Page 35 of Without a Clue

So imagine my surprise when on the one day I’d schlepped Hugh’s candy-apple-red 1964 Pontiac GTO uptown to one of the few remaining gas stations in NYC existence, I discovered, at said pump, a slinky woman with an overbright smile and massive lips announcing on the pump screen the “trending moment of the day” and then showing a clip of my Michael, clad in his baseball uniform standing over the wall from the fans, flirting intensely with this blonde girl who looks half his age. As she tosses him the baseball she caught, he—to manic cheering all around—grins as he catches a Sharpie someone has thrown at him, scribbles his number, and tosses it back. All while the slinky woman with big lips narrated the entire scene and summed it up with, “The video that’s breaking the internet. I’m Elissa, and you saw it right here on Bright News TV, exclusively good news for a brighter day!”

And then, to shut the casket door entirely over my head, I saw a blurry video clip by an amateur do-gooder videoing the two of them in a dimly lit restaurant hours later, and Michael, my Michael, kissing her.

“It seems dreams really do come true!” the woman announced merrily as I set the pump back in place and the screen clicked off before my eyes.

The earth sucked all the air from my lungs in that moment.

I could feel it, all the air leaving my body, taking all the thoughts in my brain with it.

I couldn’t think.

I couldn’t breathe.

I was just . . . nothing.

And then, twelve eternal seconds later, my brain recharged with vehemence as I heard that woman’s grating voice again. “I’m Elissa, and this is your Trending Moment of the Day!”

My head shot over to the pump beside me, and there she was on the screen, retelling the story as the man pumped his gas. The camera zoomed in again on the girl in the stands, and on Michael’s bright, charming smile as he caught the Sharpie and began to scribble on the baseball.

“. . . and this is your Trending Moment of the Day!” I heard at the pump behind me.

“. . . and this is your Trending Moment of the Day!”

“. . . and this is your Trending Moment of the Day!”

I yanked the car door open and slammed it shut as “Dreams do come true!” rang all around.

This was . . . The Incident.

Hugh and the others had found me in the hallway of his office when I was on the phone with Michael. They had just gotten off the elevator on the seventh floor, and there I was, fifteen minutes into the worst conversation of my life. My hands were shaking. I still had my key in the lock of the office, the key long forgotten as I listened to Michael on speaker.

Trying to swallow this conversation.

Trying to make sense of it all.

“You showed me what love was, Pip. You got me to love again. Even if . . . you weren’t . . . you know . . . the final destination.”

I’m not . . . the final destination?

“I’m a vehicle, Michael? That’s what you’re saying. You appreciate me because I transported you from point A to point B.”

Everyone took a collective few steps toward me on instinct, surrounding me. They were mom and pop birds wanting to spread out their wings over me, to protect me from the torrential downpour. Even Ricky proffered a creepy, wispy hold on my elbow. It didn’t take long for them to get the gist of what had happened.

Eventually Hugh got my cue and put a steadying hand on my shoulder, gave it a comforting squeeze, and turned the key in the door for me. They retreated inside to give me privacy—Neena the only resister, being dragged away by Hugh. The rest of the conversation was the same, a slow slit to the throat as I bled out little by little.

Just your normal, very average, very common confession of betrayal.

Just your normal, very average, very common death of an eight-year relationship, a once living thing.

And if I could survive that death, be it of far less weight than this, I know I can survive this too.

As for the others today, though . . . well . . . their mental health is another matter.

“How long has it been like this?” I lean over and whisper to Nash.

We’re sitting at the long table in the dining room, quite literally roped off with a cream and golden rope that looks to have been plucked straight from a unicorn’s tail. Carragan has apparently decided that we’ve all had enough “time to process the unfortunate news” and it is now time to act normal.

With several hundred heads looking our way. Expectantly.