Page 11 of Bossed By The Boggart

“Um, um, I don’t know!”

“Giant marshmallows, duh!”

My son giggles some more. “You’re so silly, Mom. Was Dad silly, too?”

The question comes completely out of left field and damn near knocks the breath out of my lungs as I scramble for a response.

“Yeah…he was silly, too.”

Internally, panic flares hot and sharp as if I’ve been caught in a lie.

My stomach clenches, and bile rises to the back of my throat.

“Is that why I’m so silly?”

I force a smile to my lips. “Yep, the silliest. What do you want for dinner?”

It’s the most blatant change of subject in the history of awkward conversations, but my sweet, innocent kiddo doesn’t notice.

“Hotdogs and macaroni.”

“What vegetable do you want on the side of this nutritious meal?”

“Gummy carrots!”

“Not a real vegetable.”

Jake pouts. “Fine. Real carrots—with ranch!”

The sub pulls up to our stop and we get out while I think about what’s in my fridge.

At the same time, my brain screams at me that it doesn’t matter if we don’t have milk for the macaroni.

We have bigger problems.

Dodging ‘the talk’ with Jake about his dad is like playing the world’s worst game of hide and seek—sooner or later, he’ll figure out the truth.

I’m clueless about what to say to him or how to explain.

All I know is I’m terrified that my son will hate me for it.

The thought keeps me up at night, jumbling my stomach into a knot.

When Jake and I step inside our small apartment, he rushes to the table, knowing that the sooner he finishes his homework, the quicker he can go play with his toys.

Not bothering to change clothes from work, I get the water boiling on the stove while fishing out the rest of the ingredients for our dinner.

“Can I help stir?”

“Of course.”

Together, we drain the pasta and mix in the cheese powder.

Jake grins the entire time, and I wish I enjoyed cooking as much as he does.

Once everything is ready, I set the table. My son gobbles it up like he hasn’t eaten in days, and I stare at him, my heart in my eyes.

It’s moments like these that are the glue holding my fragmented world together.

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