They did not sleep for a long, long while.
Layla had never been jealous of Autumn. Not when her friend won the state spelling bee in fifth grade. Not when the beautiful redhead landed first chair in band, her soft flute playing outshining Layla’s. And even though her mother, Evelyn McShane, was beautiful, was closer to Autumn than Layla could ever hope to be with her heavily scheduled surgeon mother, Layla still hadn’t been envious. Layla’s mother was a badass. She was driven, confident and somehow able to have a successful career and an enviable family life. But her mother wasn’t like Evelyn. She was fierce, but lacked the sweet vulnerability that made Autumn’s mother so approachable.
Then that sweet, beautiful lady who treated all of them like sisters rather than a parent died, suddenly, and Layla had finally, morbidly felt a little jealous. Autumn, Layla had realized, had shared something with her mother that Layla would never have with her own: the unadulterated, honest truth.
Evelyn told Autumn about sex in fourth grade. She’d answered Autumn’s questions, all of their questions, without blinking an eye or hesitating in the slightest.
“You’ll find, girls,” the woman had told them when they were sixteen and discussing a classmate who had gotten pregnant “that men will expect a great deal from you. The key, the gift a woman has that men will never understand is that we have the power to change those expectations.” They hadn’t understood what she’d meant, not immediately, but Evelyn had a way of explaining things so that her truth, those honest realisms became small theories she wanted them to explore and experience for themselves. “It’s a man’s world, girls, but without women, it’s a world not worthy of living in.”
Honesty. That’s what Layla had always craved most from her mother. She knew that most mothers told their daughters so many romanticized, over sensitive things about life, about love, and especially about having babies. At least, Layla’s mother had. She’d told her about the birds and the bees when she was ten. She’d told Layla that being pregnant was a miraculous, wonderful thing, that she would feel whole and happy, that the life inside her would make her immortal one day. It was all fluff and fodder meant to keep Layla open to the idea of being a mother.
But her own mother had never told her about morning sickness, about the fullness of her breasts, how they’d ache, how even the slightest touch against them would bring Layla to her knees.
And she’d neglected to mention to Layla what it would be like to hear that tiny heartbeat for the first time.
She’d gone to the appointment alone. Donovan had wanted to be with her, but her father had called an emergency practice and Layla hadn’t wanted Donovan to miss that. God knows her father had already been giving him such a torture test since they’d returned from the holidays. Even after their conference win and the beginning of the spring semester, Donovan had still been treated like the squad’s water boy, fetching this and that for her father, taking everything he gave Donovan just to keep, what he called, “the peace.”
She’d felt guilt by association. “I’m so sorry, Donovan, really. He’s acting insane,” she’d told him, straddling him as he lay on his stomach so she could rub the knots from his shoulders.
“It’s okay… ow, not so hard.” His words sounded stunted against the pillow.
She ignored him, thinking about her father, his distance and ultimatums. The more thought she put into his demands, the harder she worked her fingers against Donovan’s shoulders. “He’s only doing this because I won’t marry you.”
“You won’t, huh?”
“Please.” She’d laughed, dismissing the mock frown that Donovan pulled down on his mouth. “Like you and I would survive marriage.” When he’d gone quiet and Layla watched his profile, saw how his eyebrows rose as though he was considering it, she smacked him in the back of the head. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I would.” Donovan looked up at her then, giving her a sweet, almost believable smile before he batted his eyes. “Just like I’d take your dad’s shit if it means I get backrubs like this every night.”
“And there is problem. Guilt, Donley, that’s what keeps me nice.”
Layla’s hips moved against his butt when Donovan laughed. “I thought it was my gentlemanly habits and the sweet things I do with my mouth.”
“Those aren’t bad. The mouth thing, I mean. Those are, very nice.”
She’d lowered her hands beneath his shorts and squeezed his ass, hoping that he would get on with doing those sweet things just then, but Donovan shook his head, pretended to be offended. “I did mean when I call you baby or sweetheart, but the other things… yeah, I can keep that up. See…” and he flipped over, tackling Layla to the mattresses, ignoring her loud squeals as he pulled down her underwear to show her just how sweet his mouth could be.