Soon, Missy’s gentle hand rests on my arm. “Look at me, honey.” Missy’s words are so calm and confident that my swollen eyes can’t help but pull out of their funk to look at her. “You are talented. You are loved. And the hard times will pass. Now, come on, say it,” she orders with all the verve of a Southern mama, then she eyes Ji. “You too.”
Ji rolls her eyes, and together, we chant Missy’s affirmation.
After the second round, Ji stands beside my bed with sudden zeal. “Okay, get up.” She grabs my hands and drags me to my feet. “Enough chanting. Time to smash things.”
Thirty minutes and a trip to Dollar Mart later, Ji, Missy, and I are standing at a place supposedly called Slab Rock, a vertical red rock just a few minutes’ walk up one of the mountain trails near Pine Lakes. Ji hands me our bag of very ugly breakables we got for twenty-five cents each at our local dollar store.
I pull out a ceramic plate with a hideous frog imprinted on the front. Its mouth is open, with music notes spilling out from it to edge the border of the plate. I brush a finger over the eighth notes. It reminds me of Jordan and Trello Park and how he pulled me close to him while the older couple danced to Chicago.
“Smash it,” Ji says, grabbing another plate from the bag.
So that’s what I do.
Like a mature adult who knows how to cope with her emotions, I tuck my plate in a plastic bag, tie it shut, and throw it against the slab over and over and over again. All the while my mind replays songs from Kelly Clarkson’s “Stronger” album until it’s just chanting the words, “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.”
Around my eighth throw, I really am feeling stronger. Refreshed. I think I might even hit up the batting cages now and then—this is cathartic. I look over at Ji, whose ceramic plate is nearly powder in her bag but she keeps throwing it. Her bag soars through the air with precision and speed, and I think we might have the makings of a softball team. Ji must be working out some of her stress from planning this year’s Pine Lakes Gala. She’s been so busy lately.
I pick up another plate, bag it, and extend it to Missy, who’s been sitting on a log watching us work out our angst.
“Missy. Your turn.” I hold out her personal smash bag.
She puts up both hands. “I don’t have anything worth smashing for.” Hers is a sunny smile.
“What if I told you that Colton will be joining us on our rafting trip?”
That beaming face instantly clouds. “He isn’t.”
“Oh, but he is.” I nod.
Missy snatches the bag from my hand, and without a second thought, she sends the plate hurtling toward the rock. A satisfying crack echoes around us on impact.
Ji and I share a glance. During our junior year of high school, Colton and Missy had a falling-out. To this day, no one but them knows why, and none of us can talk sense into them. But since we’re all part of the same friend group, they’ve learned to tolerate each other. Barely.
“Rafting will be interesting,” Ji murmurs to me as we watch Missy hurtle her smash bag three more times.
When our bags are limp with broken shards and powder and our arms are sore, Missy, Ji, and I collapse on a nearby boulder.
“I feel so much better,” I say, and I genuinely mean it.
“Good.” Ji sighs. “We should do this more often.”
“Where did you even find this place?” I ask her.
“One of our clients wanted an outdoor venue for their Greek wedding. I stumbled on this while I was out looking for the right place.”
“Opa!” I say, thinking of all the plates we just smashed.
“Opa!” Missy echoes.
“So, not to circle back to old feelings,” Ji says, looking at me, “but I think now is as good a time as any.”
Missy sits up straighter on the boulder as if Ji’s words are a rallying cry, and all the cells in my body go on red alert.
Another bombardment is coming, and I’m not sure I’m ready to handle what they want to say, so I jump ahead of the conversation in hope of controlling it. “I will get over Jordan. I can do it.”
Ji leans toward me. “We know you can. I just think the way you’ve been approaching it might not be truly effective.”
“And how am I approaching it?”
