Chapter 10
10
W e take two different trains and a bus, but we still haven’t left the city. My breathing is still stressed and haggard, and I’m barely keeping it together. Jae keeps his arm around me the entire time, and normally I’d read way too much into it, but now, I barely care to notice.
When we get off the bus, we’re somewhere I don’t recognize. It’s a park by the East River. There’s a sweeping view of the city at night. The sun has just finished setting and the street lamps are beginning to turn on. We’re walking down a literal beaten path—all that’s left of the asphalt path is rocks and dirt—to the water.
“Why did you bring me here?” I ask, inhaling a huge, shaky breath.
“I like to come here when I feel like I don’t have a place in this city. Perspective.” Jae
answers. We reach the fence and gaze out at the never-ending bustle of Manhattan.
“Perspective?”
“Perspective,” I turn to face Jae for an explanation. We’re so far from home, even though we’re still in the city. “You need a little perspective, Riley.”
Jae puts his arm around me the way we were on the train. I notice it more this time, and the heaviness of his muscular arm acts like a weighted blanket.
“You see how big this place is?” He cranes his head around, looking at the city all around us. “You have your place in it,” he says, looking back at me.
I nod, my voice disappearing from my body. This view is amazing. This city is massive. It’s hard to imagine how many people live in New York City when you spend your life confined to a neighborhood, a block, a house, a head. This definitely puts it into perspective.
“Your place is somewhere here,” Jae says confidently.
“How can you be so sure?” I look at my feet instead of the city.
“Your painting. You can’t paint like that and not belong here.”
Jae’s arm tightens around me, but I am not afraid.
“Look at me.”
I look at him, and my eyes have to adjust to seeing him so near. I feel dangerously close to crying. I don’t know where I belong. I hope I belong here. I want to belong here, so badly, so desperately.
“Tell me where you want to belong, and I’ll take you.” Jae’s face tells me everything I want to hear. You belong here. You belong here.
“I want to belong here,” I say in a whisper, my voice carried away by the wind.
“You already do.”
“What if I don’t?” I say fearfully. What if I’m mistaken? I have nowhere else to go.
“Then we’ll go where you do.”
“What if this is all I am?” Grief and panic attacks and anxiety.
“This isn’t everything you are.”
Jae and I watch the city for an hour, sitting on the grass, not touching. I can’t believe he put his arm around me, and now that my panic attack has dispersed, all I want is his arm around me again. Jae’s words echo in my head and I look over to him. His elbows are resting on his bent knees, head in his hands, intently watching the skyline in front of him.
“Jae?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” I force my face into a soft smile. “I’m glad you brought me here. It really does put things into perspective.”
“Of course.”
“I will find my place. And I’m determined for it to be here.”
“I know it is, Riley.”
He returns my soft smile and stands up. He shakes the grass off of his pants and holds his hand out for me to grab. It reminds me of when I fell in the kitchen. He’s always taking care of me, already.
“Thank you for being a good friend,” I tell him, grabbing his hand, and shaking the grass off my dress. “Let’s go home.”
As we walk back to the bus stop, I ask, “How did you find this park?”
“I grew up here.” He points to a massive entanglement of Y-shaped apartment buildings. “The Queensbridge Houses. The largest New York City housing development. I grew up coming to this park.”
“I see. I don’t really know what to say other than it must have been rough.”
“My parents immigrated here in the eighties. We moved in and out of different homes for as long as I could remember. And then my father had an accident at work when I was twelve years old, and we moved here. He passed away shortly after that. My mom would have stayed here, but she can’t live on her own any longer.”
I listen to Jae.
“The only constant throughout my life was food. I was always kind of a punk kid, but my Ma would always cook for us. No matter what, we had to be home for dinner. And eventually, she taught me how to cook dishes she learned growing up, and the dishes her mother taught her.”
“So that’s how you ended up with a restaurant?”
“Yeah, that’s kinda how I ended up with a restaurant.” Jae gives me a sweet, strawberry smile.
Later that night, long after Jae and I said our friendly goodbyes in the elevator, I build up the nerve to apologize to Rishi. He really was nice. I was just an idiot. The thing about panic attacks is that they exhaust you—and make you worried for when the next one will happen. I am absolutely drained when I roll over in my bed, Lily at my feet, and open up my phone to type a message to him.
Hey. I got your number from Jae. I’m so sorry about earlier. I don't know what came over me.
Hey. I was wondering what happened to you. I’m glad you’re ok.
I took home your noodles BTW.
Totally fine. I hope I didn’t mess up too badly.
Do I dare ask?
Are you up for a do-over? I promise not to run out on you this time.
I’ll think about it…
Fuck.
Yes :)
Yes.
Friday night? Same place?
Perfect.
I have plenty of time to prepare. I’ve got the panic attack part out of the way, and I’m determined to be ready after this disaster date. I just need to rip off the Band-Aid and get it over with. I will force myself to bring it up and talk it over at group therapy tomorrow. I will ask Melissa for her advice. I need all the resources I can get.
The next morning, I find Jae waiting in the lobby.
“What took you so long?” he asks me as we walk out of the building together.
“I didn’t know I was meeting you,”
“Just assume you’re meeting me. We’re going to the same place. It’d be a little ridiculous to not go together.”
“You’re a little ridiculous.” I throw my head back and laugh like I’m Barbie in her dream car and Ken just told her the funniest fucking joke. The train is packed, and Jae offers me the only seat we can find. I sit, looking up at him as he hangs onto the metal bar above my head. Just looking at him puts nuclear fallout in my stomach. Jae is becoming the boy I’ve wished for myself. He walked me home. He comforted me in a time of need. He hasn’t baked me a cake, but noodles are a good second option.
In the restaurant, I paint. Jae prepares something that smells delicious. It’s like the day I started. We work in a comfortable, easy silence until I say, “Rishi and I are going back to Banditos for dinner on Friday.”
It’s like someone yanked a record off the player. “What?” Jae’s voice is ragged, like someone threw a softball at his throat.
“Rishi is giving me another shot.”
“What?”
“I just told you. Rishi is giving me a second chance,” I knit my eyebrows together. “Are you good?”
“No, I heard you. Just surprised, that's all.” Jae looks back to his table settings.
It’s my turn to say, “What?” I don’t know what he means. Rishi was really nice over the phone. “Surprised that Rishi is giving me a second chance?”
“No. Surprised you’re going out with him again.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” He huffs and I feel a forcefield around him popping up, pushing me out.
“What’s with you?” I ask, setting my paint brush down.
“I just didn’t think you’d be ready to go on another date so soon.”
“Well, I’m not, but I have to rip the Band-Aid off, don’t you think?” I’m almost hysterical. “I thought you wanted me to stop scaring people with my weird widow-virgin thing going on.”
“Rishi’s not the type of guy to have sex on the first date.”
“And you think I am?”
“No,” Jae hits me with the one-word answer and folds his napkins as if he’s chatting with
the DMV receptionist.
“Why are you being such a…” I stumble and fall a little over my words. Come on, brain. “Such a little… Why are you being so aggravating?”
“I’m not aggravating. You’re aggravating.” Jae looks up at me. He’s got the widest, cheekiest smile. That prick. He knows he’s being aggravating.
“Please. Let me go in peace and give Rishi the nice date he deserves. You set me up with him in the first place,” I remind him, picking my brush back up to start painting the grassy foreground. I humph and wave my other hand at him. “You’re just jealous.”
For some reason, I want him to be jealous. What better way than to go out with his college roommate?When he doesn't answer, I know I’ve hit a sore spot. Is he really jealous? Then why’d he set me up with Rishi anyway? I’m curious to know now, and I feel like I’ve got the upper hand in all of this. I look back, and I see the swinging kitchen doors.
At group therapy, I sit down in my metal chair. Today’s topic: Setting Goals. What goals have we reached?
What’s one goal for next week?
Adriana goes. “I was the top earner for my company last week. But I want to be number one for the month.”
Then Owen. “I met my husband’s family for the first time since the funeral. I let them take some of his clothes and books. I’m thinking about letting them take part of his ashes.”
Marcus puts a hand on Owen’s knee. “We all know how hard letting things go is and how brave you have to be for that.”
Melissa goes next. “I’m engaged!”
I feel like I got kicked in the chest. I was engaged once too. Melissa has never been engaged. I feel like I want to panic, but I force the feeling away. Melissa is allowed to be happy.
Rounds of cheers and claps erupt from the group as Melissa shows off her new diamond ring.
“I think this is going to be my last meeting, everyone,” she also announces solemnly, her voice tinged with regret. “Keep in touch, okay?” She looks around the group. We nod as a promise.
“Riley?” Martina looks at me expectantly. My turn.
“I went on a date. Two actually. I ran out of one and spilled my drink on the other. My goal is to go on another date.”
“I think that’s an excellent goal, Riley.” Martina looks at me reassuringly.
“That’s great! We’re so proud of you. You should be proud of yourself,” the others chorus.
It’s not the response I expected. They didn’t heckle me. I’m not a court jester. I’m not the laughing stock of America's daytime television. Why did I think they’d be mean to me? Why was I so nervous? It’s how I treat myself.
On the way out of the group, I stop Melissa to congratulate her.
“Melissa!” I wave her down. She stops in the doorway. “I just wanted to say congratulations. And to ask for your advice on something.”
She looks at me once over. We’ve never really talked much outside of the therapy group.
“What’s up, Riley?”
“How did you deal with the guilt?” I gesture to her new, sparkly ring.
She looks at me for a moment, and her face turns.
“How did you move on?” I ask, eager to know the answer. If there is an answer.
“I didn’t, Riley.” Melissa answers, a sobering look on her face. “I didn’t move on. I just moved forward.” Melissa looks upset with me. “Why would you think I moved on? Because I’m engaged now?”
Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought.
“I carry Michael and my grief with me everywhere,” she continues. “But I know in my heart that I deserve to be happy. And I won't let it take over my life. You should be the same. Don’t be selfish to think that all you deserve is grief. Have a good night, Riley.”
I carry what Melissa said to me as I leave the church and get on the train. “Don’t be so selfish to think all you deserve is grief.” I know Grant would want me to be happy, even though we didn’t explicitly talk about it. I don’t know what I’m waiting for.
A direction, a sign, an instruction saying it’s okay.
Something else Melissa said stuck with me. “Move forward, not on.”
For the last three years, I’ve felt like I was moving laterally. Everything I did, I was still in copious amounts of turmoil and grief. Doused in grief and sadness. How about I just move parallel?
In the same way you love both your mother and your father. The way you love both the beach and the mountains, both the flowers of spring and the first leaves of fall. My love for Grant is insatiable. And it always will be.
Now, I just have to move with it, and make room for a little more.