Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [72]
"All right," I say. "But truly, I have had it up to here with Darcy's wedding." I hold my hand four inches above my head and then raise it even higher.
"That's no attitude for a maid of honor." She purses her lips and scrapes one index finger across the other.
I shrug.
My mom laughs, the good-natured parent, refusing to take her only daughter too seriously. "Well, I should have known Darcy would be a handful as a bride. I'm sure she wants everything to be perfect…"
"Yeah, she deserves it," I say sarcastically.
"Well, she does deserve it," my mom says. "And so do you… your time will come."
"Uh-huh."
"Is that why you're sick of this?" she asks, with the accomplished air of a woman who has watched far too many talk shows on confronting your feelings and nurturing your relationships.
"Not exactly," I say.
"Then why, exactly? Is she being a pain in the you-know-what? What am I asking—of course she is! That's Darcy!" Another fond chuckle.
"Yeah."
"Yes, what, sweetie? What's on your mind?"
"Yes, she's being a pain in the ass," I say, reaching for the remote control to unmute the television.
"What is she doing?" my mom persists calmly.
"She's being Darcy," I say. "Everything is about her."
My mom gives me a sympathetic look. "I know, honey."
Then I blurt out that she doesn't deserve Dexter, that he is too good for her. My mother looks at me circumspectly. Oh shit, I think. Does she know? Ethan and Hillary are one thing—my mother's quite another. I
was unwilling to tell her which boys I thought were cute in high school, so this one is certainly off the table. I can't stand the thought of letting her down. I am thirty, but still very much a parent-pleaser. And my mother, a woman who finds the keys to life in cross-stitched blurbs, would never understand this breach of friendship.
"She's driving him crazy too. I'm sure of it," I say, trying to cover.
"Did Dexter tell you this?"
"No, I haven't discussed this with Dex." Technically this statement is true. "You can just tell."
"Well, be patient with her. You'll never regret being a good friend."
I consider this gemstone from my mother. One would be hard-pressed to disagree with it. In fact, it is the way I have lived my entire life. Avoiding regret at any cost. Being good no matter what. Good student. Good daughter. Good friend. And yet I am struck by the sudden realization that regret cuts two ways. I might also regret sacrificing myself, my own desires, for Darcy's sake, in the name of friendship, in the name of being a good person. Why should I be the martyr here? I imagine myself alone at thirty-five, alone at forty. Or even worse, settling down with a dull, watered-down version of Dex. Dex with a weaker chin and twenty fewer IQ points. I would be forced to live with "What if" forever.
"Yeah, Mom. I know. Do unto others. Blah blah blah. I'll be a good friend to precious Darcy."
My mom looks down at her lap, smoothes her skirt. I hurt her feelings. I tell myself that I must be nice for one more evening. It is the least I can do. I don't have a sibling to pick up the slack and be the good child when I am off my game. I smile and change the subject. "Where's Dad?"
"He went to the hardware store. Again."
"For what this time?" I ask, indulging her in the "Dad can't get enough of hardware stores and car dealerships" joke.
"Who knows? Who ever knows?" She shakes her head, happy again.
I am half asleep, thinking about Dex, when my cell phone rings. I have it next to my bed, the battery fully charged and the ringer on high, hoping Dex will call. His number lights up my phone screen. I press it to my ear.
"Hi, Dex."
"Hi, there," he says, his voice low. "Did I wake you up?"
"Urn, sort of. But that's okay."
He doesn't apologize, which I like.
"God, I miss you," he says. "When are you coming home?"
He knows when I'm coming home, knows that his fiancée has the identical itinerary. But I don't mind him asking. This question is for me. He wants me—not Darcy—back in his time zone.
"Tomorrow afternoon. We land at four."
"I'm coming over to see you," he says.