Untouched A Cedar Cove Novella

broken heart.
    I gulp a lungful of fresh, salty air and force the demons out of my mind. “First of all, we don’t know he’s planning to propose.” I shift the phone to a more comfortable position under my ear.
    “Please.” Lacey snorts. “His parents love you, you’re moving in together after graduation, and he’s been dropping not-so-subtle hints about your taste in jewelry for months now.”
    “You didn’t tell me that!” My stomach kicks, but this time, it’s with a whole different kind of nerves.
    “It’s been kind of hilarious,” Lacey adds. “So, do you think Juliet prefers modern, or art deco styles?” she mimics Daniel’s careful East Coast voice.
    “What did you say?” I ask, curious. Even though Lacey is right—I’ve figured this was coming for a while now—it still feels strange to talk about it like this. Marriage. The future. Forever.
    With someone who isn’t Emerson.
    Lacey continues, oblivious to my thoughts. “Princess-cut, classic setting, nothing under two carats. Duh.”
    “Lacey!” I flush.
    “What? You said, you wanted to build a life with him,” Lacey reminds me. “That you could picture growing old and grey together.”
    “I did. I mean, I do,” I correct myself quickly. “Daniel is great. He’s kind, and sweet, and smart—“
    “—and perfect, I get it!” Lacey cuts me off. “So I don’t get why he’s not going with you. Not just for all the heavy lifting and packing, I mean. If my girlfriend was going back to see her ex—“
    “I’m not here to see Emerson!” My protest comes way too loud, and I flinch, swerving wildly on the road.
    Lacey whistles. “Easy there. I’m just saying, Danny boy must be super-secure in your relationship if he’s not even curious about the first guy you ever loved.”
    I catch my breath, trying to calm myself. The last thing I need is to wind up dead, crashed in a ditch before I even reach the county line. I slow my speed, and focus on the road ahead. “Daniel isn’t coming because I told him not to. I said I need the space to study in peace. And… he doesn’t know about Emerson.” I admit in a rush
    “What?” Lacey’s screech makes me swerve all over again. “You said you told him ages ago!”
    “I did,” I protest weakly. “I said there was a guy I dated, before college. But I didn’t say he was here. Or how serious it was.”
    “Serious?” Lacey’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Try, like a fucking anvil.”
    “What was I supposed to say, Lace?” I sigh, feeling that familiar wash of guilt that always settles over me whenever I think about the half-truths I’ve told my boyfriend. “That I had my heart broken so entirely, it took everything I had not to slash open my wrists just to make the pain stop?”
    My voice is light now, but the words are true. For the longest time, it felt like I was teetering on a precipice, like one wrong step could send me tumbling into the darkness. The worst part was, there were moments I wanted to take that leap, to just end the pain for good.
    “Oh, babe…” Lacey’s voice softens. She knows what it was like for me: as my freshman roommate, she had a front-row seat to the damage that summer left behind. The days when all I did was curl in a ball, weeping; the weeks I barely ate, or left my room at all except for classes. She was the one who finally sat me down and staged a one-girl intervention: dragging me out to parties and coffee-breaks and the campus therapist, who prescribed me a whole list of anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds.
    The pills helped—too much, I think sometimes—but Lacey was my real lifesaver, forcing me to fake at being OK long enough that I finally began to believe it for myself. I didn’t meet Daniel until my junior year, and by then, I could almost believe that those dark days were behind me for good. The only scar I had left you could see was the tiny blue jay tattoo on my right shoulder blade. I’ve thought about getting it removed, wiping the slate clean completely, but something makes me leave it there to glimpse in the mirror every time I step out of the shower. A lasting reminder of all my dumb, fucked-up choices, and the road I swore I’d never take again.
    Until now.
    “It’ll be fine.” I say firmly, as if that old fake-it-til-you-make-it strategy will work now, all over again. “I’ll pack up the house for the realtor, and be back by Monday. I picked up groceries in the city, so I won’t even need to go