Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [50]
I am keyed up and absolutely desperate to get away from her. I look at my watch and sigh, almost believing that I really do have to go to work and that Darcy is being inconsiderate, as usual, taking advantage of my time. I think my job is a little more important than your lipstick for an event that is still months away1.
"I'm sorry. Darce—it's not my fault that I have to work."
"Fine."
"It's not my fault," I say again.
Not my fault.
My feelings for Dex are not my fault.
And his feelings for me—and I know they are real—are not his fault.
Before I can escape, Darcy calls Claire on her cell. Has she tried Bobbi Brown? I can hear Claire inquire, and then state with the authority of Bride's magazine that they have a beautiful bridal line and their lipstick has plenty of moisture but not too much shine.
"Will you come meet me now?" Darcy pleads into the phone. Her sense of entitlement knows no bounds.
She hangs up the phone and tells me that I am free to go, that Claire will be straight over. She waves at me; I am being dismissed.
"Good-bye," I say. "I'll speak to you later?"
"Sure. Whatever. Bye."
As I turn to leave, she issues a final warning. "If you're not careful, I'm going to have to demote you to lowly bridesmaid and give Claire your honored position."
So much for just like sisters.
I call Dexter's cell phone the second I am out of sight. It is a low move, making the call while Darcy does wedding errands, but I am running off the steam of indignation. That's what she gets for being so demanding, domineering, and self-centered.
"Where are you?" I ask Dex after we exchange hellos.
"Home."
"Oh."
"Where are you? I thought you were shopping.'
"I was. But I said I had to work."
I notice that we are both dancing around any direct mention of Darcy.
"Well, do you have to work?" he asks tentatively.
"Not really."
"Good. Me either. Can I see you?"
"I'll be home in twenty minutes."
Dex beats me to my apartment and is waiting in my lobby making small talk with Jose about the Mets. I am so happy to see him, relieved to be away from Darcy. I smile and say hello, wondering if Jose recognizes Dex from past visits with Darcy. I hope he doesn't. It's not just my parents from whom I want approval. I even want it from my doorman.
Dex and I ride the elevator and walk down the hall to my apartment. I am jittery with anticipation, eager for his touch. We sit on my couch. He takes my hands and we start kissing with an urgency that feels like an affair. It is a serious word—a scary word. It conjures images of Sunday school and the Ten Commandments. But it is not adultery. Nobody is married. Yet. I push it all out of my mind as I kiss Dex. There will be no more guilt, not for this next parcel of time.
Suddenly, perching on the couch seems ridiculous. My bed would be so much more comfortable. Nothing more has to happen just because we're on a bed. That is a teenager's perception. I am a grown woman with life experience (albeit limited), and I can control myself on my own bed. I stand up and lead him over to the other side of my studio. He follows me, still holding my hand. We sit on the foot of the bed. Dex slips his feet out of his loafers. He is not wearing socks. He moves his big toes up and down and then rubs his feet together. He has high, graceful arches and slender ankles.
"Come here," he says, pulling me against him and both of us up toward my pillows. He is strong, his skin warm. We are now on our sides, our bodies against each other. He kisses me more, and we topple over in his direction. He stops kissing me suddenly, clears his throat, and says, "It's so strange. Being with you like this. And yet it also feels so natural. Maybe because we've been friends for so long."
I tell him I know exactly what he means. I think back to law school. We weren't best friends in those days, but we were close enough to learn a lot about each other, stuff that comes out even when your focus is on contributory negligence and