Page 15 of Implode

“Did Nic send you?” I ask defensively.

Dan looks genuinely confused. “What? No, no of course not. I’m just on my break,” he explains, gesturing toward his cup of coffee. “Sorry I had to basically drag you up to Mr. Hoffman’s office. He was very direct, and I felt like I didn’t have a choice. Hope it wasn’t too awkward being there.”

For someone who I assume is in their upper twenties, Dan acts older than his age. He is kind and professional even outside of HH. His brown hair has a bit of a wave to it, and he looks like he has a gym membership and actually uses it.

“It’s okay.” I shrug. “I’m okay.”

“You going out for lunch?”

“No, actually, I’m headed home. Starting the weekend early.”

Dan nods and for a brief second allows sadness to creep into his features. He gives me another smile and says, “Have a great weekend. Hope to see you again on Monday.” I start to walk again, and I hear him clear his throat and say, “Oh, and Claire?”

“Hmm?”

“I really dig your new haircut.”

I turn back to Dan and allow my smile to reach my eyes. “Thank you. I was due for a change.”

“It suits you.”

“Well, have a good weekend,” I say, placing one foot in front of the other.

Dan’s comment is oddly similar to Graham’s and Nic’s in regard to my hair. I am glad people like the change, but I did it for myself. It is my new way that I want to live my life. I can afford to be a tad bit selfish, considering I have wasted too much precious time worrying about what everyone else thinks. It is easy to lose yourself with that type of outlook.

Maybe Dan is not a bad guy after all. He seems very laid-back compared to how I saw him this morning during our first real introduction. Maybe we have crossed more times in the halls than I can remember. He does seem to know me better than I know him. Either that or Nic has done some oversharing. I have wondered what he has told his staff regarding me, especially after I got accosted in the lobby that first day by Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

Angie and Graham’s bodyguard, Collins, dropped me off at work today, since we had a girls’ breakfast before heading into the office. My new place is just about one and a half miles from Hoffman Headquarters, so the walk isn’t horrendous. Plus, I pass by several boutiques and shops along the way, so it’s easy for me to sneak into a few and scope out wedding gifts for the happy couple.

My stomach is still uneasy, but the fresh air does wonders. I meander into an eclectic shop that looks like it would sell something unique. Angie has inherited Graham’s abundant wealth, so getting her just anything is silly because her fiancé basically would buy her the world if he could. I need something special. Perhaps something that neither would have thought to need or want.

I browse aimlessly, just seeing what catches my eye. Despite having a smallish storefront, the shop stretches way into the back of the building and is multilevel, featuring a stairway to the basement and a stairway up to the second floor.

I travel to the upstairs and am in awe of all of the dresses lined up on racks. Maybe I can find a rehearsal dress here. It is springtime in Portland, so pastel colors are fine to wear, as long as I stay away from bridal white to avoid a major faux pas. Hell, my luck I would get my period wearing white.

As soon as my mind thinks about my period, I start to mentally try to figure out when I had my last one. With my bad luck, I’ll probably get it right during the middle of the wedding ceremony where I won’t be able to excuse myself to the restroom without the entire guest list noticing. Plus, I bloat like a pufferfish during that time of the month, and the dress that Angie picked out for me to wear as the maid of honor will look horrendous on me if I’m retaining water weight.

I pull out my phone and open up my period tracker app. What the hell? I am thirteen days late. How did I not even notice? My stomach starts to cramp, as a wave of nausea strikes again.

I dart down the steps of the shop and push past a few customers as I get myself out the door I arrived in, sucking in huge gulps of air as I comprehend the possibility that I am…

I can’t even think it. No. No freaking way. I’m taking birth control pills. I can’t be. I hold my stomach, willing it to settle so I can think. I imagine it bloating up to the size of a balloon that got filled with too much air. Thoughts of crying. Diapers. Being a horrible mom just like the one who raised me. I can’t do this. I am not equipped to be a mommy. I can barely take care of myself.

I double over and squat down to the concrete, staring at my polished toenails peeking out through my sandal straps. If what I think is true, there will come a time where I won’t be able to see my own feet. I close my eyes as my breathing picks up to an unsafe level.

I’m going to be sick. Yet it all is starting to make sense. I keep getting sick. The nausea, the vomiting, and the revelation that I missed my last period. The timeline is revealing that the possibility that I am—pregnant—is moreprobably likelythanprobably unlikely.

I stand up and walk slowly to a storefront bench half a block away. Maybe all of the stress is wreaking havoc on my body. Maybe I have been exercising too much and not getting enough calories. Maybe the breakup with Ethan and then the one with Nic are taking a toll on me. And then it dawns on me.

I put my face into my hands and suck in air through my nose.

If I am pregnant, I may not know who the father of my child is.

5

CLAIRE

As fearful as I am, I still take the Band-Aid approach and walk straight to the convenience store that is just a few minutes’ walk from my apartment and pick up four pregnancy tests—each with a slightly different accuracy level and of various brands. I won’t be able to shut my brain off from thinking of every what-if scenario until I at least know if I am carrying the child of one of my exes. And if I am, I should look into suing the contraceptive drug company that promised me that I would never be in this situation if I followed the directions. Dammit.

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