Page 29 of Layla Meets Her Match

I chew on my lip. That’s like having a normal job, and it’s not like I had to go to a million auditions for this part. Being away from Margot for the long hours it took to hustle after acting jobs was the biggest reason I told myself I couldn’t act anymore. All the justifications I’ve been thinking of since hearing about this spinoff come back to my mind.

“I’ll read the pilot,” I say. But my brain is already saying, I want it! I want it!

I need to manage my expectations on this. Being in the pilot means nothing. Everyone was obsessed with Sloane and Detective Leclair last year, and they didn’t bring me back. Sloane’s part might be small. Which is fine. A small part would be good. Perfect, even. I could still act, something I still crave doing, but I won’t have to compromise my promises to myself about how I want to raise my daughter.

By the time I hang up with Zora, I have an email from the director’s assistant with the script as an attachment. I alternately read it and have my phone read it to me while I play with Margot and then get our things together to go over to Eli’s.

They’ve built out Sloane’s character as a nurse at the fictional LA Grace Hope General Hospital. She’s the same smart, sassy woman who Detective Leclair had to coax into testifying against a neighbor who was dealing drugs out of his home and then murdered his partner, and she’s part of the fun dialogue in the OB clinic at the hospital. Their relationship is still early in the pilot, only one scene with her and Detective Leclair, but I know that’s because they’ll want to drag this out for the fans who will be tuning in each week to see it progress.

Zora knew what she was doing having me read the script. I’m in love. How can I say no? I look over at Margot, happily rolling around again on the rug while we wait for Landon and Mila. I could say no if it’s not good for her. Not good for us as a family. But is it? Or am I just scared?

It’s still twenty minutes before Landon and Mila are supposed to be here, so I call my mom.

“Layla! That’s so exciting,” Mom says when I tell her about the script. “Of course you’re going to say yes, right?”

“I … I don’t know,” I answer honestly. The last couple hours I’ve gone back and forth. Of course I want to say yes. But part of my brain keeps arguing that I can’t say yes.

Mom sighs. “If Margot wasn’t part of the equation, what would your answer be?”

“Margot’s never not going to be part of my equation,” I say. “She’s my daughter.”

“Layla, you’re a single mom. You are going to have to support your daughter and have a job, and why shouldn’t it be doing something you love?” Mom’s voice might be just as exasperated as mine. How will I feel, someday in the future, when I see Margot shuffling aside dreams for some practical reason? Will I make her fight for them? Of course I will.

“I know. But I don’t want acting to swallow up my life, and that’s what it felt like I had to do before I had her.”

“I understand your hesitance, sweetie. I do. But the hours sound good, and if every once in a while you might be working longer than normal, that sounds fine too. That’s how everyone’s job is from time to time.” Her voice is soothing, almost coaxing.

“Yeah …” I don’t need a lot of convincing. I already knew how much I wanted this, and Mom’s justifications are sound. She’s saying out loud all the thoughts that have been running through my head. All the thoughts I keep dismissing as selfish.

“You’ll just be very careful with the contract,” she goes on. “Send it over to have Grandpa look at it too.” When I went into acting, that was one of the bonuses of having a retired contract lawyer in the family. His mind is as sharp as ever, and thankfully, for me his services are free.

“Yeah,” I say again, but this time my voice is firmer, more confident in the choice I wanted to be told it was okay to make.

Once we’ve discussed that, Mom asks me about the bakery truck, and when I tell her how busy it is, she insists on taking Margot for the next few days to give Margot a break from the confined space of the truck. When things are normal, and there are slow hours, I can take Margot for walks or take her outside to play on a mat I keep in the truck if the weather is nice. But if the truck continues to pick up business like it has the last few days, I need to start looking into daycare for her.

I think I need to anyway. I think I’m going to start being Actress Layla Delaford again.

CHAPTER 18

LINCOLN

I take a second after pulling up to Eli’s house to draw in some deep breaths. My mom getting so excited over seeing Layla’s daughter has had me worked up since I left New York. I’m growing closer and closer to Layla, but just as a friend, and that’s hard when every moment has me falling in love with her. Thinking of my mom snuggling up to Margot has me picturing all sorts of other domestic visions that make my heart pound. Being the one to take care of Layla and Margot instead of subtly coaxing her ex into being responsible. Letting Layla chase her dreams. Coming home from practice to kiss Layla and snuggle up on the couch with Margot.

After I’ve taken a few deep breaths and assured myself that I can be normal and calm about Layla tonight, I open the door of my Bronco and head inside.

Hurley answers the door, and I grin as I hear the noise from inside—laughing and happy conversations of people who are my second family.

I overhear Eli telling Landon about the latest house listing he sent his parents. With his position with the Rays more solid and with Mila engaged to Landon, his parents are talking about moving to LA from their home in Phoenix. It has me wondering how my parents would feel if I suggested something similar. It would be easy to coax them. I’ve just resisted because I feel bad asking them to do that. But if Layla becomes a part of my future too? I might not even have to ask. They’ll want to be near Margot and any other grandkids.

“Hey, Knight,” Hurley says, leading me through the entryway to where everyone else is gathered.

“What’s up?” I ask. I expect to hear the sounds of Mark Travis’s kids romping around, but I don’t see him or his wife. Maybe they’re outside, watching the kids play around on the beach for a minute? I glance out the large windows that overlook Eli’s yard and the beach farther down, but it’s empty. “Where’s Mark?” I ask.

Eli, who hears my question as he comes in, grimaces. “Kids are all throwing up.”

I catch my breath. I dropped off the chocolate chip cookies I bought this morning at the bakery truck at Mark’s house on my way into the facility. His kids love Mila’s chocolate chip cookies, and Mark asked me to grab some for him too. I saved a couple for myself, but I didn’t eat them when I got home because I was coming over here.

I hold off panicking though, even if this feels just like when Mrs. Van Buren called me. “Have they been sick?” I ask Hurley.

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