Page 61 of Grief & Glitter

“I miss Lyle,” he admitted. “I miss the shitty coffee. I miss everyone knowing when someone’s lying about being fine. I even miss Trucker farting.” I rubbed my thumb over the back of his hand. “But I think going here was good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Different room. Different people. Same shit underneath.” He was quiet for a second. “Did you ever do groups?”

“I used to go to a grief group. Five years. Maybe a bit more on and off.”

“Why did you stop?”

I glanced toward the television, where the arguing had ended and now someone was crying into a beer.

“I think I stopped needing that particular room. I didn’t stop needing help with the grief. I still had Dr. Ellison. But the group…” I shrugged. “I understood everyone’s stories. Knew what the new people were going to say before they said it. Knew which weeks were going to be bad. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Christmas.”

“And you got tired of it?”

“No.” I thought about it. “I think I got scared I was staying because it was familiar.”

Ryan nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah.” His gaze dropped to our joined hands. “Maybe meetings are like people.”

“What does that mean?”

“You can need different ones at different times.”

I snorted. “That was disgustingly wise.”

“I know.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“No promises.” He settled back against me.

Hockey. Therapy. Ryan had his meetings. Maybe staying alive was mostly a collection of things I had to keep choosing, even after I thought I should be done needing them.

His phone chimed. He ignored it. A few seconds later, it chimed again.

“Your dad?” I asked.

“Probably.”

“Is he checking we haven’t murdered each other?”

“He worries.”

“Check it.”

Ryan groaned dramatically and reached across me for his phone. “You’re so bossy.”

“You like it.”

“I really do.”

He unlocked the screen, then stopped, every bit of him going still. I knew that kind of stillness now, and my heart kicked. What kind of message had he been sent at eight o’clock at night that made him go into shock?

“What?” Ryan didn’t answer. “Ryan?” His eyes moved over the screen once, then twice. “Baby?”