Fools Rush in(51)

“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 ass**les,” 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.