Page 31 of When We Were More
“I love you, too, Mom. I’ll do my best to support you. But please, bear with me if I struggle at times.”
My mom is beautiful, and when she looks at one of her kids or grandkids with the smile she wears now—the one that says she loves us more than anything—she’s even more stunning.
“It’s okay. I think when you experience that kind of love for someone, you’ll understand why people want it.”
I scoff. “Don’t count on it. I’m firmly in the camp of avoiding romantic love at all costs. It’s not my thing. If I never let it happen, then I won’t know what I’m missing, and I won’t get my heart broken. I’ll keep cruising along like I am. I’m perfectly happy with things like they are.”
I can tell she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. And I’ve got to go…
CHAPTER 14
Tillie
My neck hurts like a bunch of those miniature-sized monkeys took their spindly little hands and twisted my muscles into knots. I’m so tight that all I want is to soak in a hot bath, let the heat work out these kinks, and melt the day off me. I climb the old wooden steps of the porch, and each time I have to lift a leg, it feels like a major feat. When I finally make it, I eye the handle of the screen door like it’s a finish line.
“You’re pretty. Like a princess!”
I nearly jump out of my skin. Shit. I stop myself before I swear in front of the adorable curly-haired little girl sitting on my porch swing, kicking her legs back and forth and smiling at me with a grin that’s missing a few teeth. She giggles, and I swear the sound makes my heart smile.
I stare, wondering if I’m hallucinating. There are no children anywhere near this house. Hell, there are no adults near either, except those who live or work here. Still, she’s tiny and looks harmless. So, even if she’s a ghost, she’s a cute one.
Before I can say anything else, she jumps down off the swing, walks over to me, and extends a mittened hand to me.
“Hi. I’m Layla. I’m almost six.”
She tilts her head, and I take her hand and shake it.
“Hi,” I hesitate. “I’m Tillie. I’m not six. I’m way more than six.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. My grandma says it’s rude to ask a lady how old she is. You’re also not supposed to ask them if there’s a baby in their belly.”
I can’t help but laugh when she says that. That’s the absolute worst thing for a woman—to have someone ask if you’re pregnant when you’re not.
“Well, it sounds like your grandma is very smart. I think both of those things are true.”
“Do you wanna come sit with me on the swing for a bit?”
“You’re not too cold out here?” She shakes her head. I guess it’s not too bad for late November.
The hope in her eyes makes me utterly unable to say no. With her energy, the little sprite has perked me up some. We walk over to the swing. She climbs up, and I sit next to her. I use my foot to rock us gently back and forth.
“Well, Layla—which is a very beautiful name, by the way—how did you get here? Are you lost?”
“Nope. My daddy works here.”
I’m not sure whether she’s talking about Tommy or Jay. I can’t tell from looking at her.
“Does your daddy know you’re here and not in school? That you’re outside?”
“Yep. I don’t have school because of Thanksgiving. Don’t tell anyone, but when Grandma makes us all say what we’re thankful for before she lets us eat turkey, that’s mine. I’m thankful I don’t have school.” There’s that grin again. I notice she’s missing two teeth.
I smile back at her. “That’s very clever. What about being outside? Your dad might be looking for you and worry if he can’t find you.”
“Nope. He told me I could sit outside as long as I stay on the porch, stay away from holes in the floor, and check in with him. Every hundred counts.”
“Wow. You can count to a hundred? That’s pretty cool.”
The praise earns me an adorable little smile. She tilts her head, then her eyes get big.
