Something Borrowed (17 page)

without you!" And then she says to our salesgirl, "No offense to

you."

The girl smiles as if she totally understands, no offense taken. She

recognizes the truth of what Darcy is saying and is probably

wondering what kind of a maid of honor leaves the bride during

such a pivotal moment.

I take a deep breath and tell her that I can stay a few more

minutes. She samples more tubes, wiping her lips with a makeupremoving

lotion between hues of pink.

"How about this one?"

"Nice." I smile earnestly.

"Well, nice doesn't cut it!" she snaps. "It has to be perfect. I have

to look perfect!"

As I study her pouty, berry-stained, bee-stung lips, any trace of

remorse is gone. All I feel is solid, full-blown resentment.

Why does everything have to be perfect for you? Why does it all

have to be handed to you in a perfect package all wrapped up with

a Martha Stewart bow? What did you do to deserve Dex? I met

him first. I introduced him to you. I should have gone for him.

Why didn't I, again? Oh, right, because I thought I wasn't good

enough for him. Well, I was mistaken. I obviously misjudged the

situation. It can happen especially when one has a friend like

you, a friend who assumes that she has a right to the best of

everything, a friend who is so relentless in her quest to outshine

you that you even begin to underestimate yourself, set your sights

low. This is your fault, Darcy, for taking what should have been

mine in the first place.

I am keyed up and absolutely desperate to get away from her. I

look at my watch and sigh, almost believing that I really do have

to go to work and that Darcy is being inconsiderate, as usual,

taking advantage of my time. I think my job is a little more

important than your lipstick for an event that is still months

away1.

"I'm sorry. Darce it's not my fault that I have to work."

"Fine."

"It's not my fault," I say again.

Not my fault.

My feelings for Dex are not my fault.

And his feelings for me and I know they are real are not his fault.

Before I can escape, Darcy calls Claire on her cell. Has she tried

Bobbi Brown? I can hear Claire inquire, and then state with the

authority of Bride's magazine that they have a beautiful bridal line

and their lipstick has plenty of moisture but not too much shine.

"Will you come meet me now?" Darcy pleads into the phone. Her

sense of entitlement knows no bounds.

She hangs up the phone and tells me that I am free to go, that

Claire will be straight over. She waves at me; I am being

dismissed.

"Good-bye," I say. "I'll speak to you later?"

"Sure. Whatever. Bye."

As I turn to leave, she issues a final warning. "If you're not careful,

I'm going to have to demote you to lowly bridesmaid and give

Claire your honored position."

So much for just like sisters.

I call Dexter's cell phone the second I am out of sight.

It is a low

move, making the call while Darcy does wedding errands, but I

am running off the steam of indignation. That's what she gets for

being so demanding, domineering, and self-centered.

"Where are you?" I ask Dex after we exchange hellos.

"Home."

"Oh."

"Where are you? I thought you were shopping.'

"I was. But I said I had to work."

I notice that we are both dancing around any direct mention of

Darcy.

"Well, do you have to work?" he asks tentatively.

"Not really."

"Good. Me either. Can I see you?"

"I'll be home in twenty minutes."

Dex beats me to my apartment and is waiting in my lobby making

small talk with Jose about the Mets. I am so happy to see him,

relieved to be away from Darcy. I smile and say hello, wondering

if Jose recognizes Dex from past visits with Darcy. I hope he

doesn't. It's not just my parents from whom I want approval. I

even want it from my doorman.

Dex and I ride the elevator and walk down the hall to my

apartment. I am jittery with anticipation, eager for his touch. We

sit on my couch. He takes my hands and we start kissing with an

urgency that feels like an affair. It is a serious word a scary word.

It conjures images of Sunday school and the Ten Commandments.

But it is not adultery. Nobody is married. Yet. I push it all out of

my mind as I kiss Dex. There will be no more guilt, not for this

next parcel of time.

Suddenly, perching on the couch seems ridiculous. My bed would

be so much more comfortable. Nothing more has to happen just

because we're on a bed. That is a teenager's perception.

I am a

grown woman with life experience (albeit limited), and I can

control myself on my own bed. I stand up and lead him over to the

other side of my studio. He follows me, still holding my hand. We

sit on the foot of the bed. Dex slips his feet out of his loafers. He is

not wearing socks. He moves his big toes up and down and then

rubs his feet together. He has high, graceful arches and slender

ankles.

"Come here," he says, pulling me against him and both of us up

toward my pillows. He is strong, his skin warm. We are now on

our sides, our bodies against each other. He kisses me more, and

we topple over in his direction. He stops kissing me suddenly,

clears his throat, and says, "It's so strange. Being with you like

this. And yet it also feels so natural. Maybe because we've been

friends for so long."

I tell him I know exactly what he means. I think back to law

school. We weren't best friends in those days, but we were close

enough to learn a lot about each other, stuff that comes out even

when your focus is on contributory negligence and ways to rescind

a contract. I mentally catalog all that I learned about Dex in the

pre-Darcy days. That he grew up in Westchester. That he is

Catholic. That he played basketball in high school and considered

walking on at Georgetown. That he has an older sister named

Tessa who went to Cornell and now teaches high school English in

Buffalo. That his parents divorced when he was very young. That

his father remarried. That his mother beat breast cancer.

And then there was all that I learned via Darcy, details of his

personal life that I've found myself conjuring and pondering in

recent days. Like that Dex is grouchy in the morning.

That he does

at least fifty push-ups before bed every night and that he never

leaves dirty dishes on the counter. That he broke down when his

grandfather died, the only time she has ever seen him cry. That he

had two serious girlfriends before Darcy and that the one named

Suzanne Cohen, who worked as a research analyst at Goldman

Sachs, dumped him and broke his heart.

When I add it all up, I know a lot. But I want more.

"Tell me

everything about yourself," I say, sounding eighteen.

Dex touches my face and then draws an imaginary line along my

nose and around my mouth, resting his finger on my chin. "You

first. You're the mysterious one."

I laugh. "Hardly," I say, thinking that he is confusing being shy

with being mysterious.

"You are. You were a closed book in law school. All quiet, not

wanting to date anyone despite plenty of guys trying I could

never get much out of you."

I laugh again. "What's that supposed to mean? I told you plenty in

law school."

"Like what?"

I rattle off some autobiographical details.

"I'm not talking about stuff like that," he says. "I'm talking about

the important things. How you feel about things."

"I hated Zigman," I offer weakly.

"I know. Your fear was all-consuming. And then you did a great

job when he finally called on you."

"I did not," I say, remembering how I stumbled my way through a

long, painful line of questioning.

"Yes you did. You just didn't think you did. You don't see yourself

the way you are."

I avert my eyes, focus on a spot of ink on my comforter.

He continues. "You see yourself as very average, ordinary. And

there is nothing ordinary about you, Rachel."

I can't look back at him. My face burns.

"And I know that you blush when you're embarrassed."

He smiles.

"No I don't!" I cover my face with one hand and roll my eyes.

"Yes you do. You're adorable. And yet you have no idea, which is

the most adorable part."

Nobody, not even my mother, has ever called me adorable.

"And you are beautiful. Absolutely, stunningly beautiful in the

freshest, most natural way. You look like one of those Ivory girls.

Remember those commercials? You're probably too young.

You're like a J.Crew model. All natural."

I tell him to please stop. Even though I love what he has just told

me.

"It's true."

I want to believe him.

He kisses my neck, his left hand resting on my hip.

"Dex."

"Hmmm?"

"Who ever said I didn't want to date in law school?"

"Well, you didn't, did you? You were there to learn, not date. That

was clear."

"I went out with Nate."

"Not until the very end."

"He didn't ask me out until the very end."

"Brave guy."

I roll my eyes.

"I almost asked you out, you know that?"

I laugh at this.

"It's true," he says, sounding a little bit hurt.

I give him a dubious look.

"Do you remember that time when we were studying for our Torts

final?"

I picture his thumb on my face, wiping away my tear.

So it had

meant something.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you?"

My face feels hot as I nod. "I think so. Yeah."

"And when I asked to walk you home, you said no.

Shot me

down."

"I didn't shoot you down!"

"You were all business."

"I wasn't. I just didn't think at the time" My voice trails off.

"Yeah, and then you introduced me to Darcy. I knew then that you

had zero interest."

"I just didn't think I didn't know you saw me that way."

"I loved spending time with you," Dex says. "Still do."

He stares at

me, unblinking.

I tell him that he blinks less than anyone I have ever met. He

smiles, says he has never lost a staring contest. I challenge him,

making my eyes as wide as his. I notice that he has a dark speck in

his left iris, like an eye freckle.

Seconds later, I blink. He flashes a quick, jubilant smile and then

kisses me more. He changes the intensity and pressure and

amount of tongue, the kissing ideals that are all too often

abandoned once in a long-term relationship. Kissing Dex would

never become stale. He would never stop kissing me like this.

"Tell me about Suzanne," I say when we finally separate. "And

your high school girlfriend."

"Alice?" He laughs, sweeps a piece of my hair behind my ear.

"What about her? Ancient history."

Everyone knows that you don't discuss exes when you're in a

fledgling relationship. Even though you are dying to know those

details from the very beginning, that is something you bring up

much later in the game. You don't have to be a Rules Girl like

Claire to have that concept down. Dating someone new is a fresh

start for both of you. No good can come from rehashing past and

by definition failed relationships. But compared to the fact that

he is engaged, ex-girlfriends are an innocuous topic.

There is no

need to strategize here in my safe studio. The rules don't apply. It

might be the only advantage to our situation.

"Were you in love with them?" For some reason I need to know.

He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, concentrating. I

like that he thinks about my questions, just as he did during lawschool

exams. I remember him staring into space for the first forty-five minutes of an exam. Not writing a word on his blue

book until he thought through his entire answer.

He clears his throat. "Not with Alice. But yes with Suzanne."

No wonder Suzanne has always bothered Darcy so much. She

wants to be the only one he has ever loved. I remember how she

used to beat down Blaine in high school: "You didn't love

Cassandra, did you? Did you?" Until he finally just said no. Only

you, Darcy.

"Why not with Alice?" I ask. I'd rather hear about the one he

didn't love first.

"I don't know. She was a sweet girl. As sweet as they come. I don't

know why I didn't love her. It's something you can't really

control."

Dex is right. It has nothing to do with the other person's inherent

worth, the sum of their fine attributes. It is something you can't

will yourself to feel. Or not feel. Although I have done a pretty

good job of it over the years. Just look at Joey. I dated him for two

years and never felt even a fraction of what I'm feeling now.

"Of course, it was just high school," he continues.

"How serious

can you really be at that age?"

I nod, thinking of sweet little Brandon. Then I ask Dex about

Suzanne. "So you loved her?"

"Yeah. But that wasn't going to work in the long run.