Amanda grimaces. “God forbid. But don’t you think beginning the year alone is a bad omen?”
I tip my head to the side. “Do you truly believe spending New Year’s Eve solo will result in being alone for the rest of the year? That’s a bit melodramatic, don’t you think? And how does your theory explain all the single girls who go out on New Year’s Eve, kiss some random guy but still don’t find boyfriends by the end of the year? Shouldn’t it go both ways?”
Amanda sighs. “I meant it metaphorically, not literally.”
I study Amanda fondly. “Well, does your theory work in reverse? Does your plan of being social on New Year’s Eve mean you intend to be social and ‘out there’ during the year? Because, if you must know, I worry about you too.”
Amanda casts her head downward and whispers, “I know. I do too.”
I contemplate my next words for a beat before saying them. “Have you talked to someone?”
Meeting my gaze again, she asks, “Like a therapist?”
I nod.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “But it’s one of my New Year’s resolutions.”
My eyes open in surprise, but before I have a chance to say anything, the waiter brings over our order. In a show of support, I reach across the table and squeeze Amanda’s hand.
Jerking away from me, she whispers, “Stop. I know it’s a good thing, but I don’t want to talk about it right now. Okay?”
“Okay,” I relent, but I’m doing back flips on the inside.
Placing an extra California roll in front of Amanda, the waiter says, “Complimentary for you.”
With a tentative smile, Amanda says, “For me? Why?”
The waiter, an older Japanese man, nods. “You’re very pretty.” He puts a finger to his lips. “Shh.” Amanda blushes as the waiter winks at her and walks back to the kitchen.
“Like I said, you could have your pick of men. You’re so pretty,” I say, mimicking the waiter.
Rolling her eyes, Amanda says, “Do you still miss Doug?”
“How do you always manage to turn it back on me?”
Amanda sneers wickedly. “You underestimate my talents.” Her face turns serious. “Well, do you?”
“Yeah.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You gonna call him?”
“I haven’t decided. But I did take Jodie’s advice. I went on Match.com. Total nightmare.” I shake my head in disgust and tell Amanda what my search disclosed.
Amanda nods knowingly. “My friends are starting to have the same problems. They say if you’re a woman between the ages of thirty-eight and forty-three, online dating is a black hole.”
Adding more wasabi to my soy sauce, I say, “No comprende.”
“Apparently, many men on online dating sites avoid meeting women between those ages because they assume they’re in a hurry to get married and have children.”
I exhale loudly. “Lovely. And not necessarily accurate.”
“I know. But it generally only applies to online dating.” In a brighter voice, she says, “You can totally meet someone in person. Case in point—Jodie. And Regina meets guys every weekend.”
“Because she’s easy.”
Amanda, who just put a piece of spicy tuna and scallop roll in her mouth, laughs. She covers her mouth with her hand. “There’s that.”
Not hungry anymore, I drop my chopsticks on my plate.
“But you love Doug, so don’t even worry about this stuff.”
I don’t say anything and dip my chin toward the floor.
When Amanda’s hand covers mine, I slowly lift my head to face her. She locks eyes with me.
“All I’m suggesting is you think about it,” she says. “And if you want to call him, don’t let pride stop you. If he loves you, he’ll understand. You’ll work things out.”
“What if he doesn’t love me anymore?” I swallow hard as the possibility stings my insides.
Giggling, Amanda says, “Then you can come to therapy with me.”
“Well, if that isn’t incentive, I don’t know what is.”
January
Thoroughly enjoying my New Year’s Eve party of one, I stumble to my kitchen and place the empty bottle of Prosecco on the counter. After drunk calling my mom to wish her a Happy New Year, texting Cheryl, Jodie, Amanda, and Melanie, and dancing around my living room to “Breakout” by Swing Out Sister, I fall back on my couch and continue to scroll the music channels on my television set. I switch between the various options—Heavy Metal, Top 40, Classic Rock, 70s, 80s, and 90s—stopping only when a song moves me to get up and dance.
I pass over “Animal” by Def Leppard, “Umbrella” by Rihanna, and “Turn it on Again” by Genesis, stopping momentarily to sing along to “I’d Really Love to See You Tonight” by Dan & John Ford Coley, until I decide I’m not feeling it. I finally hit pay dirt when I catch the beginning notes of “Carry On Wayward Son” by Kansas—the song Doug and I sang together at karaoke at his thirty-fifth birthday party. I stand up and sing along into a purple Sharpie but sit down again when I realize the only words I know by heart are the chorus.
I wonder how Doug is celebrating. Last year, we went out for early drinks with Melanie and Barry and then ate a private dinner for two at home. Doug made us lobster tails and key lime pie martinis. After drinking several martinis, I was itching to go out to a bar, but Doug had no interest. After calling him lame, I walked around the corner to Rodeo Bar in time to witness a drunk girl stumble out and puke on the sidewalk. I took one whiff of the sweat-filled bar, turned around, and went home to find Doug passed out on the couch.
I often complained Doug was too much of a homebody, and here I am—home. I muse at the irony and pick up my phone. I question the wisdom of calling him drunk on New Year’s Eve. I wonder if I’ll regret it in the morning, but I honestly believe it’s the right thing to do and fear I won’t have the guts unless I’m under the influence. As the phone rings, my heart pounds against my chest.
“Maggie?”
My hand shakes at the sound of Doug’s voice, and I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I should have rehearsed it.
I hear Doug’s voice again on the other side of the phone. “Hello?”
I clear my throat and ponder my next words. Should I say “Happy New Year?” Or is a simple “Hi” the way to go?”
I’m still debating what to say when the phrase “Who is it, babe?” echoes in the background in a high-pitched and obviously female voice. I end the call and drop my phone on the floor.
“You’re such a showoff,” I say to Melanie as she takes a bow. While I hold onto the edge of the ice skating rink in Bryant Park with white knuckles, she is literally skating circles around me. “Next, you’ll show up at work with the Dorothy Hamill haircut.”
Melanie does a figure eight and stops in front of me. “I could never pull off the Dorothy Hamill.” Offering her hand, she says, “C’mon, I won’t let you fall.” In exchange for going ice skating with Melanie after work, she agreed to a post-skating glass of Glühwein at Celsius, the adjacent restaurant/bar.
I glance down at her hand as it twitches towards me. My ice skating routine usually includes staying close to the perimeter for a few more laps before venturing out. Deciding the sooner I skate a few circles around the rink, the sooner I will have a steaming cup of mulled wine in my hands, I say, “Okay. Don’t let go of me until I’m ready.” My fingernails dig into her palm. “I’m serious. Don’t let me fall.”
“I promise. I’ve taught two little boys to ice skate. I think I can handle you, Mags. Besides, skating is easy peasy compared to rock climbing, something you’re voluntarily paying hundreds of dollars to learn.” I know she’s right, and before I can change my mind, she drags me to the center of the rink, and we get behind two handholding teenagers who are gliding gracefully on the ice. I stare at the back o
f their down jackets and concentrate on skating at the same pace. I pray they don’t speed up. I also pray Melanie won’t lose patience with me. She is singing along to “Best Day of My Life” by American Authors, and I can tell she is itching to let go of me and turn our predictable forward circular movements into a choreographed dance number.
“You doing all right?”
I gently nod my head, afraid to make any sudden movements. It would be better if ice skating came with a harness. “Yes.”
She loosens her grip. “Your hands are super clammy, Mags.”
I slow down but don’t come to a full stop and remove my hand from hers. I think I’m good now.
After two or three more laps, I’m feeling significantly more confident. My facial muscles are noticeably more relaxed, and I’ve even attempted easy conversation. By the time Pink’s “Blow Me One Last Kiss” comes on, I’m smiling and singing along.
Someone taps me on the back, and I whip my head around in surprise. My eyes open wide.
“Doug!”
And splat, I’m down. The hard ice jabs the spot on my lower back where it meets my ass.
I glance up at Doug, who is standing over me. The apples of his cheeks and his nose are red from the cold, but his green eyes are wide with concern. Offering me his arm, he says, “Are you okay?”
I don’t want to let go of his warm hands, but once I’m up and stable on my feet, he releases me, and that’s when I notice the girl standing next to him. From the way she is leaning into him, I know she’s the girl from New Year’s Eve. Appearance-wise, she’s attractive but not gorgeous. Average height, long straight brown hair, thin. But she’s young. Definitely younger than me, and probably a few years younger than Doug.
I wipe my hands against my jacket. They sting from the fall. “I’m fine.” Flattening down my hair, I say, “A blow to my fragile ego is all.” I’m thankful I had my hair touched up a couple weeks ago. Even though I’m the oldest person in my present company, I don’t want to look the part.
“I’ve seen you fall before, Mags. Nothing to be embarrassed about,” Doug says with a teasing smirk. He nods at Melanie.
Drawing him in for a hug, Melanie says, “Good to see you, Doug.” She glances at me, furrowing her brow. “You sure you’re not hurt? I have bandages in my bag if you’re bleeding.”
Unable to focus on anything except the girl with Doug, I mutter, “I’m fine.” Then I glance at her with a timid smile. “Hi. I’m Maggie.”
“Oh. Sorry for my lack of manners.” Doug jerks his head toward the girl. “This is Lindsay.” Motioning to Melanie, he says, “And this is Melanie.”
“Nice to meet you guys,” she says, grasping Doug’s hand. Tilting her head to the side, her dark eyes probe my light ones. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I study her, wondering what she’s heard about me, and then shoot Doug a questioning glance. Did he tell her I called on New Year’s Eve? I hadn’t told anyone. Sharing the news would make it real. Although no more real than bumping into them at the skating rink.
“Small world seeing you here,” he says quietly.
Lindsay smiles brightly, revealing a set of straight teeth. “And we weren’t even going to come. We both took the day off from work and went to a horror movie marathon. Doug thought being outside would be good for us after sitting in a dark theater all day.”
There’s a dull ache in my gut as I imagine Doug and Lindsay at the movies. If it was a horror movie, they would be hunched close together. The last time Doug and I saw a horror movie, it was at a drive-in theater in Warwick, New York, about sixty miles from New York City. We watched The House on Haunted Hill starring Vincent Price. I clutched Doug so tightly the entire time, fearing the psychotic murderer was going to tap on the window with an ax at any moment.
As I listen to Lindsay describe with enthusiasm their afternoon of Paranormal Activity movies, I avoid making eye contact with Doug. I wonder what else he does with Lindsay that he used to do with me. Besides the obvious, as I can’t even go there. Do they watch back-to-back episodes of Criminal Minds together? Has he made her watch every Marvel Comics movie stored on his computer? Was she his plus-one at any events at The Paley Center? As Lindsay continues to babble on, I question whether she’s even thirty years old. She has the energy of a twenty-something. I force myself to look at him, afraid to find him beaming in the direction of Lindsay. But his gaze is not directed at her. He is watching me. Lindsay and Melanie have somehow gotten on the subject of John Hughes movies and are discussing the similarities between Pretty in Pink and Some Kind of Wonderful. I drown them out as I lock eyes with Doug. He gives me a closed-mouth smile before bending down. “You lost this in the fall,” he says, handing me one of my green mittens.
My heart beating rapidly, I take it from him, rubbing my thumb against his for an instant before breaking away. “Thanks.”
Turning to Lindsay, he says, “We should get going.”
Wrapping her arm around Doug’s waist, Lindsay agrees. To Melanie and me, she says, “Nice meeting you guys.”
“You too,” I say absently.
“Good seeing you, Melanie. Tell Barry and the kids I said hi.” With one last glance at me, Doug murmurs, “Take care, Maggie.”
I gulp. “You too.”
Twenty minutes later, I bring my mug of Glühwein to my mouth. The steaming drink is not nearly as comforting as I thought it would be, I note with disappointment.
“What was that about?” Melanie asks.
I blow on the mulled wine in an attempt to cool it off. “What was what about?”
“Between you and Doug before. There was some serious tension.”
I put the mug down and plant my elbows on the festively-decorated table overlooking the skating rink. “What did you expect? We haven’t seen each other since we broke up, and he’s there with his new girlfriend.”
Melanie nods. “Awkward situation, for sure, but you handled it pretty well. Aside from the falling part.” She giggles. “Anyway, I’m impressed.” I told Melanie about missing Doug a few days after confessing my feelings to Amanda and Jodie.
I shake my head. “Don’t be impressed. I already knew about her.”
Melanie’s green eyes open wide. “How? And why didn’t you say anything?”
“I called him on New Year’s Eve in a moment of weakness. I heard her in the background and hung up.”
Her jaw falling open, Melanie says, “Did he know it was you?”
“I called him from my cell and didn’t bother with star sixty-seven. I thought he’d be happy to hear from me. I never imagined he would be with another girl.” I take a deep exhale. “There should be a warning on bottles of Prosecco that drinking too much causes delusions of grandeur.”
“Poor Mags.” Melanie frowns.
I stare into my drink. “Yeah, poor Mags is about right.”
“If it’s any consolation, he doesn’t seem to be very into her.”
I regard her cautiously. “Based on what?” I will her to say something hopeful so I can latch onto it.
“She did all of the talking. He was watching you the entire time.”
This is true, but I say out loud what I have been telling myself for the past thirty minutes to avoid making a self-serving assumption that Doug still loves me. “He was probably concerned for my feelings. You know Doug. He would never hurt me on purpose.” I hold my breath, awaiting Melanie’s response and praying she won’t agree with me. She looks thoughtful as she takes a sip of her Hot Toddy.
She puts the glass down. “Perhaps.”
My stomach drops.
“But it seemed like more to me.”
My lips involuntarily curl upward, and I feel a flutter in my belly. “You think?”
Melanie nods. “Why don’t you give him a call and talk things through?”
I jerk my head back. “And ho
ne my skills as a homewrecker? In case it’s escaped you, he’s dating someone now. Wouldn’t it be messed up to call a guy with a girlfriend?”
“All’s fair in love, and he was your boyfriend first.”
I chew on my lip as I ponder her words. “Maybe I’ll call him.”
I am going to call him, and I’m going to do it soon—before the end of the month. After February 1st, all of the television shows will air their Valentine’s Day episodes; the Lifetime and Hallmark movie channels will broadcast back-to-back romantic comedies; and every other commercial will be for Kay Jewelers or Godiva chocolates. If we get back together, I don’t want Doug to think I chose the timing because I’m hoping he’ll go to Jared’s. More importantly, if I do it soon, and we don’t get back together, I have a better chance of being done crying about it by Valentine’s Day. And I have to do it before whatever he has with Lindsay gets serious. God, I hope it’s not already serious.
Someone taps me on the arm. “Maggie?”
Everyone in the conference room eyes me expectantly. I’m at a business development meeting and obviously being negligent in my job. My face hot with shame, I clear my throat. “Apologies. I was somewhere else for a second. Can you please repeat the question?”
Thankfully, Neil Black is an easy-going guy—as far as managing partners in law firms go—and he chuckles before replying, “We were wondering if you had a chance to run the report of last year’s new matters.”
“Yes. I ran a report for all new clients and matters opened last year. I organized it by originating partner. I didn’t bring it with me, but I can email it to everyone when I get back to my desk.”
“Please do,” Neil says.
I exhale a sigh of relief I was able to answer the question. Makes being caught daydreaming at a meeting a lot less worrisome. A few minutes later, I’m asked to summarize where things stand on the rebranding issue, which I do with poise and composure.
How Do You Know? Page 13