My Life After Now - By Jessica Verdi Page 0,37

thing tomorrow to get you an appointment. And this,” he said, handing me a stack of computer printouts, “is information about different therapists, group meetings, and support centers in Westchester and Manhattan. You can review them and decide which ones you’d like to try.”

“I don’t want to try any of them,” I mumbled.

“Well, you should have thought about that before going home with some guy you didn’t know, shouldn’t you?” Papa snapped back.

I gasped. I’d assumed Dad would tell him the whole story, but the last thing I expected was for him to throw it back in my face like that.

He swallowed. “I’m sorry, Lu,” he said more softly. “I didn’t mean…I don’t blame you. It just…would mean a lot to me if you chose a meeting to go to. Or a private therapist, I don’t care. But you have to do something. Please?”

The picture of Papa’s face, frozen in time, as he told me Patrick had died, flickered across my mind.

Why did everything have to be so damn complicated? “Fine,” I relented, throwing my hands up in the air. “I’ll go. For you. But it’s not going to help.”

20

One Night Only

Two days later, I was seated on a cold, metal folding chair in the basement of a Methodist church in Greenwich Village. My plan had been to get a seat in the back, but the chairs were arranged in a circle, so there was nowhere to hide. Instead, I chose the seat closest to the door so I could book it out of there as soon as the meeting ended.

There were about a dozen other people in the room: milling about, chatting, laughing, eating their donut holes, and drinking their coffee. They all knew each other already; I was an outsider. I was also the only teenager. I actually may have been the only person under the age of thirty.

Dad and Papa were waiting in a Starbucks around the corner. They’d insisted on escorting me not only to the city but to the front door of the church—they probably thought I would bail on this whole support group idea if left to my own devices. Okay, they were probably right.

I was anxious. I didn’t want to tell these people personal things, and I didn’t want to listen to their sob stories. Plus they were probably all going to think I was just a dumb kid who had no business encroaching on their intimate little group.

Stop worrying, I told myself. It’ll be fine.

I chewed on my fingernails.

It was 8:05 now—we were supposed to start at eight. What was the holdup? Why couldn’t we just get this damn thing over with already so I could go back to my dads and inform them that it was all a waste of time and that I had no need to ever go back?

At ten after, I was seriously considering leaving. Wasn’t there a ten-minute rule or something? Like, if the meeting doesn’t begin on time, you all get a free pass to go home? Besides, it wasn’t like anyone had even noticed me. I could sneak out now and they’d never know.

Yes. I would go. Run the hell out of this place and never look back.

But just as I’d reached my decision, the big wooden door opened again, and a burst of energy flew into the room.

“Sorry I’m late, guys! My bad!” the woman said. No, woman was the wrong word. She was a young woman, a girl. She couldn’t have been much older than I was. She had light brown skin, tight blonde-streaked spiral curls forming a halo around her head, funky eighties-inspired neon pink and green earrings, and hot pink nails. She was the one who was running the meeting?

After everyone was seated and the girl had managed to catch her breath, she grinned at each of us. Her teeth were shiny and perfect. “Welcome!”

“Hi, Roxie,” a few voices responded back.

“I see we have a new face with us tonight,” Roxie said, looking at me. Apparently I wasn’t invisible after all. My cheeks turned red at once. “I’m Roxie. What’s your name?”

Here we go.

“Lucy,” I said.

“Welcome, Lucy. Have you been to a support meeting before?”

“Um, no, this is my first.” And last.

“Well, we’re happy to have you. Would you like to share?” Roxie asked.

“Share?” I repeated.

“Yeah. Your story, your experience with HIV/AIDS, how you’re feeling today…whatever is on your mind.”

Everyone looked at me with interest. I couldn’t believe they all actually expected me to tell them the most personal details of