Like, I’m still sweating over what happened between them. That was some heavy family drama, some serious airing out of their dirty laundry. No wonder Carter is such a bastard most of the time.
And to make it even worse, once Carter stormed out, Chuck asked me to keep an eye on him at the meetings to make sure he’s actually taking it seriously. Apparently I have to report back to him. Yeah, that’s not something I want to do.
What would I say about today’s meeting? Carter sat in his chair with an I don’t give a shit look on his face, stared up at the ceiling for a good ten minutes, and popped his gum a grand total of twenty-five times.
I’m sure Chuck would thoroughly enjoy that report.
Not going to happen.
But not because I have some bond with Carter. There is zero bond there, absolutely nothing. But because I really don’t want to get in the middle of everything between them. Not going to lie, that is a real mess.
Focusing back in on what Marleen is saying, I try to attach myself to her words. Despite my reluctance to grieve Eric, I still want to try to start feeling again, to see if I still have a heart or if I lost it when I lost him. People don’t seem to comprehend that even though we had so little time together, my heart still shattered in a million pieces. I’ve simply lost my footing, and I’m not really sure I’ll ever get it back.
A hollow chest is something I’ve gotten used to, but it’s not something I want to die with.
“Today, you will try to take what you’ve been grieving and release it from your body, letting go. The first step in letting go of your grief is to admit it.” Thoughtfully, she continues, “Treat it as if you were in a group like AA, instead of harboring your sorrow, release it. Today, you will stand before your peer group, gathering strength from one another, and in one sentence, release to them what you’ve been grieving. The first way to let go is saying it out loud, accepting your sorrow and in return, creating happiness and proving your existence. This won’t be easy.” She sits down on the table behind her, propping one leg up on the side while her other steadies her firmly on the ground. “When I went through this program, week two was the hardest for me. Having to look others in the eye, tell them what I’d sheltered inside, what was eating me up and spitting me out, it’s not for the faint-hearted. You have to be strong because facing those demons head-on, with onlookers, that’s what’s going to get you over that hump.”
After looking over the room, she stands, raises her finger in the air. “Don’t be afraid to engage and ask questions but be respectful of everyone’s space. Once your group is finished, take some time to write your letter. You are welcome to scatter around the room, please don’t feel the need to stay in your chair.” With her hands folded in front of her, she looks around the group. “As always, if you have any questions, I will be around. Be kind, be courageous, and keep moving forward. Keep proving your existence, day by day. Prove it.”
My lips press tightly together in thought. Shit, have I been proving my existence? Do I even understand what that is? I think back over the time between meetings and realize I truly took advantage of the grieving process. Long nights on the couch, my face buried in a pillow covered by one of Eric’s old T-shirts, and listening to his Voxer messages on repeat. In other words, I continued doing the same thing as every night before.
Images of my lonely nights vanish when the squeak of metal chairs across the lacquered floor resonate through the cold walls of the church hall. Looking to my group, I see Daisy moving her chair closer to Carter to make some room for me to maneuver into the circle. Jace, looking more sullen than ever, has his head bent, his hands clasped in front of him, and a bouncing beneath him, shaking his entire body. He appears to be in no mood to share. Despite his morose aura, I can’t help but notice the strong chiseled jaw that rests beneath the brim of his hat, or the obvious corded muscles that flex under his long-sleeve shirt, or his broad build with his long legs and large feet. You would have to be living under a rock to not know who he is. So, why is he here?
Guess I’ll be finding out soon enough.
“Who wants to get started?” Daisy, our silently designated group leader asks, looking annoyingly vivacious in her quilted vest that she’s constantly smoothing her hands over. Must be a nervous tick of hers. Last meeting, she was incessantly pulling on her overall straps.
“Why don’t you, Snowflake?” Carter suggests, picking at his jeans, not even caring to look up.
“Snowflake?” Daisy looks around, oblivious to the nickname Carter is clearly calling her. “Who are you referring to?”
Carter lifts his brow and barely makes eye contact with Daisy. “You.”
“Oh.” She points to her chest, looking more confused than ever but then proceeds forward. Her nerves seem to be rattling her confidence. “Do we have to stand when we say our sentence?”
“I’m not fucking standing,” Carter answers, popping a bubble.
How long has that piece of gum been in his mouth? It has to taste like rubber cement by now.
“Well I guess that settles it, no standing.” Daisy swallows hard. “Are you sure you want me to go first?”
Carter nods his head, Jace makes no movement, and I feeling bad for the girl say, “No, I can go first.”
“Really?” There is hope and relief in her eyes. She may be simpler than all of us but it’s obvious in the way she fidgets and the way her voice wavers with every word she speaks that she is way out of her comfort zone, so I will give her a break.
“Yeah, so we uh, just say our name, our sentence, and we’re done?”
“That’s correct,” Marleen agrees from behind, startling me in my chair. Tension coils in my back from her eavesdropping and I pray that she continues to circulate so I don’t have to admit my sorrow in front of her. “Remember to take a deep breath, find your demons, and with one final push, let them out, let them go and start creating and surrounding yourself with happiness. Before we leave, when everyone is writing their letters, we will go over our next step in the program.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice raising higher, trying to be nice to Marleen. It can’t be an easy volunteer job for her, having to force people to talk about what’s been troubling them.
“Go ahead, continue.”
Luckily, when I clear my throat, Marleen walks over to the next group, giving me a little more privacy to make my announcement. “Hi, uh, you know my name is Hollyn—”
“Hi Hollyn,” Carter deadpans, acting like a total dick. It takes everything in me not to flip him off. Instead, I tilt my head and give him my best fuck you smile.
“As I was saying, I’m Hollyn and,” I take a deep breath, “I’m a twenty-two-year-old widow.” The words feel bitter, leaving my tongue. Branding myself in such a way it stings, like little needles prickling me all over, turning me into a blanket of numb.
A widow.
That’s what I am. There is no skirting around it.