The whole place is coming together like a beautiful dream. Lights are strung. Tables are set up by the back door. Tom is helping unfold chairs and place them in a line. It’s really nice to see him focusing on something that makes him happy. (Read: Anything that’s not Andrea.) He smiles as Elle attempts to open a chair that doesn’t want to budge. She curses loudly and colorfully, eliciting a gasp from the corner of the backyard.
Suddenly there’s Albert, practically leaping across the grass, pulling glitter from his pockets and tossing it into the air over Elle’s head.
She sputters, waving her hands around. “Aaaalllllbbeeerrrt!”
Tom gapes. “What the hell?” Then Albert scampers off, and Tom’s laughing, taking the chair from Elle. He yanks it open.
Elle sputters again and blinks hard. “Thanks.”
“Yeah,” he says.
I roll my eyes and set the three vases on the closest table. My mom and Suzie are there, wrapping silverware in napkins. My mom kisses my cheek.
“Just set them on the front porch,” Suzie says, giving me a quick hug before bustling away. “I’ll bring them out back. I know you need to go. And you can change here, too, if you need to.”
After a few trips back and forth, I set the last of the flower-related items on the front porch, grab my dress and makeup bag and shoes and jewelry, and dash inside. I find the bathroom empty. (Thankfully.) I lock myself inside.
Take a deep breath.
And another.
You’re late, I tell myself. Hurry, Bee!
But I just stand there, staring at my red face, puffy with dehydration, and my heaving chest.
I realize, a little too late, that I am terrified about the fundraiser.
Terrified I’ll make a fool out of myself in front of all these wealthy, refined men and women who are willing to drop thousands of dollars on a painting.
Terrified to wear this pretty dress in front of a pretty boy. (My pretty boy.) Terrified my feelings will take a swan dive off a cliff without my permission.
What do I know about these things?
So I call Gretchen. (Obviously.) She answers so fast I wonder if she’s been waiting by the phone. “Dude, you better not be calling me from the fundraiser.”
“I’m not,” I say. And, of course, I start to cry.
“What’s wrong?” Gretchen’s voice is instantly soft. “Bee?”
“I’m freaking out, okay?” I sniffle. “It’s ridiculous, I know it is, but I’m totally panicking. I’ve never done anything like this before, and the little sleep I got last night was filled with terrible dreams about the wedding failing, and I’m so nervous I’m going to trip or say something stupid. Levi is in charge of these things, people are going to be around him constantly, and I have nowhere else to be, so I’ll be with him, too.” I’m not making sense, but Gretchen doesn’t seem to mind. She lets me talk, as if I’m giving a grand, important speech, rather than sniffling through a half-coherent rant. “He told me last night he thinks this green dress will look beautiful on me and I don’t know what to think about that.”
Gretchen sighs. “Bee, you have to keep moving. This is vital. Breathe. Drink water. Stop thinking about him like that. Think about the fundraiser and the amazing things you’ve done to get everyone to the wedding.”
I sigh, painfully heavy. It wavers. It overwhelms. And then it happens: The stress glides out of me on that sigh.
Not the fear, though. The fear is still there, trapped inside my heart. (I really hope it decides to make an exit soon.) “Okay,” I say, wiping tears away. Now my face is even redder. “Can I keep you on the phone?”
“Duh.” Gretchen yawns. “Don’t know why I’m tired right now, but this phone call will help me stay awake while I wait for my mom to pick me up.”
“Talk about work,” I say. “Distract me. I need it.”
So she does. I laugh at her stories of her coworkers as I pull my dress over my head. I powder my face, put on blue eye shadow and pink blush. I adjust my glasses, wipe off the excess makeup dust, and start on my hair. Gretchen’s voice soothes me—even though I eventually lose track of her story—and I have no more trace of tears. I can do this. It doesn’t change my fears, but I can forget them, at least for now.
Miraculously, I’m only fifteen minutes late to the event.
Everyone is already inside the auditorium, taking their seats and whispering. I flash my invitation and rush in, but there are absolutely no seats left, so I follow the usher’s directions to the back. There are a few people there already, frowning at me as I stand in front of them. At least I’m short and they don’t have to strain to see over my head.
Before I can even set my purse down, Levi is on stage, tall as ever, hair hastily brushed back so it doesn’t flop onto his forehead. He’s wearing a gray suit, one that is obviously very expensive and tailored to fit him perfectly. I blink. Hard. Gretchen told me to control it, to not let my stupid feelings get in the way, but I absolutely cannot ignore how handsome he is. That suit was made for the gods, and yet here he is, just a regular boy from Escondido, pulling it off like a pro.
He’s magnificent.
At first I don’t hear a single word he says. (It’s the aforementioned magnificence, clouding my vision.) But then (with my eyes closed so I can focus) I hear about his mission and his goals, about TCP’s current clients. He lists off everything he loves about his volunteers. He names them all, thanking each one individually.
But then…he starts talking about me.
Oh no. Absolutely not, Levi.
“I met a girl a few weeks ago, friend of a friend sort of thing,” he begins, “and I introduced her to The Color Project. She seemed to have an interest, and I wanted to include her. I was pretty sure she would have great ideas, but in the end, she exceeded my expectations. She saved me when I thought I was going to have to say no to a couple who really just wanted to get married.
“But this girl…she didn’t take no for an answer. She made that wedding happen. Tonight, Ivanka and Augustin are getting married, with their entire family here from Prague to celebrate with them. All because Bee, our heroine, gave up the last two weeks of her life to plan a wedding for a couple who couldn’t. That’s the spirit of The Color Project—that’s why you’re all here today.”
He thanks the audience, stepping off the stage, and I’m crying (for the SECOND TIME TODAY). The lights go up, people are moving, but I can barely see through my tears. I wipe them away as best as I can and let the crowd take me.
The main room in the building is covered in art pieces, placed on the walls and on easels. People flock to them, pointing and talking and writing on the auction papers hanging beside each frame. I’m curious to see more, and also to eat (I don’t remember eating today), but more than anything I need to find Levi.
He finds me first. He calls my name, his voice almost lost in the crowd, but I hear it. (Oh, I hear it.) I turn, bumping into someone, my legs threatening to twist into a pretzel and tip me backward. Levi grabs my arm, smiling, eyes alight, and tugs me into a hug. “You okay?” he asks, somewhat alarmed when he sees my face.