Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [137]
"Hi there," he says, in a way that tells me he knows exactly how I'm feeling.
"Hi," I say back, in the same tone.
We are one of those couples I used to watch, thinking to myself that I'd never be on the inside of something so special. I remember reassuring myself that it probably looked nicer than it actually was. I am happy to be wrong about that.
I smile up at Dex, my gaze resting on a tiny patch in his left eyebrow, a blank space where perhaps three or four hairs should be.
"What happened there?" I ask, reaching to touch his brow. My fingertips rest lightly on the spot.
"Oh, that. It's a scar. I fell playing hockey when I was a kid. Hair never grew back there."
I wonder why I never noticed it before and realize that I never knew he played hockey. There is so much that I still don't know about Dex. But now we have time. Endless time stretches before us. I study his face for other discoveries until he laughs self-consciously. I laugh too, and then our smiles fade away in unison. We drink our Newcastles in easy silence.
"Dex?" I say, after a long while.
"Yeah?"
"Do you miss her?"
"No," he says firmly. His breath is warm in my ear. "I'm with you. No."
I can tell that it is the truth.
"You aren't at all sad tonight?"
"Not one bit." He kisses the side of my head. "I'm a lot of things right now. But sad isn't one of them."
"Good," I say. "I'm glad."
"How do you feel? Do you miss her?" he asks.
I consider his questions. I am mostly happy, but with a soupcon of nostalgia, thinking of all that I have shared with Darcy. Until now, our lives have been so intertwined—she has been my frame of reference for so many events. Beating drums in the bicentennial parade. Tying yellow ribbons around the tree in my backyard during the hostage crisis. Watching the Challenger fall from the sky, the wall come down in Germany, the Soviet Union dissolve. Learning of Princess Diana's death, of John F. Kennedy Jr.'s fate. Grieving after September 11. All of it was with Darcy by my side. And then there is our personal history. Memories only we share. Things not another soul would ever understand.
Dex watches me intently, waiting for my answer.
"Yes," I finally say, somewhat apologetically. "I miss her. I can't help it."
He nods as though he understands. I wonder why I miss her and Dex does not. Perhaps it is because I've known her so much longer. Or maybe it's the very nature of a friendship versus an intimate relationship. When you are in a relationship, you are aware that it might end. You might grow apart, find someone else, simply fall out of love. But a friendship isn't a zero-sum game, and as such, you assume that it will last forever, especially an old friendship. You take its permanence for granted, which might be the very thing so dear about it. Even as Dex rolled those double sixes, I never imagined the end of Darcy and me.
I picture her now, wondering what she is feeling at this very moment. Is she as melancholy as I am? Or just angry? Is she with Marcus or Claire? Or is she alone, flipping sorrowfully through our high school yearbook and old pictures of Dex? Does she miss me too? Will we ever be friends again, tentatively agreeing to meet for lunch or coffee, rebuilding one small step at a time? Maybe she and I will laugh about that crazy summer when one of us was still twenty-something. But I doubt it. This one can't be bridged, particularly if Dex and I stay together. Our friendship