Layla pulled back slightly, her brows knitting together as the chime of my phone cut through the stillness of the room. "Are you going to get that?" she asked softly, her voice laced with curiosity.
I glanced at the phone, the screen still lit on the coffee table. The name flashing across the screen made my stomach twist. Mom.
A wave of tension rippled through me, and I instinctively tightened my grip on Layla, as if holding onto her could shield me from what I knew was coming. I didn't have to answer the call to know exactly what she was going to say.
Layla tilted her head, her eyes searching mine. "Zaya?" she prompted when I didn't respond.
I sighed, leaning back into the couch and letting my head rest against the cushions. "It's my mom," I muttered, the words heavier than I'd intended.
"Oh," Layla said, her tone softening. She paused for a moment, then added, "Do you want to take it?"