The Best You’ve Ever Had

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Layla

Present Day - Twenty Years Later

Everything about Christmas time is a lie wrapped up in an annoyingly, shiny red bow. Everyone swears it’s the happiest time of the year—full of holiday cheer, the giving and receiving of presents, and quality time spent with loved ones.

But I can tell you now that’s wishful, bordering on delusional, thinking. From where I stand, Christmas is nothing more than the pressure of spending money and a harboring resentment for having to hear a family member ask you for the hundredth time if you’ve met someone to settle down with yet.

There’s a reason why in my line of work divorce filings soar on the Monday after children return back to school from winter break. The stress of the holiday only highlights the dislike between two people. Another case in point for why Christmas is in fact the worst.

At least it’s good for business. Being one of the best divorce attorneys in the city has its perks during this time. And nothing says screw you, Dad like watching yet another unfaithful grown man cry when it doesn’t go his way in court.

Fifteen years ago—the week before school’s winter break—I had come down with a fever during math class, and decided to cut out early. As I walked home, I stared whimsically at all the holiday decorations lining our street. Snowmen inflatables, reindeers drinking out of twinkle light streams, candy cane lined paths. Christmas was my thing—I loved everything about this season. It was magical. It was happy. It was intoxicating.

And then it all came to a screeching halt.

I walked in on my family man of a father balls deep in our neighbor, Megan. There was nothing more I could do than cover my eyes and turn around—frozen, as my entire world came crashing down around me like thick shards of glass.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Dad had said, as he and Megan rushed to cover themselves up.

I’m not sure if he thought I was a damn fool, or if it was his knee-jerk reaction to tell a flat out lie. Obviously, I had seen him and our twenty-something neighbor with both of their boney asses hanging out. How was I supposed to interpret that? They fell on top of each other and their pants just so happened to fall down too?

As I ran to my room, locking the flimsy door behind me, my father stood on the opposite side. Pleading with me. Telling me he loved me and my mother very much. That he made a mistake, and it would never happen again. He asked what he could do to make it up to me. What he could say to convince me not to tell my mother. Then threw in a stark warning that if Mom found out our family would be ripped apart. As if it would be my fault for the destruction of it if I told her what I’d seen.

I stood there in silence. Listening to him, and loathing him to a new degree with every sentence that came out of his phony mouth. The image of my father was tarnished within seconds. The realization that he was purely an illusion based on carefully constructed lies. He had played subpar doting father and husband all too well. But that day, my blinders were taken off, and I saw life and love for what it truly is—a fucking sham.

If someone could cheat on my angel of a mother, then none of us stood a damn chance of finding true, unwavering love.

Now I’m on a plane, back to my hometown of Havenbrook, to create more difficult memories during this splendid holiday season. But if there’s two people I’d go back for, it’s my mother and her best friend Brandy. Last week, during my usual call with Mom on my commute, I instantly knew something was wrong. Through sobs thick with sadness, she told me that Brandy’s dad, Mick, had been diagnosed with end-stage pancreatic cancer. He had been too stubborn to go in for the increasing pain he’d been experiencing over the years. And when he finally was seen, it was too late.

The thought of Mick hurting is enough to bring me to my knees. With both sets of my grandparents having passed away before I could form any memories of them, he has been the grandfather I never had. The fun grandpa who smells of cherry cigars, lets you eat way too much sugar, and has absolutely no filter.

Brandy and Mom met during their high school band days. They had lived life together. Dating and marrying within months of one another. Planning their pregnancies so that their kids could grow up together. Being there for one another through every twist and turn life threw at them—like when we awoke to my father’s car gone in the driveway a week after his affair came to light.

As best friends, their hope was that Ben and I would get married and make us all official relatives. But much to their detriment, we loathed one another from the very beginning. It shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise since I tend to dislike most people. But we made sure to make the message loud and clear to them over the years that there was absolutely no chance we would ever be together.

Ben is my opposite in every way. Where I have auburn hair, he has black. My eyes are a light blue, his a dark brown. I’m fiery and cynical, while he’s calm and optimistic. Throughout our childhood, we were constantly forced to hang out. Our families regularly spent holidays together. And as the two only children, there was no one else to go off with. So we generally spent our time arguing or trying to outdo each other in some ridiculous competition, like who could eat the most candy canes, or who could build the tallest snowman.

My ride-share makes the forty minute trek from the airport to Havenbrook, the towering buildings growing shorter and more sparse the closer we get. Havenbrook is small, but not tiny. A rural farming town that has slowly become more incorporated throughout the years.

The car pulls onto Mom’s street and the holiday displays in neighbors yards instantly bring me back to my father’s infidelity. I shove the knot in my stomach and lump in my throat down as I choose to ignore that familiar stab of resentment. Being back in this town only solidifies that bitter taste in my mouth when it comes to him.

Knocking on the glass-paneled door, I hear Mom’s delighted squeal and her footsteps echoing as she rushes to let me in. She flings it open and we jump into each other’s arms.

“My baby girl! You’re finally here!” Squeezing me tight, she lets out a content sigh.

“Missed you, Mom. How are you?”

Ushering me into the small house, she closes the front door. “Could be better. But I’m healthy and happy, so what more do I need to ask for?”

I gaze around the living space that’s smaller than my 1,200-square-foot apartment. It’s older and dated, but clean and cozy. A small white couch with a chunky-knit blanket and pine-scented soy candles cast a relaxing ambience throughout the home. She has made the best life possible out of the pile of rubble she was left with. I’m proud of her. Proud of us both actually.

“And Mick? Did he start treatment?”

She hesitates. “Well, honey, no. He’s not undergoing any treatment, other than pain management to keep him as comfortable as possible.”

“Oh.” Perhaps I should’ve known that. But even though my job involves always knowing what to say, I’m at a loss at this point. “How’s the rest of their family taking it?”

“Well, as good as they can. Thank goodness, Brandy has Dante to lean on throughout it all. Ben on the other hand hasn’t taken the news very well. You know how close he is with his grandpa. He’s had a rough time.”

“I can only imagine. The whole situation is just horrible.” I can feel my eyes burn with the need to cry. But I, Layla Reed, do not cry. In fact, I haven’t since that Christmas fifteen years ago. There’s no point to it really. Either I can get in my feelings, or I can be valiant and not let it penetrate me to my very core. “Well, is there anything I can do to help?”

She side-eyes me and begins to tidy up the counter. “Well there is one thing actually.”

“What is it? You know I’ll do anything.”

“Go check on Ben for us. He needs a friend to cheer him up.”

“Mom…” I give her a look, and she smiles before glancing away. “I’m sure I’m the last person he wants to see. You know we’ve never gotten along.”

“He needs a friend right now. He’s been shutting everyone out. Please.”

I release a deep sigh, and glance at the silver clock on the wall. 7:36 p.m. Most days I’m asleep by eight. “Fine, I’ll do it. Tomorrow.”

“How about I make you a snack? Then you pop in for only a minute tonight to see how he is. No one’s heard from him for a week, ever since he found out the news. He usually calls or visits his parents everyday.”

Inwardly, I groan. Why am I in charge of taking care of a grown ass man? Sure, he’s found out some devastating news. Still, why am I the one who has to do this particular welfare check?

Grabbing her car keys off the hook on the wall, she tosses them over the counter to me. “I’ll text you his address. And here’s a snack for you both.” She hands over a red and white ornament-shaped plate filled with an assortment of chocolate fudge, raspberry jam fingerprint cookies, and toffee.

On the walk out to her beat up old car, I clutch the plate so tightly it may snap in two. This will be awkward, coming face-to-face with him for the first time since high school graduation. I’ve managed to avoid coming back to this town for years, ever since I left for college. Instead, I’ve spent a small fortune flying my mom out to the city to see me over the years. At first, the excuses were easy: too busy with law school, not enough time to make the trip. Eventually, those morphed into work-related reasons. And while it’s true, I am busy, I’ve also just so happened to have mastered the art of avoidance.

Now that I’m back, I’ve somehow ended up being the one to check in on Ben.

But all I’ll have to do is knock on his door, take a look at him to make sure he’s in one piece, and leave.

Easy…I hope.