Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin
“What about Darcy?” I ask.
“I care about her. I want her to be happy. I saw marrying Darcy as the right thing to do. We’ve been together for seven years and most of the time we’ve been pretty happy. I didn’t want to hurt her.”
I don’t want to hurt her either, I think.
He continues. “But that was before you. And I just can’t marry her feeling this way about you. I can’t do it. I love you. And this is only the beginning…If you still love me.”
There is so much I want to say, but somehow I am speechless.
“Say something.”
I force a question from my lips. “Did you tell her about us?”
“Not about us. But I told her that I wasn’t in love with her and that it wasn’t fair to marry her.”
“What did she say?” I ask. I need to know every detail before I can believe this is real.
“She asked if there was someone else. I told her no…that it just didn’t feel right between us.”
“How is she?”
“She’s upset. But mostly she’s just upset about the damn wedding and what people are going to think. I swear that is what bothers her the most.”
“Where is she now?” I ask. “She hasn’t left me any messages.”
“She went to Claire’s, I think.”
“I’m sure she thinks that you’ll change your mind.”
I am thinking this too. He will change his mind and when he does, it will be all the more cruel.
“No,” he says. “She understands that I mean it. I called my parents and told them. And she and I are calling her parents together tonight. She says she wants me to tell them…and then we’ll call everyone else.” There is a catch in his voice, and for a second I wonder if he might cry.
I say that I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I can’t digest this information quickly enough. I want to kiss him, to thank him, to smile. But I can’t. It doesn’t seem appropriate.
He nods, runs his hands through his hair, and then returns them to his lap. “It’s hard, but I feel this tremendous load lifted. It’s the right thing.”
He looks at me, and I hold his gaze before I kiss him. As his arms encircle me, I think, This is real. Then I slowly relax into him, feeling happy and whole for the first time in what feels like forever. There was always a deep calm missing before, even during our July Fourth weekend together. We now have time. All kinds of time. Maybe even forever.
I wonder what it will be like without Darcy in the picture. Will making love be different? I am about to find out because Dex is unbuttoning my shirt. My heart is pounding as we move over to my bed, where we undress.
“I missed you, Rachel,” he says. I can feel his heart beating against mine.
And then José interrupts, buzzing me, once, twice. I go to answer him, assuming that it is a package or dry cleaning, or something that he forgot to tell me about. I will tell him that I will get whatever it is later. But it is not a package. It is Darcy. And she has heard my voice over the intercom.
“Tell her I will be right down!” I say.
“Already on her way up!” José practically sings the news. Clearly he has no idea that Darcy’s arrival means that my first guest and I are screwed. Then again, maybe he does know. Maybe doormen, even the ones who pretend to be your friend, secretly delight in any tenant drama.
“Oh shit!” I say, standing up and looking around. “She’s coming up! Shit!”
Dex is calm, puts his boxers back on. He walks swiftly over to my linen closet and opens the door, carrying his jeans and T-shirt. The shelves line the closet the whole way to the bottom. No good.
“Get in the other one. The other closet!” I point, frantic and wild-eyed.
He walks around the corner and opens my other closet. There is room in this one. He crouches next to my hamper, holding his clothes. I shut the closet door just as I hear her knock.
“Coming!” I shout.
I throw my underwear back on and open the door. “Sorry. I was just changing.”
“Omigod. Thank God you’re back,” she says.
I ask her what’s wrong before I realize that she looks and sounds fine. No bloodshot eyes, no running mascara, no dejected gaze. Darcy moves into my apartment as I babble that I just arrived home and wanted to change into something more comfortable. I put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.
She still says nothing.
“So. Six days to go. You must be going crazy!” I laugh nervously. “Well, I’m here to help now. At your service. To help with any last-minute details for your wedding.”
“There isn’t going to be a wedding.” She sniffs.
“What?” I gasp, widen my eyes, step toward her. Right as I am about to offer my full sympathy, I remember that I’m not supposed to know who called it off. So I ask.
“It was mutual.”
“Mutual?” I ask, my voice louder.
I lead Darcy over to my bed and sit down. The closet is next to the bed. I want Dex to hear everything. Mutual? Dex said he did it. If it were mutual, or if she said it first, then perhaps it doesn’t mean quite as much as I thought it did. Of course, I will still be happy. But I want this choice to be Dex’s. Now I want to be the reason.
“Well. Technically Dexter was the one. He told me this morning that he couldn’t go through with it. That he doesn’t think he loves me.” She rolls her eyes and smiles an ironic smile. I wish that Dex could see the look on her face. She no more believes that he doesn’t love her than she believes that I could be capable of hiding a half-naked Dex in my closet.
“You’re kidding me? This is crazy. How do you feel?”
Darcy looks down at her feet. Now she will start to cry. And I will comfort her and tell her that it will all be okay. Then I will suggest that we go for a little walk. Get some fresh air, even though it is disgustingly humid outside. Maybe I will suggest dinner. Her choice. A burger and fries now that there is no dress to fit into.
But still, Darcy does not cry. She takes a deep breath. “Rachel…I have something to tell you.” Her voice is calm. She is not following the “I’ve just been dumped” script. Something is going on. For a second I think that she is going to tell me that she knows everything, that she understands, that true love must prevail, and that she sees clearly that Dex and I should be together.
“Yeah?” I ask, confused.
“This is very hard for me to tell you. Even harder than when I got into Notre Dame,” she continues.
This is the first time she has brought up Notre Dame since college—which is crazy, considering my recent revelation. The conversation is definitely not making sense. Maybe she is going to confess that she, too, got rejected. That all her life she has been competing with me. And that she is finally acknowledging defeat.
“Do you remember when I told you about losing my ring?”
“Yeah?”
“How I lost it in my colleague’s apartment?”
Now I am really confused. Dex must be even more confused. I am glad that I never told him how she really lost her ring. He canceled the wedding even without that information.
“How I hooked up with that guy and lost the ring?”
It’s like a Three’s Company episode where Jack and Chrissy are talking, and Janet is hiding somewhere listening to the conversation, full of misunderstandings and double meanings. I remember the close-ups of Janet’s face, shocked and indignant. But there is no confusion here in my studio. There is only one meaning, and Dex is getting it right: she hooked up with someone else. Why didn’t you tell me? he will ask me, perhaps accusatorily. It would have made everything so much easier, he will say. I will tell him that I didn’t think it was right to sway him. Maybe it will make me look noble, and Darcy all the more wrong for him.
“Well, I didn’t really hook up with a guy from work.” She speaks slowly, enunciating every syllable.
“You didn’t lose your ring?”
Is she about to confess to insurance fraud?
“
“Who was it?”
“It was Marcus,” she says.
“Marcus?” I am floored.
“Your Marcus. Yes.”
Of course. My Marcus. The Marcus I had to fly across the Atlantic to get over.
“Do you hate me?” she asks soulfully. “Please say something.”
“You were with Marcus the day you lost your ring? You lost it in his apartment?” I am clarifying for myself and Dexter.
She nods. Then there is a fleeting second when she looks at me sideways—a brightening in her eyes, a slight upward movement in the corners of her mouth. She is enjoying this. This is her moment to shock. Shock and shine. Win again.
I give her what she wants. Pretend to be defeated. The gracious loser again.
“So you slept with him?” I keep my voice just south of accusatory, on the hurt side.
“Yes.”
“More than once?”
“Yes,” she whispers so softly that I know Dex can’t hear her answer.
So I ask loudly and clearly, “You did?”
“Yes,” she says.
I pretend to digest it all. Actually I am digesting it all. But on a level unknown to Darcy. “So,” I say. “So.”
I don’t ask for further explanation, but she gives it to me anyway. “It all started over the July Fourth weekend. We came back from the Talkhouse, loaded. And one thing led to the other.”
“July Fourth?” I ask.
This keeps getting better.
“Yes, but he felt terrible. And we swore that it would never happen again. Only we were totally into each other. It was intense…We just couldn’t keep apart. We started to meet for lunch and sometimes after work. We felt awful every time because of Dex, and because of you. But then it would happen again and again…Do you hate me?”
I am at a crossroads. I am not sure how to play it. What would Ethan advise? Pretend to fly into a rage? Yes, I hate you. Get out. Get out! That would be one way to go. Or a soft, dejected, How can I hate you? You are my best friend. Or perhaps, I don’t know what to think. I need time.
While I contemplate my response, she says she has something else to tell me. Something big.
“There’s more?”
“Yes. There’s more.” Her voice sounds fragile, but her expression gives her away. She is definitely enjoying this.
I stare at my feet. “Go on.”
“I am a few days late for my period. And you know that I’m always on a perfect twenty-eight-day schedule.” She is touching her stomach fondly. It is still completely flat.
My own stomach lurches. “You’re pregnant?”
“I think so. Yeah.”
I am afraid to ask who the father is. If it is Dex, all of this might be taken back from me.
“I took a test…it was positive.”
“Positive means you’re pregnant?”
“Yes. Two pink lines. Yes, I’m pregnant.”
I hold my breath, pray, make a deal with God. Never will I ask for anything else, if only…“Who is the father?” The question fills the room, circles over us, under the closet door.
“Marcus.”
I exhale, feeling light-headed with relief. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Positive. Dex and I haven’t had sex since before my last period. Ages ago.”
“Does he know?”
“Who? Marcus?”
“Yeah. Does Marcus know?”
“Yes. But Dex doesn’t. Not yet.”
He does now.
“I wanted to talk to you first.”
I nod, still taking it all in. “So what are you going to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you keeping it?”
“Yes. I want to have it.” She rubs her stomach in small circular motions. “I want to marry Marcus and have his baby. I know it sounds crazy, but it just feels so right.”
“Are you sure Marcus wants to get married?”
“Positive.”
“Do you think Dex suspects anything?” I ask quietly. For some reason, I don’t want him to hear this question.
“No. But to be honest, I think he sensed how distant I’ve been. That’s probably why he called it off. You know, he said he didn’t love me…because he felt that I had turned away from him first.”
“I see.”
“I’m shocked at how calm you are. Thank you for not hating me.”
“Yeah…I don’t hate you.”
“I hope Dex takes it as well. At least as far as Marcus goes. He’s going to hate him for a while. But Dex is rational. Nobody did this on purpose to hurt him. It just happened.”
And right when I think that this story is winding up as neatly and tightly as a Three’s Company episode, with its get-out-of-jail-free ending, I see Darcy stare at something behind me. By the look on her face, I think that Dex has emerged from his hiding place. I turn around, fully expecting to see him. But no, the door is still closed. I face Darcy again. She is still staring behind me, her expression stony and trancelike.
And then she asks, “Why is Dexter’s watch on your nightstand?”
I follow her eyes again. Sure enough, his watch is most definitely on my nightstand. Dexter’s watch. My nightstand. There is no way out. At least not one that I can think of.
I shrug and stammer that I don’t know. If there were any doubt before this moment as to my ability to think on my feet, that is cleared up now. I mumble, “Oh, it’s not his watch. I have one like it…I bought it in England.” My voice is shaking. I am a complete mess, a dying calf in a hailstorm.
Darcy leaps from my bed and grabs the watch from my nightstand, flipping it over and reading the inscription. “‘All my love. Darcy,’” she says. Then she looks at me with pure hatred, demonstrating how I should have reacted to her Marcus news.
“What the fuck?” she asks. It is a cold, hard question. Her eyes narrow. “What the fuck!” she screams again, but this time it is a statement. Which means that I don’t have to answer.
I stand as she pushes roughly past me into the bathroom. I follow her as she whips the shower curtain violently to the side. Only two tan Aveda bottles, a pink plastic razor, and a dwindling bar of soap.
I begin formulating a story: Dex came over to tell me about the breakup. He took his watch off, to woefully read the engraving. He was beside himself with grief. I comforted him briefly, at which point he left to wander in the park, alone.
But it is too late for explanations. The thirty-second window for explaining is over. Darcy’s long, skinny fingers are gripping my closet doorknob.
“Darcy, don’t,” I say, clearly indicating that her ex-fiancé is behind door number two. I stand in the way, my back against the door.
“Move!” she bellows. “I know he’s in there!”
I move, because what else am I supposed to do? She is right. We all know that he is in there. But as she opens the door, part of me actually thinks that Dex will have found a way to fold himself more neatly and tightly into a back corner of my closet. Or maybe he got out, somehow fled during the four seconds that Darcy and I stood gridlocked in my bathroom. Or maybe he miraculously found a secret opening in the back as in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
But no, he is there, crouched right where I last saw him, holding his jeans and his shirt, wearing striped navy boxers, staring up at us. He unfolds himself and stands upright.
“You liar!” Darcy screams, thrusting her finger into his chest.
He ignores her and dresses calmly, putting one foot into his jeans and then the other. The sound of his zipper is loud in the room.
“You lied to me!”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Dex says, finding the armholes in his T-shirt. His voice is low and restrained. “Fuck you, Darcy.”
Darcy’s face grows red and she is spitting as she yells, “You said there was nobody else in the picture! And you’re fucking my best friend!”
I w
She ignores me, staring at Dex. I wait for him to defend us, cast a spin on the facts, tell her that there has been no fucking. Nothing at all until today, when he came over to seek comfort. But Dex says calmly, “Isn’t that a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, Darce? You and Marcus, huh? Having a baby? I guess congratulations are in order.”
I expect her to make a statement about loyalty and love and friendship. I expect her to accuse us of doing it first. But she only looks at me and then Dex and then says that she knew it all along, and that she hates us both very much. And that she always will. She walks over to the door.
“Oh, Darcy?” Dex says.
“What?” She shouts the word, but the look in her eyes is needy, expectant.
“May I have my watch back, please?”
She hurls the evidence overhand at him. Clearly it is meant to strike and hurt him. But her aim is bad and it ricochets off my wall, skating across the parquet back to her feet, inscription up. She looks at it and then at me.
“And you! I never want to see you again! You are dead to me!”
She slams the door and is gone.
Twenty-Four
Darcy wastes no time in getting her version of the story out. Starting with José, apparently. On our way out of the building, minutes after Darcy’s departure, we pass my doorman. For once, he is not grinning. Failing in the gatekeeping function is the stuff that can get a doorman fired. He looks worried.
“Hi, José,” Dex and I say in unison.
“Aw, man, I’m really sorry I let her up,” he says. “I, uh, didn’t know…you know…”
“No. Not at all,” I say. “Don’t worry, José.”
“Did she give you an earful?” Dex asks cheerfully, as if the whole thing were just a crazy little mix-up instead of a life-defining moment for at least four people.
José has tacit permission to smile again. “Uhh…you could say I got an earful. Heh, heh. But don’t worry.” He laughs. “I don’t believe what she said about you…not most of it, anyway.”