“Did you want your bagel toasted?” Annie shouted from behind the counter.
“Sure,” I said, although I had no real preference.
I let my mind drift to the night of Andy’s proposal in Vail, how he had pretended to drop his wallet so that he could, in what clearly had been a much-rehearsed maneuver, retrieve it and appear on bended knee. I remember sipping champagne, my ring sparkling in the firelight, as I thought, This is it. This is the moment every girl dreams of. This is the moment I have been dreaming of and planning for and counting on.
Annie brought my coffee, and I wrapped my hands around the hot, heavy mug. I raised it to my lips, took a long sip, and thought of our year-long engagement—a year of parties and showers and whirlwind wedding plans. Talk of tulle and tuxedos, of waltzes and white chocolate cake. All leading up to that magical night. I thought of our misty-eyed vows. Our first dance to “What a Wonderful World.” The warm, witty toasts to us—speeches filled with clichés that were actually true in our case: perfect for each other…true love…meant to be.
I remembered our flight to Hawaii the following morning, how Andy and I had held hands in our first-class seats, laughing at all the small things that had gone awry on our big day: What part of “blend into the background” didn’t the videographer get? Could it have rained any harder on the way to the reception? Had we ever seen his brother, James, so wasted? I thought of our sunset honeymoon strolls, the candlelit dinners, and one particularly vivid morning that Andy and I had spent lounging on a secluded, half-moon beach called Lumahai on the north shore of Kauai. With soft white sand and dramatic lava rocks protruding from turquoise water, it was the most breathtaking piece of earth I had ever seen. At one point, as I was admiring the view, Andy rested his Stephen Ambrose book on our oversized beach towel, took both of my hands in his, and kissed me. I kissed him back, memorizing the moment. The sound of the waves crashing, the feel of the cool sea breeze on my face, the scent of lemons mixed with our coconut suntan lotion. When we separated, I told Andy that I had never been so happy. It was the truth.
But the best part came after the wedding, after the honeymoon, after our practical gifts were unpacked in our tiny apartment in Murray Hill—and the impractical, fancy ones were relegated to our downtown storage unit. It came as we settled into our husband-and-wife routine. Casual, easy, and real. It came every morning, as we sipped our coffee and talked as we got ready for work. It came when his name popped into my inbox every few hours. It came at night as we shuffled through our delivery menus, contemplating what to have for dinner and proclaiming that one day soon we’d actually use our stove. It came with every foot massage, every kiss, every time we undressed together in the dark. I trained my mind on these details. All the details that comprised our first one hundred days together.
Yet by the time Annie brought my bagel, I was back in that intersection, my heart thudding again. I suddenly knew that in spite of how happy I was to be spending my life with Andy, I wouldn’t soon forget that moment, that tightness in my throat as I saw his face again. Even though I desperately wanted to forget it. Especially because I wanted to.
I sheepishly glanced at my reflection in the mirrored wall beside my booth. I had no business worrying about my appearance, and even less business feeling triumphant upon the discovery that I was, against all odds on an afternoon of running errands in the rain, having an extraordinarily good hair day. I also had a rosy glow, but I told myself that it was only the cold that had flushed my cheeks. Nothing else.
And that’s when my cell phone rang and I heard his voice. A voice I hadn’t heard in eight years and sixteen days.
“Was that really you?” he asked me. His voice was even deeper than I remembered, but otherwise it was like stepping back in time. Like finishing a conversation only hours old.
“Yes,” I said.
“So,” he said. “You still have the same cell number.”
Then, after a considerable silence, one I stubbornly refused to fill, he added, “I guess some things don’t change.”
“Yes,” I said again.
Because as much as I didn’t want to admit it, he was sure right about that.
Copyright © 2008 by Emily Giffin. All rights reserved.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my parents, sister, family, and friends for their love and support.
I am grateful to my agent, Stephany Evans, and my editor, Jennifer Enderlin, for believing in me.
I owe a huge debt to my earliest readers, Sarah Giffin, Mary Ann Elgin, and Nancy LeCroy Mohler, for their tireless input on every draft of the manuscript.
And most of all, I thank Buddy Blaha, for everything.
Where We Belong
July 2012
Order Your Copy Today
Join Emily on Facebook:
facebook.com/emilygiffinfans
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
SOMETHING BORROWED. Copyright © 2004 by Emily Giffin. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Grateful acknowledgment is made for permission to print excerpts from the following:
“Thunder Road” by Bruce Springsteen.
Copyright © 1975 Bruce Springsteen.
All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission.
“Lookin’ Out My Back Door” by John Fogerty.
Copyright © 1970 Jondora Music (BMI)
Copyright renewed. Courtesy of Fantasy, Inc.
All rights reserved. Used by permission.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Giffin, Emily.
Something borrowed / Emily Giffin.
p. cm.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-0460-5
1. Triangles (Interpersonal relations)—Fiction. 2. Risk-taking (Psychology)—Fiction. 3. Female friendship—Fiction. 4. Single women—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3607.I28S66 2004
813'.6—dc22
2004040563
Emily Giffin, Something Borrowed
(Series: # )
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends