Something Borrowed (42 page)

it will be all the more cruel.

"No," he says. "She understands that I mean it. I called my

parents and told them. And she and I are calling her parents

together tonight. She says she wants me to tell them and then

we'll call everyone else." There is a catch in his voice, and for a

second I wonder if he might cry.

I say that I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say. I can't digest

this information quickly enough. I want to kiss him, to thank him,

to smile. But I can't. It doesn't seem appropriate.

He nods, runs his hands through his hair, and then returns them

to his lap. "It's hard, but I feel this tremendous load lifted. It's the

right thing."

He looks at me, and I hold his gaze before I kiss him.

As his arms

encircle me, I think, This is real. Then I slowly relax into him,

feeling happy and whole for the first time in what feels like

forever. There was always a deep calm missing before, even

during our July Fourth weekend together. We now have time. All

kinds of time. Maybe even forever.

I wonder what it will be like without Darcy in the picture. Will

making love be different? I am about to find out because Dex is

unbuttoning my shirt. My heart is pounding as we move over to

my bed, where we undress.

"I missed you, Rachel," he says. I can feel his heart beating against

mine.

And then Jose interrupts, buzzing me, once, twice. I go to answer

him, assuming that it is a package or dry cleaning, or something

that he forgot to tell me about. I will tell him that I will get

whatever it is later. But it is not a package. It is Darcy.

And she

has heard my voice over the intercom.

"Tell her I will be right down!" I say.

"Already on her way up!" Jose practically sings the news. Clearly

he has no idea that Darcy's arrival means that my first guest and I

are screwed. Then again, maybe he does know. Maybe doormen,

even the ones who pretend to be your friend, secretly delight in

any tenant drama.

"Oh shit!" I say, standing up and looking around.

"She's coming

up! Shit!"

Dex is calm, puts his boxers back on. He walks swiftly over to my

linen closet and opens the door, carrying his jeans and T-shirt.

The shelves line the closet the whole way to the bottom. No good.

"Get in the other one. The other closet!" I point, frantic and wildeyed.

He walks around the corner and opens my other closet.

There is

room in this one. He crouches next to my hamper, holding his

clothes. I shut the closet door just as I hear her knock.

"Coming!" I shout.

I throw my underwear back on and open the door.

"Sorry. I was

just changing."

"Omigod. Thank God you're back," she says.

I ask her what's wrong before I realize that she looks and sounds

fine. No bloodshot eyes, no running mascara, no dejected gaze.

Darcy moves into my apartment as I babble that I just arrived

home and wanted to change into something more comfortable. I

put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

She still says nothing.

"So. Six days to go. You must be going crazy!" I laugh nervously.

"Well, I'm here to help now. At your service. To help with any lastminute

details for your wedding."

"There isn't going to be a wedding." She sniffs.

"What?" I gasp, widen my eyes, step toward her. Right as I am

about to offer my full sympathy, I remember that I'm not

supposed to know who called it off. So I ask.

"It was mutual."

"Mutual?" I ask, my voice louder.

I lead Darcy over to my bed and sit down. The closet is next to the

bed. I want Dex to hear everything. Mutual? Dex said he did it. If

it were mutual, or if she said it first, then perhaps it doesn't mean

quite as much as I thought it did. Of course, I will still be happy.

But I want this choice to be Dex's. Now I want to be the reason.

"Well. Technically Dexter was the one. He told me this morning

that he couldn't go through with it. That he doesn't think he loves

me." She rolls her eyes and smiles an ironic smile. I wish that Dex

could see the look on her face. She no more believes that he

doesn't love her than she believes that I could be capable of hiding

a half-naked Dex in my closet.

"You're kidding me? This is crazy. How do you feel?"

Darcy looks down at her feet. Now she will start to cry.

And I will

comfort her and tell her that it will all be okay. Then I will suggest

that we go for a little walk. Get some fresh air, even though it is

disgustingly humid outside. Maybe I will suggest dinner. Her

choice. A burger and fries now that there is no dress to fit into.

But still, Darcy does not cry. She takes a deep breath.

"Rachel I

have something to tell you." Her voice is calm. She is not following

the "I've just been dumped" script. Something is going on. For a

second I

think that she is going to tell me that she knows everything, that

she understands, that true love must prevail, and that she sees

clearly that Dex and I should be together.

"Yeah?" I ask, confused.

"This is very hard for me to tell you. Even harder than when I got

into Notre Dame," she continues.

This is the first time she has brought up Notre Dame since

college which is crazy, considering my recent revelation. The

conversation is definitely not making sense. Maybe she is going to

confess that she, too, got rejected. That all her life she has been

competing with me. And that she is finally acknowledging defeat.

"Do you remember when I told you about losing my ring?"

"Yeah?"

"How I lost it in my colleague's apartment?"

Now I am really confused. Dex must be even more confused. I am

glad that I never told him how she really lost her ring.

He canceled

the wedding even without that information.

"How I hooked up with that guy and lost the ring?"

It's like a Three's Company episode where Jack and Chrissy are

talking, and Janet is hiding somewhere listening to the conversation, full of misunderstandings and double meanings. I

remember the close-ups of Janet's face, shocked and indignant.

But there is no confusion here in my studio. There is only one

meaning, and Dex is getting it right: she hooked up with someone

else. Why didn't you tell me? he will ask me, perhaps accusatorily.

It would have made everything so much easier, he will say. I will

tell him that I didn't think it was right to sway him.

Maybe it will

make me look noble, and Darcy all the more wrong for him.

"Well, I didn't really hook up with a guy from work."

She speaks

slowly, enunciating every syllable.

"You didn't lose your ring?"

Is she about to confess to insurance fraud?

"The guy I was with wasn't a guy from work. It was someone else."

"Who was it?"

"It was Marcus," she says.

"Marcus?" I am floored.

"Your Marcus. Yes."

Of course. My Marcus. The Marcus I had to fly across the Atlantic

to get over.

"Do you hate me?" she asks soulfully. "Please say something."

"You were with Marcus the day you lost your ring?

You lost it in

his apartment?" I am clarifying for myself and Dexter.

She nods. Then there is a fleeting second when she looks at me

sideways a brightening in her eyes, a slight upward movement in

the corners of her mouth. She is enjoying this. This is her moment

to shock. Shock and shine. Win again.

I give her what she wants. Pretend to be defeated. The gracious

loser again.

"So you slept with him?" I keep my voice just south of accusatory,

on the hurt side.

"Yes."

"More than once?"

"Yes," she whispers so softly that I know Dex can't hear her

answer.

So I ask loudly and clearly, "You did?"

"Yes," she says.

I pretend to digest it all. Actually I am digesting it all.

But on a

level unknown to Darcy. "So," I say. "So."

I don't ask for further explanation, but she gives it to me anyway.

"It all started over the July Fourth weekend. We came back from

the Talk-house, loaded. And one thing led to the other."

"July Fourth?" I ask.

This keeps getting better.

"Yes, but he felt terrible. And we swore that it would never happen

again. Only we were totally into each other. It was intense We

just couldn't keep apart. We started to meet for lunch and

sometimes after work. We felt awful every time because of Dex,

and because of you. But then it would happen again and again

Do you hate me?"

I am at a crossroads. I am not sure how to play it. What would

Ethan advise? Pretend to fly into a rage? Yes, I hate you. Get out.

Get out! That would be one way to go. Or a soft, dejected, How can

I hate you? You are my best friend. Or perhaps, I don't know what

to think. I need time.

While I contemplate my response, she says she has something else

to tell me. Something big.

"There's more?"

"Yes. There's more." Her voice sounds fragile, but her expression

gives her away. She is definitely enjoying this.

I stare at my feet. "Go on."

"I am a few days late for my period. And you know that I'm always

on a perfect twenty-eight-day schedule." She is touching her

stomach fondly. It is still completely flat.

My own stomach lurches. "You're pregnant?"

"I think so. Yeah."

I am afraid to ask who the father is. If it is Dex, all of this might be

taken back from me.

"I took a test it was positive."

"Positive means you're pregnant?"

"Yes. Two pink lines. Yes, I'm pregnant."

I hold my breath, pray, make a deal with God. Never will I ask for

anything else, if only "Who is the father?" The question fills the

room, circles over us, under the closet door.

"Marcus."

I exhale, feeling light-headed with relief. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Positive. Dex and I haven't had sex since before my last

period. Ages ago."

"Does he know?"

"Who? Marcus?"

"Yeah. Does Marcus know?"

"Yes. But Dex doesn't. Not yet."

He does now.

"I wanted to talk to you first."

I nod, still taking it all in. "So what are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you keeping it?"

"Yes. I want to have it." She rubs her stomach in small circular

motions. "I want to marry Marcus and have his baby. I know it

sounds crazy, but it just feels so right."

"Are you sure Marcus wants to get married?"

"Positive."

"Do you think Dex suspects anything?" I ask quietly.

For some

reason, I don't want him to hear this question.

"No. But to be honest, I think he sensed how distant I've been.

That's probably why he called it off. You know, he said he didn't

love me because he felt that I had turned away from him first."

"I see."

"I'm shocked at how calm you are. Thank you for not hating me."

"Yeah I don't hate you."

"I hope Dex takes it as well. At least as far as Marcus goes. He's

going to hate him for a while. But Dex is rational.

Nobody did this

on purpose to hurt him. It just happened."

And right when I think that this story is winding up as neatly and

tightly as a Three's Company episode, with its get-out-of-jail-free

ending, I see Darcy stare at something behind me. By the look on

her face, I think that Dex has emerged from his hiding place. I

turn around, fully expecting to see him. But no, the door is still

closed. I face Darcy again. She is still staring behind me, her

expression stony and trancelike.

And then she asks, "Why is Dexter's watch on your nightstand?"

I follow her eyes again. Sure enough, his watch is most definitely

on my nightstand. Dexter's watch. My nightstand.

There is no way

out. At least not one that I can think of.

I shrug and stammer that I don't know. If there were any doubt

before this moment as to my ability to think on my feet, that is

cleared up now. I mumble, "Oh, it's not his watch. I have one like

it I bought it in England." My voice is shaking. I am a complete

mess, a dying calf in a hailstorm.

Darcy leaps from my bed and grabs the watch from my nightstand, flipping it over and reading the inscription.

'"All my

love. Darcy,'" she says. Then she looks at me with pure hatred,

demonstrating how I should have reacted to her Marcus news.

"What the fuck?" she asks. It is a cold, hard question.

Her eyes

narrow. "What the fuck!" she screams again, but this time it is a

statement. Which means that I don't have to answer.

I stand as she pushes roughly past me into the bathroom. I follow

her as she whips the shower curtain violently to the side. Only two

tan Aveda bottles, a pink plastic razor, and a dwindling bar of

soap.

I begin formulating a story: Dex came over to tell me about the

breakup. He took his watch off, to woefully read the engraving. He

was beside himself with grief. I comforted him briefly, at which

point he left to wander in the park, alone.

But it is too late for explanations. The thirty-second window for