Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [131]
I watch Dex towel off, put on white boxer briefs, and walk toward me. He is beside the bed. I move over, taking his side. Maybe we will switch sides, our way of commemorating the change in our relationship, acknowledging its new legitimacy.
He switches off my lamp, and finds me under the sheets. His arm moves around me. Then he kisses my ear twice. But neither of us initiates anything more. Perhaps he, too, is contemplating the hugeness of what has happened.
"Good night, Dex," I say.
"Good night, Rachel."
For a long time, I listen to Dex breathe. When I am pretty sure he is asleep, I say his name softly.
"Yeah?" he answers, still wide awake.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"Yes… Are you?"
"Yeah," I say.
Then I hear him make a noise. It sounds like crying at first. Then I realize with relief that he is laughing.
"What?"
"You." He imitates me. "'I bought the watch in London.'" He laughs harder.
I allow one small smile. "I couldn't think!"
"That was apparent."
"You're the one who left it on the nightstand."
"I know… Shit. I remembered it as soon as you let her in the apartment. Then I thought she might not see it. Then I heard the question… and was waiting for you to come up with something good. 'I bought it in London' wasn't what I had in mind. I was in there shaking my head in the dark, like, the jig is up, baby."
"Maybe it's for the best… Everything is out in the open now. She would have found out eventually."
I don't really mean this, though. Eventually would have been better than today. And maybe she never would have known that anything was going on this summer, while she was still with Dex.
"Yeah. An engagement and two friendships finito," he says.
I wonder which part Dex is sadder about. I hope that it is Marcus. "You really think you won't ever be friends with Marcus again?"
He sighs and adjusts his pillow. "I seriously doubt that we'll be grabbing a few beers anytime soon."
"Are you sad about that?"
"What's the point of being sad?" he says. "We're here now."
I want to tell Dex that I love him, but decide that it can wait until tomorrow. Or maybe even the next day.
Twelve hours later I am on my way to Hillary's office when Les ambushes me in the hall. "Good. You're back. I need to see you." Yes, I had a lovely vacation. Thanks for asking.
"Now?" I ask.
"Yeah, now. Come to my office. Pronto."
I want to tell him that normal people do not use the word "pronto," unless they're kidding or playing Scrabble.
"I need to get a pad," I say. So much for easing into my old routine.
Seconds later I am sitting in his office, which smells of onions, furiously scribbling instructions for three new assignments. All time-consuming, mind-numbing, bullshit first-year research projects, riddled with false deadlines. It is my punishment for taking a vacation. He talks at me in aggressive run-on sentences, his tone condescending whenever I dare to interrupt to ask a pertinent question. As I study his bulbous nose, I am thinking that I don't need this. I remember how free I felt in London, being away from this place. I fantasize about quitting, getting another job in New York, or maybe moving to London with Dex. I will resign in mid-assignment. Leave Les high and dry. Tell him what I think of him on my way out the door. Tell him that he really should do something about those hairs in his nose.
After an hour of being held prisoner (he even takes three lengthy phone calls during my sentence), I am released. I head straight for Hillary's office. It is a war zone, worse than usual. Documents clutter up every square inch of floor space. Both of her guest chairs are covered with papers, and her desk is piled high with folders, treatises, and old newspapers.
She spins around in her chair. "Hey, you! Have a seat. Tell me about your trip!"
"Where do I sit?"
"Oh. Just dump that stuff anywhere… So how was England? How are you?"
"Well. Let's see," I say, as I clear off one of her chairs.