13. Now
Now: November 21st
W endy finds a place to park and hands me the coffee she had promised, a grande honey lavender with whipped cream on top. I can’t complain. Not about the coffee anyway. The real complaints might come later tonight. After I make it through the next hour.
It’s just one hour. I can do this.
Wendy has her sympathetic eyes on, like she’s proud that I agreed to come here, but also doesn’t want to push me too far. I love and hate her right now. But mostly, I love her. I thank her again for the coffee and step out of her car. She tells me she will wait in the parking lot since it’s only an hour. She’s already turned on her Kindle and has started to read a book. I don’t ask if it’s a personal read or if she’s working right now. It doesn’t matter.
I glance up toward the building where the meeting is being held. To be honest, it looks like it used to be open for business but has since shut down. The windows are darkened so I can’t peek in, and there are no signs indicating that we are even at the right place. I glance back toward Wendy’s car, but her windows are too tinted to see inside.
Sure enough, when I get right up to the glass doors at the front there’s a small sign taped on the inside that reads:
Welcome to Grieve and Grow! A grief support group that meets once a month, every third Thursday 7-8 p.m. Ages 18+ welcome.
Hand hesitating on the door for a split second, I consider dodging around the corner and finding some other shop I can wander around for an hour when I feel someone pulling the door open from the inside. Guess that answers that. Any hope of escaping is quickly dashed when I realize who is holding the door open for me.
It’s Denver. The guy with teal eyes and perfect teeth from Books and Beyond . You’ve got to be kidding me. What is he doing here? There’s a flicker of recognition and sincerity in his eyes. I don’t know what he’s doing here, but he could easily be wondering the same about me.
A slow smile forms across his lips, and he motions with his other hand to come on in, as though this isn’t his first time like it is mine. His shoulders seem to be relaxed, and his eyes don’t crinkle with worry like I’m positive mine are doing right now. He lets the door close on its own behind us as he shows me into a large room set up with folding chairs in a circle. He doesn’t sit right away but motions for me to have a seat. I watch as the people in the room flock toward him in greeting. He’s someone they seem to know well. He’s not a newcomer like me. Here he’s well-known, familiar—a regular. I am the stranger, the observer, the new-kid.
I am mesmerized by his presence, in how he carries himself, and how he talks to people in a way that I cannot. I’m jealous of the ease in which he talks to everyone. What is he doing here? Is he here for a similar reason to mine? I fold my hands into my lap and wait to see what happens next.
We get started with an icebreaker. We have to go around the circle saying our names and a fun fact about ourselves. It makes me feel like I’m back in elementary school and we are in circle time, listening to the teacher read aloud a book in a high-pitched animated voice.
To my relief, this is nothing like that.
There are twenty-six of us in the circle. Sam is the leader of the group. She’s older than me, roughly about my dad’s age, with short, white-gray hair cut close to her scalp. Something about her is motherly. She has big, brown eyes that remind me a little of my mother, and I have to fight the urge to excuse myself to the bathroom and sneak out.
Denver and I don’t sit next to each other, but our chairs face each other in a large circle. I can feel his eyes on me. I immediately dodge his glance. To my left is a woman who looks to be in her early fifties, and I wonder if she’s the friend Wendy had mentioned who’d lost her husband. On my right is a heavy-set man who sits hunched over in his chair and is making strong eye contact with the ground. I haven’t seen him glance up once. I don’t want to be here either, buddy.
There’s a long counter in the back of the room that has a Keurig and coffee display in one corner, along with tea, water, and finger food snacks in the other. I’m too nervous to get up and make myself a plate of food. Besides, I have only taken a few sips from the large coffee I’d insisted on Wendy bribing me with to come here in the first place .
The lady on my left is named Susan, and she travels to Florida every summer with her oldest daughter. My hands tremble when it’s my turn to state my name and share something interesting about myself.
This question should be a simple one, but it’s not.
Hi, my name is Phoenix, but nobody calls me that anymore. Except my dad still calls me P. But don’t call me that. Please just call me Nicki.
Hi, my name is Nicki, though that isn’t my real name, I prefer not to go by my real name anymore because it’s the name my mom gave me and she’s not…
I’m quickly pulled out of my thoughts when I feel someone nudge me in the side. It’s Susan.
“Oh, um, right. Hi.” A few laugh, a few shift awkwardly in their seats, and someone to the right of me actually snorts. Doubt immediately starts to creep in and my hard exterior cracks a little.
Sam waves them off and is gifted with immediate silence. To have that kind of power over an entire room of adults is something. If only I had that same effect now.
“It’s okay to be a little nervous your first time here. We were all new at some point.” Several heads nod in agreement at this.
I find my head starting to lightly bob along with them, as though I’m a dog saying yes please to a treat. Until my eyes meet Denver’s again. I find myself staring at the ground, like my neighbor beside me.
I start again. “I’m Nicki. I’m an author, but I also really enjoy reading. And I can cook a mean meatloaf.” The last part gets a few more laughs, and Sam nods in approval. Guess my response this time is better.
I relax in my chair and reach for my iced coffee when I feel everyone’s eyes lingering on me. And his eyes. I said what I needed to say so why aren’t they moving on to the guy still staring at the floor beside me? Even he understands I’m not that interesting.
“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to, but most of us here have been attending Grieve and Grow for a while now. Why are you here today, Nicki?” Sam asks.
I am not expecting her to ask this, especially not on my first night here. She did say I don’t have to say anything, and I certainly don’t want to share. I came close to chickening out of the whole thing tonight and not coming at all. I don’t get sick often, but it wouldn’t have been that out of the blue if I’d have come down with something. But I couldn’t use that excuse because Wendy would know. She has a canny ability of seeing right through people’s lies. And if I’m being completely honest, I’m not sure why I agreed, once again, to show up to something I did not choose.
But everyone is expecting me to say something. There’s soft music playing in the background to break up the silence, but all eyes and ears wait in anticipation for me to offer them something.
I can’t. Instead, I surprise myself and do what I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do. I excuse myself and leave the room with all eyes trailing after me. There are still at least thirty minutes left, and I can’t risk walking out of the building and Wendy seeing me. So, instead, I use the restroom to kill a few minutes. Once I compose myself, I find my way back to the door I’d walked out of only moments ago. Only now, I’m standing as close to the door as possible without being seen or heard through the tiny rectangle glass so I can listen to the meeting.
I didn’t think I was gone that long, but the person speaking now is a voice I recognize. It’s Denver’s. I wonder how long he’s been coming here and why he started coming in the first place. Does anyone really want to be here or do they come because they feel like they should? Out of obligation. To heal from something tragic. Something that has left permanent scars along their heart. Or someone like me who has made the worst mistake possible and doesn’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for it?
Denver’s voice is as smooth as a waterfall. Like water cascading down the mountainside in the summertime. He’s saying something about how he comes here every year around the same time. I can’t understand everything he’s saying, but I think I hear him utter a name that makes me freeze. A name that sends chills up and down my body every time I hear it.
It’s not an uncommon name, but it’s one that has haunted me for years. It’s a name that I hadn’t expected to hear escape his lips, and even now I’m second guessing what I heard. Could it somehow be…? No, that’s crazy. Insane to even think about. Like I said, it’s a name you’d hear walking through the supermarket, or anywhere really. But I can’t help the rise of panic that is bubbling up inside of me, ready to burst at any second. Funny how a single word that you thought you heard sends your body into a spiral.
Suddenly I can’t breathe as panic settles in.