Chapter 25
We landed in the national Capitol at night. But seeing the Washington Monument all lit up wasn’t as exciting as I thought it would be. My heart ached. And I hadn’t heard from Lincoln. Not a text, not a call. Nothing.
My roommates and I exited the plane and made our way to baggage claim. Throngs of people flanked us on all sides. I only had my carryon, but Marie brought a full-sized valise. While we waited at the conveyors, Kat ordered us a ride-share.
But I glanced around the airport, and there at our claim carousel was Mikaela. I nearly cried at the sight of her. I ran to her.
“Mik!”
Her eyes grew large. Her painted lips parted in a beautiful smile. “Gabby?” Gorgeous reddish blond hair flew everywhere as she ran to embrace me. “I didn’t even recognize you. You, you, look amazing! What did you do to your hair? And your eyebrows, you’ve plucked them or something.” She touched me like I was a phantom, about to disappear before her eyes.
“I’ve made some changes.”
“We have to video call your brother. He’s not going to believe this. Does he know?”
“I’ve only called him.” He hadn’t seen my transformation.
We walked toward the exit, her arm around me, her phone outstretched before me. “Bryan, look who is here in DC with me!”
“Hi, Gab!”
“What, you don’t notice anything different?” Mikaela poked me.
“She looks like she always looked, although, maybe happier.”
“Get out! She’s totally transformed—makeup, hair, everything. Okay, we gotta get a cab.” She hung up on Bryan and buttoned up her coat.
“Wait, I have to tell my friends I’m leaving with you.”
I ran back to let Marie know I needed some high school friend time, and I’d meet up with them at the hotel.
Once in the back of the cab, Mikaela turned to me. “What’s going on?”
Back in Tucson, I had to buy a winter coat to go to DC, and I wrapped it around me, still cold. All around, the windows were filled with fresh snow, with more on the way. The light blurred in the moisture of the darkened night. In the lull of the cab, I told her about everything, the transformation, the book, Gable, Beau, the competition, classes. I poured out my soul, punctuated with some tears. When I got to Lincoln, I bawled out my eyes.
Mikaela listened patiently, sympathizing with me, grasping my hand, holding me as I sobbed.
“I lied to him. Now he won’t trust me. His words wound me the most. How do I earn back his trust?”
“Just be who you are. He’ll see you had a moment of weakness.”
Ordering takeout, we had dinner at her apartment just the two of us. Her roomies had gone home for winter break. We lounged on her window-seat cushions watching the snowfall from her small apartment. For me, I was a world away from Arizona. And my problems. If only for a minute, I could forget I was Gabby the Goat Girl.
Mikaela brushed my hair away to hug my shoulders. “Remember when you were ashamed to go to school because you smelled like goats?”
I focused on a car, driving through the slush. “Yes. But Dad made me go anyway, even though I was teased. I had goat hairs all over me from feeding the goats before school.”
“Yes.”
“At least you were beautiful and untouchable. No one teased you.”
“You’re wrong.”
“What?” I sat up, facing her, but she still stared out the window. She had never said anything before.
“They teased me as much as they teased you just for being your friend. They would say, Maa, maa, Mikaela.”
“I had no idea.” My heart hurt.
She glanced briefly at me. “I didn’t tell you. I knew you were getting teased. I didn’t want to add any more hurt.”
“But it didn’t wound you.”
“Oh, it did. But I didn’t let it define me. I knew I wouldn’t always be in Honeyvale. They couldn’t peg me in a place. Having a vision of myself made me above their remarks.”
I contemplated her words.
“Oh, it still hurt. But the hurt made me more determined than ever to succeed. And now I’m at Georgetown, living in DC and going places. And they are still in Honeyvale.”
“Not Beau.”
“So the son of a small-town car dealer jerk turned into the son of a large town car dealer jerk. Different place, still a jerk.” Mikaela studied me. “But you, you changed. You had a vision for yourself, and you reached out and took hold of it.”
“I lied to Lincoln.” I studied my hands.
“I know. You told me in the car.”
I sniffed back tears burning through my nose. “He thought we came from money and not a little goat farm.”
“He’s hurt because you lied, not because you came from a goat farm.”
“I don’t know if he’ll forgive me.”
“Of course he’ll forgive you. He’s not an idiot.”
I wiped away a tear. “But he may never trust me again.”
“Maybe.” She rubbed my back.
“I wish my mom was still alive.”
Mikaela sighed. “I know.”
When she took me to the hotel, she hugged me at the door to the lobby, and I promised to text and tell her how it went. “Remember this is who you’ve truly become. You may still be Gabby the Goat Girl, but you’re now a Grade A Goat Girl!”
I laughed until I cried. I blew kisses from the hotel stoop until I could no longer see her cab.
The night of the charity ball, I slipped my cornflower blue silk-and-sequined dress over my head. The roomies chatted excitedly in the main room of the suite. But I bit my lip and shook. What if Lincoln didn’t even come?
Of course he’d come. What a silly thought. But would he talk to me? I gulped and glanced at my reflection. Earlier, we had done each other’s hair, and I had finished applying evening makeup, a darker version of my day wear. I tried to inhale but my dress was too tight.
Marie poked her head in the bathroom, where I studied myself.
“Are you ready? You look amazing.”
“Thank you. I’m starting to get used to it.” I studied my reflection.
“Good. You should. We’re going downstairs. Ms. Reacher just texted. Want us to wait for you?”
“No, go ahead. I’ll be down.” I glanced at my phone. It was seven. The presentation was before dinner, at eight.
The girls left in a flurry of excitement. I was alone in the quiet room, too sick to my stomach to think.
I glanced one last time in the mirror. My hair was tucked into a French twist with little tendrils hanging down at each side of my face. My makeup was perfect, my posture perfect. A Grade A goat.
Then a knock sounded on the door. I thought perhaps one of the girls forgot something and didn’t have her key. I swung it open.
Lincoln stood in the hallway, his tuxedo falling magnificently from his shoulders. He paused to give me a once-over. “You are absolutely stunning, Gabby.”
“You don’t look too bad yourself.”
A tenseness hid behind his smile. “Can I come in?”
He’d come to talk. “Sure.”
This could be good or bad. My stomach dropped, waiting for him to say something. So I acted preemptively. “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression, Lincoln. It’s just you were telling me how you came from money, and I was afraid if you knew the truth about me, that I was Gabby the Goat Girl and raised on a goat farm and did show goats in elementary school, you wouldn’t like me.”
There; I said it. My speech hung between us like my dirty underwear, awkwardly covering everything.
“You didn’t have to lie. I would’ve liked Gabby the Goat Girl as much as Gabby the debutant.”
“I know.” But did I know it at the time? Back then, I was scared.
“You broke my trust.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I was scared you wouldn’t like me if you saw the real me.”
“But I trusted you with my secrets. I wanted you to trust me with yours.”
His words slammed into my chest. “You care that much about me?”
“I want to know everything about you—your worries, your fears, your wants.”
I caught my breath. “And you’re sure you’re okay with dating Gabby the Goat Girl?”
“Of course. As long as you promise me you’ll accept Gabby the Goat Girl for who she is, a beautiful woman.” I blushed deeply.
He bent, kissing me sweetly. His hands warmed my bare arms.
“Shall we go, my lady?” He pointed the way.
“Do you trust me to talk to people about your non-profit?”
“I wouldn’t allow anyone else to do it.” He traced his hands over my arms causing a ripple of shivers through my body. And this time, it wasn’t the cold.
I followed him to the ballroom where the music and lights blared. This was not the same caliber as my little shindig. This was the real McCoy. Live orchestra, catering, the hall was perfectly rich and curated. Lincoln led me to the floor, and we danced to a slow song.
Then he wrapped his arm around my waist and escorted me to an older man. The man turned to him with a smile and stopped the conversation.
Lincoln held my hand. “Father, I’d like you to meet a very special person in my life. This is Gabby VanGunderson. Daniel Patterson, my father.”
The old man squinted to take me in. “I’ve heard a lot about you, young lady. I hear you’ve captured my son’s heart, and any girl who can do that must be a wonderful person.” He winked.
Warming, I tried not to squirm. “Thank you.”
“And I hear you are presenting us a check tonight.”
“Yes.” Ms. Reacher combined the totals to give to the charity.
“A very noble thing.”
“I just like to help people,” I said simply.
“Very apt, very apt.” He studied me then turned to the people surrounding him. “Here, I’d like you meet my son and his girlfriend, Gabby. You’ll hear from her a little later tonight.” He winked at me and then left to find another group, leaving us in their company.
“And what do you do?” one lady with big hair asked. Her lipstick had smeared on her glass which she held in her hand.
“I used to work with goats. Now I study Communication at the University of Arizona.”
“Goats, eh?” An elderly man in his eighties spoke with a thick accent, a drink in his hand. “I used to show goats in my day.”
“You did? What kind of goats did you breed?”
We went back and forth talking about goats as the others sipped and listened in attentively. I thought for sure they’d grow bored at this dull conversation. But it truly intrigued them. They asked me many questions and found the conversation fascinating.
“And what do you do, young man?” Finally the older man turned to Lincoln who had only listened with a great big grin on his face when I told them all about living with goats.
Lincoln managed to find his tongue. “I am running a non-profit to help women and children learn about cooking.”
“That’s very interesting, young man.”
An awkward pause settled upon them. Lincoln had clammed up. His eyes grew large, like a possum caught in the headlights.
“Lincoln believes cooking connects us to our family and heritage and therefore brings more meaning into life.” I squeezed his hand. “Are there any foods that your family cooked when you were a kid?”
The older man paused for a minute. “I remember as a young immigrant, my mother made chakchouka. It connected us to our people back home. She always said we were American now, but I couldn’t help but be proud to have two heritages to partake in.”
“People are culturally linked to their heritage through cooking.” I swayed my hips and hit Lincoln with my shoulder.
“You are right, brilliant young lady.”
“Lincoln is helping these displaced women connect with their heritage, giving them a sense of belonging and self-worth. He is hoping that these women in transition can become more self-sufficient and be able to cook and create on their own.”
“Is that so?” The man’s eyebrows were so fuzzy they nearly overtook his eyes. “You like to cook, young man?”
“My grandmother taught me how when I was young.”
His eyebrows raised. “That sounds like an interesting prospect. I’d like to throw some money on that project, if you don’t mind.”
Lincoln was nearly dumbfounded.
“Come see me, and I’ll set you up. You tell me what you think you’ll need. It’s a worthy cause.”
“Thank you, sir!”
He shook the man’s hand, and they parted ways.
“Do you know who that was?”
“Who?” I glanced over my shoulder.
“He’s a first-generation billionaire. I have so much respect for him. His parents came here with nothing, and he’s one of the richest men on the eastern seaboard.” He hugged me tight. “Gabby, you’re so wonderful! Thank you for helping me.”
“He sincerely likes your projects and is interested.”
“No, he thought you were interesting. You’re the one who asked him to think of a time when he was connected to his food. I never would’ve dreamed of doing that. I just would’ve talked on and on.”
“Well, I learned that from you that night I went to class with you.”
He kissed me on the cheek. Then Ms. Reaper called my name.
It was time.
Sweat pricked at my armpits as the crowd hushed at the MC’s announcement for our club to come forward. Ms. Reaper asked me to come on stage. Marie, Lisa, and Kat followed me up. I had been so busy with Lincoln I hadn’t seen them.
I stepped up the few stairs up to the rostrum. She handed me the giant check to present to Lincoln’s dad.
“I hope you’ll say a few words,” she whispered in my ear.
“But—”
She was gone.
Heat soared through me. Impromptu. Speech. Extemporaneous. It was not in my skill set. Not even with my public speaking class.
The MC introduced our club and Ms. Reaper stood up to the mic. She explained our contest, and what we did to raise money.
“We really owe it to our students. Gabby VanGunderson’s group won the most money with their Winter Ball. Ms. VanGunderson is going to tell us all about it.”
Ms. Reaper stood aside. My hands sweat all over the cardboard check I held in combination with my roommates. I nearly tripped getting behind Marie to reach the microphone. My heart tried to escape through my rib cage. I couldn’t breathe.
I stepped up to the podium. Hundreds of the wealthiest people in the country attended. And they were staring at me. What could I possibly say? Me, Gabby the Goat Girl, who once smelled of goat and didn’t brush hair with any regularity.
But at that moment a clarion call shattered my fears. Money didn’t make someone better than someone else. A goat keeper was just as important as anyone else. What mattered was my heart was in the right place.
I searched for Lincoln in the crowd and found him next to his dad, a huge grin on his face. I smiled too.
“When I first started out in this competition, I wanted to win. Actually, I wanted to beat my ex-boyfriend who was in another group.” There were actually a few good-natured and understanding laughs. Phew! “But there is something about giving, sacrificing, and working hard for the cause of another that purifies us and our motives. When we are serving, we cannot help but become better, to see the world differently to give the best parts of ourselves. What I learned through this experience of raising money for the children in Mexico, is that we have so much to be thankful for, so much to give. We are responsible for using what we are given with generosity, not with selfishness intentions, to win a contest. It’s to find in our hearts true compassion, true love for our fellow man. So with these words, we offer you this check of our sacrifices, not of our money, but of our time, our talents, and all that we’ve learned to give to the children.”
Applause erupted after my speech and I don’t really remember how I got off the stage, but suddenly Lincoln was there, and everything was all right.
* * *
Hand-in-hand,we walked outside, the night sweeping across us, cooling us.
“You did wonderful!” His eyes shone in the darkness. The snow shone brightly in the reflected light. “I couldn’t clap loud enough.”
“Thank you.”
Then he flashed a check. “I am humbled our patron donated so much to help out.” Lincoln pocketed a check for a half a million dollars. “His faith in me is incredible.”
“You are incredible.”
He drew me up beside him, held me; lingering kisses followed. “No, you. Gabby the Goat Girl charmed a first-generation billionaire.”
“With your brilliant idea.”
“You were the one to communicate to them. All the brilliant ideas in the world would fail if no one knew about them.”
I launched a strike at him. “Stop.”
He caught my arm and tugged me closer, whispering near, his warm breath tickling my ear. “To stop me from bathing you in compliments, you must kiss me.”
I obliged and basked in his warm gentle kisses. Gabby the Goat Girl finally blossomed.