“Is it your first time too?” What was Press’s story? I wasn’t prepared to share much of mine, but I could admit curiosity about what brought him to grief support.
“Uh, yeah. I, um, lost a very close friend, and I can’t seem to get past it.” Overcome, he ducked his head, but not before I saw the pain in his eyes. A lover, I assumed. Maybe even a husband. A wave of tenderness rolled through me, and without stopping to think, I put a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry. That’s rough. How long ago did they pass away?”
He stiffened under my hand and drew away from my touch.
“About six years ago.” He pushed back his dark hair and tucked it behind his ear. “He died in a car crash.”
Damn.
“People think I’m nuts for still feeling like this. But I am better.” His brittle smile made something unfamiliar twist in my gut. “Just not good enough. Not yet.”
“I’m no one to judge,” I said hoarsely. “My father—” I stopped, shocked that I’d almost let down my guard to lay my life bare to this total stranger. I chewed the inside of my cheek before finishing, “My father died three years ago.”
Sympathy creased Press’s smooth brow. “Oh, that’s tough. I lost my parents a while ago, so I know how hard it is. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay, and I’m sorry about your parents,” I forced out. A trickle of sweat dripped down my face, and yet I shivered. “Damn, is it hot in here?”
“Not really. Let me get you some water.” The water cooler was on the opposite side of our chairs, and I watched as Press crossed the room to fill a cup. I could see concern reflected in his eyes when he returned. “Here. Drink this.”
“Thanks.” The water went down cool and refreshing, and I finished the entire paper cone of water. Press watched me anxiously, and it made me want to explain, which I couldn’t, but I had to say something. “That was really nice of you. I’m okay. It’s still hard to talk about, you know? And yet I can’t forget.”
Those soulful dark eyes of his held mine. “I know what you mean. My friends say it’s time, but it still hurts.”
“Shh, everyone. I think we’re ready to start.”
We broke eye contact to face the front of the room. A man, around forty, smiled back at us. His teeth were very white and even, and dark hair curled around his neck.
“Welcome to Lost in New York. I’m Dr. Monroe Friedman, your moderator. I’m glad to see a large group tonight, but that might mean not everyone gets a chance to speak. If you have a special desire to share something with the group, please don’t hesitate to raise your hand and make your needs known.”
I shifted in my seat and looked anywhere but at the moderator. I planned on sitting for the length of the meeting and listening. I wondered if Press would speak, but several hands rose in the air, his not being one of them.
Monroe put up his hand as well. “Before we begin, we have several new members here tonight.” He tipped his head in my direction, and I gave him a quick, chilly up-and-down, but it was Presley who captured his attention. Interest gleamed in Monroe’s pale-blue eyes. “Would you like to introduce yourselves?”
Press’s gaze darted to me, and I gave him a small nod of encouragement. His long, elegant fingers twisted in his lap. “My name is Presley Dawson. I own Dawson Antiques on Amsterdam and 78th.I’m here because I lost someone close to me and I can’t forget him.”
“Welcome, Presley. I hope we can help you get some closure.” Monroe beamed a bright smile at him, and the rest of the group did as well. “Don’t worry about participation. Feel free to join in anytime you feel comfortable.”
“Thanks,” he said softly.
He was close enough to me that our elbows brushed, and I could feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
Monroe’s attention shifted to me. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”
“I’m Nathaniel Sherman. I’m an attorney with Sherman, Morgan, and Weisbard in Midtown. I’m here because…” My throat closed up. “…my father passed away three years ago.”
People murmured their condolences, and Monroe waited to speak until they quieted. “I’m very sorry. Losing a parent is very traumatic. Was it sudden?”
Nerves zipped through me. “Y-yes. I-I really don’t think I’m ready to talk about it now.”
“I understand completely,” Monroe said smoothly. “One thing about this group is that you can progress at your own speed. There is no right or wrong way to feel. You may speak when you need to, or you might find you don’t want to, that simply being with people who’ve experienced what you have is helpful.”
I expelled my breath in awhooshof air, almost dizzy with relief. How could my heart pound so hard, I couldn’t hear the people speaking after me? At the touch of a hand to my shoulder, I jumped.
“It’s okay.” Press gave me a comforting squeeze. “It’s perfectly natural to still be upset. He was your father. I was a wreck for years after my parents died.”
I couldn’t answer, so I nodded and tried to concentrate on the two sisters, who were talking.
