How Do You Know?

by Meredith Schorr

  Amanda and I walk carefully down the steps to the food court at Grand Central Station, trying not to get trampled by the hordes of twenty-somethings dressed up for Halloween. “Do you smell what I smell?” I ask.

  Amanda closes her eyes and sniffs through her nose. “Shack Burger.”

  The Shake Shack used to be a single-location, outdoor burger stand located downtown in the middle of Madison Square Park, but capitalizing on its success, additional locations were opened on the Upper East Side, the Upper West Side, Times Square, Citi Field (home of the New York Mets baseball team), and now inside the food court at Grand Central Station. Carnivorous city dwellers and tourists wait in long lines to sink their teeth into the “Shack Burger,” what many burger connoisseurs, including myself, consider the best burger in Manhattan. Since eighty percent of the people in Grand Central tonight are early twenty-somethings squeezed into tight Halloween costumes like sexy cowgirls and naughty nurses, the wait for the Shake Shack is reasonable. I’m guessing the partygoers are afraid eating a burger and fries will result in busting out of their miniscule getups.

  I cock my head toward the line. “Should we?”

  Amanda scrunches her forehead. “And deal with the wrath of Jodie when we’re not hungry for her lobster truffle macaroni and cheese? No way.” Jodie asked us to keep her company while her kids went trick-or-treating with their father, hence the reason we are in Grand Central Station on a Saturday evening taking a train to her house in the suburbs of Westchester. Had I known so many people would be taking the train outside of the city for Halloween festivities, I would have suggested leaving earlier in the day. “You’re right.” Looking at Amanda hopefully, I say, “How about we split one?”

  “No.” She chews her lip. “But the train isn’t on the track yet, and the smell is torturous. I think we should wait upstairs.”

  Both disappointed and relieved that Amanda has enough willpower for both of us to resist the call of the Shack Burger, I say, “Agreed. Browse the Apple Store?”

  We head up two flights of stairs until we reach the spacious Apple retail store.

  “Do you need anything?” Amanda asks.

  I take stock of the crowd, a mixture of tourists and local hipsters, and contemplate which display table to check out first. “No. Do you?”

  Amanda removes her iPhone from her bag and holds it in the palm of her hand. “I’m due for an upgrade, but really don’t want to spend money on a new phone until I have to.”

  “What operating system are they up to now? The 72S?” I joke.

  Rolling her eyes, Amanda says, “You’re asking me? I was still using a flip phone when you got your first iPhone.”

  “Only because Doug was always on top of…” Before I can finish my sentence, I spot a tall guy across the room wearing a khaki windbreaker over a pair of baggy blue jeans. He is leaning over one of the displays and has his back to me, but I can see wisps of dirty blond hair sticking out of a blue baseball cap. I clamp my mouth shut and swallow hard. Then he turns halfway around, and I recognize the button nose.

  “Doug was always on top of what? You? No wonder you broke up with him. Variety is the spice of life.”

  “We need to leave,” I say, still staring straight ahead.

  “What the—”

  “Now.” I jog back down the stairs, across the Main Concourse, and back up the stairs on the other side of the terminal. I hear Amanda calling from behind me, but I don’t slow down until I reach the cramped bar at Michael Jordan’s Steakhouse.

  Catching my breath, I say, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stay there.” I wipe sweat from my brow.

  Also breathing heavily, Amanda says, “Jeez, Mags. You need a beer that badly?”

  “Doug was there.”

  Amanda’s eyes bug out. “Your Doug?”

  I nod.

  “He was in the Apple Store?”

  I nod again.

  “Did he see you?”

  “No.” Considering the maniacal way in which I ran out of the store, I certainly hope he didn’t see me.

  “Why didn’t you want to say hi?” Amanda asks.

  I press two fingers against the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know. Not ready yet.” I haven’t seen him since the night we broke up. He came to the apartment a few times to gather his belongings, but he always made sure I wouldn’t be home.

  Amanda purses her lips together and studies me. I’m expecting a lecture, but she glances at her watch and says, “We need to get on the train now anyway. Are you okay to go back downstairs?”

  Staring into space, I absently nod. “Doug’s still in the store, so we should be safe for now.” He can spend hours window-shopping gadgets. “But we should hurry. He has a nasty sweet tooth. Wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he craves a black and white shake from the Shake Shack.” Unlike Amanda, he is completely devoid of willpower.

  Amanda pats my shoulder sympathetically. “Let’s do it.”

  A few minutes later, we’re safely tucked away on the train and out of eyeshot from Doug. I lean back against my seat and close my eyes. When I open them a moment later, Amanda is studying me with a crease in her forehead.

  I cock my head to the side. “What?”

  “Can I say something?”

  A question like that from Amanda is usually rhetorical, so I say, “Go for it.”

  “I don’t understand why you were so freaked out over seeing Doug. Was he with a girl?”

  “No!” Was he? “I didn’t see who he was with and assumed he was by himself.”

  “You’re gonna have to face him at some point, you know.”

  “I know. I was caught off guard. What if he asked how I was? Or if I was dating someone?” I chew on a fingernail.

  Amanda raises an eyebrow. “I doubt he would bring that up while standing in the middle of the Apple Store. But would you tell him about Philip if he did?”

  I remove my finger from my mouth. “Tell him I’m already dating someone else? We practically just broke up.”

  “He moved out over three months ago.”

  I’m grateful Amanda wouldn’t let me eat a burger. I might have needed a barf bag. “I can’t do it.”

  “Maybe he’s dating someone else too.” Amanda opens her hazel eyes wide and innocent as if Doug dating another girl is a good thing.

  I close my eyes and exhale deeply. “Not ready to hear that either.”

  “I see.”

  I open my eyes. “What do you mean, ‘I see’?”

  “I think if you were truly happy with Philip, you would want Doug to find someone else too.”

  I take a deep breath and hold it in. How can Amanda possibly put herself in my shoes? She hasn’t had a single boyfriend the entire time I’ve known her. I can’t even remember her crushing on anyone. “Don’t you think you’re simplifying things, Amanda? Emotions are not that black and white. I am happy with Philip, but it doesn’t mean I don’t still have feelings for Doug. And as much as I wish I could say I would be happy for Doug if he fell in love with someone else…” I shake my head. “I guess I’m not that great of a person. And what if Doug is still in love with me? The last thing I want to do is rub another man in his face. A man I work with and knew before we even broke up. Oh, God, if Doug knew about Philip, he might think I cheated on him.” I bury my head in my hands. “It’s too soon.”

  “Time doesn’t heal all wounds,” Amanda says softly.

  I swallow down my growing annoyance and face her. “Amanda, I know you mean well, but please don’t tell me how I’m supposed to feel about Doug.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you,” Amanda says before staring out the window.

  This is not what I expected her to say. “Who are you talking about then?”

  Amanda continues to stare out the window. I tap her on the arm. “Amanda?” When she turns around with tears spilling o
ut of her eyes, I nearly piss my pants. “What’s wrong? I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m so sorry.” I know she is emotional, but I obviously underestimated the extent of her sensitivity.

  “It’s okay.” She shakes her head and waves me away. “Never mind.”

  “Never mind? You’re obviously upset. Please talk to me,” I plead.

  Amanda takes a deep breath and wipes the corners of her eyes. “You don’t know about my first boyfriend. Noah.”

  “You’ve never mentioned him.” Or any guy for that matter.

  “We grew up together. We dated through most of high school and college and for three years after. We were talking marriage.”

  “What happened?” I hold my breath as I await her answer. Jodie introduced me to Amanda when they met in a book club years four years earlier. Though our initial acquaintance-like relationship eventually morphed into a close friendship, we never got around to swapping our dating histories.

  Amanda shuts her eyes. Meanwhile, I pray it isn’t something like he died in a car accident or dumped her for a supermodel or a man. All would be equally traumatizing. After an extended pause, Amanda finally opens her eyes. “I was twenty-five. All of my friends were single, going out every weekend, and hooking up with new guys. Online dating was at the height of popularity, and I felt like I was missing something. Noah and I were amazing together, but I began to resent that he was the only guy I’d ever slept with.” She buries her head in her hands and mumbles, “I was such a fool.”

  “What did you do?”

  Amanda lifts her head and meets my gaze with wet, dull eyes. “I broke up with him. I said I thought we were too young to settle down. I was so positive I would enjoy playing the field, and then when I was ready, either someone even better than Noah would come along or we’d find our way back to each other. Because, seriously, who meets the love of her life in high school?”

  I open my mouth to respond but before I get the chance, she raises her voice and says, “You know who met the love of her life in high school? Me.”

  In a softer voice, I say, “What happened after you broke up?”

  “I got a shore house with my friends in the Hamptons, messed around with a lot of guys, and fooled myself into thinking I was having fun. The truth was I missed Noah each and every moment. I tried to move on, but then I realized all of my friends who were serial dating were searching for exactly what I already had and gave up. I went crawling back to Noah, but it was too late.”

  “He wouldn’t take you back?”

  Amanda blinks back more tears and slowly shakes her head. “He’d met someone else.”

  “Oh, Amanda, I’m sorry.” I stroke her back. “But what about after they broke up? Did you try again?”

  “They didn’t break up. They got married. I almost moved back to Canada when I found out.”

  “Why would you consider that? You haven’t lived in Canada since you were seven.”

  “I still have some cousins in Alberta. The point is, I wanted to run away.”

  I let her words sink in. I definitely have a better understanding as to why Amanda can be such a know-it-all about men—she doesn’t want us to make the same mistakes she did. But it doesn’t explain why she won’t date now. “Amanda?”

  “Yeah?”

  I try to find the appropriate words. “I can only imagine how heartbreaking that was for you, and I’m so sorry things didn’t work out with Noah. But surely you don’t believe he’s the only man you can ever love.” When she doesn’t respond, I question, “Do you?”

  “I had my one great love, and I blew it. End of story.”

  I shake my head in vehement disagreement. “You can have your pick of men. They check you out all the time.” Case in point, there is a guy across the aisle clearly eavesdropping on our conversation and stealing glances at Amanda.

  “They never approach me. I think Noah was the one. The only one.”

  “I bet the reason guys don’t ask you out is because they can see the invisible ‘not interested’ sign on your forehead. You were only twenty-five. Are you even sure Noah was the one? I know you hold yourself responsible, but surely you’re romanticizing the relationship. If you had gotten back together, it might not have worked out anyway.”

  As I watch a film of pink travel from Amanda’s neck up to her forehead, I know I have overstepped. I brace myself for her wrath, but she calmly says, “I don’t think so, Maggie.”

  I feel like I dodged a bullet since she didn’t yell at me, so I don’t argue. Instead, I whisper, “Okay.” I close my eyes for the rest of the trip and try not to think about Doug and whether he’s dating someone. My rational side insists he has every right to move on, but my emotional side isn’t ready to let him go.

  I wait until I hear the familiar snore cut loose from Amanda’s mouth. She’s sleeping in the twin bed next to me in the pink and purple bedroom shared by Jodie’s daughters. I carefully lift myself out of my own bed. Closing the bedroom door behind me, I tiptoe into the living room where Jodie is already waiting for me with a generously poured glass of cabernet.

  “That didn’t take long,” Jodie chirps happily.

  I put a finger to my lips. “She’ll be so hurt if she knows we’re talking without her.”

  Jodie pouts. “I know, but I never get you all to myself anymore.”

  I sit down next to her on the couch and kiss her cheek. “I miss you too.”

  Jodie stretches herself across the length of the couch with her legs extended over my lap, and drapes an afghan over her knees. “My life is utterly boring, Mags. I take the kids to school in the morning, go to work, pick the kids up, make dinner, put the kids to sleep, chug a glass of wine, go to bed. End of story.” She yawns for emphasis.

  I pat her legs. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “It’s pretty mundane.” She sits upright, pushing the blanket onto the wood floor. “But you’ll get a kick out of this story.”

  “Oh, do tell.” Jodie always had the best stories in college.

  “Picture this: Jodie…” Pointing to herself, she says, “That would be me.”

  I nod. “I figured as much.”

  “Jodie had a long and dull day. Went exactly as stated a few moments ago: I woke the kids up, made the kids breakfast, took the kids to school, yada, yada, yada. The children were particularly rowdy that night—my fault for letting them eat Oreos so close to bedtime. I figured it was my turn for some fun, so I grabbed my vibrator from the top of my closet—”

  “Oh, no. I have a feeling I know where this is going.”

  Jodie laughs, covering her cheeks with her hands and shaking her head. When she shows her face again, her skin color matches mine after a long day out in the sun. “Wait for it. So I’m at it for maybe two minutes and start to feel that practically forgotten pressure build up and, oh, it feels so good—”

  I put my hand up. “TMI.”

  Glaring at me, she says, “Prude. Anyway, without any warning, Chloe storms into my room and jumps on my bed. Without thinking, I release the vibrator from—you know—and toss it down the length of the bed without turning it off.”

  “And then what happened?” I ask even though I’m afraid of the answer.

  “I tried to ignore the noise, hoping if I don’t mention it, Chloe might not notice. I mean, she has little ears, maybe she can’t hear the sound, right?”

  I nod. “Unlikely, but I’ll go with it.”

  Jodie rolls her eyes. “Of course, she heard it. She says, ‘Mommy. What’s that buzzing sound?’ and shoves her little body under the sheets to find the source of the sound.”

  I try to picture little Chloe chasing the sound of a vibrator. “Oh my God.”

  Stifling her laughter, Jodie puts a finger to her lips and points in the direction of her daughters’ bedroom where Amanda is still sleeping. “Shhh.”

  I take a
gulp of wine. “What did you do?”

  Jodie gives me a solemn expression. “I did what all good parents would do. I followed her under the covers, grabbed the vibrator out of her curious little hands, and told her it was a mini vacuum cleaner and I was cleaning the lint from my sheets.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “What else was I supposed to say? ‘Chloe, your mommy is in desperate need of an orgasm’?”

  I chuckle. “That would have opened up a whole new line of questioning.”

  “Exactly,” Jodie says, taking a sip of wine. “And I figure she won’t be having sex until she’s at least ten so I have time.”

  I sit up. “Ten?”

  “I’m kidding, but they do start real young these days.”

  “Yikes.” I was seventeen and still among the first of my friends to lose her virginity.

  “That was my excitement for the month. How about you? Things going well with your new man?”

  “So far so good. I have to restrain myself from initiating sex during office hours. He’s got mad skills.” I bite my lip. “I don’t mean to rub it in.”

  “At least one of us can get off without battery-operated machinery.”

  “I’m surprised you invited us tonight. With the kids away, you could have finished what you started before Chloe so rudely interrupted you last time.”

  “Who said I won’t once you go back to sleep?”

  Throwing a decorative pillow at her, I say, “You’re so gross.”