Page 57 of Implode

“I want to know about your life, Claire. Even if what you are sharing with me is very disturbing and not how anyone should grow up.”

She swallows and glances away. When her eyes return back to mine, I can see just how difficult it is to hold herself together. I am finding it hard to keep from joining her in the emotional spiral.

“This next part gets really awkward, so brace yourself. I come to find out my mom is dating a guy I used to go to high school with. It was humiliating to see. Yet not nearly as embarrassing as to how she treated me in front of him. Throughout my childhood, I was treated like amistake. I was conceived via a one-night stand with a guy visiting from the Philippines on vacation. I’ve never met him. He probably doesn’t know I exist. The man who helped raise me—the man my mom was married to—probably couldn’t stand knowing that I was a product of my mom’s infidelity. I don’t even look like anyone in my family, so it is super obvious. There’s really no way to hide it.”

I continue massaging my girl while she cries and shudders over the memories she just had to freshly endure. Sounds horrid.

No wonder why when I look at Claire, I see a strong woman who knows what she wants. She’s spent the majority of her life learning through bad examples what she didn’t want.

“Part of me wishes I would have just been put up for adoption. That way I would have known I was unwanted and not just have to assume.”

“Oh, baby,” I say, sliding her to my lap. I hug her and let her break down some walls in my arms. I don’t want to let her go. I want to shield her from all the pain of her past and—

Plan a future?

I was never interested in such an idea after getting my own heart broken. But now, I want something more than just a moment. I want to make memories—better ones. I want to erase these bad ones and promise her that she can move forward with her life.

“I thought it would get better,” Claire starts. “I thought that with time and maybe being here in Portland, I would give my parents a chance to miss me. Nope. And it is a hard pill to swallow to realize that the only thing I was—the only thing I am—is a burden. I am like a persistent stain that could never be washed off. I’m a constant reminder to the man I called Dad that I am not his.”

I sit up straighter over Claire acting like this is somehow her fault. “He had a choice to love you, baby. This is on him. You never asked for your arrival into the world to be met with such controversy. As for your mom, maybe one day she will realize that her love had conditions and that she missed out on getting to know an awesome human being. Her loss.”

“Thank you,” she mumbles into my shoulder.

“I take it your dad was not around during your trip?”

“No. And maybe in a way it was better like that. I already had my mom and her new boyfriend to contend with. Maybe she is having some type of midlife crisis. The nastiness spewing from their mouths was horrid.”

“Did anything positive come out of this trip at all?” I ask.

“I definitely got closure,” she says between sniffles. “I never want or need to go back again.”

Good. I kiss her forehead, relaxing a bit when she doesn’t pull away.

Claire shifts to look at me. “Thank you for showing up at the airport. I wasn’t expecting that and it really means a lot.”

“Like I said before, I will always show up for you, baby.”

We spend the next few hours watching movies, eating snacks, and even hitting up the home gym for a little kickboxing. It is like everything that has happened before now was made to occur so we could both get to this pivotal point in time.

I used to equate intimacy with sex. Claire helped me to see that the deeper connection between couples is found by being content doing the everyday things, like brushing our teeth together or deciding which side of the bed to sleep on. While there are no more heavy discussions on feelings or status or expectations, it is the first time since we have really hung out that I feel like we are moving in the right direction.

I fall asleep with Claire wrapped around my body, her soft hair tickling my shoulder and her warm breaths blowing against my neck. Things are exactly as they should be.

And for that I am genuinely happy.

16

CLAIRE

I am without doubt still in love with Nic Hoffman. Maybe it was how he brushed my hair the night that I came back from Virginia. Maybe it was the way he would cheer me on when I was kicking the punching bag. Or maybe it is how, even in his sleep, his arms search for me.

Regardless, I am head over heels for the man.

It has been almost a week since I got back from the horrid trip, where Nic greeted me by surprise in the airport with an obnoxious 2D monument of my face. No one has ever done that for me, let alone put my head up on a stick—but in the cutest way possible. No one has ever been that excited to see me. It is in these seemingly insignificant moments that I have found what really matters.

I can see Nic trying—likereallytrying. He is also making changes within himself. I notice how open he is being with his feelings, and the transformation has been wonderful—albeit a bit surprising.

Nic’s arms represent the comfort I so desperately crave after the realization that the life I once lived is no longer worth going back to. There is nothing left of me in Virginia. No, the childhood memories I wanted to hold on to are now just the hollowed-out shell from a lifetime of trauma that I mentally packaged to appear better than it really was.

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