Talia’s mouth twists; I think she might be trying to hold back tears. “Livvy ... I know that’s what youtellyourself. And yes,” she rushes to add when I try to continue to argue, “there have been some cases where you’re right—the guys have gotten weird or been scared or whatever.”
“One dude wanted to know what the chances were that I would have a heart attack the night we got married—and he sounded excited about it!”
“Yeah, and that guy was a sketchy insurance salesman.” Talia puts her hands on my shoulders. “But there have been others, Livvy. Good men who liked you, who didn’t care that you have a big scar and an uncertain future. If you let yourself really think about it, you’ll realize it’s true. Andyouran them off. You brought up your transplant and the fact that you might reject your heart or have a heart attack at any minute or that you didn’t know if you could have babies over and over andoveruntil they finally did what you wanted and broke up with you.” Her eyes glisten.
“I can’t believe this.” I’m shaking. “I can’t believe you think that Iwantedthem to break my heart! Because that’s what they did—every time every single one of them walked away.”Shemight be on the verge of tears, butI’mmad. I’mfurious. And to do thisnow—in the middle of the freaking gym? “I’m done for today.” I yank free of her grip, whirling to storm away to the locker room, not glancing back to see if she follows or not.
I grab my gym bag out of my locker and snatch my keys from the pocket where I stowed them. I yank the strap of my bag over my shoulder and turn to go when I spot Talia hesitantly coming through the door.
“Liv, I’m not trying to make you mad. I’m trying tohelp. I think you really care about Hunter, and I don’t want to see you push him away too.”
My heart thuds an angry staccato in my chest. I need to calm down, but I can’t stop her words from replaying. “Mybest friendaccuses me of using my heart transplant to force guys to break up with me—and has apparently felt that way foryears—and I’m not supposed to be mad?”
“Okay, you have every right to be upset. But please,listento me. I know your future is uncertain, and that’s scary. But you’ve made it seven years with only one real scare that ended up being fine. What if you decided to live like you were guaranteed thebest-casescenario instead of fearing the worst? Please think about it. Think about what I’m saying. Think about what happened with Jordan. And Preston. And—”
I push past her and walk away. This time, she doesn’t follow me.
The steady beeping of the machines is at once as familiar as the beat of my heart and as foreign as Farmor’s unmoving form on the bed. I stand at the foot of the bed, still in my gym clothes, my jaw clenched.
“Why did you lie to me?” I ask her, even though I know she can’t respond. Even though she may never respond or look at me or hug me and laugh with meeveragain. Tearsfill my eyes—hot, fat tears that sting and blur my vision and streak my cheeks with their wet trails. “Why did you make me promise to give myself a chance for happiness ... whenyouweren’t even happy?”
There’s no answer, except for the beeping of her monitors.
“If you were actually miserable, why did you stay with him? Why did you lie to me abouteverything?” I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold all the pain and anger inside. “Ibelievedyou. I wanted what you had. But now it doesn’t matter because it wasn’t even real.”
Farmor lies there, and I collapse into the nearby chair, my body shaking, my head hurting, and my heart cracking apart.
When I park in front of the bakery, I have to take a minute to compose myself. I’ve showered, even applied makeup, but Talia’s words—her accusations—coupled with Farmor’s journal and my conflicting feelings for Hunter swirl like a tornado, ripping me apart inside. I take several deep, slow breaths. Then I step out into the heat and walk into the bakery.
When she sees me come through the door, Mom’s eyebrows lift. “Livvy, what are you doing here? I thought you wanted a turn with Farmor.”
I shrug, hoping it’s been long enough that she won’t be able to tell how hard I was crying earlier this morning. “I was there for a while, but there’s no change, and I ... I couldn’t sit there any longer.” Itisthe truth—just not theentiretruth. “I know how tired you are, so I came to help so you can go take a nap.”
My mom’s shoulders sag at my words, but she tries to put up a fight. “I’m fine, really. If either of us goes to rest, it should be you.”
“I’ve had lots of rest—thanks to you staying at the hospital so much. Go home, take a shower and a nap, or eat a whole tub of ice cream. Whichever sounds better to you.”
Mom smiles wearily and pulls me into a hug. “You are the most wonderful daughter I could have ever asked for.”
I hold on to her, squeezing tightly. When we pull away, I blurt out, “Were you and Dad really as happy as you seemed?”
Mom’s smile falters. “Liv, what kind of a question is that?”
My stomach sinks. “I’ve always believed you guys were so in love—like a fairy tale. And that’s why it was so awful after he died. But ... were you really? Or was it a show for us kids?”
My mom reaches out to cup my face with her cool, soft hands. “Sweetheart, of course it was real. I loved your dad with my whole heart. When he died, I lost a piece of myself, and I’m so sorry for whatmygrief putyouthrough. I wasn’t a very good mom.”
Those first few weeks and months after his death threaten to rise in my mind—those never-ending days and nights when my mom was a hollowed-out husk, carved empty by grief, unable to leave her bed—but I force them back down. “Don’t say that. You’ve always been anamazingmom.” She’s apologized to me so many times before, but this time, her words make my throat thick with emotion. “That’s not why I asked. It’s just ... I’m glad it was real. I’m glad I’m not remembering it wrong.”
But a terrible, dark corner of my mind whispers,She could be lying too.
“I’m not sure where your question is coming from, but itwasreal. Was it alwaysperfect? Of course not. We were both human and got upset with each other. We had rocky times like all couples do. But I really did love him that much. I always will. And I’d like to think that he still loves me that much too.”
I force myself to smile. “I know he does,” I say, even though newfound doubt beats alongside all my memories, calling everything into question. “Sorry, that was so random. I guess I’ve been thinking about all sorts of things.” I manage a small laugh. “Okay, go home; get some rest. I’ve got things covered here.”
Mom gives me one more searching look but does as I ask, gathering her things. Before she goes, she pauses at the door. “Have you looked at the ideas Hunter came up with yet? He mentioned having some stuff to show us but said there hasn’t been a chance yet.”
The added stress of knowing the bakery desperately needs a boost in business settles heavily on my shoulders. “No, not yet. We should do that ... soon.”
