Chapter 33
A week later, Talia and Lou sit on either side of me on the couch, a blanket stretched over all three of our legs, a huge bowl of crack-corn on Lou’s lap.
“You know this isn’t really part of her ‘heart healthy diet,’ right?”
“But it’s freaking delicious, so that trumps healthy.” Lou takes a huge handful.
“Yeah, until she ends up back in the hospital,” Talia says.
“Crack-corn is not going to put me back in the hospital. Hand it over.” I grab my own handful from the bowl.
“Liv, you know your doctor said you have to be more careful—”
“I know,” I cut Talia off, but with a smile. “I won’t eat much. I promise.”
“What movie are we watching tonight? One of the classics?” Lou asks, picking up the remote. “While You Were Sleeping? How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?”
“Can we watch something that isn’t romantic?” I grimace.
“Riiiight, sorry. Um . . . Jurassic Park? Star Wars? A Quiet Place?”
Talia leans forward to pin Lou with raised eyebrows. “There’s something wrong with you.”
“I’m trying to think of movies without any romance!”
“And the best you can come up with is A Quiet Place?”
I take another handful of popcorn. “Speaking of romance . . . are you sure Chris is okay with you ditching him tonight?”
“Ooooh, how are things with Chris?” Talia asks.
“Well, since he’s been here every night this week, I’d say pretty good.” I waggle my eyebrows.
Lou blushes. “He’s . . . he’s great.”
“You’ll have to tell him thank you for letting us steal you away,” I say.
“He doesn’t have to see me seven days a week. We’re not going to be that couple.”
I stifle a laugh. I was in the room when she called him to tell him we were going to do a girls’ night (Talia and Lou’s attempt to cheer me up after a long week) and heard her say, “I know, I’ll miss you so much too. We can go to breakfast tomorrow, if you want?”
Not that couple, ha! But I leave it alone. I don’t want to make her feel bad. She did hold her ground and choose to be with me on Friday night because I’m that pathetic.
I’ve spent the whole week visiting Farmor and helping her with PT, trying to get as much movement and control back in her right hand as possible, or working nonstop.
Generally trying in every way possible not to think about Hunter, who took my hint and never texted again.
The relief still hasn’t come. Only grief.
The only good that’s come of throwing myself even more thoroughly into work is that as I’ve grappled with the guilt and pain of realizing I’m the recipient of Lyla’s heart, I came up with an idea for something I’m really excited about: combining two of the most important things in the world, at least for me.
“How about Knives Out?” Talia lets Lou off the hook and doesn’t press the issue of her new relationship with Chris.
“I haven’t seen it,” I admit. “Was that the murder-mystery one from years ago?”
“You haven’t seen it? Oh, it’s so good! And no romance . . . I don’t think.”
While Lou searches for it on various streaming services, Talia turns to me. “How’s the fundraiser research going?”
I can’t help but smile as I think of the phone call I had earlier.
“It’s really coming along. I’ve tracked down two other transplant survivors who run businesses in Phoenix who are interested in joining me.
They loved the idea of raising money for transplant-donor families. I think it might actually happen!”
“I’m really proud of you,” Talia says. “And Austin was totally on board with donating a website to the cause—since it’s for charity.” She rolls her eyes, but then continues, “Although he might have asked if you and Hunter were still dating.”
My rising excitement bottoms out, plummeting into the icy depths of anxiety. “What did you tell him?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“Well, the answer is no,” I say, wanting it to sound firm and assured. Instead, it comes out forlorn. Lou tenses next to me, her disapproval silent but palpable. “Not that I want Austin to know that, though,” I add lamely.
“Found it!” she blurts out, and we all turn to the TV, grateful for the distraction. Neither of my friends has called me out on pushing Hunter away—yet. I hope that maybe this time, they understand it really is for the best.
Even though it sucks.
We’re halfway through the movie (and the crack-corn) when there’s a knock at the door.
Lou pauses the movie and hurries to the foyer.
There’s a split second where I’m unable to keep my hopes from jumping that maybe, just maybe it’s Hunter.
But I squash the hope as quickly as it rises.
Even though the condo has seemed empty without him popping in at all hours of the day and night, having him show up would only make everything harder.
I truly am relieved when she opens the door and squeals, “Chris!”
He follows Lou to us with two boxes of pizza. “I thought you girls might get hungry.”
“That is so thoughtful of you,” Lou says.
Talia rolls her eyes at me. “Thoughtful and an excuse to come see her—because heaven forbid they be apart for one night,” she mutters to me.
I snigger but shake my head. “Let Lou have her happiness. Just because we’re both single doesn’t mean we should be bugged that she has a guy who is clearly head over heels for her.”
“Ugh. Whatever. Be all benevolent and crap.” But Talia is smiling as she watches Lou sneak in a kiss and then usher him back out the door.
We eat our pizza and watch the movie and finish the night giggling and dissecting Lou’s feelings for Chris (conclusion: She’s in love) and why things didn’t work out with a physical therapist from the gym for Talia (conclusion: He’s an egotistical maniac with a God complex).
It’s a good night with my two best friends.
But I still feel suffocated by an all-encompassing loneliness as I climb under my sheets shortly after midnight when Talia finally goes and Lou retreats to her room to FaceTime Chris.
I miss Hunter with a sharpness that steals my breath.
These moments, late at night, when I can no longer keep myself mind-numbingly busy, my thoughts spin out of control.
And I nearly give in to the temptation to text him.
But then I remind myself that I have Lyla’s heart—and I find the strength to resist. Even if I weren’t a bad bet to begin with, that is the trump card to bankrupt any hope for our happiness.
However, reminding myself of that sends me into a different kind of spiral.
Every time the guilt and grief threaten to splinter me apart and send me back into a vortex of anxiety, I replay him telling me to never regret being alive, repeating the words to myself over and over.
Without him there to say the words to me, they ring hollow.
I roll over onto my side, facing the wall, and will my mind to stop spinning. But it’s a futile effort, consigning me to another long, sleepless night.
I’m putting away the milk carton when Lou wanders into the kitchen the next morning, dressed in a tank top, leggings, and Nikes, and her hair is in a high ponytail.
“Where are you going dressed like that?” I ask.
“Chris wants to take me on a hike and then to breakfast.”
“You are going hiking? Where? To Camelback Mountain or something?”
“Um, yes. Is that bad?”
I start laughing as I grab a spoon for my cream-of-rice-mixed-with-protein-powder-and-egg-whites breakfast. Bland, easy to digest, and nutritious, exactly how my doctor prefers my meals. “Good luck with that.”
She plops onto the chair across from me. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”
“Well, if you’re leaving soon, at least it won’t be too hot yet. Hopefully. That’ll help a little bit.”
“He’s supposed to be here in five minutes.”
I take a bite of my rice cereal. “Keep your cell phone on you so you can call search and rescue if you can’t make it.”
“Liv! You are not helping!” But she pats the side pocket of her pants, making sure her phone is there. As if on cue, it starts to ring, and she pulls it out, her face bright and -excited—until she looks at the screen. Then her brows furrow, and she glances up in confusion.
“What? Who is it?”
She looks back down. “It’s my aunt. Hunter’s mom.” She stands up abruptly. “I better take this.” She rushes into the laundry room and closes the door behind her, leaving me sitting with my spoon halfway to my mouth, quivering in the air, my heart in my throat.
All sorts of horrifying reasons why she is calling Lou flip through my mind, like one of those old toys where you look in the viewfinder and push down the handle to make the picture change.
Hunter is sick.
Hunter is injured.
Hunter is dying.
Hunter is dead.
I’m lightheaded with terror. My legs waver, threatening to give out; I have to grab the counter to stay standing.
The door opens, and Lou emerges.
I stare at her, my entire body shaking, waiting for the blow. Except she doesn’t look devastated. She looks nonplussed—and hesitant.
“She wants to talk to you. She knows you got Lyla’s heart and . . .” She’s holding the phone halfway out to me. “But you don’t have to. If you don’t want to, you don’t need to—”
I stand up and walk over to Lou, take the phone out of her hand, and raise it to my ear. “Mrs. Barrett?”
There’s an exhale on the other side of the line. “Is this . . . is this Olivia?”
“Yes.”
“You . . . you are the one who got my Lyla’s heart?”
“Yes.”
There’s a sound on the other line that I’m certain is the soft noise of her crying. I stand in our kitchen, shaking and uncertain. I’m speaking to the mother of the girl who gave me her heart. After all these years, after all the guilt and pain, I’m finally speaking to her.
But she’s not only the mother of the girl who gave me her heart.
She’s also Hunter’s mother—she’s the one who has pushed him away, hurt him even more deeply than the loss of his sister by blaming and rejecting him.
As I listen to her cry, I’m assailed by a barrage of emotions—and a sudden realization.
The same way I pushed him away.
Oh gosh . . .
I think I might throw up.