Something Blue - Emily Giffin [36]
"No way! This is perfect!" I said, thinking that Rachel probably would have picked some boring limited edition book. "You're the best." I hugged her, silently taking back every mean thing I had ever thought about her, every petty criticism. Like how annoying and clingy she got after too many drinks, always needing to accompany me to the bathroom at bars. How she bragged about her hometown of Greenwich and her debutante days. And how she stayed so hopelessly lumpy despite daily visits to the gym. What was she doing, I used to ask Rachel, eating Ho Hos in the locker room?
"The green matches your eyes," Claire said again, beaming.
"I love it," I said, as I admired the necklace from my compact mirror. The heart fell at just the right spot, accentuating my thin collarbone.
Claire took me to lunch later that day. I kept my cell phone on, just in case Dex or Rachel decided that lunchtime was the appropriate time to phone, apologize profusely, beg for my forgiveness, and wish me a happy birthday. It rang five different times, and every time I'd say to Claire, "Do you mind?" and she'd wave her hand and say, "Of course not. Go on."
All of the calls (except Bliss Spa reminding me of my five o'clock facial) were from birthday well-wishers. But no Rachel or Dex.
I know it was on Claire's mind, too, as she mouthed, "Who?" each time I answered.
After the fifth call, she asked, "Have you heard from Rachel today?"
"No," I said. Dex? Nope.
"How rude not to call on your birthday and try to make up."
"I know!"
"Any sightings since Crate and Barrel?" she asked.
"No. Have you seen them?"
"No. Nobody has seen them," Claire said—which was saying something as her network was expansive. The next best thing to hiring a private investigator (and believe me, I had considered it) was having Claire as my new best friend.
"Maybe they broke up," I said.
"Probably so," she said. "Out of guilt if nothing else."
"Or maybe they just went on another exotic trip together," I said.
She patted my arm sympathetically and ordered me a second glass of chardonnay. I knew I shouldn't be drinking—but Dr. Jan had specifically said that I could drink on special occasions. Besides, plenty of French babies were born undamaged, and I was sure their mothers kept up with their daily intake of wine.
"I do have a little nugget for you, though," I said, inhaling deeply, excited to drop the Marcus news on her. Minus the pregnancy, of course.
"Oh, really?" Her bangle bracelets clinked together as she crossed her arms and leaned toward me.
"I'm seeing someone," I said proudly.
"Who?" she asked, wide-eyed. I detected a hint of jealousy. Claire, bless her heart, was a fast and furious matchmaker, but she never seemed to make much progress in her own right.
I smiled mysteriously, took a sip of water, and wiped the lipstick off my glass with my thumb. "Marcus," I said proudly.
"Marcus?" she asked with bewilderment. "You mean, Marcus Marcus?"
I nodded.
"Really?" she asked.
"Uh-huh. Isn't that crazy?"
Something flashed across her face that I wasn't sure how to read. Was it jealousy that I had someone new so fast on the heels of a broken engagement? Did she, too, find him sexy in an unorthodox way? Or was it disapproval? My heart fluttered over the possibility of the latter. I desperately needed affirmation that Marcus was acceptable to a member of the Manhattan elite. I needed to be with someone whom everyone else wanted.
"When did this come about?" she asked.
"Oh, recently…" I said vaguely.
"I'm… I guess I'm a little bit surprised."
"I know," I said, thinking that she would have been less surprised if she hadn't been such a sound sleeper that night over our July Fourth weekend. "Who would have thunk it?… But I really like him."
"Really?" This time I definitely pegged her expression as disapproving.
"Why are you so surprised?"
"It's just… I don't know. I just didn't think Marcus was your type."
"You mean his looks?" I asked. "You mean