Page 77 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
When the emcee introduces me as the founder of Renewed Promise, I rise to my feet, and there’s a round of applause as I make my way to the stage against the backdrop of clinking crystal stemware and the low hum of conversation.
I stop at the clear acrylic podium and place my note cards in front of me, before gazing out at the ballroom filled with three hundred guests in their tuxedos and gowns.
Emotion tingles inside me to know that so many of New York’s elite have come to show support for my cause. The room is filled with notable doctors, attorneys, entrepreneurs, and executives. Joslyn told me there’s even a pro football player here. It’s humbling. A total pinch-me moment.
But my gaze stops at one particular table to my left. The placard near the centerpiece saysWinthrop Family, and my heart gives a painful kick. I didn’t know they’d bought a table. A $25,000 table right in the front. A tremor races through me.
With a steadying breath, I lift my eyes. Seated around the table are Richard and Geraldine, as regal as the royal family holding court, then Hayes with some tall, leggy blonde, and Hart, with his broad shoulders and his perfect angular face, dark eyebrows, and long eyelashes ... with a gorgeous young brunette seated next to him wearing an elegant silk gown. She touches his arm and whispers something in his ear. His gaze moves to mine and stays there, almost knocking the wind out of my lungs.
Now I see why Joslyn was concerned about me bringing a plus-one. She’d seen the guest list.
Hart’s here.
And he’s brought a date.
She’s everything I’m not. Youthful. Rich, likely from a powerful family. Glowing with optimism with her entire life ahead of her. And blissfully unaware of the pain her presence has caused me.
I fantasized about what would happen if I ran into him in New York—daydreaming that he’d take me in his arms and tell me he’d missed me. Clearly that’s all it was—a fantasy. My stomach lurches, and my hands begin to shake. I grip the edge of the podium to steady myself.
He is even more devastatingly beautiful than I remember. His hair is slicked back and handsomely styled, and he fills out a tux in ways I never could have imagined. His eyes, though ... those brilliant hazel-colored eyes, are filled with so much pain, I feel the physical ache inside my own chest.
I’m so distracted by his presence that I stumble through my speech. Thankfully it’s so well rehearsed that I seem to hit all the right words and pauses, because the audience laughs at the right moment, at my opening joke. I breathe, pausing to wait for the chuckling to die down. I can’t help my eyes from straying to his, and what I see reflected at me makes my knees tremble.
Everyone else in the room is laughing, smiling—but not Hart. His face holds an unreadable expression, and he watches me, unwavering.
My legs feel like Jell-O, but I continue talking—I can hear myself saying words, see Joslyn’s easy smile and the nodding of heads. The things I’m saying must make sense, but the blood is thundering so loudly inside my head, that I honestly can’t tell. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience.
I make it through my prepared speech, and then the video appears on the overhead screen. The one Joslyn shot of our students and their lives in the slum. And then my legs are carrying me back to my chair, which I all but collapse into.
The emcee asks for another round of applause for me, and I’m asked to stand—which I do, smiling and thanking those around me. The auctioneer is introduced and takes the stage, and then the auction begins. It’s dizzying, or maybe it’s just me, but I can hardly focus on the words he’s rattling off at a blistering pace. Joslyn squeezes my hand under the table, giddy that apparently the first item—the hunting trip—sold for $30,000.
I nod, smiling at her.
Nod and smile,I repeat to myself. I count my heartbeats and wait for this to be over. And that’s how I make it through the rest of the evening, pretending that my heart isn’t shattered into a million pieces. Pretending that I’m delighted and thankful to be here, and not dying inside at the sight of Hart leaning close and speaking in hushed voices with his twentysomething-year-old date. The idea of Hart spending the night with the pretty brunette slices through me like a sharp knife, and I push the thought away.
At last the auction ends, and even the outrageous sum that we’ve raised doesn’t lift my spirits. I hug Joslyn, who I’m sure can sense that something has thrown me off but thankfully doesn’t call me out on it. And then I flee.
I grab my clutch and escape out the side doors of the ballroom, striding through the hotel lobby as fast as I’m able in these ridiculously high heels. I reach the front doors, which the bellman pulls open for me.
“Good night, ma’am.”
I wince. Every woman remembers hearing her firstma’am. It happens somewhere around age thirty. Notmiss.Ma’am.
My feet carry me down the sidewalk, and I wrap my arms around myself, freezing. I forgot my fur wrap—it’s still at coat check, but there’s no way I’m going back for it. It was an inexpensive fake anyway.
I stumble along; the sound of the traffic, the pedestrians, the bodegas, everything blends together. I look up and realize next to the hotel is a small liquor shop, and deciding that drinking is averygood idea, I step inside. I purchase a small bottle of whiskey and head off with the brown paper bag clutched tightly in my shaking hands.
My phone vibrates in my handbag, and I pause to pull it out.
Joslyn:Where are you?
With trembling fingers, I reply.
Me:Sorry, wasn’t feeling well. Heading back to the hotel.
It’s not even eleven, and the event isn’t scheduled to end for another thirty minutes. Staying and mingling with the donors would have been the professional thing to do, but Joslyn doesn’t question me.
Joslyn:Feel better and congratulations on tonight!
