Something Borrowed Part 27

She sniffs. Her head is down. "This guy at work."

"When?"

"A couple of times. Today." She rubs her eyes with her fists and looks at me sideways.

I don't know what my face is giving away. And I'm not even sure exactly how I feel. Relieved? Outraged? Disgusted? Hopeful? I haven't had time to consider the implications for Dex and me.

"And that's how you lost your ring?"

She nods. "I went over there today after I left my apartment, on the way to work." She swallows and then lets out a small sob. "We hung out, you know, fooled around-"

"Did you sleep with him?"

Her ponytail jerks up and down.

"I took my ring off because... well, I felt too guilty wearing it while I had s.e.x with someone else." She blows her nose into an already soggy tissue.

"You want a fresh one?"

She nods again. I jog the few steps to the bathroom to retrieve my Kleenex box.

"Here," I say, handing her the box.

She takes a tissue and blows her nose again loudly. "So anyway, I took off the ring and put it on his windowsill, next to his bed." She points to my bed in its alcove. "He has a studio sort of like yours."

A studio. So he's probably not an executive, which surprises me. I would have guessed that Darcy would go for the power type. An older man. I had been picturing Richard Gere in Pretty Woman. I change my mental image to Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting.

"So we hang out, you know." She waves her hand in the air. "Then we get dressed and walk to the subway. Go to work."

"Uh-huh..."

"So when I get to work, I realize that I forgot to put on my ring. So I call him and tell him I need to go back and get the ring. He says no problem, but that he has a meeting at three that is going to last a couple of hours. Can we meet there at seven? I tell him sure... So we meet back at his place at seven. And when we go in, the place is, like, totally clean. And when we left, it was a total dump. And he goes, 's.h.i.+t. The cleaning lady was here.' And we go over to the windowsill and the ring is gone!" She is crying harder now. "The b.i.t.c.h took it."

"Are you sure? I can't believe someone would do that..."

She gives me a "Don't be such a Pollyanna" look. "The ring is gone, Rachel. Gone. Gone. Gone!"

"Well, can't he just call his cleaning lady and tell her that he knows she took it?"

"We tried that. She doesn't speak English very well. She just kept saying that she 'didn't see no ring.'" Darcy imitates the maid's accent. "I even took the phone. I told her I would give her a big, big reward if she finds it. The b.i.t.c.h isn't stupid. She knows that two carats are worth about twenty million dirty toilets."

"Okay," I say. "But it's insured, right?"

"Yeah, it's insured. But what the h.e.l.l am I going to tell Dexter?"

"I don't know. Tell him that it fell down the drain at work... Tell him that you took it off at the gym and somebody broke into your locker."

She gives me a half-smile. "I like the gym one. That's believable, right?"

"Totally."

"I just can't believe this happened."

That makes two of us. I can't believe that Darcy cheated on Dex with some random guy. I can't believe that I am helping Darcy cover up her affair. Does everyone cheat when they're engaged?

"Is this a full-fledged affair?" I ask.

"Not really. Just a couple of times."

"So it's not serious?"

"I don't know. Not really. I don't know." She shakes her head and then rests her forehead in her hands.

I wonder if Darcy's recent moodiness has anything to do with this guy. "Are you in love with him?"

"G.o.d, no," she says. "It's just fun. It's nothing."

"Are you sure you should be getting married?" I ask.

"I knew you would say something like that!" Darcy starts to cry again. "Can't you just help me without being all pious?"

Trust me, I'm not being pious.

"I'm sorry, Darce. I'm not trying to be pious... I was just offering you an out if you wanted one."

"I don't want an out. I want to get married. I just-I don't know-I just panic sometimes that this is it. That I will never be with anyone else ever again. And so I just had this little fling. It was nothing."

"Okay," I say. "All I meant was that if you are unsure of this whole marriage thing... I just want you to know that I fully support whatever decision-"

She interrupts me. "There's no decision to make! I'm getting married. I love Dex."

"Sorry," I say. And I am sorry. I'm sorry that I love Dex too.

"No. I'm sorry, Rachel," she says, touching my leg. "It's been a horrible day."

"I understand."

"I mean, do you understand? Can you imagine what it is like to be weeks away from a promise that is supposed to last forever?"

Oh, poor you. Does she have any idea how many girls would kill to make a promise like that to someone like Dexter? She is looking at one of them.

" 'Forever is a mighty long time,'" I say, with a hint of sarcasm.

"Are you quoting a Prince song? You better not be quoting a Prince song in my time of need!"

I tell her no, although that was precisely what I had been doing.

"It is a long time," she says. "And sometimes I don't know if I can do it. I mean, I know I want to get married, but sometimes I don't know if I can go forty more years or however long it is and never feel that thrill of kissing someone new. I mean, look at Hillary. She is on cloud nine, isn't she?"

"Yeah."

"And it's not like that with Dexter anymore. Ever. It's all just the daily grind-him going to work all the time, leaving me with all the wedding plans. We're not even married and the fun part is already so far gone."

"Darce," I say. "Your relations.h.i.+p has evolved. It's not about the initial frenzy, the l.u.s.t, the newness."

She looks at me as if she's really paying attention, taking mental notes. I can't believe what I'm saying. I'm convincing her that her relations.h.i.+p is this great, special thing. I don't know why I'm doing it. Probably just nerves. I keep going. "The thrill of the chase is always exciting. But that's not what a real, lasting, loving relations.h.i.+p is all about. And the initial infatuation, the 'I can't keep my hands off you' routine, it fades for everyone."

Except for Dex and me, I think. It would always be special with Dex and me.

"I know you're right," she says. "And I do love him."

I know she believes what she's saying, but I'm not sure she does love him. I'm not sure she's capable of truly loving anyone but herself.

Jose buzzes my intercom to tell me that my food has arrived.

"Thanks. You can send him up," I say into the speaker.

As I step into the hall to pay the delivery guy, my home phone rings. I panic. What if it is Dex? I thrust my bills at the guy and dash back inside, throw the bag on my coffee table, and lift up the phone right as the answering machine is about to click on. Sure enough, it's Dex.

"Hi," he says. "I'm so sorry I haven't called you today. It's been a nightmare of a day. Roger had me-"

"It's okay," I say, interrupting him.

"Can I come over? I wanna see you."

"Um, no," I say.

"I can't?"

"No..."

"Okay... Why?... Do you have company?" He lowers his voice.

"Yeah," I say, trying to monitor my tone of voice for both listening parties. "Actually I do."

I look at Darcy. She mouths, "Who is it?"

I ignore her.

"Okay... All right then... It's not Marcus, is it?" Dex asks.

"No... Darcy's here," I say.

"Ohhh. s.h.i.+t. Good thing I called first," he whispers.

"So we'll talk tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he says. "Definitely."

"Sounds good."

"Who was that?" Darcy asks, as I hang up the phone.

"It was Ethan."

"Onion, was it Marcus?" she asks. "You can tell me."

"No, it really was Ethan."

"Maybe he's calling to tell you that he's gay."

"Uh-huh," I say, opening our cartons of food.

As we eat our Chinese food, I ask about Dex, how he is doing.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, does he suspect that anything is going on?"

She rolls her eyes. "No. He works too much."

I note that she does not change my word choice of "is going on" to "was going on."

"No?"

"No. He's just the same, normal old Dex."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Why?" She opens her Sprite, sips from the can.

"I just wondered," I say. "I've read that when someone is cheating, the other person usually knows it on some deep, inner level."

She slurps wonton soup from her plastic spoon and looks at me blankly. "I don't believe that," she says.

"Yeah," I say. "I guess I don't either."

After we finish our dinner, I hold up two fortune cookies. "Which one do you want?"

She points to my left hand. "That one," she says. "And it better be good. I can't take more bad luck."

I feel like telling her that choosing to sleep with a coworker and carelessly leaving your ring behind in his apartment has nothing to do with luck. I pull the plastic wrapper off the stale cookie, crack it open, and silently read my sliver of paper. You have much to be thankful for.

"What's it say?" Darcy wants to know.

I tell her.

"That's a good one."