Page 55
As I talked about the library’s work protecting access to books, I decided that was a reason to steal a glance behind me at Andre. His eyes widened, possibly surprised to hear his work mentioned, but it was important work for the queer community.
By the time I reached the end, my voice was steady and strong. “So, thank you for your support, thank you for standing together, and thank you for making Maplewood the incredible place that it is. It’s an honor to celebrate Pride with all of you. Happy Pride, everyone!” I waved to the crowd.
The response was immediate and enthusiastic. My moms were the first on their feet, followed quickly by others until the entire audience stood cheering. Relief, joy, and satisfaction washed over me.
I survived it, and I thought I’d done pretty well.
Andre stepped up beside me, waiting for the applause to die down. “Thank you, Ethan. You’ll find Ethan at many of our activities over the weekend. And you’ll get to see him, some of his friends from the NHL, and the teens who are part of the hockey camp play at Saturday’s charity game.” He glanced at me with a grin. “But before that, we have one more important thing to do—planting this year’s Pride maple tree.”
Mayor Axelrod came back on stage to join us as volunteers brought forward a young maple sapling, a decorative pot, and soil in another pot.
“This tree represents our commitment to growing and nurturing our inclusive community,” Mayor Axelrod explained. “Every year since Maplewood’s first Pride march in 1970, we plant one during our celebrations, creating a living reminder. For this weekend the tree will be on display here in Maplewood City Park and then it will be transplanted in Pride Grove.”
The mayor took the sapling and put it into the pot, which already had some soil in the bottom, and she held it as Andre and I took turns adding soil. As I patted the dirt into place, I thought about how this tree would grow along with Maplewood, becoming part of the town’s story.
Once the ceremony concluded, people dispersed toward the vendor tents and other activities. I jumped off the stage to accept congratulations and answer questions about Saturday’s game. My moms hugged me tight before heading to the theater to welcome people attending the afternoon film lineup.
“That was beautiful.” Andre’s voice came from behind me. I turned and found myself face to face with him. “Thank you for mentioning the library’s work.”
“I meant every word.” I took his hand in mine. “Your work matters.”
His brown eyes sparkled in the sunlight as he glanced at his watch. “We should head over to meet Maya, the reporter from Burlington. She’s talking with Wade about the streaming aspect.” He pointed to where the two were talking at one of the camera setups.
“Lead the way.” We walked through the park, which was alive with chatter and laughter, with music playing through the speakers on the stage. “All of this is amazing, Andre. You and your team did an incredible job.”
“We all did.” He bumped his shoulder against mine. “I’m glad the opening ceremony’s done and things are underway. What I’m really looking forward to is more time with you.”
“I’ve got a lot of art to look at after the interview, but can we get together later? Check out some of the festival together?”
“Yes, to all of that. Let’s touch base later in the afternoon and we can figure it out.”
TWENTY
ANDRE
I sank onto a bench on Maple Street, taking a moment to catch my breath after a whirlwind afternoon. Everything had gone smoothly—aside from a brief tech hiccup when someone accidentally unplugged the sound system between panels at the history and educational sessions.
The two panels I’d moderated exceeded my expectations. The discussion about banned books drew an overflow crowd with passionate dialogue about the importance of representation in literature and protecting access to diverse stories. Several attendees gave powerful stories about finding themselves in books that others wanted to remove from shelves.
The second panel, focusing on Maplewood’s Pride history since 1970, featured long-time residents sharing memories of the first march and how the celebration had transformed over the years. Mrs. Goddard’s story about helping organize the first festival brought tears to many eyes, including mine. She spoke about how, even though there’d been no effort to promote that first Pride outside of Maplewood, more than a dozen people came to town that day so they could safely be themselves.
The other thing that made the day were the occasional texts from Ethan. He’d sent pictures of art pieces he was judging, and his commentary made me smile.
Ethan: How am I supposed to judge when everything’s so beautiful? You didn’t include those instructions.
Ethan: Just saw the most incredible painting of two hockey players.
Ethan: Found the most amazing maple candy vendor! I’m saving you some truffles.
I’d caught glimpses of him throughout the day, usually surrounded by people wanting photos or autographs. He handled each interaction with grace, especially with young people.
A social media post I’d seen earlier showed him with his NHL friends—Caleb, Kyle, Nick, Cole, and Miles—all of them grinning in their team’s Pride shirts as they posed near the maple tree we’d planted. The caption read, Ready to coach, play, and celebrate Pride in Maplewood.
My phone buzzed with a new message.
Ethan: Art walk winner announcement at 6:30. Meet you there?
I smiled as I typed back.
