Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [21]
I pointed at it, incredulous. "You got my bag."
"I know," Darcy said. "I decided I wanted it. Who cares if we match?"
Hadn't she been the one to say that matching was babyish?
"I care," I said, feeling the rage grow inside me.
Darcy rolled her eyes and smacked her gum. "Oh, Rachel, like it matters. It's just a bag after all."
Annalise was upset too, for her own reasons. "How come you two get to be twins and I'm left out? My bag is gay."
Darcy and I ignored her.
"But you said we shouldn't match," I accused Darcy, as the bus pulled around the corner and screeched to a stop in front of us.
"Did I?" she said, fingering her stiff, feathered hair, freshly sprayed with several layers of Breck. "Well, who cares?"
Darcy used "who cares" (later replaced by "whatever") as the ultimate passive-aggressive response. I didn't recognize her tactic as such at the time; I only knew that she always managed to get her way and make me feel stupid if I fought back.
We boarded the bus, Darcy first. She sat down and I sat behind her, still furious. I watched Annalise hesitate and then sit with me, recognizing that I had right on my side. The whole purple backpack issue could have escalated into a full-fledged fight, but I refused to let Darcy's betrayal ruin the first day of school. It wasn't worth going to battle with her. The end result was seldom satisfying.
I covertly replace the Anne Klein suit on the rack as we make our way to the long line for the dressing rooms. When one becomes available, Darcy decides that we should share a room to save time. She strips down to her black thong and matching lace bra, contemplating which suit she should try on first. I steal a look at her in the mirror. Her body is even better than it was last summer. Her long limbs are perfectly toned from her wedding workout regimen, her skin already bronzed by routine applications of tanning cream and an occasional trip to the tanning beds.
I think of Dex. Surely he compared our bodies after (or even during, since he "wasn't that drunk") our night together. Mine isn't nearly as good. I am shorter, softer, whiter. And even though my boobs are bigger, hers are better. They are perkier, with the ideal nipple-to-areola-to-breast ratio.
"Stop looking at my fat!" Darcy squeals, catching my glance in the mirror.
Now I am forced to compliment her. "You're not fat, Darce. You look great. I can tell you've been working out."
"You can? What body part has improved?" Darcy likes her praise to be specific.
"Just everywhere. Your legs look thin—good." That is all she is getting from me.
She studies her legs, frowning at the reflection.
I undress, noting my own cotton underwear and nonmatching, slightly dingier cotton bra. I quickly try on my first suit, a navy-and-white tankini, revealing two inches of midriff. It is a compromise between Claire's one-piece edict and Darcy's preference for bikinis.
"Omigod! That looks so awesome on you! You gotta get it!" Darcy says. "Are you getting it?"
"I guess so," I say. It doesn't look awesome, but it's not bad. I have studied enough magazine articles about suits and body flaws over the years to know which suits will look decent on me. This one passes.
Darcy puts on a tiny black bikini with a triangular top and bare coverage in the bottom. She looks straight-up hot. "You like?"
"It's good," I say, thinking that Dex will love it.
"Should I get it?"
I tell her to try the others on before making a decision. She obeys, taking the next one off the hanger. Of course, every suit looks amazing on her. She falls into none of those categories of body flaws in the magazines. After much discussion, I settle on the tankini and Darcy decides on three tiny bikinis—one red, one black, and one nude-colored number that is going to make her look naked from any kind of distance.
As we go to pay for our suits, Darcy grabs my arm. "Oh! Shit! I almost forgot to tell you!"
"What?" I ask, unnerved by her sudden outburst, even though I know she isn't going to say, "I forgot