Page 2 of Into the Deep Blue

Everyone looks at the door as it opens. Everyone except Maddie, the new girl, because she’s crying. No, not crying. Sobbing. Thick, choking sobs that have no end. I mean, I feel bad for her, but my sadness well is running a little dry. Maybe we all come with a sadness saturation point, and I reached mine a long time ago.

Nick freezes in the doorway and bows his head, which I guess is what you do when you interrupt someone crying. He moves to the empty chair across from me and pulls it back, the legs squealing against the linoleum. He glances at Grace like he’s about to be busted in some covert operation, but she’s still focused on Maddie, so he sits.

His cheeks are flushed, and he runs a hand through his sweaty brown hair, making it stick up in tiny spikes. He won’t look at me even though I know he senses me staring.

He steals a glance at the clock instead, not for the time but to figure out how much time is left. Then, he tries to dislodge a leaf stuck to the sole of his not-so-white sneaker by wiping it against the floor. He crosses his arms, forms his shield, and only then does he eye the gray squares of tile between us until his gaze lands at my feet and moves upward, his eyes finally locking with mine.

We’re the only two people in the room not staring at the floor. I give him the slightest scolding shake of my head because he’s late. Again. At least he came in. Crying in group is his kryptonite. He drops his head forward and fights a smile, because he knows every thought racing through my head right now. Where the hell were you? Why didn’t you text me? I’m going to kill you. But when our eyes reconnect, my irritation melts away. It’s like we’re the only two people here. The room feels brighter, the ceiling enchanted, and everyone disappears but us.

Maddie’s sobs drift through my fantasy and shatter the moment. Reality soaks in and it’s cold, gray, and bottomless.

We’ve been coming to group for six months, and neither of us has had this kind of breakdown. Sometimes I wonder if it’s the only reason we’re friends—our numb hearts.

As if he’s reading my mind, he raises an eyebrow.

Nick’s eyebrows can talk. A whole language happens in the upper third of his face, and I know it by heart. I know him by heart. This is his kill-me-now look. The crying is too much for him. He bounces his leg and bites at the skin around his thumb. I glance at Grace, to see if she notices that Mt. Nick is about to erupt, but she’s still talking to Maddie.

Nick bolts from his chair and heads for the door.

He lasted six minutes. Not bad.

Grace claps her hands against her jeans.

“Let’s take a break.”

A few people get up and head for the snack table. Grace can’t go after Nick since she has her hands full with Maddie, so she passes the baton to me with a glance. I don’t remember when going after Nick became my thing, but I get up. Honestly, I would have followed him anyway.

A rush of cool night air hits me the second I open the door. It was warm when I got here. Nick is like Oregon’s own personal Elsa, leaving an icy trail in his wake wherever he goes.

He’s standing at the bottom of the steps, leaning against a pillar with his heel kicked up against it. He doesn’t turn to see who followed him out. He doesn’t have to.

“Why do we still come here?”

he says to the sky.

I head down the stairs and sit next to where he stands. We both know why he comes here. Therapy was a court requirement for him, but he’s served his time, so I’m not sure why he hasn’t stopped.

“What do you mean?”

He pushes away from the pillar and faces me.

“I mean, it’s depressing.”

The parking lot is quiet except for some kids practicing skateboarding tricks. Their boards scrape against the curb with every attempted jump. They can’t be much younger than us, but grief adds a difference of a million years.

“Maybe that’s the point. Like exposure therapy: the more depressing stuff you subject yourself to, the less it bothers you.”

He considers this.

“Listening to someone cry for an hour every week is an excellent way to test that theory.”

“You got here ten minutes ago.”

His lips quirk up in a smile.

“You’re timing me now?”

“Where were you?”

He leans back to watch the skateboarders.

“Nowhere. Just got sidetracked.”

He’s clearly in a mood and when he faces me again there’s a glimmer of something else brewing behind his eyes.

“So? Did you book Monterey?”

Monterey? Why is he bringing this up now? The word book sends my brain into meltdown mode.

And it shows. My mouth hangs open.

Nick doesn’t miss a beat, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

“Last week, you said you were booking it, so did you? Because I need to take that weekend off.”

I say this every week. We’ve had countless conversations about Monterey on the drive back to his house after group, and they all meet the same fate: crumpled up and forgotten like the fast-food wrappers in the back of my car. Tonight, there’s a hint of desperation in his voice like he might need this more than I do, so instead of grilling him over the obvious topic change, I do something different. I go with it. “I did.”

He eyes me, doubtful.

“For real?”

“For real.”

Then he pulls out his phone and opens an actual calendar with a smug expression on his face like he knows how full of it I am.

“The twentieth, right?”

He points to August 20th on the calendar as if I don’t remember the day my mom died. I melt a little, knowing that he does.

“Uh-huh.”

He adds a new event right in front of me and types MONTEREY TRIP.

“What time are we leaving?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I don’t want to forget.”

We both know what he’s doing. He’s making a point of watching the date come and go. My butt is numb from the cold concrete, so I get up and dust off the tiny pebbles. Even on the bottom stair, he’s still got a few inches on me. I meet the challenge in his eyes.

“You don’t think we’re going.”

His head tilts to the side.

“Ninety-nine percent sure we’re not going.”

“Six.”

I answer too quickly, because I want to prove him wrong, show him he doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does. But he knows me so damn well.

He seems impressed.

“In the morning?”

“It’s a long drive. We should leave early.”

“So logical,”

he says, adding a six a.m. start time to the event.

“There we go, it’s set in stone.”

“As it should be.”

I smile—a badly plastered-on smile.

The door at the top of the stairs swings open, and Grace steps out.

“Everything okay out here?”

Nick ruffles his hair.

“Yeah. The waterworks stop?”

“Maddie has stopped crying, yes. Come on in, we’re ready,”

she says, holding the door for us.

Nick puts his hands on my shoulders, pushing me up the stairs.

We’re the last to rejoin the circle. Maddie cradles a paper cup of herbal tea in her hands, her blotchy face hovering over the steam.

Grace’s curly auburn hair is pulled into a loose topknot tonight, long tendrils framing her face. She’s a grad student, not that much older than the rest of us.

“You all know there is no wrong way to express yourself here. There is no shame in crying. Ever. Nick, do you want to talk about why crying makes you so uncomfortable?”

Nick crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

“Crying makes everyone uncomfortable.”

“I wouldn’t say everyone.”

He eyes her.

“Come on. Have you ever been to a funeral, Grace?”

“I’ve been to a few. Uncomfortable isn’t how I’d describe the people in mourning.”

“Maybe you’re not looking close enough.”

Nick’s bravado starts to crumble under her watchful gaze. He bounces his leg again.

“Look, she’s new. We’ve seen this a hundred times. Everybody cries in the beginning.”

“In the beginning, and then what?”

He focuses on a spot in the middle of the floor. The room falls quiet as everyone waits for some magical prophecy to spring from his lips.

“And then what?”

He repeats. He digs his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.

“That’s just it, isn’t it? Endless days of and then what?”

Grace’s gaze is fixed on him, but she lets it go, addressing the group instead.

“Why don’t we leave with that thought? Let’s think about what we can do to find purpose, to make sense of our lives after a loss. See you all next week.”

The circle disassembles, and before I can pull my tote bag off the floor, the door closes, and Nick is gone.

Maddie and I walk out together. I wait with her on the sidewalk for her mom to show up.

“You did great today,”

I tell her.

“I know it’s not easy to share.”

“Thanks,”

she says, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

“Who did you lose?”

“My mom.”

“I’m so sorry. What happened?”

I’ve answered this a million times.

“She was a photographer on assignment overseas with the military and yeah . . . ”

That’s usually where I leave it.

Maddie nods like the rest is understood. A car pulls up, and she quickly hugs me before running into it. She’s sweet but seems breakable like she’s hollow inside.

The parking lot is dark and peppered with the golden glow of streetlights. I weave through the cars and find Nick leaning against the passenger door of mine, Mom’s old gecko green VW, his bike beside him. This is our weekly tradition.

He rattles the handle.

“You do that on purpose. You stay longer every time.”

“Maybe,”

I say, biting into one of Grace’s post-meeting smiley face cookies.

“One of these days I won’t wait.”

He serves up his empty threat with a smile.

“And save me the hour round-trip back to my place? Why would you be so kind?”

“You know you’d miss me.”

The second I unlock the doors he starts his routine of cramming his bike in the back. He still hasn’t figured out a way to do it without practically ripping my car in two.

He catches me staring. “What?”

“If you’d let me pick you up, you wouldn’t have this problem.”

“It’s not a problem,”

he says through strained grunts.

“Besides, I like biking here. You just need a bigger car.”

“I don’t need a bigger car. You need to get your license back.”

He pretends not to hear me, slamming the trunk at light speed to keep his bike from spilling out. Losing his license was another part of his DUI sentence. He could retake the test now, but he hasn’t.

We get inside, and the car comes to life with a faint rumble. He points at the other cookie in my hand.

“Is that one for me?”

“Uh-huh.”

He reaches for it, but I hold it back.

“But only if you promise to stay next time and talk to some people.”

I pull out of the parking lot and head toward his house.

He plucks the cookie from my hand.

“That’s not fair. I tried. There was that one guy, what was his name?”

I know where he’s going with this, so I don’t want to tell him. He snaps his fingers.

“You know who I’m talking about. I know you know.”

“Roger,”

I concede.

“Yes! Roger. I bet that wasn’t his real name. I mean, have you ever met a Roger in your life?”

It takes me a second to scan through the list of names in my almost-empty social circles. “No.”

“Exactly. And how long did he last? Like two weeks?”

“At least four,” I say.

“No way. That long? I wonder what happened to him?”

“He drove his car into a Starbucks.”

Nick looks at me, mouth full of cookie. “What?”

“Yeah, he was on something. I sent you a link to the article.”

“Damn. I didn’t open it. I thought it was something random about Starbucks. Wow!”

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t judge. How can he when he has a meltdown history of his own.

“That’s the thing with this group, Fi, we’re transients. I don’t need more people disappearing from my life. It’s like the whole reason we’re here.”

“Wait a minute.”

I hold up a finger.

“Are you saying our entire friendship is basically a process of elimination, because I haven’t dropped out of group?”

He thinks for a minute, trying to figure out how to play this. “Yes?”

Even though he’s joking, it hurts.

“I don’t want to get to know them. I know you. I’m maxed out.”

He quickly backtracks, and not a minute too soon, because I’m legit driving him home.

“You’re maxed out at one?”

“I’m maxed out at one,” he says.

It’s a good save. Enough to stop me from pulling over and kicking him out, and I kind of like knowing I’m the one he’s maxed out at.

“Did you defer NYU to January?” I ask.

We both got in but couldn’t wrap our heads around starting in the fall. I don’t even know what I want to take. I may as well close my eyes and click courses at random.

He doesn’t look up from his phone. “Not yet.”

“Ugh. Nick!”

I shove his arm and his phone falls to the floor.

He glares at me.

“How can you be all over me about Monterey, which I booked by the way,”

a hint of a smirk plays on his lips.

“when you haven’t even deferred!”

“Chill. I’ll do it this week. I guess that means you did?”

he asks, rooting around the floor for his phone.

“Yes. And did you book the appointment for your driving test?”

“No, Mom.”

“Oh, don’t do that.”

“Why are you all over me tonight, Fi?”

“You started it.”

I glance over, and he’s back to scrolling on his phone.

“And I can’t drive you forever.”

I say this every week.

“Why not?”

Tonight he responds, and I don’t have an answer. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.

He turns up the volume on the stereo, and Kendrick blasts through the speakers.

Back when I started driving Nick home, I read into all of his music choices. Every song he played was obviously a secret message about his feelings, because six months ago, I thought he might be into me. Then one night, he played Smashing Pumpkins, A$AP Rocky, and Marshmello all in a row, and my brain short-circuited. That was the end of reading into his song choices. Besides, I don’t think there’s room in Nick’s head for serious relationships.

I turn down the pitch-black side road leading to his house. As it comes into view, he blurts out.

“Wanna stay over?”

It’s a tip of the iceberg kind of question. I eye him, suspicious.

“Where’s your dad?”

“Where’s Zombie Bob?”

he fires back.

Nick’s been calling my dad that since day one, becaus.

“he never does anything.”

Not to his face, but I’m waiting for the day it slips out.

“Out saving the world. Night shift again,” I answer.

“Shocker. Well, mine’s out making it more beautiful. Someone needs to drop some rocks across the lawns of America.”

He bites at his thumb.

“He’s in Sacramento or some bullshit. Who knows, he could be anywhere.”

“Is he still with Kate?”

“No. That was like three girls ago. It’s Brooklyn now.”

He looks out the window and doesn’t last a minute before he spills the rest.

“Alex is coming over tomorrow.”

There it is. His older sister, the rest of the Titanic-sized iceberg. “Ohhh.”

“She’s picking up some of Mom’s stuff.”

There are times it’s like our brains connect. It’s easy to fill in the blanks.

“So . . . you need an extra hand.”

His eyes flicker up to mine. We both know it’s bullshit. We could do this blindfolded.

“Yeah.”