Comfort Food
submitted by @lolainblue
T/W: Describes a depressive episode. If this is going to be upsetting to you please skip this piece.
Rylie comes into the kitchen and sets the bags of takeout down on the counter. She knows there is too much of it, there’s probably more than enough here to feed a half a dozen people not just the two of them, but she doesn’t know what might tempt him to actually eat today and so she has covered her bases. Before spreading out today’s provisions she first opens the refrigerator, gathering up the uneaten repasts from several days back. She tosses the carcasses of old clamshell packaging and their questionable contents in the trash container, noting with a wrinkle of her nose that she needs to take that out when she leaves. She tosses away the rest of the refuse she sees laying about, and then gathers a clean washcloth from the drawer by the sink and prepares a basin full of hot, soapy water, which she uses to wash down the counters and clean the few glasses left sitting out. Once the kitchen is put to rights and smelling like a tropical breeze, she finally opens the bags she has brought, setting out the food in what she hopes is an appealing manner. “Shannon,” she calls out in the quiet house, but she doesn’t expect an answer. She calls his name one more time when she has finished and then heads back to his bedroom, where she is almost certain he is. She finds him on his bed, in almost the same position he was in when she left him last night. She takes a deep breath and swallows, counting to ten, determined to keep the quiver out of her voice that she feels on seeing him like this. “Hey Shannon, I brought dinner again.” She doesn’t ask how he is, she knows the answer. It’s the same one it’s been for days now, although she hopes for something better every evening she shows up at his door. “Ry… I don’t think….” Shannon mumbles, his face still buried in the rumpled blankets. Rylie swallows again and grits her teeth in determination. Shannon is in the same sweats and t-shirt he has been in for four days now and she can smell him from where she stands in the doorway. Enough is enough. She knows he can’t sort it for himself so it’s up to her to help get him moving. She walks past him without another word, directly to the en-suite bathroom where she turns on the shower. She gathers everything he’ll need and lays it out where he can easily reach it and then marches back to the bed. “All right, Up you go. You smell like a hobo and you’re ruining my appetite now too. And I picked up dinner from El Coyote so you’re not going to spoil that for me. You know it’s my favorite.” Shannon groans and rolls over, pulling the blankets over his eyes. Rylie quickly snatches them away from him and begins stripping the bed around him. “These sheets have got to go too. Trust me, you’ll feel much better once you’ve showered and have fresh sheets.” When he doesn’t move she stops, her voice softer as she brushes her fingers through his haphazard mop of hair. “Come on, Shan. It’s Friday. I can even stay tonight if you’d like. But I’m not going to curl up back here with you if you don’t wash up and put some fresh blankets down.” This seems to give him enough push that he sits up and puts his feet on the floor. Rylie goes back to stripping the bed, pulling pillowcases loose as she watches Shannon stretch one muscular arm after the other, rotating his head from side to side as his muscles adjust, before finally getting up and padding across the floor and into the bathroom. She is pulling out fresh linens for the bed when she hears a plaintive cry from en-suite. “Ry….” She immediately drops the sheets and goes to him, finding Shannon in his boxers, standing in front of the toiletries and change of clothes she has laid out for him, a look of confusion on his face. She wants to cry, this is a particularly bad day for him and her heart hurts for what he must be going through, but instead, she gently wraps her arms around him and rests her head on his shoulder. It takes him a minute, but eventually, she feels his arms wrap around her too, and she holds him like that until she feels him start to relax. “I know it feels overwhelming,“ she tells him in what she hopes is her most calm and reassuring voice. "Just break the tasks down, one thing at a time. All you have to do right now is take your boxers off and get in the shower” “I’m sorry, Ry. I don’t mean to be so much trouble. You don’t have to do this you know…” She sees that his eyes, already red-rimmed and swollen from what must have been an earlier crying jag, are growing moist with another threatening storm. She is determined to head it off. “All right, none of that. You know I don’t mind. I’m here for you whatever the reason. You’re just sick. Just like anyone who has the flu or a cold. You’d like me to come take care of you and feed you chicken soup if you had a cold right?” “And maybe give me a sponge bath?” Shannon jokes, almost cracking a smile. The little bit of hope that glimmer of normal Shannon gives her refuels her determination. “I think you’re too far gone for a sponge bath, mister. Now strip and get under that hot water.” He does as she requests, not shy about disrobing in front of her. Shannon has never been shy, and it’s not anything she hasn’t seen before. They were more than friends once, although it seems like that was several lifetimes ago. She misses it more than she lets on, but she’s happy to carry that torch for him. Whether or not anything ever changes between them she knows she is more special to him than he admits as well. It’s an equilibrium that only they understand. She stays long enough to make sure that he’s finding his way now, lathered up with body wash and sighing under the hot steam, before she returns to making the bed. Once it is made she begins straightening up the bedroom, throwing away tissues and wrappers, straightening pill bottles and gathering dirty cups, until she hears the shower cut off. She waits patiently to make sure he gets dressed without any further hiccups. He finally appears in front of her, in a fresh t-shirt and sweats with a pair of fuzzy spotted socks on his feet. He is damp and his hair is ruffled and something in her heart tugs affectionately just a bit. "You’ve been taking your meds, right?” she asks as she waves a half-full bottle at him. Shannon grumbles and takes the bottle from her, opening it up and popping a single pill in his mouth and dry swallowing it. “When I remember,” he confesses. “You need to hydrate too. Take those things with water.“ She takes the bottle back and returns it to its spot on the nightstand. "Come on, there’s food in the kitchen,” she urges. “I’m not hungry,” he tells her, letting himself fall forward onto the freshly made bed. He grabs and pillow and pulls it underneath him, tucking his knees up and rolling to the side. Rylie snatches the pillow away from him. “Well, I am. And you’re not going to make me eat by myself so you’re going to march into that kitchen and sit down next to me while I tell you about my day. And if you’re very good and maybe eat a flauta we can come back in here and curl up in the bed and watch some movies together.” Shannon grumbles but follows her into the kitchen. He looks over the spread she has laid out for him while she pulls out plates. “Jesus, Ry. This is too much food. I haven’t even eaten the stuff you brought yesterday.” “Or the day before or the day before that,” she adds. “But sooner or later something will sound good to you and I want there to be food in the house for you when that happens.” He doesn’t say anything else, just watches as she makes herself a plate and then stubbornly puts some food on his too. He gets a bottle of water from the refrigerator and drinks that while he watches her eat and chatter on, her voice filling the otherwise silent house. She makes him feel less alone in the world. She is an anchor for him, and he needs her more than he thinks she knows. Eventually, Shannon picks up his fork and starts picking at the food, and before he realizes what has happened he’s finished a tamale and some rice. He can see that Rylie is trying not to make a big deal of it, taking his half-empty plate with what he imagines she thinks is a casual shrug but he can see the big smile that is spreading across her face. He manages to pull his wits about him for a time and helps her with the cleanup, He adds the leftovers to the burgeoning pile in the refrigerator, it’s generous interior nearly bursting at the seams with her meals. He closes the refrigerator door but stands unmoving in front of the appliance, his wavy reflection looking back at him from the stainless steel surface. The evidence of her care is there, in his still damp hair that smells of shampoo, the tidy room with a freshly made bed waiting for him, the persistent meals spilling over on their chilled shelves. The way she never scolds him but always encourages him, the way she is there when he is on top of the world and when he is an absolute mess. The way he looks forward to her laugh, and the way his world seems a little less colorful when it is absent. “I love you, Rylie,” he says simply. She hugs him tightly, both of them savoring the feel of each other. “I love you too, Shannon.‘ He means more than that, he is almost positive, but he knows now is not the time. “Are you going to make me some popcorn to have with these movies, or are we just going to sit around and watch them like animals?” he asks. Rylie laughs. “I’ll make you all the popcorn you’ll eat Shanbear,” she tells him, using a nickname he hasn’t heard in ages. He pulls the large bowl he uses for popcorn out of the cabinet and feels the first real smile he has had in weeks stretch his cheeks. He’ll tell her tomorrow, he thinks. It’s good to have something to look forward to.
