A woman who looks like she’s in her thirties walks in the room. She’s got a warm smile on her face, and she’s carrying a bunch of papers.

“I’m glad we have a nice turnout,” she says as she takes a seat and sets her stuff on the empty chair next to her. All I can think is that if this woman thinks four participants is a nice turnout she’s got to be the most optimistic person on the planet.

The woman motions for me to sit on one of the chairs. “Welcome to the teen grief support group, everyone.” She checks her watch. “Looks like it’s time to start. How about we all introduce ourselves and go from there. Sound good?”

Nobody answers.

“I’ll start,” she says, not fazed by the unenthusiastic crowd. “My name is Wendy Kane, and I run the teen grief group here at the hospital. I have two kids, two dogs, and one husband.”

I think she expects to get a chuckle for the “one husband” remark, but all she gets is blank stares.

“I’ll go next,” the boy with the band shirt says. He flips back his hair and juts out his chin as if he feels the need to act tough. “My name’s Brian. Yeah, that’s about it.”

Brian sits back in his chair, ending his introduction.

“I’m, um, Perry,” the redheaded boy says nervously. “I’m, um, here because my dad kinda committed suicide six months ago.”

“Kinda?” Brian challenges him. “How does someone kinda commit suicide?”

“You don’t just kinda do it,” Perry says. “I… I… I meant he did it.”

“Exactly.” Brian seems content he challenged the poor guy.

“Leave him alone,” I say as I glare at Brian.

Wendy claps twice, getting our attention. “Let’s just continue introductions, shall we?” Wendy looks at the girl by the window. “Hailey, would you like to introduce yourself?”

“You just did,” Hailey says, still staring out the window.

“We’d love to have you join us in our circle. Would you like to come sit down?” Wendy asks.

“No.”

Wendy turns to me with a hopeful expression on her face. “What about you? Would you like to introduce yourself?”

“I’m Monika,” I tell her. And then, because it’s obvious she wants me to share more, I add, “My ex-boyfriend died.” I don’t add that Vic doesn’t want to be a part of my life anymore. What’s the use in saying that? That’s not why I’m here. I’m here to talk about my grief for losing someone I love. The problem is that I also lost Vic, and it’s killing me inside. “My parents thought I should come, so that’s why I’m here.”

“So go home,” Brian says with a sneer.

Perry, who’d been totally focused on the ground, picks his head up. “I think we’re all here because our parents make us come, not because we actually want to be here.”

Brian stretches his legs out and crosses his arms on his chest. “Nobody makes me do shit. Not my parents, not anyone.”

A loud snort comes from Hailey, who’s still at the window. “Yeah, right.”

“You don’t know me,” Brian tells her.

Wendy takes a piece of paper out of her arsenal of supplies. “I have a game for all of us to play.”

“I’m not playing a game,” Hailey mumbles. “Count me out.”

“What kind of game?” Perry asks tentatively.

Wendy shifts in her chair excitedly, even though I’m sure she’s feeling anything but excited with this unenthusiastic crew. “It’s kind of a fill-in-the-blank game.” When nobody answers she continues. “Monika, you can start.” She reads off a piece of paper: “Monika, fill in the blank. When I’m sad I…”

“Like to be alone,” I tell Wendy.

“That’s pathetic,” Brian chimes in.

“No answer is wrong, Brian,” Wendy tells him.

The rest of the time is pretty much the same. I feel bad for Wendy, but she doesn’t seem fazed by the lack of interest from the rest of us.

After the hour is over, I’m about to get up from my chair when someone walks through the door.

I suck in a breath.

It’s Vic, wearing jeans and a T-shirt as if he just came from working at the auto body.

“Hey,” he says, his eyes completely fixed on me.

“Hello. Are you here for the grief group?” Wendy asks.

He looks at the other people in the group. “I guess so.”