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“Worry about your other son.” Shane bit over the phone. Yuna had been hounding him for the last 2 hours about this and that partnership, and Shane’s patience had run out 150 minutes ago. His eyes roamed over his apartment, while his mind wandered over the province lines to Ottawa.
“We discussed his watch partnership 2 days ago. It’s your turn.” Yuna replied, and Shane could hear her smile through the phone. “And I do worry about him too, you don’t need to tell me to.”
Shane threw his head back sighing. “Well, while you’re pestering me about sneaker ads, he’s been hacking a lung up.”
In the pause that followed, Shane knew he had said too much. He had just unleashed his mother on his poor boyfriend.
—
His body was pushed against the grey side couch cushions, his feet pulled up, and his eyes turned towards the Admirals game on TV. He wasn’t watching, but instead thought about running out for medicine. Or he considered it as much as his brain could think at all. The idea of putting his feet on the ground, climbing into his car, and driving to the store sounded awful. Ilya couldn’t fathom the idea of putting his feet on the ground and doing anything.
The door bell rang, and Ilya pulled his cheek away from the couch and glanced backwards towards the front hallway. The movement made his head pound, and his temper flared. After three more dings, with a long sigh he threw his feet down and lubbered over to the door.
Pulling the door open, Ilya twisted his head in confusion and his headache again flared in response. Yuna stood in a light brown jumper, with a green scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. Was there a meeting he had forgotten about? A contract he forgot to sign? Why would she come without notice? He tried raking his brain, but found it too difficult to concentrate. Without a word, Yuna smiled broadly and stepped around the hockey player, grazing the wood door frame with the plastic shopping bag in her hand, and walked into the dimly lit hallway. Ilya still held the door open as he turned and watched her disappear into his house.
Hiding his eyes from the dim afternoon light, Ilya pulled the door shut behind him. As he walked towards the main room, he tried to clear his throat and use his sleeve to swipe at his runny nose. Yuna already stood over his wooden cutting board organizing ingredients on the counter. He smiled, which ended in a small wince as he continued trying to determine why Yuna was here.
“Hello. I wanted some company for dinner.” Yuna clarified with an assessing glance. Her brow furled and eyes shone with concern. “How are you doing?”
Ilya shrugged and immediately regretted the movement. He stood next to the long island, waiting for instructions on how to help cook. The wind outside rushed against the windows, and each waited for the other to respond.
“Go sit.” she relented when he didn’t answer. When he moved closer to the island instead, Yuna added “I’ve made this a hundred times, you’ll slow me down.”
Ilya nodded and silently screamed at himself for moving his head yet again. Turning around, he dropped down in his previous spot, and then straightened himself upright. “And turn on Shane’s game.” Yuna added.
The sounds of chopping and boiling pots joined the voices of announcers of the pre-game show. Between each task, Yuna muttered comments about the game or hummed the song stuck in her head. Her hands completed each step of the recipe without much thought, which allowed her to focus on one son's game and the other who hadn’t muttered a word since she arrived. Her thoughts spiraled a little - had he lost his voice, was it too painful to talk, was he trying to hide a cough, was translating too much when he felt sick, or a mix of everything? Each time she glanced over to the couch, Ilya had slid further down.
As the first period played, she spooned the chicken and rice soup into a white porcelain bowl that she remembered gifting last Christmas. Quietly, Yuna rounded the island and went over to the couch. Turning her back to the TV, she sat down on the arm of the sofa, and drew her left leg up. Her brow unfurled for a moment at how cozy the man before her seemed.
Ilya stared up at her and pushed himself back into a more proper sitting position. His face flushed from fever and slight embarrassment.
Handing over the soup, Yuna smiled. Ilya thanked her in a raw voice, and he realized if Yuna didn’t know how sick he was before, she did now. He felt miserable. His throat ached even if he wasn’t talking, his head ached every time he moved, and the ache in his back was probably the worst symptom of all. All day he’d been too tired to do anything but sit in misery.
She swiveled her head around towards the TV, and began commenting again on the game. After a thorough lecture on how crummy #8 on the other team was playing, Yuna reached forward and placed her hand on Ilya’s forehead.
Ilya sat frozen. He felt like a little kid for a number of reasons - sitting on the couch as some made dinner, having someone check your temperature, having someone know you so well. Ilya felt warmed that Yuna was doing all this, but also very self-conscious.
Frowning, Yuna muttered “You have a fever.” She turned her face back to Ilya’s and gave him the well practiced concerned mom look. She had given him an hour of silence, knowing he would have originally protested if she came on so strong, but she had just spent the last hour worrying about him, and she could no longer contain herself. Folding her hands together in her lap, she asked “What’s wrong?”. After seeing his apprehensive eyes, she softened with her next questions - “Your throat? Your nose? Headache?”
“I’m okay.” Ilya muttered in a gravelly voice. Yuna’s piercing brown eyes let him know she noticed. “Maybe small cold? No big deal.”
Ilya watched as she let out a deep breath, her eyes shone with concern, and it tore at his heart. He suspected she had intended to drive to Shane’s game tonight over in Montreal, and that she had a thousand other things she could, and should, be doing. Yet she had driven here, made him soup, and made sure he had company.
“All of it.” he muttered quietly as he pulled his eyes away and across the room to the large windows. He swallowed the lump in his throat.
Yuna’s eyes scrunched in confusion, transforming back to worry when she realized he had answered her question. She gently lifted herself off the couch, grazing Ilya’s hair tenderly as she passed by towards the kitchen island. Grabbing a water and then a bowl of soup for herself, she shuffled through her shopping bag for a while before she started back to the couch with her haul.
Stopping twice in her tracks to watch the game, she went to the other side of the couch, dropping off her soup. She opened the box in her hand and tore off two pills, before handing the pills, box, and water to Ilya, “Take this one then, every four hours. Orange now, blue for sleeping.”
Swiftly turning around, she plopped down. She brought her legs up onto the couch, slouched down, and put the bowl of soup in her lap. “Shane’s having a pretty good game.” Yuna said before her first bite.
“Agreed.” Ilya said as his eyes watched the motions on TV. The soup felt good on his throat, and he liked having Yuna on his couch keeping him company. Yuna continued holding her own game commentary coverage in the living room: yelling at players’ mistakes, discussing better play strategy, and telling hockey stories of Shane as a kid. She still didn’t ask any questions to Ilya. He let himself sprawl out on the couch listening to her ramblings. Everything still ached, but some of his misery was gone.
After the game finished, Yuna grabbed the remote before throwing it to Ilya telling him to put something else on. After an episode of Law & Order, Yuna stood and moved to the kitchen unloading and then reloading the dishwasher. Leaning down over the couch, Yuna asked “I’m going to head home in a moment. Need anything else, love?”. Ilya shook his head.
Yuna’s earlier tenderness disappeared for a moment, and she ordered with narrowed eyes “No practice tomorrow and go to bed early tonight.” She kissed the top of his head and turned away.
Walking forwards the front door, Yuna yelled firmly “No practice tomorrow, I mean it.” Ilya had a feeling she would come back tomorrow to check that he hadn’t gone.
—
Unlocking his apartment, Shane called Ilya to check-in. He hoped Ilya was already asleep and that his voicemail would pick up. On the third ring, he heard an accusatory “Tattletail”, followed by a fit of coughing.
“It was an accident.” Shane sighed but smiled.
“Oh, tattletail AND a liar.” Ilya retorted.
Shane grimaced, hoping his mother hadn’t overstepped her bounds, like she often did. “I’m sorry. It accidentally slipped out. I hope she didn’t disturb you.”
“No, it was nice.” Ilya smiled.