Author: Kristan Higgins

“Right. So. Do you like our song?” he asked. It was awful, a garish, hideous, screeching song that the kids apparently adored.

“I love it. It’s so us. What’s the title?”

“I have no idea. Hey, Bobby,” he shouted to the boy nearest us. “What’s the name of this song?”

Bobby looked at us curiously. “‘The Unholy,’” he answered.

I MANAGED NOT TO CRY for the rest of the night, thanks mostly to Sam’s protection. At long last, the dance was over, and Sam and I got into his truck. I rested my pounding head against the cool glass of the window as we drove home in silence. When we got to my house, Joe’s truck was mercifully gone. Sam opened my door and helped me out, then walked me to the door.

“Want me to come in?”

“Oh, no, that’s okay.” Tears filled my eyes again, and my lips wobbled.

“How about just for a few minutes?” Sam offered.

I nodded, overwhelmed with gratitude at the comfort of his presence. I knelt down so Digger could kiss me, then went straight to the bedroom, unzipped my dress and slid it off. I heard Sam letting Digger out, then water running. I pulled on some old scrubs and went into the bathroom to wash my face.

Joe and I were done. I leaned over the sink and rinsed the tears away along with the soap, then went back into the kitchen. Sam had made coffee.

“It’s decaf,” he said, handing me a cup.

“Thanks,” I said, reaching for a tissue and blowing my nose. We both sat down at the kitchen table.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Sam asked gently, stirring his coffee.

“Well,” I said shakily. “It’s just that…I’ll be breaking up with Joe tomorrow.” I took a breath that was actually a sob and held the tissue up to my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Millie.”

“I guess…I guess sometimes people aren’t exactly who you think they are, you know?”

“I do.”

Yes, I guess he would. We looked at each other, and he reached out and covered my hand with his own.

“I’m sorry, Millie,” he said again, very softly. My mouth wobbled again.

“Well, Sam,” I said, suddenly feeling as if I had weights tied to my limbs, “I think you can probably go now.”

“You sure? I can stay if you want.”

“No, I think I’m just going to cry it out for a while.”

“Okay, kiddo. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He rose and kissed the top of my head, and that small kindness squeezed another sob out of me.

“You were really great tonight, Sam,” I whispered. Unsurprising, that.

“Take care, honey.”

I looked at him through watery eyes. “Thanks.”

He let the dog back in and then left.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I HAD INVENTED the Joe Carpenter of my dreams. For sixteen years—more than half of my life!—I’d been in love with an imaginary man. All the effort, all the time, all the love I’d poured into Joe had been like shoveling the tide. There was no payoff, there was no happily-ever-after. There was just nothing. Just a sweet, not-too-bright guy whose looks I had used to construct an impossibly perfect man.

God, I was so stupid.

Self-loathing twisted through me, making me toss and turn in my bed. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Whom might I have met if I hadn’t been so hung up on my imaginary Joe? Would I be married to some imperfect but real man by now? Over the past six months, I’d turned myself inside out to get Joe…for what? For nothing, because there was no Joe, not the way I’d thought, anyway. I was like some poor adolescent girl who was in love with a movie star or singer, assigning all kinds of qualities to a pretty face. “And then, someday, our eyes will meet at a concert, and we’ll just know that we’re right for each other….”

And what about the real Joe? What would I say to him? “Oh, sorry, but I made you up. We’re not really breaking up, because the person I thought you are doesn’t exist outside of my head. Have a good day!”

When morning finally hauled itself to Cape Cod, I sat up. My head still hurt, my eyes were gritty from too many tears, my body ached as if I had the flu. The high heels I’d worn the night before caused my calves to cramp, and my hair was tacky from all the goop I’d slathered in it to make it behave.

I drank some orange juice, threw on my sweats and went for a run, needing to purge my mind of the recriminations screaming there. I turned my iPod up loud and trudged along in my trademark trot, Digger plodding beside me, his joy of the outdoors undimmed by my mood. My shoulders cramped, my stomach ached, my calves burned. I didn’t care. In fact, I welcomed the discomfort. It distracted me from the ache in my heart.

When I got home, I showered and brushed my teeth and sat on the porch for a while, feeling hollow and numb. Digger licked my face, but I barely noticed. After a while, the phone rang. Thinking it was Sam, I answered it.

“Millie, it’s Joe.”

My stomach thudded to my feet. “Oh, hi, Joe.”

“Are you okay?” He actually sounded a little scared.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

I sighed. “Maybe you should come over, Joe.”

“Now?”

“Now would be good.”

When Joe got to my house, I saw that he’d brought his dog. Tripod leaped out of the truck, and he and Digger went chasing each other merrily through my yard, just as I had always imagined they would. I winced. All my plans seemed so stupid and shallow now.

Joe stared down at my kitchen table and declined a glass of water or cup of coffee. When I sat down across from him, he looked at me directly.

“Can I just say something first?” he asked.

“Uh, sure,” I said.

“Okay, Millie. I know I screwed up last night, and I can see why you’re so mad at me. It was a really dumb thing to do. I was just thinking about when I was in high school and how sneaking a drink seemed like so much fun. I guess I wanted to seem kind of cool, you know? Because I’ve got to tell you, being back at Nauset High, being called Mr. Carpenter, it kind of freaked me out. All of a sudden, I felt wicked old. Do you know what I mean?”

I shook my head.

“Oh. Well, it was stupid, and I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad anymore, Millie.”

I swallowed. “Joe, it’s actually kind of more than just last night.”

“It is?” His eyes were wide and confused.

I traced the design of my tablecloth, grateful for somewhere to look other than at Joe.

“Well, the thing is, Joe,” I said, needing to whisper because my throat was so tight. He leaned forward to hear me better. “The thing is that I guess I’ve been thinking…I think maybe we’re just not right for each other.” I swallowed loudly.

“But Millie…” Joe said, taking my hands across the table.

“No, Joe, I’m sorry.” I pulled my hands free. “This is mostly on me, not you. Last night was just…just an example of what’s been going on.”

“What are you talking about?”

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…”