Chapter 3
3
“ M orning, Stuart,” I say, rounding the corner of his office, where I spy him playing candy crush on his phone. “Great new tenant you picked out.”
“Oh, you met him already?” Stuart plays dumb, his round cheeks turning bright pink.
“Of course I met him already!” I laugh. “He opened the door on me! Where’d you even find this guy?”
“He’s a good friend of the building owner,” He explains. “So, you like him?”
“What?”
“Do. You. Like. Him?” Stuart repeats. “I picked him for you.”
“What do you mean, you picked him for me?”
“He’s handsome, right?” Stuart says, rubbing his chin. “The other applicants—not as handsome.”
“Are you trying to set me up?” I laugh. “Worry about yourself first, Stu,”
“I worry about you, Riley,” Stuart says seriously. “You need friends. You need a boyfriend. You order too much take out.”
I can see that he’s not wrong. “So, you…picked out a new tenant just for me?”
“Give him a chance.” Stuart insists. “He takes lots of girls on dates. Could you be next?”
“I’m not sure, Stu,” I falter.
“You might be surprised by him. Now, get going, you’re going to miss your train.”
Group therapy takes place the first and third Tuesday of every month at 2:00 p.m. at Our Lady of Perpetual Help in Brooklyn. As I wait for the train, I unlock my phone and let my thumb hesitantly hover over the App Store.
Curiosity had gotten the better of me in the past, and I had downloaded a wide variety of dating apps, but I immediately felt guilty and cried myself to sleep after deleting them all. My curiosity at knowing who was out there was beginning to pique my interest again after all this time.
After meeting Jae, albeit briefly, I now realize how much I missed talking and bantering and being around other people. Even though I had been upset, it was the most I had felt like myself in a long time. Being annoyed, being angry, being frustrated were some of the only emotions I felt—other than sadness and sullenness. Emotions that made me feel more like a human and less like a blobby being filled with antidepressants, Cheerios and ChapStick.
Walking the two blocks from the train station to the church, I shove my phone in my pocket, the dating app I was looking at not downloaded. I sit down in one of the small rickety, metal folding chairs arranged in a small circle in the damp, musty basement of the church.
Pastor Gilmore stands at the entrance, perpetually frustrated that the group is nonsecular. Other group members file in, with Martina, the group facilitator, closing the door as the last member takes their seat.
This grief group is open to all, but we often have the same members come over and over again, myself included. This will be my second year. Of course, I skip some weeks, but when things are especially bad, I make it a point to show up.
First, we start the opening ritual by going around the circle and saying our names, who we lost, what happened and how we’re doing. I have been here so many times, I think I have everyone’s situation memorized.
One.
“I’m Marcus. I lost my wife in childbirth. I’m having trouble potty training our daugther, but I’m okay. Thanks.”
Two.
“I’m Adriana. I lost my wife from a heart attack. I just started a new job, and the new facility daycare is perfect for us. I’m tired, but alive.”
Three.
“I’m Melissa. I lost my boyfriend in a car accident. I miss him but I’m enjoying my new relationship. I’m happy.”
Four.
“I’m Owen. I lost my husband from a pulmonary embolism. I made his favorite dessert for his niece’s birthday party. It was so much fun.”
My turn.
“I’m Riley. I lost my fiancé to brain cancer. I’ve moved out of our old apartment. I’m okay considering.”
Today’s topic is Reinvesting in Your Life! I think I’ve talked about this topic about a hundred times. We go around the group one by one like in the introduction and talk about how we’re reinvesting in our lives without our partners. We are all asked to offer words of encouragement or our own advice to each person after they say their piece.
I’m usually rather quiet at this point in the group session, as I prefer listening to other members. I only offer words of encouragement or congratulations.
When it’s my turn to speak about how I’m reinvesting in my life, I know what the obvious thing to say is: “I moved out of our old apartment.” But instead, I find different words tumbling out of my mouth: “I downloaded a dating app.” Now, I hadn’t, but I wanted to—but felt so guilty and couldn’t bring myself to. That’s the kind of thing I should have said.
The group mutters words of encouragement.
I nod my head in agreement, silently begging Martina to keep the group moving.
“It’s fun, once you get used to it,” says Melissa, next to me. “It’s a little jarring to be looking at other people who aren’t your fiancé. I’m sure you’ll get used to it though.” She gives me a soft and encouraging smile.
My face feels hotter than the sun. I should have talked about the apartment or quite literally, anything else but the dating app I didn’t download. I guess this is it then. I have to do it, or at the next group when they inevitably ask me about it, I won’t have anything to say.
I remember when Melissa first announced she was going on a date. Everyone ribbed her for weeks. She took it in good spirits, but I’m not sure I can withstand the jokes. Dealing with the guilt is enough on its own.
The group goes through the closing ritual of talking about what we are looking forward to this week.
“I’m looking forward to taking our daughter to the park.”
“I’m looking forward to getting my first paycheck.”
“I’m looking forward to celebrating our six month anniversary.”
“I’m looking forward to starting my cooking class.”
What would I say?
I don’t know.
“I’m looking forward to dating again.”
When I arrive back at my building, it’s quiet. Suspiciously quiet. Stuart is gone from his office. I ride the elevator to my new floor, and a tall shadow looms around the corner. I have a feeling I know exactly who it is.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I ask Jae, who is leaning on my door, blocking my way in. “Why are you here?”
“I really liked your sketch,” He gives me a wicked grin. “My sister sent it to me last night. What a coincidence that we live in the same building, right?”
“Can you move?” I shake my keys at him and sigh. He’s a bold one.
“Only if you’ll answer this question for me,” He relents, sliding over so I could get into the door, even without answering his question.
“What?” I ask, jiggling my keys in the lock.
“Why don’t you want to paint the mural?” He asks me.
“I don’t know you,” I reply flatly, swinging my door open.
“You don’t need to know me to take a job.” Jae laughs. “I thought just maybe—maybe the reason you don’t want to take the job is because you do want to get to know me.”
“Someone’s cocky,” I roll my eyes. “It wasn’t for me.”
“Look, Riley—” Jae leans on the door frame while I kick off my shoes and Lily comes running. “We both know that you’re lonely?—”
“We both know what exactly ?” I ask.
“You’re lonely.” Jae repeats.
I cock my head at him. I am lonely, but that’s not his prerogative to decide.
“How is that any of your business?”
“Hear me out,” Jae says as Lily sniffs his feet excitedly. “Stuart tells me you order food delivery five days a week and you hardly leave your apartment except to walk your dog, who, by the way, is super cute, anyway—paint my mural and I’ll cook you dinners for five days out of the week for a month.”
“Why would you do that?” I ask, considering his offer.
“Consider it a neighborly gesture. Paint during the day, and stay for dinner. The kitchen is completely functional. Plus, I need someone to try our new menu items.”
“Why would I do that?” I ask.
“Delivery can’t be cheap?” He supplies. “You look like you might get scurvy any day now, too,”
How can I make this worth my time? I look Jae up and down. White sneakers, black jeans, white button up shirt. Floppy black hair, dark eyes with a smattering of freckles across his face. An upturned grin that is unwavering. Good looks and good style. He looks like he knows how to date. I bet he’ll have suitors crawling all over his apartment in no time.
“It sounds like you need me more than I need you,” I say.
“Geez, all right, I get it—” He holds his hands up, his face falling and begins to walk away.
“Wait!” I shout. “Hold on,”
I flash back to how I met Grant.
We both went to the School of Visual Arts; me for painting, Grant for interior design. We were both first-year students enrolled in art history. He sat behind me and would consistently ask me for a pencil, every class.
I thought it was hilarious—what art student, especially one with so much drawing, would forget a pencil? Turns out it was just an excuse to talk to me. I knew I wanted to marry him the moment he kissed me in the stairwell after class the third week of the semester. He was always much braver than I was.
I was a cold February day, a stubbed toe in the dark, but Grant was the warm jacket hugging you tight and the Band-Aid waiting for you in the kitchen. Where I was introverted and quiet, Grant was inviting and charismatic. I adored the large, loud family that came with him, especially the Tres Leches cake he made for my birthday.
He fit me in ways I didn’t know existed. Being in his presence never exhausted me, and he never grew tired of my quirks. He was sweeter than the honey I put in my tea. I was fulfilled before I even knew I was missing anything.
After he died, his family and I remained close at first. But eventually, people move on in ways they don’t think they will. Someone gets a new job. They move houses. New nieces and nephews are born. His sister, Valentina, and I still talk sometimes, but nothing like how it used to be.
Grant was buried back near his family home in Rio Grande, Texas. He had moved to New York for school and stayed to be with me. He had always told me his home was where I was, and I wanted to stay in New York. So we stayed, even when he got sick. He only ever wanted to make me happy. And I was so truly happy.
When he died, I felt robbed of my future. All of it was gone. Grant had planned it for me. I was just along for the ride.
Now, I would plan it on my own.
And I would start with a date.
“Teach me how to go on a date.” I say.
“What?” Jae asks, stopping in his tracks.
“I want you to teach me how to date…and I’ll paint the mural.” I say, laughing at myself and what I’m saying. “Stuart told me you go on a lot of dates.”
“Stuart is such a gossip,” Jae laughs, glancing at the floor. “But he’s not wrong. You have a deal.”
For once, I return Jae’s smile.