I leaned into him, enjoyingmamíalmost as much asbaby. Although he never madebabysound quite so dirty.
My diamond studs glittered as I secured the posts behind my earlobes. “Are we picking Cruz up?” I asked hesitantly.
“He said he’d get there on his own.” I knew that was code forhopefully he’s coming,but I didn’t push.
When we arrived at the Center, I made a mental note to give Ana a massive high five. When she’d floated the idea of moving the event from the waterfront hotel where it had been held the previous few years to the Center itself, both Quincy and I were skeptical. But with so many new donors coming, Ana wanted to make sure they got the most authentic Hope Center experience possible.
Transforming the Center into a welcoming and elegant space, hosting the kind of event that made folks want to part with thousands of dollars, was a serious undertaking. But from the moment I walked into the atrium, I saw Ana’s vision.
The furniture had been rearranged to accommodate the rolled black velvet carpet that stretched from the front desk to the gym entrance. Along the way, easels with posterboard-sized collages of the kids welcomed guests. Ahead of the entrance to the gym, a selfie spot with the Center’s logo and a massive balloon arch invited attendees to stop and take a picture. A professionalphotographer captured the guests as they arrived, and she would also record the event. The atrium smelled of the appetizers set up in the gym for the pre-program cocktail hour, and the lobby’s usual faint aroma of day-old lunch boxes, feet, and Axe body spray was absent.
The gym itself looked completely different. We’d hired an A/V company to set up a stage and bring in high black curtains to conceal three of the walls. Hundreds of examples of kid art covered the fourth wall, including a gorgeous mural Reign designed for the event. Reign had also drawn artwork for the programs that sat at each seat. We’d rented tables, chairs, and shimmery pearl-colored tablecloths. A local florist, a Center alumnus, donated centerpieces. It barely looked like a gym at all. The only thing we couldn’t hide were the two non-retractable basketball hoops. But those had been filled with balloons, and there was something folksy and endearing about that. There was also no escaping that the guests’ shiny shoes and gowns were scraping against a weathered basketball court. Chuck and I had debated laying down rolled vinyl to protect the wood, but Deck reminded us that gym floor refinishing was the last thing on his project list, so we didn’t need to worry about spiky high heels.
The tables were set up as ten-tops or eight-tops. Before dinner began, I walked around and thanked everyone I saw from JBC and TremMark. I had stopped thinking of them as being part of my “old” life. It was just my life, and I was doing this now. If anyone thought that meant I’d taken a step back in my career, I honestly didn’t care.
Jason and Brad would still be around, too. Now that they were part of a more traditional corporate company, they had admitted that the culture there felt a little stifling. Over the past few weeks, we’d laid the groundwork for establishing a volunteer program at the Center to teach coding and design to interested kids, while also addressing the Center’s online presence issues.The plans were a win-win, providing Jason and Brad with a creative outlet, offering great opportunities for youth, and upgrading the Center’s website and social media platforms.
A small silent auction was set up on long tables on one side of the room, but most of the fundraising would be done during a “raise your paddle” appeal, where guests would be asked to commit to a monetary gift. During the dinner portion, a series of speakers and video presentations were scheduled to entice the audience to give.
I made it a point to find and thank everyone who had already agreed to raise their paddle for more than five figures, including Graham, who sat at a table with a group of his friends. I panicked slightly when he introduced me as “the one who got away,” then clocked his wink as he continued, “from TremMark.” I chuckled. He really was a good guy.
The emcee came to the mic to announce that dinner would be served soon. The guests began moving to their assigned tables. I hurried to say a quick hello to Britta and Marcus, pleased to see their table full. Most of the people they’d invited were business associates, but Britta introduced one man as Roger, their “solar panel installer extraordinaire.”
“That’s commitment, coming to a fundraising dinner for a client,” I said to him.
“They’re more than clients,” Roger replied jovially.
“It’s true. Roger has been on this project so long, we’re basically family,” Britta agreed.
“Yes,” Marcus added dryly. “He is now the equivalent of that distant cousin you only see for three hours once a year on Christmas, but who still manages to break the Lego castle you spent six months building.”
“That is…oddly specific.”
“Roger is oddly specific.”
I looked over at the man in question, who merely shrugged and grinned at me. “Seems like a great place,” he said. “Glad to be here.”
My eight-top consisted of me, Deck, Marisol, their parents, Emilio, Juan, and the empty seat we’d reserved for Cruz, who still hadn’t arrived.
The first part of the program ran smoothly. Videos highlighted the Center’s programs, and two alumni spoke, along with a current parent. I hoped the number of people dabbing at their eyes boded well for the paddle raise.
Because we were serving alcohol, we’d decided not to have kids at the gala. The only exceptions to the rule were Jayden and Reign. The teens sat at the table next to us with a lovely woman Deck introduced me to as Jayden’s mother, Gloria, plus Rosa, Ana, Quincy, and several of the Center’s board members. At one point, the emcee asked Reign to stand and be recognized for the artwork they’d provided for the event, and then he acknowledged Reign, Jayden, Deck, and J&D Construction for the building repairs.
Deck blushed profusely as he stood and waved at the crowd. I choked up noticing Michael and María staring teary-eyed at their son. Emilio gave him a thumbs-up before turning it into a middle finger salute, which Deck and Marisol laughed at.
Just as Deck sat back down, Cruz snuck in from the back, finding his place at the table and muttering, “Sorry I’m late.”
He didn’t offer an explanation, and Deck didn’t demand one. He clapped Cruz on the back with a simple, “Glad you could make it.”
Dragonflies did gymnastics in my stomach when we reached the part of the program where the president of the board of directors would ask everyone to donate. I gritted my teeth as my knees bounced beneath the table, vibrating in anticipation as hemade his way to the stage. Deck slipped his clammy hand over mine.
As the board president walked to the podium, a stomping noise behind me caught my attention. Turning in my chair, I noticed a man striding purposely toward our area of the gym. Our tables were on the far side of the room as we’d reserved the prime tables in front of the stage for major donors, so he wasn’t drawing too much attention. But by the look on Rosa’s and Marisol’s faces, I wondered if there was about to be a problem.
The man’s eyes settled on Rosa’s table.
“Ricardo!” the man whisper-shouted. “I told you not to come tonight!”
Deck leaned into my ear. “Reign’s dad?”
