by Anna Rudolph
Philip excused himself to use the bathroom, and Sonya jumped at the opportunity. “Did you want some more pills, Ray? Maybe a brownie?”
“Both of those sound great.” He sounded exhausted.
She stood up from the chair, walked across the room, and opened the lid of the globe. She double-checked the label on a bottle of Percocet before shaking out two pills. She took them to Ray with his water cup. His hand shook slightly as he popped them into his mouth and chased them with some water. She considered for a moment before digging back into the pill stash for a muscle relaxant. It was pretty typical of liver patients to have muscular problems, like restlessness and shaking. He looked up at her, grateful and silent. He was so bad at asking for help, always had been.
Sonya made her way to the kitchen, surprised to see Philip standing at the open refrigerator. He chugged milk directly from the jug. It was so strange for Sonya; they had technically lived together for so long and she had never seen him so unprofessional, so at ease. She had never had the desire to get to know him, with his fancy suits and chronic attitude problem. He had seemed so big and important for so long, almost inhuman. She liked seeing this vulnerable layer underneath his cold outer shell.
He turned, startled by her presence. He almost dropped the milk jug and seemed to choke a little on his last sip. “Sorry,” he nervously apologized. “Did you need to get in here?” he asked, gesturing in the fridge.
“Yeah, just real quick. Need to grab Ray a brownie.” She wished he didn’t make her feel so small, so nervous. He leaned back, opened the door further so she could reach across him. She was acutely aware of his taut chest and her proximity to him as she slowly grabbed a brownie from the pile in the fridge.
“Guess I won’t have to deal with my kitchen reeking of weed every week for much longer.” Philip tried to sound casual and nonchalant, but Sonya saw right through him. He was still processing the news, still in mild denial that his father’s time was running out. He stared bleakly at the floor.
Sonya searched for comforting words that didn’t come. She studied his profile, his strong chin and the tiny bump in his nose. She wished she could help, but she had hardly come to terms with it herself. She thought back to her time in the hospital, how many times she’d offered support to families and patients after the news came. It seemed so shallow now, she hadn’t truly understood their pain until now.
An awkward beat of silence passed. Philip capped the milk and slid it back onto the shelf.
“You wanna take this to Ray?” She offered the brownie.
His sadness softened. “Yeah, I do.”
“He’s probably gonna be out soon, it’s about his nap time. So you can go do any work you need to do.” Her words were weak, her voice quiet.
“Yeah, okay.” He seemed distracted. He turned and walked away without another word, probably desperate to escape the tension in the kitchen.
Once he was gone, Sonya leaned against the island counter. The granite surface was cold against her elbows. She dropped her head into her hands and took a deep, ragged breath. For just a few hours, she had almost forgotten. She had slipped into the same state of denial as Philip. She hadn’t helped him, hadn’t comforted him, and she felt powerless.
She stood there for a few minutes, head drooped, desperate to calm her raging thoughts. Though Ray meant the world to her, losing him didn’t just mean losing a friend. She had money saved, but it wouldn’t last her forever. She thought about going back to a hospital; the long grueling shifts, the harsh fluorescents, the sterility and impersonal nature of most treatments. Her stomach turned. All those years put into her career, and she wasn’t sure she could ever do it again.
Losing her mom had been different somehow. Sonya had been young, naïve, and unaware of the pain, the suffering, her mom had gone through. She’d felt as if she understood once she began work in the cancer ward. But she had been wrong. Could she go back and look death in the face each and every day? She doubted it.
Philip strode back into the kitchen, interrupting the downward spiral of Sonya’s hope. She looked up at him, but he said nothing. He moved around her, grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the counter behind her. She kept her eyes trained on the counter and waited for him to say something, anything.
But he didn’t. He walked right back out, turned down his hallway, and Sonya heard a door close around the corner. He had closed himself to her again, and she had never felt so alone.
Chapter 3
Sonya didn't see Philip again. He hadn't come out of his office that she'd seen. After Ray’s nap, she'd bathed him. Once she'd walked him to and secured him in his bathtub, she read him articles from one of his favorite monthly fishing magazines. He'd laid back, eyes closed, muscles relaxed in the warm, frothy water.
“Don't tell anyone I like this girly bath stuff,” Ray said, referring to essential oils Sonya had treated the water with. “I'd like to die with what little dignity I have left.”
He'd meant it as a joke and Sonya laughed, forced as it was. She helped him out of the tub, allowed him a chance to cover himself, dressed him and brought him back to bed. Though it was only been early evening, Ray was tired and she put him to sleep with a handful of painkillers and a fresh IV bag.
She ended up calling Allie. It felt good to shed some tears and vent some of the emotional build up to a familiar ear. Once her tears had run dry, however, she dished a little bit on Philip. She complained about his attitude and his mood swings. When she finished, Allie said, “Well sounds like Miss Sonya has a little crush.”
The statement irritated Sonya. She believed herself to be a woman with a mature, healthy grasp on her own feelings. Allie was a hopeless romantic, dated and fantasized constantly. Also, Sonya was pretty sure she had a picture of Philip on the cover of Forbes magazine tacked up in her bedroom. Some people may find that creepy, but Sonya thought it was hilarious.
After the call, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling for hours. Nothing could be done to change her circumstances, that was certain. No one was going to magically cure late-stage liver cancer overnight. Ray was going to die. He was capable of so little, she didn't know how to make his final time on earth fulfilling.
And then there was Philip. Sonya thought she had seen a change in him yesterday during their time together. But one mention of the word “work” and he was back to his old ways, closed off and silent. Would he be able to step up the way he needed to, the way Ray deserved? Or would his mood swings continue to break Ray’s heart until he eventually passed on?
Sleep had been almost impossible, and Sonya woke from a restless sleep to the sound of birds chirping outside her window. It was about an hour before she typically woke Ray, and she wasn't sure what to do with herself. The cheery birdsong angered her, it was a stark contrast to the black mood she was in. Though she had more time to try to sleep, she felt restless and kicked the blankets away, dragging herself out of bed. She peeked in Ray’s room as she passed, he slept soundly and the rhythmic beeping of the machines sounded normal.
The sound of scrapes and sizzles got louder as she neared the kitchen. Maybe Ferne will be making breakfast she thought, suddenly ravenous. She'd had no appetite and hardly ate yesterday.
“Morning, Sonya!” Ferne called, squeezing half a lemon into a blender full of yellow sludge.
“Morning, Ferne,” she said with a smile. “I'm starving, what's for breakfast?”
“Eggs Benedict.” Sonya was incredibly surprised to hear Philip’s voice. He leaned back from the stove, waving with one hand, frying some ham in a pan with the other. His smile was light, easy, and immediately made Sonya suspicious.
“Fancy some Benedicts this morning, Mr. Jones?” Her overly formal tone was just as cutting as she had intended. Philip narrowed his eyes at her.
“Actually, it's Ray's favorite,” he said smartly. “It's been awhile since I've cooked, and I actually quite enjoy it. So I figured I'd whip some up.”
Sonya was speechless, she wasn't sure if she
should be sorry or skeptical. The toaster popped up a batch of freshly browned English muffins.
“You didn't tell him?” She directed the question at Ferne, who immediately ducked his Mohawk and turned sheepish.
“Well, it was really nice, I thought maybe…” Ferne trailed off.
“Tell me what?” Philip snapped back into business mode, regarding them both like naughty children. Sonya took a deep breath.
“Ray… Really struggles with solid food. That's why he's on all those IVs,” she explained sympathetically.
Philip’s scary boss-man face faded. He cast his eyes around the kitchen, the ham, the sauce, the muffins, the eggs poaching in a pan on the stove. “I… I guess I didn't know.” He sounded distraught.
“Yeah, well, you haven't been around much.” Sonya words clearly stung. Philip inhaled, gearing up to argue, but she watched it dissipate. He seemed to know she was right.
“Well, then I hope you're hungry. Ferne, would you like to join us for breakfast?”
“I, what, really?” Ferne looked as perplexed as Sonya felt. Philip Jones, sharing a meal with his staff?
“Well, we made enough for three people. Probably even more,” Philip laughed. “Be a shame to waste it.”
Sonya hesitantly climbed onto a stool by the island, resting her arms on the surface. She was suddenly self conscious, realizing she was about to have breakfast with her boss in a pair of silky, skimpy pajamas covered in pink flamingos. They'd been a gift from Allie, but, as comfortable as they were, she was grown woman and felt ridiculous. Her braids hung loose, and she knotted them back in a bun, keeping her eyes down on the granite countertop.
Philip and Ferne plated their culinary masterpiece in awkward silence. Ferne passed Sonya a plate, the alarm in his eyes clearly conveying he was as profoundly uncomfortable as she was. Once he and Philip had arranged themselves on either side of her, Philip chirped, “Dig in!”
And so they did. Forks and knives clinked on glassware, they chewed and they said nothing. Sonya had to admit, the meal was fantastic. She almost didn't mind the heavy silence, she was so lost in the salty hollandaise and soft, runny eggs.
“Hey,” she thought out loud. “Do we have any sauce left?”
“Yeah, did you want some?” Ferne was up like a shot, clearing his empty plate and clearly eager for any reason to escape.
“No.” She wiped her mouth. “I was thinking… These eggs are pretty soft. If you guys made a couple more, you could probably give them to Ray with the sauce.” She looked at Philip, carefully neutral. “You already put in so much work and it is a nice gesture.”
Philip seemed to brighten a little. “Yeah. Yeah, let's do that.”
The boyish energy in his face, his clear desire to please his father had Sonya hoping Ray really would be able to keep them down. She cleared her plate, rinsed off the sticky egg yolks, and tucked the plate into the dishwasher next to the sink. Philip cracked more eggs into the little cups in the poaching pan, seeming pleased with himself.
Once they were finished, he reached for a plate to put them on. Sonya shook her head, gently rested a mocha hand on his pale arm. The simple touch sent tremors up her arm. From the way he snapped his head around, jaw dropped, she could tell he felt it too. She chose to ignore it, pointing at the bowls on the next shelf.
“Trust me, it gets messy,” she said, eyes wide and empathetic. She tried for a small smile.
“Oh.” He suddenly looked lost, staring at the bowls as though he had never seen one. He clumsily removed one off a stack, popped the two eggs out of the pan. Ferne pulsed the blender twice to freshen the hollandaise before hesitantly asking, “So, do you need anything else, Mr. Jones?”
“No.” Philip’s gaze never broke from the eggs. “No, Ferne. You're good, thanks for the help.” He looked sullen, as though wrestling with something inside. Ferne wasted no time scurrying out the door. Philip still didn't move and Sonya stood, awkward and unsure of what to do. She carefully pulled the bowl from Philip, dressing the eggs with a drizzle of sauce. She cut the eggs into tiny pieces with the edge of a fork, mixing the yolks with the yellowed sauce. Philip watched her prepare the food with sad eyes.
He looks lost, Sonya realized. He'd been in denial about Ray for so long, it must be hard for him to come to terms with the reality of his condition.
Wishing she knew how to express her compassion, she handed him the bowl. “I'm gonna go get Ray up,” she said. “We have a little bit of a routine. If you give me about fifteen minutes, you can come join us.”
“Actually,” he started and promptly stopped. He took a deep breath, collected himself. “Would it be alright if I came… And… Watched?”
The surprises just kept on coming. The idea of Philip watching her care for Ray made her uneasy. She wasn't sure what to say, but it wasn't like ‘no’ was an option. She nodded, the movement forced and awkward.
He looked as though he were going to speak, but held his tongue. Sonya led the way out of the kitchen, forcing her eyes straight ahead. She tapped twice on Ray’s door and turned to Philip with a finger over her plush lips to keep him quiet. He nodded, and they entered.
“Good morning,” she sang to Ray. He didn't even twitch and Philip’s eyes widened in alarm. Sonya opened the windows, letting the sunlight and cool breeze relieve the muggy room. She tried again, gently nudging his arm, “How's my favorite patient?”
Ray awoke slower than usual, taking a moment to adjust his eyes before stretching his mouth in a wide yawn. His breath was rank, smelled almost of decay. It was amazing what a difference one day without his meds made. Sonya continued to smile at him until he finally smiled back, or at least tried. “Morning, Sonya,” he said, his voice gravelly.
She sat beside him, considering their awkward chair formation from the previous day's card game. Philip stood awkwardly by the door, holding a bowl of eggs, looking petrified. Once she sat Ray up, she helped him to stand but realized more of his weight leaned heavily on her. He wheezed as he stood, reaching a hand to his swollen abdomen. Sonya encouraged him, gently nudging him towards the door, gesturing Philip out of the way.
Ray's poor eyes finally noticed Philip, and Sonya expected his face to light up. It didn't though. His brow drooped in apparent disappointment. “What's he doing here?” Ray snapped, and Philip looked as if he'd been struck.
“Philip came to say good morning!” Sonya injected as much positivity into her voice as she could. Ray kept his head down, his expression angry as he tried to shuffle out of the room. Sonya kept up with him, frantically looking back at Philip. She gave him an exasperated shrug under the weight of Ray's arm. She hoped her eyes conveyed her meaning; I don't know, I'm sorry.
Once she'd settled Ray in the bathroom, she asked, “What was all that about?”
“I'm a man, Sonya,” he said, his tone hard. “No man ever wants to need assistance to the pisser in front of his son.” His voice cracked, and Sonya felt horrible. She'd never meant to humiliate Ray. Before she could say as much, he snapped, “Now if you'll excuse me.” He sat up straight on the toilet, refusing to look at her. She closed the door behind her, ashamed.
When she returned to Ray's to change the sheets, she found Philip sitting on the couch, staring at the floor. When she disturbed him, his head shot up, his eyes lost and childlike.
“I... I didn’t realize,” he trailed off, looking past her with a pained expression. Sonya fought the urge to point out that he would’ve known if he’d been more supportive and present for his father. There was no going back to undo the past now, and Sonya could recognize that her grudge was a waste of energy. He was here now and that counted for something, at least as long as he actually stuck around.
Sonya moved to speak, but the sudden sound Ray’s violent retches from the bathroom caused her to wince. There was a look of raw horror on Philip’s face. They both stay frozen where they were, Philip hunched on the couch while Sonya stood over him. She crossed her arms over her chest, a feeble attempt at shielding he
rself from the heavily awkward atmosphere in the small room. Ray coughed roughly between dry heaves, his throat becoming more and more raw.
Philip suddenly, wordlessly stood. He took a deep breath, his face intent and puzzled. Upon his exhale, he turned and strode out of the room. He left the door wide open behind him. Sonya’s jaw dropped. The air suddenly seemed cold and lonely without him here. Sonya pulled herself together, furious with Philip but refusing to let her emotions impact the work she needed to do for Ray. She undressed and spread new sheets over Ray’s bed in record time, hurriedly tossed the ball of dirty sheets down the hall, and made her way back to the bathroom. She put her ear to the door and, hearing nothing, rapped her knuckles lightly on the wood.
“Yeah,” Ray grunted, exhausted.
Sonya entered the tiny room. Ray sat on the edge of the bathtub, slumped over heavily. His cloudy eyes stared blankly into the bathmat, one arm rested on the IV pole, his skinny legs were sprawled out and tremored.
“I want to apologize, Sonya,” he said, not meeting her eye. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You don’t deserve it.” He finally looked up, his eyes wet. “I let my pride get in the way and I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Ray.” Tears rushed to Sonya’s eyes. She had never been so quick to cry as she had the last few days. “You’re more than forgiven. I should’ve checked with you before bringing Philip in for the more private things. I’m the one who is sorry.” She crossed the bathroom, squatting down to assist Ray’s journey back to the bedroom. Once she had him settled, he looked to her with a shy expression.
“Where’s Philip?” he asked.
“Philip… He had to take a phone call.” Sonya was never a great liar, but she hoped her smile was convincing. “It seemed important, but he said he should be back soon.” Even if I have to drag him in here myself, she thought.
