Page 86 of Trust Fund Baby

James clinked his beer against my glass of water, breaking through my thoughts. “You look like you’d rather crawl into traffic than sit here.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst option,” I muttered.

Hallie rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible. You used to live for a good party and now you can’t even be bothered to tell me what alcohol you want at it. Honestly, I don’t know how Roxie put up with you all those years.”

My head snapped up, sharp enough to make her freeze. She had meant nothing by it; the words had just slipped out of her mouth. A careless comment. Still, my jaw locked.

James, of course, noticed. His smirk faded, replaced by a glance that landed somewhere between a warning and concern. He didn’t call me out, and I was grateful for that.

“Anyway,” Hallie continued quickly, shoving her phone toward James again, “this is the floral designer I was thinking of. Elegant, not gaudy. She worked on the Met Gala two years ago.”

“So, she’s expensive,” James laughed, leaning into her shoulder as they scrolled together. The two of them were a picture of easy partnership—bantering, bickering, but always on the same wavelength.

I leaned back into the couch, nursing my lukewarm water. The room blurred, my mind slipping somewhere else entirely. Back to Roxie, standing under those string lights at her parents’ house, smiling that sharp little smile that told me she’d rather eat glass than admit she still cared.

I ran a hand down my face. Christ.

“Sebastian,” Hallie said, drawing me back once more. “Are you even listening?”

“Not really,” I admitted.

James snorted. “At least he’s honest. Go ahead and add whatever you want, Hals. He’ll show up in a tux and pretend like he planned the whole damn thing, anyway.”

We all fell silent. Hallie was occupied with her pictures, James was finishing his drink, and I was gazing at the dazzling skyline outside, as though it held the solutions to problems I wanted to avoid.

How was it that when I finally figured out what I wanted to do with my life, something I was passionate about, I was still unsatisfied? Unhappy with the result? Sure, I was proud of everything I’d put into planning this food bank over the last few months, the proudest I’d ever been of myself, but it felt like something was still missing.

The next morning, I skipped the meetings and calls Hallie had lined up for me regarding the gala and took the train downtown instead. No driver. No town car. Just me and a ball cap pulled low, trying to shake the taste of yesterday’s uneasiness out of my head.

The building was almost finished, its facade gleaming in the sunlight, when I emerged from the subway. The signage for the food bank was being lofted up into the sky by a pair of workers as they prepared to fix it to the front of the building.

Standing there, with dust rising from the ground and workers shouting over the bustle of moving furniture inside, it felt different. Real. I was seeing the fruition of the idea I’d bounced around inside my head.

I slipped past the few workers coming out of the building, ignoring the sharp glance from the foreperson until he recognized me and waved me through. Inside, the air smelled of sawdust, cement, and fresh paint. The shelves were already being constructed, lining the walls. I could already picture them stocked with food and supplies that people in this community needed. The industrial kitchen buzzed with workers in the back. Working on the final touches to make it into something that could create some of the most incredible, nutritious meals for when we opened our doors for community dinners.

“You’re him, right?”

I turned at the voice. A woman stood just inside the doorway with two kids clinging to each of her legs. She looked hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she should’ve come in.

“I’m Sebastian Whittaker,” I said carefully.

Her face shifted, a nervous relief flooding it. “We live a few blocks over. My neighbor said … well, she said this place was supposed to be open soon. I just came to see if that was true.”

The little girl peered around her mother’s coat, eyes wide as she took in the nearly completed interior. “Is it going to be like a grocery store?” she asked.

“Something like that,” I said, crouching down. “Except you don’t have to pay. You just come in, and we’ll make sure you have what you need.”

Her tiny mouth formed a perfect “O.” She tugged on her brother’s sleeve, whispering something about cereal, and his eyes lit up too.

Their mother swallowed hard. “You don’t understand what this means,” she said, her voice breaking just slightly. “Sometimes we wait hours in line at the church pantry and by the time it’s our turn …” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Half the time it’s gone.”

I nodded, throat tight, words lodged somewhere behind the heaviness pressing down on my chest. Because she was right. I didn’t know what it meant to them. Not even close. I’d never had to want my entire life, and this family was standing in front of me with near tears in their eyes at the idea of having an opportunity to fulfill the basic needs I took for granted.

If I got enough donors and did the proper planning, we could have enough supplies to ensure that we wouldn’t run out when the line stretched around the block. We would have enough to spare.

“This place,” she said, stepping back and glancing up at the nearly finished sign outside, “it would change everything for us. This is right around the block from our home, and we wouldn’t have to trek all the things we need on the subway home from the church. We are so thankful.”

The boy suddenly grinned, gap-toothed and eager. “Can we come when it opens?”