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“Ellie?”
For half a second, I swear it’s the swan, but Colleen’s head pokes through the gap in the carousel’s shroud.
“Over here.”
She wiggles through the opening to join me, waving an envelope in my face. “It came to my parents’ house. You forgot to change your address.”
I stare at the letter as if it will come to life as the carousel animals did and fly at me. “It’s not an oversight. The results were supposed to arrive before I went back upstate for the new trimester. I didn’t want to risk Máthair finding it.”
Colleen smacks the envelope against her palm. “I’ve told you a billion times, Martha wouldn’t have cared about a damn DNA test.”
I flinch, still not used to hearing my grandmother referred to in the past tense. Shame bats me like the beat of a swan’s wing. Máthair worked so hard to snuff the dark inklings of abandonment I felt from time to time, especially in my teens. She wrapped me in boundless love and gifted me her Irish heritage, which she swears is also mine. Adoption is a funny thing. Other people write your script. Still, it’s unsettling to have a void in the place an origin story should be.
This envelope may hold the first step toward finding the people who made Ella O’Dwyer.
“Are the results going to change your life? Will you ditch your plan to become a tenure-track Celtic studies professor if you’re Flemish?”
I stare past her at the lion saddle. “No, but self-definition does require at least minimal truth.”
“I’ll give you that.” Colleen flicks her auburn hair like a cowboy’s lariat. “Before I hand this over, let’s discuss my compensation for helping you move out of the apartment.”
“Don’t say it.” I pat my ears and hum to drown her out.
She pulls my hand away. “Commit to the study trip.”
Frigid air stings the inside of my nostrils. I know I should jump at the opening to be one of the faculty to represent Kennard Park University on the graduate studies spring break trip they’re sponsoring to Ireland. The coveted spots filled quickly with an impressive roster of masters and PhD candidates from top universities. Attaching my name to the trip will beef up my already decent chance at snagging the last remaining full-time position in my department. I’ll take any edge I can get. I’m sick to death of piecing together enough money from tutoring and online consulting about all things Irish to supplement my paltry adjunct salary. Upping my ante with the faculty committee assigned to choose a top candidate is the smart move.
Colleen pretends to type. “I pop Ella O’Dwyer in the last blank faculty spot on the trip roster, and it’s a done deal. We will have a blast together.”
Colleen is the staff events coordinator for our department. The overseas junket is her brainchild. She’s going on the trip not only for free travel but also to wrangle logistics, thus the daily encouragements for me to accompany her.
“C, you know this trip tragically exceeds my limits. The long plane flight, mixing with a group of strangers, functioning in a different country?—”
Too busy. Too big. Too not me. Only my small digs in Kennard Park, the Times Square rooftop apartment and greenhouse I grew up in, as well as my tiny corner of Manhattan receive the Ella O’Dwyer rating of safe, familiar landscape. Ireland is well—daunting and massively outside my comfort zone.
“Have I mentioned the new professor hire from Boston, Jeremy Olk, confirmed as trip lead? Honey, you don’t want to pass up a face-to-face with that bottle of intellectual hot sauce.”
I scoff. “You mean the intellectual hot sauce who stole my position?”
“Did he though? Who cares if he snatched one of the two openings first? I’m confident the other one has your name all over it.” She grins at me. “Ahh, I see it now, his-and-her monogrammed professor towels in your bathroom.”
I nudge her. “Stop already.”
Colleen possesses an annoying penchant for matchmaking.
“Think practically. If you make nice with this Olk guy, he could be an asset. Especially if he gives the committee a glowing Ella critique after the study trip.” She taps her bottom lip with my envelope. “Professor Sauce starts after spring break, so vacationing together before then is the perfect opportunity to win him over.”
I shake my head. “Are you his P.R. person? And it’s not a vacation.”
“Fine, working trip.” She grabs the phone from my hand and fiddles with it. “If my persuasive powers are lacking—” She thrusts the screen in my face. “Behold your dream man.”
In his profile picture on the trip link, Jeremy Olk is kinda perfect. He’s a serious professorial type, possibly close to my age, with round glasses a few years out of style. A lock of hair that I suspect plots a thousand ways to stray out of place, sneaks down the center of his forehead. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there wasn’t an instant snippet of attraction on my part from the picture. I may cast Professor Sauce as the new leading man in my late-night, steamy professor fantasies.
Colleen grins. “Ireland’s looking greener, isn’t it?”
While she gloats, I take the opening to retrieve my phone and envelope. Instead of ripping it open, I stare at my name through the clear window.
Colleen snugs in close and throws an arm around me. “I’m sure the test worked this time, and all will be revealed.”
