Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [64]
She takes another big bite of her bagel. "So is this—what? A purely physical thing? Or do you really like him?"
"I really like him," I say.
She digests this. "So is he going to break off the engagement?"
"We haven't talked about it."
"How can you not talk about it? Wait—was that what you were fighting about in the Talkhouse?"
I tell her that we weren't exactly fighting, but that I was upset about him having sex with Darcy. Hence the roses.
"Okay. So if he's sorry for sleeping with his fiancée, that sounds like he's headed in the direction of breaking up with her, right?"
"I don't know. We really haven't discussed it yet."
She looks confused. "When are you going to?"
"We said we'd talk about it around July Fourth."
"Why then?"
"Arbitrary. I don't know."
She takes a swig of water. "Well, you do think he's going to dump her, right?"
"I don't know. I don't even know if I want that."
She gives me a nonplussed look.
"You are forgetting an important piece of this whole thing, Hillary. Darcy is my longtime, lifelong friend. And I am her maid of honor."
She rolls her eyes. "Details."
"You just don't like her."
"She's not my favorite person in the world, but Darcy is not the point."
"She's a major point, in my opinion. She's my friend. And besides, even if she weren't, even if she were a random woman, don't you think I would have to confront the bad karma aspects of this?"
I wonder why I am arguing against myself.
She straightens in her chair and speaks slowly. "The world is not that black-and-white, Rachel. There are no moral absolutes. If you were sleeping with Dex for the sheer thrill of it all, then maybe I'd worry about your karma. But you have feelings for him. It doesn't make you a bad person."
I try to memorize her speech. No moral absolutes. That is good stuff.
"If the tables were turned," she continues, "Darcy would do the same thing in a heartbeat."
"You think?" I ask, considering this.
"Don't you?"
"Maybe you're right," I say. Darcy does, after all, have quite a history of taking. I give, she takes. That's the way it has always been.
Until now.
Hillary smiles and nods. "I say go for it."
More or less what Ethan said. That's two votes for me, zero for Darcy.
"I'm going to keep seeing him as much as I can. We'll see what happens," I say, realizing that just "seeing what happens" is my version of "going for it."
* * *
Darcy and I are flying home to Indianapolis for Annalise's baby shower, and I am stuck in the dreaded middle seat. Darcy was assigned the middle, but of course she wangled her way into my window seat, saying that if she can't look out the window she gets airsick. I wanted to tell her that this principle of car travel does not apply in a plane, but I didn't bother, just surrendered to her demand. In the past I would have done so mindlessly, but now I feel resentful. I think of Ethan and Hillary and their recent statements about Darcy. She is selfish, plain and simple. And this is the truth, regardless of my feelings for Dex.
A forty-something man with a crew cut has the aisle seat to my left. He has glued the entire length and width of his right forearm to our shared armrest, elbow to fingertip. He drinks and turns the pages of his magazine with his left hand so as not to lose ground.
The pilot announces that the skies are clear and we will be landing ahead of schedule. Darcy announces that she is bored. She is the only person I know, over the age of twelve, who says with great regularity that she is bored.
I glance up from my book. "Did you already read your Martha Stewart wedding issue?"
"Cover to cover. There's nothing new in there. And by the way, you're the one who should be reading it. There's an article on favors—you promised you would help me think of an original idea for favors," she says, as she adjusts her seat the whole way back and then up again.
"How about matchbooks?"
"You said original!" Darcy crosses her arms. "Everybody does match-books!