Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [49]
remind you that I NEVER ONCE ABANDONED MY MAID OF HONOR DUTIES!"
"May I help you, ladies?" the woman behind the counter at Elizabeth Arden asks us.
"Yes. We are looking for a pink lipstick. A vivid yet soft and innocent bridal pink," Darcy says.
"And you are the bride?"
"I am. Yes." Darcy flashes one of her fake PR smiles.
The woman beams back and makes her decisive recommendations, swiftly pulling out five tubes and setting them on the counter in front of us. "Here you are. Perfect."
Darcy tells her that I will need a complementary shade, that I am the maid of honor.
"How nice. Sisters?" The woman smiles. Her big square teeth remind me of Chiclets.
"No," I say.
"But she's like my sister," Darcy says, simply and sincerely.
I feel low. I picture myself on Ricki Lake, the title of the show "My Best Friend Tried to Steal My Groom." The audience boos and hisses as I babble my apologies and excuses. I explain that I didn't mean to cause any harm, I just couldn't help myself. I used to wonder how they found people who had committed such acts of despicable disloyalty (never mind how they got these people to fess up on national television). Now I was joining the low-life ranks. Giving Brandi with an i a run for her money.
This has to stop. Right now. Right at this second. I haven't yet slept with Dex consciously, soberly. So we kissed again? It was only a kiss. The turning point will be the selection of the bridal lipstick. Right now. One, two, three, go!
Then I think of Dexter's soft hair and cinnamon lips and his words—I like literally everything about you. I still can't believe that Dex has those feelings for me. And the fact that I feel the same way about him is too much to ignore. Maybe it is meant to be. Words like "fate" and "soul mates" swirl around in my head, words that made me scoff in my twenties. I note the irony—aren't you supposed to get more cynical with age?
"You like this one?" Darcy turns to me with her full lips in a pout.
"It's nice," I say.
"Is it too bright?"
"I don't think so. No. It's pretty."
"I think it may be too bright. Remember, I'm going to be in white. It'll make a difference. Remember Kim Frisby's wedding makeup, how she looked like a total tart? I want to look hot, but sweet too. You know, like a virgin. But still hot."
I am suddenly and unexpectedly on the verge of tears—I just can't stand the wedding talk another second. "Darce, I really have to get to work. I'm truly sorry."
Her lower lip protrudes. "C'mon, just a little longer. I can't do this without you!" And then she says to our salesgirl, "No offense to you."
The girl smiles as if she totally understands, no offense taken. She recognizes the truth of what Darcy is saying and is probably wondering what kind of a maid of honor leaves the bride during such a pivotal moment.
I take a deep breath and tell her that I can stay a few more minutes. She samples more tubes, wiping her lips with a makeup-removing lotion between hues of pink.
"How about this one?"
"Nice." I smile earnestly.
"Well, nice doesn't cut it!" she snaps. "It has to be perfect. I have to look perfect!"
As I study her pouty, berry-stained, bee-stung lips, any trace of remorse is gone. All I feel is solid, full-blown resentment.
Why does everything have to be perfect for you? Why does it all have to be handed to you in a perfect package all wrapped up with a Martha Stewart bow? What did you do to deserve Dex? I met him first. I introduced him to you. I should have gone for him. Why didn't I, again? Oh, right, because I thought I wasn't good enough for him. Well, I was mistaken. I obviously misjudged the situation. It can happen… especially when one has a friend like you, a friend who assumes that she has a right to the best of everything, a friend who is so relentless in her quest to outshine you that you even begin to underestimate yourself,