Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [98]
"Am I being too loud?" she asks, glancing up at me.
I shake my head. "You're fine."
"Dex calls me the Slurper whenever I eat cereal."
I get a pang as I always do when I glimpse a private part of their relationship—which I like to pretend does not exist. Then I realize with an even sharper pang that Dex doesn't have a nickname for me. Perhaps I am too bland to deserve one. Darcy doesn't have a bland bone in her body. No wonder it is hard to leave her. She is the type of woman who draws you in, holds your attention. Even when she is annoying, she is compelling, captivating.
Jennifer Lopez appears on the screen in all her voluptuousness. We watch wistfully as she gyrates over a rural landscape. "Is her butt that great?" Darcy asks.
"I'm afraid so," I say, although I actually enjoy telling Darcy this. She even views celebrities as competition, whereas no part of me begrudges Jennifer Lopez her fantastic ass.
Darcy makes a clicking sound. "Don't you think it's kind of fat?" she asks.
"No. It's great," I say, knowing that both of Darcy's cheeks equal one of Jennifer's.
"Well, I think it's kind of fat…"
I shrug.
"Dex loves her. He thinks she's totally hot."
New Dexter information. Ding! Ding! Ding!What might this mean in the equation? I am fuller-figured than Darcy, but she is darker. I decide to discard the tidbit as not particularly helpful. I mean, most guys appreciate J-Lo no matter what their type. It's like Brad Pitt for us. You might not like blond men with pretty features, but c'mon, it's Brad. You're not going to kick him out of bed for eating crackers.
"Don't worry, though, I'm sure she's not that pretty in real life," Darcy says, assuming all women are like her and need to be consoled whenever they run across someone prettier.
"Uh-huh," I say.
"I mean, makeup artists can work absolute wonders," she says knowingly, as if she has been in the industry for years. She pulls the blanket down from the back of my sofa and wraps herself in it. "I like it here."
So does Dex.
"You cold?" I ask.
"No. I just want to be all comfy-cozy."
We watch videos until I almost forget about Dcx. As much as you can forget someone you're in love with. Then, out of the blue, during a Janet Jackson video, Darcy asks me a question I never anticipated:
"Should I marry Dexter?"
I freeze. "Why are you asking that?"
"I don't know."
"There must be some reason," I say, trying to appear calm.
"Do you think I should be with someone more laid-back? Like I am?"
"Dex is laid-back."
"No he's not! He's totally type A."
"You think?" I ask. Maybe he is. I guess I just don't see him that way.
"Totally."
I mute the television and look at her as if to say, go on, I am ready to be a really good listener. I think of putting on your "listening cap" in elementary school, fastening the imaginary strap under your chin as the boys always did. I swallow, pause, and then say, "It concerns me that you're asking this question. What's on your mind?"
I can feel my heart thumping as I await her answer.
"I don't know… Sometimes the relationship just seems a bit tired. Boring. Is that a bad sign?" She looks at me plaintively.
This is my chance. I have an opening. I consider what I could say, how easily I could manipulate her. But somehow I can't do it. I am already doing the unspeakable, but at least I will be fair about it. I am conflicted out, as they say at my firm. I can't take her case.
"I really don't know, Darce. Only you and Dexter can know whether you are right for each other. But you should really examine your concerns carefully—marriage is a very serious step. Maybe you should postpone," I say.
"Postpone the wedding?"
"Maybe."
Darcy's bottom lip protrudes and her brow furrows. I am sure that tears are imminent when her eyes dart over to the television. She brightens. "Oh! I love this video! Turn it up! Turn it up!"
I unmute the television and turn up the volume. Darcy bobs up and down, doing a head