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bike. My car, a Subaru station wagon, is good for loading up at the Wal-Mart in Calais when I need stuff for the diner—gallons of Windex and bleach, trash bags, flour—but for day-to-day, I prefer human-powered transportation.
    I pass the University of Maine campus and continue through town. The restaurant is a cheerful, timber-beam place with fairy lights strewn on the bushes outside. It’s lovely inside as well, wide-planked floors, candles twinkling, white tablecloths, a piano in one corner. I ask the maître d’ if Roger is here and am led to a table. Sure enough, there he is, studying the menu. The unfamiliar, nervous thrill of meeting someone new washes over me.
    “Hi, Maggie, I’m Roger,” he says, standing to shake my hand. He is somewhat average-looking; neither handsome nor homely, medium height, just a little chubby. His eyes are blue, his hair brown and receding.
    “Hi. Hi there. I’m Maggie. How are you? This is a nice place, isn’t it? It’s very cute. My sister says they have great food.” I cringe inwardly, blushing. Really should get that babbling tendency looked at.
    Roger smiles. “Have a seat.”
    I sit and settle my bag at my feet, then fiddle with the silverware. “So,” I say. “This is nice. Thank you for coming, too. I mean, for, well… Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” I laugh nervously. “I don’t go out much.” Stop talking. Stop. Talking. “On blind dates, I mean. I’m a little nervous, I guess. But you seem nice. And you have a good job, nothing scary, just nursing. So, you know. So far, so good.”
    Jesus, listen to me. I sound like a chimpanzee on speed. Roger looks on. “Uh, would you like a drink?” he asks.
    Alcohol exacerbates my tendency to blather, so I should definitely refuse. “I’ll have a glass of chardonnay,” I tell the waiter. Clamping my lips shut, I force myself to wait for Roger to speak.
    “Will is married to your sister, right?” he asks.
    “Yes.” Good job, Maggie!
    “And am I correct in thinking that you guys are twins?”
    “Yes.”
    “Identical, right?”
    “Yes.”
    His eyebrows rise slightly. Perhaps now is not the time to shut up, after all. “Yes, uh-huh. We’re twins. Identical twins, you’re right. She’s older by two minutes, but I like to say that Mom loves me best because I weighed less. Christy was nine pounds. Came out of Mom like a bullet. Caused some pretty nasty tearing.”
    No wonder I’m still single.
    “I see,” says Roger. His smile has faded.
    I turn my burning face to the menu. Relax, I tell myself. This is not a game show. You have nothing to lose. He likes you or he doesn’t. You like him or you don’t. Calm yourself.
    The waiter comes and we order dinner. I’m careful to choose a dish that’s neither the cheapest nor the most expensive. I take another sip of wine. “So, Roger, do you like being a nurse?” I ask. That’s more like it, Mags.
    “Yeah, I sure do.” He tells me a little about his work, the hospital. And here’s the thing. He’s not right for me. He’s a little dull… Instead of talking about the patients and doctors and that sort of human interest thing, he’s off on a tangent about overtime and benefits and his 401K. Give him a chance, I can hear my sister saying. I try.
    Our dinners come. Unlike me, Roger has had no compunction about ordering the most expensive item on the menu. The waiter puts down an enormous lobster, red and steaming, and proceeds to tie a bib around Roger’s neck, making him look like a giant toddler. The lobster must weigh four or five pounds, making it a sumo wrestler among its peers. Roger rips off a claw with gladiator-esque machismo and vanquishes it with the provided nutcracker.
    “So you’re a chef, Maggie?” he asks. He twists his fork into the claw and wrestles out a huge piece of meat, dunks it in butter and shoves it in his mouth. Butter and lobster juice run down his chin, but he takes his time wiping. The odds that I will love this man for the rest of