The Date Auction (20 page)

My mind and heart are already racing. What if it's
him
? What if it's Harry? “What is it, Mom?”

“It's... it's...” I talk about him so much, she should know his name. Maybe she's just tongue-tied? I should have warned her of his potential arrival.

What am I talking about?
I
should have warned
myself
of his potential arrival. I'm sitting on the couch in a sweatshirt and yoga pants, so I'm not exactly dressed to impress. At least I made a point to wear one of my nicest wigs, which is long and dirty blonde, kind of like Gisele Bundchen's hair. It's too bad I don't look like her all over.

“Hello.” When I hear Harry's British accent, I want to slink under the couch and die. How did the Cora in
The Date Auction
handle this moment? She seemed a lot less anxious than me. To be honest, I didn't think this would happen so soon. I thought I would have more time to mentally prepare myself for the small possibility that Harry would actually come. “You're Cora's mum, I presume?”

“Uh, uh... yes.” Her stuttered reply makes me smile. “And you're Harry Shaw, aren't you?”

“That's what they call me.” His cheeky response sounds like typical Harry Shaw.

“I guess I should let you in.”

“Only if you want to. You certainly shouldn't feel obligated.”

“Come in.” As soon as I hear my mom utter those words, I can feel my stomach churn. I pray that I won't get sick on front of him, or that I won't have to make an emergency run to the toilet.

When I see him step through the doorway and into the living room, my heart skips a beat. He's taller than I thought he would be, and certainly more handsome than any man I've ever laid eyes on. He's simply dressed, but absolutely stunning. In his maroon fleece shirt, he looks like he's begging for a hug.

“Hello, Cora.”

“Hi.” My voice is so small, I wonder if I said anything at all. For the first time, I notice he's holding a bag in his hand, and it looks suspiciously like a gift.

“It's wonderful to meet the girl behind the letters.” Behind him, my mother is comically slack-jawed. I
definitely
should have warned her.

“Believe me, it's wonderful to meet you too. I didn't really think you'd show up.”

“Well... as I said in my letter, I'm in California on business. I was more than happy to stop by,” he says. “In fact, I'm quite certain this will be the highlight of my trip.”

“Reeeally?” The disbelief in my voice is thick. “Well, I'm really glad you came.”

“Um... Harry?” It's my mother who says his name, so he turns around and flashes an oh-so-charming smile. “Can I get you something to drink, honey?”

I clasp a hand over my eyes and heave a sigh. Did my mom really just call him “
honey
?” She's
obviously more bold than I could ever be!

“I would love a drink, thank you. Might I trouble you for your name, young lady?”

And did he really just refer to my mother as “
young lady
?” This is definitely going to go down
in history as the strangest day of my life.

“I'm Catherine, dear.”

“Then I would love a drink, Catherine Dear.” His reply is accompanied by a cheeky grin. “What do you have?”

“Our refrigerator is fully stocked right now. If you can think of it, we probably have it. What would you like?”

“A Lilt?” When he sees the look of confusion spreading across her face, he must realize he's asking for something impossible. “Oh, do they not sell those in the States? Then I suppose I'll have a Coke.”

“Coke. Good. I know what a Coke is.” As she slips past the couch and into the kitchen, she gives me a little wink. “I'll be right back. Make yourself at home.”

I follow my mom with my eyes as long as I can, because there's something infinitely strange about making eye contact with the object of my obsession. When she's gone, I have no choice but to turn to Harry. My flaming hot cheeks make me wonder if I'm blushing. I never blush. “So, um... it really is nice to see you,” I croak. I mean
literally
croak. My voice comes out sounding like a frog's.

“And it's a pleasure to see you too.”

“I, uh...” I feel like it's necessary to explain my situation. “I didn't always live with my mom. I moved in with her after I was released from the hospital.”

“That's understandable.”

“Or... should I say, I moved back in with her after I was released from
hospital
,” I repeat. “I notice that British people usually omit the
the
.”

“Do we? That's quite funny of us, isn't it?”

“I always thought so.” When he extends his bag toward me, my stomach churns again. “What's that?”

“I brought you a small gift. When I was on the plane, I realized I forgot to answer one of the questions in your letter.”

“Did you?”

“I did. The bag's contents should make my answer quite clear.”

The first thing I pull out of the bag is a fuzzy stuffed tiger with the most adorable face I've ever seen. The second thing is an orange flower with black speckles: a tiger lily. The third and final item is a sterling silver necklace with a single charm on it. The charm, a feline, is decorated with orange and onyx gemstones that could only mean one thing. Another tiger.

“Ah... your favorite animal!” I exclaim. “I was wondering why you never answered that question.”

“I know! It was a terrible oversight on my part, wasn't it?”

“It was,” I agree. “There were many sleepless nights. All I could do was roll around in my bed, wondering what animal you liked.”

“Well, now you know. And hopefully you don't think my gifts are silly.”

“No. Not at all! I like them all. Especially the stuffed tiger.” I remove the stuffed toy from the bag and place it on my knee. The animal has such a cute face, it's practically unbearable. If I was alone with it, I would partake in the juvenile activity of covering its face in kisses. (Of course, I would rather cover Harry's face with kisses, but I'm pretty sure that would never happen). “So, when did you get to California?”

“Just last night.”

I'm a little stunned by his reply. If he just got here last night, he must have made me a priority—right?

“I'm afraid I can't stay as long as I would like. I have a meeting with an American agent a little while later.”

Oh. So he's not staying long? Maybe this is just his obligatory visit and he's trying to get it out of the way as quickly and painlessly as possible? “That sounds promising.”

“I'd like to see you again.”

“You don't have to.”

“I know I don't have to. I want to,” Harry insists. “More specifically, I wanted to know if you'd go out with me. On a date.”

I have to summon all the strength in my body to keep my mouth from falling open. Did I hear him correctly?
He
wants a date with
me
? I must look more pitiful than I realized.

“Of course, you don't have to feel obligated to accept,” Harry continues. “If you reject me, I'll try not to leave with a broken heart.”

“
Reject you
?” I gasp at the prospect. “Are you serious? Of course I wouldn't reject you! That would be crazy!”

“So, it's a date then?”

“I would
love
a date with you!” I exclaim. And that's an understatement.

“I'll give you my mobile number so you can contact me whenever you'd like.” He hands me a slip of paper, onto which his number has been pre-scrawled. At that moment, a scene from
The Date Auction
pops into my head. I remember how difficult it was for the Cora in my book to get a phone number from the Harry in my book. Unlike her, I don't think I would ever have the guts to ask for his phone number. Unlike the Harry in my book, the real Harry Shaw seemed more than willing to hand it over.

It seems that we're both thinking about my book, because Harry says, “Don't worry, you won't be paying ten thousand dollars for a date with me.”

“Oh.” My cheeks feel hotter than ever. “That's good to know.”

“As pretty as you are,
I
should be the one paying ten thousand dollars for a date with
you
.”

Me? Pretty? With my jaundiced sleepy eyes, crooked wig and dumpy lounge attire, I'm sure I look anything
but
pretty. It's nice of him to say that, but it couldn't be less true. At least I'm not as chubby as I used to be. My cancer took me from a size 16 to a size 10. Of course, I wouldn't
recommend cancer as a way to lose weight. I would rather be a healthy size
anything
.

When my mom returns from the kitchen and says, “if you're taking her out on a date, there's
something you should know,” I realize she's been eavesdropping on us.

She hands over the Coke, which he opens and sips. “And what might that be?”

Oh no. I can only imagine what sort of lecture my mom might have in store for him.

“I'm assuming he knows about your... condition?” And I assume she's referring to my cancer, so I give her a nod. “Okay, well... Cora's immune system is weak right now, so if you take her to a public place--”

“Mom!” The last thing I want to worry about right now is catching a cold on my once-in-a-lifetime date with Harry.

“If you take her to a public place, she'll need to wear a mask,” she finishes. “This only applies to crowded places, like movie theatres or grocery stores.”

“Mom...” I whimper again, “why would he take me to a grocery store on our date?!”

“Oh, I don't know. I'm just covering all the bases!” She turns to Harry and flashes an innocent smile. “Do you have any questions?”

After taking another sip of his Coke, he asks, “What if I wanted to take her to a public place that wasn't that crowded, like a park?”

“Oh, that would be fine. Anything that's outdoors shouldn't be too bad. I'm just worried about confined spaces.”

“Well, I
do
have something in mind,” Harry says. “Would it be alright if I took her on a picnic?

My current level of embarrassment is off the charts. The last time a romantic prospect had to discuss my date with my mother, I must have been sixteen years old. I feel like I've regressed to my own past, when everyone was fussy and overprotective. If Jamie was here, I'm sure he would be just as insufferable.

“That sounds like it would be alright.” Good, we have my mother's approval. Now I can crawl behind the couch and die from humiliation.

“Does a picnic sound alright with you?” Now he's directing the question to me. I want to tell him
anything
would be fine with me. If he wanted to sit in a cardboard box and eat spinach near a dumpster, I would be fine with that, as long as I was with Harry Shaw.

“That sounds okay to me.”

“Good. Then I'll be back tomorrow.”

Tomorrow
?! I thought for sure he would keep me waiting.

“You can ring me whenever you'd like,” Harry assures me. Turning to my mother, he adds, “It was wonderful to meet you, Catherine Dear.”

“Catherine Dear. Ohhh, just listen to you! You're so cheeky!” My mother gives him a playful slap on the shoulder. It seems even she's more capable of flirting with Harry Shaw than I am. “It was good of you to stop by, Harry.”

“And I'll definitely be back.” As he steps toward the door, he bows his head in polite salutation. “Goodbye, Cora.”

“Bye.”

And then he's gone. Now, more than ever, I wish I wasn't dying. If Harry Shaw is going to be in my life, I wish I could live forever, so I could see him again and again and again and again and--

Of course, if I wasn't sick, he never would have felt sorry for me, and he never would have shown up.

At least my cancer was good for something.

VIII

I can't believe I'm actually on a date with Harry Shaw. It's like something that would only happen in fiction, except in this case, real life is actually better than fiction. In my book, I had to pay ten thousand dollars and he didn't even want to be there. This date didn't cost me a penny, and Harry has been unbelievably pleasant. Either he's a really good actor (which he is, of course) or he's genuinely happy to be here. I prefer to think it's the latter.

I'm sitting in the passenger seat of his car as he drives us to a mystery destination. I close my eyes and recall the horrifying conversation I had with my mom before leaving on the date. I don't think she wanted to let me go. Ever since I got released from the hospital, she's been treating me like a wounded animal in need of constant care and attention. This is actually the first time I've been away from her in three weeks. She wanted to give Harry a lecture about where to take me and when to have me back—I had to beg her to restrain herself.

“So...” I lift a piece of wavy brown hair from my shoulder and hold it toward the sunlight. “As you can see, I'm a brunette today.”

“I noticed.” When we're at a stoplight, Harry turns toward me and flashes an insanely charming smile. “Brown is a good color for you.”

“It's a wig. I guess that's obvious. I have a lot of different wigs in my arsenal,” I tell him. “I even have a pink one.”

“I imagine you would look fetching in any color.” With a wink, he adds, “even pink.”

“My real hair is like a reddish blonde.”

“Strawberry blonde,” Harry says, “like the Cora from your book.”

“Oh wow. You remember that little detail?! You must have really been paying attention!” I have to admit, I'm impressed.

“Of course I was paying attention, particularly the parts where you were describing yourself. I wanted to know what you looked like.”

“I wasn't describing
myself
, per se,” I remind him. “Cora from the book isn't identical to the real-life me.”