Fools Rush in(85)

With effort, I raised my eyes. “I haven’t been honest with you, Joe,” I said. “The truth is, I’m one of those women who went after you, just because you’re so…gorgeous.”

“You didn’t go after me,” he countered. “You didn’t. That was one of the things I liked about you. You didn’t seem to be so…desperate.”

“Well, I was. I’ve had a crush on you since freshman year of high school, Joe. I’ve always wanted to go out with you. I even…” I swallowed again.

“What?”

“I kind of, well, stalked you. For a long time. To find out what you liked. I knew where you went and who you were with and stuff like that. And then when I moved back here, I tried to make myself into a person that you’d want.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Millie, what are you talking about?”

“I wanted you to notice me. I lost weight. I made sure I bumped into you when I was at the senior center. I’d figure out when you went to the post office and go at the same time. I started running on roads I knew you drove on. I got a dog because you had a dog. There. Now you know.”

Joe stared at me, then leaned forward and smiled. “Well, okay, I guess you definitely had a thing for me. So what? It doesn’t matter.”

“But—”

He cut me off. “I like lots of things about you. Like how funny you are, and smart. You always seem to be having a good time. And how you were with me…you don’t seem to care about what was outside. You like me, you know, just for me.”

I looked down. I had never felt so ashamed of myself in my life.

“Well,” I said very, very quietly, “I’m afraid you’re wrong. I mean, no, you’re not wrong, Joe. I have a lot of…affection for you. But I also just assumed a bunch of things about you, and I didn’t really bother to get to know the real you.”

Joe sat up straighter.

“And now that we have gotten to know each other a little more, I think that we’re just not right for each other.” The last sentence came out in the barest whisper.

“So what you’re saying is, now that you know the real me, you want to break up.”

The wind sliced through the yard, making the kitchen screens rattle, and the dogs yipped as they played. “Right,” I whispered.

“And this is not just about me screwing up last night.”

“No.”

We sat there another minute, then Joe closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. I guess I should go, then.” His voice was husky. He pushed back his chair and got up to leave.

I looked up at him, this beautiful man, standing for the last time in my house. “Joe, I’m very, very sorry.”

He drew in a shaky breath. “I just want to say one more thing, Millie. I love you.”

Then he left, calling his dog more harshly that was necessary. Tripod clambered into the truck, and Joe drove away.

HOW COULD I HAVE BEEN so blind/stupid/foolish?

It became my theme song. I agonized over that question. How could I have done this? How could I have not seen? How could I have let it get so far?

I ached for Joe, knowing that I’d hurt him. I’d gone after him with a vengeance, manipulated him into thinking he loved the facade I’d constructed. Joe Carpenter was not a bad person. He had done a stupid thing, of course, but no one deserved to be told he wasn’t good enough, yet that’s just what I’d done.

Shame pressed down on me. I was drowning in shame. I was afraid to go for a run, in case Joe should drive by. I didn’t want to go to the Barnacle. I didn’t want to talk on the phone. I didn’t want to garden, ride my bike, see my friends or my parents. I told them, of course, though nobody seemed to be too surprised.

“I’m sorry, Millie,” Katie said about a week after the breakup. “But I’m sure it’s for the best.”

“Did you know about this?” I asked, reaching for a tissue. “Did you know that I was making him up as I went along?”

She sighed. “Well, kind of. I mean, I hoped that you were right, of course, but I never really saw all that wonderfulness that you did. I mean, Joe’s not a bad guy or anything, and yes, he’s gorgeous, but he always seemed like a big kid to me.”

Curtis and Mitch took me out to dinner at an expensive restaurant and ordered me to drown my sorrows. “He was just a pretty face,” Curtis consoled. “You’ll find someone else. Someone with a little more upstairs.”

“Absolutely,” Mitch echoed, finishing his martini.

Even my mom and dad weren’t that upset. “Well, honey, someone will come around who really is right for you,” my dad consoled. “Joe’s a nice guy and all, but…”

“But what?” I asked, needing the validation and hating myself for it.

“But he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, punkin.”

It didn’t help.

In addition to the self-recrimination that was running rampant through my veins, I simply missed Joe, too, his sweetness and his happy-go-lucky ways. I missed the thrill of seeing him, the sweet shock of his beauty, the physical closeness. And even more than that, I missed the days before I’d been involved with him, when thinking of Joe had sustained me. Let’s face it. I’d lost my lifelong hobby.