Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [129]
"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 T-shirt 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