Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [83]
I glance around my prim, orderly studio, perfectly neat except for my unmade bed. The sheets have molded against the mattress, revealing a vague outline of our bodies. I want to be there again, to feel closer to him. I slip off my sandals and walk over to the bed, sliding under the covers, which are chilled from the air conditioner. I get up, close my blinds, and hit the remote control on my stereo. Billie Holiday croons. I get back in bed, wriggle down toward the bottom of it, hooking my feet over the end of the mattress. I let my senses fill with Dex. See his face, feel him next to me.
I wonder if he is home yet or still stuck in crosstown traffic. Will he kiss Darcy hello? Will her lips feel strange and unfamiliar after kissing mine all weekend? Will she sense that something is wrong, unable to put her finger on exactly what has changed, never considering for a second that her maid of honor and a pair of dice might have something to do with the faraway look in her fiancé's eyes?
* * *
Hillary arrives at work the next day, shortly before eleven, wearing wrinkled pants and scuffed black sandals. Her toenail polish is badly chipped, making her big toe resemble a squat candy cane. I laugh and shake my head as she hunkers down in her usual chair in my office.
"What's so funny?"
"Your wardrobe. They're going to fire you."
Our firm recently changed its dress code, from suits to business casual so long as there is no client interaction. But I'm pretty sure that Hillary's ensemble is not what the managing partner had in mind when his memo referenced "appropriate business casual."
She shrugs. "I wish they would fire me… Okay. So tell me about the weekend. Spare no details."
I smile.
"That good?"
I tell her we had an awesome time. I tell her about going to Balthazar and Atlantic Grill and our walk in the park and how nice it was to have so much time with Dex. I am hoping that if I talk enough, I will be able to avoid the obvious question.
"So is he going to call it off?"
That's the one.
"Well, I'm not sure."
"You're not sure? So he said he's thinking about it?"
"Well, no."
"He's not thinking about it?"
"Well… It didn't come up per se." I try not to sound too defensive.
She wrinkles her nose. Then she stares at me blankly. I wonder if her disapproval has more to do with my passivity or her growing suspicion that Dex is playing me for a fool. The former might be true, but the latter is not. "I thought you guys were going to discuss specifics," she says, frowning.
"I did too, but…"
"But what?"
"But he told me he loves me," I say. I hadn't planned on sharing this private detail, but I feel as if I must.
Hillary's expression changes somewhat. "He did?"
"Yes."
"Was he drunk?"
"No! He wasn't drunk," I say, glancing at my computer screen, hoping to get an e-mail from Dex. We have not yet spoken since his departure yesterday.
She isn't sold. "So did you say it back?"
"Yeah. I said it back. Because I do."
She gives me a respectful few seconds of silence. "All right. So you both love each other. What now? When does the little breakup happen?"
I take issue with the flippant characterization of his hurdle ahead. "Calling off a wedding and ending a long relationship is hardly a little breakup."
"Well, whatever. When is he going to do it?"
My stomach hurts as I say again that I don't know. I am tempted to tell Hillary about the dice, but I keep that to myself. That is between Dex and me. Besides, the story wouldn't translate well, and likely she would only be disgusted at me for relying on a dice roll instead of being direct.
I clear my throat. "So did Darcy mention him at all?"
"Not really… But I must admit, I kind of fell down on my lookout job. I have a good excuse." She grins.
"What's your excuse?"
"I met someone!''
"No way! Who? Do I know him?"
"No. He lives in Montauk. His name is Julian. Rachel—I didn't believe in the whole soul-mate thing until I met him."
"Start from the beginning,"