FEW DAYS LATER, after several dozen kisses for her boys and myriad instructions for her parents, Katie climbed into my car for our sleepover.

It was the end of June, a perfect, clear summer afternoon, the temperature about seventy, the breeze just stirring the leaves. Katie and I hadn’t had any real time together for a while, and I felt a rush of love for her as we drove to my house. Each time I thought about my idea that she needed a husband, I felt slightly ashamed. She did seem happy, the boys were wonderful and her apartment clean and cheerfully cluttered. Who was I to say she needed more?

Once home, I showed her the newest changes and additions, pointing out the recent picture of Corey and Michael that I’d had matted and framed. She blushed with pleasure at seeing their photo hung so prominently in my living room and accepted the beer I handed her.

“Is it too early for alcohol?” she asked.

“Oh, no,” I answered. “It’s thirteen minutes after four. Perfectly acceptable.”

“Don’t even think about it, dog,” she said to Digger, who was gently preparing to mount her leg. He slunk away, dejected, and I slipped him a chew stick as a consolation prize.

“Look what I brought, Millie. Just like old times.” From out of her overnight bag, Katie pulled an array of containers…mud masks, moisturizers, nail polish.

We spent a happy hour (so to speak) applying various products to our faces and lounging around, looking at the InStyle and People magazines I had bought for the occasion.

“So things are good, Katie?” I asked, somewhat hesitantly.

She smiled. “Yeah, things are really good. The boys aren’t so demanding, although they tend to bicker a lot these days. And I talked to the bank about a house. My parents will help, but I want to do most of it alone. They’ve already helped me so much.” She leaned her head against the arm of the sofa and looked at her fingernails, now polished a deep red. Her blond hair fell in a smooth curtain, almost touching the floor.

I was struck, as I often was, by her effortless beauty, and even more by the fact that she was completely unaffected by it. Knowing Katie’s merciless four older brothers, I imagined whatever vanity Katie might have once had had long been erased.

She smiled at me. “So, Millie, I’ve been dying to hear. How’s Operation Joe?”

I sat up straighter in the chair I was lounging in. “Well, Katherine, funny you should ask.” I told her about last weekend’s big dinner, Joe’s screwup in nights, the macaroni and cheese, all of it.

“And tell, me, Millie,” my friend asked, “did you…do it?”

I paused for effect. “Yes. We did it.”

“Oh, my God!” she shrieked. “Oh, Millie!” We burst into a fit of adolescent giggling, clutching hands and snorting. “Fifteen years in the making! I can’t believe it!”

“It was sixteen years, thank you very much, and you have to believe it, because it’s true. I videotaped it.”

“Oh, my God, did you really?” Katie sat up abruptly.

“No, no, for God’s sake…well, not yet, anyway.” We laughed some more.

“So.” Katie took another swig of her beer. “How was it?”

My face grew warm. “Well…um, well, it was actually…you know…it—it wasn’t great.”

“Wasn’t great? Not great? Oh, my God! How could it not be great? You’ve been dreaming about this since we were teenagers! What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Needing to look away, I gathered our beer bottles and straightened up the magazines. “It was fine. He was fine. It’s just—I don’t know, I was nervous or self-conscious or something. All the parts went into the right places, you know, but…it just wasn’t…shut up, Katie.”

My oldest friend in the world was shaking with laughter, tears streaming down her face. I glared for a moment, then gave in and laughed with her.

A FEW HOURS LATER, WE WERE at the Orleans Prison, a cute and reliable restaurant that used to be, obviously, a prison. Thick stone walls and barred windows made up the bar, and the restaurant spread out in a new wing behind us. We were deep into a discussion of reality dating shows.

“I’d like to see one that’s really real,” Katie said. “Like, I could tell a guy how my life really is, and then see if he’d want to share his trust fund with me.”

“What would you ask?” I took a slug of my wine.

“Oh, like, ‘Bachelor Number One…my son has diarrhea and missed the toilet. Do you wipe his crusty little bottom first or clean up the floor?’”

I laughed. “Or ‘Bachelor Number Two…I haven’t had time to shave my legs or underarms in six weeks. Do you feel this makes me less attractive?’”

“How about, ‘I have dry, itchy winter skin, Evan. How do you feel about scratching my shins?’”

Heads turned at our laughter, but we didn’t care. We ordered some Frangelico for after-dinner drinks, feeling very sophisticated, despite all evidence to the contrary.

“Guess what Mikey told my parents the other day?” Katie asked, smiling.

“What?” I had a definite soft spot for my younger godson.

“He wants a vagina.”

I choked on my drink and then exploded into giggles. “Oh, no! What did they say?”

“They told him to ask Santa.” Katie wheezed with laughter.

“I’m sorry. I should never have given them that anatomy book,” I said, wiping my eyes.

“Yes. ‘Winky’ and ‘down there’ sound so much better,” she answered. “Speaking of vaginas and winkies, tell me more about Joe.”

I grinned, happy for a chance to discuss J.C. “Hmm. Well, he’s very sweet,” I said.

“What does he do that’s sweet?” She took another sip of Frangelico, only to find her glass was empty.

“Oh, he stopped by yesterday on his way home,” I said. This was a mere four days after our first time, and I’d been absolutely thrilled that Joe was seeking me out.

“Stopped by for not-great sex?” Katie asked, smiling wickedly.

I blushed. “It’s not him, I’m sure. And yes.”

We heard a murmur go up from the bar, and there he was, my very own Joe Carpenter. He called a hello to the bartender and looked around, waving when he saw us.

“He really is gorgeous,” Katie murmured appreciatively.

I sighed with lust. “I know.” Wearing only blue jeans and a worn T-shirt, Joe was nonetheless breathtaking. Every single woman at the bar, regardless of age, checked him out, and so did some of the men. He extricated himself from the crowd and came over. “I told him we were coming here,” I explained to Katie.

“Mmm hmm.”

“Hey,” Joe said, smiling down at us. “How was dinner?”

“It was…you know…not great,” Katie answered with a wicked smile, and I choked a little.

Joe straddled a chair and leaned in to kiss my hot, no doubt scarlet-colored cheek.

“Don’t make yourself too comfortable, Joe,” I said, patting him on the leg with feigned casualness. His leg was warm and firm under his age-softened jeans. I caught a whiff of Ivory soap and wood and nearly swooned. “As I believe you were told, this is girls night out. No boys allowed.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Katie began.

“No, no,” I insisted. “We don’t get too many nights out together, after all.”

Joe smiled. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, girls. Just wanted to say hello. But I’ll see you tomorrow, right, Millie?”

“Um, yes. You bet.” It was hard to speak normally—Joe referring to our togetherness was quite overwhelming, and the alcohol in my system wasn’t helping. Still, I managed to smile at him.

“Great. Have a good time,” he said and ambled back to the bar. Katie and I watched as he was immediately approached by two women.

“Thanks for sending him away,” Katie smiled.

“Oh, sure,” I said, still gazing at Joe.

“You’re purring,” she commented.

“He’s so…I just…”

Thankfully, the waitress interrupted my drooling idiocy by placing two glasses of wine in front of us. “Courtesy of Brad Pitt over there,” she said with an appreciative nod at Joe, who waved cheerfully.

We talked about normal things like work and family and were reluctant to leave. My brain was blurry from the wine, despite the fact that I had stopped drinking a while ago. “You know, Katie,” I said, “I think we need to call someone for a ride. I don’t usually have more than a beer or two, and I definitely shouldn’t be driving.”

“Okay,” she said. “Joe would give us a ride, I’m sure.”

“No,” I answered. “No Joe. Joe had the pleasure of my company last night, and Joe must wait for it before he gets it again. The shecret of my shuccess.” At this very moment, Joe was nearly invisible, surrounded by a bevy of women. He caught my eye and grinned. Darling boy. I flushed with pleasure.

“Then let’s have another drinkie while we decide who’s lucky enough to come fetch us,” Katie suggested. She flagged our waitress down once more. “Yes, could we please have two slippery nipples?” she said in her sweetest voice. I exploded with laughter.

“You won’t be laughing when you taste them,” Katie said. “They’re gross. But fun to order. Should I call my parents? My dad will come get us.”

“No, because then they’ll think I’m a bad influence,” I reasoned. “And then they won’t babysit next time we want to do this. I’ll call my dad.”

“Yeah, right. I can just imagine how happy Big Barnes would be to see his little princess drunk.”

“Excellent point. Dad is still a teeny bit overprotective.”

“How about Trevor?” Katie named her twin brother, older than she was by eight minutes.

“No, Trevor doesn’t like me.”

“Oh, come on! He likes you fine!” Katie exclaimed.

“Nope. Not Trev. How about Steve?” I offered the name of another of Katie’s many brothers.

“Just married, remember? I don’t think Sheila would like him coming out at eleven o’clock to fetch his sister.” Our waitress brought the nipples, and they were, as promised, rather gross.

“Sam will come get us,” I said, watching as Katie sipped her, uh, drink. “How about Sam?”

Katie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Millie,” she warned.

“No, no, nothing like that. I’ve learned the error of my ways. But Sam’s sweet, and he won’t cop an attitude—get it? And besides, he never goes anywhere. He’d love to come and get us.”

“Do you swear you’re not trying to fix us up again?” she asked.

“Not unless you want me to,” I said innocently, though my eyes may have crossed a little.

“I don’t.”

“Okay, okay, but let’s call Sam. Sam’s awesome.” I fished my cell phone out of my bag and dialed Sam’s number. My nephew answered.

“Hi, Danny, how are you?”

“Hey, Aunt Mil. What’s up?”

Not wanting Danny to know I had been overindulging, I spoke carefully. “I’m looking for your father, Dan. Is he available?”

“Sure. Hang on. Dad,” he called. “It’s Aunt Millie. She sounds trashed.”

“Danny!” I said, simultaneously irritated and amused. “The boy can tell I’ve been drinking,” I said to Katie.

“Imagine that,” she answered dryly, taking a sip of water.

“Giving up on your nipple?” I asked, and we burst into laughter again as Sam came on the line. He agreed to join us at the Prison, and though it had become increasingly difficult for me to estimate time, appeared at our table a little while later.

“Hey, Millie, Katie,” he said, smiling and sitting down. Our faithful waitress, who had put up with us for hours now, took his order for a beer. “I understand you girls need a ride home.”

I sighed gustily. “Now who told you that? Danny? He’s jushta a child.”

Sam laughed softly. “I hope I am here to be your chauffeur, Millie, because there’s no way I’ll let you behind the wheel.”

“What about Katie?” I complained. “She’s been drinking, too!”

“At least Katie’s not sloppy,” Sam said, throwing Katie a little wink.

“Yeah, well, she can out-drink an Irish firefighter at a wake. And here I thought you’d be grateful that we rescued you from another night at home alone,” I said.

“Oh, I am, I am,” Sam replied. “It’s not every night I get to be with the two prettiest women on Cape Cod.”

Katie rolled her eyes, but such corn-pone sweetness made me want to weep, suddenly. “Sam, you’re the best,” I said sappily. “We love you, Sam.”

“Hey, guys.” Joe Carpenter stood at our table. “How’s it going, Sam?”

“Okay, Joe, how about yourself?”

“Never better. You playing next week?” Joe was no doubt referring to the sacred softball league.

“Yup. You guys?”

“That’s right. Thursday, I think.”

“Danny’s looking good. Fielding like Nomar of old,” Joe commented affably. I yawned hugely just as Joe turned to me. “Hey, girls, why does Sam get to hang out with you? I thought it was girls only. No boys allowed.”

Katie tossed her hair in an efficient shake. “Sam’s not a boy, Peter Pan. He’s a man.”

Joe looked startled for a second, but Sam intervened. “I’m here only as a public servant, Joe.” He smiled at me, eyes crinkling. I smiled drunkenly back. How I loved Sam!

“Right,” Joe said. “Well, I’ll let you guys be. Have a good night. See you tomorrow, Millie.” He leaned in and kissed me quickly on the mouth, then returned to his stool.

Sam led us to his car a short time later and drove us home. He kissed us each on the cheek, advised aspirin with an entire glass of water and drove off.

“You’re a prince, Sam,” I called, waving.

“He really is a prince,” Katie murmured. “Don’t look at me that way. I’m just stating a fact.”