Jupiter only huffed in response. Ronan turned to look at the staircase again. “I like her,” he announced. He was talking about Juliette, though he didn’t use her name. And in truth, he really did like her. She reminded him a bit of Hugo. Hugo was nervous a lot, but he was also great fun on a good day, and Ronan didn't doubt that Juliette could be the same.
Kennedy opened her mouth to respond and then turned to look at Hugo, who had begun to hack, rather violently, into his napkin. The boy nearly always ran out of breath when he ate, because he hardly stopped to breathe in the first place. His coughing fit stopped after nearly a full minute, but he still held his napkin to his mouth for a moment before crumbling it in his fist, his small frame trembling at the overexertion of force on his body. “I’m-“ he started, only to be plunged into another fit of coughing.
“Okay,” he finished finally. “I’m okay.” Kennedy could only stare at him. She knew without looking that the rest of the table were all watching Hugo wide-eyed. Kennedy let out a long, loud sigh.
“Did you take your medicines this morning?" Kennedy asked, gazing intently at Hugo across the table. The boy nodded quickly, and placed another forkful of food in his mouth, though he kept his gaze low. He knew exactly what his mother's next couple questions would be, and he knew she would be able to tell he was lying to her. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair.
“All of them?”
“Yes!”
"And did you do your breathing treatments today?"
"Yes," Hugo answered quickly.
"Both of them?"
The boy was quiet for a moment, and when he finally did speak, his eyes betrayed his lie. "...yes."
Kennedy was silent for several seconds. "And did you use the mask too? Or just the vest?"
The boy pretended not to hear her.
"Hugo?"
The boy scratched behind one of his ears. "I did both."
Eva looked toward her son. "Okay," she said with a sigh. "Then why are you hacking mucus into your napkin? You shouldn't have that much gunk in your lungs. You should've already coughed out most of it."
Hugo sank into his chair, now poking at his empty plate.
Kennedy sighed. Ordinary, she probably would have scolded him. She would have given him a long lecture on the gravity of his situation, asked if he wanted to end up in the hospital unable to breathe for another week. But she didn’t. She didn’t have the energy to. She looked up and tried to meet his gaze Hugo remained staring at his empty dish.
"Go upstairs and take your medicines and then do your breathing treatment," she told him. "And if I come up there and you're only doing the vest again I'll make you do the whole thing over twice!"
The boy had often failed to understand the gravity of his own illness. Perhaps some of it was because of his late diagnosis. If nobody else had cared for so long, and he had avoided death for that time, perhaps it wasn't such a big deal.
But it was a big deal, even if Hugo failed to acknowledge it. All it would take to shove him over the edge was a single bad flu bug. Kennedy had spent a long time worrying over him. He did a less than adequate job taking care of himself, and she wouldn't be around to scold and nag him about it forever.
Hugo’s face reddened slightly, but he responded only with a small nod before scampering away up the stairs, heading for the hall bathroom.