I speak.
“Thank you all for coming out here tonight.” Smooth and easy, I think. Now continue. Don’t look at them directly. Don’t make eye contact.
Actually, make eye contact with Levi. But only sometimes.
I shake my hands out by my sides for a second. When the nerves don’t go away, I say, “I’m, um, a tad nervous, so you’ll have to excuse me.”
This earns an honest trickle of laughter. Confidence surges. I go on.
“Typically, Levi is the one to give speeches at his events. You all know Levi, right? He’s super tall—well, to me at least, because I’m really short—and he’s probably the nicest person you’ve ever met. Yeah. Him.” I pause, a blush creeping up my neck and down my arms. “He’s the reason why you’re here. And normally he’d be up here talking about how great and helpful and generous everyone else is. Once, he even stood in front of an audience much like yours and spoke about me. But, tonight, I want to focus on Levi.”
I catch his expression then: the fleeting pain, the embarrassment. And a smidgeon of joy—I saw that, too.
At the risk of becoming giddy, I continue. “The Color Project is a place of hope. When Levi introduced me to TCP back in June, I had no idea that such a place existed. But it was there, in front of me the whole time, and sooner than later I got sucked in. Who doesn’t want to surround themselves with hope? If you don’t want or need hope, in any way, shape, or form, you’re probably doing something wrong. You probably shouldn’t be here, of all places.”
More laughter. I let out my own breathy huff that I hope passes as a chuckle.
“As it turns out, I was looking for hope. I needed it. I craved it. And TCP gave that to me. I got to watch Levi hand freshly-written checks to struggling, single parents so their kids could go to college, to sickly people who couldn’t pay their bills, to practically anyone in need. I was a part of something bigger for the first time, and I’ve met some of the most amazing people in the entire world. Not only that—I’ve come to know myself better than ever before. When I first started volunteering, I got to help plan a wedding for two young people from Prague. That wedding, in a roundabout way, led to the realization that I am passionate about floral design.”
I shift my weight from foot to foot, still nervous, but I’m starting to get the hang of this. “Everything I’ve named so far—that’s all a part of what Levi does. Pretty spectacular, right? I know,” I add, nodding with the audience as there’s another trickling applause. “And he’s only twenty—can you believe that?”
There is a hoot, and a whistle, and a shout. Levi turns in his seat with an amused expression on his face, but soon his eyes are back on me. He’s got his hand by his face, like he’s trying to hide. I smirk. Not tonight, beautiful boy.
“So, that’s what Levi does. Now I want to talk about who he is.”
Quiet again. So quiet.
Then, Levi: “Bee, really—”
I cut him off. “A few months ago, when Levi had already become a part of my family, and vice versa, my father was diagnosed with stage 3C brain cancer. The doctors gave him three months to live, which turned out to be a very accurate prognosis, as my father died only a couple of weeks ago.” I close my eyes, letting the audience’s murmurs dull my pain. “The one person who was there consistently, through it all, was Levi. He visited my father every day he could. He ate with us. He laughed with us. He even shared some moments with me that were the bleakest of my life. He provided a friendship for our entire family that I can say for certain will not die out anytime soon.”
Here, I take a deep breath, my heart pounding. “My parents are by no means poor, but they’re not wealthy, either. And treatments are, as anyone can guess, very expensive. I thought we were going to make do, going to stick it out till the end…until one day I discovered that TCP had been providing for us all along. The bi-monthly checks we were receiving paid for everything, including the funeral. And now, because of Levi, my widowed mother can live the rest of her life debt free. She can provide for us, send us to school, give us a good life.”
Levi stands now, and oh, God, I want to hug him. He puts his hands in his pockets and looks up at me, expectant and yet completely uncertain. I realize with a pang in my gut that we are the only two people standing in the entire room.
I take a deep breath—ohmygosh breathing—and smile.
I say the thing, the one that will change everything.
“My name is Bernice Wescott,” I tell Levi, in front of everyone. He laughs with so much joy and surprise that I’m sure the rest of the audience is confused. But this moment, right now, with our smiles overtaking our faces—this is for us. He knows, without a doubt, that this is an offering. An offering of myself. Hi, my name is Bernice, and I’m in love with you, so you should take me back.
“My life has been changed by The Color Project,” I continue, working to keep myself under control. “I want to make sure that this ripple effect continues, and never dies out. In light of everything that I’ve just told you, I hope you will all think hard about your decision here. Actually,” I amend quickly, “it’s not much of a decision at all. If you have to think twice about where to put your money, you definitely shouldn’t be here.
“Thank you,” I conclude, without flair or any sort of style. Then I hand Elle the microphone and start walking. The stairs seem to wobble under my feet, but I follow them down anyway. That’s when I register the (unbelievably loud) applause. I smile, but I’m not going to stop for them.
I’m only going to stop for Levi, if he wants me.
I step through the side door and onto the open patio, where I catch my breath against the railing that follows the steps down into a garden maze. There’s a bench there, out of the light, and no trees to block my view of the stars. I make my way down to it, still wobbly; I’m breathing like I’ve run a mile.
I take the final step, my hand still clutching the rail. I did it. I really did it.
I’m about to jump with my fist in the air, to whoop loudly into the night, when I hear his voice. “Bee.”
I turn. Seeing him at the top of the stairs makes me turn to Jell-O inside.
“Bernice Aurora Wescott,” he begins, drawing out every syllable, marking every vowel and hitting every consonant. The one thing I’ve been so scared to hear him say and it sounds utterly beautiful on his tongue, like the perfect melody. “Bernice Aurora Wescott, my Delectable Girl, why would you ever think it’s okay to say all those nice things and then just leave?”
Chapter 53
I don’t know what to say to him.
As always, I’m speechless in his presence. This is going to have to change, I think.
“Bee?” he inquires of my silence. “You weren’t really leaving, were you?”