Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [63]
"Who were you really seeing last night? Who really sent you those?" She points at my roses.
"Someone else."
"No shit."
I swallow.
"Okay, look, I wasn't born yesterday. You get in a fight with Dex at the Talkhouse, you both clam up when I arrive on the scene. Then you leave the Hamptons early the next day, all down in the dumps, with false claims of imminent deadlines—I know your work schedule, Rach, and you had nothing due yesterday. And then these flowers arrive." She points at my roses, still in full bloom. "You name Marcus, whom you basically ignored over the weekend. Which is odd, even if you did decide to play it low-key. Then you tell me you have a date with Marcus, and I see him out sans you—with another woman!" She finishes her catalog of evidence with a jubilant smile.
"Was she cute?" I ask.
"The woman?"
"Yeah. Marcus's date."
"Actually, yes, she was quite attractive. As if you care."
She is right—I don't.
"Now quit stalling and address my point," she says.
"What point is that?"
"Rachel!"
"It certainly does look bad," I say, still reluctant to confess.
"Rachel. Who do you think I'm going to tell? I'm your friend. Not Darcy's. Hell, I don't even like her that much…"
I pick up my tape dispenser, pull out two inches of tape, and hold it between my index finger and thumb. For some reason, this is a harder confession than the one to Ethan. Maybe because it is face-to-face. Maybe because her past has not been as dicey as Ethan's.
"Okay." Hillary tries again. "Let me say the words for you, and you can just nod your head." Her voice is like that of a mother to a child.
I nervously play with the tape, wrapping it around my thumb. She is about to spell it all out, and I have two choices—admit or deny. An admission might be a huge relief. A denial will have to be accompanied by a suitably indignant expression and a barrage of "How could you think that? Are you crazy?" et cetera. I am in no mood for that charade.
"Dex is cheating on Darcy," she says. "With you."
Drum roll.
I raise my chin and return her gaze. Then I nod the smallest of nods, my head barely moving.
"I knew it!"
I consider telling her that I don't want to talk about it, but in truth, I do want to talk about it. I want her to tell me that I'm not a terrible person. I want her to expound upon her earlier statement that I would be better suited to him than Darcy. And most of all, I just want to talk about Dex.
"When did this all start?"
"The night of my parry."
She stares at the ceiling for a second and nods as if everything makes sense now. "Okay, start from the beginning. Leave nothing out." She settles into her chair and tears off a piece of her bagel.
"The first time I slept with him was an accident."
"The. first time? You've slept with him? Multiple times?"
I give her a look.
"Sorry, go on. I just can't believe this!"
"Okay. So yes, the night of my party, we were the last two out… we went for drinks, one thing led to another, and we slept together back at my apartment. It was an accident. I mean, we were both drunk. I was, anyway."
"Oh, I remember. You were a little bit out of it that night."
"Yeah. I was. But, interestingly, Dex says he wasn't that drunk." This detail not only shifts the responsibility his way, but simultaneously makes the genesis of the affair more meaningful.
"So he, what, took advantage of you?"
"No! I didn't mean to imply that… I knew what I was doing."
"Okay." She motions for me to go on.
I tell her about waking up the following morning, Darcy's frantic messages, our panic, and Dexter using Marcus as his alibi. "So that's it," I say.
"What do you mean, 'that's it'? Clearly not." She gives my roses a purposeful glance.
"I mean, that was it for a while. We both felt regretful and—'
"How regretful?"
"Regretful, Hillary! Obviously!" To myself, I recall that first day, and my complete lack of penitence. "So that was it. In my mind, it was over."
"But not in his, right?"
I choose my words carefully and tell her about his Monday call to me and the things he said. And then everything that happened