An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(83)

All I said back to him was, “I’m okay.”

Not that he’d even asked how I was, but it was all I could muster at the time. Alyssa made the forty minute drive to my house that night to hold me as I rocked and cried and told her everything—from our kiss in the gardens, to the truth about my medical diagnosis, to what transpired in Cal’s office. She insisted he didn’t deserve me, and it was a small solace…but it didn’t ring true.

Cal deserved me. He just failed to believe that he did.

And somehow, that feels even worse.

I’m overcome with shortness of breath, my chest achy. I rub a hand over my heart to subdue the sharp pang, knowing I need to keep my anxiety low, but the notion feels next to impossible.

When the topic quickly shifts from Cal, to Gemma and Knox’s wedded bliss, I notice the song from the speaker change from Mariah Carey to Taylor Swift’s version of Last Christmas. My insides hum with unease as I internalize the lyrics and think about Emma and her journal entry. It was titled “Last Christmas”—little did she know, it would end up being her last Christmas.

Emotion catches in my throat, heating my skin.

It’s a terrible song, worse than Blue Christmas.

It’s sad. Everything feels sad.

Sad songs everywhere; it’s all I can hear.

Standing from the floor of the cat room, I pace around for a few moments, then lean back against the wall and place my hands over my ears to block it all out.

My chest hurts.

My heart hurts.

Tears trickle down my cheeks as my friends watch helplessly.

Cal told me to break for him, and that’s what I’m doing.

Optimists fall, too.

This is how we break.





Pinky the panda bear sits across from me in the rocking chair on Christmas Eve, while my mother and I sip eggnog by the tree after an evening of making porcupines and dozens of homemade cookies. My feet are pulled up beside me, encased in fuzzy twinkle light socks, and my eyes are pinned on the stuffed toy with a defective ear.

Cal told me the panda looked sick, and that I shouldn’t choose that one.

I wonder if he thought the same thing about me.

“My baby girl is turning twenty-three tomorrow,” Mom coos beside me, playing with my hair, while her own hair reflects with silver streaks against the luminous tree. “I wish I could freeze time.”

I force a smile, still staring at the little toy. I’ve slept with it every night since Cal won it for me, crying into its worn fur, wishing he was the one I was holding onto. “Wishes are silly and unproductive,” I murmur. “They hold no weight. No value.”

Mom straightens from the couch, her features pinched with alarm. Two dangling Rudolph earrings flutter as she tilts her head toward me. “Are you okay, sweetheart? That doesn’t sound like something my eternal ball of sunshine would say.”

She laughs a little, but it’s strained, just like my heart.

“Sorry. I’m in a mood, I guess,” I swallow, picking at a loose string on one of my socks. “I miss Dad. And Emma. And Jessica.”

And Cal.

“Oh, Lucy,” she sighs sadly, wrapping a loving arm around me. “You know they’re never far.”

“They’re too far. Too far to hold, too far to touch.”

“They live inside here, which is as close as they can get.” She places a tender palm against my chest, reveling in my heartbeats. “Dad lives in the strings of your guitar. Emma in the fireflies on a warm summer night. Jessica in your laughter and every inside joke. That’s not far, honey. That’s not far at all.”

A tear slips.

God, I’m being so depressing.

It’s my favorite holiday. My birthday is officially in three hours. I’m here, I’m breathing, I’m alive and loved, and all I’m doing is being ungrateful.

I’m mourning when I should be relishing in my blessings.

“You’re right,” I sigh, intaking a full breath. “Sorry I’m being emotional. It’s been a rough month.” My chest starts to ache again, just like it did at the sanctuary. I squeeze the front of my shirt, trying to intake a full breath as my mother spares me a worried glance.

“Are you all right, honey?”

I nod quickly, rubbing the space between my breasts as the feeling climbs, then fades out. “I’m fine.”

“Lucy, you need to make that cardiologist appointment. I’m serious.”

I know I do.

I just can’t fathom spoken confirmation that I’m dying right now—that my time is running out.

It’s too much.

“It’s not that, Mom,” I assure her. “It’s just stress.”

“I know,” she nods, sighing sadly. “The situation with Callahan was…unprecedented. But I’m sure he had your best interest in mind.”

I gave my mother the cliff note version of my termination from Cal’s Corner, omitting the part about me getting fingered to oblivion on his work desk.

My cheeks burn at the memory.

“I’m sure he did,” I mutter.

“Romantic entanglements in the workplace never end well. It’s for the best that you keep your personal lives separate from your professional lives. It’ll all work out…you’ll see.”