How Do You Know? Page 4

  “I say a change of topic is in order,” my mom says. “Where did you eat last night?”

  I take a spoonful of hot soup and blow on it before answering. “Alta. It’s a tapas restaurant.”

  Gawking at me with widened eyes, Aunt Helen blurts out, “You went to a topless restaurant?”

  I chuckle. “Tapas. Not topless, Aunt Helen.”

  “It’s small plates, Mom,” Cheryl says. “You order a bunch of different smaller dishes and share them.”

  Aunt Helen makes a sour face. “I hope there was enough food.”

  “There was.” I frown, picturing our table from the night before full of uneaten dishes.

  “You okay, Mags?” Cheryl asks.

  Before I can answer, my mom says, “Maybe something Doug ate made him sick.”

  “Maybe.” I glance over at Cady, who has noodles all over her hands and has managed to get more soup on the table than in her mouth. “You enjoying your soup, sweetie?”

  Cady looks up at me with a piece of carrot on her upper lip. “Yes!”

  “It seems Cady shares more with her Aunt Maggie than freckles,” I say, referring to her messy eating habits.

  Aunt Helen interjects, “Your mother and I thought maybe Doug would pop the question this year. You’ve been dating four years, right?”

  I clear my throat. “Less than three actually.”

  “Why buy the cow when you can drink the milk for free?” Aunt Helen mumbles it just loud enough for me to hear.

  I drop my spoon into my now empty bowl, and the metal against the ceramic causes everyone to eyeball me in surprise. “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “Come with me,” Cheryl says.

  “Now?”

  “I want to give you your birthday present.”

  “Why can’t it wait until after dinner?” My mom looks baffled.

  Standing up, Cheryl says, “Because it can’t. We’ll be right back.”

  I shrug helplessly at my mom and follow Cheryl into the living room.

  Cheryl sits down on the upholstered loveseat with a flower motif and pats the spot next to her. Then she angles her body toward mine. “Spill.”

  The timing of the conversation is not ideal, but since I’m itching to open up to Cheryl, I embrace it. “I lied about Doug being sick.”

  “No shit. Where is he?”

  I take a deep breath and consciously exhale to the count of three. It’s a meditation technique I found online and usually practice in my own company, but I need to calm down. “He broke up with me.”

  Her eyes bug out. “He what?”

  “Well, he didn’t want to, but when I asked if we could take a break, he thought a permanent breakup was the best thing for both of us. He’s moving out as we speak,” I say as my lips tremble involuntarily. I can’t let myself cry with my mother and aunt in the next room. I replay my conversation at the restaurant with Doug to Cheryl.

  Cheryl reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Wow. I didn’t see this coming, Magpie. I’m so sorry.”

  Over the years, I confided my concerns to Cheryl that maybe someone else out there could make me even happier than Doug. She told me time and time again that no relationship was perfect, and the crazy passionate, heart-thumping stage did not last forever, but in the right relationship, it would come and go and never disappear completely. From her definition of a good relationship, I was in one with Doug.

  “Why did you tell our moms Doug was sick?” Cheryl asks.

  I shake my head. “I didn’t plan to lie. It just came out.”

  “You’re gonna get busted eventually. Why not come clean now before you dig yourself deeper?”

  Narrowing my eyes at her, I say, “And listen to my mother rant about how special Doug is? And how lucky I am to even find a younger guy who is willing to be with me even though having babies might be challenging? And if I start all over now, by the time I meet a guy, get engaged, and then married, I’ll be at least forty-two before we’re ready for children.” I add the numbers in my head. “And that’s assuming I even meet a guy by the time I’m forty. I know it, and she knows it.” I bite my lower lip. “I don’t think I can bear to see the fearful expression on her face. Especially during my birthday dinner.”

  Cheryl pats me on the back. “I think you’re projecting your own worries onto your mother. I seriously doubt any of that would even cross Aunt Doris’s mind. In any event, she definitely wouldn’t voice her unease.” Letting out a long, low sigh, she adds, “I can’t say the same about my own mom.”

  I chuckle in agreement.

  “We all love you and want you to be happy, you know?”

  I look down at the beige carpet and nod. My mother always tells me I’m the most important person in her world, and the quality of my life is the driving force behind her own happiness. I don’t want to cause her undue stress. I know she’ll promise to support my decisions no matter what, but her eyes will give away her concern over my choices. I’m not ready to face it.

  Cheryl continues. “I adore Doug, Mags. He feels like family and always has. But if he’s not the right guy for you, then he’s not the right guy for you. You’ve never been completely certain, so maybe it’s for the best. And remember, I might have married younger than you, but I didn’t have the kids until later in my thirties. You have time.”

  All I wanted was Cheryl’s blessing and she’s given it to me, along with reassurance I’m not five minutes away from menopause. “Thank you. The lingering doubts suck, though. I wasn’t sure he was the one when we were together, and now that we’re not together, I’m not sure he’s not the one. I wish I could see into the future.” I run a hand through my hair and let out a loud sigh.

  “Sorry, Magpie. No crystal ball here. There are no guarantees in life. Even the most passionate relationships can fizzle. And sometimes the couples who seem perfect to the outside observer are not what they appear. Life is all about risk. You take a leap of faith and hope for the best.”

  My stomach sinks. “Are you saying I should have taken that leap with Doug?”

  Cheryl stands up. “This goes beyond you and Doug. There’s no such thing as a ‘perfect couple.’ It takes a lot of patience and compromise to maintain a happy relationship for the long haul even under the best of circumstances.”

  I’m about to ask if she’s speaking from experience when she says, “Let’s go back before they eat all the lamb chops,” at the same time my mother yells, “Girls!”

  Cheryl and I make eyes at each other and laugh. “They’re going to ask what you got me for my birthday.”

  Cheryl frowns, reaches into her pocketbook and hands me a white envelope. “Happy birthday.”

  I open it to find two open-ended tickets to Six Flags Great Adventure.

  “I know how much you and Doug love amusement parks,” she says sheepishly.

  I miraculously make it through the rest of the dinner without getting caught in my lie. I admittedly shove even more food down my throat than normal, including a third lamb chop, a double helping of soufflé, and a piece and a half of birthday cake to keep my mouth busy. I’ll wait until a later date when we’re alone to tell my mom. No need to get Aunt Helen and the kids involved. At least that’s what I tell myself to justify being chicken shit. At the rate I’m going, I’ll gain ten pounds before the truth comes out. I won’t be skipping spin class this week, that’s for sure.

  Hugging me goodbye, my mom squeezes me tight for a moment and then pulls away and hands me a shopping bag. “There’s enough soup in there for you and Doug to have dinner one night.”

  With as much authenticity as I can muster, I say, “Thanks, Mom. I’m sure Doug will be thrilled.”

  August

  “Earth to Maggie.”

  I look over at Melanie. We’re eating lunch on a blanket in Bryant Park, a public park near our office and a popular hot spot for nine-
to-fivers on their lunch hours. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

  “I was telling you about the two mini cakes we ordered for Lloyd’s birthday. One with a picture of The Hulk and the other with Iron Man since all the kids love The Avengers.” Melanie takes a bite of her sandwich and points to a group of guys sitting in the shade about fifty feet away from us. “But you were too distracted by the summer associates over there to hear a word I said. I know you’re on the prowl for fresh meat, but don’t you think they’re a bit young for you?”

  I snort. “I already did the cougar thing, remember?” It’s been almost a month since Doug and I broke up. I’m coming to terms with it, and I’m more confident each day it was the right thing to do given my uncertainty. But the apartment is so quiet, and I miss his running commentary while we watched television. I also miss accidentally brushing up against his feet at night with my restless tossing and turning. And, of course, the sex.

  “A three-year age difference hardly makes your relationship with Doug a May-December romance,” Melanie says knowingly.

  Still focused on the group of summer associates, I smile at Philip when he catches my eye and waves. I figure he volunteered to join the young law school students as the token partner. Or maybe someone on the Management Committee enlisted him. Friendly and charismatic, he is a good choice.

  “Or maybe someone a bit older has caught your eye,” Melanie suggests.

  I turn to face Melanie, who contemplates me, then Philip, and then me again with her eyebrows raised. Fiddling with the buckle of my sandal, I say, “Yes, I think he’s sexy. But he’s married. I might be a heartbreaker, but I’m not a husband stealer.”

  “Philip is separated.”

  My mouth falls open. “He is?”

  Melanie’s lips curve up. “You didn’t know?”

  I shake my head. “No. Our conversations have generally been related to the firm’s rebranding efforts. I obviously don’t spend as much time at the water cooler as I should.”

  “I don’t think it’s fodder for the water cooler necessarily, but he showed up at the lawyer’s summer retreat solo. Since he’s one of the more attractive partners, word of his impending divorce spread like lice in a first grade classroom.” Melanie raises an eyebrow again. “You interested?”

  My eyes follow Philip—looking fit in a pair of gray suit pants and a light blue button-down shirt—as he dumps the remains of his lunch in a trash can and walks back to the associates. The younger guys appear to be fully engaged in what Philip is saying to them. As if sensing someone’s eyes on him, he turns his head and meets my gaze. I quickly dart my head back to Melanie. I can feel myself blushing as I remember Philip mentioning birthday drinks. It’s been a month, but my initial reluctance to accept his invitation has changed to eagerness for him to ask me again. Suddenly he’s available, and I’m too bashful to even make eye contact. The butterflies dancing around my stomach feel unfamiliar yet wonderful.

  “Mags?”

  I smile at Melanie. “Yes?”

  Melanie tilts her head to the side. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Like what?”

  “Like you’re withholding information from me. If I have lettuce in my teeth, tell me now. Is it my hair? I still can’t get used to it.” As she says this, Melanie pats down her bangs.

  “You don’t have anything in your teeth, and I’ve told you a million times I love your hair. The bangs direct attention to your gorgeous green eyes.” I give Philip a quick once-over and turn back to Melanie. “When’s the next Associate’s Night Out?” Once a month, the firm foots the bill for the associates to go to happy hour after work. Partners are encouraged to go as well. Something to do with building morale and camaraderie.

  “It’s this Thursday. Why?”

  “Can I come as your guest?”

  Melanie beams at me. “Of course. But I thought you didn’t want to go because it would be crashing a lawyers-only event.” Melanie is a senior associate in the litigation department, but is closer friends with me than she is to any of the attorneys at the firm. Since the firm’s marketing department is a party of one, I’m a bit of a loner at work. Melanie has asked me to join her at the Associate’s Night Out almost every month, but I’ve always declined.

  “It would be crashing a lawyers-only event, but…”

  “But what?”

  My eyes twinkling, I say, “It’s different now.”

  Melanie narrows her gaze at me. “Different how?”

  “I’m single, and Philip is getting divorced.”

  I’m proofreading the press release I’ve prepared regarding the firm’s hiring of a high-profile partner for the bankruptcy department, which is as boring as it sounds, when my work phone rings. I glance at it and see M. Cantor on the caller ID. “Hey Melanie.”

  “This is your fifteen-minute warning if you want to make yourself pretty before we head over to the bar.”

  “Are you implying I’m not already pretty?” I joke.

  “Nope. I’m stating in plain English that I’ve gone out with you enough times to know you need fifteen minutes to brush your teeth and refresh your makeup before leaving the office.”

  It’s comforting to have friends who are so familiar with my habits. Although our respective positions don’t require us to spend much time together at work, we met at the annual Christmas party my first year at the firm three years earlier. I was waiting for my turn at the bar behind John Sullivan, the firm’s Director of Finance. John was deep in conversation with Neil Black, the firm’s Managing Partner, and was oblivious to the line forming behind him. When the bartender looked over John’s shoulder to take my order, John turned around in surprise and accidentally threw his drink—a generously-poured glass of red wine—across my body. I remained riveted to the spot in shock and horror, but Melanie took notice of my attire—a light blue linen camisole under a winter white pantsuit. She grabbed me by the elbow and led me to the bathroom where she attempted to minimize the damage with the Tide Stain Stick she always carried in her purse after one too many spills at the hands of her two boys. Unfortunately, it worked better on removing juice stains and SpaghettiOs from cotton than it did Bordeaux from winter white. It was the first and last time I wore that outfit. When I opened the envelope containing my bonus check the following week, there was an extra five-hundred-dollar gift certificate for Bloomingdales from John. I considered myself lucky—not only because the suit only cost me three hundred dollars, but also because Melanie and I were fast friends from that night on.

  “I’ll head over to your office in twenty minutes and we can leave from there. Since I’m crashing, I definitely need to walk into the bar with an associate.”

  “Fifteen minutes, not twenty,” Melanie corrects. “And I can only stay about an hour. I’ve either worked late or trained with my runner’s group the past few nights and feel shitty about the lack of time I’ve spent with Barry and the kids. I probably would have skipped it this month if it wasn’t for your crush on Philip.”

  Hit with a pang of guilt, I say, “Please don’t feel obligated. It’s not like I won’t have plenty of opportunities to see him outside of tonight.”

  “It’s fine. Besides, I am dying to see how you work it. I’ve never known you single.”

  I’m not sure I even know how to work it. I was a decent flirt back in the day, but I’m out of practice. I guess I’ll find out soon. Standing up, I grab my toothbrush and toothpaste from the bottom drawer of my desk while still holding the phone. “Off to the bathroom. See you in a few.”

  I eye my almost-empty glass of Prohibition Punch. My face is likely as red as the cushy chairs in The Campbell Apartment, the classic cocktail lounge in Grand Central Station where the Associate’s Night Out is taking place.

  My rosy complexion is not only a direct result of drinking, but because of my close proximity to Philip. W
e are technically sitting next to each other, but he’s at one table and I’m at another. The venue is so crowded that the tables we had reserved are within touching distance of each other. Philip faces some attorneys at his table, and I have been chatting with Melanie and a few other associates at mine. Aside from a quick nod acknowledging my attendance, we haven’t said a word to each other yet. But I am indubitably aware of his presence.

  “I need to head out,” Melanie says, standing up.

  I take one last desperate sip of my drink. I wonder if it’s my cue to leave since I’m only there pursuant to her invitation. Since I haven’t accomplished what I came to do, I’d prefer to stick around. I figure Melanie is unimpressed with how I worked it, and so am I. I give her a questioning glance and shift in my seat as if I am going to stand up as well.

  She whispers, “Stay.” Gesturing in Philip’s direction, she winks at me.

  I sit back in my chair and mouth, “Thanks.”

  “See you tomorrow.” After another knowing glance in Philip’s direction, Melanie weaves her way through the crowded bar and up the narrow stairs into Grand Central Terminal where she’ll catch her train home.

  While inwardly strategizing a good opening line to use on Philip when I finally garner the nerve to turn around, I focus on the trio of associates sharing my table and discussing plans for the upcoming Labor Day weekend. I’m about to ask if any of them have ever done a tour of the wineries in Long Island when Philip gently nudges me with his arm. I take a deep breath and turn my body around enough to face him.

  “Nice to see you here, Ms. Piper,” Philip says with an easy grin.

  “Nice to be here,” I say, returning his smile as my heart pounds against my chest. While I hope the conversation will eventually extend beyond pleasantries, the way we are currently positioned is not conducive to extended banter, and I try not to fidget.