one room.
Which brought them back to the bed.
"We could-" Sandy started, thinking maybe they could take a walk down to the cafeteria or to the gift shop, something to delay the moment.
Although, was that even allowed? He trailed off as he tried to think it through. He hadn't thought to ask if, once Seth checked in, he was even free to roam around other areas of the hospital without clearing it with someone first.
It felt wrong, surrendering some level of parental control to the invisible hospital authorities who made those kind of policies, who might not care if Seth needed a few minutes to be somewhere else right then.
"I uh, I'm pretty tired," Seth cut in, before Sandy could finish his thought. He fiddled with the plastic bracelet looped around his wrist. "I think I'm just gonna nap."
"Of course," Sandy said quickly.
Seth pulled back the sheets and slid into the hospital bed.
Seth turned toward the other wall and tugged the blankets over himself, squirming around until he found a comfortable enough position.
Sandy and Kirsten used to laugh about how part of putting Seth to bed felt like watching a dog turn and turn in circles before settling into one spot. He'd roll around in his bed, limbs flailing, little huffs of frustrated breath escaping his lips until he found the magical perfect bodily position, which never seemed to be the same from night-to-night.
"Hey, Dad?"
Sandy blinked. "Yeah, Seth?"
"I uh, forgot to bring batteries. Could you maybe run down to the gift shop and get some?"
"Of course."
"And you can get lunch or whatever," Seth added. "I'm just gonna sleep."
"Okay." Sandy nodded, getting the sense that, whether or not he was actually going to sleep, Seth wanted the room to himself for a time. Though Sandy wanted very much to stay to stay, he again wasn't sure if that was more for his sake or for Seth's.
He approached Seth's bed and tentatively laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.
To his surprise, Seth reached out a hand and rested it for a long moment on top of Sandy's own.
"I uh, won't be gone long," Sandy said softly.
Seth's hand retreated back under the covers and he burrowed his head further into his pillow.
And, with nothing else to be said or done, Sandy left, easing the door closed behind him and leaving his son alone.