Author: Kristan Higgins

Sienna came leaping back to join us the minute Lorenzo Bellefiore walked out the door. We huddled around the small window in the doctor’s office that was, we had found, excellent for spying. Our newest and most favorite patient drove off, and then, like the three females we so clearly were, began with the high-pitched histrionics.

“Oh my God! Did you see his ass?” Sienna gushed.

“Oh my God, yes I did!” Jill answered with equal fervor.

“Ladies…ladies…I have an announcement to make,” I said, grinning hugely. “That man just asked me out.”

We were still squealing when Dr. Bala came in an hour later.

OF COURSE, I HADN’T FORGOTTEN about my humiliation and degradation of earlier that morning, but Lorenzo’s Mediterranean interruption happily microscoped that event. This romantic-stranger thing never happened to me. And I could use a distraction from Joe, having been reduced in ego to the size of a deer tick. Furthermore, it would be rather fantastic for Joe to see me out with a man whose beauty nearly equaled his.

That night, I called Katie. She was tickled that I was going out on a date and, like a good friend, pumped me for every single detail of our encounter. I was happy to oblige, sighing with delight over Lorenzo’s name/eyes/smile/lashes/hands/smell. And when Lorenzo called the next day to set a date, my happiness continued.

I HAD A FEW DAYS TO KILL before the big date, so I made a list. I loved lists. They comforted and protected me, minimized the margin of error and kept me focused, and I was going to need a lot of focus. I made the following list.

1. Call Curtis and Mitch for clothing suggestions.

2. Get hair trimmed by someone other than P-town psycho.

3. Clean house. (I wasn’t planning on having Lorenzo either pick me up or drop me off—my brother-in-law was a cop, after all, and I had been warned many times about strange men—but cleaning my house made me feel more together.)

4. Arrange to have Joe at the restaurant where I would be going with Lorenzo.

This last item would take a little finessing. Lorenzo had asked me to choose the restaurant, and I had picked the Barnacle for several reasons. Katie worked there, so she could check him out, the food was excellent and there was indeed a strong possibility that Joe would be around. Many birds slain with just one little stone.

The day before my date, I decided to visit my parents. I had been neglecting them a bit, dropping in only briefly, and so I called dear old Mom and asked her if I could come for dinner. As most moms in the world would be, she was delighted with the chance to feed her child.

“Of course you can come, honey!” she exclaimed. “What do you want me to make?”

“Anything, Mom. Everything you make is fantastic,” I replied truthfully.

“Oh, you’re so sweet. How about roast chicken?”

A sudden rush of guilt washed over me. Clearly, Mom was lonely…. She and Trish had done a lot together. Both were small-boned and slender and loved to go shopping at Talbots or the outlets, having lunch, seeing a play or movie. I had done little to fill the gap Trish had left.

“Why don’t you see if Sam and Danny can come, too?” I asked, knowing that the more people she had to fuss over, the happier my mother would be.

“Great idea! Okay, hon, I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Somehow, her happiness made me feel even guiltier.

The next night, I presented my mom with a bouquet of yellow tulips and gave her a big smooch. Danny and Sam were already there; Dad had Sam in the cellar, talking about manly things like cement and wiring, and Danny was setting up an e-mail account on my mom’s computer. It felt kind of festive, especially without my sister’s perpetually dissatisfied presence. Mom bustled around, half listening as Danny explained the nuances of Google, and I poured myself a glass of wine. The smell of roasted chicken and rosemary filled the kitchen, and I was suddenly starving. I hadn’t had many real meals in the last few months.

“I love your outfit, Millie darling,” my mom said, pausing to look at me.

“Thanks,” I smiled. I was wearing black pants and a blue shirt with a little blue-and-white floral scarf tied around my neck as instructed. Gold earrings. Gold-and-blue bracelet. Black suede shoes. “Curtis and Mitch and I went shopping. They’re better than Garanimals.”

“What are Garanimals?” Danny asked.

My mom smiled at the memory. “They were a brand of clothes. Everything came with a tag so you could tell what would match.”

“If your shirt had a gazelle tag and so did your pants, you matched,” I solemnly explained. “If they had a lion tag, they wouldn’t go with the gazelle tag, because lions eat gazelles. Are you following, Daniel?”

Mom and I laughed as Danny rolled his eyes. “We can only hope they bring them back,” she said.

“Hi, Daddy!” I said as my father and Sam emerged from the cellar. I stood on tiptoe to kiss Dad’s stubbly cheek. “How’s the King of Crap?”

“Just fine, darling. How’s my little girl?” He gave me a close look, frowning a bit. “Nancy, Millie looks thin. Aren’t we feeding her?”

“She doesn’t live with us anymore, Howard,” Mom answered. “And you do look a little thin, Millie. Are you eating okay?”

My parents thought I was thin. How I loved them! I smiled sappily while Sam smiled.

“I’ve just been running, that’s all,” I said proudly. Obviously, I was not going to tell my mother what I’d been eating recently.

“Running? Oh, that’s dangerous, honey. Howard, tell her it’s dangerous,” Mom replied.

“Millie, it’s dangerous,” Dad complied. “Let’s eat.”

We tucked into Mom’s wonderful cooking. Along with the succulent rosemary chicken, we feasted on mashed potatoes (which I’d have to avoid, as Mom used half-and-half for that extra hint of cholesterol), glazed carrots and native turnips, my favorite. Apple pie for dessert. Give me strength, Lord.

As we ate, Danny told us about his plans for the summer. He and some other kids from his class were going to Appalachia for a week to help build houses with Habitat for Humanity. On his return, he would start a job at a local camp for inner-city kids. Sam smiled modestly at his plate, but he was just about humming with pride. With the characteristic blend of confidence and terror unique to Red Sox fans, we discussed Boston’s pitching lineup (superlative), their batting (formidable) and their chances at a World Series victory (excellent). And finally, finally, Mom asked the question I’d been waiting for….

“So, Millie, how’s work?”

Okay, well, that wasn’t the question I’d been waiting for, but since no one would ask that question (“Are you seeing anyone, Millie?”), I would use work as a vehicle to discuss my upcoming date.

“Work’s great, Mom.”

“Anything interesting going on?” Sam, bless him, asked.

“Actually, I met a really nice guy a few days ago. He’s a marine biologist studying horseshoe crabs, and he got cut and needed stitches.”

“A marine biologist?” my dad asked suspiciously. Dad would have chosen a bricklayer or plumber for his girls—or a cop, of course. He viewed people with too much education as untrustworthy. Except his own baby girl, that is.

“Mmm hmm. We’re going out tomorrow night.”

This statement was met with silence. Mom put her fork down, clearly stunned. Sam looked at me from across the table, stunned. Dad scowled, stunned. The quiet was broken only by the sound of Danny’s fork clattering against his plate as he shoveled mashed potatoes into his mouth in a frenzied fashion. “Where are you going?” he asked, swallowing hugely, the only one at the table who wasn’t amazed by the fact that I had a date.

“We’re just going to the Barnacle,” I answered, plopping more potatoes on my nephew’s now-empty plate. To their credit, my family had reason to be surprised. I had never had a date here on Cape Cod, so this was indeed an unprecedented event.

“Oh! That’s nice!” Mom answered, aware that a response was required. “So what’s this person’s name?”

“Lorenzo Bellefiore,” I answered.

“What kind of name is that?” Dad asked, clenching his fork and knife in his large fists.

“Italian, it sounds like. I don’t really know,” I said.

“Well, what do you know about this guy?” Dad demanded, looking quite fierce. Apparently, the only men I was allowed to love were sitting at this table.

“I know that he cut his hand and needed nine stitches,” I replied sweetly, smiling at Sam, who smiled back.

“Millie, you can’t just go out with some guy you don’t even know,” Dad barked.

Fearful that Dad might ruin my chances of matrimony (and hence, more grandchildren), Mom intervened. “Now, Howard, Millie is an adult,” she explained in placating terms. “She’s a doctor.”

“I know she’s a doctor!” Dad’s voice rose several decibels. “She’s my daughter! I know what she does!”

Sam strategically wiped his mouth with his napkin to hide his smile, and I kicked him under the table. This kind of exchange was par for the course in my family, and now that I didn’t actually live with Mom and Dad, I thought it was cute.

“Sam,” my dad said, appealing to male common sense. “Sam, could you check this guy out?”

“I’d love to, Howard, but I really can’t,” Sam said. “It’s against the rules to use police resources for checking out your sister-in-law’s boyfriends.”

“It’s not boyfriends!” Dad exclaimed. “It’s one person! Lorenzo something or other.”

“Sorry, big guy,” Sam said, winking at me.

“Well, maybe we could do this,” Dad said, clearly irritated with me for complicating his life. “Why don’t we all go to the Barnacle for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Dad! My God! Stop it!” I yelped. “You never did this with Trish!”

“Well, Trish had the good sense to pick Sam!” Dad thundered. Then, realizing what he’d said, he grimaced. “Sorry, son.”

“That’s okay,” Sam said. “I know what you meant.”

We were quiet for a minute, the specter of my sister’s folly hanging around the table like a smelly gym towel. Sam looked very tragic and brave, very Saving Private Ryan. I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Who wants pie?” Mom asked.

AFTER THE DISHES WERE LOADED into the dishwasher, Sam asked me if I wanted to take a walk while Dad, Danny and Mom tuned in the often heartbreaking, always thrilling Red Sox.

The wind raked across the sky as we strolled down the street in companionable silence. The last of the evening light was seeping away, turning the sky a deep blue, and we could just barely see.

In my parents’ cozy neighborhood, most of the residents were year-round Cape Codders, so lights brightened the windows and cheerful porch flags waved here and there. The road was quiet enough that Sam and I could walk down the middle of it, as there were no sidewalks.

“Sorry about the Trish thing at dinner,” I said.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Sam replied. “Sorry about the interrogation.”

“It was kind of fun, seeing Dad get all steamed up.”

Sam laughed. “He’s a little overprotective, that’s for sure. So what’s this Lorenzo guy like, anyway?”

“Well,” I answered, “he’s gorgeous.”

“Well, that’s perfect, since you’re so pretty.” Dear Sam! My heart warmed as he grinned at me. “Anything else other than gorgeous?” he asked.

“Oh, he’s smart, and he smells wonderful.”

“I guess that’s a good start,” Sam said.