“You know, Grace,” I said, standing up and making my way down to join her, “your compassion is one of the things I love most about you.”
She smiled. “Well, excuse me if I don’t want your sister blowing onto my salad. Now hurry. The car is coming to pick us up in forty-five minutes. Go hop in the shower. We don’t want Nikki coming with us.”
* * *
The ribbon extendedacross two posts in front of the entrance to the newly renovated apartment complex. Once a run-down eyesore a few blocks from Camden Place, this was its sister complex, set to house foster kids who’d aged out of the system. The three buildings formed a U-shape and opened out into a large interior green space where we were gathered today. And we’d do it again in about a year’s time when another complex, currently under construction, opened down the street. Once completed, the three complexes would serve upwards of a thousand displaced and aged-out foster kids, offering them the support they needed to rise from the ashes of a life that had never been their choosing.
Although I’d donated to the cause, it wasn’t my victory we’d come to celebrate. It was Michelle’s. She’d been working tirelessly with community leaders and other volunteers to raise money for the renovations, her son being one of the project’s biggest donors. But what was special about this place for me was that it had been inspired by my struggles in the system. This project had begun six years ago, not long after my disappearance. Her concern for me had prompted Michelle to spearhead the efforts that eventually led to this ribbon-cutting ceremony.
Grace beamed up at me with that freshness I’d always loved. She looked stunning in her light-yellow gown, her hair curled and swept back on one side with a sparkly clip. She was radiant. So polished and perfect. I’d once thought I wasn’t worthy of her, but she’d made me. She’d filled my broken shell full and made me worthy.
I bent down and whispered in her ear, “This is all because of you.”
“Me?” She laughed. “My monetary contribution might’ve bought that tree over there.”
“This is more than donations, Grace. You were the spark that started this whole thing. If you hadn’t stopped and talked to me on the street that night, hadn’t tried to save me, hadn’t planted the seed in your mother to start her music program for foster kids, none of us would be standing here today.”
“Let’s be honest. Altruism had nothing to do with it. I was a teenage girl; you were hot. And then there was the towel hut. End of story.”
I shook my head, smiling. “Maybe don’t share your version of events with the donors at dinner.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m going to be beating all those rich ladies off you tonight.” An idea came to her in that moment. She grabbed my face, placing a lipstick kiss to my cheek. “There, now you’re mine.”
“I’ve always been yours.”
Quinn groaned. “You two are irritating the shit out of me. And I swear to god, I better never know what happened in that towel hut.”
I looked down the line of McKallisters and their significant others who’d come to support Michelle in her worthy cause. Every member of Sketch Monsters was also here, as well as Tucker and Bodhi Beckett and RJ Contreras, former members of the boy band AnyDayNow that he’d managed before us. The star power had come out in force tonight, with one notable exception. But based on the cheers and screams coming from out on the street, he’d just arrived.
Jake and Casey walked across the grass, managing to drop the jaws of even the most seasoned of millionaire donors. His fame brought an authenticity to the proceedings, a reason to pull out the checkbook and keep on giving. As he approached our lineup, he dropped Casey’s hand and wrapped his arms around me, slapping a hug onto my back.
“You sure know how to bring it on,” he said, the inside joke meant for my ears only.
He moved on from me, slipping into our line beside Scott and Michelle before bending down and kissing his mother on the cheek.
“Proud of you, Mom,” I heard him whisper.
The mayor stepped forward and said a few words about the project before instructing those of us with scissors to step up to the ribbon, which was pretty much anyone who was famous or had been a major donor. Michelle stood on one side of me, Jake on the other. We cut the ribbon, allowing the wrap over the sign to fall away, revealing the name of the building complex that would support former foster kids like me for years to come.
The Phoenix.
* * *
“Are we there yet?”Grace asked for the hundredth time.
“No. Almost.”
“You said that the last time,” she protested.
“I know, but then we got stuck in traffic. Now we are almost there for real.”
She propped open one eye. “I think maybe you’re trying to be romantic, but you’re being the opposite. Like, I actually want to hurt you.”
“I know.” I laughed. “Thank you for your restraint. Now close your eyes.”
But instead of obeying, her other eye joined the mutiny, and she used them both to glare at me. “If there isn’t a room with puppies or a wading pool full of skin care products, then you will have failed to impress me.”
“We’ll see about that,” I said, reaching over and closing her eyes myself. “The driver is pulling in now. Keep them shut.”
