We sat down together every night for dinner and talked about everything under the sun; everything that wasn’t personal. She refused to get personal with me, not that I could really blame her for it. She didn’t trust me. Not. One. Bit.
But then we’d have moments where we looked at each other for a lingering moment and it was as if everything was okay again. On more than one occasion I caught myself leaning in to kiss her. And then I would see the hurt in her eyes, the unforgiving hurt that only a man that has deeply and irrevocably damaged his marriage could impose on a woman.
There was no chance in hell she’d ever let me in again. That much I knew for sure. But sometimes, when I’d look at her, eight months pregnant and not aware of the fact that she was my sole focus of attention, I’d gain a drop of hope. Hope that things would change.
I wasn’t going to try to change them. Not right away. But I had always had a feeling deep in my gut that there was nobody as perfect for me as Layla Garrett. Even through the affairs I still knew it was true. Some days it scared me shitless. Other days it made me the happiest man alive.
No, I couldn’t lose it all. I was lucky the first time. I know that this time around it could be the end...
But I’d make sure it isn’t.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I still wasn’t used to staying home all day long. I didn’t have any itinerary to consult, I didn’t have any place to go.... Now I was just... God, I’m just normal. Shouldn’t it feel better than this?
"I’m bored."
"So do something."
"I don’t have anything to do."
"Find something."
"Layla..."
"Nick, I’m working here. And by the way did you pay the electricity bill?"
"Last week."
"Good. You know I do have to say that you’re getting pretty good at paying your own bills without an accountant."
"Yeah well paying bills is easy when you have nothing else to do with your time."
"Want do you want me to tell you, Nick? Get a job."
"A job?"
"Yeah. You know, you get in a car, drive to work, sit at a desk for eight hours, come home, lament about being stressed, go to bed and do the whole thing over again. Then every two weeks you get paid and spend it all in one day."
"Well that doesn’t sound like much fun."
"Welcome to the real world, Nick."
"You don’t have a regular job."
"Yes I do. I just cut out the driving and sitting behind a desk part. Then again, I was never cut out for a traditional nine-to-five."
"You and me both."
She looked up and smiled at me. It was the first time in a long time she gave me a genuine smile.
"There’s a load of laundry upstairs. You could do that."
"Laundry?!"
"Okay, don’t do the laundry then. Good Lord Nick I don’t know! Why don’t you go get a haircut or something?"
Random. "A haircut?"
"Well I was trying to be polite by not saying anything but you could use one haircut."
"Why?"
"Because you’re supposed to get your hair cut more than once every two years, contrary to what you believe."
"How often do you cut your hair?"
"Every six weeks."
"Isn’t that a bit excessive?"
"No. Now stop talking so I can work."
"What are you working on?"
She sighed and pushed away from he laptop to give me a pointed look. Even when she looked like she couldn't stand me she was still the most beautiful woman in the world. "I’m writing about women that cosmetically alter their feet."
"Are you serious?" I asked in disbelief.
"Yes. I have a deadline to meet and I’m tired. Could you please just not talk to me for an hour or two? Why don’t you go out or something?"
And that’s how it went. One moment of happiness and then she’d push me away. "Fine, I’ll leave you alone. Do you need me to pick anything up for you?"
"You can pick up my clothes at the dry cleaners if you like?"
Yawn. Normal life is boring. "Sure. Anything else?"
"Nope," she replied automatically from behind her laptop.
I nodded my head, picked up my car keys and fidgeted with them for a moment to stall the moment. Anything to get her to look at me with anything other than disdain. She hates me.
My thumb automatically found the wedding band on my finger, now on my right hand, and started twisting it. I looked down at it and suddenly resented it. I once heard that the ring represented marriage in that it kept on going, never stopping. It was bullshit. My marriage wasn’t like the ring at all. It had already ended.
I slid the ring off my finger and, with a moment’s hesitation, placed it on the counter. Keys in hand, I walked out of the door, ready for another day of normalcy.
God this was boring.
I may have quit music - a decision that I had second thoughts about every day - but one thing didn’t change: the fans. They were the silver lining to my otherwise uninteresting life. The bright moments of happiness outside of home that gave me even a modicum of hope for happiness.
A young blonde girl approached me with a shy smile on her face after I picked up the dry cleaning. She had a smile so big it puffed her cheeks out and turned them red. She was accompanied by her father, a man not much older than me, who looked like he was just as happy for his daughter to meet me as she was.
"What’s your name?" I asked as I held the pen in my hand. Signing her receipt. How cute.
"Angela."
I signed my name, a habit I was more than used to, and handed the slip of paper back to her. She didn’t look older than ten.
The kids who liked me were the best. They didn't ask questions or try to give me advice on what I should do next. I appreciated their concern but it got tiring after a while.
"So um, I don’t suppose you’ll be coming back to music any time soon?" asked one fan a few days ago.
"Probably not. I have a new life now."
"Well it won’t be the same without you, Nick."
I smiled appreciatively and nodded my head. "Thank you."
Another one, just the day before when I was picking up takeout for Layla and me, asked, "When is the baby due?"
"Less than a month," I answered with a smile. It wasn't much of a smile, but it wouldn't do to show how I really felt.
With Layla’s clothes wrapped in plastic draped over my arm, I made my way back out to the car. It was considerably more dirty since I started using it every day, as opposed to once a month like before. I’d have to clean it eventually. Layla talked for three days straight about all the proper ways to put a child in a car seat (in a clean car, she pointed out). And honestly, it completely eluded me. But it was still exciting nonetheless.
An old fashioned barber shop just a few doors down from the dry cleaners caught my attention. I took one look in the rear view mirror and saw just how disheveled I'd let my hair get in the time since I'd retired. I'd let myself go a little. Maybe I could fix that and make Layla smile at the same time.
Dinner and dry cleaning in one hand, I unlocked the front door with my free hand and entered the house. "Layla, I’m back. I picked up some dinner, too."
I heard footsteps coming my way. "Oh good I’m star-" but she stopped short when she looked at me. Her eyes widened ever so softly and her lips remained suspended on her words. "-ving. Your hair!" she exclaimed through her breath.
"I took your advice. Honestly I didn’t know guys got split ends; I thought that was just a female thing."
The look on her face was all I needed. It told me what I wanted to know...
I had a chance.
"You look good," she breathed.
"Thanks. So uh, I picked up some chicken. Hope that’s okay."
"Perfect. Um, just let me, um..." I wanted to smile but I didn't dare give away that her surprise was amusing. She kept glancing up at me then back down to the ground, not really sur
e of what she was supposed to do next. "Change my clothes."
"Okay. I’ll set the table."
She merely nodded her head and walked away, glancing back at me once more.
I knew enough about Layla to know when she was flustered like that it was usually a sign, and a good one at that, that she wasn't quite sure what to make of things or do with herself. I'd affected her positively for a change..
A very good sign indeed.
Chapter Thirty-Four
We were almost done with dinner and Layla still hadn’t said a single word to me. Even when we were married I could never figure her out. She was like a labyrinth; any wrong turn and you found yourself at a dead end. And I could never find the right path to take with her. Though I tried and tried, I still never got to where I wanted to be.
"Nick I’m not feeling well. I think I’m just going to go to bed early."
"Are you sick?" She didn't look it, but Layla internalized everything. And at eight months pregnant there was no reason to take a chance.
"No I just feel off. Thanks for dinner. It was good." She stood up from the table and I watched her as she disappeared into the hallway and down towards her own bedroom.
After clearing the table I made my way into the living room and laid back on the couch, trying to get comfortable. But my mind wouldn’t settle. That seemed to be happening a lot these days. I could only think about one thing: Layla and our baby.
Sometimes in the middle of the night I would walk out of my room and towards Layla’s room. Most of the time she kept her door closed but once in a while she would leave it cracked enough for me to check in on her. I’d part the door ever-so-slightly and stand in the doorframe watching her sleep. She looked so peaceful while asleep, and impossibly beautiful. She reminded me so much of the Layla I'd met years ago; young, beautiful, carefree and happy.
But I wouldn’t watch her tonight. It was a tiring chore trying to figure out why she wasn't speaking to me this time. I'd thought that the look of surprise on her face when I came home would have compelled her to be more talkative, to even crack a joke or a smile with me, but I wasn't expecting the cold silence. Whatever. I would never be able to figure out exactly what she was thinking.
It was just before midnight as I crawled under the covers of my own bed in my own room. I switched out the light and found myself staring up at the ceiling for God knows how long. I'd finally started to drift off when I heard a soft knock at the door.
Leaning up on my elbows, I found Layla standing in my doorway, clad in a tank top and shorts with her belly button protruding out from the fabric.
"What’s the matter?" I asked her quietly.
"I’m sorry to bother you, Nick..."
"You’re not." I tried to sound soft and reassuring but I think it came off more gruff.
She looked embarrassed to be standing there, like she was at odds with herself. "I’m having trouble sleeping."
"Is it the baby?"
"I’m not sure. I was wondering if..." she trailed off.
But I knew. "Come here." I pulled back the blanket on my bed and watched as she crossed the room and crawled in next to me. My breath caught in my throat as I felt her bare legs brush against my own. I couldn't even remember the last time we'd had physical contact. Her head fell gently onto my pillow and she looked at me with a slight smile.
"Thanks."
"Sure. So why can’t you sleep?"
"Every time I start to drift off I have this really weird dream and it freaks me out to the point where I’m waking up again. That on top of feeling achy... Not exactly pleasant."
"Well you know that you can come sleep with me anytime you want." God, did that just sound like a line? "I mean..." Shit. "Whenever you feel lonely..."
She surprised me with a smile. "Thanks. Don’t worry, it didn’t sound like a line."
"So, um, is there anything I can do to help?"
"It helps just to be next to someone. It’s been a long time, you know?"
Much too long. "Yeah." I got comfortable next to her, which was hard enough with her not exactly being my biggest fan. But physically it was hard. She was so pregnant that the only way she could lay was on her back. She was so scared of turning over in her sleep at night that she often surrounded herself with pillows so that in the event of her trying to roll over onto her side she would instead just be mounted awkwardly atop a pillow.
"So can I ask you a question?" she said after a long while.
"You can ask me two if you want," I replied.
"Did you get your hair cut because I made a not-so-subtle comment about it being too long?"
"Pretty much. I trust that you know what you’re talking about."
"Yeah but you didn’t have to. I mean it’s not like the whole world sees you on a daily basis anymore. It’s just me that sees you."
"Well that’s enough for me."
There was a long silence, then, "Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Sometimes you just say the most beautiful things. And it’s like you don’t even know you’re doing it. And then other times... I don’t know. You’re just so randomly romantic that it catches me off guard."
I didn’t know if I should apologize or thank her. So I said nothing. We laid in darkness for what seemed like an infinite amount of time, just being.
Sometime later my eyes opened into a flood of sunlight. Feeling like I was having the start of a headache, I rolled over to check the time but was distracted by the absence of Layla. I checked my other side and all I saw were pillows. And that’s when I felt it... warm liquid on the back of my sweats...
"Yeah, about that..."
My head shot up at the sudden presence of her voice. Layla was standing at the door, dressed in sweats and a tank top and a duffel bag hanging over her shoulder.
"I had this weird dream about a dog peeing on me." I mumbled, trying to wake my brain up.
"Perhaps your subconscious needs a therapist."
I looked at her through blurry eyes and grunted something incomprehensible even to me. It was too early and I was still too tired.
"That dog was me and that pee was my water."
"Wait, I don’t get it. Start over."
"It’s time, Nick."
I glanced at the bedside alarm clock, completely disoriented. "Am I still sleeping? Is this another dream?"
"For crying out loud Nick get your ghetto ass out of bed, put on some clothes and drive me to the hospital. That is, unless you’ve somehow acquired the knowledge needed to deliver our baby yourself."
Shit.
I was awake now.
"Goddamnit!!!!!!!!" Layla screamed. "Could you possibly try to drive within the white lines?"
"I’m trying to get there as fast as I can. I don’t even know where the hospital is! Aren’t there supposed to be signs or something?"
"JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY!"
"God Layla I’m trying to drive carefully!"
"Not you! These contractions are killing me!!"
Contractions. Labor. Baby on its way. This was going to be a very long day.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Buckets of sweat. Countless minutes of screaming in pain. Doctors saying everything would be okay.
And that was just me..
As for Layla... Jesus, Mary and Joseph thank GOD I’m not a woman! But seventeen hours later a tiny baby’s head pushed through (a vision I’ll never forget, surely) and my son was born.
I have a son.
Eight pounds, four ounces. A tiny, pink, perfect little baby boy.
"Nick stop crying. You’re not the one that pushed a human through your..."
"I saw!" I interrupted. "Don’t remind me. I had no idea your - you know - could get so huge!"
"Isn’t that what every girl wants to hear from her man?" Layla joked with the nurse at her side.
"He is the most precious baby boy I’ve ever seen!" cooed the nurse.
"I bet you say that to all the mothers," Layla laughed.
/> "Well, maybe. But he is still the most precious baby I’ve seen in my life! I’ll let you two have some time alone. Congratulations again, Mrs. Hudson."
"Oh I’m not...." but the nurse had already walked out of the room before Layla could finish her sentence.
Sitting there, with no makeup, her hair pulled back into a messy, sweaty ponytail, with my son in her arms, Layla looked more perfect than I could ever remember.
"Nick, stop crying already! I’m the one that’s supposed to be all emotional here and you’re the one acting like you just gave birth!"
"I can’t help it," I sniffed. "He looks..."
"Just like you." She smiled up at me; a genuine, real smile. "Come here. Take a closer look."
It was the oddest feeling in the world. There, sleeping peacefully in Layla’s arms was a pink baby with a full head of blonde hair and a perfect face.
"Come closer," she whispered. I leaned down so that my head was level with hers. "Closer still." I didn’t know what to do. I found myself just staring at her wondering what it was that I was supposed to do. It was like a dream I didn’t want to wake up from. With our beautiful child in her arms, and looking more radiant and lovely than ever, Layla leaned in and kissed me.
No tears. No words. Just pure perfection.
"Be careful, Nick" Layla playfully warned. "Wouldn’t want Tyler getting an ego from you staring at him all the time. At least not until he’s a few months old."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at her and instead kept them on my beautiful son, smiling down at him filled with immeasurable pride. "I can’t help it. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. I feel so old and yet so young, all at the same time."
"Well that’s the thing about kids, Nick. Your youth is in them, even as you get older. And they give you your youth back every once in a while."
I looked up at Layla. She was wearing her standard post-pregnancy uniform of brightly colored sweat pants, a white tank top and cardigan and not an ounce of makeup. She was still as radiant and beautiful as ever.
The Romance of Nick and Layla (Parts 1-3) Page 18