How I Found the Perfect Dress (5 page)

 

 

I almost deleted the whole thing, but instead I deleted “love” so it was just signed “Morgan.” Then I closed my eyes and pressed send before I could change my mind.

So what if he thought I was stupid for saying I missed him, when he'd already forgotten all about me? So what if my note made him roll those cornflower-blue eyes with annoyance at being hassled by the silly American girl he'd met over the summer? At this point, what did I have to lose?

I was too anxious now to sit there staring at the screen, so I went to brush my teeth. Then I put on my pajamas and did my math homework and made some notes for the Confusionism-Duhism-Butism paper. Then it was time for bed, but I couldn't resist and checked e-mail one more time before shutting down the computer for the night, all the while thinking,
Don't look, it's only been an hour, he hasn't even read it yet so stop acting like a big needy baby
—

There was a reply.

A
herd of Wild magical talking horses could not have kept me away from the bus depot to meet Colin. The good news: I was there. The bad news: so was my dad.

“I thought he was traveling with a group. Can't the school send a van or something?”

“If you didn't want to bring me I could've taken the bus.” Colin's shuttle from the airport was scheduled to arrive any minute, and Dad's whining was making me feel even more nervous than I already did. “Enough, already.”

“How about, ‘Thanks, Dad'?” The waiting room was nearly empty, with a smattering of vagrants fishing change out of the vending machines and college students sprawled like starfish, asleep on their own backpacks. “How about, ‘I know you've got nothing to do all day, Dad, so I deeply appreciate this completely unnecessary and time-killing trip to the glamorous bus depot'?”

“Dad! Get a grip, okay?” Now I understood why my mom had insisted on sending Dad out of the house. Two months of unemployment and he was starting to go nuts.

“Who is this guy, anyway?” Dad asked. “Is he your boyfriend? Is that what's going on here, and I'm the last to know?”

“No!” I could feel myself blushing like an idiot. “He's—he's Colin, he's just, you know—oh
fek,
there he is!”

“Morgan, watch your language—”

I wasn't listening. I was looking. I'd recognize Colin's springy walk a mile away, but it was nowhere to be seen at the moment. He trudged down the long ramp into the waiting area with his head down, but when he lifted his eyes he looked straight at me, as if he'd known all along where I'd be standing.

A big, weary smile broke across his face. There were dark circles under his eyes, he needed a shave and his hair was a tangle—he was the most gorgeous thing I'd ever seen. He was Colin, in Connecticut. And in three more seconds he'd be right in front of me—

“Mor,” he said, letting his backpack slip to the ground. “Look at you.
Look
at you!” He put his arms around me so completely I thought he might pick me up and spin me around, but he didn't. He just stood there, holding me, and I made a wish that clocks in every time zone would stop and let this moment last forever.

“Colin,” I said softly. “Hey. Welcome to, you know. America. Connecticut, whatever.”

“It's the New World, so they say,” he whispered in my ear. Then he let go of me and stood up straight. The nearby trash can overflowed with garbage, with a greasy pizza box balanced precariously on top. “Could use a bit of a tidy-up,” he added. “But it's not
brand
new anymore, of course. Ye have to expect a few dings and scratches.”

“It's a bus depot.” My dad was making his presence known, in his snide fashion. “The Grand Canyon is considerably nicer.”

“Mount Rushmore too, so I hear.” Colin grinned and extended a hand to my father. “Mr. Rawlinson. I'm much obliged for the lift and the hospitality. 'Tis my sincere pleasure to meet you.”

“No problemo,” my dad mumbled, suddenly shy. He wasn't used to my friends being so polite, or so grown-up, or so male, or so good looking, I guess. “Let's get outta here.”

 

 

even With all the extra hours she Was Working, mЧ mom had insisted on cooking an elaborate dinner in Colin's honor. I'd begged her not to try to wow him with her attempts at traditional Irish specialties. “Make him something he might not get at home,” I'd said. “You know,
our
native cuisine?”

“In Connecticut, that would be root vegetables and pemmican,” Dad had suggested dryly.

“We don't eat pelicans!” Tammy screeched.

“The Native Americans did,” my dad lied. “Cooked 'em in a stew and served them in their own capacious beaks. Kidding! Just kidding, Tam!” No matter how many times he made Tammy freak out, Dad never learned his lesson. It took a chocolate cupcake and half a screening of
Beauty and the Beast
to make her forget about the poor pelicans.

After hours leafing through glossy cookbooks featuring Connecticut's
other
native cuisine (meaning Martha Stewart), Mom decided to make a photogenic and highly labor-intensive vegetable lasagna drenched in béchamel sauce. You cooked the noodles, you cooked the vegetables, you cooked the sauce, then you put it together and cooked the whole thing all over again. To my way of thinking that was like making dinner four times, but Mom was pretty stoked about it. Not to mention the accompanying salad of arugula, mandarin orange slices and lightly toasted pine nuts. Colin gobbled it all up like a starving man and didn't ask for ketchup once.

“
Mmm
—fantastic—after six months in the dorms I can't tell ye how good it is to have a home-cooked meal.
Mmm . . .
”

“We're so fortunate to be able to get wonderful produce year-round.” Mom gestured with an orange slice. “We'll have to take you to Lucky Lou's. Have you ever heard of that store? Such
incredibly
fresh food! A wide selection of organic vegetables too.”

She was making me want to die, basically. “They have vegetables in Ireland, Mom,” I said, hiding my face in my hands.

“But not so ye'd notice,” Colin added, with a wink at Tammy.

The phone rang. “Let the voice mail pick up, we're having dinner,” my mom said elegantly. She had a whole different way of talking when there was a guest at the table; it was kind of hilarious to observe.

“But, Mommy, you always talk on the phone during dinner,” Tammy piped up. The point was moot, though, because my dad had already grabbed the receiver.

“Morgan, it's Sarah,” he said, handing me the phone.

“Hey, Sarah.” I glanced at my mom's tense expression. “We're in the middle of dinner. Can I call you back?”

“Sure! Just tell me: Is he there?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God! Can I meet him? Do you guys wanna come out tonight? Dylan's band is playing at a house party. You're totally invited.”

Introducing Colin to my friends would be an entertaining evening for sure, but if I didn't have a few minutes alone with him soon I thought I would lose my mind. “I think tonight would be a bad idea,” I said. “He's kind of jet-lagged.”

“A wee nap and I'll be ready for action.” Colin yawned hugely, like a cat. “Or—pardon me! Another time might be better, come to think of it.”

“This week definitely, okay? I can't wait!” I hoped the hyperexcited buzz of Sarah's voice wasn't audible to Colin. “Clem and Deirdre want to meet him. And Dylan does too, of course! They're playing again Friday; you should definitely come then.”

“Morgan.” My mother's voice was a warning. “Dinner? Remember?”

“Gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Tell him I said hi!” She giggled. “Top o' the, whatever.”

“Will do.”

“Morgan told all her friends you were coming,” Tammy confided to Colin. “Morgan doesn't have a boyfriend, you know!”

“Thanks for the update, young lady.” Colin rubbed his eyes and grinned. “But I'd much rather talk about you. Are ye single, or married, or playing the field, or what?”

“Colin!”
Tammy squealed. She was crazy about him already, I could tell. “I am in the
second grade
!”

“No!” He pretended to be shocked. “A bonnie lass like yerself? Ye must be the princess of the second grade, then!”

Mom's face got tense all over again, but I could swear Dad was holding back a laugh.

“Let me ask ye something, your highness,” Colin went on. “Do ye happen to play football—soccer, I mean? I hear it's become quite a popular thing in the States.”

Tammy nodded vigorously. “Everybody plays soccer after school. I'm not very good, though.”

Colin sat back and patted his stomach in contentment. “Fear not, young lady. By the time I'm done coachin' ye, ye'll be ready for the World Cup.”

Mom looked much happier at that.

 

 

after dinner, mЧ mom couldn't Wait to give all twenty of her BFFs the full report on her béchamel sauce, not to mention the family's newly acquired status symbol:
Imagine! Our own private Irish soccer coach!
Finally, a possession that trumped every conceivable Lexus, Prada bag or Ivy League admission her friends could potentially brag about.

“They call it ‘football' over there, of course,” she prattled into the phone, as Dad cleared the table. “He's here to do a program at UConn. I doubt he'd have time to coach the whole team. . . . No, he's just here for tonight; tomorrow we're bringing him to the dorm. . . . Well, we could always ask, I suppose. . . .

To get Colin away from this embarrassing display, I gave him a tour of the house and showed him where to find towels and stuff. All attempts at a private moment were ruined because Tammy kept scampering after him like a puppy. When it was time for her to go to bed she wanted Colin to tell her a bedtime story; no one else would do.

“Something with magic in it,” she declared, looking tiny inside her too-big Tinker Bell pajamas.

“Colin's not a big fan of make-believe stuff,” I warned. I knew Colin was as antimagic as only a person who'd been raised in a country full of fantastical lore could be.

“But it's not make-believe! Did you know faeries are real?” Tammy turned to Colin. “Morgan told me. Did you know she met the real tooth fairy? Did you know—”

“If ye don't mind there, Tammy,” Colin interrupted, “we'll skip all that faery claptrap for now.” He stifled another yawn. “I've got a cartload of stories to tell ye about me grandpap's farm, though. The farm's long gone; they turned it into a bunch of suburban houses with a supermarket and a cinema and a bowling alley. Now Grandpap's an old codger and lives in a flat in Dublin, watching the telly all day. But he grew up on the farm, and a lively place it was too. Do ye like chickens?”

“I
love
chickens!” Tammy cried, as if someone had read her innermost thoughts. “Buk buk buk buk!”

The two of them spent the next ten minutes perfecting the chicken head-bob move and comparing their clucking noises. Tammy's was good, but Colin's was positively lifelike.

I excused myself in the middle of a tale about Sadie, the one-eyed champion egg-layer, and did one last check of the guest room. It was neat as a pin, and superhostess Mom had put fresh flowers in a vase on the nightstand. I couldn't resist pulling one long-stemmed lily out of the vase and laying it across the pillow (I dried it off first, of course). Because, who knew? Maybe a good-night kiss would be coming my way momentarily. A touch of romance couldn't hurt.

Colin is in my house,
I thought, nudging the flower into the perfect, wouldn't-it-be-grand-to-smooch-Morgan-now position.
Tonight he'll sleep down the hall from me, and in the morning I'll wake up and he'll still be here
. If that wasn't proof of magic in the world, nothing was.

When I went back to Tammy's room, Colin was out cold, sprawled across the foot of Tammy's bed, snoring. Tammy was curled up under the covers and only a tiny bit awake herself.

“Good story,” she mumbled. “Made us both sleepy.”

It took some pretty vigorous shakes to get Colin to the point where I could lead him down the hall to the guest room. Only half-awake, he didn't resist as I pulled off his battered Nikes.

“Sorry I'm so wiped. Must be the time change. . . .” he mumbled. “Haven't been sleeping well, lately . . . Right now I swear I could sleep for a week, though. . . .”

“Want me to tuck you in?” I joked, but of course it wasn't totally a joke.

“I'll manage,” he said, letting his head sink back into the pillow. I had to snatch the flower away so it didn't get crushed.