Chapter 35
One year later
The Blaire Fair continued to generate foot traffic every month, and the profits from it made it possible to make significant improvements all around town.
The grass is regularly cut in front of the town hall, the main road is now paved, and a sign welcoming people to Blaire has been erected.
In fact, the success of the Blaire Fair helped fix many things around town, including Gavin and Callie’s relationship.
After seeing my continued efforts with the fair long after the media had moved on from it, Callie realized my dedication to the event, like my apology, was sincere.
Gavin and Callie have made up and are taking things slow.
She plans to attend Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo in the fall, pursuing a double major in agricultural science and engineering.
Gavin now attends a culinary school in Santa Barbara and commutes from Blaire, which allows him to work part-time at the cafe on the weekends and help out on the farm, growing the things he feels inspired by in the garden Dad dedicated to him.
And Brennan is back in NOVA, but we’re all on a group chat that keeps us connected.
He told us before his own parents when he got his acceptance to Caltech, and he can’t wait to be back in California in the fall to get “the band back together again”—his words.
Mom’s kimchi also got a lot of attention after the fair, and not just in Blaire.
With interest from all sorts of investors, Dad tried to get involved and encouraged her to expand her business globally.
But Mom has decided to keep the business small and local, and Dad has respected her wishes.
Now they work together on the farm in Blaire and live a quiet but happy life.
I’ve been living with them this past year, but I am also off to greener pastures.
While I continued to work with the town on improving the Blaire Fair, I finished my senior year online.
By the time I got my diploma, I knew I had a knack for business, even more than I did before, which helped me to see that I had so much more to learn.
Long story short, I ended up applying to colleges.
More surprising still is that I got accepted to my top choice.
A full year after being shuttled off to Blaire in a run-down car, I am now back in LA, at the place I least expected: the University of Southern California.
The dean’s office of the business school at USC is the embodiment of academia.
The hallways are decorated with plaques, cases of trophies, and so much oak furniture that it screams academic institution.
When I applied I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be in LA, at the school Gavin was at before.
But I had to think about my future and what was best for me.
And if I want to pursue business, then USC—one of the finest in that department—is the place to be.
I do, however, have one hang-up about it.
So before I accept the offer, I want to make sure I clear the air.
“Ms. Ok, Dean Rutherford will see you now.” A lady in a sleek bun calls me behind the partition and leads me to an office.
“Ms. Ok. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Dean Rutherford holds out his hand to shake mine.
“Nice to meet you too,” I say, shaking his hand, then sitting in the chair across from him.
“I see that you’ve been accepted but you haven’t yet made up your mind. So what can I do to help change that?”
“It’s about the terms of my acceptance. I want to confirm that I’m not getting any preferential treatment. I want to know I got in based on my own merit.”
“Preferential treatment?” He frowns, then begins to scan his computer screen.
“My family connections,” I clarify.
“I’m sorry, I don’t see any indication about that here. We don’t have information that isn’t disclosed by the applicants.”
“You don’t know who I am?” I ask, not because I think everyone knows who I am. (Except, if I’m being honest, I kinda, sorta do.) It’s Ok! is a global company. Even if my dad’s not the owner of it anymore, it’s still a big deal.
“I’m afraid I don’t.” He seems as confused by my question as he is uncertain about who I am.
“If I may,” he starts after a short pause, “I reviewed your application, and based on the admissions team’s recommendation, I agreed with their assessment.
Creating an organized event to increase tourism and fundraising in a remote town as a way to compensate for the underfunded budget needed to improve the quality of life for the town’s inhabitants is no small feat.
Your critical thinking skills are sharp, your ideas are innovative, and your philanthropic endeavors are commendable.
The fact of the matter is, we think there’s a bright future for you here. ”
Dean Rutherford isn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know about myself.
But for so long, my signature catchphrase and lifestyle brand made it impossible for anyone to see the potential inside me.
By choosing to be the version the public wanted, I kept my real self hidden.
Hearing someone finally acknowledge the qualities I value in myself is making my tear ducts overreact.
“Thank you for your explanation, Dean Rutherford,” I say, blinking rapidly. “That helped me a lot.”
“I’m glad it did.” He smiles proudly.
On my way out of his office, I pause and turn back to Dean Rutherford. “If you happen to google me after this,” I say, “please don’t.”
After the meeting I hop into my diesel-run car and drive the familiar route back home with the windows rolled down.
The air feels full of hope, like anything is possible.
There’s freedom in not being tied to the public for their approval.
I no longer have to keep my guard up, portraying an image.
I can be who I want to be. I can get my mail in my pj’s, go to the store without makeup, and not worry that a tabloid is going to question whether I’m okay or not.
But without the public support to carry my reputation, the pressure is now on me to find the success I’m seeking.
I know I have my work cut out for me. And I know it’s going to be harder than it is easier.
But I’m more deeply rooted in relationships that will help keep me grounded to weather the challenges ahead.
After parking my car in the driveway, I open the door to our house.
“You’re just in time,” Gavin says, peering at me from the kitchen. He has oven mitts on and is pulling something out of the oven that is, no doubt, innovative and delectable.
I wash my hands and sit at the kitchen table. Gavin brings a dish and sets it on a potholder in the middle of the table. He sits down just as Mom and Dad join us.
“You’re back,” Dad says, wiping his brow with a handkerchief and stuffing it into the back of his jeans. After a year of living here, he’s finally adapted to a more suitable choice of wardrobe.
“You’ve been gone all day. You must be hungry,” Mom says, taking off her wide-brimmed hat and placing it on a hook.
“Yeah, I’m famished,” I say.
“Music to my ears.” Gavin’s smile stretches wide. We wait for Mom and Dad to join us at the table before serving dinner.
“How was your meeting?” Mom asks just before we’re about to dig in.
“It was good,” I say.
“Does that mean you made a decision?” Dad peers curiously at me.
I smile, close-mouthed, not giving them an answer right away.
Immediately, the three of them ask me a barrage of questions, and I tell them all about it over dinner.