The Romance of Nick and Layla (Parts 1-3) (29 page)

"Are you okay?"

"I hate throwing up," he grumbled.

"I know, sweetie. I’m going to get you something to eat. Um, can you just stay here for a minute?" He let out another moan. Okay then. I headed back into the living room. Molly was changing Tyler’s diaper. "Molly could you do me a huge favor?"

"Sure."

"Could you maybe take Tyler out to the park or something? Nick is throwing up and has a fever and..."

"Oh my goodness!"

"Yeah. I don’t want Tyler to be exposed to any germs or anything and I have to clean up two bathrooms. I just want to sanitize everything so that Tyler doesn’t catch anything."

"Of course! Oh I hope he feels better."

"Thanks. Um, the diaper bag is..."

"It’s okay Miss Garrett. I can take care of it. I’ll have the cell phone with me just in case."

"Thank you, Molly. Here," I reached into my pocket and pulled out some money. "Just in case."

She took the money and stuffed it into her pocket. "Thank you. I’ll make sure Tyler has a fun time. No worries."

"Thank you so much." I crouched down and placed a hand on Tyler’s cheek. "Molly’s going to take you out for a while, okay little guy? And when you come back we’ll have a nice little bath and I’ll read to you, okay?" He smiled up at me and it was like looking at Nick. I stood up and let out a breath of air. "Oh by the way Molly, there’s something I would like to speak to you about when you get back."

She looked startled. "Oh?"

"Don’t worry," I laughed. "It’s not bad at all."

"All right. Well, we’re going to head out! Is there anything I can pick up for you while I’m out?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. Have fun!" I headed into the kitchen as Molly collected Tyler and headed out the door. I grabbed a fresh loaf of bread and some Gatorade and headed back to Nick, who was still slumped to the floor. With my help he made it back into the bedroom and collapsed into bed. I slid the down comforter off and placed a thin sheet over him. I stacked a couple pillows up against the headboard and helped him into a semi-sitting position. "Here, the bread will help absorb the acid in your stomach. And here’s some Gatorade so you don’t get too dehydrated."

"Thanks." He started to slowly chew on a piece of bread. I positioned myself next to him and held the Gatorade in my lap. "Where’s Tyler?"

"Molly took him out for a while. I want to sanitize the bathrooms and this room before he comes back."

"I’m sorry."

"What are you sorry for? It’s not your fault you're sick. You’re not pregnant are you?" I laughed. He shot me a look. "Okay, bad joke."

"Layla I’m freezing cold."

"I know but until that fever breaks all you get is a sheet."

"If I forget to say so later, thank you for taking care of me."

"Well I couldn’t just let you throw up all over my bedroom, could I?"

"I’m sorry."

"Hush! Just eat your bread while I clean up, okay?"

I retrieved some of Nick’s clothes, fresh from the dryer, and suggested he change into something comfortable. While he did that I worked on cleaning up the bathrooms, sanitizing them like crazy with Lysol. I gathered the soiled linens, towels and Nick’s tank top and tossed them into the wash. When I checked on Nick almost an hour later he was looking better.

"How do you feel?"

"Not as bad."

"You look better. You’re not quite as pale. I’ll check your temperature again in a few minutes. Is there anything I can get you?"

"Could you just sit here with me?"

"Sure. I can do that." I sat down next to him on the bed and placed a hand on his thigh.

We were quiet for a few moments. Then, "You’re a really good mother."

I looked at Nick and smiled. "Thank you. It’s amazing how your life changes after you give birth to a child."

"I always knew you’d be a great mother."

"I didn’t. Thankfully having Tyler calmed me down. I haven’t done anything stupid. Like throw a glass full of vodka at the wall and then walk on it."

"We all do shit like that, Lay. Lord knows I’ve had my fair share of stupid mistakes."

"Well you’re different Nick. You grew up in a fast lifestyle and at times it was too much for you. You just needed some way to release."

"Still. I don’t want my son to see me like that. I want him to grow up as a normal child."

"He will."

"What I mean is, in twenty years I don’t want people to still refer to him as Nick Hudson’s son. I want him to just be Tyler. You know?"

"Yeah I know. But I mean, he is Nick Hudson’s son. There’s no way he can escape that. The important thing is that he’s raised away from the spotlight. Just because he has a famous father that’s no reason to treat him any differently."

"You know what I fear the most? The fact that one day in the future he’s going to find out about our marriage, and all the publicity that surrounded it. And the separation. And the divorce. I mean, the whole time we were together we were in the spotlight and every mistake we made, every move we made was photographed and published in some magazine. I don’t want him to find out like that."

"Well when the time comes we’ll be the first to tell him everything. He’s not going to hate us for it Nick."

"I hope not."

"You know what? I’ll bet you that when Tyler’s old enough to understand everything he’ll be proud of your legacy. Look at all that you’ve accomplished in your singing career. You broke records left and right and are considered to be one of the best singers of your generation. You’ve been nominated for every music award and have walked away with most of them. I think that you’ll be Tyler’s most influential role model. Maybe in his own way he’ll have to live up the expectations of being the offspring of a great performer. And I have no doubt that he’ll create his own path in life and meet every expectation set for him. So what if you’ve made mistakes? There isn’t a person alive that hasn’t made a mistake. So what if those mistakes are documented in some form or another? Your accomplishments outnumber your mistakes a million to one."

"I don’t know what to say to that."

"Then don’t say anything."

"You know I love you, right?"

"You cleaned out a Louis Vuitton store for me. If that’s not love then I don’t know what is."

"I’d kiss you if I didn’t smell of vomit."

I burst out laughing. "And I thank you for exercising that caution. How are you feeling now?"

"Like the luckiest man in the world."

"Are you using a cliche on purpose?"

"No. I’m serious Layla. We’ve been through so much together and you’re still giving me another chance. Most women wouldn’t do that. That’s why I’m so lucky. I’ve always known you were my soul mate. You see me for me. You call me out when I fuck up and you still love me even after I’ve broken your heart. If that’s not a soul mate then they don’t exist."

"Well I’ve always believed that because we’re both so damn messed up that we’d be perfect for each other, in some form or another, whether it be romantically or as best friends. You and I are alike in a lot of ways. Being fucked up just happens to be the dominant trait we both have."

"That’s really horrible."

"I know but that’s what makes us human. And you know what I’m grateful for? Even if we don’t end up married again, we’re still always going to be together. And not just because we have a child together, but because we’ve invested so much in this relationship that it’d be impossible for it to completely go away."

"Wait, I thought we agreed to give it another shot?"

"We always do that, Nick. This time around we’re just letting things happen naturally. I don’t want either of us to try and force something into working if it’s not meant to be exactly how we want it to be. You said yourself that soul mates can be best friends, and maybe that’s the greatest extent our relationship will take us. I don’t know. Am I rambling?"

"If you are then you’re making sense."

"I’m waiting for my life to be complete."

Nick looked at me, confused. "Where did that come from?"

"I don’t know I just kind of said it. It’s true though. Sometimes I feel lost and that my days are just fillers for the next step. What is my purpose in life? What am I meant to do? I don’t contribute to society. I haven’t done anything truly worthwhile for the common good of mankind. I just sort of.... am. I just live."

"Maybe that’s all you’re supposed to do."

"Well that’s not fair. Everyone else has a place in life but I feel like I don’t. I just exist as background music, so to speak. Like when you watch a movie and the camera is focusing on a couple sitting down at dinner at a restaurant and there are all those people in the background that are just there so that two people aren’t sitting in a restaurant by themselves. That’s what I feel like. Like scenery for someone else’s life. And then even when we were married I still only felt like an accessory. Or like your backup scenery. Or something. I don’t do anything important. My father is a lawyer and my mother is a teacher. They make a difference in people’s lives. I grew up living on their money and to this day I’m living off of other people’s money. My parents’, in the form of the trust fund, yours, with that ridiculous allowance you kept sending me every week. I get paychecks from the magazine but it’s almost worthless cashing them because I don’t need it. And then if you think about it, all I really do for the magazine is write about other people’s lives. I’m the muzak in elevators. There’s no purpose for it but to bide time between going from floor-to-floor. Even when Tyler was born I had to buy every book possible to find out what I’m supposed to do if he has a fever or coughs or does anything. It took me three months of cooking classes at Williams Sonoma to make that sandwich I made for you last night that probably made you sick today. I feel just as non-important as all those dumb heiresses and famous offspring I make fun of. In reality, I’m making fun of myself."

"Will you allow me to do you a favor?"

"Umm.."

"Just... shut up for a minute. Here’s my favor to you: I’m going to call you out on all your bullshit."

What? "Excuse me?"

"Layla, you take yourself way too seriously. And you don’t give yourself credit for anything in your life except the negative. No one can tell you what your purpose in life is. You have to make that up for yourself. True, people can help guide you in the right directions, but in the end, it’s all on you. If you feel like you haven’t accomplished anything in your life then you only have yourself to blame. The only person stopping you from doing anything is you. If you want to make a contribution to society, then do it. Don’t just wait for someone or some book or some class to tell you how to do it. If you feel like you’re just backup scenery then that’s because that’s all the effort you put into life."

"Well isn’t that a little hypocritical? I mean, you wouldn’t be in the position you are today if someone hadn’t recognized your talent and made it happen for you."

"That’s not true at all! Yeah, someone saw something in me and gave me a chance, but it’s my gift to begin with and I got to where I am because I chose to get here. At the beginning I could have said no, I don’t want to be a singer, I’d just like to be a regular boy and live a regular boring life. But instead I made the decision to make this my career. Once I knew what I wanted to do and decided to do it, then everything fell into place and I accomplished things way beyond my own expectations. But nobody did it for me. And nobody’s going to do it for you either. And furthermore, stop acting like you have no place in this world and that you mean nothing. In case you’ve forgotten, or have simply chosen to overlook it, you have a son, and to him you’re everything. He wouldn’t be here without you and without you he couldn’t survive. You’re one half of his entire world. So stop acting like such a brat. The world doesn’t owe you anything. If you want to make a difference, then make one. If you just sit there and feel sorry for yourself because YOU feel like YOU don’t matter, then you’re only hurting yourself."

"Well I guess it’s my turn now to be speechless."

"You know what? To listen to you complain because you have money... I mean, if you could only hear yourself. The average American lives from paycheck to paycheck. They have a mortgage and are in some form of debt, whether it be a car they’re paying off or a credit card or whatever. To most people, making $50,000 a year makes them wealthy. And I don’t even think that’s the average. When I was growing up my parents were anything but wealthy. Because of my career I consider myself lucky that I don’t have to worry about money. I don’t complain about what I have because I know all too well that it’s like to have nothing. But you, you grew up with everything and you have money and yet you still complain. Trust me, nobody feels sorry for the poor rich girl. And the only person feeling sorry for you, is you."

"Are you trying to be mean? Because if you are, it’s working."

"I’m just trying to be real with you, Layla. You can’t have everything and then complain because you have it. That’s not the way it works. Be thankful for what you have because you’re more fortunate than most people living in the world. You said it yourself, you live off of other people’s money. You may not have earned it on your own merit, but at least you didn’t exploit people for it. I just think your sense of reality is warped. Don’t wait for life to happen to you. You’d end up dead first. Your life has a purpose. I know this for a fact. But it isn’t an inheritance. You have to make it and earn it yourself. And until you do you’re just going to be another spoiled girl that you make fun of."

I breathed in a huge breath. Had anyone else spoken to me like that, I probably would have slapped them. But... "You’re right."

"I know I’m right."

"Excuse me I’m having an epiphany here. Or are you still on the soap box?"

"You may take the soap box now."

"Thank you. You’re right, Nick. I’ve been acting so stupid my whole life. And it’s true, I have no one to blame but myself."

"See? I may be blonde and incomprehensible at times but I know what I’m talking about."

"Well, your mental fart of genius aside..."