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STRING LIGHTS HANG FROM the ceiling of the conference room, shaped like vibrant orbs. Even though it's summer in Godfrey and an inferno out there, their shimmering glow reminds me of Christmas. It brings me to a different time, when it was cold and I was a kid on the streets who thought I was so much older than I was. The nostalgia is like a bitter tonic on my tongue.
I swallow it down, hoping to wash it away.
My black dress sticks to my thighs, which rub together as I make my way through the conference room behind Nora. I hated the cold back then, but right now, I wish they'd turn the damn AC on. The event hasn't started yet; it's just us organizers here now, getting set up, but Godfrey's upper echelon won't like the hot mugginess in here.
I'll give it to them—it's not the typical "ball" I'd imagined. We're at the top of a high-rise hotel, first of all, with open access to the balconies. Godfrey's skyline through the window shines silver in the glow of the night sky, making us feel high above the world. And instead of round tables everywhere and only one stage, there are several stages set up around the giant room, and buffet tables throughout. The type of event that people are going to have to use their legs for. It's more casual and less showy. I should've trusted Nora's gut right off the bat; she hasn't let me down yet.
"Aaand here's us," she sings with a hop, gesturing to a small stage with a display board set up. It shows concepts of the building we're planning on putting up—a massive low-rise apartment complex for lower income families. I swallow the nerves that rise at just seeing the sketches the architect came up with.
Yeah, it's not going to be cheap.
"Looks great," I tell Nora. "Hopefully people will come."
"Oh, they will," she says. "I mean, have you seen these graphics? Pretty impressive. They'll work like a charm."
They better. I think about the sum in my bank account, getting lower every day. The only thing I ever really bought myself with my inheritance was that house. It was necessary—no, fucking imperative—that I had one. Even if I live in it alone, I needed to know that I had my own nest to go back to, that I could feel safe there. I went through a couple apartment rentals after I turned eighteen and got my inheritance, but when I was twenty, I couldn't stop romanticizing the idea of my own damn home with my own damn kitchen and my own damn barstools and granite countertops, like what the Wexler's had.
It took a long time to adjust after I'd got it. Almost like I was an intruder in my own house. But eventually, I settled, and now it's very much mine.
And it's not cheap either.
All things considered, I'm still sort of broke. My dad's company doesn't pull in what it used to and one-hundred percent of The Safe Way Home's proceeds go toward running the charity. Not a penny to me. I regularly sink my own money into it when we're short, something that didn't seem like a big deal a while ago, but is getting real the lower my bank account gets.
