Page 25 of Implode

Switching the call to hands-free, I start the engine and make my way down the driveway. “I need a favor.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I would like to, um, chat with someone about…” I don’t even know. “Things I’ve been dealing with in regard to my past.”

“Want me to email you a list of my personal recommendations and their qualifications? And when you’re ready, you can let me know, and I can set up your first appointment?”

“That would be great.”

Maybe this is the first real step in the right direction.

Time will only tell.

7

CLAIRE

It is a solid fifty-one hours that I have known that I am pregnant. I thought sleeping on it would make me feel better, but time is only acting as a ticking bomb for when the truth will be revealed. I can’t hide forever. I haven’t even decided how I’m going to avoid drinking at the wedding and no one finding out. It would be pretty off-character for me to turn down a glass of free champagne, especially during an epic celebration like Angie’s nuptials. Plus, being so close to Nic during the festivities will be a great reason to drink in the first place.

Every time I really think about how my life is going to change, I get nauseous. I’m not ready to be a mother, but the thought of passing my child off to another family or terminating the pregnancy causes me major anxiety. I’m the product of my mom cheating, and she could have gotten rid of me too. I want my child to grow up feeling the love I yearned for from my own family. It’s not fair for a child to ever think they are a burden or a mistake. It starts with me and my own attitude.

Time to put my big-girl panties on and start acting like an adult.

I force myself out of bed and kneel down to pull out the drawer from the underneath space-saver storage. I find my fanciest dress that isn’t too badly wrinkled and get myself dressed up to go out—by myself. All of this sulking over not having anyone in my life to love me is a pity party I don’t need to throw for myself right now.

There are plenty of people in worse off situations than I am, so I need to count my blessings and push forward. Feeling sorry for myself is not very productive. Time to prove that I can rise above.

I do my hair for the first time this weekend and even add some black jewelry to my look. I pull open my bathroom’s medicine cabinet and revamp my vision board that is attached to the back of the mirrored door. I grab a magazine that rests on the top of the toilet, and I scan it for images that help to represent some of my current goals.

When I see the image of a house, I rip it out and stick it to my board.Dream big. I add to it a picture of a piggy bank for a reminder to save. I also include a picture of my favorite flower and the graphic I got tattooed on my hip.Always look toward the sun. I add the clippings for the following words—strong, energized, and decisive.

Feeling empowered and in a good head space, I decide to go out to dinner. I am getting a bigger appetite lately, and eating well helps cut back on some of the nausea. I put on a pair of dressy sandals to go with my silver and black layered chiffon dress. After a dusting of makeup, I grab my handbag and decide to walk to find a place to eat.

I love how close I live to so many cool places. I wander around and explore my options, scanning menus in the windows or on podiums set up in front of entrances to see if I can even afford a fancy meal. There is no living from paycheck to paycheck right now for me. Instead, I am just charging everything and slipping further into debt. It is hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel when the tunnel is about thirty years long. That’s how long it’s going to take me to pay back those loans—at least.

When the smell whiffing out ofCutlery—a Brazilian Steakhouse—makes my mouth water, I must go inside and try it out. I can tell that whatever the price is will be worth it. I amthathungry.

Coming from a place of living life to the fullest and not having a financial worry to living life with a weighing fear of not making ends meet feels like whiplash and quite frankly a bit of culture shock. Days of getting my nails professionally done and securing the freshest and most natural foods are over. I need to let this meal be the last hurrah and then start taking my budgeting seriously. It does help that my friends got me a meal delivery subscription. Not having to worry about one dinner a week will cut down on unnecessary stress. Maybe I can even learn to garden and set up pots in the windows or something. Fresh produce at the store always costs more than junk in a box.

I walk inside the restaurant and can’t take my eyes off of the polished interior. Everything looks South American from the artwork to the tapestries to the waitstaff.

I am so distracted by my own thoughts that it takes the clearing of a throat to draw me back to the present. My eyes look up to meet a pair of beautiful green eyes that belong to an ultrathin hostess.

“Are you waiting for your party to arrive?” she asks in a professional tone.

“No,” I say softly.

“So just one?” Her smile conveys friendliness, but I can’t help but feel slightly judged.

I’m nearly positive I am the only person in Portland that has entered this venue solo. This is a place where business meetings are conducted, birthdays are celebrated, and people gather over wine and delicious food. I am here for none of those things. Other than extreme hunger, I don’t really know why I decided to enter. Surely, based on the decor, I could have chosen a cheaper place to dine. Regardless, I’m happy I did. I can already tell by the amazing smell that I’m going to thoroughly enjoy my dinner.

“Just one,” I echo. The words do sound sad leaving my lips. It’s technically two, but the baby doesn’t have much of a say in its food selection.

“Alright.”

“Alright,” I repeat. I can’t even remember the last time I ate alone and actually liked it. Probably never.

“Any preference on seating?”

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