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She bit her lip. “But on Thanksgiving, you said you still loved him too.”
My brow quirked as if to say, And?
She smirked. “I’m just saying it might be difficult to school your feelings, knowing how he still feels about you.”
I spat out a muted, albeit sardonic, laugh. “He doesn’t really love me.”
“Love is a complicated thing.” She focused her attention back on her dad. “If you asked my parents if they loved me, they would emphatically say yes. But I don’t particularly feel loved by them. I was never as brilliant or as accomplished as my sisters. My parents weren’t cruel, but I could tell I disappointed them, or maybe I just became an afterthought to them. And let’s not forget they left me at a rest stop on vacation once. It took them an hour before they realized I wasn’t in the car with them.”
“Yikes,” I gasped.
“They even missed my college graduation. I waited for them at the airport for three hours before they called to say they weren’t coming. They just laughed it off like it was no big deal. But they didn’t miss my sisters’ graduations. But look at me. Here I sit with my father’s lifeless body because I feel more seen here than at home. I keep thinking,” her voice pitched, “that maybe Dad will wake up and see it was me who stayed by his side. And he’ll finally recognize I’m worth loving too, even if I don’t have a doctorate in ancient studies or speak four languages.”
I felt so awful for her. Thankfully, my parents always made me feel so loved. I took Jules’s shaking hand. Not knowing exactly what to say, I went with my go-to—humor. “Does he know you’re a spy?”
She giggled. “Maybe if I really were a spy, it would mean something to him. He just thinks I’m some run-of-the-mill computer programmer.”
“So what you’re saying is you are some high-level CIA encryption specialist.”
She squeezed my hand. “Thanks, Calista, for making me feel seen.”
I noted she did not deny the CIA encryption specialist accusation. “Anytime. Let’s do something outside the hospital when you feel up to it.”
“I’d love that.”
“It’s a date. Unfortunately, I need to run. My shift starts soon. Call or text me anytime.”
She turned my way. “Thank you. I will.” She sounded so grateful. “Good luck with Tristan.”
I stood. “No luck needed there. Maybe now that I know the truth, my heart can heal.”
“Or be open to new possibilities,” she said mysteriously.
“And what possibilities would those be?”
“Maybe Scrooge will get the girl this time.”
I spat out a laugh. “Not this girl.”
“Didn’t you say that to not love him would be like not loving yourself?” she asked sincerely.
That took all the bravado out of me. Love and the sharing of souls is a tricky business. No wonder Catherine and Heathcliff were so messed up in Wuthering Heights. “I did,” I quietly admitted.
“I would hate for you to never love yourself. That would be a tragedy.”
That thought was a smack in the face. So much so I had no response other than to whisper, “Goodbye. I’ll check on you later.”
She waved and turned back toward her dying father.
I sauntered out past the nurses’ station that was festively decorated with stockings and Christmas lights. The nurses in the ER had decorated their station almost identically. Someone had even put a Christmas tree in our break room. It added some cheer. I needed all the cheery thoughts I could get after my conversation with Jules, and even after the one with Tristan last night. I think I would have felt better if he’d just cheated on me or something. Instead, he left me for things that would never love him back—and because he couldn’t handle me. So he got arrested. It was only the one time. Sure, it wasn’t pleasant. And I felt terrible about it. But those poor puppies were suffering, and no one would do anything about it. I’d tried the legal route before I’d taken matters into my own hands.
I’d figured the puppy thing was the catalyst to him breaking up with me, but from the sound of it, he was going to anyway. I didn’t fit into his country club lifestyle. Here was a news flash for him—I still didn’t. Nor would I ever. Not that it mattered, because we weren’t rewriting A Christmas Carol.
I arrived in the ER to find my favorite person. “Hi, Evie,” I said as brightly as humanly possible, even though I felt anything but festive. Although every time Evie curled her lips and wrinkled her brow at me, I felt a certain amount of satisfaction. I was still determined to make her like me.
“Hi,” she mumbled as she marched out of the nurses’ station.
The other nurses did their best to hide their snickering.
