Just then, with the Marlows staring at her, examining her face for any break of her composure and her mother taking her hand, giving her a supporting squeeze, Layla felt the air around her heat like sun against asphalt. These people were depending on her, expecting her to be absolutely sure that she’d be able to hand her baby over to them and not look back.
“I… uh… that must have been hard for you.” She felt like she’d been gargling glass and her heart, which had been drumming heavily, racking against her lungs, now beat double time as though what she said next would seal her decision. “I’m sorry that you’ve been disappointed, but Donovan and I… I mean, I’m only twenty-three and I want to go to New York and, like I said, Donovan and I… well…” Layla grabbed the sweating glass of water in front of her, took a long sip and tried not to notice how Michelle leaned against the table, how Darren rubbed his wife’s back as thought to calm her. To her left, her father leaned toward her, whispering something Layla didn’t quite catch, something about how she was feeling, if she was sure and all Layla could do was drink that water, say silent prayers that they’d all stop staring so hard at her, that she wished she’d made Donovan come with her.
“Layla, honey, are you okay?” Her mother’s tone was soft, concerned, but Layla couldn’t answer, could only nod once as she continued to drink. “It’s a little overwhelming for her,” her mother told the Marlows. “Something like this has never happened to anyone she knows and she’s still so young. Level-headed, of course, but it’s a huge decision.”
“Of course it is,” Michelle said, her voice higher than it had been just moments before. Then the CPA adjusted her spot in her chair, flipped her hair over her shoulder and tilted her head, watching as Layla set down the glass and took in a few calming breaths. “Listen, Layla, if you’re uncertain, we can take a break. Maybe come back in a couple of weeks and…”
A loud shout outside of the door interrupted Michelle’s suggestion. When the banging began and the loud refrain of “Layla! Where are you?” sounded behind the door, that wild thump of Layla’s heart sped quick so that she could barely catch her breath.
“Oh God,” she said, coming to her feet, then backing away from the table when Donovan charged through the door.
He looked sloppy, desperate. His clothes were slightly wrinkled, but his well-loved jeans and black leather shirt looked smart, neat against his spotless Chucks. There were big bags under his eyes but his hair was gelled and combed so that those loose curls fell perfectly into place. “There you are. Thank God!”
“Donovan?” She came around the table and stopped him when he reached for her, ignoring her father’s looming presence just behind her. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Layla,” he said, through a breath. “I… I couldn’t help it. I can’t… shit.” Then Donovan’s gaze moved from her face and focused on the shocked, mildly disappointed expressions of the couple across the table. Donovan tried smiling, the small movement of his cheeks, his mouth, told Layla that he was doing his best to remain civil. He even managed to face them, rubbing his palm against his jeans as Darren offered him a shake. “Donovan Donley. I’m so sorry to interrupt.”
“It’s no problem,” Darren said, moving his gaze between Donovan and Layla. “You’re the father?”
And then, Donovan stopped, pulled his hand back and that big jackass smiled, mouth wide, teeth gleaming as though he’d never been prouder to be called anything else in his life. “I am. Yes, sir. I’m the father.” He said the word like it was precious, coveted and when she heard it, Layla’s heartbeat began to slow. “I’m so sorry,” Donovan told the Marlows, face drawn down and serious. “I’m sorry.” Layla stepped forward, mind muddled and confused when Donovan stepped back from the couple, worrying his bottom lip as though he planned to deliver something horrible, something devastated. “I’ve thought about this a long damn time. Months and months now and I know that the responsible thing to do would be to sign on the dotted line and let you call our daughter yours.” His shoulders fell and Donovan closed his eyes, moving his head as though some internal mantra kept chanting in his mind, working him up, convincing him to say whatever had his head spinning. Finally, when he looked around the room, to Layla’s parents, to the Marlows and then finally at her, Donovan nodded, let a small smile move up the right side of his mouth. “I am so sorry to disappoint you, but I just can’t let you have my family.”