N WEDNESDAY AT 5:37 P.M., after a day spent counting the agonizingly slow passage of minutes, I called Joe. I knew that he usually got home around 4:30 or 5:00 and then, if he were going out, would usually leave around 7:00 or 7:30, depending on where he was going to eat—the Barnacle, the Crow’s Nest or the Humpback. Perhaps, I thought as his phone rang, he was just now changing into clean clothes after a shower, tugging on some faded jeans. Perhaps he was carelessly running his hands through his water-darkened golden hair, idly reminding himself to get it cut one of these days. Perhaps his long eyelashes were spiked from the water, his T-shirt clinging to his still damp…

“Hello?”

I jumped. “Joe! Hi. How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you?” he answered pleasantly.

“Great. Been busy?” I asked.

“Oh, sure.” I heard a familiar sound as he spoke, the sound of dry dog food clattering into a pan.

“How’s Tripod?” I smiled, picturing Joe’s cute, three-legged friend hopping eagerly around the kitchen as his master got dinner ready.

“He’s great,” Joe answered. I heard him set the pan down, heard the jingling of dog tags as Tripod dug in. “Can I ask you something?” Joe said.

“Sure, anything,” I answered warmly.

“Who is this?”

Shit! Had I forgotten to say? “Oh, sorry. It’s Millie.” My cheeks burned. He didn’t know who I was, even though we had just spoken yesterday! Well, it was still early in the relationship, right?

“Millie! I thought you were blowing me off. You got off the phone pretty quick yesterday.” He sounded like he was smiling. He was probably teasing.

“You were wrong, young man,” I said. “I told you I would call you today, and here I am.”

“Uh-huh. So what’s up?” he asked.

I looked around my tidy kitchen, hoping for inspiration and finding none. “Oh, not too much. What are you doing?”

“Not much, either. You wanna see me again?” He was teasing, I could definitely tell that now.

“Well, I guess I do. Sure. What did you have in mind?” Nicely done, Millie. Ball back in his court.

“What did you have in mind?” He chuckled, low and sexy, and lust tightened my loins. I clutched the phone in my suddenly sweaty hand. Play it cool, Millie, I advised myself.

“Hmm. Well, how about if you come over for dinner?”

“Tonight?”

“No!” God, no! I was not the type of person to whip up a dinner to impress. “Sorry, I have, um, some plans tonight. How about Friday?” That should give me enough time.

“Friday? Sure.” Oh, Joe. So amiable and sweet. Such a good kisser.

“Maybe around 7:00?” I asked.

“That would be great,” he answered.

“Good,” I said. We were quiet for a minute.

“Millie?”

“Yes?”

“I can’t wait.”

My chest ached with joy. “You’re sweet, Joe,” I answered softly.

“You’re the sweet one,” he replied, uh, sweetly.

“Well. Have a good night,” I said.

“See you Friday.” He hung up the phone.

Very gently, I replaced my phone back on its charger and stared at it. Digger came over and wagged happily at me. From the kitchen, I could smell his defecation, the only real note about my surreal evening.

Sweet. Joe Carpenter thought I was sweet and couldn’t wait to be with me on Friday. “I knew it would work, Digger,” I said to my dog. “I knew he’d fall for me, I knew it, I knew it, I knew it.” Joe Carpenter was coming here, to my clean, adorable, cozy house to eat a fabulous meal with attractive, sweet me, to meet my wonderful doggy, to…maybe…was it too early to…? For fifteen happy, dazed minutes, I sighed and cooed before snapping myself out of my lustful fog. I had work to do.

In order to get through medical school, you had to be pretty organized (anal retentive is another term). You have to love lists. And I did.

Wednesday p.m. (that was tonight)

1. Clean fridge. Throw out yeast.

2. Clean oven.

3. Wash bathroom with bleach so smell dissipates by Friday.

4. Dust.

5. Make shopping list for dinner.

Thursday

1. Buy groceries, beer, wine.

2. Wash floors on Thursday p.m., Friday noon if raining.

3. Clean sheets just in case.

4. Rent movie in case #3 doesn’t happen.

5. Call Curtis/Mitch for wardrobe suggestions.

Friday

1. Wash Digger and make sure he doesn’t roll in dead things afterward.

2. Cook.

3. Sponge mop kitchen floor if needed.

4. Set table.

5. Shower/hair/makeup/clothes.

Now, what to cook, what to cook? The ever-important first meal I would cook for my boyfriend. Because, after Friday night, I think I could definitely consider myself Joe’s Girlfriend.

Having learned many painful lessons about ingredient substitutions, I knew that I would have to follow directions meticulously. I wanted to find something delicious, not so hard as to cause mayhem and despair, but difficult enough to impress subtly. Not too garlicky, I thought, rejecting all things Italian. Perhaps something that could stay in the oven warming, like a casserole. But not a casserole. Too mom-ish. Hmm. Hmm. Nothing too cliché, too old ladyish, too spicy, too bland or too messy.

After poring over my three cookbooks for a couple hours, I finally decided on the following meal to win Joe’s heart via the gastric route: mixed green salad with raspberry vinaigrette, shrimp étouffée over rice, broiled summer squash and zucchini with parmesan, finished off with blueberry pie.

Joe loved shrimp, as I had witnessed many times at restaurants over the years. The summer squash-zucchini thing would be nice, since it was seasonal and colorful and the pie…well, what man doesn’t love blueberry pie? All in all, I didn’t think those dishes would be too hard. After I read and reread the recipes, I decided the only thing I might have trouble with was the pie crust.

But never fear! My mom was a master baker, and I imagined she’d love helping me put a pie together. I gave her a call, and sure enough, she was delighted to be needed.

Though it was now after eight o’clock, I popped a Tom Petty CD into the stereo and set to work, cleaning, scouring, chiseling the mysterious charred remains of some long-ago dinner from the bottom of the oven. I threw the curtains in to wash and assessed my napkin and place-mat options. Clearly I would have to buy more…would I have time for a quick trip to Sleet’s Hardware, where all the really nice kitchen stuff was sold?

It was after midnight when I finally went to bed, but I was pleased that everything was going according to plan. Just as I started to doze off, I jolted awake with an unpleasant thought…work! Shit! I would have to take off work, because clearly I wouldn’t be able to get everything done otherwise. A guilty wave cramped my stomach. I was a doctor, after all, and calling out so I could prepare for a date was just awful. Stupid. Moronic.

However…it was just once. The means to an end. I deserved to have a life, right? I had vacation time. And it wasn’t like patients were asking for me in particular. Granted, I wasn’t giving a lot of notice, but Cape Cod Hospital would send another doctor up to cover for me. Juanita had said so at the orientation.

Telling my conscience to take the night off, I focused on Joe. Once we were an established couple, I wouldn’t have to go to these lengths anymore. It was just this once. I stuffed the guilt into the dirty-laundry area of my soul and moved on.

I would have to call Juanita. I got up, fumbled in my desk and located her card, then taped it to my phone so I’d remember to call her first thing. Luckily, Dr. Bala was scheduled for the second shift tomorrow. I’d try to leave early, and definitely would have to take Friday and Saturday off…. Saturday, because I might be dressed in only a sheet with the object of my love in bed next to me, and obviously I wouldn’t want to be dashing off to work. As I got back into bed, I went over my conversation with Juanita in my head.

“Hi, Juanita, it’s Dr. Barnes from the clinic…I’m making dinner for my boyfriend and need a few days off.”

Hmm. Though it was the truth, it lacked a certain something. Maturity, perhaps?

“Hi, Juanita, it’s Dr. Barnes. I have a slight emergency here and can’t come in to work for a couple of days.”

No. Growing up Catholic, I was taught not to say such things, because God would be irritated with my lie and make it true. Now, as an almost thirty-year-old adult, I could intellectually dismiss this argument—God wasn’t hanging around waiting for me to tell a lie so He could strike me down—but just in case God was having a slow day, I figured I should work on something else.

“Hi, Juanita, Millie Barnes. I’ve had something unexpected come up here and need to take Friday and Saturday off.”

That was more like it. Not a lie, not full disclosure. Inspiration struck: I would call her now and leave a message on her voice mail! That way (A) it would seem urgent, as it was now one in the morning, and (B) I wouldn’t have to talk to her. Brilliant. I got up yet again, made the call, and finally padded back to bed.

The next day I set about accomplishing the items on my agenda. After work, I bought groceries, stopping at no fewer than four markets in all (basic food, liquor, seafood, farmers). Once back home, I stashed the food and decided I had time for a quick run. I pulled on an old T-shirt (Guinness for Health) and began stretching the way Sam had taught me. At the thought of my brother-in-law, I sighed.

It was hard to accept that he and Katie wouldn’t be a couple, and yet, a small, selfish pleasure glowed in the knowledge that he remained unattached. Sam had a way of making people feel so enjoyed somehow—myself most definitely included. All through those long, miserable adolescent years, I’d always felt good around Sam, never awkward, never unattractive, just welcomed and funny and smart.

Would I ever be able to feel that way with Joe? As thrilling as it was to be near the Golden One, dancing through my self-created hoops was a little difficult. Still, my Joe strategies were working—this would be my third date with him in a week. The power of research, I commended myself. The naturalness would doubtlessly come with time.

Later that evening, my mom came over with some Chinese food. We sat companionably in the kitchen, eating out of the cartons and chatting about pie-crust techniques.

“I know it’s bad for you, but I use lard instead of Crisco. Lard really makes the best crust. And everything has to be as cold as you can keep it, hon,” Mom preached, her eyes taking on a religious shine. “You have to work fast if you want it to be flaky. Otherwise, the glutens…well, it isn’t pretty.”

“Cold and fast. Gotcha.” Actually, I was pretty much hoping that Mom would do everything and I could just watch and later take credit for her hard work.

“So…why the sudden interest in pies?” Mom asked slyly, delicately biting a little ear of corn.

“Oh, I’m making dinner for, um, a friend, and since it’s summer, I thought a pie would be nice. Seasonal.” Actually, blueberries were not yet in season, and I’d had to pay almost ten bucks for enough berries, but it would be a small price to pay for Joe’s delight.

“A friend? That’s nice,” Mom said, smiling. I blushed. She didn’t ask any more, and I grinned. Good old Mom. She still knew everything.

As I had hoped, my cute little mom took over, telling me just to watch the first time. Her capable hands whipped the crust out, and she deftly mixed the berries and sugar, instructing as I sat on the counter next to her and sipped my Corona.

“I love you, Mom,” I interrupted as she lectured about egg versus milk glazes. She looked up abruptly, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, Millie, sweetie, I love you, too!” she said, giving me a floury hug. “And I’m so happy to have you around, honey.” She paused to put the pie in the oven. “With Trish gone…” Her voice tapered off.

With Trish gone, my mom was lonely, and I’d been too busy stalking Joe to notice. I had only called her because I needed something from her, and I suddenly felt ashamed. For all her flaws, Trish had been a great daughter, to our mom at least.

“Let’s do something next week,” I said. “Just us. Let’s go shopping in Providence.”

“Oh, honey, that would be so much fun! We could have lunch, too.”

“I’ll even let you pick out an outfit for me, now that I’m not so chubby,” I offered. It had long been a bitter pill for Mom to swallow, that she, the reigning queen of Talbots Petite, had spawned an overweight daughter who’d worn almost solely scrubs for eight years.

“I can’t wait,” Mom said. “Well, I have to go home and watch the Red Sox. Daddy and I watched them yesterday, and they won. Now he’s afraid they’ll lose if I’m not there to cheer them on.” She rolled her eyes and we laughed, knowing my dad was dead serious. “Keep the temperature at four hundred for fifteen more minutes, then turn the oven down to three-twenty-five and bake it for another forty. Call me if you have any questions.” Mom washed her hands and gave me another hug. “And Millie…I hope he appreciates you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, my throat tightening in a rush of gratitude.

After Mom left, I called those fabulous P-town boys for their wardrobe recommendations. I hadn’t seen them for a while, since they were busy with the Peacock, and we set up a night out.

“Bring the boy,” Curtis commanded. “We want to meet him.”

“We’ll see how it goes,” I answered, grinning. What fun that would be, introducing Joe to my friends, like a real girlfriend! Eventually, I’d even take him home for the official meeting of my parents. My dad would be pleased to have me with a laborer, and everyone was charmed by Joe. Soon, soon, he would be a real part of my life, not just the fantasy that had been playing in my mind for the past fifteen years.