Page 11 of Never Really Over

My brain misfires and I look in the direction of the bedroom Poppy’s sleeping peacefully in. “What's this about?”

“It would be better if we spoke in person. Are you available to come now?”

“I have my niece with me so I'll need to drop her off with my sister.”

“I'm sorry, but this is concerning your sister.”

“What do you mean, this is about my sister? I think you have the wrong Mr. Samuelson. There are several of us in town, you know? Who are you talking about? I might know who you're looking for.”

“You are Colton Samuelson, correct?”

Shit. Up until he said my full name, I had hoped to myself this was a mistake. A different Mr. Samuelson, perhaps. “Yes,” I say, voice cracking.

“Your sister is Natalie Chance,” he says, rather than asking.

“Right,” I whisper.

“You're identified as Natalie and her husband Mason's secondary emergency contact,” he tells me something I already knew. She's my emergency contact, as well, and since we’re all the family we have, they had told me they were putting my name down just in case. “I'm very sorry, Colton, but your sister and brother-in-law were in a multi-vehicle accident.”

My stomach sinks and I try to swallow, but my mouth is completely dry. I have a feeling I know the answer, but I need to ask anyway, for the sake of my own heart. “Are they all right? I mean, of course you’re calling me so they’re not perfect but are they going to be all right, at least?”

Too many beats of silence greet me before he sighs heavily and responds with, “I'm sorry to tell you this, but no. They didn't make it.”

And that last statement is when my world falls apart around me.

Chapter Three

Layla

Drunk Last Night

For a Saturday,a day that’s normally one of my favorites, today has been especially crappy. Not just because I woke up with a wicked hangover, something that I’ve learned is not nearly worth the night of drinking that partook the night before. I mean, honestly, waking up without a hangover is way more fun than being drunk. Of course, tell Drunk Layla that and she won’t listen. Anyway, never mind the fact that I barely recall anything that actually happened but have a slight indication that I didsomeonebecause his shirt was on my living room floor this morning.

Also something that’s definitely not worth the night of drinking. But to top it off, once I got the man I luckilydidknow, but shouldn’t have had sleeping in my apartment, even if it was thankfully only sleeping off our alcohol, out of my apartment, I discovered that my dishwasher was leaking. About five minutes after starting it, my kitchen floor was sopping wet. My building manager said “he’d get to it sometime in the next week” so that was super helpful.

After I took out all of the dishes from the dishwasher, hand washed, dried them and put them away, I got the clothes out of the dryer. The white clothes that were now pink because I was an idiot and somehow didn’t notice the bright red shirt I’d thrown into the mix. Like a complete laundry amateur.

To top it off, my yoga in the park class was cancelled due to the rain, my fridge is basically empty but I don’t want to go to the store because it’s pouring rain, and my funds are a little too low this week to online shop to make me feel better, which is always just a temporary fix, my at-home dye job on my hair is exceptionally… orange, and not on purpose, and I have period cramps like you wouldn’t believe.

Most of these problems are not so much problems as they are annoyances, I do realize this, however, all compiled in one morning has just made it incredibly awful.

Just as I’m thinking about ordering some food to be delivered, my phone rings.

It’s my mother.

This could either make my day turn around and be phenomenal, or just add to the annoyance.

Curling up on the couch with a cup of coffee and blanket draped over my legs, I decide to answer because chances are, she’s about to make things better just because she’s her.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetheart. How are you?”

I pause for a second but think better about complaining about my first-world problems. She would put me in my place, even if she would understand that I wasn’t trying to complain.

“I’m okay. How are you?”

“What was that pause?”

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