We shook hands, and I liked Monroe’s quiet voice and kind eyes. I could see why Nate and Press continued to come here.
“How’s Ezra?” Press waved to the blond man.
“He’s great. Working hard but loves it. He’s leaving tonight to check on the California office this weekend. My partner is a talent agent,” Monroe explained.
“He must know many interesting people.”
“Torre is a food blogger, and Frisco was one of the city’s top food critics.”
“No kidding? I’ll have to get some recommendations from you both, then.”
“Anytime.” Torre smiled at him.
We took our seats in the circle of chairs, and Monroe waited for everyone else to settle in. He smiled at the group, which numbered close to fifteen from my quick scan. I broke out in a sweat, and I swore Torre must’ve been a mind reader, as he took my hand and held it.
“It’s fine. Remember, you don’t have to say anything.”
“Yeah.”
“Welcome to the Lost in New York group. We’re here to discuss loss, whether it’s the loss of a parent, sibling, partner, or child. Or a beloved pet. People grieve differently, and I’m here not to tell you the right way, but to hopefully help you along the way to learn to accept loss. We have two new people joining us tonight. Would you like to introduce yourselves?”
Torre spoke up. “I’m Torre Rossi. I’m from Brooklyn, and I’m a food and restaurant blogger. Five years ago I lost my father, and I think about him every day. Every move I make, personally and professionally, I ask myself, ‘What would Pops say? Would he agree?’” He licked his lips, and I saw the sheen of sweat on his brow. I put my arm around him, and he threw me a grateful smile. “I’ve come to terms with it, but now that I’m in a significant relationship, I wish he could be here to meet Frisco and know that I’m finally happy.”
And there goes the rest of my heart.
Monroe nodded. “Nice to meet you, Torre, and I think having internal conversations is a wonderful way to keep the memory of a loved one alive. And from how Frisco was helping you by offering you support as you spoke, I can see how happy you are.” He paused as the rest of the group said their hellos, and my heart practically leaped when his eyes met mine. I didn’t know the man at all, but I felt he could see inside me and knew.
“Frisco? Would you like to say something?”
Torre tightened his hand in mine, and Press shifted closer. I had here the people who meant the most to me. The one who’d always been there for me and the one who always would be. And suddenly I knew I was free and didn’t need to be afraid anymore.
“My name is Francisco Martinelli, and I was a food critic forUltimate NYC. When I was sixteen, I was abused by my art teacher. I thought I loved him, and we had an affair. What I didn’t know was that he was also sleeping with my mother.” I lifted my chin. “On the night I found out, I lost my mother to him. She chose her lover over her son, and I went to live with my best friend, Presley.” I held out my hand, and Press took it. “I never said thank you.”
“You didn’t have to,” he said. “And you never will. I’m always here for you.”
“His parents took me in, and I loved them more than anyone, for being there for me, unlike my own parents. My father was in Italy, and while he paid for my schooling, we had little to do with each other. But Presley’s parents stepped into that role, and when they died…” My voice caught, and I had to take a moment to wait for it to steady. “When they died, a part of me did too. The part that believed in happiness and love and trust. I didn’t care anymore. Not even for myself.”
You couldn’t hear a sound in the room, not even the other people breathing. Everyone’s attention focused on me. In the past, I would’ve never been able to do this peeling away of the outside of my skin, but that was before.
“I won’t go into the details of my life afterward because I have no regrets. I don’t believe in them. I had no responsibility to anyone but myself, and while others might not have approved, I did as I wanted. When everything else had been taken out of my control, I could control my own actions.”
“That’s not uncommon,” Monroe said. “And Presley has told us of his parents’ tragic death. I’m sorry that happened.”
“Nothing changed until I met Torre. And while we didn’t know that online we were bitter enemies, in real life he first became my lover, then my friend, and finally the man I fell in love with. I didn’t realize it at first, but I know it now. And now is what I’m concerned with. I don’t believe in looking back.”
I’d run out of breath and stopped, feeling light-headed and dizzy. I must’ve looked as pathetic as I felt, as Torre jumped out of his seat and returned with a cup of cold water.
“Take it.”
Watching my hand tremble, I blew out an impatient breath. “I’m fine.”
“Bullshit. And why should you be? Listening to what happened, I’m not, and I already know the story.” Torre wrapped his hand around mine and held the cup with me as I drank it.
People smiled and clapped and called out, “Great attitude, Frisco,” and “You’ve got this.”
Monroe waited to speak until everyone quieted. “Thank you, Frisco. That was incredibly brave of you to share your story with us. And I’m angry and upset that this happened to you. I like that you’ve taken ownership of your past and are looking forward.” Monroe’s gaze traveled around the group. “Not everyone is strong enough to live with scars like Frisco carries, and that’s okay too. Remember, there is no one way or right way to live with pain and grief.”
A young man named Beckett spoke next, and I only half listened to his story of dating again after losing his girlfriend to suicide.
