Page 92 of Trust Fund Baby

The volunteers moved with the same energy, only now they carried steaming plates instead of grocery bags. Families were now seated at small round tables, each place setting laid with the care that would’ve passed muster at any fine dining establishment uptown.

And then came the first bite.

I watched from the kitchen doors as eyes widened with the first taste melting on their tongues. The diners closed their eyes as though they were trying to memorize the flavor. Some leaned back in their chairs by the end of the meal as though they hadn’t felt this full in years. I even saw a young boy glance around before sliding his mother’s dessert bowl his way to finish what she hadn’t eaten.

For most of them, this wasn’t just dinner. It was their first experience of dining out. Or the first time they had something that was nearly farm-to-table. And knowing I’d helped put it in front of them filled me with something sharp and overwhelming, a heat in my chest that nothing had ever touched before.

I waited until everyone had finished eating, until the laughter and chatter had softened to goodbyes and the last workers had finished cleaning. It was the most rewarding feeling turning the key in the front door, full of restless and buzzing energy that sent me walking home instead of using the subway or my town car.

I walked. Just me, hands shoved into my coat pockets, my breath visible in the night’s chill. I followed only the pull of the city streets, without paying attention to where I was going.

And then I stopped.

Because somehow, without planning it, my feet had carried me all the way to Roxie’s neighborhood. Right to her front door.

Her building stood quiet against the night sky, a warm glow spilling from the windows of the second floor. And just behind the sheer curtains, I caught sight of her.

She was curled up in a chair by the window, hair loose around her shoulders, a blanket tucked under her chin. Her face tilted slightly toward the light of her laptop, brows furrowed in concentration, lips pressed together in that way she did when she was stubbornly refusing to give up on something.

I stood there like a fool, staring up at her window, the city humming around me.

God, she was beautiful.

A part of me wanted to knock on her door. To climb those stairs and tell her everything about my day—the food bank, my father, the plans that were finally feeling like a future I wanted and was excited for. To tell her that every time I tried to picture that future, she was in it.

But I’d have to settle for an email to her old account instead. The one that I’d kept emailing all these months, knowing my words would never reach her.

I just stood there in the cold, watching her through the glass, aching with longing.

Part of me wondered if these feelings for her would ever go away. Or if they would remain buried between my ribs—having carved out a place for themselves inside me forever. The ache in my chest deepened from seeing her, but it wasn’t unbearable. Not tonight. Tonight, I was grateful simply to see she was okay. Today wouldn’t have felt complete without her.

I let out a slow breath and finally turned away.

The city swallowed me back up, but the image of her lingered in my mind the entire way home.

Re: I’ve Done it, Rox

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Roxie,

I wish you could have seen it today. I could almost picture you there in the thick of it all—smiling as you greeted every guest that came in. Even if you never see what we’ve built, I’m okay with that. I just wish I could see you smile when you walk through the door. Because in that moment, you’d know I really did something good for once.

Sebastian xx

35

Roxie

Hallie and I ducked into our favorite little coffee shop together just down the street from our apartment. The late evening rush was humming around us as baristas hurried behind the counter to make drinks. The early spring air was giving people false hope of warmer days to come, bringing people out in droves. Hallie ordered for both of us without even asking. Years of getting coffee together meant we knew each other’s orders by heart. By the time we slid into a booth with our flavored lattes, Hallie looked like she was itching to tell me something.

She wrapped her hands around her cup like she needed the warmth to hold in whatever secret was bubbling up.

“Spit it out,” I said, blowing across the foam of my latte. “Whatever you want to tell me. You’re vibrating like you’ve had three coffees already.”

Hallie smirked. “Okay, fine. I have an idea for our next project.”