35. Cori
Chapter thirty-five
Cori
D eck and I got ready for the gala at his house.
I’d helped him unpack all his U-Haul boxes and replace them with actual furniture over the past month, including the small vanity I was sitting at in the corner of the bedroom.
Staring at my reflection in the small makeup mirror, I thought I’d done a passable job with my contouring, but no amount of concealer would disguise the worry lines in my face.
Despite Ana, Quincy, and me calling at least two hundred former donors, we hadn’t pre-secured all the funding for tonight.
I had a lot of folks from JBC and TremMark attending, and I hoped they would be generous, but by my calculations, we were still two hundred thousand shy of the commitments we needed.
And that included Jason’s, Brad’s, and Graham’s confirmations that they’d be raising the paddle for twenty-five thousand each.
We had close to two hundred folks coming tonight whose donation amounts I didn’t know ahead of time.
I hoped they’d push us past our target. But that was a long shot.
I’d received a crash course in nonprofit events from Ana over the past few months and learned that a handful of generous patrons primarily achieved fundraising goals, while most attendees gave at a lower level.
Historically, the Center’s gala averaged gifts of two hundred and fifty dollars, so quadrupling that would be a stretch.
Then again, I’d brought a lot of new energy and supporters tonight. Maybe it would be okay?
Deck came out of the bathroom, tugging on his tie.
“Wow,” I said, admiring the snug fit of his dark blue suit. He’d insisted on buying one for the event, the first suit he’d ever owned. Last weekend, he’d gone into Seattle with Emilio to buy it.
Over the past few months, Deck had been doing his best to spend as much time with Cruz as possible, but he’d also been hanging out more with Emilio and Marisol.
It was gratifying to watch the siblings reconnect, to see Deck allow himself to have a closer relationship with them.
I thought of it as him unpacking metaphorical boxes, along with the ones we’d finally gotten rid of in his living room.
After tonight, no matter what happened, our relationship would be “official.” It had been necessary to build it in secret.
We’d needed that space, but I was done hiding.
We weren’t going to announce it or anything.
But I’d be on Deck’s arm, and that would be enough of a signal to everyone we cared about.
“Back atchya,” Deck said, taking in my close-fitting metallic purple dress.
He came up behind me as I applied mascara.
I’d coaxed my hair into loose waves and pulled them back on one side with a sparkly barrette.
He pushed the strands over my shoulder and kissed me delicately on my neck.
“Baby, you are the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. ”
“Thanks, babe,” I said, glancing down shyly. There were still moments when I mentally pinched myself that Deck and I were together.
“I’m going to feed Bastardo so he doesn’t destroy the house while we’re gone… Also, babe ?” He smiled.
“Just trying it out,” I mumbled.
He coaxed me to stand so he could wrap his arms around me from behind. “I like it, mamí ,” he said in a voice so low and sexy my knees wobbled. “Another little reminder that I’m yours for real now.”
I leaned into him, enjoying mamí almost as much as baby . Although he never made baby sound 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 for hopefully 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 professional photographer 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.