Something Blue - Emily Giffin [7]
"What are we going to do, Hugh?" my mother asked my father in her little-girl tone.
"I'll take care of it," he said. "Everything will be fine. Darcy, don't you worry about a thing. We have the guest list. We'll call the family. We'll contact The Carlyle, the photographer. Everyone. You sit tight. Do you want us to come out on our same flight on Thursday or do you want a ticket to come home? You say the word, honey."
My father was in full-on crisis mode, the way he got during a tornado watch or a snowstorm or anytime our declawed, half-blind indoor cat would escape out the back door and dart out into the street, while my mother and I freaked out, secretly delighting in the drama.
"I don't know, Daddy. I just can't even think straight right now."
My dad sighed and then said, "Do you want me to call Dex? Talk some sense into him?"
"No, Daddy. It won't do any good. It's over. Please don't. I have some pride."
"That bastard" my mother chimed in. "And Rachel! I just can't believe that little tramp."
"Dee, that's not helping," my father said.
"Well, I know," my mother said. "But I just can't believe that Rachel would do such a thing. And how in the world could Dex want to be with her?"
"I know!" I said. "There's no way that they're actually together, right? He couldn't really like her?"
"No. No way," my mother said.
"I'm sure Rachel is sorry," my dad said. "It was a very inappropriate thing to do."
"Inappropriate isn't the word for it," my mother said.
My father tried again. "Treacherous? Opportunistic?"
My mother agreed with this assessment. "She probably wanted him the whole time you were with him."
"I know," I said, feeling a fleeting sense of regret that I had let Dex go. Everyone viewed him as such a prize. I looked at Marcus to reassure myself I had done the right thing, but he was eyeing his PlayStation.
"Has Rachel called to explain or apologize?" my dad continued.
"Not yet," I said.
"She will," my mom said. "And in the meantime, you stay strong, honey. Everything will be fine. You're a beautiful girl. You will find someone else. Someone better. Tell her, Hugh."
"You're the most beautiful girl in the world," he said. "Everything's going to be just fine. I promise you."
* * *
three
Ironically it was Rachel who had introduced Dex and me. They were both first-year law students at NYU, and because Rachel insisted that she wasn't in school to date, but rather to learn, she passed her friend Dex, the most eligible man on campus, along to me.
I remember the moment well. Rachel and I were at a bar in the Village, waiting for Dex to arrive. When he walked in, I instantly knew that he was special. He belonged in a Ralph Lauren ad—the man in the glossy ads squinting into the sunlight on a sailboat or bending thoughtfully over a chessboard with a fire roaring in the background. I was sure that he didn't get sloppy, fall-down drunk, that he would never swear in front of his mother, that he used expensive aftershave products—and perhaps a straight-edge razor on special occasions. I just knew that he could enjoy the opera, that he could solve any Times crossword, and that he ordered fine port after dinner. I swear I saw all of this in one glance. Saw that he was my ideal—the sophisticated East Coaster I needed in order to create a Manhattan version of my mother's life.
Dex and I had a nice conversation that evening, but it took him a few weeks to call and ask me out—which only made me want him more. As soon as he called, I dumped the guy I was seeing at the time, because I was that sure that something great was about to be launched. I was right. Dex and I fast became a couple, and things were perfect. He was perfect. So perfect that I felt a tiny bit unworthy of him. I knew I was gorgeous, but I sometimes worried that I wasn't quite smart enough or interesting enough for someone like Dex, and that once he discovered the truth about me, he might not want me anymore.