My phone vibrates, and while we wait to get the bartender’s attention, I check my messages. A text from an unknown number causes my heart to stop for a beat.
“Maggie, it’s Phil. I hope you’re having a great holiday weekend and staying out of trouble. We’re all set for the Legal Marketing Conference next month. Lila will arrange for flight and hotel rooms for both of us. We’ll talk more next week, but I wanted to give you the good news. I’m really looking forward to it.”
I take a sharp intake of breath and feel my face flush. Philip could have emailed to my work account or even waited until after the weekend to tell me about the conference in person, but instead he searched for my personal phone number and sent me a text message on a Saturday night. Amanda is saying something to me, but I can’t hear her. I will be attending the Legal Marketing Conference with Philip. Phil. We’ll be attending it together, and his secretary will be arranging flight and hotel reservations for both of us. Which means we’ll fly out together. As the bartender finally takes my drink order, I wonder what else Philip and I will do together. I try to keep my wits about me and focus on the professional aspect of the conference, but I can’t stop the jolts of excitement running through me at the thought of spending so much time with my work crush—my newly single work crush—outside of the office. I pay the bartender, tipping generously, and grab our cups. After handing one to Amanda, I clink mine against hers and flash her a broad smile. “Cheers.”
September
“I’m not thrilled this conference is being held on Yom Kippur,” my mom says to me over the phone. I am lying in bed with my computer propped on my knees while I multi-task a work assignment with a marathon of Criminal Minds on A&E. Before I met Doug, I bypassed any television show with stories “ripped from the headlines.” A few months of cohabitating with Doug turned my avoidance of violent-themed entertainment into an all-out addiction to any crime-related show, including Criminal Minds, The Following, and Law & Order: SVU. Initially, it was because I was at the mercy of Doug to program the DVR, but before long, I was the one planning our Sunday afternoons of watching back-to-back episodes in bed. We turned off our phones, closed the shades, and were transferred to a world of unconscionable crimes. I often have to watch with one hand covering my eyes, but I love them.
“Yom Kippur will be over by the time the convention starts.” Considering my family’s religious practices are limited to eating enormous amounts of food on the holidays, I don’t know why my mother is so bothered.
“I’m disappointed you and Doug won’t be breaking the fast with the family.”
I bite my nails until I remember how much money I spend on gel manicures. “We’re disappointed too,” I lie. In truth, I am thrilled with the timing of the convention, because it is a built-in excuse not to bring Doug over to my mom’s for dinner. The week before, to avoid telling her that Doug and I had broken up, I said the reason Doug missed Rosh Hashanah dinner was because he was working late. He’s a copywriter for a local radio network and works long hours from time to time. For all I know, he did work late on Rosh Hashanah, but it feels like someone is digging a hole in my tummy each time I lie to my mom. Even though I shared a house with Aunt Helen, Uncle Walter, and Cheryl growing up, I developed a “mom and me against the world” mentality. Kind of like Lorelai and Rory on Gilmore Girls, except my mother didn’t have me at sixteen years old. Even when I was younger, when most kids kept silent about what went on at teenage parties, I confided to my mother about getting to first base while playing Seven Minutes in Heaven and Spin the Bottle. I never kept my boyfriends from my mother. Not confessing to breaking up with Doug is eating away at my insides, but each time I open my mouth to tell the truth, another lie escapes instead. Cheryl was right when she said I would dig myself in deep. I’m buried so far under my lies, I don’t know how to claw my way out.
“Doug is still welcome to come without you, you know.”
“He’s not Jewish, Mom, and won’t be fasting.” I roll my eyes.
“I know. But he likes bagels, right?”
“Right,” I mumble.
“And he always compliments my egg salad.”
I smile despite myself. Doug always knew how to charm my mother, and she does make a tasty egg salad. “You can make it for him another time.” Looking over at the muted episode of Criminal Minds on my television monitor, I wonder what the profilers would say about me. The “unsub” is a compulsive liar with a chronic need to avoid disappointing her mother.
“Fine. Tell me more about this symposium.”
I breathe a sigh of relief for the change of subject. “It’s a conference for law firms and in-house legal departments to talk about how changes in society have affected branding and marketing practices in the legal arena. Basically, it should help me learn how to do my job better. Good networking opportunities as well.” I’m excited about the conference and not only because I’m attending it with Philip. But mostly because I’m attending it with Philip.
“Well, have a great time. And we’ll make plans for dinner when you get back. Or maybe we’ll come into the city for a show. Helen wants to see the new Nathan Lane play.”
“Sounds good.” I hope I won’t need to find another excuse for Doug’s absence, but as difficult as it was to end a relationship after close to three years, telling my mother about it is proving to be even harder.
Watching the seemingly never-ending line of other passengers make their way to the economy section of the plane, I sit back in my own first class seat barely able to contain my joy. I take a small sip of my complimentary Sky Breeze and marvel at how much leg space I have.
“You comfortable?”
I turn to Philip sitting next to me by the window and nod. “Absolutely. Like the saying goes, once you go first class, you never go back.”
Chuckling, Philip says, “I’m pretty sure that’s not how the saying goes.”
Feeling the vodka go to my head already, I urge him on. “And how does the saying go?”
Philip clears his throat and shakes his head. “As a straight, white male who has no desire to do the research required to confirm or deny the accuracy of that particular saying, you won’t be hearing it from these lips.” As he says this, he taps a finger along his full lower lip.
Before I have a chance to embarrass myself by listing the many things…naughty things…I would like to hear from those lips—as well as the places on my body I want to feel those lips—the flight attendant blessedly removes my drink in preparation for take-off. Thankfully, I’m not so far gone to forget I need to keep my wits about me. This is a business trip, after all.
As if reading my mind, Philip asks, “Did you get a chance to check out the list of breakout sessions?”
“Yes.” As the plane takes off, I reach into my carry-on bag and pull out the pages I printed off of the conference website. Leafing through the papers, I say, “I already signed up for ‘Integrated Approaches to Law Firm Marketing and Public Relations in the 21st Century.’ I thought I should run the rest of them by you before planning my itinerary since there’s a lot of overlap.”
Philip nods. “How about over dinner later? Some of the restaurants in the vicinity of the hotel seem pretty neat.”
I’m charmed by his use of “neat.” Not an adjective I would expect a forty-something man to use, but Philip makes it sound hip and, well, neat.
“Are you a foodie?”
Unblinking, Philip says, “If I say yes, will you think I’m a snob?”
“Absolutely not. We live in New York City. We have access to some of the best restaurants in the country, maybe the world. Would be a shame to spend your evenings eating fast food.”
“Yeah, but the health benefits are substantial,” he deadpans. “What about you?”
“It’s a toss-up.”
Philip leans in closer to me. “Between?”
“Any Tom Colicchio restaura
nt and…wait for it…Ray’s Famous Pizza.” I try to keep a straight face but moments later, I chuckle. “Just kidding, obviously. Although my ex never met a slice of pizza he didn’t like.”
Frowning, Philip says, “Yeah, I heard about the ex.”
My head shoots back. “What did you hear? That he loved pizza?”
Locking eyes with me, he says, “No. That you broke up.”
I feel my cheeks flush. I had no idea Philip even knew I had a boyfriend. Trying to recover, I say, “Yeah, we ended things a couple of months ago.” I bite my lip. “I didn’t realize my relationship status was being discussed.”
Philip smiles softly. “It wasn’t. I met with Melanie the other day, and she let it slip that you’d been burying yourself in work since your breakup and were excited for the conference as a change of pace.” His eyes scan the length of my face until, once again, they meet mine. “I promised her I’d show you a good time. Please don’t be mad at her.”
I stare back at Philip and whisper, “I’m not angry.”
Grinning wider than a five-year-old boy on Christmas morning, Philip says, “Great,” and high-fives me.
When I exclaim, “Fantastic,” in return, we both laugh. We continue our witty repartee until the pilot eventually announces our descent into Orlando and directs us to prepare for landing.
Returning my seat to the upright and locked position, I think about my promise to Philip not to be mad at Melanie. I snicker to myself. Mad at her? I’ll be sure to thank her later.
Philip tosses another empty oyster shell in the bucket and points at the cold seafood platter we’re sharing at The Oceanaire Seafood Room. “You take the last shrimp.”
“Are you sure?” I really want it.
Eyeing the jumbo shrimp longingly, Philip shakes his head. “I was secretly wishing you would say you were too full, but, yeah, I’m sure.” His lips twitch in amusement. “Seriously. Go for it. I think I ate twice as many oysters as you did.” He looks at my almost empty pint glass. “And let’s order another round of beers.”
Taking one last swig of my beer, I say, “You didn’t eat twice as many oysters as me. But you did eat a couple more.” Two more to be exact, and, yes, I am counting. I love seafood platters. Especially ones piled high with my favorite assortment of shellfish—shrimp, oysters, crab legs, and lobster. Doug and I used to feast on platters like the one Philip and I are sharing a couple of times a year, but this platter is particularly fresh and delicious. Maybe it’s the Florida ocean water or maybe I’m feeling fresh because Philip looks particularly delicious. With a pair of faded jeans, he is sporting a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal tan arms. The top two buttons of his shirt are open, making him appear nice and relaxed. Between the casual dress, jovial banter, and the round of beers we’ve shared, it’s hard not to forget we’re in Florida for a business meeting.
He regards me with amusement. “Did you seriously count how many oysters I ate?”
“I’m very territorial about my seafood.”
Philip studies me. “Evidently. Do you want me to order more?”
“No, thanks. I’m full.” Picking up the last piece of shrimp and dipping it into my container of cocktail sauce, I say, “Well, I will be full as soon as I eat this.” I swallow it and then wipe my mouth with my napkin. “Delicious.”
“I agree. You glad we opted for this and the appetizers rather than main courses?”
“Absolutely.”
“What are you hoping to get out of this conference?” He pushes his plate out of the way and places his elbows on the table.
I hesitate. There is much I hope to accomplish at this conference, but I’m only comfortable sharing about half of it with Philip. I take a brief pause to clear my head of the beer, which might be affecting my ability to answer questions like this sensibly. “I want to make sure I have all of the tools at my disposal to do my job well. I would hate for Kellian & Hall to lose out on business due to archaic marketing strategies. I’ve asked to attend this conference before, but gave up after years of being shut down. Thank you for going to bat for me. It means a lot.”
Philip runs a hand through his graying dark hair and sighs. “It blows my mind you haven’t been sent before.” He leans forward. “Between you and me, one of the biggest weaknesses of K&H is functioning like we have shallow pockets. We worry so much about every dime, and we don’t always allocate our funds wisely. Any money spent sending you to this conference will be earned back if you take the knowledge offered to you and run with it.”
I nod. “And I plan to.”
Philip takes a sip of his beer and smiles at me. “I’ve no doubt.”
I smile back, suddenly feeling shy.
Running his thumb over his lower lip, Philip asks, “What else?”
As I watch his finger caress his mouth, a zip of electricity travels through my center, and heat rises to my neck and face. “Can I tell you after the conference is over? I would hate to announce my list of goals and then fail miserably.”
Philip nods. “That would be acceptable.”
“What about you?”
He cocks his head to the side. “What about me?”
“What do you hope to get out of this conference?”
“Can I tell you later too?”
I laugh. “Sure.”
He gives me a sheepish grin. “This is all new to me as well.”
“What’s new to you? The marketing side of a law practice?” It’s true he was only recently assigned to the committee when another partner left the firm.
Philip raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. The marketing side of a law practice. That’s exactly what I meant.” Then, his lips curled up slightly, making me wonder if he was referring to something else entirely.
After dinner, we take a cab back to the Hilton Bonnet Creek where the convention is taking place and where all of the attendees are staying. Waves of anxiety crash in my belly as I stand in the elevator with Philip on the way to our respective rooms. The night has the air of a date, but it isn’t a date. That’s what I keep telling myself. But the tone of the night is very date-like—the way Philip angled his body toward mine at the table, how he maintained eye contact when we spoke, and how I dread saying goodnight and hope it’s not awkward.
There are jitters in my tummy as the elevator approaches my floor, and I stare straight ahead, watching the lights change as we ascend from the lobby to the first, second, and third floors, and finally to where my room is on the fourth. When the door opens, I take a deep breath and turn to Philip with a smile I hope comes across as natural. “Thanks so much for dinner. It was fun.” I hold my hand out to keep the door from closing.
Philip takes a step forward. “I had fun too, Maggie.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow then?” I have my hand in the open space between the elevator and the floor and push hard on the door as it comes at me again.
Noticing me struggling, Philip snickers and holds the door open button. Feeling my face get hot, I bend my head down and mumble, “Yeah. That would have been smart.”
Philip leans closer and lightly tousles my hair. “You’re funny, Maggie.”
I raise my head to meet his eyes. “I’ll be here all week.”
Philip keeps his stare on me. “Good to know.” He winks.
I walk out of the elevator, turn around, and give him a wave. “See you tomorrow. Sweet dreams.” I instantly wish I could take back the last two words.
As the door closes, I hear Philip say, “Sweet dreams to you too.”
When I arrive in my “deluxe room,” which is surprisingly spacious for a basic hotel room, I sit on the edge of the queen-sized bed and take a deep breath, contemplating the awkwardness of my and Philip’s goodbye. I hope it wasn’t as bad as I think it was, and that we will act completely normal in the morning when we meet for Opening Remarks
and the Keynote Address for the conference.
I walk into the bathroom and inspect my face with the magnifying mirror. Despite the stale airplane air from earlier, my skin looks fresh and dewy, and a smile confirms I don’t have any embarrassing particles of food in my teeth. Things with Philip are still platonic, but at least I’m pleased with my appearance. I wash the makeup off my face and remove my phone from my bag to charge it overnight. I debate calling Melanie, but it’s way too late to disturb a working mother of two young boys. And there isn’t much to tell her anyway. As I search the room for an outlet, my phone pings the delivery of a text message. My heart stops when I see it’s from Philip. He wrote, “Is it me or was that awkward?”
With shaky hands, I write back, “Was what awkward?” even though I know exactly to what he is referring.
A few seconds later, my phone pings again. “I felt like a gawky pubescent teenage boy saying goodbye to you in the elevator, and I have no idea why.”
I smile and type back: “So did I, except make mine a teenage girl. WTF?” I second guess the acronym but decide to go for it.
“LOL. Are you decent?”
I scrutinize my current attire. I’m still wearing my outfit from dinner—white capris and a blue and white gingham halter top. I write back, “I’m dressed if that’s what you mean.”
“Do you mind if I come by? Just to talk?”
Swallowing hard, I type, “Sure. I’m in room 409.”
“Okay. Be there in a few.”
I race back into the bathroom and run a brush over my teeth to remove the taste of beer and salty oysters. Then I apply a light dusting of blush and translucent lip gloss. Enough makeup to give off the appearance of not wearing any. I sit on the edge of the bed and will myself to be cool even though I’m not. I have a feeling something big is about to happen, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it. But I’m glad I only finished half of my second beer so I’m neither sleepy nor drunk.
How Do You Know? Page 6