Chapter 7: Claire’s Orbit
Claire did not disappear simply because I blocked her.
Mutual acquaintances reported sightings at the club her parents favored, a long lunch with someone else’s fiancé in the frame, a birthday toast where my absence was a joke that did not land. I asked the acquaintances to stop reporting. Attention was a resource; feeding it into Claire’s orbit only prolonged a gravity I had already exited. My attorney received one more letter about “defamation” after Jenna refused to retract what she had witnessed. The letter met a reply citing settlement terms and a reminder that truth was a defense. The correspondence cooled.
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Mom asked once whether I hated Claire. I said hate was a hot full-time job and I was already employed. What I felt was colder and more useful: recognition. I had almost married a person who checked a veil while a cane skittered under roses. Recognition meant I would not almost do it again.
I sold the tuxedo. The buyer did not ask why. I donated the cufflinks Claire had chosen. The apartment shed white boxes until it looked like a place a single man lived, not a storage unit for a cancelled future. On a Sunday I cooked a full meal in Mom’s kitchen and we ate at the table without a seating chart. The ordinary clink of forks was louder than bells.
