Page 106 of Dropping the Ball

“That was a cool field trip,” she says, “but tell me what this has to do with the auction.”

“Let me tell y’all what Drake Braverman told me about why they won’t donate,” I begin. “They aren’t connected enough to our goals. I asked him point-blank what it would take for them to open their wallets, and he said they’re more invested in local causes, things that strengthen the communities here. I thought about how Micah pieced together knowledge and resources from people in this neighborhood to get where he is now. But it was meeting Isa and Lidia that made it all click. I’m going to send you both a proposal. Look it over really quick.”

When their phones buzz, they each open the document and scan the information.

“Those are the bullet points,” I say, “but I spent all day yesterday before dinner running the numbers, and I can back them up with a comprehensive breakdown.”

Madison looks up. “You want to turn the warehouse into a community center?”

“Basically,” I say. “It would be for teenagers and adults to use as a makerspace. They’d have free access to equipment and materials. Someone like Isa could explore design without having to save up to buy fabric that’s too expensive to take a risk on. She could play and create and find her voice without the price tag hanging over everything. There are so many Micahs and Isas right here.” I wave out toward the neighborhood. “This wouldn’t be job training like we’re doing in Dhaka. This would be about nurturing talent that can’t afford to develop after the bills are paid.”

Mom scans the numbers again. “You think if Madison announces this as a new part of the Threadwork mission, we’ll get more donations?”

“I do. We won’t have a lot of time. It will take all of us asking everyone we know. It’s a huge new commitment for Threadwork. But—”

“But it’s good,” Madison says. “Not just because of the donations. This makes sense, Kaitlyn. It feels right for Threadwork.”

“Yeah?” So many intense feelings are trying to bust out of me that it’s the only thing I can say. Relief that she sees it. Pride that I thought of it. Excitement about this new possibility.

“I’ve spent so much time looking backward at the wrongs Dad did—”

“He’s been trying to fix them,” Mom says, always quick to defend him.

“I know. He’s doing better. But my point is that I’ve spent so long looking backward at one place and one problem. I love the idea of providing an opportunity for people to be creative when they wouldn’t otherwise have the resources.”

She twists more fully in her seat to meet my eyes. “You’re confident on your projections?”

“Yes. This will work, and”—I take a deep breath here—“I’ll need to tell Dad this, but . . . I’d like to stay at Threadwork full-time as an inside director when you’re back from maternity. However you need me, but I have ideas. Director of impact and strategy?”

Madison frowns, and I rush to convince her, because I want itsobadly. “I’ll do whatever I need to, but you’re going to need another full-time big picture thinker.”

“But director?” she asks.

“Coordinator? The title doesn’t matter as much as the work.”

She shakes her head. “I’m thinking vice president. Vice president of vision? We’ll spitball.”

“So yes?”

“Yes!”

I throw myself at the back of her seat, wrapping it and her in a hug that makes her laugh and choke at the same time. “I promise to run with this makerspace. It won’t be your problem at all.”

She unhooks my stranglehold, still smiling. “I’m the last person you need to convince that you’re the woman for the job.”

“And you’re okay with folding this initiative into the gala’s fundraising goals?”

“It’s brilliant at every level,” she says. “Let’s do this. Mom? What do you think?”

I turn to her, bracing for her verdict. Sometimes I think Mom is more of an Armstrong than any of us even though she married in. “Mom, I know you—”

“Just a minute, Kaitlyn.” She presses the backs of her hands to her cheeks, and I wonder if we’re about to be subjected to one of her sudden-onset illnesses. Then she settles them in her lap. “This will definitely make it easier to secure some excellent donations. I’ll start making calls today, starting with Margaret and the castle panels.”

Madison and I both wait for her to address the bigger issue. The second of the Armstrong heirs is choosing not to join the family business. This has been my biggest worry. I don’t want to let my parents down again, but I’ve had a series of lightbulb moments over the last several days, and this is the second brightest: I want to help build what Madison is growing, not become another piston in the powerful Armstrong machine.

Mom takes a deep breath and sighs. “I’m disappointed. Your father will be disappointed. But not inyou, Kaitlyn. Disappointed about letting go of the future we imagined.”

I want her to say that it’s fine, this is a noble thing I’m choosing, and they’re cheering me on. But I wouldn’t believe her if she did. I wish that she was the kind of mother who would be all in on anything I decide to do, but getting hung up on the fact that she isn’t would doom me to constant disappointment. She gave me what she’s capable of, and it’s enough right now.

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