Page 68 of Not Just Gal Pals

“Not great, but definitely a bit better now you’re all here.”

“I’m so sorry, Blake. It really sucks.” The compassion in Amanda’s voice reactivated my tear ducts, initiating another round of blinking.

“So, what can we do to help?” George clapped her hands together.

I put them to work unstacking the chairs and setting up the refreshment and silent auction tables. I threw myself into it as well, hoping the physical activity would distract me from my anxiety over the fundraiser and thoughts of Jenny.

A few hours later, I surveyed the neat rows of chairs, the refreshment stand piled high with George’s baked goods, wine, and a coffee and tea station, and the silent auction items spread out on long tables. We’d put up the Thanksgiving decorations Jenny had sourced or, in some cases, made. Hanging up the gigantic cardboard turkey I’d helped her paint on Tuesday night nearly set me off again. She’d had such an intense look of concentration on her face, trying to trace an outline of turkey, and eventually got so frustrated I’d taken over. The memory of her grinning at me after we’d finished cutting it out and painting it sent a pain deep into my heart. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” she’d said. I couldn’t have done this fundraiser without her. But now, I was going to have to get used to doing everything without her. I squeezed my eyes together, as if willing the memories of Jenny to dissolve, and then opened them again, taking in a deep breath.

Everything was ready. Now all we needed was a good turnout, for people to give generously, and for me to keep my shit together long enough to make this a success. Tomorrow, I could curl up on the couch under the blanket with Fred, but for now, I had to finish what Jenny started.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

JENNY

My flight touched down at JFK just before three p.m., almost thirty minutes late due to mechanical delays. I’d hardly slept at all, my mind whirring with excitement. I’d tried to make a call before I got on the flight back to New York to confirm if my idea would work, but I couldn’t get through, so it was unclear whether I’d just thrown the deal of a lifetime away for nothing. But by the time I’d arrived in LA, my return ticket already booked, I was so convinced of the merit of my plan that once I collected my bags, I walked straight over to the departures gate, a spring in my step.

All things considered, Serena took the news surprisingly well. Although, I’m sure it helped that Joanie, Mahler’s backup option, was also one of Serena’s clients. Serena would be getting her commission regardless.

As I walked through JFK to the luggage carousel, holding Walter’s crate, my phone rang. Twenty minutes later, I hung up the phone with a wide grin on my face and a weight lifted off my shoulders.

I itched to call Blake to tell her the news, to hear her voice, to let her know I was on my way back. I hadn’t called her at LAX—I didn’t want to get her hopes up, only to dash them if my proposal was rejected. And now...and now I was less than three hours away from seeing her in the flesh. This was the sort of news you told someone in person, not via a text message or phone call. I drew in a deep breath. It would test my patience, but I could wait another three hours.

Speaking of patience, we’d reached the luggage carousel, still empty, so I kneeled down to check how poor Walter was doing. “You’ve been such a little champ, suffering through a train ride and two flights without complaint. We’ll be back home soon, buddy,” I said, feeding him a treat through the grill. He looked skeptical but eagerly devoured the treat and licked my fingers afterward, suggesting he wasn’t about to disown me, despite being dragged across the country and back again in less than twenty-four hours.

I jiggled my legs impatiently as the bags took ages to load on the carousel. I’d booked a ticket for the 4:13 p.m. train, but with the plane delay, I wasn’t confident we were going to make it. It was currently 3:25 p.m. If I was lucky, it would only take thirty-five minutes to taxi to Grand Central. That didn’t leave much time for getting through Grand Central to the tracks.

Thunk. Thunk. The first bags appeared on the carousel, and my heart rate slowed a little. I spotted my large, purple suitcase, heaved it off, and then strode—Walter in one hand and the suitcase in the other—toward the exit.

Thankfully, there was no problem getting a taxi. Before long, we were rattling down the Van Wyck Expressway and then the Long Island Expressway before entering the claustrophobic yellow-and-blue striped Queens Midtown Tunnel, finally emerging in Midtown Manhattan.

The taxi dropped us off on 43rd Street and Vanderbilt. Gathering Walter, my backpack, and my suitcase, I struggled down the stairs to Grand Central and sprinted to the tracks, pulling my suitcase behind me. My heart bounced as I caught a glimpse of the clock. 4:10 p.m. Three minutes. Shit. It would be hit or miss whether we made it.

To my relief, the train was sitting there when we arrived at the platform. Not wanting to risk it, I jumped in the nearest car, and then walked down the center of the train.

I collapsed on the first spare seat I found, out of breath, my heart beating a million miles per hour. Thank god. I put Walter’s crate on the floor and shut my eyes, letting my breathing slow.

We’d made it. The train would get us into Sapphire Springs around 5:40 p.m. When I caught my breath, I’d call Mom and Dad and see if one of them could pick me up from the station. With luck, I’d be at the auditorium just before six p.m., leaving plenty of time for a reunion with Blake before the fundraiser started at seven p.m.

Thirty minutes later, I was looking out the window, admiring the view of the Hudson River as the sun set, when I noticed some weird floaters on my eyes. Please let me not be having a stroke now. That’s the last thing I need. I blinked and realized those white things in my vision weren’t floaters, but snow. The first snowfall of the season. I watched the flakes dance, suddenly euphoric. I’d forgotten how beautiful snow was.

The sky began to darken, and the snowflakes increased in density, flurrying about, as if they, too, were in a hurry to get somewhere.

My view on snow changed drastically when, half an hour later, the train ground to a halt, and a voice boomed over the speakers.

“Due to the unexpected snowstorm, we are experiencing delays on the Metro North line. We have been asked to stop until some further investigations are carried out. We thank you for your patience.”

Crap.

The snowflakes suddenly lost their appeal. Nope, they weren’t beautiful or romantic. Those damn ice crystals were just a pain in the butt.

I drummed my fingers impatiently on my thighs as I looked out at the rapidly darkening sky, willing the snow to stop. I took some deep, calming breaths. We’d be fine. The fundraiser didn’t start until seven p.m. While, ideally, I’d get there at least an hour before, to give me time to talk to Blake and help in whatever way I could, we had time to spare. Surely the train would start again soon. It wasn’t like the snow was that heavy—we’d had much worse. I looked out of the window to assure myself, and all I could see was snow. It was so thick visibility was reduced to zero. Shit. I took another deep breath. We’ll be fine.

Ten minutes later, the calming breaths and reassuring comments to myself had gone out the window, replaced with panic. I kept telling myself it didn’t really matter if I missed the fundraiser, but I really, really wanted to make it. To be there to support Blake. To help ensure it was a success.

I was seriously considering breaking out of the train, trudging through the storm to the nearest town, and calling an Uber, when the train jolted to life and slowly picked up pace. Thank god.

I sat back in my seat and texted Mom—who’d agreed to meet me at the station—an update. Assuming there weren’t any further delays, I should be with Blake by 6:30 p.m. That didn’t give me as much time as I was hoping for our reunion, but it was still fine. I shut my eyes.