I’m working upstairs. He’s gone with R to her friend’s place for the afternoon.
Every time I move, or the breeze comes in, or a car takes a turn in the cul-de-sac behind me, or I imagine any sort of noise, I take a quick look at the door, half expecting him to have come upstairs.
He spends his afternoons upstairs, sleeping behind me. Even when R is at home, he ditches her after an hour on the sofa and comes upstairs to me.
He comes into my room, softly lick my hands, gets a few ear and head rubs, tries to get me to give him belly rubs, and then lays down behind me to quietly sleep.
No one’s coming upstairs today to check on me, to give me kisses, to demand rubs, and to quietly fill the room with his body smell.
I’m missing my boy.