When he picked up, I cleared my throat. “Hey. Could I buy you a coffee?”
25
I shuffled out of class,balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of notebooks in the other. I spotted Dr. Andersen—Mr. Five Hours Early himself—waiting near the door with his usual, slightly over-eager grin.
Ever since he’d written my recommendation letter, he’d become something of a guardian angel, though one who believed the key to life was “always arriving ten minutes early.”
Somehow, he’d taken it upon himself to guide me through my entire Tulane journey, urging me toward the best study spots, quietly checking in after classes, and constantly reminding me of campus resources.
I’d spent years wearing my independence like a badge, proud of handling things on my own. But when I finally let myself ask for help, Dr. Andersen was there without hesitation. And then, as if I’d somehow activated a support network I didn’t know I had, others started stepping in too.
There was Larry from the DMV. I hadn’t seen him in years. Not since that time I helped him figure out how to finally renew his fishing license without accidentally canceling his driver’s license (don’t ask). Somehow, he heard through the grapevine that I needed a place to stay, and the next thing I knew, he was renting me an old studio for practically nothing. It came with a suspiciously creaky floorboard, but hey, it was home, and it was near Tulane.
And then there was Mrs. Patel from the grocery store. I casually mentioned that I was looking for a car, and within a day, she’d called up a distant cousin and worked her magic, scoring me a deal on a slightly rattly but reliable Camry. All I had to do was agree to drop by for tea occasionally and listen to her latest theories about grocery store price conspiracies.
As I headed down the familiar path to my apartment, sorting through the stack of mail I’d just picked up, a glossy, oversized envelope slipped out. It was heavier than the rest, and I stopped mid-step, holding it up in the fading light. Embossed in silver were the wordsBright Futures Foundation Gala.My heart stuttered.
I frowned, flipping it over to see if it was some kind of mistake. Bright Futures. The charity I’d been so passionate about—the one I’d tried to convince Topher to support. But who would be inviting me to their big, high-end gala?
I looked around, half-expecting someone to jump out and yellsurprise!as if this were all some elaborate prank. But it was just me, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, clutching this invitation as if it might disappear. I couldn’t help but wonder: why me?
Peeling open the envelope, I pulled out a thick card. It had all the details laid out in elegant script. There would be a cocktail hour, a three-course dinner, and a lineup of some of the city’s top philanthropists. There was even a note saying it was black tie, which might as well have been code foryou don’t belong here.
I shook my head, bewildered. Who would’ve thought to send me this?
As I turned the invitation over in my hands, something on the back caught my eye. Scrawled in barely legible ink were a few words:I hope to see you here. Topher
I felt my breath hitch, recognizing the familiar, messy handwriting. Topher. He’d sent this.He wanted me there.I swallowed, emotions swirling through me as I traced the words with my thumb.
My curiosity flaring, I pulled out my phone and looked up Bright Futures Foundation. The first article that popped up took me by surprise. It was recent, reporting that the foundation had just received a massive, anonymous donation. A donation so large that it had completely transformed what was possible for the charity. The article mentioned plans for new youth programs, expanded scholarship funds, and resources for families in crisis, all of which were made possible thanks to this mysterious donor. It was clear that the foundation was on the verge of becoming something extraordinary.
As I scrolled down the article, a line caught my eye, something that stopped me cold.
“The anonymous donor shared a personal motivation for the gift, quoting a conversation that shaped his perspective: ‘Someone important to me once told me that when the bills pile up, it can feel like your dreams are slipping away. That’s why I did this.’”
My heart squeezed, feeling that familiar sting of bittersweet memories. Topher had listened. I could still remember that day, telling him all the things I’d kept bottled up, not knowing how close he’d been listening.
A small, nervous smile spread across my face. He’d poured his resources into something I cared about deeply, maybe more than he could’ve guessed. He hadn’t just listened. He’d acted.
My pulse quickened as I looked down at the invitation again, his handwritten note lifting my spirits to a place I’d forgotten.I hope to see you here.It was just a few simple words, yet they had the power to pull me in a thousand directions at once.
Part of me wanted to tuck the invitation away, bury it at the bottom of a drawer, pretend I’d never seen it. The thought of seeing Topher again—of risking all those feelings I’d worked so hard to push down—was terrifying. What if he’d moved on completely? What if I showed up, and it meant nothing to him?
But then my eyes went back to the article about the donation to Bright Futures. He’d listened, taken my words, and turned them into something tangible. All those conversations we’d had, the fears I’d let slip, he’d heard every one of them. And he’d acted on them in a way that left me feeling both touched and seen.
I held the invitation a little tighter, my heart battling with my head.
The easy thing would be to stay home. There was safety in keeping my distance.
But I’d spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, afraid to be vulnerable, always trying to protect myself from hurt. If I didn’t take this chance, if I didn’t let myself believe, I’d be doing exactly what I’d done for so long: closing myself off, choosing the easy way out.
This time was different. I’d grown. I’d learned how to ask for help, how to accept it. I’d taken steps toward a new life, made it on my own when I’d thought I couldn’t. And maybe this was the final step. I needed to show up, even if it meant risking the pain all over again.
I took a deep breath. As the tremor of fear started to fade, something else took its place: determination. I wasn’t the same person I’d been when I met Topher. This wasn’t about me proving something to him. This was about me proving something to myself: that I was brave enough to show up, that I could open myself to possibility, to love, without fear of what might happen.
I would go. I’d face the unknown, show up in that ballroom, and let him see the person I’d become. This was my grand gesture. I chose to believe, to hope, and to be vulnerable. I didn’t know what would happen, but I knew I had to try.
* * *
