Page 7 of Implode

Angie has a fear of pain that manifested itself from a car accident that occurred prior to her moving to Portland and meeting me. If I’d had that type of traumatic experience, there would be no way I would volunteer to get stuck hundreds of times just for vanity purposes.

“Glad to see the power couple back together,” I say cheerfully.

“I took the redeye and got here early this morning,” Graham says with a smile. “Big day for you ladies, huh?”

“Yup,” I chirp. “I’m really excited.”

Angie, too, is about to burst with excitement.

“How did my brother treat you ladies?”

My heart instantly drops at the weight of his words. The question is innocent, and yet my entire throat feels like it is closing.

Graham’s eyes study mine, or maybe I’m just paranoid that he knows something that I’ve been trying to keep hidden for weeks. “Hopefully with the respect you deserve.”

I almost choke on my own spit. I really don’t want to talk or think about Nic. Not today. Not any day, really. My stomach twists at the realization that Angie and Graham’s wedding will be the most awkward event of the century for me. We still have to get through a rehearsal dinner, a wedding ceremony, and a reception.

“Claire, you feeling okay?” Angie asks, her eyes full of concern.

I simply nod. The first bit of acid hits my taste buds and I run out of the office, toward the hallway restroom. I pull open the door, find the first stall, and double over as I retch out of my body the quinoa bowl that I ate this morning. My throat burns, as I have an episode of dry heaves, one after another. My stomach cramps from the force of the heaving, making me moan in pain.

“Claire?”

“It’s okay, Angie, I’m fine. Just a nervous stomach.”

“You sure? Can I get you anything?”

I think for a moment. “I would love ginger ale,” I answer. “With some lemon slices.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I think of Nic and how he cared for me when I had food poisoning. He introduced me to adding citrus, and I never want to have ginger ale any other way.

“I’ll send Graham out for some,” she says, running out of the restroom.

The door shuts before I can thank her. I flush the toilet and walk over to the sink area. In the reflection of the mirror, I see a pale and broken version of myself. There’s not any type of makeover that can mask a shattered heart. I can feel it in my bones, and it hurts to breathe. I am just going through the motions. Maybe to anyone else, I look like I have reinvented myself. I look happy. But I know the truth. I’m barely hanging on. I am trying to forget. I am trying to learn how to live without the one thing I want most in this world—love.

I rinse my mouth out and vow to buy a toothbrush to store in my desk. I feel nasty, like my stomach just went to war and lost. I walk back into the Plus None office and flop down on the couch. I lean forward with my head in my hands.

“I’m here if you ever need to chat,” Angie says, sitting down beside me and rubbing my back. “I know you don’t want to burden me—with the wedding coming up and all—but you are never that to me.”

“I know you understand when I say that I’m at a point in my life where I wish I could wipe my mind clean of certain memories.”

“I do understand.”

“That’s where I’m at. I just want to clear my mind of the toxicity.”

“What can I do to help you? I can sew you up an Ethan voodoo doll and order an economy-sized box of five hundred push pins.”

“That does sound like fun,” I say half-heartedly. Ironically, Ethan isn’t even taking up that much real estate in my brain. On the other hand, Nic Hoffman keeps making unwanted appearances, and shutting him out is next to impossible.

“Really, Claire. How can I help you?”

“Just be your amazing self. Keep showing up in my life. Things will be fine. I will be fine. Sometimes when it storms, we get the best rainbows afterwards.”

Angie leans over and hugs me to her. It feels good to be loved by her.

Graham arrives with a twelve pack in one hand and a bag of ice in the other. He places the cans of soda in the fridge, leaving one out. I move to get up to help him, but he motions for me to sit back down. When he turns back around from the break room, he has my glass of ginger ale fixed perfectly with extra ice and perfectly sliced lemon rounds.

“Thank you,” I say, accepting the beverage. I take the first sip and moan at how delicious it tastes. “I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” Graham says. “Sorry to hear you and Angie got sick together the other night." He sits down beside her on the couch, pulling her to his side. “I hate being away from my girl when she is ill.”

---