“You can’t pay any more, Ceci. You’ve done enough plus, if you’ve been donating as much as I think you have, then we don’t really know where that money’s going anyway,” Nina said, her angry voice returning. “They’ve been telling us our budget was decreasing for the better part of a year now and really it should have been increasing since you started donating.”
I hummed thoughtfully. “I was actually thinking something more public, or community based. If the public is involved there will be eyes on the shelter and people will be more invested in what is being done with the money.”
“Oh,” they both said.
“And if we can establish it as a big enough event, we may be able to make it annual, securing a constant donation pool to fundraise yearly,” I said. “And if we do it right, it’ll compound and get bigger and bigger each year.”
“I think she’s speaking rich,” Christine whispered.
I elbowed her. “I’m speakinglong term. Whoever the fuck is in charge is not worried about sustaining our place for another year let alone a decade or two. We’ve got to make sure it becomes immovable, and I think I have a few ideas on how to do it.”
I felt electrified as plans began to take shape in my head. It was like the opening of a curtain or a fastening of a latch. These feelings of certainty and belonging coming into place and revealing themselves at the same time. Revealing me.
I was not going to let the shelter go down without a fight. And I realized that, while lately I’d been learning how to physically spar, I’d always known how to fight for the things I cared about. For others, and for myself. The SWWS was no question a part of that now. Seasidewouldstill have a women’s shelter by the end of this.
So help me, we would.
“You look so murderous, Ceci,” Nina pointed out apprehensively.
I blinked, and for the first time I felt my scowl as it loosened on my face. Shaking my head I spat, “I’m getting so sick and fucking tired of people taking my money.”
Curious eyes questioned me, and I just sighed. “C’mon. Since you know who I am now, I can tell you the full story of how Con and I became…us.”
Us. Not friends or besties, butus. because I wasn’t sure the other words were even right for us anymore.
Everything that matters.
For the rest of the night, we sat around my living room sharing stories, brainstorming ideas, laughing, crying a little at our current situation and wolfing down the dinner, dessert, and extra dessert Connor sent over for us.
We all deduced it would be best if they stayed with me for the night and while the girls showered, I messaged Connor all the details he would need to start his search. Thanking him for the food with a promise of a proper thank you of pancakes soon.
“Hey?” Christine asked as we huddled up in my bed well past the latest hours of the night. “How did he know exactly what we all liked for dinner?”
I cracked a smile. Unprompted, Connor had sent over a veggie bowl for Nina, pasta for Christine, and my belated burger and fries for my post-period binge. Going through the trouble of personalizing each meal and getting it exactly right.
Speaking into the darkness around us, I said, “Because he’s my person. And he knows you guys are too.”
And maybe it was time for me to drop the best friend part for good.
Chapter Thirty-seven
CECI
“You’re not gonna like it, Cee.”
The clang of whatever was in the box I was trying to put away, clattered through the stillness of the garage. I had set it down too fast.
Cutting a glance my way, Con reached over and picked it up. Bending in the other direction, he slid it easily into its rightful place on the tall storage shelves along the wall. I was supposed to be handing the boxes to him assembly line style, but the onslaught of bad news was starting to weigh on me.
It was a Saturday night, and we were cleaning out his garage. Why? Because he had two other ones and this third one that he was previously using for storage and at home gym equipment, he was now turning into a boxing room.
For me.
Yup. So much for the fucking rules, huh?
I’d come home to find him clanging around in here, apparently on a mission to do this all himself. In the corner he’d stacked a large boxing bag, floor pads, reflex bag, and other useful but totally unnecessary equipment for the project.
When I caught him with a sheepish look on his face, it had taken some hard pressing to get him to admit that he’d wanted it to be a surprise but lost track of the time. The fact that he was setting up a little boxing gym in his garage for me in the first place was setting me on fire, emotion clouding me from my head to my toes.
