Page 9 of Inflame

“Good luck with that.”

“You mentioned Nic’s judging of you, but are you two at least getting along after I raged at Graham over your cafe meetup?”

“If by getting along, you mean ignoring each other, then yes, yes we are.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “What’s the holdup with you two? Something is obviously going on.”

“Nothing is going on, Angie. It’s just that he is some sort of emo-alpha man who barely has any words to say, but whenever I present anything to him, he just makes these weird hums or facial tics—but not the kind where you think it is a neurological problem. They’re the kind where you think he is about to say something profound—maybe even give me a positive remark—then nothing. Silence. Oh,” I say, swinging my wine glass into the air as I talk animatedly, “and then when he does grace me with some verbal communication, it’s snarky. He’s driving me mad. But I’m your best friend and surely I can suck this up until you get the wedding of your dreams.”

Angie listens intently as I rattle off about Nic. I’m all over the place with my emotions, and for as long as she has known me, I’ve never been this frazzled over a guy I’m not even dating. Maybe I just have a case of mischanneled passion.

“Sorry Nic’s getting under your skin. I can talk to him directly and stop using Graham as the middleman. Nic usually caves when it comes to me. This past year was very eye-opening for me and what I want out of this life. I need you to be happy too. My happiness does not trump yours. Okay?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry I dumped all of this on you. Things will be fine.”

“You sure you’re going to be able to endure the four of us hanging out for the entire duration of the trip?”

“Yeah, and Ethan will be joining us toward the end, so that should be fun.”

“Well, just know that I’m here if you ever need me. Always.”

I give her a big hug. “You are the bestest best friend.”

She squeezes me back. “I feel the same way about you. Off topic and less glamorous to talk about, but have you had any luck finding a job in your field?”

I release my hold on her and frown over her question. I turned down my dream job in Los Angeles back in January to avoid having a long-distance relationship with Ethan, who has a son here in Portland from a previous marriage. “I put my résumé into fourteen different places around the city that are hiring a health coach or nutritionist. I went on five interviews and had two places offer second interviews.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, knowing there’s a catch.

“When I looked at the starting salary for someone with zero real experience, I would be making barely above minimum wage. That’s less than I make working at the gym part-time.”

“Wow, that sucks. Can you pick up more hours at the gym?”

“I can try to compete for more, but with warmer weather approaching, new gym memberships decrease in volume because people want to be outside to exercise. That’s why I am advocating for outdoor classes and pioneering a few on a trial-run basis. I actually taught a Zumba at the River class, and everyone seemed to really enjoy it. I have a yoga class this evening that I’m leading, as well.” I’m just trying to stay busy to keep myself from thinking of all the things I wish I had.

“That’s wonderful. I want to attend a class like those. Sounds fun.”

I nod. “But my degree is not in physical fitness.”

“Claire, I spent over four years of my life striving to be an investigative journalist and now, what am I? I am a stay-at-home fiancée without kids. I feel useless most days.”

“Oh, Angie, don’t say that. You are just taking a couple of months to try to find your stride. You just finished up your rehab program and are on maintenance mode. This is a huge accomplishment. It’s not like youneedto work either.”

“I want to feel like I’m contributing to the relationship and to society.”

“I just want to not have to rely on my monthly allowance to get by,” I groan. “Funds get depleted fast.”

“Hold up,” she says, readjusting herself on the sofa. “Go back to this allowance thing. Tell me more.”

I shrug. “Ethan is worried that without me bringing in a steady paycheck, I’ll get into a habit of thinking that money grows on trees, yada yada. So, he budgets me a set amount on a debit card to buy groceries and essential items, then whatever is left over at the end of the month is mine for fun.”

Angie’s eyes grow big, and I instantly regret sharing this personal finance information with her. She probably thinks Ethan is micromanaging me too much or something of the sort. At least she resists adding her opinion to the mix. Instead, she just nods her head and probably is realizing yet again how good she has it with Graham, who worships the ground she walks on and actually begs her to spend more money.

“You know if you need hel—”

I shake my head adamantly, cutting off her offer. “I got this handled. I barely have bills to pay, and I can always pick up a side job if needed. I could be in a way worse position if I had student loans or a mortgage.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

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