Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [77]
The perky girl behind the register bellows our order to her colleague, who promptly marks our cups with a black marker. Starbucks employees are consistently, freakishly chipper, even during the worst of morning rush hour when they have to deal with hordes of cranky people waiting impatiently for their caffeine fix.
"Oh wait," the girl says, beaming. "Are these together or separate?"
Dex answers quickly, "We're—they're together."
I smile at his slip. We are together.
"Will there be anything else?"
"Um. Yeah. I'll have a blueberry muffin," Dex says and then looks at me. "Rachel?"
"Yeah. I'll have one too," I say, resisting the urge to order a low-fat muffin. I don't want to be anything like Darcy.
"So two blueberry muffins." Dex pays and drops his change into the tip mug in front of the register. The girl smiles at me, as if to say, your guy is not only hot but generous too.
Dex and I both add a packet of brown sugar to our coffee, stir, and find a seat at the counter facing the street. The sidewalks are deserted.
"I like New York this way," I say, tasting my foam. We watch a lone yellow cab drift up Third Avenue. "Listen… no honking."
"Yeah. It really is dead," he says. "I bet we could get reservations anywhere tonight. Would you like to go out?"
I look at him. "We can't do that."
Getting coffee is one thing. Dinner is another.
"We can do whatever we please. Haven't you figured that out yet?" He winks and sips his coffee.
"What if somebody sees us?"
"Nobody's here." He motions out the window. "And so what if they do? We're allowed to eat, aren't we? Hell, I could even tell Darcy we're going to grab a bite together. She knows that we're both stuck here working, right?"
"I guess so."
"C'mon. I want to take you out. I've never taken you out on a proper date. I feel bad about that. What do you say?"
I raise my eyebrows and smirk.
"What's that look for?" Dex asks. His full lips meet the rim of his cup.
"It's just that 'proper' is not the word that comes to mind when I think about us."
"Oh, that," Dex says, waving his hand in the air, as though I have just stated an insignificant detail about our relationship. "Well, that can't be helped… I mean—yes, the circumstances are… less than ideal."
"That's an understatement. Let's call a spade a spade, Dex. We're having an affair."
It is the most I have ever said about what we are doing. I know Hillary wouldn't give me any awards for forthrightness, but my heart still skips. It is a bold comment for me.
"I guess so," he says hesitantly. "But when I'm with you, I'm not thinking about the impropriety of our… relationship. Being with you doesn't feel wrong."
"I know what you mean," I say, thinking that there would be a few people out there who might beg to differ.
I wait for him to say more about it. About us. Our future. Or at the very least our coup this weekend. He doesn't. Instead he suggests we take our coffee home and read the paper in bed.
"Sounds perfect," I say, wondering what section he reads first. I want to know every single thing about him.
It rains on and off all day, so we stay in, moving from bed to sofa to bed, talking for hours, never checking the time. We talk about everythinghigh school, college, law school, our families, friends, books, movies. But not Darcy or the situation. Not even when she calls his cell phone to say hello. I study my cuticles as he tells her he just stepped out of his office to get a bite to eat, and that yes, he's getting a lot done, been working on a pitch all day. He mumbles "Me too" at the end of their brief conversation, so I know what he has just told her. I tell myself that many couples punctuate their calls with "I love yous" in the automatic way other people say "good-bye." It doesn't mean anything.
As Dex snaps his cell phone shut, looking chagrined, my cell phone rings. It's Darcy. Dex laughs. "She just told me she had to run. Sure she did! To call you!"
I don't pick up, but I listen to her message afterward. She bitches about the weather but says that they are having fun anyway. She says she misses me. That