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I think there’s more than impatience about leaving factoring into her curiosity about what’s happening here, but I’m not sure. And it will be better for the both of us if that’s all it is.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I state, making plans up as I speak.
I left my return open-ended. It’s a long flight to make for one day. Depending on how long discussions with Bianchi took, I planned to go to New York next and finish up the business my last visit cut short. Or visit Boston to coordinate with the Irish.
Rather than do any of that, I’m rushing home.
Maybe Alex is right to be concerned.
“Leo will be excited. He misses you.”
Just Leo?is what I think. But once again, I don’t say it.
I can’t recall a time where I didn’t say as much as I did. When I chose tact over bluntness. But I’m well aware Lyla and I are balancing on a knife’s edge right now. Wavering in an uncertain space with certain, separate futures.
“I miss him too,” I say and wonder if she’s analyzing my words the same way I’m digging through hers.
We sound like divorced parents. Likemyparents, who had little in common besides their children.
And then there’s a silence that stretches, one that isn’t uncomfortable, butisnoticeable, where we could exchange the same sentiment.
Neither of us does. But we don’t fill it either. It stretches like the space between a beginning and an end that could be filled in lots of different ways.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I finally state.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lyla repeats.
It’s not until I hang up that I realize…she never even asked how it went with Bianchi.
Maybe she’s assuming it went well since I’m not staying longer.
But I can’t help but consider other reasons.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
LYLA
Istretch my arm into the cold side of the bed, hating justhowcold it feels. The air temperature isn’t that chilly. I can hear the radiator hiss as it heats the huge house. And there’s a thick comforter over the bed, draping me in down.
The number of mornings I’ve woken with Nick versus the number that I’ve woken up alone is comically lopsided. Yet, somehow, waking up without him feels cold and empty when it should really just be familiar.
It’s not the warmth I miss.
I misshim, and that’s dangerous.
For my heart. For my future. For my kid. For my safety.
I toss an arm over both eyes and chew my bottom lip, willing the feeling away. Instead,I’ll see you tomorrowechoes around in my head.
I give up and get up, showering and dressing before heading downstairs. Breakfast is already laid out at the long table. Leo is in his usual spot. He’s not reading anything today. He’s just staring into space as he eats his cereal.
I kiss the top of his head as I pass to grab some coffee.
He startles. “Mom!”
“Morning, sweetie. Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah.” Leo plays with his spoon.
