Chapter Text
The early morning light filtered in through the window and Susannah Fisher smiled before she was even out of bed. Another new day she was beyond grateful to live. She pushed the blankets back and sat up. The scar across her chest pulled faintly when she stretched. She got out of the bed, and picked up the light cardigan hanging from the chair, wearing it properly. Then she walked to the window and stood still - three months ago, she didn't think she would love through the summer. She was prepared to leave them all behind - her sons, her best friend, Belly and Steven, the cousins house. But now, miraculously enough, she was still standing here, alive and breathing and some mornings she still couldn't believe it.
Three months since they had been able to say remission without immediately knocking on wood afterward.
Three months since treatment had ended.
Three months of doctors saying things like encouraging and promising and we'll keep monitoring.
Three months of learning how to exist in a future that had once seemed impossible.
She was still learning how to trust it. Taking a deep breath, she went to freshen up and by the time she was done, she could already hear the faint sounds downstairs.
A cabinet opening and closing. The hum of refrigerator. The hiss of oil on a pan.
Jeremiah.
She knew the sounds of her house. Always had. Conrad moving around was quiet. Even when he was home, there was something almost ghost like about the way he occupied a room. A door closing softly. Footsteps overhead. The guitar.
Jeremiah was different. He made a house feel occupied. Even when he was trying to be quiet, there was always something loud about it. There was a reason after all that she called him her sunshine. He really was, warmth personified.
She found her younger son in the kitchen - hair damp, ready for school, his backpack dumped on a chair beside the dining table. A cutting board in front of him, eggs on the pan and a notebook - open on the side.
He looked over when he heard her, his lips curving up at her sight, "Morning."
"Good morning”, Susannah greeted back, walking inside, “What are you doing?”
"Making you breakfast”, Jeremiah shrugged, looking at her from the corner of his eyes - the full inventory he did every morning, the ritualistic reminder that his mother was still here, still breathing.
"I can see that."
"Then why'd you ask?", he rolled his eyes playfully.
She smiled, "Because I like hearing you explain your very important culinary process."
Jeremiah pointed the wooden spoon at her, "Don't distract the chef."
"Sorry", she immediately raised her hands in surrender.
"You'll ruin the eggs."
"I wouldn't dare"
He went back to the stove, laughing at her response.Susannah watched him. He was good at this - too good, sometimes. He had learned the rules of her food almost as carefully as he had learned the rules of her medication.
Less fat when she was nauseous. Nothing too heavy first thing in the morning. Protein when she could tolerate it. Small frequent meals more than three big meals.
Fruit. Toast. Eggs.
He knew which things made her stomach turn and which things she could usually manage. He knew how much coffee she could have. He knew when she was pretending she wasn't tired.
He knew. That was the thing. Jeremiah knew. He had spent so much time knowing and knowing it right.
“I made the eggs soft today, you should be able to keep them down better”, Jeremiah mumbled, while cutting a banana into small pieces, “Go sit, I will bring it in a minute”.
Susannah leaned over and nodded, “Very exciting”.
Jeremiah looked at her sideways, “the reward of a very exciting illness”.
Susannah hid a smile at the snark, but didn't answer. Rather her eyes went to his notebook.
During treatment, Jeremiah had started keeping track of what she could eat. At first it had seemed practical. Then it became automatic, given he was the one spending day in and out with her. He would check the refrigerator. Make notes. Text her from school sometimes.
Did you eat lunch?
Are you feeling nauseous?
Don't drink that, it'll make you feel gross.
Mom, did you take your meds?
Sometimes, on her Good days, she would tease him about it. Call him her nurse. He would roll his eyes and tell her she was impossible. There was something comforting about it - watching him figure out what worked for her, they had made it an experiment, a game between themselves. He would cook, re-adjust them as to what she could tolerate. She would rate it out of ten. He would get mock offended. But in the little taste testing, she had eaten more than she thought she would be able to. He had made her soups, sometimes asked Laurel's mother - Halmoni for broth specifications, tried and tested different flavors and consistencies, sneaked in carrots and zucchinis when the nurse at the oncology department told him they help with immunity. Even on days Laurel would stay with her, Jeremiah would leave her copious notes on what to feed Susannah and how. It was adorably moving then.
But he had never stopped. Even now. Especially now.
Susannah walked around him and picked up the notebook. There was a list. Small, ordinary things. Soup. Crackers. Fruit. Yogurt. What she had kept down last week and the week before. What hadn't worked. What might. Grocery runs approximated. Something about it made her chest ache.
"You know I'm capable of feeding myself."
"I know."
"You don't have to keep doing this."
"I know Mom”, He said it lightly, “I like doing it for you. Now sit, it's almost done".
She did. Jeremiah put the plate in front of her. He had cut the toast in half. Sprinkled some salt on the banana pieces because he remembered she ate more like that. The eggs were soft and scrambled.
She squeezed his hand when he came with a glass of juice. He squeezed her back, and sat down in front of her.
“Where is your plate?", she asked, eating a fork ful.
His face tightened slightly, then he shrugged, “I am not hungry in the morning. I had coffee before you woke up".
Susannah raised a brow. She had raised two teenage sons who played football on the side. She knew exactly how hungry teen boys could be. But Jeremiah just smiled, “I will eat something at school Mom”.
She nodded. As much as she wanted to press, she didn't want to make every thing into a thing - she wanted Jeremiah to have some normalcy back. She had been noticing the faint circles under his eyes too, he was more tired lately.
And Jeremiah had always been a late sleeper when he could get away with it. Especially on weekends. He his liked sleep. He liked staying up late, too, but he liked knowing he could sleep afterward. But she didn't remember the last time he had slept in, he woke up to make her breakfast every morning, even on weekends. Occasional Sundays that he slept in, he would meal prep her food in advance.
Sometimes she would notice the light on in his bedroom way past bedtime. She had assumed school. College applications. Finals. The ordinary teenage things. She wanted to believe those were the reasons.
“You have an exam today?”, she asked, and Jeremiah shook his head, “No, Friday”.
“And finals?”
“Next week. Can't believe I am gonna be finally free”.
“Cant believe my baby boy is graduating”, Susannah said dreamily, and it made Jeremiah laugh, shaking his head at her.
Sometimes she missed it, his laugh. She didn't know why she had this strange feeling like he was holding back from her. She couldn't explain it, but she felt it. He would still sit with her, but he didn't lean into her like before. Wouldn't sprawl into her lap, or fall asleep on her shoulder. Sometimes she felt like he was hesitating - questioning if he could. If he should. She didn't know what to make of it. Was it just the age, the growing up, college transition being so near?
Her chain of thoughts were interrupted by Jeremiah, who was picking up his backpack and looking at her with a strange look in his eyes, “Okay, I need you to sign something and not react badly”.
Susannah stopped eating, “What?”
Jeremiah ran a hand through his messy curls, forwarding a slip of paper, “Just something. The counselor wants a parents sign and of course, I would rather not ask dad”
Susannah took it immediately, reading it seriously instead of just signing like he was hoping against hope for, a frown appearing between her eyebrows.
“Jere, baby, this is a mild prescription for sleep. You are having trouble sleeping?"
“Mom it's senior year and a week before the finals. Everyone is having trouble sleeping", Jeremiah laughed, hiding the fine tremor in his right hand by running it through his hair - again.
Susannah looked at her younger son, not really buying it and not able to prove anything otherwise, “Your counselor suggested this? Why not breathing exercises and stuff? How long have you been having trouble sleeping?”
Jeremiah exaggerated an eye roll, and snorted, looking away, “It's not a big deal Mom. Honestly, half of the school is on something for finals. It's a whole thing this year”.
“But You'd tell me if it was more than that?”
“Yeah”, if there was conviction lacking in the word, neither of them called it out.
She looked at the prescription again. Then back at him.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Jeremiah's expression changed. It was so quick she almost missed it, "I just didn't want to worry you."
Susannah felt something tighten in her chest, "Sweetheart."
“Mom. It's really not that serious. Finals would be over in two weeks and then maybe I won't need it anyway. It's just school stress acting like that probably”, he said it without looking at her, playing with the strap of his backpack.
Susannah wanted to ask more, but he was already checking the time, "I've got to go. Can you please sign it?”
She looked at him, then nodded and signed it. Didn't mention that she had noticed that he had brought it up specifically when she wouldn't have time to ask detailed questions because he would have to leave..
Jeremiah took the paper, "Thanks."
She reached out and caught his wrist before he could turn away. He immediately stopped.
"You tell me if this gets worse."
He nodded, "Okay."
"Promise."
She let go. He picked up his backpack. She almost expected him to come hug her, but he only leaned down and kissed the top of her head, "Love you."
"Love you too."
He walked toward the door.
"Jere?", He turned.
"You really aren't hungry?"
He smiled, "I'll eat at school."
She knew that answer wasn't quite an answer. But she let him go. The door closed.
Susannah sat alone at the kitchen table. Her own breakfast was half-finished. The morning light had begun to fill the room. She looked at the place where Jeremiah had been standing.
She thought about the prescription. A couple weeks. Finals. Then College. Normal seventeen year-old things. That was what he had told her this was about.
And she believed him. Mostly. Because Jeremiah had always been good at making things sound smaller than they were. He had been doing it for years. She had once thought that was simply Jeremiah being Jeremiah. Her warm, capable, endlessly affectionate boy. Her sunshine boy.
She didn't know how bad his nights have been, and not just for a few weeks. Even now, with the worst of the illness behind them, some part of Jeremiah was still listening for her breathing. Still waking at small noises. Still checking the clock. Still waiting for something terrible to happen.
And she didn't know that lately, there were other things keeping him awake too - Things he wasn't ready to put into words.
So when he had smiled and told her it wasn't a big deal, Susannah had let herself believe him.
For the moment.