Chapter Nineteen
The multipurpose room at the YMCA looked nothing like a multipurpose room and everything like a proper ballroom. It was the small touches that counted—floral centerpieces twinkled with tiny fairy lights, and the tables lining the walls boasted a casual, elegant spread of hors d’oeuvres and mocktails. Meanwhile, dim lighting and a perfectly curated playlist comprised of lesser-known masterpieces, throwback jams, and clean Top 40 hits (for the sake of the younger attendees) contributed to the festive atmosphere.
It wasn’t The Four Seasons, but it turned out pretty dang good, considering the budget and crunched deadline.
Kris surveyed her work with a satisfied smile. It had been a crazy few days, what with yesterday’s dinner party and the last-minute scramble to shift the gala up one week, but she—they—did it. The MentHer team and volunteers had pulled together and made the event of the season happen, and the mentees were thrilled.
The girls were currently going wild on the dance floor to a mellow rock cover of the latest Ariana Grande song, courtesy of the Prophecy Kings. It was a multi-generation event, and a few fathers had braved the mosh pit to dance with their daughters while others stuck to the sidelines, no doubt worried about losing an eye to a stray flailing arm or getting stomped on by an errant heel.
Kris’s mouth tilted up at the sight.
“Kris!” Skylar waved from the dance floor, flushed and glowing in an ice-blue dress with a tulle skirt. In that outfit, she looked like Elsa fromFrozen.“Come dance!”
“In a bit!” The music was so loud Kris had to tell to be heard. “I have to check in with the caterers first.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Susan bustled into view, wearing not a dress but a black sequined jacket and skirt combo that suited her perfectly. “You’re going to enjoy yourself. I’ll handle the caterers.”
“But—”
“No buts,” the director said firmly. “You’ve donemorethan enough. Now go dance and do whatever it is you young people do at these parties.”
There was no arguing with Susan when she was like this. “All right. But make sure you ask them not to take out the chocolate mousse—”
“Kris,go.”A gentle push accompanied the command.
“I’m going, I’m going.” Kris raised her hands in surrender.
She stepped away from the appetizer table, but instead of joining Skylar and the rest of the mentees on the dance floor, she ducked into the room across the hall where the staff had stashed their belongings.
Kris fished her phone out of her bag and cursed when she realized it was dead and that she’d forgotten her charger at home. A glance around told her there no were no stray chargers lying around, and she didn’t want to bother the other staff members for something so small.
She was hoping for a message from Nate, who said he might come tonight. He’d acted weird when they’d parted ways yesterday, and her dad hadn’t been the most welcoming host on the planet. She wanted to make sure he was okay.
The gala had only started an hour ago, though, and Nate had a shift at the cafe this morning. She’d wait a bit and ask Skylar for an update if Nate didn’t show up in the next hour.
Kris shoved her phone into her Prada and was on her way back to the multipurpose room/ballroom when she spotted someone coming down the hall. At first, she thought it was Nate, and her heart skipped a beat, but when the figure got closer, she realized she was slightly off the mark.
“Mr. Reynolds.” She hid her surprise as she surveyed Nate’s father. He had the same thick brown hair and green eyes as his son, but his skin was pale and clammy, and his hands trembled in a manner that had nothing to do with the high-blast A/C. He wore a slightly rumpled gray suit, and perspiration dotted his upper lip. Still, he looked better now than he had lying unconscious in a hospital bed. “What are you doing here?”
Stupid question. There was only one reason for him to be here.
“Is this, ah, the MentHer gala?” Michael Reynolds shoved his hands in his pockets and jiggled his foot. He hadn’t been awake the first time she saw him, but she’d met him briefly when she dropped by Nate’s house the other day.
“Yes. It’s in here.” Kris gestured toward the makeshift ballroom. “Are you all right? You seem…”
Twitchy. Jumpy. Nervous.
“Yes, yes.” Michael ran a hand over his face. “Sorry, I’m just—I’m having withdrawal issues, but I’ll get over it. Is Skylar in there?”
Of course. The paleness, the shakiness—classic withdrawal symptoms for alcoholics. Not great for the person suffering, obviously, but a clear sign that he was taking his newfound sobriety seriously. Nate still didn’t trust his father not to fall off the wagon again, but it had been weeks since Michael’s hospitalization. It was progress, and what was more, Michael had shown up for the gala. Skylar had confessed she’d invited her father but didn’t expect him to show, as he’d lost all interest in social functions after his wife died.
“Yep. Go on in.”
Kris watched Michael shuffle into the festivities. Look around. Wince. Then Skylar spotted him, and the girl’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. She flew across the room and hugged her father, who hesitated for the briefest moment before hugging her back. Kris couldn’t see the man’s face, but she imagined it displayed a mixture of nerves and joy.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. She and her father still weren’t on normal speaking terms, though he’d stopped her before bed last night. It seemed like he’d wanted to tell her something, but all she got was a “Good night” before he disappeared into his study.
Kris shook her head and rubbed her 24K-gold-and-emerald necklace for lack of anything better to do. She was getting soft. Instead of dwelling on her relationship with her father, which had always been mediocre at best, she should be focusing on a new scheme to get rid of Gloria before November.