Read Online The Last Time We Say Goodbye by Cynthia Hand - Free Book Online Page B

does the word love come from?”
    â€œOld English,” he reads off his laptop. “ Lufian . To cherish, show delight in, approve. Which comes from the Old High German lubon , which meant something like joy.”
    â€œSomething like joy,” Mrs. Blackburn repeats like she’s reciting a poem. “Wonderful. How about you, Miss Riggs?”
    I’m startled, and I’m not ready. Why would she call on me? I’m at the other side of the freaking room. Is my association with Steven that ingrained in everyone around us? “What?” I ask, like maybe I didn’t hear her correctly.
    â€œWhat’s your word?”
    â€œOh. Mine’s not very good,” I say.
    She waits.
    I sigh. My eye falls on a word on my screen. “Delusion,” I say as my fingers type it in. See the seat of my pants, and see me flying byit. “From the Latin, delusio , it means ‘a belief that, though false, has been surrendered to and accepted by the whole mind as a truth.’”
    â€œInteresting,” Mrs. Blackburn says thoughtfully. “What made you pick delusion ?”
    â€œWell, we were talking about love, right? Love is a classic example of a delusion.”
    Mrs. Blackburn chuckles. “Oh. I see. Not a romantic then, are you?”
    â€œNo,” I say flatly. “I don’t believe in romantic love.”
    â€œWhy not?” she asks.
    Here we go. “Because what we associate with the idea of love is purely chemical. It can be broken down into scientifically proven phases: it starts with a dose of testosterone and estrogen, what we would think of as ‘lust,’ followed by the goofy ‘lovesick’ phase, which is a combination of adrenaline, dopamine, and a drop in serotonin levels—which, by the way, makes our brains behave exactly like the brains of crack addicts—and ends up, if we make it through phases one and two, with ‘attachment,’ where the body produces oxytocin and vasopressin, which basically make us want to cuddle excessively. It’s science. That’s all.”
    â€œHmm,” says Mrs. Blackburn. “That’s quite the speech, Alexis.”
    Steven smiles at me again, but it’s a sad smile this time. A pitying smile.
    It makes me mad.
    So I keep talking. “All this Valentine’s Day stuff comes from big business capitalizing on the delusion of love. All the candy, the candlelit dinners, the flowers . . .” I meet Steven’s gaze and hold itfor a second and then look away. “It generates more than a billion dollars in revenue every year. Because people want to believe in love. But it’s not real.”
    Mrs. Blackburn shakes her head, frowning. “But have you considered the notion that what we believe in—what we choose to believe in— is real? It becomes real, for us.”
    I push my glasses up on my nose and stare at her blankly.
    â€œPerhaps you’re right,” she adds, “and what we feel as love is nothing more than a combination of certain chemicals in our bodies. But if we believe that love is this powerful force that binds us together, and if this belief brings us happiness and stability in this tumultuous world, then what’s the harm?”
    My chin lifts, like I have something to prove here. Maybe I do have something to prove. “In my experience, love doesn’t bring happiness and stability. But believing in love can cause a substantial amount of harm.”
    Like with my parents.
    Like with my brother.
    Mrs. Blackburn straightens her wedding ring on her finger for a minute before speaking again. “I find that love is a concept much like bravery, Miss Riggs. I, for instance, have been married to the same man for thirty-two years. And, in all that time, I haven’t felt ‘in love’ with him every day, not in the way love is described in romantic comedies and romance novels, but I have loved him. Love is a choice I’ve made. A