We stood there like that for a long while, my heart beating out of my chest, my words caught in the back of my throat, my mind racing. I hadn’t seen her since I was twelve, but she looked almost exactly as I remembered her. I stood there and assessed her, compared my memory with the woman standing right there in front of me.
Same honey-colored hair—although, I was sure that by then it was coming from a bottle—shoulder-length and wavy and hanging over her forehead.
Those same brown eyes—my eyes—sporting a few new crinkles, as well as some long, faint creases around her mouth.
Laugh lines. How dare she.
I only came back to Earth when I heard her voice—that oddly familiar, melodic voice—ask, “Layla?”
I couldn’t speak. I wanted to deny it. I wanted to run away. But instead, my head shook up and down on its own, as my shaking, traitorous voice answered, “Yes.”
There was an awkward second where it almost looked as though she were going to hug me. I tensed visibly and she must have thought better of it.
“I can’t believe how much you’ve grown!”
Yeah, Kate. That’s what kids do. They grow up. Most parents stick around to witness it.
I didn’t know if she was expecting an answer, but I wasn’t giving her one anyway.
“You look just like Kenny. My God. It’s uncanny. You always did, but…”
“What are you doing here?”
She shifted on her feet for a moment, ran a hand over her hair, tried out a smile. She tipped out her bottom lip and gave a quick breath to the wayward curl across her forehead. I’d forgotten how she used to do that. “Well, I work here. What are you doing here?”
For some reason, that casual question made me angrier than had she slapped me right across the face. But I suppose anything she said would have been met with the same venom.
“I’m researching my book,” I answered with added vengeance. See that, Kate? Look how well I’m doing without you. “What do you mean you work here?”
“I mean I work here.” She held her hands at her sides, palms facing me. Trying to make me notice that she was wearing scrubs.
“You’re a nurse? You take care of people?”
“Yes. For about ten years now.”
“That’s rich.”
My words were laced with a bite I didn’t even recognize. Who was this person trying to have a pleasant conversation with me? Where did she get off talking to me like we were a couple of long—lost friends just catching up?
Her face dropped at that, her attempt to remain smiling abandoned at my answer. Her shoulders deflated, her gaze focused on the two piles of papers she’d scooped off the floor. I watched, flabbergasted, as she nudged each of the two piles into perfect stacks, setting them at exact right angles along the countertop.
“Guess that’s one thing you gave me,” I said, nodding my head in the direction of her busywork. “Thanks.” No way she could’ve missed the sarcasm.
She stopped fiddling with the papers, laying a flat palm on top of each stack, her eyes closed as she said, “You’re angry.”
That made me snap loudly, “Ya think?”
She tried to give me a shush, even though there was no one else around. Well, save for the two other nurses at the far end of the desk. But fuck her. Let her coworkers see what kind of person they were working with. The kind of selfish bitch who abandoned her family for her latest boy toy.
“How’s Ke—How’s your father?”
“Still around. How’s Rick?” I asked her, my eyes like slits, my mouth barely able to form the word.
She actually looked wistful when she answered, “Oh, he and I haven’t been together for a long time now.”
What the…?
“Oh, really? He was so fucking important to you that you left us for him, but you’re not even together? What kind of succubus are you?”
She actually looked like she was trying to contain a smile. Was she for real?
“Layla I—” She bit her bottom lip, trying to find the right words. “I know what you must think. But I didn’t leave you for him. I left… I left you for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I wasn’t happy, Loo. Not for a long time.”
Who cared if she was happy? Who really gave one flying fuck about her happiness? The woman made everyone around her miserable for years after she left. She didn’t deserve to be happy.
“Don’t call me that,” I spat.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.” Only, she and I both knew she owed me an apology for things way bigger than using my family nickname.
“I was young, Layla. Your father and I… we were so young when we had you. I didn’t know who I was.”
“Is this the part where you tell me you needed to find yourself? If that’s the case, you can just save it.”
“You need to understand—”
“I don’t need to do anything.”