Page 112 of Dropping the Ball

Kaitlyn

The second the Threadworkboard votes unanimously to approve Marigold Austin, the madness begins. No phone is left unrung, no contact left uncontacted, and no friend or acquaintance considered too unconnected to hit up for ideas.

The donations pour in, and some come from the most surprising places. Sami offers up the opportunity to sing live with her and Pixie Luna the night of the gala, the winner getting to perform an Ella Fitzgerald classic with them. “Trust me,” she says, “there’s a frustrated singer out there who will cough up big bucks to take their shot in front of some of the industry execs in the crowd.”

Madison’s former boss, the owner of the nightclub where she worked, has a soft spot for her, and he and his wife offer to host a couple at their Norwegian fishing cottage, which happens to come with a view of the aurora borealis over the Norwegian Sea.

Micah hits up his uncle to donate a Formula One experience for the next American Grand Prix, with full access to the Croft team garage, drivers, and race engineers. Mom calls to complain about this one because Dad plans to bid on it, which means it’sa much bigger deal than I grasped. Mom’s objection is that it’s “unbearably loud.”

Mom’s antiques friend comes through with the castle panels plus an offer to take a winning bidder on an antiques excursion through Spain. Mom says not to be too impressed. “She’ll make a nice commission on whatever the winner buys on that trip.”

We end up with a Patek Philippe watch donated by an actor from Austin who was recently named their spokesperson. A poker night with the UT head coaching staff. A round of golf with Jordan Spieth.

And then there is me. I go looking for redemption and the donation I most want to land: I convince Drake Braverman to take one more meeting with me.

This time we meet at the warehouse. I reintroduce him to Micah, let him take in the full impact of Micah’s installation, and then I explain the vision for Marigold Austin.

When Drake leaves, he’s committed to donating a Ford Mustang Shelby GT500, which I know—because I like cars—will be snapped up by a parent sending a kid to UT in the fall. Especially when we reveal that the leather interior of the white car is embossed with a gorgeous UT logo.

In the midst of it all, I spend every free second I have with Micah, and since there are few of those, I spend work time with him too. I use the supervisor loft as an office when he’s onsite at the warehouse. Other times, we’re at his woodshop while he works on a piece. He’s made a nook for me, creating desk space and bringing in a chaise so I can curl up to study.

It’s not enough to satisfy either of us, but we’re both satisfied that we’re spending all the time we can together. I know it won’t always be this way, but it feels like it as we charge through the first half of December, trying to secure the additional donations we’ll need to open Marigold Austin without dipping into the funds for the Marigold Dhaka expansion. Aisha is holding ourprint spot for the gala programs until the last possible minute, but the printer will need our final auction booklet by the sixteenth to complete it by New Year’s.

Maheen’s documents clear two weeks after Thanksgiving, and when she arrives in Austin, Aleina is so thoroughly enmeshed in the Perez household that she insists they can’t complete the dresses without the help of Lidia and Isa. Maheen, after summoning me for a fitting, agrees. I wish I could be there for Mom and Madi’s final fittings, but there’s no time.

My biggest fear—that Madison will have to give up time with Harper—doesn’t materialize. She promises she’s found a good work/life balance, but it’s not until I call Oliver to get a true read on the situation that I believe it.

“Trust me.” He laughs. “We’re all much happier when Madi has a few hours of work to keep her busy. It’s the outlet she needed.”

By the time we get to Micah’s make-or-break date for the installation—a very inauspicious Friday the thirteenth—I’m not sure I have it in me to sprint to my own deadline for the auction items the following Monday. But there’s also not a choice.

When Micah finishes at the warehouse on Friday afternoon, we stand together in the center of the installation and look around. Every last bit is in place for the event team to take over the following week, bringing in all the trimmings to make the space lush.

“You did it,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder. Not only is it comfortable there, I’m almost too tired to hold it up on my own. “You’re amazing.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Care to join me for a wild night of celebrating with some takeout in front of your TV?”

“Best offer I’ve had in weeks.”

He winces. “I gotta step it up.”

I pat his chest. “If only I had time to let you. We can breathe—”

“Next year,” he says with me. It’s our joke since the new year is just over two weeks away.

“Come on,” he says. “I’ll walk you out, change my clothes, and meet you at your place with something we can eat straight out of the container.”

“You had me at food.”

When Micah walks into my house a half hour after I get home, Daisy, who has already eaten and therefore feels magnanimous, decides to get up to her wicked flirting with my boyfriend, rubbing up against him and winding around his legs.

“She thinks you’re her Gatsby,” I say, eyeing the shameless Daisy Buchanan. “I think she’s trying to shame me for my outfit.” I’d changed into butter-soft yoga pants and a UT sweatshirt as soon as I got home.

“There isn’t much I wouldn’t do to earn her attention,” he admits.

“I’ll banish her if I’m not fed.”

“You mean shut her in your room that’s bigger than my house?”

---