By TuftsMom329

I have always been attracted to charming Italian men. So, it should come as no surprise to you that when I first glimpsed Tony Monaco’s warm smile from across the President’s lawn, I fawned and melted. Let me set the scene: it was a summery afternoon in early August. My son and I were at the beginning of our East Coast college-touring road trip extravaganza. We had just toured MIT and Harvard, and Tufts was our last stop before packing our bags for Brown. 

(Despite the recent rise in admissions rates, I think my son has a perfectly good shot of getting into MIT and Harvard. He is a hardworking student, and his 1380 SAT score should be more than enough to earn him consideration at the admissions table!)

The Tufts campus was beautiful. Between antique brick buildings walked smiling students wearing light blue sweatshirts and carrying Hydro flasks. Although the hills gave my calves a tougher workout than my pilates instructor, I could imagine my son studying here any day of the week. Our tour ended on the stairs of a hillside lawn that, according to my map, was called President’s Lawn. Across the lawn stood a decadent mansion. That must be where the president lives! I had learned much about President Tony Monaco while researching colleges for my son. The moment I saw his photo on Wikipedia, I knew I had to have him. Further reading told me that he used to be a leading neuroscientist from Oxford University. My ex-husband was a neuroscientist from Oxford University.

I was just about ready to call an Uber to go back to our hotel before I saw, in the distance, a tall, suited man emerge from the decadent mansion. Could this be him? It did not take more than a single glance at his elegantly receding hairline to realize that this man was, indeed, Anthony P. Monaco.  He held a watering can. It appeared he had left his house to tend to his garden. How charming!

I couldn’t let this opportunity pass. I had to make my move on this man. I took my iPad out of my purse and passed it to my son. I told him I had to use the bathroom and I’d be right back. I beelined across the lawn towards the gentleman. It took me less than 20 seconds to reach him. There he was. His backside, at least. His navy suit enveloped his perfect proportions like a hand in a silk glove. I could see the rims of his finely selected glasses. He had kneeled to sniff a rose bush near the entrance to the garden. He seemed wholly oblivious to the outside world. Rats! How would I gain his attention? I needed to think of the perfect pickup line. Something innocent but spicy. Something clever but unobscure. Something fun but—

“Hello?”

He turned away from the rose bush and gifted me his undivided attention. His warm voice reverberated in my heart. Before I could even attempt to think of an appropriate response, my mouth blurted out:

“Are you Tony Monaco? Because I think I’ll take a gamble on you.”

Oh no! I blew it! This was my one chance and I utterly failed. While my eyes searched for an exit route, he stood politely and chuckled.

“I hope you’re enjoying Tufts.”

Yes! I was! But how could I possibly express my feelings to a man so sweet and considerate? I decided to take the humor route.

“My son is going to be wicked smaht!” I exclaimed with my corniest Boston accent.

“Yes, he will be,” he chuckled. His pearlescent brown eyes locked with mine. This was my chance.

“I was wondering. Would you like to meet up later tonight? For dinner, I mean?”

“If you’d like more information about Tufts, I can get you in contact with somebody from the admissions department.”

His humility had gotten the better of him! I needed to make my intentions clear. All I needed was one more pickup line to seal the deal. Think!  What did I learn about him on Wikipedia? Right! He used to be a geneticist.

“Are you a geneticist? Cause I’d like you to take off my jeans.”

“Oh,” he chuckled, “I see.”

He stood silently and considered my offer. I took a glance at his meaty hands. They looked like they had made thousands of firm handshakes in their lifetime. My eyes returned to his handsome face. Finally, he opened his mouth to respond.

“This house. 8pm. Let’s cook dinner together.”

Dinner! How romantic! This night was going to be steamier than my mother’s steamed vegetables. I promptly agreed, wished him the best, and returned to my son who, by now, had grown quite impatient with my shenanigans. My son was playing with leaves, for his iPad had died. How long was I over there? What might have been an eternity felt like a blink while in Tony Monaco’s presence. My son turned to me suspiciously.

“Mother, who was that man you were talking to?” he asked.

“Your new daddy,” I responded, grinning.