How Do You Know? Read online

  Praise for Meredith Schorr

  “What a fun book. The characters were incredibly well-written. I felt like I understood everyone’s personalities and quirks, almost as if I knew them personally myself. Meredith Schorr is a talented author and I’m glad she has other books out for me to read!”

  – Becky Monson, Bestselling Author of the Spinster Series

  “Sassy, sexy, endlessly entertaining, and full of laughs (as well as some heart-wrenching moments), Blogger Girl is one of those books that keeps you up at night because you can’t wait to see what happens next.”

  – Tracie Banister, Author of Mixing It Up

  “America finally has its own version of Britain’s Bridget Jones!”

  – Books in the Burbs

  “A strong and confident heroine, a sexy boyfriend you can crush on, supportive friends, and plenty of conflict leading to comical results, culminating in a very satisfying ending…Once you start this book, you won’t be able to put it down.”

  – Erin Brady, Bestselling Author of The Shopping Swap

  “A perfect mix of romance, conflict, and humor, Novelista Girl solidifies Schorr’s place among best-sellers Sophie Kinsella and Emily Giffin.”

  – Carolyn Ridder Aspenson, Bestselling Author of Unbinding Love

  “Absolutely brilliant chick lit, I couldn’t put it down, and I highly, highly recommend.”

  – Chick Lit Plus

  “Meredith writes with wit, candor, humor and vulnerability that illuminates the struggles of dating and relationships.”

  — Nancy Slotnick, Author of Turn Your Cablight On

  “The perfect vacation read. The dialogue flows like beer at a beach party.”

  – K.C. Wilder, Author of Fifty Ways to Leave Your Husband

  “I laughed my way through this novel. A must-read.”

  – Chick Lit Plus

  “A witty true-to-life story that will not disappoint you, it is chick lit at it’s very best!”

  – Jersey Girl Book Reviews

  “I am a huge fan of chick lit, but this book was so much more. It has become one of my favorite reads!”

  – The Little Black Book Blog

  “Meredith Schorr is an author to watch.”

  – Tracy Kaler, Founder and Editor of Tracy’s New York Life

  “You won’t forget this delightful cast of characters or Schorr’s sharp, candid insights about the plight of the modern woman.”

  – Diana Spechler, Author of Who by Fire and Skinny

  “I think every woman will relate to Maggie and her friends, no matter her age or relationship status.”

  – Chick Lit Club

  Books by Meredith Schorr

  JUST FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS

  A STATE OF JANE

  HOW DO YOU KNOW?

  THE BOYFRIEND SWAP

  The Blogger Girl Series

  BLOGGER GIRL (#1)

  NOVELISTA GIRL (#2)

  BRIDAL GIRL (#3)

  Sign up for Henery Press updates

  and we’ll deliver the latest on new books, sale books, and pre-order books, plus all the happenings in the Hen House!

  CLICK TO SIGN UP

  (Note: we won’t share your email address and you can unsubscribe any time.)

  We’d love to hear what you thought about this book. No matter how brief or how long, reader reviews make a difference. Thank you!

  Copyright

  HOW DO YOU KNOW?

  Part of the Henery Press Chick Lit Collection

  Second Edition | February 2017

  Henery Press, LLC

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, LLC, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2017 by Meredith Schorr

  Author photograph by Clin D’Oeil at Photography by Mayra Ferra

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-157-6

  Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-158-3

  Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-159-0

  Hardcover Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-160-6

  Printed in the United States of America

  In Memory of Alan Blum

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to Abbe Kalnick, Hilda Black, Ronni Candlen, Jenny Kabalen, Shanna Eisenberg, Jennifer Baum, Jennifer Levin, Marisa Glasser, Hilary Grossman, and Elke Marks—you helped inspire this novel by being fabulous, sassy, intelligent women on the far side of forty who demonstrate daily that age really is just a number.

  My deepest gratitude goes out to my brilliant beta readers: Natalie Aaron, Anna Garner, and Samantha Stroh Bailey. This novel wouldn’t be nearly as good without your honest and thorough feedback. I am so grateful to have such amazing authors in my corner. More importantly, I’m so proud to consider you all my friends. Special thanks to Ally Bishop for your developmental assistance with the original version of this book.

  Thank you to my fabulous publisher, Henery Press, especially my ace editor, Erin George. Being in the Hen House is a dream come true.

  I offer heartfelt and undying appreciation to my sister, Marjorie Bollard. Without your lifelong unconditional love and support, I would never have the guts to put stories out there for the world to read. Heck, I might not have the courage to leave my apartment. You are my rock, my conscience, and my hero, and I love you so very much. Thanks for being my first beta reader too!

  Thank you to my mommy, Susan Goodman, for your overwhelming enthusiasm for my writing, including my blogs (although I know you read them hoping for scoop on my love life). You’re the best mom in the whole wide world and I love you to infinity.

  I will be forever grateful to my fellow Chick Lit Goddesses for providing an outlet to exchange advice and ideas, and offer encouragement on writing, publishing, marketing, and a whole lot more. Special thanks to the “beach babes”—Francine LaSala, Eileen Goudge, Jen Tucker, Julie Valerie, Josie Brown, and the aforementioned Samantha Stroh Bailey.

  Thank you to book bloggers everywhere for being awesome and helping spread the word about my books: Melissa Amster, Kaley Stewart, Mary Smith, Samantha Janning, Ashley Williams, Isabella Anderson, Marlene Engel, Aimee Brown, Bethany Clarke, Uma Kayla, and Kelly Perotti among others.

  Thank you to Deborah Shapiro for being my sounding board and a constant shoulder to cry on when I need it. You are the second best boss in the world, and I know you’ll understand why I can’t assign you the number one position.

  Finally, thank you to Alan Blum, to whom this book is dedicated. When you died, you took a piece of my heart with you. There are not enough words to express what your love and friendship meant to me, and I miss you each and every day.

  July

  “A toast to the birthday girl!” Melanie says, raising her watermelon martini.

  Jodie and Amanda lift their glasses and repeat Melanie’s sentiment.

  Despite my friends’ insistence on taking me out, I’m not entirely convinced turning thirty-nine is worth celebrating. Just the same, I lift my drink as high as I can without spilling it all over the table and lightly clink my glass against theirs. “I appreciate you ladies coming out for a mid-week celebration.”
<
br />   “It’s about time you joined me in the dreaded countdown to the big four-oh,” Jodie says. She’s only seven months older than me, but when we were roommates in college, she gloated when she turned twenty-one first. She’s not gloating anymore. “And besides, your swan-like fall before was well worth the cost of a babysitter. You’d think by the ripe old age of thirty-nine you would have learned how to walk properly. But, nope equally as klutzy now as you were at nineteen. And completely sober, to boot.”

  I blink my blue eyes hard hoping to erase from my brain the memory of tripping over an invisible crack in the sidewalk, falling on the pavement, and exposing my leopard-print G-string thong to passing pedestrians. “Is it bad that the sole thought in my head mid-plummet was ‘Thank God I waxed’?”

  Melanie snorts. “The thought would never have crossed my mind, which I think is worse, especially for Barry’s sake. But between the lawyer gig during the day and chasing after the boys at night, my husband is just lucky I remember to shave my armpits.”

  “But you made time for your favorite colleague,” I say. Melanie is an attorney at the New York City law firm where I work as the marketing manager.

  “You bet. I’m on a one-drink maximum, though, since I have an early morning training run tomorrow.”

  “I’m so impressed with your running ethic, Melanie.” Amanda sips her drink, then wipes the sugar from her upper lip and frowns. “I’m happy to celebrate with you, Maggie…but didn’t you want to celebrate with Doug?”

  “Having a boyfriend doesn’t mean I can’t ring in my birthday with my girls. And you know Doug. He’s not the ‘let’s get drunk during the week’ type of guy.” Doug and I have been dating for almost three years and share an apartment, but I’m very proud that I’ve never let my relationship with him get in the way of time with my girlfriends. “I couldn’t possibly tackle another birthday without a drink. Anyway, he’s taking me out for dinner on Saturday night, and Sunday we’re celebrating with an all-day Joss Whedon television festival—back-to-back episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly, and Dollhouse. Doug even dug out the old-fashioned popcorn maker from the back of the closet.”

  Melanie pushes her fiery-red, fringe-style bangs away from her green eyes and smiles at me. “Fun. You guys turn watching television into an art form.”

  “Where is he taking you on Saturday?” Amanda asks.

  “No idea. He’s surprising me. But it’s not like it’s a landmark birthday. Thank God,” I say, muttering the last part. There is a rolling in my stomach at the thought of turning forty in three hundred and sixty-five days. I take an extra big gulp from my drink to speed up the intoxication process so I’ll feel better, at least temporarily, about this impending milestone.

  “You still have an entire year, Mags. I only have five months. And nine days,” Jodie says, faking a shiver.

  “But at least you’ve been married. And have kids. I’m certain turning forty wouldn’t bother me as much if I felt like my life had changed more since turning thirty, aside from me sprouting a few more wrinkles around my eyes.”

  “As of last month, I’m officially divorced. And I thought you were iffy about the whole kids thing,” Jodie says.

  Amanda looks at me with raised brows. “You are?”

  “I’m undecided.” I remove the elastic band from my wrist and pull my dirty blond hair into a long ponytail. Even with the keratin smoothing treatment I splurged on to keep my naturally wavy hair from getting out of control, it’s too humid to feel my hair on my back.

  Amanda runs a finger along the sugar rim of her glass, then licks the skin clean. “Don’t you think you should figure that out?”

  “What is there to figure out? If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it wasn’t meant to be.” The truth is, I don’t know if I want to be a mother, but I hate the stigma associated with being forty and childless. I also loathe knowing if I wait too much longer, my “mature” eggs will make the choice for me.

  “What does Doug say about it?” Melanie runs her hand across her bangs again. Since she chopped her ginger locks from long layers to a sleek, shoulder-length bob, she’s constantly playing with it, almost as if checking to make sure it’s still there.

  “Whether or not to have kids is not a popular discussion in our home. Most couples plan a marriage before they plan a family, right?” From where we are sitting outside on the patio, I peer inside the dimly-lit lounge, noting how much more crowded it’s become since we arrived. At least as the birthday girl, I won’t be expected to go up to the bar. Birthdays are good for some things.

  “Speaking of which, I think Doug should shit or get off the pot. It’s been almost three years,” Amanda says matter-of-factly.

  “Who said I want to get married?” Amanda has been single since we met four years earlier and I sometimes wonder if her propensity to see everything in black and white is one of the reasons.

  Amanda gapes at me, her already large hazel eyes wide as saucers. “You don’t?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, looking down.

  “That’s a popular answer this evening.” Jodie finishes off her martini in a single swig. “Did any of you watch The Bachelor last night? What is up with all of the crying? Kleenex should definitely get some advertising spots.”

  “Train wreck central,” Melanie agrees.

  “It was the most dramatic rose ceremony yet,” Amanda says, laughing.

  I glance at Jodie with my heart full of love and gratitude for her successful change of the subject. She is one of the few people who know I struggle with being certain Doug is the one. Though I’m in love with him and care for him deeply, I sometimes lack the butterflies and that “can’t live without you” feeling I always thought meant true love. If it does, and Doug isn’t the one, am I wasting time that should be spent on finding the man who is? And, at almost forty, has that window already closed? Is passionate love only available to the young?

  I know I will have to work through my feelings eventually, but it’s not something I want to do on my birthday. The truth is, I know I want to get married. I’m just not certain I want to marry Doug.

  But my heart also aches at the thought of losing him.

  Several hours later, I stumble into my apartment and change out of my clothes as quietly as possible to avoid waking a sleeping Doug. Hungry, I open my refrigerator and survey the contents. Considering I went food shopping on Sunday, I’m disappointed with the choices. The problem with food shopping sober is that nothing I buy is the slightest bit appealing when I’m tipsy. I open the refrigerator to remove the bag of frozen edamame when a pair of arms embraces me from behind. I feel Doug’s warm breath on my neck as he whispers, “Happy Birthday, babe” in my ear.

  I turn around and see him smiling down at me, the dimple in his left cheek pronounced. “Thank you, sweetie.” At five foot eleven, Doug is five inches taller than me. I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck. I kiss him softly on his full lips before giving him a squeeze. When we pull away, I lean my back against the refrigerator. “I’m hungry.”

  Doug moves closer to me. With a glint in his green eyes, he says, “What are you hungry for?”

  I bite my lip and give him a guilty look. “Food?”

  Doug cocks his head and grins. “Too many cocktails, huh?” He knows when I’ve had too much to drink, I’m more interested in spooning than sex.

  I shake my head, but then confess, “Yes. In the morning. I promise.” I almost always wake up in the mood.

  Doug kisses my forehead. “That’s okay. I can tell when you’ve over-imbibed by the color of your eyes—red, white, and blue like the American flag. Your less than delicate movements down the hall are also a giveaway. You sound more like a sumo wrestler wearing clunky shoes than a one hundred and something pound woman in bare feet.”

  “I thought I was quiet,” I say, dropping my chin.

  “You
weren’t.” He yawns as he runs a hand through his unruly blond hair. I do love that he still has a full head of thick locks. Then again, he’s only thirty-six.

  I poke him in his trim belly. “Wanna make me something to eat?”

  Doug nods. “Least I can do for the birthday girl if she’s not in the mood to get laid.” Gesturing toward our breakfast bar, he says, “Have a seat.” Then he sticks his head in the refrigerator. With his back to me, he calls out, “Frozen pizza, eggs, or pancakes?”

  I sit down on one of our red leather bar stools and place my elbows on the yellow counter. Along with the frosted glass wall that separates our bedroom from the living room, the bright and colorful kitchen is my favorite part of our apartment. “Something less fattening, maybe? I’m turning forty, and my metabolism is slowing down.”

  Doug turns around and raises an eyebrow. “Have you been lying about your age? I thought you turned thirty-nine, not forty.”

  “Same thing,” I mutter.

  “Not the same thing. Besides, you don’t look your age. You certainly don’t act like it either.”

  “What are you getting at, lover boy?” I tease. I definitely party more than Doug, but it’s not like I’m going to raves or doing keg stands with the college kids.

  Doug sits down next to me and plants a kiss on my chin. “It means you’re fun and full of energy. More than me, and I’m supposed to be the younger one.” He smiles. “Peanut butter and jelly?”