Page 32 of Never Really Over

Chapter Six

Colt

Angel Wings

“Morning, Tootsie Pop,”I coo as I lift Poppy out of her crib. She kicks her cute little chubby legs and smiles.

I’ll never get tired of seeing her first thing in the morning. She’s so happy and ready to start her day. It’s like she forgot all about the fact that she misses her mom and dad.

“Ready for some breakfast and maybe go out and see your little calves?”

She giggles and kicks even harder, babbling away like the little chatterbox she is. Just like her mama.

I stop walking and suck in a breath. For the first time in the two months it’s been since Natalie died, the thought of her doesn’t make me want to curl up in a ball and cry. I miss her so much and can’t count the number of times I’ve picked up my phone to call her. Or text her. I still haven’t come to terms with the fact that she’s gone, and it’s entirely possible I never will.

“Ba ba ba ba.”

“Bottle? You think you need a bottle, do ya?” She kicks her legs again, this time getting close to hitting me right in the crotch. “How about we get you out of this wet diaper first?”

She doesn’t keep kicking but she does lay on the changing table happily as she lets me change her diaper.

Once she’s in a clean diaper, I get her bottle that I already had ready for her and sit down in the recliner with her while she drinks it. I talk with her and tell her what our day is going to look like just as my phone rings. I dig it out of my pocket while holding Poppy against my arm.

Without looking at the screen, I answer, holding it between my shoulder and ear. Even though Poppy is old enough to hold her own bottle now, the two of us have gotten into a routine in the morning and before bed where I help her. I think it brings her some comfort and a bit of normalcy. I know it does to me. The quiet to start and end our day together is precious and I look forward to it more than any other time.

“Hello?”

“Colt?”

“This is he.”

The person on the other line is silent long enough that I wonder if the call was dropped. “Hello?” I ask again.

“I’m here. Sorry.”

The voice on the other line isn’t just a random person. It’s Layla.

Poppy slaps me in the face and smiles around the bottle’s nipple, milk dribbling out of her mouth.

“No hit,” I tell Poppy gently. “We need to be nice, remember?” She giggles and resumes sucking down her bottle.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Layla wonders.

“No. Just giving Poppy her morning bottle.”

“I can call back later,” she offers.

“Trying to bail out on the phone call already?” I guess.

She laughs lightly. “Still know me well, apparently.”

I’m not sure if that was supposed to make me feel good, but if it was, it had the opposite effect. The idea that I can still guess her thoughts after all these years is somewhat disturbing to me.

When she doesn’t get a response, she clears her throat. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

Maybe she still knows me a little, too. The thought isn’t comforting. I don’t want her to know how badly she broke my heart when she moved to Chicago. Or when I found out from my sister that she was engaged to someone who wasn’t me. Or when she avoided me every time she came back to visit her mother in Hollow Grove. Or, worse of all, how it took her a solid two months to call me after my sister died.

“Hi, Layla,” I finally say.

---