“He’s a snack.”
“Oh my God, Gran.”
“He is.I’m saying that right, aren’t I?He’s a snack.”
“I don’t know.”
“What a snack.Is that it?”
“Okay,” I say, “thank you for helping.You can go to bed now.”
She laughs as she runs her fingers through my hair again, and she takes her seltzer to her room.
After that, it gets easier.I steal Gran’s idea—well, I guess it’s her friend Judy’s idea.A purple party sounds, well, kind of gay.But maybe that’s a good thing, since we need to do outreach to the LGBTQ community too.At first, I can handle the logistics on my own—calling the Sigma Sigma house to find out about a space, making a list of a few local bands, even coming up with a few carnival-style games that we could have at the informational booths.People like games, and we do that with some of our community policing events.
But some things, I have to ask Gray, and somehow, the texting starts to turn into a conversation.
Do we have a budget for this event?
Sigma Sigma said they’d cover it up to a reasonable amount.
I was thinking a U-shape layout with the stage at one end.
What stage?
I can’t help myself.I text back,Don’t worry about it, and I catch myself grinning.
He sends me the turd emoji.
Do you think purple lights would be okay?I ask.Or would that be triggering for some people?
Why are we having purple lights?
I need some volunteers who feel comfortable talking to people.
I’ll send you a list of names.Do you like burritos?
We’re not doing food at the party,I say.What about artwork?
What artwork?
Do we have any art done by survivors?
I’ll have to ask Robin.
Back and forth like that.Sometimes the gaps are longer than others, but nevertoolong.And it actually feels like this thing is coming together.I’m composing a message about renting extra tables if Sigma Sigma doesn’t have enough when there’s a knock.
Still typing out my question, I make my way to answer the door.
“Who is it?”Gran calls.
“Why aren’t you asleep yet?”And then I open the door.
Gray’s standing there.He’s still in his workout clothes, although his hair has dried, and it’s stuck in a few places to his forehead.He shows me a takeout bag.“What’s up, buttercup?”
From the back of the house, Gran’s voice floats out to us, “I’m in love!”
Gray shoots his eyebrows.
