Picking Up The Pieces
By: J. Brandon Lowry
Tags: Short Story, Fiction, Love, Time, Aging

Photo by Hans-Peter Gauster on Unsplash

The rhythmic clapping began at the back of the restaurant, and Bryan knew it was for him. A sheepish grin crept onto Julie’s face, while Kyle’s was more of the shit-eating type. Bryan, meanwhile, was doing his best not to give his friends the satisfaction of having been thoroughly embarrassed.

“We heard it was your birthday, so we came out to say…”

Bryan crossed his arms over his chest, being careful not to dislodge the bandage on his thumb. Kyle had begun to clap in time with the wait staff while Julie bobbed her head back and forth. A piece of Grand Marnier infused cheesecake was placed in front of him, a single lit candle stuck in the thick layer of chocolate on top. The room clapped and whistled as the song finished and he blew out the candle.

“You guys are the fucking worst,” Bryan said once the hubbub had died down. “And I’m not sharing my cheesecake.”

Kyle said, “Come on, dude, how long have we known each other? You knew this was coming.”

“And this,” said Julie, digging her fork into the cheesecake before Bryan could stop her. Not that he would have. Julie’s eyes crinkled up as she smiled at him, her little dimples bobbing up and down as she chewed. He looked down at his thumb again. You’ve got to tell her, man. You’re running out of time.

“Thirty-five,” Kyle said, a little too loudly. “How does it feel to be in your mid-thirties?”

“What, have you forgotten already, old man?” Kyle was six months older, a fact that Bryan never let him forget. “I don’t know. I don’t think it would bother me so much if it wasn’t for…” He sighed, leaving his sentence unfinished.

“It’s just a thumbnail,” said Julie, patting his arm. “No one will even notice.”

“I just can’t believe you lost it,” said Kyle, laughing.

Some part of Bryan knew this was coming. It was just a part of life: you get older, you start falling apart. If you paid enough attention, you could tell when it started happening to people. As a kid, his mother had worn flip-flops everywhere. “Closed toed shoes are like a prison for your feet,” she’d said, preferring the free and easy feeling of air between her toes. Then one day, she’d come home upset for some reason, never saying why, but the next day she was wearing sneakers and the flip-flops had gone in the trash. It wasn’t until years later that he found out she’d lost the tip of her second toe while at the grocery store. Some little kid picked it up and made a fuss over it, the way kids do, but from that day forth Mom was taking no chances.

Still, his own disintegration had just been a looming specter until he’d lost his thumbnail. It had happened without warning while brushing his teeth. No blood, no pain, no nothing. One second it was there, the next it was stuck in the hair catcher in the drain of his bathroom sink. He hadn’t even noticed until after he’d already unleashed a mouthful of thick mint-flavored spit. The nail sat there like a little cup of slobbery, fragrant foam while he stuck his fingers down the hole, afraid it would get knocked loose if he turned on the water. But his fingers had been too big and too clumsy, and the nail had disappeared into the darkness anyway. The bandage had worked well for the past week, but it was a temporary fix at best. Maybe I could get a prosthetic…

“Okay, tell me the truth,” said Bryan. “You guys haven’t lost anything yet?”

“Nope,” Kyle said quickly. Julie gave him a look. “What?” She continued to stare him down. “Ugh, fine.” He leaned forward and turned his head, exposing his ear. Reaching up, he tugged gently on his earlobe. A little split in the skin appeared, a straight line that ran neatly across from end to end. “I’ve been gluing it on for two months,” he confessed.

“Holy shit,” said Bryan. “Wait a minute, is that why you’ve been growing your hair out?” Kyle took a sip of his drink and said nothing. “What about you, Jules?”

“A lady never reveals her secrets,” she said, winking. “Here, we got you something.” She pulled a small decorative box from her purse. Bryan shook it, hearing nothing but the muffled crinkle of tissue paper. Opening the gift, he found a tube of cosmetic glue and a pair of tweezers. “It was Kyle’s idea,” she said, giggling.

“Clearly, you’re a neanderthal who hasn’t figured out tools yet,” said Kyle, smirking. “Who knows, maybe it’s still stuck down there if you poke around a bit. And if you do find it, you can stop wearing that ridiculous bandage. It’s starting to smell.”

“No it isn’t,” said Bryan, hiding his hand under the table.

“Hey, you boys play nice while I’m gone,” said Julie, standing up. The two of them watched her as she wandered off to find the restroom. “Seriously, though,” said Kyle. “It’s time to rip off the band-aid, don’t you think?” Bryan turned to look at his friend and saw that he wasn’t talking about the thumb. “Come on, we all know. I think she just needs to hear you say it.”

“I’m just scared of screwing this up, you know? We’ve got a good thing, here, the three of us.”

Kyle picked up the tweezers. “What, did your balls fall down the drain too? It’s already begun. You’re falling apart. There’s no time to let fear hold you back anymore.” He dropped the tweezers back on the table and stood up. “I’ll toss you some cash tomorrow. You’re welcome.” He patted his friend on the shoulder and walked out.

Alone in the middle of the restaurant, Bryan looked at the people around him. The signs of decay stood out in exquisite detail. Long sleeves. Sunglasses at night. Is her nose on crooked? But there was something else, too. He saw smiles and tender looks. Hands held across the table. Arms around shoulders. With a sigh, he pulled the bandage off his thumb and looked at the flat square where his nail used to be. If I’m going to fall apart, I don’t want to do it alone.

Julie gave him a quizzical look when she returned. “Where’s Kyle?”

“I don’t know. He said he had somewhere to be.” He put his hands on the table, his nailless thumb on full display. “Julie, can we talk?”

Her dimples reappeared on her cheeks. “Yes. It’s about time.”