Page 54 of On the Ropes
My fingers squeezed the mug I was holding. I set it down gently and slid that hand into my pocket. “That’s…soon.”
She opened the last container and perked up. “It’s very soon but will probably be better for you. I don’t think Aunt Linda is a saint or anything, but she’s probably much less trouble and a lot less scandalous.” She extended the container out to me. “For you, by the way. You obviously don’t have to eat it. But my dad casually mentioned it was your favorite, and I…well, I don’t know…”
I opened it. Looked back up at her. “Tabitha, did you bring me a pork roll?”
“I’ve heard it’s the neighborly thing to do.”
A smile slid up my face before I could stop it. It matched her own sparkling one.
“Knew I could get you to smile,” she said.
“They are my favorite.”
She bit her lip, cute as a fucking button. Only the fact that the lot next to us was swarming with people kept me from dropping the container and kissing her.
I sank the right side of my body on the middle step and stretched my left leg out. I picked up the sandwich. It was a classic—the roll, the meat, the melted cheese, egg, and butter. “Are you okay with me wolfing this down?”
“Please, Dean. You’ve eaten my water ice. There are no more secrets between us now.”
I shook my head with a low laugh. “You’re working hard to ruin my innocent reputation today, aren’t you?”
She winked at me, then opened her own container. I peeked over as I ate, saw piping hot donuts covered in cinnamon and sugar. She broke off a piece. “But seriously. Wolf away while I run through an idea that I had. Well, technically, it was my dad’s idea first.”
I nodded, eating and listening.
“I know we haven’t settled yet on exactly what’s going to happen to that space once all the trash gets cleared out today. But no matter what’s decided, it’s likely you’re going to need funds to do it. You’re not waiting around for the city to kick in some cash or some special donor at a nonprofit. This is, essentially, a rogue operation.”
I swallowed my food and stared out at the neighbors. “I hadn’t…fuck, I didn’t think about that.”
“Well, it’s one step at a time,” she said in a kind voice. “Pulling everyone together to work on a project like this and to clear a year’s worth of garbage is, quite honestly, the hardest part. And it’s almost done. Now it’s on to the step that requires money.”
“I don’t want to ask people here to fund it,” I said.
“I agree.” She popped a piece of donut in her mouth and chewed. “I’m not an expert. Not in the least. But I have definitely worked with community groups who did online fundraisers for local projects like this. For simple things, like supplies and seeds.”
I put down my now empty container. “You think total strangers online would give money for something like this?”
“I do.” She brushed the crumbs from her hands. “I want to make a movie about Tenth Street. About the lot and your neighbors coming together. My idea is to edit them down into short segments I would share on social media with a direct link to a donation portal. Super short videos that are engaging and could maybe rally folks to donate. Especially in Philly itself. We’d need to work on a budget, make things transparent. But I don’t think that should be a problem.”
I felt my eyebrows raise. “I thought you didn’t have an interest in Philly.”
Those were the exact words she’d said the other night, and I couldn’t forget them. Based on how fiercely she loved her family, loved this city, I would have imagined her art would reflect that.
She looked a little self-conscious. “I did say that. I might be changing my mind a little bit.”
I rubbed my jaw so I could hide a smile I didn’t want her to see. I didn’t know why that made me happy. But it did. Not that it mattered long-term. Filming a cleanup wasn’t the same as staying here. And she wasn’t staying.
I cocked my head back toward the lot. “So what’s the story, then?”
“It’s a story about Annie. A story about her legacy. It’s about taking care of one another even if your city or government won’t. Or can’t.” Her dark eyes stayed glued to mine. “And I believe it’s about family. And love. All the different ways that can look.”
That last part—about families. That was the kind of stuff we talked about at the Lavender Center.
“Who would you interview?” I asked.
“Only people who were interested and who felt safe and comfortable. Privacy is my main priority.”
I looked over my shoulder at my parents, who were laughing with Eddie and Alice. “You won’t have a hard time finding subjects. But I wouldn’t have to speak, right?”
