Chapter 27 Hayes
Hayes
An entire day has passed since Layla left.
I feel like a complete asshole because
I didn’t check to see how she was doing when she landed.
I didn’t check to see how she was doing when she arrived home.
Fact is—I haven’t checked in with her at all.
Why?
Good fucking question.
Here’s the ugly, ordinary truth: I was gonna.
I even drafted something while Benny brushed her teeth—Had a great week.
Text me when you’re home?—but then bedtime morphed into an earache, which turned into my daughter waking me up in tears at 11:40 p.m., which turned into a low fever and me sitting on the bathroom floor with a wet washcloth and a kid who wanted to sleep upright on my chest like she did when she was three.
It wasn’t until around 2:00 a.m. that the fever broke.
By three, she finally passed out in my bed. I slid out like a ninja, tossed a load of her bedsheets and towels in the washer, and set my phone on the dryer while I was loading it.
Then I fell asleep on the couch. Phone stayed in the laundry room.
Morning came and went, and Layla hadn’t messaged me, either—because she’s sane and has a life—and I told myself I’d send the message once I’d showered and shaved and I wouldn’t overthink it.
Then I overthought it.
Then . . .
Something wild happens.
My phone pings, and I grab it, assuming it’s my agent, or my publicist, or one of my teammates giving me shit. Or Benny’s nanny. But it’s not.
It’s her.
Layla:
Hey. Just checking in—how are you and Benny doing now that you have the house back to yourselves?
I grin at the counter like an idiot. She could’ve written anything, and I’d still be smiling.
I lean a hip against the island and type.
Me:
Hey. We’re good—house is quieter but not quiet.
Me:
Actually . . . Not great last night. Benny spiked a fever and we were up for hours. Phone ended up in the laundry room, which is my excuse for being slow.
Me:
I was thinking about you.
Layla:
Poor kid. I’m glad you’re both hanging in there.
Layla:
Full disclosure: Faith was giving me a major amount of shit because I didn’t have the guts to text you. But I had wanted to, because . . . I miss you. Both.
Me:
Tell Faith she wins. And—we miss you too.
I wait for three dots to appear as she thinks of what to say next.
She doesn’t disappoint.
Layla:
Faith says I shouldn’t admit how much I’ve been thinking about you, but since she’s the reason I’m even texting—there it is.
Me:
You have no idea how good that is to hear.
Shit. That sounded really fucking lame.
Layla:
Then maybe you should have texted me first, ha ha. For a second I thought your thumbs were broke.
I wince and run a hand over my jaw. She’s not wrong.
Me:
You’re right. I should have. Truth is, I was planning to but then I felt buried. Benny was sick, and by the time I came up for air I felt like I’d already fucked up by not texting you when I left you at the airport.
I’d given her a quick, friendly kiss because Benny had been up my ass, sad about her leaving, and I didn’t want to make a whole thing out of it in front of her. Fast goodbye.
Zero finesse.
Me:
I gave you the world’s most G-rated airport kiss because Benny was hounding you for attention. Then the night went sideways, and by morning I felt like a bag of shit.
Layla:
You don’t have to keep apologizing. I totally understand. And I’m glad everyone is feeling better.
Layla:
Sometimes being home for a day is the best medicine.
Me:
True. But I’d rather be in your living room than mine.
Layla:
Oh yeah? What do you imagine my living room is like? You never made it to my place when you were in Star Lake.
Me:
Also true. I don’t know—cute and cozy??? Beige?
Layla:
Beige?
Layla:
Yes. My walls are beige, I have a whole earthy vibe that you probably wouldn’t expect from me. I don’t love clutter LOL
Me:
Really?? I never would have guessed that.
Layla:
Excuse me? Do I look like I’m a slob?
Me:
That’s not what I meant.
Me:
I just pictured you . . . colorful. Like your brain leaves little neon Post-its everywhere it goes.
Layla:
My brain does. My living room does not. The living room is calm. Adult.
Me:
So you’re telling me there’s a couch I’m able to sit on without having to move a mountain of laundry?
Layla:
Wild concept, I know. There’s even a basket for blankets!
Me:
Fancy. Are the blankets for show or can I steal one and hunker down.
Layla:
Yes, for sure snuggling. Are you a snuggler?
Me:
Of course I’m a snuggler. You can’t have a pre-teen daughter and not be, know what I mean?
Layla:
That’s sweet. Love it.
Me:
Yeah, Benny basically fell asleep on top of me last night. She’s a hot box to begin with and on top of that, she had a fever, so that added to my exhaustion.
Layla:
Well, if I was there, I’d let you lie on the couch while I rub your feet.
I snicker and want to ask Oh? Is that the only thing you’d rub? but don’t want to be a pig. Too soon for that, ha ha.
Instead I ask: What’s the couch policy on snacks?
Layla:
Do you mean, do I allow snacks in the living room?
Me:
Yeah.
Layla:
Um, my favorite thing is to be parked on the couch with my arm elbow deep in a bag of popcorn.
I rack my brain for something new to say, wanting to change the subject. Circle back around to the important shit—like whatever this is that we’re doing. Definitely not dating. Definitely not a one-night stand.
What is this?
A fling?
A friendship?
Friends with benefits?
I wish I fucking knew.
Me:
Can I be honest for a second?
Layla:
Yes of course. Please.
Me:
We obviously like each other. And I don’t want this whole situation to be a confused blur that ends up hurting someone.
Layla:
Someone as in ME?
Me:
No, I think we both have the potential to be hurt and I’m not even going to mention Benny as part of that equation. That one seems like a given.
Me:
I’m not built for a friends with benefits relationship. It reads too much like a shortcut to pretending I don’t care when I do.
Layla:
Thank you for saying that.
Layla:
I don’t think I’m built for a FWB either. Not that I’ve ever had one? But you’re also in a completely different state, so it’s not like we can do booty calls when we want to get laid.
Me:
Which is going to be all the time now that I’ve broken the seal.
Layla:
Oh lord . . .
Me:
I’m serious. Now that I’ve had you and know what you taste like, I’m ruined. My brain permanently can’t stop thinking about your pussy.
I hit Send.
Watch as the chat bubbles appear and reappear.
Layla:
You’re not going to make this easy, are you?
Yes. I would love for this to be easy. But we both know that’s obviously never going to fucking happen, simply because she’s in Washington and I’m here and it is what it is.
Me:
Not trying to make it easy. Just trying to keep it 100
A few moments pass before she replies.
Layla:
I don’t know if the distance will make it impossible, or if I’ll get in my own way. We’re two grown up people who had a lovely weekend then a lovely week together, and your daughter is amazing and for that, I am so grateful.
A lovely weekend.
So grateful.
Right.
Me:
Agree. It was really . . . great.
Layla:
So great.
Me:
Cool.
Layla:
Cool.
I stare at the screen, type something, delete it.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Me:
What are you up to?
Layla:
Lazy. I did nothing. Really just getting ready for work Monday, I’m sure there are going to be people who will be pissed I left so soon after the Fall Fest.
Layla:
You?
Me:
Cleaning, bleaching things LOL. Getting ready for the team meeting on Monday.
Layla:
Ahhhh now the real fun begins.
Me:
Don’t know about the fun part, but yeah. Shit’s about to get real.
Layla:
Well, the good news is you really wouldn’t have time to date anyway.
That’s true but also, false.
You always find time for the things that are important. There’s never a day where Benny feels like she’s been shoved aside for my job; she knows I do it for us. Not for myself.
Teamwork makes the dream work and all that BS, and it would be easy for me to reply with I would make time for you.
But I don’t.
Me:
At least you’re a self-care queen.
Layla:
Crowning myself as we speak.
Silence crawls.
Me:
For what it’s worth, I don’t think people will be pissed. You worked your ass off.
Layla:
Some will but I can deal with that.
I can deal with a lot of things: Distance. Schedules. Plane tickets.
Living without Layla? Apparently I’m doing that too.
Layla:
You’ll crush your meeting on Monday.
Me:
Thanks. I’m actually looking forward to it. Time to pretend to be an adult. I feel like I’ve been fucking around a lot lately.
Typing bubble . . .
Disappears as I reread my sentence and realize that could be taken the wrong way. However, I don’t edit or correct it because what would be the point?
Layla:
I know what you mean about adulting. Too many distractions, which are . . . distracting. LOL
Me:
Right.
Not the word I want, but it’s the word I have.
Me:
I’m not looking for distractions.
Layla:
Of course. Me neither.
We’re lying.
Layla:
I should go throw my clothes into the dryer. They’ve been sitting in the washing machine all afternoon.
Me:
I should check on Benny . . .
Another beat.
Layla:
It was good chatting with you.
Me:
Yeah, same.
I’d make time for you, I’d make time for you, I’d make time for you . . .
Layla:
Night, Hayes. Good luck Monday.
Me:
Thanks.
Me:
You too.