Something Borrowed (43 page)

explaining is over. Darcy's long, skinny fingers are gripping my

closet doorknob.

"Darcy, don't," I say, clearly indicating that her ex-fiance is

behind door number two. I stand in the way, my back against the

door.

"Move!" she bellows. "I know he's in there!"

I move, because what else am I supposed to do? She is right. We

all know that he is in there. But as she opens the door, part of me

actually thinks that Dex will have found a way to fold himself

more neatly and tightly into a back corner of my closet.

Or maybe

he got out, somehow fled during the four seconds that Darcy and I

stood gridlocked in my bathroom. Or maybe he miraculously

found a secret opening in the back as in The Lion, the Witch, and

the Wardrobe.

But no, he is there, crouched right where I last saw him, holding

his jeans and his shirt, wearing striped navy boxers, staring up at

us. He unfolds himself and stands upright.

"You liar!" Darcy screams, thrusting her finger into his chest.

He ignores her and dresses calmly, putting one foot into his jeans

and then the other. The sound of his zipper is loud in the room.

"You lied to me!"

"You have got to be kidding me," Dex says, finding the armholes

in his T-shirt. His voice is low and restrained. "Fuck you, Darcy."

Darcy's face grows red and she is spitting as she yells,

"You said

there was nobody else in the picture! And you're fucking my best

friend!"

I whimper her name like a broken record. "Darcy.

Darcy. Darcy."

She ignores me, staring at Dex. I wait for him to defend us, cast a

spin on the facts, tell her that there has been no fucking. Nothing

at all until today, when he came over to seek comfort.

But Dex

says calmly, "Isn't that a bit of the pot calling the kettle black,

Darce? You and Marcus, huh? Having a baby? I guess congratulations are in order."

I expect her to make a statement about loyalty and love and

friendship. I expect her to accuse us of doing it first.

But she only

looks at me and then Dex and then says that she knew it all along,

and that she hates us both very much. And that she always will.

She walks over to the door.

"Oh, Darcy?" Dex says.

"What?" She shouts the word, but the look in her eyes is needy,

expectant.

"May I have my watch back, please?"

She hurls the evidence overhand at him. Clearly it is meant to

strike and hurt him. But her aim is bad and it ricochets off my

wall, skating across the parquet back to her feet, inscription up.

She looks at it and then at me.

"And you! I never want to see you again! You are dead to me!"

She slams the door and is gone.

Darcy wastes no time in getting het version of the story out.

Starting with Jose, apparently. On our way out of the building,

minutes after Darcy's departure, we pass my doorman.

For once,

he is not grinning. Failing in the gatekeeping function is the stuff

that can get a doorman fired. He looks worried.

"Hi, Jose," Dex and I say in unison.

"Aw, man, I'm really sorry I let her up," he says. "I, uh, didn't

know you know"

"No. Not at all," I say. "Don't worry, Jose."

"Did she give you an earful?" Dex asks cheerfully, as if the whole

thing were just a crazy little mix-up instead of a life-defining

moment for at least four people.

Jose has tacit permission to smile again. "Uhh you could say I

got an earful. Heh, heh. But don't worry." He laughs. "I don't

believe what she said about you not most of it, anyway."

He slaps hands with Dex as though they are old pals, which I

guess they are becoming. I walk Dex to the corner. He is going

home to salvage as many belongings as he can fit into his

luggage we both believe that Darcy is a slash-and-burn kind of

girl, fully up to the task of taking scissors to his wardrobe.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he says.

I nod.

"And you're sure it's okay if I stay with you for a few days?"

He has asked me the question three times now.

"Of course. Stay as long as you want," I say, thinking that now he

not only wants me, but he needs me too. It is a good feeling to be

needed by Dex.

We stand facing each other in the street for a moment before Dex

flags a cab and leans down to kiss me. Without thinking, I turn my

head to give him a cheek. Then I remember that we no longer

need to hide. I turn my face again, and our lips meet in daylight.

I return to my apartment in a state of semishock. I feel as if I

should do something ceremonious. Write in my journal, which

has been untouched for months (I could never bring myself to

write about Dex, just in case something happened to me). Dance

around my apartment. Cry. Instead I focus on the mundane, what

I am good at. I shower, unpack, water my plants, open my mail,

drag two fans out of my closet and plug them in near my bed, and

eat a couple of stale Fig Newtons.

Dex returns an hour later with his full array of tan Hartmann

luggage and two black Nike gym bags, all stuffed haphazardly with

clothes, shoes, papers, toiletries, even some framed photographs.

"Rescue mission accomplished," he says. "She wasn't home."

I survey the bags. "How did you haul all that stuff over here so

fast?"

"It wasn't easy," he says, wiping sweat from his brow.

His gray Tshirt

is wet around the pits and across his chest.

"You can hang your suits in the front closet," I say, still focusing

on the practical, unable to absorb everything, although the

presence of Dex's belongings is helping with that.

"Thanks." He shakes out a few dark suits and white shirts and

looks at me. "Don't be alarmed. I'm not moving in."

"I'm not alarmed," I say, as I watch him hang his clothes.

Although in truth, I am filled with sudden trepidation.

What next?

What now? I never planned on this the temporary living

arrangement, the end of my friendship with Darcy, the strange

and sudden change in the status quo. "I just can't believe it."

He puts his arms around me. "What can't you believe?"

"Everything. Any of it. Us."

I close my eyes just as my phone rings. I jump. "Shit.

You think

it's her?" I am almost afraid of Darcy, of what she will do.

"I doubt it. She's off with Marcus, I'm sure."

I answer it.

"Is this true?" my mother asks, in a panic. "What I hear from Mrs.

Rhone? Say it's not so, Rachel. Please tell me!"

"That depends on what you heard." I choose my words carefully,

and then mouth to Dex that it is my mother.

He makes a face and grabs the arm of my sofa as though he is

bracing for a meteor to fall into my apartment. I'd prefer a meteor

to this conversation.

"She tells me that Dex canceled the wedding?"

"That is correct."

"And that you are somehow involved with Dex? I told her there

must be some mistake, but she was sure. She's very upset. Your

father and I were speechless."

"Mom, it is complicated," I say, an admission by any measure.

"Ra-chel. How could you?" She has never sounded more

disappointed in me. All of my hard work,

accomplishments, years

of being a good daughter it is all down the drain.

"Darcy is your

oldest friend in the world! How could you?"

I tell my mother that perhaps she would like to hear my side of the

story before she casts judgment. I didn't think you needed law

school to have the "innocent before proven guilty"

concept down.

She says fine, please go on. I can see her shaking her head, pacing

in the kitchen, waiting for an explanation, although none could

ever suffice.

I am too mad to tell her anything. How can she take Darcy's side

over mine before she even hears a thing from my mouth? "I'm not

in the mood to discuss it with you," I say. Then I add,

"Or Dad."

Because I know she will use him as the ultimate weapon, just as

she did when I was a child. "Wait until your father gets home," an

oft-heard threat to many children, wasn't employed with the same

meaning in our house. It was a threat to tarnish my reputation as

Daddy's perfect little girl. One stern look from my father was

worse than any punishment, and my mom knew it.

"Your father is in the garage, absolutely beside himself," she says,

wavering between shrill and calm. "I don't think he could talk

even if you wanted to speak to him. Did Darcy or Dr.

and Mrs.

Rhone cross your mind once?"

When I fell in love? No, they didn't! Neither did your bridge club,

nor my third-grade teacher!

"Mom, it's not your life. Or Dad's Look, I have to go."

I say good-bye and hang up before she can speak again. Let her be

sorry when she learns that Darcy is having someone else's child.

Let her do the math, subtract the months back to August. Maybe

then she will phone me and apologize and toss out another one of

her favorites People in glass houses

I hang up and contemplate phoning Annalise, getting to her

before the spin doctor does. But I don't want to burden an

expectant mother with this tale.

"So I gather that the news made its way west?" Dex asks me.

"Yup. Mrs. Rhone called my mom."

"That's bullshit," he says. "Darcy is pregnant with another man's

baby! Did she share that part with the old neighborhood?"

"Clearly not."

"Think I should call Mrs. Rhone?"

"No Let's just keep a low profile before everything shakes out.

Screw them all."

"You're right," he says, and slams his fist into his palm.

"Darcy!

She's fucking unbelievable."

"I know," I say.

We are both quiet. I feel uneasy. For a fleeting second, I worry

that maybe Ethan's theory could be right that I only wanted Dex

to beat Darcy, and now that I have him, I'm not sure what to do.

But no, there is an unmistakable feeling of love surging beneath

the layers of anxiety. It will just take some time for us to be

normal again. Which is ironic, because we've never really been

normal.

"Should we order dinner?" Dex asks, breaking the silence.

"I'm not really hungry. I think I might just go to bed," I say, even

though it's only eight o'clock. "I'm feeling pretty jet-lagged.

Besides, it's too hot to eat."

I think he knows the real reason I can't eat. "I'm not hungry

either," he says.

I watch Dex as he listlessly tidies his belongings and finds his

shaving kit. Then he showers while I brush my teeth, lock up the

apartment, and climb into bed. My mind is working overtime,

struggling to send a clear message to my heart. I hate feeling so

much and yet being unable to categorize my dominant emotion.

Am I mostly happy? Sad? Scared? I don't know. I think of Ethan.

How surprised he will be. Spineless Dex isn't so spineless after all.

Then I think of James. Was I kissing him when Dex was

formulating a way to be with me? Should I feel guilty?

Should I

tell Dex?

Then I think about the four of us: Marcus was disloyal to Dex. I

was disloyal to Darcy. Dex was disloyal to Darcy. Only Darcy did

something to two people, to me and to Dex. She is the only one

who was doubly disloyal. I think of my girl in the jury box. She is

triumphant, pointing out this fact, telling Chanel Suit,

"I told you

so."

I watch Dex towel off, put on white boxer briefs, and walk toward

me. He is beside the bed. I move over, taking his side.

Maybe we

will switch sides, our way of commemorating the change in our

relationship, acknowledging its new legitimacy.

He switches off my lamp, and finds me under the sheets. His arm

moves around me. Then he kisses my ear twice. But neither of us

initiates anything more. Perhaps he, too, is contemplating the

hugeness of what has happened.

"Good night, Dex," I say.

"Good night, Rachel."

For a long time, I listen to Dex breathe. When I am pretty sure he

is asleep, I say his name softly.

"Yeah?" he answers, still wide awake.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yes Are you?"

"Yeah," I say.

Then I hear him make a noise. It sounds like crying at first. Then I

realize with relief that he is laughing.

"What?"

"You." He imitates me. "'I bought the watch in London.'" He

laughs harder.

I allow one small smile. "I couldn't think!"

"That was apparent."

"You're the one who left it on the nightstand."

"I know Shit. I remembered it as soon as you let her in the

apartment. Then I thought she might not see it. Then I heard the

question and was waiting for you to come up with something

good. 'I bought it in London' wasn't what I had in mind.

I was in

there shaking my head in the dark, like, the jig is up, baby."

"Maybe it's for the best Everything is out in the open now. She

would have found out eventually."

I don't really mean this, though. Eventually would have been

better than today. And maybe she never would have known that