Page 72 of Inflame

Angie shrugs. “I sensed the tension between you two.”

I sigh. “This trip is supposed to be about you—not all of my baggage.”

“Claire, don’t you realize that you being happy makes me happy?”

I give my friend a hug, mainly because I am in desperate need of comfort before I break down from my life falling apart. That’s the problem with me, though. I tend to build foundations for a future on unstable ground. Maybe this whole time, what I thought I wanted out of my relationship with Ethan isn’t what he wanted at all.

But I am invested. More invested in him than I ever have been with anyone else.

“But what happens if I don’t know what will make me happy?” I ask, my voice quivering.

“You’ll first have to figure out if being with Ethan is what you want.”

“I just wish he didn’t have some stick up his ass. He is angry with me, and getting him to vocalize his points without degrading me in public is the biggest challenge.”

“You don’t deserve how he is treating you. No one does.”

“That I can agree on.”

“So, tell me. How did Nic make you feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“What were your first thoughts running through your brain after the kiss ended?”

I think about the question and answer as honestly as I can. “My first thought was ‘damn, he knows how to kiss.’ Then when it ended, I was sad it was so short. And once reality set in, I felt a crushing guilt. Like someone placed a boulder on my chest.”

“Why guilt?”

“I’m with Ethan. I choose Ethan. I stayed back in Portland for Ethan.”

Angie nods. “I knew something was up. Do you think Ethan knows? Do you plan on telling him?”

“I made a minor misjudgment and have to deal with my own conscience. It doesn’t benefit Ethan to have that in his head. I mean, Nic kissedme. But I doubt Ethan will care who did what if he ever found out.”

“I wish he would get his head out of his ass long enough to realize he is hurting you right now. What’s his deal?”

I frown. “I really don’t know. I think some alone time may be in order so we can reacquaint ourselves with each other.”

Angie’s face changes, and I know she doesn’t buy it but is polite enough not to say anything in disagreement. I am sure she feels in a tough place between saying too much and not saying enough. Truth of the matter is, I need to handle this on my own.

When we return to the table, the men seem to be harboring some tension and animosity toward one another. No one wants to break the silence by initiating conversation, and the stress of not knowing how to act in this setting is wearing on me. Do I make small talk or just stay quiet? I choose the latter and focus on trying to eat enough food to keep myself from getting sick off the mimosa.

Ethan pats my leg and gives it a little squeeze underneath the table. He leans his face closer to mine and whispers, “You letting yourself go?”

I turn my attention to him and look at him with confusion. “Letting what go?” Because right now, the only thing I feel like I’m letting go is my ability to say what I really feel. What happened to Unfiltered Claire? I fear I am losing all sense of the woman I once was. There was me before Ethan, and now me with Ethan. I thought he would make me a better woman. I thought that being with someone sophisticated would help me to be more refined. Polished. He’s a father. He’s an established businessman.

He’s an egotistical asshole.

Ethan shrugs and points to the food on my plate with his empty fork. “Seems a bit excessive, don’t you think? You trying to make yourself get fat?”

His words are loud enough for the entire table to hear, but they are too nice to act like they heard the exchange. Tears well in my eyes. I’m no longer hungry. I toss my fork onto the plate and slide my chair out. I make my way back to the restroom area and this time actually go inside.

As much as I struggle with how I see myself, I know for certain that the core of who I am is good. I look at myself in the mirror. Damn Ethan for thinking that what is on the outside trumps who I am on the inside. Why is he trying to hurt me and make me doubt myself?

I use the toilet, wash my hands, and take a few deep breaths before exiting. I turn the corner and feel a gentle touch on my elbow. Pivoting, I stare into the sad blue eyes of Nic. They catch me off guard.

“Hey,” I say, looking down at my shoes as I rock on them.

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