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“Mom! I like this dress!”
She shrugs. “I didn’t say it was ugly. It’s perfect for the right event, like your kid’s wedding. Maybe I’ll take that with me and save it for Joel’s wedding?” she suggests as though afraid I might decide to go ahead and wear it to the charity event.
To be clear, I’m never wearing this dress again. Hell, I don’t even remember when I bought it or why! But I can’t get it off fast enough now. I might have to call Taya to see if I can borrow her flamethrower to give it a proper send-off. I’m pretty sure she has one.
“Go with the floral one,” Mom decrees. “It’s the right colors for Americana Land, especially if you pair it with a red lip. Festive without being a Betsey Ross costume. And the flowers are perfect for the garden.”
“That’s what I said thirty minutes ago!” I shout good-naturedly.
Mom doesn’t admit that I was right. Instead, she grabs the sequined dress and shoves it back in the garment bag, telling me, “Well, now you know for sure.”
CHAPTER 24
CARSON
Somewhere, even though there’s a friendly rivalry between our amusement parks, there must be a Disney writer looking out for us. It’s about the most reasonable explanation for today, which dawned with all of the meteorological perfection that only comes from the pen of a staff writer working in conjunction with the guys at The Weather Channel.
I seriously couldn’t imagine a better day if I’d ordered it up like a build-it-your-way burger.
Today, the sun was out and the sky was a perfect cornflower blue, with just enough fluffy cotton ball clouds in the sky to break up the sunbeams from time to time. And now, as the sun is starting to sink toward the horizon, there’s a light breeze blowing, not enough to be ‘windy’ but just enough to set the mood for this evening’s festivities. Even the thermometer’s agreeing, resting at an ideal seventy-three degrees.
Looking out at the crowd that’s assembled for tonight’s event, I change my mind. I don’t think even Disney could have scripted this. No, this is on the level of cheesy Hallmark movie perfection.
The Great Gardens have never looked better. The charity event team definitely took some cues from the success of Freedom Fest, like the chandeliers hanging from the trees in nearly the exact spots the disco balls were. It’s not only the chandeliers that give the Garden a special vibe, though. There are white tablecloth covered buffet tables holding candlelit appetizers, a bartender making custom cocktails, and waiters passing glasses of wine.
Tonight is a big night for Americana Land, and we’ll most definitely get some great PR from this event. But it’s also important for the children’s hospital, and we want everything to set the right tone to open people’s pockets. That’s why we closed the park early and kept all the attention on the Great Garden, which is filled with the richest of the rich from this entire region of the country, all dressed in their swankiest of finery.
“What do you think?” Dad asks from beside me as we both scan the area. “Do people look charitable tonight?”
With a portion of today’s park profits and this evening’s charity event ticket sales, we’ve already raised over one million dollars for the children’s hospital. And that’s before any of the donations our attendees will hand over this evening. That’ll add another million easily. Hopefully, the hospital can use the funds to improve the children’s stays while they receive treatment, or even pay for the care for those who can’t afford it.
“I hope so.” Out of the side of my mouth, I whisper, “You think we’d raise as much money if people didn’t have to get dressed up and eat tiny bites of fish eggs? Like I’d probably pay to not do that.”
Dad chuckles, giving me a look of disbelief as if he were unaware that I have a sense of humor. “That’s funny. But unfortunately, no. The process of dressing up, appearing in public, and networking is what opens their wallets.” He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Well, that and their accountants telling them they need a tax write-off.”
I laugh in return. He’s right, but the follow-up to my own cynical joke is a surprise.
We’re trying with each other, but old habits are hard to break. Now, we’re at least able to have a civil conversation, and if I think he’s being an ass, I call him on it. And vice versa. I’d call that progress.
It’s not only us who’ve noticed the difference, either. People around the office are more at ease with us, meetings are smoother and more productive, and Dad and I even had lunch one day without Boston needing to intervene. Major progress.
“Is Jayme coming tonight?” Dad asks, carefully stepping into a touchier topic from the superficial event humor.
