Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [26]
But that fall, only one of us stayed miserable. Nate began working as an assistant district attorney in Queens, and I started my law firm job in Midtown. He loved his job, and I hated mine. As Nate interviewed witnesses and prepared for trial, I was relegated to document productionsthe lowliest task in the legal profession. Every night I'd sit in conference rooms studying piles of papers in endless cardboard boxes. I'd look at the dates on those documents and think, / was just getting my driver's license when this letter was typed, and here it is, still caught in an endless cycle of litigation. It all seemed so pointless.
So my life was bleak—except for my relationship with Nate. I began to rely on him more and more as my sole source of happiness. I often told him that I loved him, and felt more relief than joy when he said it back. I started to think about marriage, even talked about our theoretical children and where we all might live.
Then one night Nate and I went to a bar in the Village to hear a folk singer from Brooklyn named Carly Weinstein. After her performance, Nate and I and a few other people chatted with her as she put her guitar away with the gentleness of a new mother.
"Your lyrics are beautiful… what inspires you?" Nate asked her, big-eyed.
I was instantly worried; I remembered that look from our first coffee date. I became even more distressed when he bought a copy of her CD. She wasn't that good. I think Nate and Carly went on a date a week later, because there was one night when he was unaccounted for and didn't answer his cell phone until after midnight. I was too afraid to ask where he had been. Besides, I already knew. He had changed. He looked at me differently, a shadow over his face, his mind somewhere else.
Sure enough, we had the big talk soon after that. He was very forthright. "I have feelings for someone else," he said. "I always promised that I would tell you."
I remembered those conversations well, remembered liking the strong, confident way I sounded as I told him that if he ever met someone else, he should just tell me outright, that I could handle it. Of course, I didn't think at the time that it would ever leave the hypothetical realm. I wanted to suck back all my cavalier instructions, tell him instead that I would greatly prefer a gentle lie about needing some space or some time apart.
"Is it Carly?" I asked, a catch in my throat.
He looked shocked. "How did you know?"
"I could just tell," I said, unable to fight back sobs.
"I'm so sorry," he said, hugging me. "It kills me to hurt you like this. But I had to be honest. I owe you that."
So he got a new girl, and he got to be noble. I tried to be angry, but how can you be mad at someone for not wanting to be with you? Instead I just sulked around, gained a few pounds, and swore off men.
Nate kept calling for a few months after our breakup. I knew he was just being nice, but the calls gave me false hope. I could never resist asking about his girlfriend. "Carly is fine," he would say sheepishly. Then once, he answered, "We're moving in together… and I think we're going to get engaged…" His voice trailed off.
"Congratulations. That's great. I'm really happy for you," I said.
"Thank you, Rachel. It means a lot to hear you say that."
"Yeah… Best of luck and all, but I don't think I want you to call me anymore, okay?"
"I understand," he said, probably relieved to be off the hook.
I haven't heard from Nate since that conversation. I'm not sure if or when they married, but I still look for Carly Weinstein sometimes when I'm shopping for CDs. So far she hasn't made it big.
Looking back, I question whether I really loved Nate, or just the security of our relationship. I wonder if my feelings for him didn't have a lot to do with hating my job. From the bar exam through that first hellish year as an associate, Nate was my escape. And sometimes