Author: Kristan Higgins

Joe wouldn’t blow me off, would he? I finished my glass of wine, the alcohol lightening my head a bit. No, Joe wouldn’t do that. He had said he couldn’t wait, I reminded myself. And that I was the sweet one. And God, the way we’d kissed! No, I didn’t think he would stand me up. Maybe his truck had broken down? It wasn’t the newest truck, but it seemed to run well enough.

The phone rang, and I jumped. “Don’t sound worried,” I advised myself. Or pissy.

“Hello?”

“Hi, sweetness, it’s Curtis. Sorry, I couldn’t resist. How’s it going?”

My heart sank. “Curtis, he’s not here.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Well, how late is he?”

“Thirty-four minutes.”

“Ooh. That’s not good. Well, he’s a bit absentminded, isn’t he?”

“Should I call him?”

“No!” Curtis shouted. “No,” he continued more calmly. “That’s for desperate women, and you’re not desperate.”

“Right,” I said, feeling actually quite desperate. “So what should I do?”

“Have a glass of wine,” he advised.

“Already did that.”

“Have another one, honey. Don’t just sit there waiting for him. When he does come—and he will, sweetie—we want you to be happy and fun. Right?”

“Okay,” I said. “Happy, fun, but not drunk.”

“Exactly. I’ll call you in a little while and check in.”

“Thanks,” I said, grateful to have a pal like Curtis. Someone with whom one could discuss these stupid situations. What to wear, how to set the table, stuff like that. Most people had done this in high school or college or in their early twenties, but I was a late bloomer.

I walked around my house, nibbling a cuticle. Digger leaped up for some lovin’, tail thumping against my freshly vacuumed ottoman.

“No, Digger!” I ordered tersely. Then, filled with shame at taking my frustrations out on my dog, I sat down and called him over.

“I’m just a little worried,” I told him, stroking his sleek head. He wagged understandingly.

The clock read 7:45.

An all-too-familiar emotion surged through me, that enchanting blend of dread, certainty and disgust. All this work. Two days off from work, ninety-seven dollars worth of food and beverage, God knows how many hours, a new outfit, new place mats…for what? For this. For being stood up. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Clearly, finishing medical school in the top tenth of my class didn’t translate into romantic intelligence. Hot tears burned the back of my throat, and I swallowed hard. No crying, I ordered myself. Damn it! Damn Joe Carpenter! How could he be so thoughtless?

Digger, his appetite for affection sated, flopped down at my feet. I slumped back in the chair, not caring now if I wrinkled my pants. A headache began to bore into my skull right between the eyes, and I rubbed my forehead hard.

I should have called him yesterday with a question, like was he allergic to shellfish or something, though I knew damn well he wasn’t. But it would have reminded him of our date. As Curtis had said, Joe could be a bit forgetful. Or was this deliberate? Did he forget or was he not interested in me? What about that redhead I’d seen him with last week? Was he with her?

The phone rang again, and I leaped from my chair, heart pounding. This has got to be him, I thought. I took a deep, fortifying breath and reached for the phone. I noticed my hands were shaking.

“Hello?” I said.

“It’s Curtis,” my friend said. My throat closed up.

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” Curtis went on, gleaning the situation from my silence. The kindness in his voice made me feel worse.

“I feel like such an ass,” I whispered.

“Oh, no, honey. Joe’s the ass. Truly. If he can’t see how wonderful you are, he’s just a really gorgeous jerk.”

“But when we saw each other the other day…Curtis, it was so amazing! And he seemed so…I just don’t understand,” I said miserably.

“Men are such assholes,” he commiserated.

I gave a halfhearted laugh. “Except you. And Mitch.”

At that moment, my dog leaped to his feet, barking wildly. “Oh my God,” I said as the adrenaline rushed into my extremities with a tingling surge. “He’s here!”

“Stay on the phone!” Curtis ordered. “Keep talking! Answer the door with the phone in your hand.”

I could barely hear him over Digger’s frenzy. “Quiet, Digger!” I commanded. Surprisingly, he obeyed and stood by the kitchen door, wagging his tail so hard it looked as if he would break his spine.

“Smile,” Curtis instructed as I quickly checked myself out in the reflection of a framed print that hung over my couch. There was a knock, and Digger whined excitedly.

“Grab your wineglass,” the drill sergeant continued. “Laugh. Pretend I said something funny. Vagina. That’s funny.”

I laughed a bit hysterically as I grabbed my half-filled wineglass and went to the back door. I stopped suddenly. It wasn’t Joe. It was Sam.

“It’s Sam,” I told Curtis.

“Sam? Your brother-in-law? What’s he doing here?” Curtis asked.

I opened the door. Digger jumped onto Sam’s leg and began moaning. The rain gushed off the roof onto the deck as the wind blew in gusts.

“Hi, Millie,” Sam said. He disentangled Digger and ran a hand through his damp hair. “Got a minute?”

“Uh…come on in, Sam,” I said, opening the door. “Can you hang on one second?”

“What’s going on?” Curtis demanded. “Are you talking to me?”

“Take off your coat,” I said as Sam stood dripping in my kitchen. He looked around, noticing the dining-room table and food simmering on the stove.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your plans,” he said. “I can go.”

“No, no. Make yourself at home, buddy. Just give me a second,” I said, giving him a pat on his wet shoulder. I scurried down the hall to my bedroom and closed the door.

“What should I do?” I asked Curtis. “He looks upset.”

“Hmm. Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. It’s five after eight. Joe is unacceptably late. Feed the cop. If Joe does eventually come, he’ll see that you’re not just sitting around waiting for him. If he doesn’t, then at least your dinner won’t go to waste.”

“What should I tell Sam? That my un-boyfriend blew me off?”

Curtis sighed dramatically. “No, Millie. Don’t tell him that. Just say you made dinner for a friend who had to cancel at the last minute and you’re glad he came.”

“Okay. That sounds good. Can you say it again so I get it right?”

“Millie, you’re such a sweet dope sometimes. I have to go. Love you! Kisses!”

I heaved a sigh. Curtis was right. I was a dope.

“Millie,” Sam said as I reentered the kitchen, “I’m really sorry. I can see that you have plans and—”

“Actually, Sam, my friend just canceled, so it’s great that you’re here. Otherwise, all this food would go to waste. Sit down.” I gave him a smile and pulled out a chair.

He hesitated, then took off his jacket and hung it on one of the hooks near the back door. “Thanks,” he said, sitting at my kitchen table.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Sure.”

I poured him a glass of fumé blanc (eighteen bucks a bottle, thanks a lot, Joe Carpenter) and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said. Once again, he ran his hand through his military-short hair, a sure sign of distress. The lines around his eyes were more pronounced, and he stared distractedly at the floor.

“So what’s going on?” I asked, sitting with him.

He looked up and sighed. “It’s Trish.”

“Oh.” Of course it was Trish. I felt the decades-old irritation with my sister, ever the center of attention. Even from New Jersey, she was making waves. Tropical Storm Trish. I refilled my own wineglass and took a sip. “What’s going on?” I asked.

Sam looked out the window. “She wants Danny to do his senior year in New Jersey,” he said.

“What?” I yelped. “Why on earth would she want him to do that?”

Sam sighed again and swallowed some wine. “She says that Avery can get Danny into some swanky prep school down there that he went to, and it would be better for Danny to graduate from there instead of Nauset.” He met my eyes, and I saw the worry there.

“Well, I think it’s a crappy idea,” I said, reaching out and patting his hand. “I have to put the shrimp on…want to help?”

“Sure,” he replied, standing up. I went to the stove, turned on the étouffée mixture and got the shrimp out from the fridge. Sam leaned helpfully against the counter, watching me closely.

“Can’t say I ever saw you cook before, Millie,” he said, a ghost of a smile flitting across his face. “Who was this friend who canceled?”

“Well, Sam, I think I’d rather not say, if you don’t mind.” I dumped the shrimp into the pan, where it hissed in a most satisfying way. I didn’t want to think about J.C. right now, and the wine buzz and Sam were doing a great job distracting me. “So what does Danny think about all this?”

Sam took the spatula out of my hand, nudging the quickly pinkening shrimp. “We haven’t talked to him about it yet. But Trish says if I put it to him in positive terms, he’ll see what an opportunity it is. Or something.”

“I think it’s a stretch to think that Danny would want to transfer,” I said. “He’s doing so well here, and he’s got so many friends, so much going on.”

“That’s what I said. There are a lot of good reasons for him to stay. He’s varsity baseball up here, he knows the teachers, straight As…I don’t think he needs Rich Guy Prep to get into a good school. But Trish says it’s a golden opportunity.”

“I’m with you, buddy,” I said. “Screw Rich Guy Prep! Now get out of the way so I can get this stuff on the table.”

With Sam’s help, I brought our meal into the little dining room. I lit the candles and we sat down, filling our plates with the rather beautiful dish that I had spent days planning.

“Whoever it was who canceled, Mil…he’s missing out.” Sam smiled at me across the table. “But it was kind of good luck for me.”

I smiled back, suddenly very glad that I was here for him in his hour of need. Sam deserved at least that from me. “Cheers.” We clinked wineglasses and started eating.

And guess what? It was fantastic! Definitely the best meal I’d ever made. We ate pretty much in silence, but it was comfortable. Peaceful, even, with the rain strumming on the roof, the music playing softly over the stereo.

“Great food, Millie,” Sam complimented, helping himself to more étouffée. “You really did all this yourself?”

“Except for dessert,” I confessed. “I wouldn’t be able to fool you on that one.”

I sat back and admired my work for a minute. I had really outdone myself. Granted, the wrong man was sitting across from me—I squelched the stir of dismay the thought caused—but I had pulled off a really nice dinner. The flowers on the table looked great, my new place mats and napkins matched the plates, the food was excellent, the wine was rapidly disappearing…. It felt good. And it was so cozy to have Sam here, good old Sam, so comfortable and solid and real. Irritation with my sister—she was still tormenting him—turned my smile into a frown.

“Sam, do you think there’s something else going on with Trish? Some other reason that she’s asking Danny to come down to New Jersey?”