“I’m moving to a new apartment. I want to find a new job. And I want to love again.”
And with that thought complete, my phone is ringing with a call. I hesitate before picking it up, then rush around the counter to answer before it can be sent to voicemail.
“Hello, is this Riley? This is Mae Cho from The Red Kettle calling about the mural.” The phone crackles.
“Yes, this is her.” I clear my throat.
Why does The Red Kettle sound so familiar? Oh, hell no. Jae. The Red Kettle. From yesterday.
“Yeah, so, we got your sketch, and like it a lot so?—”
“Forget it.” Before she can say anything else—in a panic—I hang up the phone and turn it off.
3
“Morning, 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.
