Page 70 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
Okay. I inhale deeply, square my shoulders. Here goes nothing. “Obviously Hathaway Cooke has a long-standing scholarship and mentorship program with the Daughters of the American Revolution.” I take a beat to meet my dad’s gaze. “But what if we established a duplicate program with Youth Save, starting this year?”
“The non-profit?” He tips his head. “For foster kids?”
“That’s the one.” I swipe at my brow. “They work closely with Children’s Village, but their specific mission is to get older children adopted. I’ve been doing some research, and the ones who are still in the system by the time they reach high school are far less likely to go to college. So I was thinking?—”
“Sara.” He tilts his head. “You have a good heart, and wanting to make a difference in this world is one of your greatest strengths.”
“Thank you.” My smile falters as I wait for thebut.
“Of course your mother and I love Children’s Village,” he continues. “The Hathaway Gala is our way of personally supporting them. ButHathawayCookeis a different story. We’re looking to mold future associates. Our firm isn’t in the business of mentoring kids who have no expectation of going to law school, let alone working for us one day.”
“But that’s the point, Dad.” A ribbon of frustration wraps around my insides. “Theyshouldbe able to become an attorney if they want to. Theyshouldhave a shot at big law. Their dreams are just as important as anyone from the DAR, don’t you think?”
“Ithinkwe’d be setting a bunch of kids up for disappointment, filling their heads with endgames that aren’t realistic. At least not for most of them. You went to Stanford because that goal was achievable for you from the beginning, Sara.”
No, I went to Stanford becauseyouwent to Stanford.
“Dad.” I set my jaw. “I just think every kid deserves the chance to pursue any future they want. And if I’m going to be a part of the firm, I’d love for Hathaway Cooke to be apart of making that possible.”
“If?”
I blink. “Well. I haven’t been offered the job yet.”
“Sara.” My father exhales a long gust of air. “Your mother and I have made a lot of sacrifices to set you up for the best life possible, so I hope you’re not forgetting your place in the Hathaway legacy.”
I swallow hard. “Of course not. I just wanted to?—”
“Charles?” my mother calls out. “Is that Sara on the phone?” In the corner of the screen, I see her sail down the stairs in a cashmere trench coat worthy of Gramercy Tavern. I’d originally called to update her in the first place, but a thread of anxiety unspools in my gut. She’s going to ask about the evaluation. And I’m going to have to answer.
“Hi, Mom.” I wave at the screen as my dad hands over the phone.
“I’ve been waiting to hear from you!” Her eyes go wide, and her red lips part in anticipation. “Are we approved?”
Yep. There it is.
“We should get the official sign-off on Wednesday,” I chirp.Hopefully, I think. Bonus points for my positive spin being almost entirely the truth.
“Wednesday?” Her hand goes to her throat. “But that’s Christmas Eve. The night of the gala. We’re counting on the lake house to be one of our top auction items!”
“And we’ll be a Platinum Stays property that morning, Mom. Plenty of time.”
“But … why Wednesday?”
“Ryan Detweiler just wants to come back to double-check everything.” I take a beat. “There was a surprise we couldn’t anticipate.” I use the word ‘we’ because my mom did, but also because I’m thinking about Three and me. We sure didn’t anticipate last night.
“What kind of surprise?” My mother’s eyes fly open.
I lean in close, pasting a grin on my face. “Are you ready for this? I discovered a secret storage room in the den behind the bookshelves!”
She gasps. “A what?”
“A secret storage room! Isn’t that cool?” Okay, I’m laying it on thick, but that’s as much for her benefit as mine.
“Cool?” she squeaks.
“Verycool.”
Even as I say this, boot steps thud up the stairs outside, and two distinct voices in two different octaves are speaking on the porch.
