The meeting continues as each partner goes around the room discussing billable hours, clients who haven’t paid in months, and all the other things lawyers talk about when they assemble. I put my plans to phone Doug on the back burner.
Every so often, I sense Philip’s eyes on me from the other side of the table—the way you just know when someone is looking at you. I resist making eye contact for as long as I can and try to behave as if I am oblivious to his glances, but I’m not the smoothest cat in the kennel and find myself fidgeting in my seat and playing with my hair. I am unpracticed at acting normal in front of an ex-lover, as Philip is the only man I ever slept with whom I had to see repeatedly after we broke up. As I contemplate whether there are any all-female law firms I can cold call for a position, I vow to never shit where I eat again.
After several minutes of consciously avoiding moving my head in Philip’s direction, my neck begins to ache, and my anger builds at being such a coward. If anyone should be shamefaced, it’s Philip; not me. I didn’t play games or make false statements to get Philip in bed. He fell for my charm and sass. Purposely or not, Philip is the one who misled me into believing his split with his wife was permanent. While many women would have caused a scene in the restaurant, stalked his wife, or boiled rabbits on his stove, I handled it like the first-class lady I am by accepting the news, forgiving Philip, and moving on.
I am discernibly cooler than I’m behaving today in the conference room, and I wonder if it’s a delayed reaction to seeing Doug with Lindsay. In any event, I am no shrinking violet. As Neil concludes his closing remarks and people get up from the table, I spy Philip glance my way through the corner of my eye, whip my head in his direction, and meet his gaze head-on. I pause for a beat and then flash him a dazzling smile even Julia Roberts would envy. I know I’ve surprised him when his head jerks slightly back. Before he can recover, I grab my legal pad and walk out of the conference room.
I am definitely ready to call Doug.
It’s the following day, and I’m at work in my office with the door closed. I want to call Doug during the day because I would rather catch him when he’s with colleagues than with Lindsay.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a pause. Then I open them and find Doug’s number on my cell phone. I continue taking calming breaths while the phone rings once, then twice.
He answers on the third ring with a cautious tone. “Hello?”
I will my heart to stop slamming against my chest, and in a pitch slightly higher than my normal one, I say, “Hey, Doug. It’s Maggie.” I’m completely unaccustomed to feeling ill at ease around Doug and think I might vomit.
“Unless someone took your phone hostage, I figured as much.”
Since he responded in a somewhat friendly manner, my confidence goes up half a notch. Or maybe a quarter of a notch.
“It was, uh…good to see you the other day,” I say.
“Yeah. Small world, huh? Of all the ice skating rinks in the city, you had to fall at mine,” he jokes.
I chuckle. “I’m fairly certain I would have fallen even if we were at the rink in Central Park or Rockefeller Center.”
“I tend to agree with you. But falling is part of your charm,” he says in a soft voice.
Warmth floods my belly. I should have known awkwardness between Doug and me wouldn’t last long.
He clears his throat. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”
I cross my fingers. “I was wondering if you wanted to meet for a drink.” Maybe coffee would have been the safer option, but he doesn’t drink it, and asking him to meet for a cup of tea sounds too British. There is silence on the other end of the phone, and I take the opportunity to drink from the water bottle on my desk.
Finally, he speaks. “Can I ask why you want to meet?”
I haven’t anticipated this question, and I am momentarily stumped. “I wanted to talk to you about a few things.”
“Did I leave anything at the apartment? I thought I got everything, but it’s entirely possible I left some stuff behind accidentally,” he says, apologetically.
“No. You didn’t leave anything as far as I know.” I add the latter half of the sentence because I’m not the tidiest of people, and it’s possible he left something in places I skipped in my weekly apartment cleaning. “But maybe you can come by and double check,” I say, hopefully.
“I trust you. If you find something, let me know.”
The awkwardness is back in high gear. I make one last go of it. “So, about that drink?”
Doug sighs. “Maggie, what is this about?”
I know some people would consider having the conversation over the phone the easier option, but I much prefer talking in person so I can gauge his reactions by his facial expressions and body language. “Like I said, I just want to talk, and over the phone is too formal.”
“Okay,” he relents. “When?”
I exhale for what feels like the first time in an hour. “Whenever is convenient for you.”
After a brief silence, Doug says, “What about after work today?”
My stomach rumbles nervously. This is moving faster than I thought, but it’s a good thing. “Tonight is good. Can you meet at I Trulli?” Only a few blocks from my apartment, the wine bar was one of our favorite local hangouts.
“Can we meet somewhere further uptown? How about the Oyster Bar in Grand Central?”
“Sure. Six thirty?”
“Six thirty is perfect. See you then.” He disconnects the call before I have a chance to respond.
I rub my fingers against my lips as I stare at my computer. Throwing myself into work would be the best way to push the drink with Doug out of my mind. On the screen is an Excel chart of our most coveted clients and the names of the partners who have relationships with key players. It is my job to evaluate the data and eliminate some of the companies on the list, namely those we have close to zero chance of acquiring, in order to improve the efficiency of our business development efforts. But I can’t make any sense of the information and fear having a productive day is going to be challenging. And it’s not even lunch time. In the battle between productivity and time-suckage, the latter wins, and I head to Melanie’s office for a distraction.
She’s got her head in a file but looks up when I knock lightly on her door. “Hey,” she says wearily.
Leaning against her doorway, I say, “Is this a bad time? You busy?”
Melanie lifts her arms in the air in a stretch and yawns. “I’m always busy.”
“Want me to come back later?”
Her eyes drift down to my right foot, which I don’t realize I am tapping until she points it out to me. “Is everything all right?”
I take her question as my invitation to sit in her guest chair. “I called Doug.”
Melanie pushes her file to the side and leans toward me across her desk. “And?”
“And we’re meeting for a drink tonight.” My lips twitch nervously.
“You don’t waste any time, do you?” She gives me a once-over. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“What’s wrong with my outfit?” I’m wearing navy dress pants, a white silk button-down shirt, and red patent leather Mary Jane wedges—basic business casual attire.
Melanie scrunches her face. “Not wrong exactly. But it’s nothing special.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s Doug. He knows what I look like. I don’t think what I’m wearing will have a bearing on the outcome of our conversation.”
Shaking her head at me, Melanie says, “Maybe so. But he is dating someone else now, so it wouldn’t hurt to put in more effort and show him what he’s been missing.” Reaching into her desk drawer, she pulls out a blue and white polka dot silk scarf and extends it across the desk. “Undo one button on your shirt and put this on. It adds a little something-something.”
Laugh
ing, I take the scarf. “I’m beginning to think you’re Sabrina the thirty-something witch, able to conjure up a matching scarf with the wiggle of your nose.”
Melanie smirks. “You’ll thank me later.”
“I’ll thank you now—thank you.” I stand up. “I should get back to my office and try to be productive.”
“Good luck, Magpie. Please keep me posted.”
“You know I will.” I blow her a kiss and let her return to work.
Seven hours later, I’m sitting across a table from Doug in the iconic Oyster Bar in Grand Central Station. Tourists dine here for the vaulted ceilings and legendary architecture, but I’m merely interested in reuniting with my ex-boyfriend. As I drink him in, it strikes me he is the only person I know with that particular shade of sea-green eyes. We’ve already ordered a round of beers and have covered the basic conversation starters like “How’s work?” and “How’s your mom?” From the way Doug is fiddling with his watch, it’s evident he’s impatient for the real reason I asked him to meet me.
I take a sip of my beer and lick my lips. “Lindsay seems nice.”
“She is nice.” He offers no other information and simply raises his own glass to his mouth.
“Is it…is it serious?”
Doug narrows his eyes at me. “What do you want, Maggie?”
Part of me wants to make up a stupid lie about why I insisted on meeting him, but it’s Doug. We shared a bed, a bathroom, a life. I owe it to him to be honest. With my legs shaking under the table, I bottom-line it for him. “I miss you.”
Doug draws in a breath and slowly releases it. “What do you miss?”
I chew on my lip. “Everything. We had so much fun together and I…well, I miss it. I miss us.”
He sighs dejectedly. “I miss us too, Maggie.”
I resist the urge to hold his hand across the table.
“But what is this about?”
I swallow hard. “I was hoping maybe we could try again.”
Doug shakes his head slowly. “You’re the one who didn’t want to be with me anymore.”
Raising my voice, I say, “That’s not true. You broke up with me.”
Narrowing his eyes again, he says, “Right. You wanted a break, not a breakup. I forgot.”
“I just wasn’t sure. I was confused.”
“About what?”
I wrack my brain to put it into words, but can’t. “I don’t know.”
Doug pinches his lips together. “If you can’t put your finger on exactly what concerned you then, how can you be sure it won’t come up again later?” He takes another sip of beer and places it roughly on the table, spilling some onto the red and white checkered tablecloth. “This is what I think. I think you’re feeling the pressure of turning forty and being single, and you’re wondering if you made a mistake letting go of your steady, comfortable boyfriend. But I don’t want to be your consolation prize.”
My pulse accelerates as I try to defend my motivation. “I’ve never thought of you as a consolation prize. I miss you. I miss us.”
“And what about your lawyer boyfriend?”
I open my eyes wide. “Wha…?”
Cocking his head to the side, he says, “The world is smaller than you think, Maggie. The new accounting guy at my company used to work at your firm. News travels.”
“He…uh…we’re not seeing each other anymore, but he has nothing to do with my feelings for you.” Convincing Doug my connection with Philip paled in comparison to what we had together is significantly more important to me than finding out to what guy in my firm’s accounting department Doug is referring.
With a slack expression, Doug says, “I believe you think this is what you want, but I don’t believe it truly is. There was a reason you didn’t want to commit to me, and it will rear its ugly head again eventually. I don’t want to be the cause of your unhappiness, and I definitely don’t want to go through this again.”
“Is it Lindsay? Are you in love with her?”
“This has nothing to do with Lindsay. It’s about you and me. I still have feelings for you, Maggie. I’ve never lied to you before, so I won’t do it now. But you broke us, and it can’t be fixed. I’m sorry.”
Since I don’t have any fighting words, I look at him pleadingly, hoping he’ll see in my eyes that I’m serious.
Instead, he throws a twenty and a five on the table, enough to cover both of our drinks and a generous tip. He stands up and regards me with sad eyes. “You’re a special person, Magpie. I’ve no doubt you’ll meet someone who makes you one hundred percent happy.”
As I watch him walk out of the restaurant, I’m hit by the full effect of his words, and my world feels like it’s crashed into a million pieces. It’s over.
After Doug leaves the restaurant, I stare straight ahead, unable to get up from the table. The waiter comes back and asks if I need anything else, and I barely glance his way when I order a vodka tonic with lime. I reach into my bag for my cell phone and call Melanie. I pray she didn’t pick tonight to leave work at a reasonable hour.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. How’d it go?”
I open my mouth to say something as tears fall down my face. My voice cracks as I choke out, “Please come.”
“Are you okay?” Melanie asks.
My nose is running, but since I don’t have tissues, I wipe it with a cocktail napkin. “No. Please.”
“You’re scaring me. What happened?”
“Can’t talk. Please come. Downstairs at the Oyster Bar.” I disconnect the call and take a big gulp of the drink the waiter has placed in front of me. I shiver at its strength and take another sip.
I’m detached from myself, as if I was merely an observer and not an active participant in the conversation with Doug. But the loss I feel is palpable. Doug has rejected me. The concept is so foreign that I can’t wrap my brain around it. I always took Doug’s acceptance of me—warts and all—for granted, but I underestimated his threshold level. I crossed it. Like he said, I broke us, and it can’t be fixed.
Fifteen minutes later, the tears have stopped flowing by the time I see Melanie run into the restaurant and frantically sweep the room with her eyes. I can’t find my voice, but I raise my arm and wave it around in an attempt to get her attention.
When she sees me, her face falls. “Oh, sweetie, you’ve been crying. Stand up and give Melanie a hug.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have the energy to stand up,” I say flatly, gesturing to the chair where Doug sat less than an hour earlier. “Sit.”
I recap what happened the best I can, but each word tastes like poison, and I have to take several pauses before I finally complete the story.
Neither of us speaking, I watch Melanie regard me with pity until I see Amanda and Jodie walk into the restaurant with the same sense of urgency Melanie had. “What are they doing here?” I ask, jutting my chin toward the entrance.
Melanie turns around as they approach our table. “I called for reinforcements.”
As they sit down and Jodie calls the waiter over, I bury my head in my hands. When I lift my head, I say, “It’s bad enough I dragged Melanie into my shitty night. Now all of you are going to have crappy nights too.”
“That’s what friends are for,” Amanda says before placing her glove-clad hand on mine.
Amanda and Jodie stare at me expectantly until I, once again, summarize the night’s events. When I’m finished, I take a deep exhale and reach for my now-empty glass. Jodie pushes a fresh one in my face. “How do you feel about everything now, having gotten over your shock, cried, and gone through the story twice?”
I say simply, “Sad. Very sad.”
Jodie leans forward and locks eyes with me. She purses her lips before saying, “Do you think Doug could be right about you being afraid? Please don’t hate me for saying so. You kn
ow I like to play devil’s advocate.”
I rub my eyes, vaguely aware I probably look like a raccoon as well as every bit of my thirty-nine years. “I really don’t think so, Jodie. But…” I shrug. “Who the hell knows?”
“Time will tell,” Melanie says.
Placing a piece of hair behind my ear, I say, “I guess so.”
Amanda frowns. “I shouldn’t have encouraged you to do this. I was so positive Doug would want to get back together with you. If anyone should advise caution under these types of circumstances, it’s me.”
I squeeze Amanda’s hand. “Not your fault at all. And it’s better this happened now. At least I know he’s no longer an option.”
Amanda nods. “Better to try and fail than to wonder.”
“What now?” Melanie asks.
“I guess I try to move forward. It occurs to me I haven’t spent more than a few months without a boyfriend or some sort of male company in a very long time. Maybe the time is now.” I’m trying to be brave, but in truth, I’m scared shitless I’ll be alone forever, and the only guy who ever truly loved me for me no longer trusts that I love him back. I take another sip of my drink. “Since I’ve already disrupted your nights, tell me what’s going on with all of you. Jodie, who is with the kids?”
Jodie says, “You can reimburse me for the emergency babysitter, and we’ll call it even.”
I chuckle. “Deal. What about the rest of you?”
“I worked the after-school program today and was planning to go shopping, so you might have saved me several hundred dollars,” Amanda says.
Melanie waves me away. “Barry would have had to make the kids dinner anyway.”
I make eye contact with each of them again before saying, “One of you please share something personal so I can get my mind off of Doug.”
Melanie blows her bangs out of her eyes. “I billed over three hundred hours this month so far.”
“How are you still standing?” Jodie asks. “Better question, how are your children not starving and in desperate need of a bath?”
How Do You Know? Page 14