sincerely, feeling almost emotional at how at ease the kids looked. How peaceful it was and the way there was something for everyone. It was like she’d thought of everything.
She tipped her head up to look at me, not smiling exactly, but she looked relaxed. Like she trusted I could clearly see what she was trying to show me. “The collages and the breathing, all that stuff matters, but mostly we just want them to have a safe space for a few hours a day. Someplace where their needs are listened to and taken seriously.” She shook her head as we stepped back from the door and she guided us down another hallway. “And don’t get me wrong, most of the caregivers and parents we work with are amazing and love and support their kids. There are just a lot of pressures in their lives. Life-and-death stuff sometimes, so we hold space for them here and we know that matters.”
“It does.” I had another overshare on the tip of my tongue, but thankfully Julia cut me off.
“You know what? Let’s go to the playground. We can talk some more out there.”
By the time we got out to a semi-enclosed space that seemed to be a climate-controlled playground, I’d gotten my feelings back on lock. I’d seen this type of space in Texas before. An outdoor area that they could keep somewhat cool in the summer months.
“This is nice,” I said, pointing at the climbing wall.
Julia beamed as we walked to a cluster of tables on one side. We passed a few kids as we went, and she stopped and said hello to each of them by name.
Once we were sitting, she handed over the folder she’d had in her hand. “Here are the figures and reports you requested, but if there’s anything else you need to know, I’m available.”
I was going to ask about the figures. I was going to ask about the reports. I was going to keep things as professional as possible. “I want to know what it is about this work that keeps you smiling.”
She seemed surprised at my question, but the way she set her shoulders told me she had a very good answer for me. And I couldn’t wait to hear it. “It’s where I found my voice, and believe me, I was dragged kicking and screaming.” She fluttered a hand in front of her face like she was trying to figure out a better way to explain. “My dad’s a social worker too.”
“Ah.” I definitely could not imagine wanting to follow in my own father’s footsteps.
She shook her head, laughing at my very serious tone. “It was annoying growing up with a therapist, but he’s also the most decent man I know. He is a warrior for those who need it, and along the way I discovered I wanted to do that too.” I nodded like I could relate and let her keep talking.
“And this is sort of a dream,” she twirled a finger in the air. “In the nonprofit world it’s almost unheard of to be able to work in a well-funded program, much less one with people who really get that kids need more than just a meal. So yeah, what we do changes lives, and I’m proud to be a part of it. Also my mom owns a hair salon in Forest Hills, so it was either social justice or Dominican blowouts for gentrifiers.”
We both busted up at that. We laughed so hard some of the kids looked at us like we were nuts.
I grinned as her laugh turned into a low chuckle, then pointed to the mass of curls framing her face. “Wow, a mom with a Dominican hair salon. This is a truly rebellious choice.”
She narrowed her eyes at that but the corners of her mouth tipped up too. “How are you aware of Dominican hair drama? You had a girl from the DR or something?” She kept her tone light but there was real curiosity there. Julia Ortiz wanted to know my business.
My hands tingled with the need to touch. To wrap a finger around one of those golden-brown coils and pull her in for a kiss. But I settled for what I could have: a bit more of her time.
“I was pretty close with my high school baseball coach. Spent a lot of time at his place.” I lifted a shoulder as if I wasn’t revealing a piece of me I rarely ever shared. “He’s Puerto Rican,