Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [101]
"I didn't lose it. Somebody stole it."
"Who stole it?"
"Someone."
"How do you know?"
"Because it's gone!"
We are getting nowhere. I sigh and tell Darcy again to give me all of the facts.
She looks at me, her eyes filling with tears and her lips quivering slightly. "Rachel…"
"Yes?"
"You're my best friend." She starts to cry again, tears streaming gracefully down her glistening cheeks and falling onto her lap. She has always been a pretty crier.
I nod. "Yes."
"My best friend in the world. And I have to tell you something."
"You can tell me anything," I say, feeling overcome with worry, suddenly sure that Dex has laid the preliminary breaking-up groundwork.
She looks at me and makes a whimpering sound. As confident as Darcy is, she can seem so pitiful and defenseless when she is down. And my instinct has always been—still is—to help her. "Tell me, Darce," I say gently.
"Rachel—I—I took off my ring in somebody's apartment."
"Okay."
"A guy's apartment."
I feel as though I'm looking through a camera, trying to focus. Is she saying what I think she's saying?
"Rachel," Darcy says again, this time in a whisper. "I cheated on Dexter."
I stare at her, unable to mask my shock.
Yes, Darcy is a flirt. Yes, she lives life on the edge. Yes, she is selfish. And yes, she loves male attention. The attributes add up and it makes sense. I should not be surprised that she would cheat. I mean, Dex is none of the above, and he is doing it. Still, I am floored. She is getting married in less than two months. She is a glowing bride-to-be with a stunning gown, the kind that you dream about when you're a little girl. And she is with Dexter. How in the world could anyone cheat on Dexter?
The five ws and one h of journalism pop into my head. I am in high school reporter mode, interviewing for the North Star. "Who with?"
She sniffs. Her head is down. "This guy at work."
"When?"
"A couple of times. Today." She rubs her eyes with her fists and looks at me sideways.
I don't know what my face is giving away. And I'm not even sure exactly how I feel. Relieved? Outraged? Disgusted? Hopeful? I haven't had time to consider the implications for Dex and me.
"And that's how you lost your ring?"
She nods. "I went over there today after I left my apartment, on the way to work." She swallows and then lets out a small sob. "We hung out, you know, fooled around—"
"Did you sleep with him?"
Her ponytail jerks up and down.
"I took my ring off because… well, I felt too guilty wearing it while I had sex with someone else." She blows her nose into an already soggy tissue.
"You want a fresh one?"
She nods again. I jog the few steps to the bathroom to retrieve my Kleenex box.
"Here," I say, handing her the box.
She takes a tissue and blows her nose again loudly. "So anyway, I took off the ring and put it on his windowsill, next to his bed." She points to my bed in its alcove. "He has a studio sort of like yours."
A studio. So he's probably not an executive, which surprises me. I would have guessed that Darcy would go for the power type. An older man. I had been picturing Richard Gere in Pretty Woman. I change my mental image to Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting.
"So we hang out, you know." She waves her hand in the air. "Then we get dressed and walk to the subway. Go to work."
"Uh-huh…"
"So when I get to work, I realize that I forgot to put on my ring. So I call him and tell him I need to go back and get the ring. He says no problem, but that he has a meeting at three that is going to last a couple of hours. Can we meet there at seven? I tell him sure… So we meet back at his place at seven. And when we go in, the place is, like, totally clean. And when we left, it was a total dump. And he goes, 'Shit. The cleaning lady was here.' And we go over to the windowsill and the ring is gone!" She is crying harder now. "The bitch took it."
"Are you sure? I can't believe someone would do that…"
She gives me a "Don't be such a Pollyanna" look. "The ring is gone, Rachel. Gone. Gone. Gone!"
"Well, can't he just call his cleaning