Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(7)
But it was fair to say that the universe had been paying attention to Gail-the-Tail-Chianese-Rhymes-with-Easy-Hyphen-O’Rourke when she was pregnant with Savannah.
Nine years ago, Colleen had been visiting her father and the Tail, despite her father’s infidelity and Gail’s fertility, and had overheard Gail saying this: If Colleen is pretty, imagine what our daughter will be like. Think it’s too early to call a modeling agency? Warm chuckles between the parents-to-be ensued, and Colleen had to stay in the cellar, where she’d been sent to hunt for a bottle of wine, until the bile surge subsided.
She imagined the baby would be beautiful. No such thing as ugly babies, after all. But she knew what Gail was saying. Colleen was pretty, something her father used to point out with great frequency...but Baby Girl 2.0 was going to be even better.
However, the karmic gods want to hear you praying for healthy children, not children with superior bone structure.
Savannah was not beautiful.
Colleen adored Savannah from the second she’d seen her at the hospital, with her little tubular head and snub nose. She changed diapers and took the baby for walks and rocked her and kissed her and sang to her, and Connor did the same, though with a lesser degree of fervor, being that he was a guy and all. But Colleen was in love.
Gail...not so much. Not enough, it seemed.
Savannah was wonderful and happy and funny, but she wasn’t beautiful. Not like Gail, who was a mere four years older than Colleen, and not like Colleen. Savannah was stocky and pale, whiter even than most Irish, which was saying a lot; while Colleen had creamy skin and rosy cheeks, Savannah was practically translucent. Her face was dotted with giant freckles, rather than a sprinkling of cinnamon, and her pale eyes were set close together. Instead of Gail’s Irish setter–auburn hair, Savannah’s was a pinkish strawberry-blond.
She walked heavily, despite Gail trying to teach her to tiptoe through the house, a strong, strapping girl with a low center of gravity that made her a great catcher on O’Rourke’s softball team, which Colleen managed in the town league. But she wasn’t what Gail had expected.
Gail wasn’t a bad mother. She made sure Savannah ate her veggies and got enough sleep, went to all her school activities and drove her to trumpet lessons, though Gail had petitioned hard for the flute or violin or something “more feminine.” It was clear Savannah confused her. She, after all, was a size two. Her hair was long and glossy and straight. Green eyes, of course. Perky boobs (Savannah had not been a breast-is-best baby) and a great ass. She bought micro-shorts and cropped tops for Savannah, who preferred Yankees T-shirts and sweats.
“A salad, huh?” Colleen said now.
“Mom says I should lose some weight.”
Colleen blinked. Savannah was solid. Sure, she had a little pudge. She was nine. Any second now, she’d shoot up five inches and things would balance out a bit more.
“Listen, sweets,” Colleen began. “Eating healthy is smart. Your mom is right about that.”
“I had a grilled pork chop for lunch. And broccoli,” her sister said. “And water. No carbs.”
For crying out loud. “Very nutritious. But everything in moderation, right? Nachos once a week isn’t going to ruin you. And life without nachos, you know? Why bother?”
Her sister’s smile lit up the room.
Ten minutes later, Connor set down the nachos and slid in next to Savannah, and all was as it should be. Savannah chattered happily about gym class and baseball (they were Yankees fans, of course). Connor let her come into the kitchen and drizzle sauce on the cheesecake desserts that were flying out of the kitchen, and Colleen let her take orders. All the regulars loved Savannah.
When Gail arrived to pick her up, she gave the girl a hug, then inspected the salsa stain on her shirt, shooting Colleen a dirty look.
“Nachos,” Colleen said. “It’s our girls’ night tradition.”
“Mmm,” Gail said. “Well. Good night.” Savannah waved, grinning.
So, yes. There was a personal parallel between her sister and Colleen’s other mission tonight: Paulie Petrosinsky and Bryce Campbell, Step One.
Like Savannah, Paulie lacked certain attributes deemed important by some. But it didn’t mean Savannah and Paulie were any less deserving of true love with the man of their dreams (though, yes, Savannah would have to wait quite a few years for that, thank you very much). Tonight’s mission: get Paulie on Bryce’s radar.
Speaking of Paulie, in she came, wrapped in what appeared to be a dirty sheet that went past her knees. Colleen had said “soft” and “feminine” and “bright” when Paulie asked what to wear. Not “gray.” She hadn’t said the word gray once. The word sheet had also not been mentioned.
“How do I look?” Paulie asked. “The salesman said these worked on every figure so I bought six of them.”
Colleen grabbed Paulie’s arm and hustled her into the office in the back. “Get out, Connor. Wardrobe emergency.”
“Then I should stay, don’t you think?” he asked, not even looking up from the computer, where he was doing God knows what.
“Is something the matter?” Paulie asked. “Crap. You know what? This isn’t gonna work. I think I’ll go home.”
“No, you’re not, no you’re not,” Colleen said. “Courage, my friend. Just let me fix your hair a little, okay? We’re going for a soft, gamine look, and you used just a little too much product.” Ow. Paulie’s hair was stiff with gel. Colleen broke through and tousled it a bit for a slight improvement. “Let’s ditch this, uh...this sweater, is it?” Colleen plucked at the gray fabric that swathed Paulie’s muscular figure.