Page 34 of He Saved My Boy
Me: I’ll never be able to eat in here again, and I just started working here, so that sucks.
Me: Though now all I can think about is using my magical cock.
Teagan: LMAO—Sorry—Not sorry. (winky face emoji)
Me: How many weeks again?
Teagan: Too many.
Me: I gotta run. Have to meet a patient. Have fun with your cock.
Me: Wish it were me.
Two weeks left…
It’s been a long day.Connor wakes up at the ass crack of dawn and is bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to start his day. I try to get him to come lie down with me, just so I can sleep that last hour before my alarm, but he isn’t having it. Even though he naps at daycare, I can tell he’s a little wired. With it only being four in the afternoon, I know I have to keep him up until at least seven, or the vicious cycle will continue.
Normally, I’d take him to the park to wear off his extra energy, but since he can’t play on any of the toys today, that’d just be mean. “What do you want to do tonight, sweet boy?” I ask through my rearview mirror on our way home from daycare.
“Pizza and a show.”
That won’t tire him out, so I suggest, “Wanna go for a walk first?”
He nods from the back seat as I pull into our driveway.
After we take our things inside, I order our pizza and see we have plenty of time to go for a walk before it arrives. Just as we get out of the driveway, he asks, “When is Aunt Annie comin’? I miss her.”
“She’s working on a big project at work tonight, but we can invite her over this weekend to watch the Renegades play. How does that sound?”
“Yay! Can you make dip?” He’s referring to my seven-layer dip he loves.
“I think I can handle that. How’s your arm today?”
“It’s fine, but itchy. How many more sleeps until I get it off?”
He still has a hard time understanding days of the week, let alone days in a month, so I set up a calendar for him and each day when he wakes up, we put a sticker on the calendar to show how much closer we are to his next appointment. I have no idea who’s more excited, him or me, about him getting his cast off. Not only would it mean he can shower again, but it also means I’ll see Davis in person.
“Just thirteen more days. It’ll be over before we know it. Are you hurting at all?”
He shrugs as his head shakes. “No. Just itchy.”
“Remember what Dr. Fallon said. Whatever you do, please don’t stick anything down your cast to scratch it. It could get lost and hurt you more.” The other night, he told me about a pen getting stuck in a boy’s cast and caused more damage than necessary. Not to mention, it was gross when it got pulled out. Yuck.
Sighing heavily, he says, “I won’t, but my hand’s itchy.”
“Just let me know if it bugs you too much, m’kay?”
The moment the mail truck stops in front of our house, Connor runs to the window and announces, “There’s a package!”
Not expecting anything, I wonder if my mom has sent something.
He has to wait for me to undo the top lock of our front door, but the moment I release it, the door bursts open, and he runs to the front porch to see what it is.
We live in an older kid-friendly neighborhood. Many of our neighbors have kids, and Connor knows not to go past the edge of our yard when he’s outside, so I don’t worry about him going ahead of me. There’s a wide sidewalk and a patch of grass between that and the curb of the street, so it leaves plenty of leeway for Connor to play safely in the front yard, if I have to run into the house for anything. Cars typically drive slow enough, but I’m not willing to risk that chance, therefore I’m strict with our rule.
As I enter the porch, I hear his excitement wain slightly. “It’s for you.” My mom sends him enough packages now that he’s learned how to read and write his own name. She likes to send him letters and small presents through the mail, and he draws her a picture in exchange. He loves getting the mail each day because we never know when she’ll surprise him.
Seeing as it’s not from my mom, I rack my brain wondering if I’ve forgotten an order or something, but I keep coming up blank. Taking it inside, I head to the kitchen to open the tape with scissors.
