Page 33 of Never Really Over

“Hi, Colt.”

The sound of my name on her lips is something I haven’t heard in so long, I close my eyes to soak it in. Then I open them quickly because that’s not going to help anything. For me to pine over something as stupid as her voice saying my name? No. I won’t allow it.

“What do you want, Layla?” I bite out, irritated by the interruption of my favorite time with Poppy and also by my reaction to her voice.

“Okay, okay, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

Poppy finishes her bottle and begins to squirm, wanting to play with her toys. Sighing, I set Poppy’s empty bottle on the table and put her on the floor and stand up.

“It’s fine, Layla. It was just surprising getting your call, I guess.”

“Yeah. I bet.”

“So what do I owe the pleasure of your first contact in over twelve years?”

“Ouch. Right for the jugular.”

I shrug a shoulder, even though she can’t see me, and go start some breakfast for Poppy. She’ll play for a while then want some actual food. A hungry Poppy is an angry Poppy. Another thing she got from her mama.

Scrambled eggs and blueberries along with some little baby puffs is her favorite way to start the day after a bottle.

I put the skillet on the stove and turn it to medium-low, adding some butter to the pan to start melting. “Did you expect anything else?”

“Not really,” she murmurs. “Probably deserve a lot more, too.”

“Ehh. It was a long time ago and isn’t worth worrying over anymore. Besides, that long time ago? I forgave you, even if there wasn’t really anything to forgive,” I tell her. I crack some eggs into a bowl and start whisking them up after switching the phone to speaker and putting it down on the counter. “You weren’t happy here. I wouldn’t have been happy there. You found your happy in Chicago and that’s all I really ever wanted for you. It’s in the past, right?”

She’s quiet for a bit then whispers, “Yeah. Guess so.”

“Hang on a second. I need to check on Poppy.”

“Okay.”

I check in the living room to see she’s still playing happily. I could still hear her, but any time she’s out of my eyesight, I begin to panic. “You doing okay, Tootsie Pop?”

She bounces on her butt and giggles after hitting her toy to make it sing something that will no doubt be stuck in my head for the rest of the day. I leave her to it to keep playing on her own and go back to the kitchen.

“I’m back.”

“Poppy doing good?”

“Yup. How’s your mom?”

“Recovering. Slowly, but surely. The concussion seems to bother her more than anything.”

“But otherwise she’ll be okay?”

“That’s what the hope is,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry I haven’t reached out sooner.”

I pour the eggs into the pan and get her plate and mine down from the cupboard.

“It’s fine.”

“No. It’s not. My mom was… it’s just that…”

“Just that, what?”

“Well, Mom has some guilt but really, I was being a coward and didn’t know how you’d react to me calling you. I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to hear from me.”

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