Author: Kristan Higgins

“Yes, Mom?”

“Well, honey, I hate to say anything, but, well…”

“What is it, Mom?”

“It’s just…well, Joe is a sweet boy and all…but I have to wonder if he’s really…enough for you.”

I was torn between love and irritation. “Oh, Mom. Joe is great! Don’t you think every parent wonders if a guy is good enough for their little girl?”

“No, not always. We always thought Trish was pretty damn lucky to get Sam.”

The pot I was wiping slipped out of my hands and bounced on the floor. I looked at my mom sharply, but she was scouring the sink, oblivious to my shock. “Well, there was that little matter of Danny,” I said, retrieving the gleaming pot.

“Yes, of course, but still…that’s not really the point. We’re talking about you and Joe.”

“He’s a good guy, Mom.”

“I know, sweetie. But is he good enough for you?”

I didn’t really know what to say. Mom wondering if a man, any man, was good enough for me…I’d have thought she’d have been planning my wedding by now. But it was sweet, kind of.

Dad had his turn next. Joe and Mom cleared the coffee cups and dessert plates (strawberry-rhubarb crumble, which I’d had to fake eat, because I had gained back three pounds since dating Joe and didn’t want to start the downward spiral into fatness again). From the patio, my dad and I could hear Mom and Joe laughing in the kitchen.

“So, baby, does he treat you okay?” Dad and I were sitting next to each other, and he picked up my hand.

“Sure, Dad. He’s great.” I smiled in the semidarkness and squeezed his big hand.

“Anything you want to tell your old man?”

“Um, like what, Daddy?” Like, I’m not a virgin? Like, It’s still not great but it’s getting better?

“Oh, I don’t know, punkin. Are you happy?”

“Sure, Daddy.” I squeezed his hand again to reassure him.

“You sure?”

“Yes, Dad. Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. If Joe’s good to you, then that’s all I can ask, right?”

Why were my parents so…unthrilled? Joe was charming, gorgeous, polite, good-natured and had a blue-collar job. What more could they want?

Their lack of enthusiasm stuck in my mind. Was there anything wrong with Joe that I didn’t know about? No, of course not. I had a master’s degree in Joe. And maybe it was just natural to wonder about things as the first blush of our relationship wore off.

ONE SATURDAY, JOE AND I went fishing together. We drove up to P-town at the absolute crack of dawn to borrow his friend Sal’s boat. Of course I’d had to get up while it was still dark to beautify before Joe pulled into my driveway. On the ride up, I slumped against the truck window, staring out at the fog as Joe whistled softly, his three-legged dog curled between us. We parked on Macmillan Wharf, grabbed a cup of coffee from a nearby shop and walked down to Sal’s little power boat. Trying not to spill my precious coffee, I gingerly climbed onboard, failing to notice the dampness of the seats until it was seeping into my shorts. Tripod leaped in beside me, nuzzling my arm so that coffee sloshed out of my cup and into the bottom of the boat.

“Naughty puppy,” I said, stroking his head as Joe started the motor.

“You ready?” he said, smiling at me. I smiled back. He really was so delectable. The Cape Cod Tourism Council should feature him in their ads. He adeptly steered us out of Provincetown Harbor into the choppy bay. I turned and watched the picturesque, weather-beaten buildings of P-town’s shoreline grow smaller.

We didn’t talk as the boat zipped around Race Point and into deeper waters. Sal’s boat didn’t have much in the way of navigational equipment, or so it seemed to my anxious gaze. How would we find our way back? Just do a one-eighty? Like a lot of Cape Codders, I rarely went out to sea. That was for fishermen and tourists, not something that ever crossed my mind to do.

As the boat skipped across the choppy waves, I began to know why. If I fell overboard, would I be able to swim to shore? How cold was the water? Were there sharks underneath us? What about giant squid? As we crossed the wake of a bigger vessel, popping over the swells, my stomach rolled, and I clutched the seat.

“Isn’t this the best?” Joe called, the wind whipping his hair around his face.

“You bet!” I chirped, clenching my jaw against the bile that surged upward. Look at the horizon, I instructed myself. My stomach lurched again, making me grateful I hadn’t eaten breakfast. I breathed through my mouth and looked around the boat for flotation devices.

After about an hour, we stopped, and Joe scrabbled about.

“Ready to fish?” he asked.

“Oh,” I murmured, envisioning the effect of bait on my unsettled stomach. “Hey, let’s just sit for a minute and look around.” The boat rocked vigorously. Was this really safe? Normal? Tripod and Joe did not appear worried. Joe came over and wrapped his strong arms around me. He felt solid and warm and safe, and my seasickness released its grip somewhat.

“Lie down, Tripod,” Joe commanded, and his dog obeyed instantly. “You okay?” Joe asked me, kissing my hair. I smiled.

“I’m great.”

The only sounds were the wind and the waves slapping at the sides of the boat. “You know what?” Joe asked.

“What?”

“This is the longest I ever dated anybody.”

“Really?” I answered, remembering to sound surprised.

“It’s the truth.” He kissed my neck, and my heart swelled. I couldn’t be wrong about Joe. We would be perfect together soon enough. Soon, that hidden, heroic side of Joe would emerge once more, and I’d know that I had been right all those years. Pretty soon he’d be saying the L word, buying a ring, and we would be perfectly happy together.

“What about you, Millie? Ever been serious with anybody?”

“Well…” I pretended to muse. The truth of my dating history would never pass my lips, not in front of Joe Carpenter, at any rate. “No, I guess not really serious. Being in medical school and residency and all that…”

“Right.” He didn’t say any else about our relationship, and I decided not to push for more tender words. We were quiet for another minute, as Joe seemed to have exhausted his curiosity about my love life, and then I asked a question my stalking had been unable to answer.

“Joe, how did Tripod lose his leg?” At the mention of his name, Tripod wagged his tail vigorously.

“Oh, that.” Joe stood up and started rummaging in one of the coolers. “Well,” he smiled sheepishly, “I hit him.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I know. It was pretty bad. He was a stray, roaming around, eating trash and all that. I was driving home, and I guess I wasn’t paying attention, had a couple of beers and all, and I just…hit him. Took him to the vet and felt so guilty that I adopted him.” Another sheepish grin.

“Joe! You can’t drink and drive! You could kill someone.”

“I know,” he said, then he began baiting the hook with a small fish. I tasted bile and looked away.

“That’s how Sam’s parents were killed, you know,” I said harshly. The memory of Sam, bent in grief at his parents’ funeral, punched me in the heart. I had cried myself sick that weekend, and I’d barely known them.

“Really?” Joe’s eyebrows raised.

“Yes! Don’t you remember? We were in high school, and Sam had just come back from Notre Dame…. It was on the news and everything, Joe. Half the town went to their funeral.”

Joe obviously didn’t remember. Still, he nodded. “That sucks,” he said.

“It more than sucks, Joe!” I snapped.

“Okay, okay, Millie. You can relax, okay?” He grinned, and I looked away. “Millie,” he continued in a more serious voice, “don’t worry. I learned my lesson. Okay? Forgive me?”

Let it go, Millie. Don’t ruin this day. It was a long time ago, anyway. I took a deep breath and looked at the endless blue sea. “Just don’t ever do it again, okay?”

“Of course not. Like I said, I learned my lesson.” He squeezed my hand, and my anxiety melted a little. I managed to smile at him, and he kissed the tip of my nose. “Here you go,” Joe said. He cast into the water and spun out the line, then handed me the pole.

We didn’t say anything else for a long time, just watched the water, the breeze ruffling our hair, the waves slapping the side of the boat.

“I can’t think of a better way to spend the day,” Joe said. “Being out on the water with my honey.” He turned and gave me the full power of his green eyes and gorgeous smile, and whatever concern was in my heart melted. Honey. He called me honey. I was Joe’s honey. Even if he had done stupid things in the past, he called me honey.

For the next hour or so, I commanded myself to have fun, to enjoy this lovely day with Joe. Unfortunately, I was undeniably seasick, and of course, I’d forgotten sunscreen. Though it had been cloudy when we’d started out, it was sunny on the water. Joe didn’t have sunscreen (it would be so unmanly!), but he found a foul-smelling Red Sox cap, which I dubiously donned, hoping I looked gamine but fearing otherwise.

We trolled around aimlessly, catching nothing. I had only been fishing a handful of times with my dad and had no interest in actually reeling in a cold, flopping creature. Occasionally Joe would check to see if the bait was still attached, then toss the lines back into the frothy wake, where they were carried out to the mysterious depths. I tried not to stand because each time I did, I staggered drunkenly, nearly falling on my backside.

“Joe, how deep is the water out here?”

“Oh, hell, I don’t know.”

“What if we fell overboard?” I asked. “Are there any life vests?”

“We’re not going to fall in, silly Millie,” he said, playfully pulling the brim of my cap down over my face. “Even if you did, I’d jump in and save you.”

“Thank you, kind sir. But where are the life vests?”

“Oh, they’re here somewhere. Maybe under those seats.” He suddenly looked up ahead at the horizon, then leaped to kill our motor.

“What is it? A tidal wave?” I asked, going to stand next to him, grabbing the waistband of his jeans for safety.

“Shh.”

Tripod began to growl. “Shit, Joe,” I whispered. “What is it?”

The answer revealed itself as a plume of water exploded into the air. I let out a scream and held onto Joe for dear life.

Not fifty feet from our boat, a whale surfaced. We glimpsed its huge, glistening, barnacled back and massive tail as it dove again. To our left, another whale crested with a spray of water and air. Tripod barked excitedly, the fur on his back standing on end as he hopped onto the seat.

“Let’s get out of here!” I yelled, tugging at Joe’s shirt. “Come on!”

“Millie, settle down! Look! It’s great!” There was a great splash of water just in front of us as one of the whales slapped its tail. We were so close that droplets of water tickled our faces.

“Joe, they’re going to tip us over! Please!” Tears of panic pricked my eyes.

“They’re not going to capsize us. Just watch.” Joe laughed at the display, ignoring my distress. Barking, Tripod jumped onto the bow of the boat.

“Joe, Tripod’s going to fall in! Get him! Tripod!”

“Get off, Tripod. And Millie, calm down.” Tripod obeyed. I didn’t.

We were surrounded by whales, how many I had no clue. Every time I saw a spout of water or heard that whoosh of air, I thought of Moby Dick ramming the Pequod. Damn my English professor for making me read that book! We were in the middle of the freaking Atlantic Ocean, and I didn’t even have a life vest on! Huge mammals surrounded us, any one of whom could easily overturn our stupid little boat. Tripod would drown. I would drown. Joe would undoubtedly be rescued by mermaids seduced by his beauty.