"Why don't you come up north and spend a weekend?"

What the hell did that even mean?

He leaned back in his seat and pulled the flannel shirt tighter around him. He had wished for clear skies, a gentle warm breeze, and a glittering ocean. He had hoped to great her in a Hawaiian shirt and cowboy hat, leaning ever so coolly against the hood of the car. What he got was gray skies, a wind that seemed to be blowing straight from November, and a smell of rain in the air. No leaning coolly, just huddling in the car while waiting for her bus to arrive.

He wondered, for the millionth time, what would happen. What he wanted to happen.

"I'll take you to the festival. Give you the New England Special. My dad and I would love to have you."

She had scoffed, muttered about apples and trees, and said yes.
Yes to what, that was the question. What did she expect from the weekend? Just some nice R&R by the ocean? To eat lots and lots of lobster? Light necking or heavy petting?
Personally, he was up for all of that.
Why was he even so nervous? He used to know his way around women. Why were his armpits so sweaty, and why on earth had he put on so much aftershave? It made his nose itch, and he'd better stay away from open flames.
He grabbed the steering wheel, trying to keep his hands from scratching. He didn't want to have any disgusting marks on him if she would happen to see him without a shirt.

Finally, the bus pulled up, stopped, and let out a small crowd of people. And there she was.
The wind caught her as she stepped down onto the street, blowing her hair in her face. Somehow, even in the gray afternoon light, her hair glowed. She shook her head to get it out of the way, and he finally saw her face. She looked around, a small smile on her lips. A nervous smile? Maybe.
Margaret Houlihan in Maine. Smiling in Maine. Looking wonderful in jeans and a long cardigan.
He flashed back to the first time he saw her, with her uniform crisp and perfect, her hair in a neat bun, and suddenly the current version of her felt impossible. Maybe the Margaret he was looking at was just another dream, maybe he would wake up soon, alone in tangled sheets.
But just seconds later, he could feel that she was real as he held her close and buried his nose in her hair. After the long bus ride, she didn't only glow, she also smelled like jasmine and roses or whatever flowers they were, and it made his heart skip a beat.

Later, much later, he would look back at that moment and wonder if that was when he knew.

Or maybe it was just a little while later when they were driving back. He was silently cursing the weather that didn't make his beloved state shine the way he wanted it to. Margaret didn't seem to mind, though; she looked out the window, commenting on how pretty everything was. She spotted a group of deer grazing in a clearing and gasped in delight as he pulled over so she could watch them.

"They're so beautiful! Aren't they just the most beautiful things you've ever seen?"

Her eyes sparkled as she turned to look at him, and in there he could see the little girl who loved animals but never could have one of her own. Her smile was wide, unreserved, and steel melting once again, and he felt his heart do the familiar little tango only she could induce.

Maybe that was the moment.

Or maybe it was when his father gave Margaret the yellow mug, the one with sunflowers, when the three of them had breakfast on the porch the next day. That mug was usually reserved for family.

Or was it later, at the festival? She looked so gorgeous in a red, flowy dress, and a scarf tied around her ponytail. His eyes kept darting between her and the crowd, making sure everyone noticed she was there with him.
Then suddenly, she wasn't beside him anymore, and he couldn't see her. He scanned the crowd, spun around, and felt his heart starting to beat faster.

"She was never here at all," a small voice inside of him whispered. "It's all in your head. You never made it out of the institution."

A cold hand squeezed his heart.

Then he felt an arm slip under his, and there she was, radiant and real. Beautifully real.

"I met a dog named Wally," she said with a big grin.

Later she won a fluffy pink bunny in a ring toss game, because Margaret Houlihan still had great aim, and they spent a good amount of time looking for Wally to see if he wanted a fluffy, new friend. He really did. He also really wanted a belly rub. Hawkeye stood back and watched Margaret coo over the dog, who looked up at her adoringly with his tongue lolled out.
Maybe that was the moment.

Or maybe later, when they got to second base down at the beach, and it woke something up inside of him that had been slumbering for a long time. Hibernating.

Maybe that was the moment he knew he loved her.

He saw his two worlds collide and fuse, forming into something new. The Margaret of his past and the Margaret of his future. The Margaret of his present.

The Margaret of his present smelled like jasmine and roses again when she hugged him goodbye at the bus station. She smiled her steel melting smile and promised she would call as soon as she got home. He wanted to tell her something, something important, but his tongue was treacherous again, so he put it to use in another way.

He didn't stop waving until the bus turned a corner and was gone. Then, he lowered his arm and put his hands in his pockets. Still smiling, he could feel a little lipstick residue on his lips. He hoped raspberry red was becoming on him. It hadn't been a goodbye kiss. Not that it truly had been back in Korea either, but this time it was a "see you" for real.
He looked up at the sky, now a beautiful, deep blue. The sun shone down on his beloved home state and made it sparkle in its late summer glory. Like it knew things were about to change and wanted to go out with one last hurrah. One last high high hee. He chuckled a little, took a dance step, and hummed to himself while slowly walking back to the car.