Page 2 of Boxer Next Door

“Try not to choke yourself,” I warned him, taking a small bite of my sandwich. “And don’t eat too much or you’ll ruin your appetite for dinner.”

Bryson frowned at me, then chewed furiously and swallowed down his food, taking a quick drink of his juice.

“This is enough for dinner,” he said stubbornly.

I frowned. “You need to eat more than a sandwich and some juice, honey.”

He shook his head. “No, Mom. Remember your promise. I want snacks.”

I sighed but didn’t want to argue with him, and I let it drop. I’d already made the promise to him that since he didn’t have school tomorrow, we would binge watch a few movies later. I didn’t want him to stay up for too long, but he already had a few movies lined up, and we’d probably just keep watching until he fell asleep. Not that I minded. I worried that we didn’t get enough time for just the two of us anymore. And it would be a good way to forget the day I’d had.

Bryson finished eating quickly, took his things to the sink, then hurried to the living room to get his movies ready.

I took my time. After I finished eating, I put on some popcorn in the microwave, then I went to my room to get changed from my work outfit, pulling on a more comfortable fleece tracksuit. I made my way back to the kitchen to get the popcorn. I ripped it open and poured it into a bowl. I mourned a little at the lack of butter, but found a bag of chips in one of the cupboards in case Bryson needed something more.

With everything prepared—at least for the moment, knowing I’d have to get us more snacks as the night wore on—I went to the living room.

By the time I got there, Bryson was bouncing on the couch with the remote in hand, waiting impatiently for me.

“Mom,” he whined. “Hurry up!”

I chuckled and moved to sit down next to him. I curled into the corner of the couch, pulling a knit blanket onto my lap and covered my legs with it. Bryson got under the blanket too, then fiddled with the remote.

We were watching some movie he’d been looking forward to for some time. I didn’t know much about it besides the vague summary, but it was PG, so I thought it would be okay.

“Are we ready for the movie yet?”

Bryson shot a quick glance at me. “Just a sec, Mom. I’m waiting for the internet to load.”

“Do you need help finding the movie?”

“Nah, Mom. I’m fine.”

I was a little skeptical, but sure enough, a minute later, the movie was starting. Bryson squirmed in excitement, before completely burying himself under the blanket, leaving only his head out.

“Mom, it’s starting!”

I chuckled at him. “I can see, honey.” I picked up the bowl and held it out to him. “Popcorn?”

He took a handful and started shoving the kernels into his mouth. His nose wrinkled a little, and he frowned at me. I knew what he wanted, and I shrugged.

“Sorry, kiddo, no butter. Promise I’ll have some for next time, though.”

He went back to staring at the TV, too excited to worry too much about it. As the starting credits went across the screen, Bryson moved, so he was leaning against me, and I wrapped an arm around his shoulder, setting the bowl of popcorn carefully on my lap. I stared down at it for a moment, knowing I really shouldn’t be eating any, even without the butter. I mentally shrugged and popped a few into my mouth.

It’s movie night with Bryson, it should be fine. I’ll just get in a few extra minutes of work out for the week.

After all, my body was no longer young.

I hugged my son to me, barely paying attention to the movie, and focused more on his glowing face, my lips turned up into a smile unconsciously.

For a while now, it had just been Bryson and me. There were times when it felt like it had been much longer, but more than a year ago, my husband had just up and disappeared from our lives without a word. Mike and I were, technically, already divorced by that point. But it didn’t stop me from thinking how much of a bastard he was. Even if he didn’t want to see me, the least he could have done was stick around to see his son.

When we all lived happily together, Bryson had been such a darling little boy. After the divorce and Mike’s disappearance, he’d turned moody and grown reserved. He was only just opening up to me again, and I couldn’t help but be glad.

Why did things turn out like this? I thought to myself in a moment of nostalgia.

Back then, my boy had had friends that he raved about hanging out with; he didn’t just lock himself up in his room to play video games and read comics. I knew from his teachers that he wasn’t pulling away from people anymore, but he didn’t play with his friends as often, and he didn’t insist on me letting him go to one of his friend’s places over the weekend like he used to. The one time I’d asked, his answer had been simple and made me want to cry.