How Do You Know?

by Meredith Schorr

  There is a knock at the door. Ready or not, Philip is outside my room. Just to talk.

  I smooth out my hair and walk to the door as calmly as possible. After a deep inhale, I open it to find him standing there with a sheepish grin on his face. He’s still wearing his white button-down shirt from dinner but has changed out of his jeans into a pair of khaki shorts which come down to his knees and show off his muscular legs.

  I give him a shy smile while giving his body a once-over as nonchalantly as possible. “Come on in,” I say, moving aside to let him pass me. Then I follow him into the main area. Asking him to sit on the bed might be presumptuous, so I motion to the armchair in the corner. “Have a seat.” Then I sit down at the swivel chair by the desk. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Maybe a beer, but only if you join me.”

  I grab a can of Becks from the minibar for him and a tiny bottle of rosé for me. After handing him his beer and pouring my wine into a plastic cup from the bathroom, I sit back down, raise my cup, and say, “L’chaim.”

  Philip lifts his can. “Cheers.”

  We take a sip of our drinks while checking each other out in uncomfortable silence.

  The quiet in the room is unnerving, and I’m relieved when Philip finally breaks it. Clearing his throat, he says, “Okay, here’s the thing.”

  I hold my breath.

  “I really like you, Maggie. You’re a breath of fresh air.”

  “I like you too, Philip,” I say as my belly flips.

  Philip’s lips curl up. “I’m glad you like me too.” Staring at the blue and brown-checkered carpet, he continues. “But I’m not sure what we’re doing here. We work together. You technically work for me. Not to mention, I’ve only been separated a few months and this…” He points to me and then to him, “feels like more than merely colleague relations.” He lifts his head and meets my gaze.

  I can’t argue with that. Softly, I say, “All true.” I bite the inside of my cheek.

  “How do you feel about this?”

  “I, uh, I like you. It’s weird. It’s difficult to think of you as my boss.” I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful. You’re so down-to-earth. It’s easy to think of you as a colleague, not a superior.”

  “I’m not ‘superior’ to you in any way,” he says with a chuckle.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “So you think of me as a colleague?” He frowns.

  I can’t help but smile. “A colleague who is very easy on the eyes.”

  Philip stands up. “You’re not so bad yourself. Those freckles are unbelievably sexy.”

  I stand up too. “I’m glad you think so, since not liking freckles is kind of a deal-breaker with me.” I run a hand up my bare arm. “There are many more freckles where these come from.”

  Philip cocks his head to the side. “How many freckles do you think you have?”

  I have no idea. Doug tried to count once, but I distracted him before he could finish. I brush the thought of Doug out of my mind and answer, “Hundreds.”

  By then, Philip is standing right in front of me, with barely room to pass a pepper shaker between us. “Hundreds? I’m guessing thousands.” When he runs his fingertips slowly up my arm, my lips part, as if anticipating his next move.

  “Maybe millions,” I say in a quiet voice.

  “Trillions,” he whispers before softly brushing his mouth against mine.

  I close my eyes as I kiss him back. The embrace leaves me weak in the knees. As I grip his arms for support, I’m very pleased at the size of his biceps and hope it matches the size of his…other parts. Never removing his mouth from mine, he leads us to the bed.

  Hovering on top of me, he asks, “You sure you want to do this?”

  Arching my back as he trails kisses along my neck, I whisper, “Positive.”

  “Did you get what you wanted out of this conference, Ms. Piper?” It is the final night of the convention, and after putting in a brief appearance at the cocktail party, Philip and I snuck back to my hotel room. Lying on our sides facing each other, we are in my bed, completely spent after a sweaty lovemaking session.

  I shift closer to him and wrap one of my legs around his. “I did indeed. Did you?” It has been a perfect trip. Besides consummating my relationship with Philip, I picked up countless tips I know will help me in the workplace. It’s a wonder I was able to concentrate during the breakout sessions, since I mostly wanted to play back my time with Philip over and over again. At first, it was strange being intimate with someone new after three years. His body fits mine differently than Doug’s, but discovering what Philip enjoys is fun. Almost as fun as being on the receiving end as Philip figures out what I like.

  “I did. I can’t believe we have to go home tomorrow.” He brings his hand to my face. Softly caressing my cheek, he says, “I don’t think you need more Florida sun.”

  Fearful my face resembles the inside of a pomegranate, I ask, “Is it bad?”

  He kisses my forehead. “Not bad at all.”

  “Good. So we have all day tomorrow. Flight doesn’t leave until almost nine p.m., right?”

  “Correct. I have a final breakfast meeting in the morning, but let’s do something after. Any thoughts?”

  According to the clock on the nightstand display, it’s already close to two in the morning. I sadly conclude that by the time I wake up, Philip will be long gone for his meeting. But his wanting to spend an entire day with me somewhere neither boardroom nor bedroom related is encouraging. “How about Disney World? We can ride Space Mountain.”

  Philip makes a sour face. “I hate rollercoasters. I was thrilled when my kids finally lost interest in amusement parks.”

  I suck in my breath at the mention of kids. I assume he has photos of them in his office, but I never had a reason to ask before. “How old are they?”

  “Thirteen and fifteen. They’d rather text friends nonstop on the weekends than spend quality time with their dad.” Giving me a wry smile, he says, “It makes me sad, but I don’t miss the amusement parks.”

  A product of a broken home myself, I’m certain his children are happy he’s a constant presence in their lives, even if they pretend to think he’s an annoying parental figure. “How about Epcot? We can go to Germany and drink lots of beer so we can pass out on the flight home.”

  “I was thinking about the Orlando Museum of Art or maybe the Science Center. If we have time, we can stop by the Mall at Millenia. Ever been?”

  I shake my head. “Never done anything in Orlando besides theme parks.” I’m disappointed by the idea of being in Orlando without going to an amusement park, but I don’t press.

  “You’re adorable.”

  The truth is I hate shopping on vacation and would rather spend my last day in Orlando screaming at the top of my lungs on a thrill ride than accruing more useless information at a museum. But as Philip trails kisses down my body, I question how much any of that matters.

  October

  “My mom asked if something was going on between you and Doug. Presumably because your mother is concerned,” Cheryl says.

  “What did you tell her?” I hold my breath and remove the phone from the receiver. I’m at work with my office door open. Speakerphone is fine for discussing what costumes Cady and Michael are going to wear for Halloween, but not for my relationship drama.

  “I told her I had no idea what she was talking about and I hadn’t seen you guys in a while.” Cheryl exhales deeply into the phone. “Keeping your secret is getting old, Mags.”

  Since there are no major holidays between Yom Kippur and Thanksgiving, there weren’t built-in excuses to get my family together for dinner, so I have successfully avoided telling my mom about Doug. I twirl a hair around my finger. “I promise I’ll tell her soon.”

  “Please do. I’m not sure what you’re wa
iting for anymore. If you’re worried she’ll have nightmares about you turning into an old maid with twenty cats, tell her about Philip.” As if she thinks she might still be on speakerphone, Cheryl lowers her voice and asks, “Things still going well with you guys?”

  I get a warm and fuzzy feeling at the sound of his name. “Yes, things are going well. He’s amazing. And he can’t keep his hands off of me.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re happy. Don’t forget the ‘can’t keep your hands off each other’ stage doesn’t last forever.”

  The wistfulness in her voice isn’t lost on me. “Things okay with you and Jim?”

  “Things are fine,” she says flatly. Then, in a much more animated voice, “Someone wants to talk to her Aunt Maggie.” In the background, I hear Cady say, “I do. I do!” and then in a breathy voice from holding the phone too close to her mouth, Cady says, “Hi, Aunt Maggie.”

  “Hi sweetie. What’s new in Cady Land?”

  “Mommy bought us candy for Halloween!”

  “What kind did you get?” I remember how our mothers used to embarrass us by giving out loose change and hope Cheryl has broken that tradition.

  “Weeces Pieces. But Mommy won’t let me eat any yet.”

  I stifle a giggle at Cady’s mispronunciation. Cheryl is concerned she’ll start school still unable to say the letter “r,” but I think it’s adorable. “Yum. I love those. Did you get your Halloween costume yet?”

  “Yes!”

  Besides an inability to pronounce the letter “r,” Cady can never anticipate my next question. “And what is it?”

  “A pwincess.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be the prettiest pwincess…um, princess ever. What about Michael?”

  “Spidowman. What aw you gonna be?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but you’ll be the first to know when I figure it out.” I follow the sound of throat clearing to find Philip leaning against my office door. He smiles at me, and I immediately feel a pulsing between my legs. Maybe the “can’t keep your hands off each other” stage won’t last forever, but we are certainly in it now. At least I am. Philip whispers, “We’re late for a meeting.” I hold up two fingers. “Honey, Aunt Maggie has to go back to work now, but can you tell your mommy I’ll talk to her later?”

  “Okay. Hold on a second.” I hear her say, “What?” Talking to me again, Cady says, “Mommy says you bettow tell Aunt Dawis about Uncle Doug soon. Tell haw what?”

  My face gets warm as if Philip can hear both sides of the conversation. “Um, nothing. Tell your mommy I said okay. Love you, sweetie.”

  “Love you too.”

  I hang up the phone and say to Philip, “Meeting? What meeting?”

  “Business development. It’s starting…” He glances at his watch. “Now.”

  I jerk my head back. “First I heard of it.” I grab a legal pad and stand up.

  Philip rolls his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

  I follow Philip to the conference room where we sit side by side at the long table. I’m responsible for putting together the firm’s quarterly newsletter, so during the meeting, I jot down notes regarding newsworthy cases the firm has recently picked up to include in the next edition. When Philip’s foot rubs against my calf, my butt lifts off my chair in surprise. From the corner of my eye, I glimpse him writing vigorously on his own notepad, but I also notice him barely suppressing a smile.

  I give a subtle shake of my head and take a sip of water. I am determined to remain focused on the meeting, but Philip rubs his foot harder against my calf. I grit my teeth and press my lips tightly together, all the while keeping my gaze fixed on Neil Black, the firm’s Managing Partner, as he announces the intellectual property department has assumed representation of a major television network. It’s big news, and as Philip squeezes my thigh, I try not to squirm. I write “Big News” on my notepad and circle it. Philip snickers loud enough for me to hear, and I glance at him while gently removing his hand and kicking his foot away. I mutter, “You’re killing me.” His mouth twitches as he writes “Big News” on his notepad and circles it. I kick him again and mutter, “Stop” while trying not to lose it.

  When Neil asks if anyone has anything else to add, Philip raises his hand. For a second, I think he’s going to broadcast our covert game of footsy to the room, but, of course, he doesn’t. Completely composed, he gives a detailed account of the connections he made at the Legal Marketing Conference, only leaving out the naughty bits. Not nearly as quick to recover, I stare at my notepad the entire time he speaks, trying to remember the nature of the “Big News.”

  I point my chopsticks at Philip. “You need to control yourself in the workplace.” It’s later that night, and we’re at my place eating sushi after working up an appetite in the bedroom.

  Although we haven’t told anyone in the office we’re dating—aside from Melanie—we decided it isn’t necessary to keep it completely classified either. The firm doesn’t have a policy against inter-firm relations, and since I’m not even on the legal staff, and Philip is commencing divorce proceedings with his wife, he says he can handle any repercussions if we’re found out. I’m not nearly as confident, but my excitement over being with him way overpowers any paranoia I have about ethics in the workplace. In all honesty, the mostly-secretive nature of our relationship is a turn-on and fuels my attraction to him. Nevertheless, there is a lot of white space between hiding our relationship and practically fornicating in the conference room.

  Philip swirls more wasabi into his dish of soy sauce and grins. “I couldn’t resist. You’re so easily flustered.”

  “Not true. It actually takes a lot to ruffle my feathers.” Still chewing a piece of salmon avocado roll, I cover my mouth. “But since my skin is virtually translucent, any change in color from the slightest blush is very noticeable.”

  Phillip nods, his lips pursed. “Very solid point, Magster.”

  I laugh at his nickname. Leaning back in my chair, I say, “The new season of Grimm starts tonight. I’m stoked.”

  “I’ve never seen the show.”

  I wink. “Tonight’s your lucky night.”

  Shaking his head, Philip says. “I’ll pass. I’m not much of a television person. I only bought one for my new apartment because of the kids. They’re with me every other weekend, and the fifty-inch flat screen is how I bribe them to spend time with me.”

  My mouth gapes open. “You seriously don’t like television?”

  He chuckles. “Aside from CNN, no.”

  “That’s crazy.” Philip’s aversion to watching television is disconcerting. Curling up on the couch in front of the small screen is one of my favorite pastimes. Doug and I are even supporting members of The Paley Center for Media, previously the Museum of Television and Radio. I paid the whopping two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar membership fee for each of us as a combination birthday/anniversary present after we had been dating a year. Last year, our membership came with access to a weekend-long screening of all the new fall television shows before they aired. We had a blast, and I hoped Philip would share my enthusiasm for the telly. I suppose reducing my viewing time—after I watch the season premiere of Grimm—could be a healthy change.

  “To each his own,” Philip says. “Anyway, you watch. You mind if I call my kids?”

  Philip is the first guy I ever dated who has children or has even been married before. After a certain age, I know it is to be expected, and I assume if things progress he’ll introduce me to them. He told them he was dating someone, which means they’re probably plotting my death already.

  “Of course not,” I say. I would prefer his warm body to snuggle against during such a creepy show, but if I get freaked out by a particularly gruesome scene, at least he’ll still be close enough to protect me.

  Philip grabs his cell phone from the table and stands up, but then he hesitates. “You never wanted kids,
Mags?”

  Narrowing my eyes, I say, “What do you mean?”

  Philip shrugs. “You’ve never been married, so I wondered if you’d ever wanted kids.”

  I swallow hard, the sushi I had devoured lodged in the pit of my stomach. “Why do you say that in the past tense?”

  Philip sits back down and cocks his head to the side. “I don’t follow you.”

  “You asked if I ever wanted kids as if it’s too late. Just because I haven’t been married, doesn’t mean I don’t want to get married. Nor does it mean I won’t get married. And I can still have children. Many women have children in their early to mid-forties, and I’m not even forty.” Yet.

  Philip’s face turns red, and he extends his hand across the table to cover mine. “I’m so sorry, Maggie. I didn’t mean to suggest you didn’t have more time.” He scratches his head with his other hand. “Can we pretend this conversation never happened?”

  “Not everyone gets married and has children in their early thirties like you did,” I say.

  Philip nods silently.

  I can tell he feels horrible, but I want him to understand. “Not everyone reaches traditional milestones at the same age.” I stand up. I’m shaking and don’t want him to see it.

  As I stand with my back to him, his arms encircle my waist. He whispers in my ear, “You’re right. I’m wrong and I’m sorry. Go watch Grimm, and I’ll join you after I say goodnight to Skylar and Pete. It will probably be a brief phone call, since grunting one-syllable answers to one-sided questions is their idea of a conversation these days.”

  The rest of the night goes by without incident, and when Philip leaves, he kisses me goodbye and mentions he has his kids until Sunday morning. But he asks if I want to go with him to the James Turrell exhibition at the Guggenheim Museum on Sunday afternoon. I agree, despite having never heard of the artist.

  I go to sleep embarrassed by my outburst even though it seems to be forgotten. I barely know Philip and am already showing weakness and desperation over my aging eggs. For a future baby I’m not even sure I want. I assumed dating an older guy would ease my anxiety, but so far it hasn’t. I remember when Doug and I discovered I was three years older than him. I asked if it concerned him, and he said no. I said most men preferred younger women, and he tapped me on the nose and said he was not like most men, and I was definitely not like most women, “in the best way possible.” My age, his age, our age difference, was never an issue, but I wonder if things would have changed had we stayed together. As I hug my pillow and summon the sleep fairy, my heart aches for the sense of security I always took for granted.