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“Mr. and Ms. Hastings,” an emcee boasts over the loudspeaker. Several people at the bottom of the stairs begin clapping as Dad escorts me down on his arm like he used to do with Mom.
From up here, I can spy Nana Noel and her friends at a table that looks an awful lot like a buffet they’ve managed to set up. People keep inching closer, stealing things off trays that aren’t moving with caterers.
My eyes scan the area, looking for my new group of friends in waiting. Next to the main table Dad sits at with some of the board members is where my group has congregated. King and Emilia stand next to their seats, a red label on King’s name card to represent him as one of the Award participants which I had no knowledge of until the beginning of this month. Beside him in support are Aillard and Whitney. Then a space for my empty chair next to Thorin’s figure who grins as he claps rather obnoxiously at my arrival.
Once we get to the bottom of the never ending staircase, Dad presses a kiss to my cheek before he heads for the crowd of people he wants to schmooze before the ceremony begins. I smile politely at those I pass, making a dash towards my table near the front of the room.
As soon as I’m within reach, Thorin grabs me by the waist and hoists me up to smack a kiss on my face, smearing some of my red lipstick on his own mouth in the process. King, ever the diligent best friend, hands Thorin a tissue to wipe it off as soon as he’s done.
“You look beautiful,” Thorin murmurs in my ear.
“You look pretty dashing yourself,” I say. Turning towards King, I raise an eyebrow at him. “How long have you been hiding that you’ve been nominated for the Hastings Humanitarian Award for?”
King clears his throat uncomfortably. Thankfully he’s saved answering when Emilia volunteers the information, “Since this summer in August.”
Before everyone re-entered my life. “You never said anything,” I tell him.
King gives me a bland look. “Neither did you. I assumed you knew at first. When it became clear you didn’t, there was no reason to tell you. It had nothing to do with you and Thorin.”
Typical response. I roll my eyes, but I’m not angry he didn’t say anything. Knowing King as well as I’ve come to, he really didn’t see the point in saying anything that wasn’t relevant to the situation at hand. Most people would proudly boast about it, but not him.
Aillard runs his eyes over the vast crowd in the room. “Do you think you’ll win?”
King shrugs. “I don’t care if I win or not. Money isn’t necessarily an object to me that I need to worry about.”
“Well,” Aillard flattens his lips together as he takes note of the other tables containing participants, “some of them might have a better chance than you do.”
“King deserves his nomination,” Emilia firmly says. “He’s done so much this past year with helping dedicate more spaces to domestic violence victims by expanding the shelters.”
Whitney nods her head in agreement. “Maybe I’ll get nominated someday for my literacy outreach program. I could use the funds.”
“You don’t need the funds,” Aillard tells her. “I’ll fund whatever you need.”
She rolls her eyes at him, but I can tell she’s happy with his comment. These women have their biggest supporters by their side. Turning to glance at Thorin, it occurs to me that I’m now one of them too.
“Besides,” Aillard continues, “Jorge Garcia is funding a cancer hospital for children in underprivileged areas by creating scholarships for medical bills to be paid off. He’ll definitely win.”
Thorin glances down at me with a flick of his dark brow rising. “What do you think?”
“Could be anyone,” I shrug. “Next year I get to be on the committee who goes through the different applications to help narrow everything down, but I have no idea who it could be this time. I’m not sure how the committee decides who they’ll back with funding.” Dad joked it was a trade secret I would learn next year when I asked about how they decided a winner prior to coming here.
We all settle into our seats as people begin setting up chairs at the podium on top of the stage. Several of the board members occupy the seats, while Dad is the last to arrive up the stairs, heading straight for the microphone as usual.
Thorin reaches under the table to lace our fingers together and I smile, squeezing his hand in mine. It’s nice being here to represent the Hastings family name with my support system. Funny how life turns out, taking the people who ruined my reputation and placing them back in my path, reconciling their past mistakes so I can heal. I never thought this day would come, but I feel lighter as I watch Dad begin his speech, knowing the past few months have changed everything for the better.
“Good evening and Merry Christmas,” Dad’s voice booms through the speakers. “Tonight we’ll be celebrating for several occasions. This was my wife’s favorite time of year, spreading joy with the colorful lights and music. In her stead, our daughter has taken the helm and is going to be preparing to take over as president and CEO of the company over the next several years. I know she’ll make us proud.”
A roar of applause echoes through the event center.
“We gather here today in celebration of the gift of giving. Not many people understand how Hastings Center came about, but it was my wife’s love of philanthropy that brought this award to the light. The love she had for others is something I’m proud to continue contributing to others in this way. The Hastings Humanitarian Award is dedicated to the most prestigious of causes, nominating those who do not seek the spotlight, but focus their mission on aiding others throughout the United States of America,” he says with pride.
Dad pauses, glancing around at each individual table, a smile of pure happiness stretching across his face.
Continuing, he says, “Tonight, we celebrate each individual nominee. There are donation boxes in the back and contact information if anyone wishes to donate their time or money to something they find worthy. We have five finalists for the Hastings Humanitarian Award. The first is Zainey Ludwig, providing art therapy through different foster homes in the Northeastern United States. Her plans are to provide multiple types of therapies in the future beyond normal psychiatric care for those involved in the foster system hoping to reunite with their biological families.”
Several people clap as Dad finishes discussing this. I notice Whitney leaning over to Aillard, murmuring something in his ear that he nods and flashes Zainey a smile across the room, though the redhead’s cheeks are already crimson from her nervousness.
“The next is Jorge Garcia who is funding scholarships for cancer patients to relieve them of medical bills insurance may not cover,” Dad boasts proudly. “Right now his focus remains in the Midwest and Western United States where he is working in conjunction with several children’s hospitals. His goal is to provide health care assistance to children’s families in desperate need during troubling times.”
