He said he fell for Carrie when she did her riff on his name and dental hygiene. She told him he was deranged, but she loved that he liked her ditzy side. Up to that point, she had dated serious young men who were out to save the world. They practiced storefront law in inner-city neighborhoods with high crime rates, or they spent part of each year practicing medicine in countries that had no running water. Howie admitted that he'd gone to dental school because he thought it would be easier than medical school—although now that he was a dentist he liked the job. He took Carrie to Radio City Musical Hall to see the Rockettes and to the Bronx Zoo, and to every home game the Yankees played. He liked good restaurants, nice clothes, action movies—particularly if they were funny—and Law and Order reruns. “I like knowing I can find an episode any time of the day or night,” he explained. “And the good guys win eighty-five percent of the time. If it were a hundred percent I couldn't go with it, but eighty-five percent makes for great mind candy.”

She couldn't believe he'd admit out loud that he liked mind candy. “You really want to enjoy yourself, don't you?” she asked.

“Doesn't everyone?”

Carrie thought about telling him that she had a mother who slept on the sofa so there would be more money to give to the homeless shelter. She discarded the idea.

Howie enjoyed himself when he made love. There was no angst involved, no bravado, and no after-the-fact Was it good for you? questioning that Carrie understood was supposed to be sensitive but always sounded to her like a bid for applause. Waking up at Howie's place—nicely furnished with lots of light woods, and blue and brown upholstery—she thought that being with him was like sinking into a cushy oversize sofa.

Howie invited Carrie to have Thanksgiving with his family. “Mom cooks everything just like she used to do when we were kids. But she still lives in the city and there's not enough room for the whole family in her apartment, and my brother, Mike, and his wife have a house in Katonah, so he sends a car for Mom and the food. We can probably hitch a ride with her, if you don't mind balancing a turkey on your knees.”

It was a dream Carrie had had since she was a kid, to have a real Thanksgiving dinner in someone's home—she'd given up on the hope of it being her own home at the age of seven. But now that she was faced with the possibility of actually eating her holiday meal at a dining room table with a family, she couldn't do it.

“My mother and I always spend Thanksgiving together …”

“She can come with us.”