"The most creative thing in us is to believe in a thing." - Robert Frost

Memory Lane: Chapter Sixteen

My conversation with Aunt June replays in my mind every time I consider the support group.

I've been so afraid to talk about my parents, to open myself up to all of the pain that comes from losing them. When I was talking about them with Aunt June, I was surprised that it didn't hurt. Not as badly as I always thought it would, at least.

Listening to the stories she told of my mom getting into all sorts of trouble as a teenager, or the stories of my mom and my dad as they navigated the early stages of their relationship, even the stories of their different struggles with raising me... those stories didn't tear my heart apart. For the time being, it felt like they filled a portion of the missing piece I spoke to Jesse about.

I can't do that every day. I know that. I can't talk about them that loosely- I'm not strong enough for that yet. But, I can consider letting their memory in enough to talk about them once a week. Otherwise, I'll never allow myself to heal.

So, that's why I find myself standing outside the Bennington Community Center at 7:27 on this chilly Tuesday night. I stare up at the once bold lettering at the top of the building, my bottom lip pulled between my teeth. I've been standing here for the last ten minutes, my eyes darting between the building, my car, and the old red pickup truck that I parked next to.

I've avoided Jesse at school all week. It hasn't been hard. He hasn't made much of an attempt to talk to me, but I did catch his eyes on me on more than one occasion. I've filled my time by hanging out with Kendall and Quinn after school, inviting them over and spending time exploring Bennington with them. Allen and Steven met up with us a few times, realizing their grave mistake on Saturday when we all ended up at the mall one town over. Allen was as supportive as he could be to Kendall as she tried on nearly the entire mall's worth of clothes along with me and Quinn, while Steven snuck away to some shoe store for the entirety of our mall trip.

Despite the distractions I gave myself during the week, my conversation with Jesse has been very evident in the back of my mind every stupid second of the day. I've been going back and forth in my mind about coming to this support group, but every time my mind has come to the same conclusion: if I don't find an outlet now to talk about the accident now, I'll never allow myself to get past this.

As for my anger at Jesse, while it's still prevalent... if it weren't for him I'd be stuck in the same rut as I was for 8 months.

Finally, I shake away my nerves and doubt. A chilly breeze blows by, scraping up some leaves from the ground and carrying them across the old sidewalk. I pull my thin jacket tighter around my body and push the door open, making my way up the staircase and down the brightly lit hallway, stopping in front of the A-frame sign that sent my whole world crashing down last week.

I can just slip in and keep to myself, right? Maybe I can avoid even saying who I am. Just an observer for the day. If I don't find it helpful, I never have to come back and there's no damage done.

With a deep breath, I push the door open and step inside. I must have been debating my decision for longer than I thought, however, because I don't walk in to people mingling as they wait for the support group to start. Instead, I walk into a silent room aside from one older man sitting at the head of the semicircle of chairs speaking to the group. He stops talking at the sound of the old, creaky door squeaking open and his blue eyes land on me, along with everyone else in the room.

I'm now acutely aware of every breath I take, how often blink, and have no clue what to do with my hands. Not to mention the low grumble in my stomach since skipping dinner once again.

There can't be more than about ten people. I easily spot familiar dark, messy hair matched with shocked, gray eyes. But just as quickly as I glance at Jesse, I look away. My eyes drift to the clock in the corner. The bold, neon red letters blinking at me cause me to wince slightly.

Six minutes past the start of the support group, which means I've just interrupted. So much for being discreet.

"Hi," the older gentleman finally says. He stands from his creaky, plastic chair and smiles at me, albeit slightly confused. "Are you here for the support group?"

I shuffle my feet, swallowing down my nerves and try to mirror his kind smile. "I am. I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was so late."

He waves it off, gesturing to the open seat. "Not to worry, we just went through our optional introductions. Please, come take a seat!"

I shuffle to the open seat, setting down my purse quickly on the floor next to me. I keep my gaze anywhere but on all of the watching eyes, wishing I could be anywhere but here. While everyone's eyes are on me, there's only one pair that I can feel and, much to my shock, that pair of eyes is making me feel relatively calm.

"Thank you for joining us..." the leader trails off in question.

"Laura," I say quickly.

"Laura," he smiles again and my tense muscles relax a bit. "It's nice to have you here. I'm Carl, I facilitate the group."

Carl. I quickly take in his appearance. Slightly wrinkled, light blue dress shirt tucked into khakis with dark brown dress shoes that have a couple of scuff marks. He has bright ginger hair that's receding to the point of him having a combover, and freckles dotted all along his skinny face and ice blue eyes.

Combover Carl. Easy enough to help me remember.

"Thank you," I say, glancing around nervously. Jesse was right. No one here goes to Mount Anthony. That helps calm my racing heart. "Would you mind if I just listen in today?"

"Not at all, Laura. We're just happy to have you join us. For the sake of time, we won't go back through introductions. But, you are more than welcome to stick around after to get to know some of the people here."

Then, he gets right back into it as if I never interrupted and I begin to feel more comfortable. The watching eyes suddenly move back to Combover Carl, except for one pair that lingers.

My stomach stings for a split second, reminding me of my hunger as it threatens to interrupt the support group once again but this time with a loud, hungered growl. Thankfully, I'm able to keep it away by tuning in to Carl and taking my mind off of my lack of food today.

Carl encourages a group discussion that neither Jesse nor I participate in, but Jesse's lack of involvement both surprises me and doesn't. I've only known Jesse for the month that I've lived in Bennington, but his often-quiet demeanor is extremely present here.

During the discussion, my still erratic heartbeat finally calms fully down and I pay attention to every word Carl says and admire the stories that some of the other attendees share.

Eventually, I work up the courage to glance at Jesse, but only when I no longer feel him stealing looks across the circle to me. His messy hair has one piece out of place, and he must feel it because seconds after I notice it, he runs his hand through his hair to fix it and puts his hands back into his hoodie pocket. My eyes drop to the hoodie; the same one he wore the first night I met him. But rather than the scowl he wore that night, right now he's wearing a small smile.

When 8:30 hits and Carl finishes up for the night, I collect my purse and begin my way back towards the door, but a few of the attendees stop me to introduce themselves.

In every conversation, without even realizing, my gaze would drift around the room in search of the black hoodie. But, by the time I finish my small talk greetings, I don't see Jesse anywhere, which makes my mind melt into calmness while also making my stomach drop.

I always seem to have conflicting feelings about him.

Once I head outside, feeling the cool night air soak into my skin, I let out a huge sigh of relief. I did it. I may not have spoken up at all or really participated, but I got myself to attend and listen to how Carl has helped the other members.

"So, does this mean I somehow earned it?"

My heart jumps nearly out of my throat and then starts hammering against my chest, startled beyond belief at the familiar voice just a few feet away. I lift a hand to my chest, suddenly short on breath and glare at Jesse who stands to my right, leaning against the brick wall of the building in the glow of the streetlight. His hoodie and dark hair blend into the night sky, making his gray eyes somehow seem bright.

I quickly catch my breath, crossing my arms in defiance. "And how would you have done that? By not even talking to me or saying you're sorry?"

Jesse's jaw clicks and his gaze moves to the sidewalk. "I haven't talked to you because I was trying to respect your boundaries."

"A little late for that, don't you think?"

"Better late than never."

I scoff, brushing past him as I take my keys from my purse to leave. Another sharp pain of hunger causes me to wince when Jesse calls back out to me.

"I did apologize."

I stop walking, jaw set hard, and slowly turn to face him. Is it his goal to be this insufferable?

"Telling my cousin to relay a message to me is not what I consider an apology. And it's the 21st century. I have a phone."

Jesse puts his hands in his jeans pockets and nods to my phone. "We never exchanged numbers, remember?"

Our small interaction where I made a lame joke about Instagram pops into my mind and my scowl deepens. I stand there in defiance for a moment longer before giving in to my own curiosity and open my phone to the Instagram app. I narrow my eyes when the little red notification in the top corner reveals a DM and click on it.

I'm sorry.

I stare at his short, unemotional message and then lift my eyes to him as I lock my phone and slide it back into my pocket.

"Wow. You have such a way with words."

"I would have added a frowny face, but I felt that was a little out of character."

I roll my eyes. "You're right. That would show too much emotion."

"Took me ten minutes to come up with that."

"You understand how sad that is, right?"

His eyes flutter with amusement, "Ever heard of a joke?"

I give him a sarcastic smile in response. "I suggest avoiding a career in stand-up."

If it weren't for the car driving down the street behind me drowning it out, I think I would have heard Jesse chuckle. Even seeing the humor on his face is enough to make my heart feel oddly light, which of course causes me to scowl.

"The frowny face debate, though. That took a couple of minutes," he says.

"You know, you aren't helping your case. An Instagram DM is hardly an apology, much less a way to earn anyone's forgiveness."

Jesse's lips tug up at the corners, "You're talking to me. That's a good sign."

"I still haven't actually heard an apology."

Another car drives by in the background and Jesse pulls his hands from his jean pockets, running one through his hair with a heavy sigh. Our previous banter now feels long gone as the street lamp flickers and his eyes find mine. The actual guilt registering in his expression surprises me.

"I crossed a line," he admits. "I know that and I'm sorry. I should have understood why you were keeping it to yourself, but you know I won't tell anyone. If you want, I'll pretend like I never even found out."

My eyes drift to the building next to us, pointing out the obvious flaw in that offer. If I continue to attend the support group, we can't pretend he doesn't know.

Jesse doesn't seem fazed at all and keeps his gaze locked on me. "If me knowing makes you uncomfortable and you found the support group helpful, then I'll stop coming."

I stare at him and his unwavering gaze and I quickly realize that he's being serious. My stiff and unforgiving posture deflates and I look away.

"I can't ask you to do that."

"You don't have to. I'm offering."

I snap my eyes to him. "What about you?"

He shrugs. "I don't really gain a whole lot from going, but you might."

"Yet you come every week?" I counter, confused.

Jesse stays quiet, looking away from me. His words sink deeper and deeper until I realize he's not joking in the slightest. He's willing to give up going.

"How come you didn't talk at all tonight?" I ask.

"I told you," he says, "I don't know how to talk about him."

I drop my defensive expression as the anger slips out of me entirely at his dejected tone. When I talked to Jesse about healing, he seemed too intrigued by what I had to say to give up his outlet to potentially heal himself. I can't let him give it up just because he made me angry. I didn't talk today and I still felt like I gained something, so I can't believe him when he says that he doesn't. Otherwise, he wouldn't be coming back weekly.

"You know I'm not going to let you drop the support group," I say with a small sigh. "A simple frowny face would have sufficed."

Relief melts into his expression, but he masks it right away. "I'm not much of an emoji guy, so I'll find another way to earn it."

I open my mouth to give some sort of (hopefully) clever retort, but instead my stomach finally makes its pain known by growling so loudly it rivals the car passing on the road.

Jesse's eyes dart down to my stomach as my cheeks heat up, and I quickly step back slightly to get out of the glow of the streetlight.

"Come on," he says, pushing off of the wall and walking past me.

My eyes follow him but I prevent my feet from doing the same. "What?"

"Come on," he repeats.

"I heard you the first time," I mutter. "I meant: why?"

He glances at me over his shoulder, eyes catching in the light of the street lamp. "I'm earning it."

"Yeah, I'm going to need more context. Last time I followed you blindly, it didn't go too well."

Jesse pauses and fully turns to face me, guilt flashing across his face for a mere second.

"Food, Laura. I know a great takeout restaurant a few shops down. It's a bit of a hole in the wall, you'd miss it if you didn't know it was there." I open my mouth to argue, but Jesse waves a hand dismissively. "And you can't say you don't like whatever food they have, because they have a bit of everything."

My legs begin walking after him before my mind has the chance to comprehend what I'm doing. I blame my stomach. Within a few seconds, I'm falling into step next to him and his brisk pace. My loose jeans scratch against my scarred legs and remind me of what I'm doing, so I stop.

"What are we doing, Jesse?" I ask, wanting to cut straight to the point.

With an annoyed huff he stops too and turns to me, face pulled into the emotionless scowl that I'm used to.

"I just told you. Getting dinner."

"Why?"

"Are you always this difficult?"

"Are you always this vague?"

The muscles in his jaw tense, eyes narrowing for a moment as he debates his response. Then, he lets out a breath through his nose and his expression softens.

"On top of wanting to show that I'm sorry, I also need to somehow say thank you."

I eye him suspiciously. "Why would you need to thank me?"

His expression stays soft, his scowl long gone as he looks at me. "Because you didn't tell anyone about the support group."

Suddenly, it dawns on me that while Jesse did go too far last week by bringing me here, he also risked his own secret when he admitted to knowing mine. Of course, I considered this already. That's why I didn't share his name with Aunt June when I told her about the support group. I wince, quickly looking away.

"I told my Aunt," I explain.

"I never expected you to keep it from your family. Including Allen. I knew there was a possibility that he may find out when I brought you here last Tuesday. But, he didn't. More importantly, no one at school did."

I don't want to lie, so I shake my head.

"I will end up telling Allen," Jesse stiffens, "but I already decided I would leave your name out of it when I do. He's the only other person I'll tell, anyway. If I told anyone else then they'd find out about my parents, which no one was supposed to know about in the first place."

Jesse's stiff posture relaxes, revealing his subtle relief. He searches my expression a moment longer before nodding to himself and then starts back on his path to this dinner place. But I'm not done with my line of questions. He may have figured out a lot about me last week, but I still don't know much about him.

"Not to mention I wouldn't share your secret with our classmates, and I guess I should also thank you for not revealing mine," I say, and he immediately pauses a few yards ahead of me. "But, why are you keeping it a secret? You already know why I am."

His hands clench for a moment until he turns back around, the strings of his hoodie blowing in the chilly fall breeze.

"People already judge me for my reaction to my dads death. I don't need to give them any more reasons," he says.

"But you told me."

Jesse finds my gaze and holds it. "I told you," he agrees.

Neither of us say anymore, holding our locked gaze for a few silent moments. I make my mind up. Jesse trusts me enough to talk about his dad, so I can trust him enough to attend the support group with him. Neither of us have given the other a reason not to. We've kept one another secrets thus far.

Besides. Jesse may be one of the only people that understands what I'm going through and, despite my best efforts to, I actually don't hate him. I don't see him as the asshole from the party anymore.

"Okay," I finalize. "Then we both attend the support group and keep it between the two of us."

Jesse nods, putting his hands back into his jean pockets with a small breath of relief. I walk past him now, headed in the direction that I assume this restaurant is, but notice that he stays rooted to his spot. With a huff, I spin around. A blush creeps up my neck when I catch him staring at me.

"What now?"

He tilts his head just a bit, the remnants of a smirk working their way onto his lips. "Just wondering if this is the part where you admit that I was right or if that comes later."

My eyes instantly narrow despite how the smirk on his face makes my stomach flip. "You are still on extremely thin ice."

Jesse shrugs, finally walking towards me. I assume he's going to walk past me without responding, but instead he stops right in front of me. Close. I'm forced to tilt my chin up slightly to maintain his stare, keeping my face clear to avoid revealing my sped up heartbeat or internal wide gaze.

He, however, is actually letting me read his expression clear as day. His eyes are dancing with amusement.

"I'll take that as it's coming later, then. Maybe after I buy us dinner?"

"And what are you so sure you're right about?"

Around us, leaves scrape across the sidewalk as another breeze blows by. It runs through Jesse's slightly tousled hair, momentarily revealing his scar. I snap my eyes back to his when he starts to respond.

"I said you'd find the support group helpful," his grin gets a bit bigger, "And you did."

My brain finally connects with my legs and I take a step back, shrugging nonchalantly at him despite the manic heartbeat going off in my chest.