Something Borrowed (28 page)

bed, sliding under the covers, which are chilled from the air

conditioner. I get up, close my blinds, and hit the remote control

on my stereo. Billie Holiday croons. I get back in bed, wriggle

down toward the bottom of it, hooking my feet over the end of the

mattress. I let my senses fill with Dex. See his face, feel him next

to me.

I wonder if he is home yet or still stuck in crosstown traffic. Will

he kiss Darcy hello? Will her lips feel strange and unfamiliar after

kissing mine all weekend? Will she sense that something is wrong,

unable to put her finger on exactly what has changed, never

considering for a second that her maid of honor and a pair of dice

might have something to do with the faraway look in her fiance's

eyes?

Hillary arrives at work the next day, shortly before eleven,

wearing wrinkled pants and scuffed black sandals. Her toenail

polish is badly chipped, making her big toe resemble a squat

candy cane. I laugh and shake my head as she hunkers down in

her usual chair in my office.

"What's so funny?"

"Your wardrobe. They're going to fire you."

Our firm recently changed its dress code, from suits to business

casual so long as there is no client interaction. But I'm pretty sure

that Hillary's ensemble is not what the managing partner had in

mind when his memo referenced "appropriate business casual."

She shrugs. "I wish they would fire me Okay. So tell me about

the weekend. Spare no details."

I smile.

"That good?"

I tell her we had an awesome time. I tell her about going to

Balthazar and Atlantic Grill and our walk in the park and how nice

it was to have so much time with Dex. I am hoping that if I talk

enough, I will be able to avoid the obvious question.

"So is he going to call it off?"

That's the one.

"Well, I'm not sure."

"You're not sure? So he said he's thinking about it?"

"Well, no."

"He's not thinking about it?"

"Well It didn't come up per se." I try not to sound too defensive.

She wrinkles her nose. Then she stares at me blankly. I wonder if

her disapproval has more to do with my passivity or her growing

suspicion that Dex is playing me for a fool. The former might be

true, but the latter is not. "I thought you guys were going to

discuss specifics," she says, frowning.

"I did too, but"

"But what?"

"But he told me he loves me," I say. I hadn't planned on sharing

this private detail, but I feel as if I must.

Hillary's expression changes somewhat. "He did?"

"Yes."

"Was he drunk?"

"No! He wasn't drunk," I say, glancing at my computer screen,

hoping to get an e-mail from Dex. We have not yet spoken since

his departure yesterday.

She isn't sold. "So did you say it back?"

"Yeah. I said it back. Because I do."

She gives me a respectful few seconds of silence. "All right. So you

both love each other. What now? When does the little breakup

happen?"

I take issue with the flippant characterization of his hurdle ahead.

"Calling off a wedding and ending a long relationship is hardly a

little breakup."

"Well, whatever. When is he going to do it?"

My stomach hurts as I say again that I don't know. I am tempted

to tell Hillary about the dice, but I keep that to myself.

That is

between Dex and me. Besides, the story wouldn't translate well,

and likely she would only be disgusted at me for relying on a dice

roll instead of being direct.

I clear my throat. "So did Darcy mention him at all?"

"Not really But I must admit, I kind of fell down on my lookout

job. I have a good excuse." She grins.

"What's your excuse?"

"I met someone!''

"No way! Who? Do I know him?"

"No. He lives in Montauk. His name is Julian. Rachel I didn't

believe in the whole soul-mate thing until I met him."

"Start from the beginning," I tell her. There is no better audience

for someone in love than someone in love.

She tells me that he's thirty-seven, a writer, never been married.

She met him on the beach. She was going for a walk, he was going

for a walk. Both of them were alone, moving in the same direction.

He kept stopping to examine shells, and she finally caught up to

him and introduced herself. They ended up going back to his

house, where he made her tomato, mozzarella, and basil salad.

Tomatoes and basil from his garden, fresh mozzarella.

She says

they couldn't stop talking that he is brilliant, handsome, sensitive.

"So did you see him after that day?"

"Oh, yeah. We hung out the whole weekend Rach, it's like we

skipped all the bullshit. It's hard to explain We are just together

already. He is the best."

"When can I meet him?"

"He's coming this weekend. You can meet him then."

"I can't wait."

I am happy for her, but a little envious. I assume Julian isn't

engaged. Les calls, interrupting our moment. I don't answer,

feeling incapable of dealing with him. Hillary also seems unable to

move out of her chair and go to her office to check her own

messages. Our firm and all the drones in it can wait.

We are

talking about love.

After Hillary leaves my office, I go back to obsessing over Dex,

waiting for an e-mail or call. When the phone finally rings, I jump.

But it's only Darcy, asking if I'm free for lunch.

I tell her yes. I hate the idea of seeing her, but I need to know what

is going on. Maybe Dex has told her something.

We meet at Naples, a restaurant in the lobby of the MetLife

Building. There is a line, so I suggest we go across the street to a

deli. She says no, that she has been dying for pizza. I say fine, we'll

wait for a table. I study her face for possible breakup signs.

Nothing new, although her hair looks more sun-streaked. She is

wearing it in a low, neat ponytail. Aquamarine earrings dangle

just below her lobes.

"Do I have something on my face?" Darcy asks, swiping at her

cheeks.

"I was just looking at your earrings. They're pretty. Are they new?"

"No. Dex gave them to me a long time ago."

"When? For your birthday?"

"No I can't remember exactly. Just a random gift."

I feel a surge of jealousy, but tell myself that much has changed

since then.

Darcy asks me how my weekend was.

"Fine," I say. My heart flutters just thinking about it.

"You know.

Lots of work How was yours?"

"Awesome. You should have been there. Great parties.

Great

bands at the Talkhouse. Omigod, it was so much fun.

You and Dex

picked the wrong weekend to work."

You and Dex. You and Dex. You and Dex.

"Did Dex have to work the whole time?" I ask, for good measure.

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, what else is new? I'm marrying a

workaholic."

"He can't help his hours."

Or how he feels.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she says. "But I bet you anything he volunteers

for half the stuff he gets stuck working on. I swear he enjoys it. It

makes him feel important." Her voice is slightly snide.

Perhaps

this is the prelude to her story about their huge fight.

"You think?"

"I know," she says, as we are led to a table outside.

"And I guess

you know Hillary met a guy, right?"

"Yeah, she told me. Did you meet him?"

"Briefly."

"What did you think?"

"He's not bad-looking. Not my type too artsy-fartsy.

But still

pretty cute. Wonders never cease."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, knowing full well that she

means Hillary meeting a cute guy is an unlikely event.

"Look at her. She doesn't care about her appearance at all. Half

the time she doesn't even act like a girl."

"I think she's pretty."

Darcy gives me a "Get real" look.

I think of Hillary's wrinkled pants and chipped toenail.

"Just

because she's not a girly-girl doesn't mean she's not attractive."

"She's over thirty. She needs to start wearing makeup.

The au

naturel crap went out in the seventies."

"Well, apparently Julian doesn't agree."

"Yeah, well, we'll see how long that lasts," she says, dipping her

bread into a plate of oil.

Yeah, we'll see how much longer you and Dex last. I think of the

red dice, tucked safely into the Altoids tin, and am instantly

overcome with remorse. I don't want her to be hurt. I wish there

was a way for Dex and me to be together and for Darcy not to be

hurt. Why are happy endings so hard to come by? I refocus on

Hillary and Julian. "I think she's really into him," I say.

"Uh-huh," she says, rolling her eyes. "You do know her ex is with a

new girl, right?"

"Yeah. Of course I know that. She couldn't care less about Corey

anymore. And she dumped him, remember?"

"Well. Yeah. But then he started dating a twenty-three-year-old

hottie and prancing around the Talkhouse right in front of her

and that's when she is suddenly so convinced that Julian is her

guy. Coincidence? I don't think so."

I tell her that I think she's being mean. "Stop raining on her

parade."

"Okay. Fine. Whatever. Next topic," Darcy says, dabbing her

napkin at the corners of her mouth. "When did you last talk to

Marcus?"

"Last week sometime."

She leans forward and tells me that he brought me up several

times over the weekend.

"That's nice," I say, my eyes still on the menu. Marcus feels like

ancient history.

She makes a face. "Why are you so lukewarm about him? Don't

you think he's cute?"

"Yeah. He's cute," I say.

Our waiter arrives at the table to take our orders. Darcy asks for

an individual pizza. I tell him that I'd like a Caesar salad.

Darcy objects. "Don't you want more than a salad?"

I can tell she's irritated that I'm getting a salad and she's ordering

a pizza. She likes to be the dainty eater. So I appease her and say,

"Caesar salads are substantial, and actually very fattening."

"Well, you'll have to eat some of my pizza. I can't eat the whole

thing by myself." She is talking to me, but it is for the waiter's

benefit. He smiles at her. She makes her expression friendly and

open. I catch her moving her left hand under the table so he can't

see her ring.

As he turns to leave, she says, "Oh, and can you make sure they

don't burn the bottom of my pizza? Sometimes they burn the

bottom. And 1 like my pizzas how shall I say it rare?"

She moves

her ponytail in front of one shoulder.

He laughs and winks. "No problem."

"He's too young for you," I say, not caring that he's still within

earshot.

"What?" she says innocently. "Oh, puh-lease. I wasn't flirting."

Before she can launch into another topic, I must determine if

there is any domestic trouble yet brewing. I use a wedding angle.

"So what did you decide on the CDs?"

"The CDs?" She looks confused. "Oh, right, those things. I haven't

given them another thought. I took the weekend off from wedding

planning. Besides, I think those CDs might be too much trouble.

Maybe I'll just do nuts or mints after all. They make these cute

heart-shaped Altoids tins. Maybe we'll get those. You know how

much Dexter loves his Altoids."

"Mmm I didn't know that."

"Yeah," she says. "The cinnamon kind."

Dexter doesn't phone until late that night, and I miss the call

because I am reviewing documents in a conference room. His

message is brief: "Hi, Rach. Sorry I haven't called today The

whole day's been a fire drill getting ready for this pitch on

Thursday. I really should have done some of this work over the

weekend Not that I'd do it differently. It was worth it to be with

you. I miss you. I'll talk to you soon."

His message leaves me feeling hollow. That's it? A review of his

work schedule? And using an annoying banker expression like

"fire drill," no less. The next thing I know he's going to be telling

me he's "in the weeds" another one of those "I'm so busy" banker

phrases. And more important, he doesn't say anything about

Darcy, about when I will see him next, about anything.

Just that

he misses me. It feels as though he is slipping away, my shot at

happiness dissipating. I start to get panicky, but then tell myself to

be patient. Dex will do the right thing. He will be with me in the

end.

I finally see Dex on Thursday night. He arrives at my place late,

exhausted from work. We talk for a few minutes before he falls

asleep with his head on my lap as I watch a Sopranos rerun. Tony

is cheating on Carmella again. My empathy for her is huge and allencompassing,

ironic because she is the wife, and not the other woman. I think of Darcy, compare our feelings for Dex. She

doesn't love him as I do. She can't possibly. This will be my final

rationalization in the home stretch.

I nudge him a little after midnight, tell him he should probably get

home. He reluctantly agrees and tells me again how sorry he is