Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [130]
"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