He slaps hands with Dex as though they are old pals, which I guess they are becoming. I walk Dex to the corner. He is going home to salvage as many belongings as he can fit into his luggage—we both believe that Darcy is a slash-and-burn kind of girl, fully up to the task of taking scissors to his wardrobe.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says.
I nod.
“And you’re sure it’s okay if I stay with you for a few days?”
He has asked me the question three times now.
“Of course. Stay as long as you want,” I say, thinking that now he not only wants me, but he needs me too. It is a good feeling to be needed by Dex.
We stand facing each other in the street for a moment before Dex flags a cab and leans down to kiss me. Without thinking, I turn my head to give him a cheek. Then I remember that we no longer need to hide. I turn my face again, and our lips meet in daylight.
I return to my apartment in a state of semishock. I feel as if I should do something ceremonious. Write in my journal, which has been untouched for months (I could never bring myself to write about Dex, just in case something happened to me). Dance around my apartment. Cry. Instead I focus on the mundane, what I am good at. I shower, unpack, water my plants, open my mail, drag two fans out of my closet and plug them in near my bed, and eat a couple of stale Fig Newtons.
Dex returns an hour later with his full array of tan Hartmann luggage and two black Nike gym bags, all stuffed haphazardly with clothes, shoes, papers, toiletries, even some framed photographs. “Rescue mission accomplished,” he says. “She wasn’t home.”
I survey the bags. “How did you haul all that stuff over here so fast?”
“It wasn’t easy,” he says, wiping sweat from his brow. His gray T-shirt is wet around the pits and across his chest.
“You can hang your suits in the front closet,” I say, still focusing on the practical, unable to absorb everything, although the presence of Dex’s belongings is helping with that.
“Thanks.” He shakes out a few dark suits and white shirts and looks at me. “Don’t be alarmed. I’m not moving in.”
“I’m not alarmed,” I say, as I watch him hang his clothes. Although in truth, I am filled with sudden trepidation. What next? What now? I never planned on this—the temporary living arrangement, the end of my friendship with Darcy, the strange and sudden change in the status quo. “I just can’t believe it.”
He puts his arms around me. “What can’t you believe?”
“Everything. Any of it. Us.”
I close my eyes just as my phone rings. I jump. “Shit. You think it’s her?” I am almost afraid of Darcy, of what she will do.
“I doubt it. She’s off with Marcus, I’m sure.”
I answer it.
“Is this true?” my mother asks, in a panic. “What I hear from Mrs. Rhone? Say it’s not so, Rachel. Please tell me!”
“That depends on what you heard.” I choose my words carefully, and then mouth to Dex that it is my mother.
He makes a face and grabs the arm of my sofa as though he is bracing for a meteor to fall into my apartment. I’d prefer a meteor to this conversation.
“She tells me that Dex canceled the wedding?”
“That is correct.”
“And that you are somehow involved with Dex?…I told her there must be some mistake, but she was sure. She’s very upset. Your father and I were speechless.”
“Mom, it is complicated,” I say, an admission by any measure.
“Ra-chel. How could you?” She has never sounded more disappointed in me. All of my hard work, accomplishments, years of being a good daughter—it is all down the drain. “Darcy is your oldest friend in the world! How could you?”
I tell my mother that perhaps she would like to hear my side of the story before she casts judgment. I didn’t think you needed law school to have the “innocent before proven guilty” concept down.
She says fine, please go on. I can see her shaking her head, pacing in the kitchen, waiting for an explanation, although none could ever suffice.
I am too mad to tell her anything. How can she take Darcy’s side over mine before she even hears a thing from my mouth? “I’m not in the mood to discuss it with you,” I say. Then I add, “Or Dad.” Because I know she will use him as the ultimate weapon, just as she did when I was a child. “Wait until your father gets home,” an oft-heard threat to many children, wasn’t employed with the same meaning in our house. It was a threat to tarnish my reputation as Daddy’s perfect little girl. One stern look from my father was worse than any punishment, and my mom knew it.
“Your father is in the garage, absolutely beside himself,” she says, wavering between shrill and calm. “I don’t think he could talk even if you wanted to speak to him. Did Darcy or Dr. and Mrs. Rhone cross your mind once?”
When I fell in love? No, they didn’t! Neither did your bridge club, nor my third-grade teacher!
“Mom, it’s not your life. Or Dad’s…Look, I have to go.”
I say good-bye and hang up before she can speak again. Let her be sorry when she learns that Darcy is having someone else’s child. Let her do the math, subtract the months back to August. Maybe then she will phone me and apologize and toss out another one of her favorites—People in glass houses…
I hang up and contemplate phoning Annalise, getting to her before the spin doctor does. But I don’t want to burden an expectant mother with this tale.
“So I gather that the news made its way west?” Dex asks me.
“Yup. Mrs. Rhone called my mom.”
“That’s bullshit,” he says. “Darcy is pregnant with another man’s baby! Did she share that part with the old neighborhood?”
“Clearly not.”
“Think I should call Mrs. Rhone?”
“No…Let’s just keep a low profile before everything shakes out. Screw them all.”
“You’re right,” he says, and slams his fist into his palm. “Darcy! She’s fucking unbelievable.”
“I know,” I say.
We are both quiet. I feel uneasy. For a fleeting second, I worry that maybe Ethan’s theory could be right—that I only wanted Dex to beat Darcy, and now that I have him, I’m not sure what to do. But no, there is an unmistakable feeling of love surging beneath the layers of anxiety. It will just take some time for us to be normal again. Which is ironic, because we’ve never really been normal.
“Should we order dinner?” Dex asks, breaking the silence.
“I’m not really hungry. I think I might just go to bed,” I say, even though it’s only eight o’clock. “I’m feeling pretty jet-lagged. Besides, it’s too hot to eat.”
I think he knows the real reason I can’t eat. “I’m not hungry either,” he says.
I watch Dex as he listlessly tidies his belongings and finds his shaving kit. Then he showers while I brush my teeth, lock up the apartment, and climb into bed. My mind is working overtime, struggling to send a clear message to my heart. I hate feeling so much and yet being unable to categorize my dominant emotion. Am I mostly happy? Sad? Scared? I don’t know. I think of Ethan. How surprised he will be. Spineless Dex isn’t so spineless after all. Then I think of James. Was I kissing him when Dex was formulating a way to be with me? Should I feel guilty? Should I tell Dex?
Then I think about the four of us: Marcus was disloyal to Dex. I was disloyal to Darcy. Dex was disloyal to Darcy. Only Darcy did something to two people, to me and to Dex. She is the only one who was doubly disloyal. I think of my girl in the jury box. She is triumphant, pointing out this fact, telling Chanel Suit, “I told you so.”
I watch Dex towel off, put on white boxer briefs, and walk toward me. He is beside the bed. I move over, taking his side. Maybe we will switch sides, our way of commemorating the change in our relationship, acknowledging its new legitimacy.
He switches off my lamp, and finds me under the sheets. His arm moves around me. Then he kisses my ear twice. But neither of us initiates anything
more. Perhaps he, too, is contemplating the hugeness of what has happened.
“Good night, Dex,” I say.
“Good night, Rachel.”
For a long time, I listen to Dex breathe. When I am pretty sure he is asleep, I say his name softly.
“Yeah?” he answers, still wide awake.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yes…Are you?”
“Yeah,” I say.
Then I hear him make a noise. It sounds like crying at first. Then I realize with relief that he is laughing.
“What?”
“You.” He imitates me. “‘I bought the watch in London.’” He laughs harder.
I allow one small smile. “I couldn’t think!”
“That was apparent.”
“You’re the one who left it on the nightstand.”
“I know…Shit. I remembered it as soon as you let her in the apartment. Then I thought she might not see it. Then I heard the question…and was waiting for you to come up with something good. ‘I bought it in London’ wasn’t what I had in mind. I was in there shaking my head in the dark, like, the jig is up, baby.”
“Maybe it’s for the best…Everything is out in the open now. She would have found out eventually.”
I don’t really mean this, though. Eventually would have been better than today. And maybe she never would have known that anything was going on this summer, while she was still with Dex.
“Yeah. An engagement and two friendships finito,” he says.
I wonder which part Dex is sadder about. I hope that it is Marcus. “You really think you won’t ever be friends with Marcus again?”
He sighs and adjusts his pillow. “I seriously doubt that we’ll be grabbing a few beers anytime soon.”
“Are you sad about that?”
“What’s the point of being sad?” he says. “We’re here now.”
I want to tell Dex that I love him, but decide that it can wait until tomorrow. Or maybe even the next day.
Twelve hours later I am on my way to Hillary’s office when Les ambushes me in the hall. “Good. You’re back. I need to see you.”
Yes, I had a lovely vacation. Thanks for asking.
“Now?” I ask.
“Yeah, now. Come to my office. Pronto.”
I want to tell him that normal people do not use the word “pronto,” unless they’re kidding or playing Scrabble.
“I need to get a pad,” I say. So much for easing into my old routine.
Seconds later I am sitting in his office, which smells of onions, furiously scribbling instructions for three new assignments. All time-consuming, mind-numbing, bullshit first-year research projects, riddled with false deadlines. It is my punishment for taking a vacation. He talks at me in aggressive run-on sentences, his tone condescending whenever I dare to interrupt to ask a pertinent question. As I study his bulbous nose, I am thinking that I don’t need this. I remember how free I felt in London, being away from this place. I fantasize about quitting, getting another job in New York, or maybe moving to London with Dex. I will resign in mid-assignment. Leave Les high and dry. Tell him what I think of him on my way out the door. Tell him that he really should do something about those hairs in his nose.
After an hour of being held prisoner (he even takes three lengthy phone calls during my sentence), I am released. I head straight for Hillary’s office. It is a war zone, worse than usual. Documents clutter up every square inch of floor space. Both of her guest chairs are covered with papers, and her desk is piled high with folders, treatises, and old newspapers.
She spins around in her chair. “Hey, you! Have a seat. Tell me about your trip!”
“Where do I sit?”
“Oh. Just dump that stuff anywhere…So how was England? How are you?”
“Well. Let’s see,” I say, as I clear off one of her chairs. “England was great. I made some progress in getting over Dex…But then I came home last night and learned that Dex called off the wedding after all.”
She gives me a quizzical look. “He called it off? For sure?”
I tell her the whole story. She hangs on every word, and in the end she looks like one of those people who answers the door to find Ed McMahon with a big check and a television crew. She covers her eyes with her palms, laughs, shakes her head, and then comes around her desk and gives me a hug. I am not surprised by her reaction. I didn’t expect her to get any of the subtleties—the fact that Darcy and I are no longer friends, the fact that my parents are upset, and that word of my treason is traveling at the speed of light all over Indiana.
“Well, that is awesome, awesome news. I owe Dex an apology. Shit. I really had him written off as another womanizing pretty boy.”
“He’s not like that.”
“I can see that…I’m so happy for you.”
I smile. “So what has been going on here?”
“Oh, not too much. Same old shit…Julian and I had our first big fight.”
“What? Why?”
She shrugs. “We got into an argument that escalated.”
“About what?”
“It’s a long story…but basically we have this full-disclosure rule. No secrets whatsoever.”
“Secrets about your past?”
“Yeah. And just anything. So anyway, he was talking to this girl at a party, and he introduced me to her. And the three of us had a big conversation about all sorts of things. And later that night, I asked him how he knew her…He told me he met her two summers ago…and that was it. Then kidding around, I said, ‘Did you sleep with her?’ And he just looked at me…He had!”
I don’t try to hide my smirk. “You got mad because of an ex-girlfriend?”
“No. I got mad that I had to ask him if he slept with her. He should have brought it up first! That wasn’t in the spirit of our agreement. So of course, I start to worry that he isn’t as honest as he seems.”
I shake my head. “You’re a trip. So stubborn.”
“He is too…We haven’t talked in almost twenty-four hours.”
“Hill! C’mon, you have to call him!”
“Not a chance. His finger isn’t broken.”
Her words and posturing are bold and defiant, but for the first time I see her as vulnerable. Something in her eyes gives her away.
“I think you should call him,” I say. “This is silly.”
“Maybe it is. I don’t know—and then again, maybe we’re not as perfect for each other as I first thought.”
“Because of one fight?”
She shrugs.
“Hillary, I think you’re overreacting. Pick up the phone and call him.”
“No way,” she says, but I can tell from the way that she glances at her phone that she is weakening.
I think to myself that when you’re in love, sometimes you have to swallow your pride, and sometimes you have to fight to keep your pride. It’s a balance. But when the relationship is right, you find that balance. I am sure that Hillary and Julian will.
When I return to my office, I dial up my only other unconditional ally. I know that Ethan won’t miss the complexity of the situation, perhaps because he knows Darcy better than Hillary does. In some ways, he understands her better than I do.
He does not interrupt once as I tell him the story. “So did you suspect that? When Dex called asking about my flight?” I ask him after I finish.
“I hoped…That’s why I gave him your information. But I didn’t ask any questions. I just crossed my fingers.”
“You hoped? Really? I thought you didn’t like him.”
“Aw, I just didn’t like him for jerking you around all summer. I like him now. I mean, I actually admire him now. He didn’t take the easy way out. I really respect him for that. So many people just let the engagement tide roll over them and get washed up into the hurrah of a wedding. Dex did the stand-up thing. I give him credit. I really do.”
“I’m just glad he was the one to call it off, instead of Darcy making the decision for him after t
he pregnancy discovery. Then I’d always wonder, you know, if I was just the runner-up.”
“So how do you feel?” His question is gentle, and I know he is asking about Darcy.
I tell him that I am happy, of course, but that I am devastated to lose Darcy, to realize that she will no longer be a part of my life. Although in truth, I don’t think it has fully sunk in yet. “It’s just not a fairy-tale ending,” I say.
“No. It never is.”
“And it all happened so fast. One minute I thought I was going to a wedding on Saturday. Next minute, no wedding, I get to be with Dex, Darcy is with Marcus, and she’s having his baby. It is nuts.”
“I can’t believe she’s pregnant…Shit! That girl!” he says, with some amusement.
“I know.”
“Never a dull moment.”
“I know…I think I might miss that about her.”
“Yeah. Well. Maybe she’ll come around.”
“Maybe.”
He clears his throat. “Although I doubt it.”
“Me too.”
“So Marcus and Darcy.” He whistles. “That’s certainly a twist.”
“Yeah. You’re telling me! But I can actually see it now…It makes sense. She was always railing at Dex for working too hard. And Marcus takes the opposite approach.”
“And you’re more like Dex.”
“Yeah. So much for the ‘opposites attract’ theory.”
“Sounds like everything may have worked out for the best. Except for James, that is. He’ll be wrecked.”
“Yeah, right,” I say.
“And of course, I’m a little disappointed.”
“Why?”
“I thought you were going to move here.”
“Who knows? Maybe I still will.”
“And leave Dex?”
“He can come with me.”
“Think he’d do that?”
“Maybe.”
Maybe he loves me enough to follow me anywhere.
I hang up and start my assignments, signing on to Lexis, skimming and highlighting case after case. I keep checking my e-mail and waiting for the phone to ring. At first I think it’s Dex I am waiting for, but then I pick up the phone and call him, and still have an empty, aching feeling. That’s when I realize that it’s Darcy I am waiting to hear from. I expect her to call at any minute. Yell at me, say mean things to me, but talk to me. Communicate in some way. But my phone does not ring as I work through lunch. Around four o’clock, I finally get a call.