Layla – Present
I smell coffee before I even open my eyes.
“I knew that would wake you.”
Dad is sitting on the edge of my bed.
My bedside table has a plate of stacked waffles and a large mug, painted with lilac flowers, steaming with the bitter liquid.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and sit up.
“What time is it?”
“It’s almost one in the afternoon. I figured it was about time you got up.”
I reach for the coffee and take a sip.
I glance over at him and notice the deep lines at the corners of his eyes and lips. There’s stubble along his jaw now, gray like his hair. The blond it once was is almost completely gone, just a few faded strands remain.
His aged appearance doesn’t endear me to him.
If anything, it serves as a visual reminder of all the time he’s spent avoiding me.
I used to think he was a great dad until he wasn’t.
I never thought he would push me away. I never thought he’d choose to believe the lies Rhett and Alex spread over the truth from my own lips.
I was na?ve.
“Do you want to tell me what you’re doing back here, Lays?”
He’s surprisingly calm. It’s not like him, especially after how our conversation ended yesterday.
He’s the kind to hold things in, twist them, then bring them up again for the next ten years.
“I wanted to see you.”
I lie.
He gives me a look that says he knows it.
“Does your husband know you’re here?”
Look at him, pretending to care.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m home. That’s all you need to know.”
He does this thing with his bottom lip, curling it downward toward his chin like a frown.
“Your still my daughter, last time I checked. I think I deserve an explanation for the sudden homecoming.”
I grimace.
He makes it sound like it’s my fault I haven’t come back, like he didn’t push me away himself. Like he wasn’t the one who made his feelings pretty clear that night in the airport.
When I don’t respond, he keeps going.
“I called your college. And do you know what they told me?”
I’m press my lips together.
“They said you didn’t graduate.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“I never wanted to go to that college.”
He exhales like we’ve had this conversation a thousand times and he’s already tired of it.
“It was for the best, Layla. And it turned out alright, didn’t it?”
He gestures to my wedding ring.
The tears start to build and I swallow hard.
“I’m taking a year off.”
My voice breaks.
He gives me an odd look, almost like he’s worried about me. Almost like, underneath it all, he does care.
“Okay,” he says. “You can stay here for as long as you need, Lays. You know you’re always welcome here.”
He pauses.
“Just don’t ignore your husband for too long. I’m sure whatever has happened can be resolved.”
I nod.
I ignore that I’ve never once felt welcome here.
I ignore that there isn’t anything in the entire world that could resolve this.
He sets a list on the bedside table next to the waffles.
“When you get up, can you go to the store and pick these up?”
He places some cash on top of the note.
“You can take my car. The keys are where they always are.”
He stands, hands in his pockets.
“I’m glad you’re here, Lays.”
He nods, and then he closes the door behind him.
I go to my suitcase and unzip the lid. The moment it flops open on the carpet, I’m greeted by a photo of me and Ben.
I had bubble wrapped the rest and packed them in the boxes still sitting in Clark’s parents garage, but this one I wanted with me right away.
It used to sit on Ben’s bedside table back home.
I lift it out, running my fingers along Ben’s features, then prop it up on my nightstand.
I shuffle through some clothes and head for the shower.
By the time I leave, it’s almost three. I pick up the keys from the dish by the door and head to the gas station, parking in one of the spaces near the pumps.
I enter the store and the chime sounds off. It feels like I’ve stepped back in time. Everything is the same, right down to Heather standing behind the counter.
I give her a tight lipped smile as I round the corner aisle. I never could stand the woman.
I grab a few things from the list and hunt for the rest. It feels like I’ve lived a lifetime away from here, even though it’s only been five years since I last walked through that glass door.
I set everything on the counter. Heather smiles as she begins to ring up my order.
“I thought it was you. What brings you back to town?”
I force a polite smile. She isn’t asking to be nice or even to make conversation. Heather might be the most two faced person I’ve ever met. She lives for gossip, truth or not.
“I wanted to visit Dad.”
“Well, I’m sure he loves having you back. You’ll be a great help to him.” She’s talking to me like I’m a child. I try to keep my smile looking genuine, but it’s getting harder the more her mouth moves.
The door chimes again and Heather’s demeanor shifts. She stares past me, suddenly agitated.
I glance over my shoulder, out of curiosity, and then I feel like I am a teenager again.
My eyes meet his, and my stomach drops. He looks different. Five years kind of different. A flash of what I suspect is surprise flickers in his eyes before he starts walking toward me.
“Layla?”
My name rolls off his tongue, and it sends all kinds of emotions through me. I used to love the way he said my name. It always sounded better coming from his lips.
I’m staring at him. He’s staring at me. We’re both silent. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what you normally say in these situations. I’m pretty sure this isn’t a normal occurrence for most people. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.
I focus on his eyes. They’re a darker shade of green now.
Maybe it’s the store lighting. Or maybe they’ve changed too.
There’s a time I could recall the exact shade they’d be depending on the light in the room.
I knew the pattern of the little flecks of hazel in them, there were always more in his right eye than his left.
I look away.
When I look back, my eyes trail over him.
He’s wearing a white T-shirt that’s tight around his tanned biceps.
He didn’t have those five years ago. I look down at his left forearm that’s now covered in tattoos, raising my gaze higher I notice a faint scar along his neck.
A strand of his dark hair falls onto his forehead, and I wonder if it still curls at the nape of his neck the way it used to.
There’s so many small details I’ve forgotten. Details I used to cherish.
“You’re back?” He finally breaks the silence.
I wonder if his own mind went to the same place mine did. Do I look different to him? I must. I don’t even recognize the girl looking back at me anymore.
“I’m back.”
“For how long?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
I haven’t decided. I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m on all full reset of my life with absolutely no direction, and I should probably care more about that than I do.
“Layla.” Heather interrupts.
Jacob’s eyes leave mine for the first time as he spares her a glance.
“Didn’t you get married?” Her lips twist into a smirk. She’s trying to stir a pot that’s been empty for a long time.
I look back at Jacob and he’s staring at my wedding ring.
I hesitate. I know I’m making things harder not telling the truth, but I also haven’t shared Ben’s death with anyone that didn’t know him. I’m sure as hell not about to start with Heather Hashdale. Even the thought of Ben’s name coming from her lips makes me nauseous.
“I did,” I say.
Jacob tenses.
“Congratulations.” A muscle in his jaw ticks.
I didn’t think I’d ever have to tell him I got married. I didn’t think we’d ever see each other again, not after he returned the letters I wrote unopened.
He made his point clear, and I can’t say I blame him. What happened that night was my fault. I should have known better. I should have fought harder for him.
Still, even with our past, I wouldn’t have told him like this. I cared too much about him to ever tell him something that big in such a casual way. Even if he doesn’t care anymore. He deserves better than this.
“Did you bring him home with you?” Heather knows the answer. It’s written all over her smug face.
“No.” My voice breaks, and my eyes start to sting.
I want to tell her this isn’t my home. That my home was with Ben.
Jacob tilts his head, his brows pulling together.
“Oh, that’s a real shame. I’d love to meet him. He’s a lucky man to have you as his wife. Isn’t he, Jacob?”
I glare at her. The threat of tears for Ben disappearing as an overwhelming need to protect Jacob resurfaces. I don’t even know him anymore. Five years can change a lot about a person.
Jacob doesn’t answer, but the way he looks at her says enough.
I hand Heather the cash and she finishes bagging my items.
“What’s your new surname?” she asks as she passes over the brown paper bag.
“Matthews,” I answer.
“Layla Matthews,” she repeats. “It suits you.” She smiles, and for the first time during this whole conversation, I find myself smiling too.
“It was nice to see you again, Jacob.”
He doesn’t respond.
The door chime goes off as I leave. I’m half way to Dad’s car when it sounds again.
“Layla!”
I stop and turn. I open my mouth about to speak, but he starts first.
“You have some nerve showing up here again.” His voice is sharp.
“Excuse me?”
He doesn’t answer. He walks right past me to the black pickup at the pump, pulls on the handle, then stops turning abruptly and faces me.
“You know, I used to think you were the only person in this town that was different. I guess I was wrong.”
He gets in his truck and slams the door shut. His tires screech as he drives away.
I stand in the empty forecourt, holding the brown paper bag close to my chest.
In the weeks and months after I left, I used to dream about what it would be like to be reunited with Jacob.
I spent six months writing him letters he returned to me unopened.
I thought after my first letter, the one he opened then sent back in a new envelope, he was just angry.
I thought it would blow over, but he never wrote me once.
When a year passed, and then another, my hope for a future with him dwindled.
When I met Ben, I thought about him less and less. But I did still think about him. I wondered if there ever would be a time that our paths would cross, and each scenario in my head played out completely differently than the reality.
Jacob Evans, the first boy I ever loved, just drove off with five years of resentment aimed directly at me, and I can’t blame him at all.