by Emily Giffin
"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 relationship has evolved. It's not about the initial frenzy, the lust, 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 relationship 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 relationship 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. Shit. 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."
"Yeah, but it's not a fortune. It's a statement. I hate when they pass statements off as fortunes."
"Then pretend it says, 'You will have much to be thankful for,'" she says, opening her wrapper. "Mine better say, 'You will get your ring back from the Puerto Rican bitch.'"
She silently reads her fortune and then laughs.
"What?"
"It says, 'You have much to be thankful for.'… That's bullshit. Mass-produced fortunes!"
Yeah, and only one of us will have much to be thankful for.
Darcy tells me that she better get going, that she has to go face the music. She tears up again as she reaches for her purse. "Will you tell Dex for me?"
"Absolutely not. I'm not getting involved," I say, amusing myself with the absurdity of the statement.
"What do I say again?"
"That you lost it at the gym."
"Is there time to get a new one before the wedding?"
I tell her yes, realizing that she has not once expressed any sentimentality over the ring that Dexter picked for her.
"Rachel?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you think I'm a terrible person? Please don't think I'm a terrible person. I have never cheated on him before. I'm not going to do it again. I really do love Dex."
"Okay," I say, wondering if she will do it again.
"Do you think I'm awful?"
"No, Darcy," I say. "People make mistakes."
"I know, that's what it was. A total mistake. I really, really regret it."
"You did use a condom?" I ask her.
I picture the chart in health class explaining that for every sexual partner you have, there are essentially dozens of others that you don't even know about: everyone he slept with, and so on and so on…
"Of course!"
"Good." I nod. "Call me later if you need me."
"Thanks," she says. "Thank you so much for being here for me."
"No problem."
"Oh, and this goes without saying… don't tell anyone. I mean, anyone. Ethan, Hillary…"
But what about Dex? Can I tell Dex?
"Of course. I won't tell anyone."
She hugs me, patting my back. "Thanks, Rachel. I don't know what I'd do without you."
When Darcy leaves, I formulate my answer to the obvious dilemma-to tell or not to tell. I approach it as I would an exam question, keeping emotion to the side:
At first blush, the answer seems clear: tell Dexter. I have three major reasons motivating this decision. First, I want him to know. It is in my best interest for him to know. If he has not already decided to call off his wedding, having this piece of knowledge likely will sway him against marrying Darcy. Second, I love Dexter, which means that I should make decisions with his best int
erest at heart. Thus, I want him to have a full set of facts when making a pivotal life decision. Third, morality dictates that Dex be told; I have a moral obligation to tell Dexter the truth about Darcy's actions. (This should be distinguished from a retributive point of view, although certainly Darcy deserves a sound snitching.) As a corollary, I value and respect the institution of marriage, and Darcy's infidelity certainly doesn't bode well for a long and lasting union. This third point has nothing to do with my self-interest, as the same reasoning would apply even if I weren't in love with Dex.
The logic of point three, however, seems to indicate that Darcy should also know that Dex has been unfaithful, and that I should not be hiding my actions from Darcy (because she is my friend and trusts me, and because it is wrong to be deceitful). Thus, one might argue that thinking that Dex should know the truth about Darcy is fundamentally at odds with intentionally leaving Darcy in the dark about my own misdeeds. However, this reasoning ignores an essential distinction and one that my final analysis is dependent upon: there is a difference between thinking a person should know/be told and being that messenger. Yes, I think Dex should know what Darcy has done, and (perhaps? likely?) will continue to do. But is it my place to tell? I would argue that it is not.
Furthermore, although Dex should not marry Darcy, it is not because he cheated or because she cheated. And it is not because he loves me and I love him. These things are all true but are mere symptoms of the larger problem, i.e., their flawed relationship. Darcy and Dex are wrong for each other. The fact that both of them have cheated, although driven to do so by separate motivations (love versus a self-serving mixture of fear of commitment and lust) is just one indicator. But even if neither had cheated, the relationship would still be wrong. And if Darcy and Dex can't determine this essential truth based on their interactions, their feelings, and their years together, then it is their mistake to make and not my place to play informant.
And I might also drop a footnote, maybe under the morality discussion, where I would address the betrayal of Darcy:
Yes, telling Darcy's secret would be wrong, but in light of my far greater betrayal, telling a secret seems hardly worth discussing. On the other hand, however, one could argue that telling the secret is worse. Sleeping with Dex has nothing to do with Darcy per se, but telling Darcy's secret has everything to do with Darcy. Yet considering that the ultimate decision is not to tell, this point becomes moot.
So there's my answer. I think my reasoning might be a little shaky, particularly at the end, where I sort of fall apart and essentially say, "So there." I can just see the red marks in the margin of the blue book. "Unclear!" and "Why is it their mistake to make? Are you punishing them for their stupidity or for their infidelity? Explain!"
But regardless of my flawed rationale and the knowledge that Ethan and Hillary would accuse me of being my usual passive self, I'm not saying a word about this to Dex.
Chapter 19
The next day I return home from work, pick up my dry cleaning from Jose, and check my mailbox to find my Time Warner cable bill, the new issue of In Style magazine, and a large ivory envelope addressed in ornate calligraphy affixed with two heart stamps. I know what it is even before I flip it over and find a return address from Indianapolis.
I tell myself that a wedding can still be called off after invitations go out. This is just one more obstacle. Yes, it makes things stickier, but it is only a formality, a technicality. Still, I am dizzy and nauseated as I open the envelope and find another inner envelope. This one has my name and the two humiliating words "and Guest." I cast aside the RSVP card and its matching envelope and a sheet of silver tissue paper floats to the floor, sliding under my couch. I don't have the energy to retrieve it. Instead, I sit down and take a deep breath, mustering the courage to read the engraved script, as if the wording can somehow make things better or worse:
OUR JOY WILL BE MORE COMPLETE IF YOU SHARE IN THE MARRIAGE OF OUR DAUGHTER DARCY JANE TO MR. DEXTER THALER
I blink back tears and exhale slowly, skipping to the bottom of the invitation:
WE INVITE YOU TO WORSHIP WITH US, WITNESS THEIR VOWS, AND JOIN US FOR A RECEPTION AT THE CARLYLE FOLLOWING THE CEREMONY. IF YOU ARE UNABLE TO ATTEND, WE ASK FOR YOUR PRESENCE IN THOUGHT AND PRAYER. DR. AND MRS. HUGO RHONE RSVP
Yes, the wording can indeed make things worse. I put the invitation on my coffee table and stare at it. I picture Mrs. Rhone dropping the envelopes off at the post office on Jefferson Street, her long red nails patting the stack with motherly smugness. I hear her nasal voice saying, "Our joy will be more complete" and "We ask for your presence in thought and prayer."
I'll give her a prayer-a prayer that the marriage never happens. A prayer for a follow-up mailing to arrive at my apartment:
DR. AND MRS. HUGO RHONE ANNOUNCE THAT THE MARRIAGE OF THEIR DAUGHTER DARCY TO MR. DEXTER THALER WILL NOT TAKE PLACE
Now that is some wording that I can appreciate. Short, sweet, to the point. "Will not take place." The Rhones will be forced to abandon their usual flamboyant style. I mean, they can't very well say, "We regret to inform you that the groom is in love with another" or "We are saddened to announce that Dexter has broken our dear daughter's heart." No, this mailing will be all business-cheap paper, boxy font, and typed computer labels. Mrs. Rhone will not want to spend the money on Crane's stationery and calligraphy after already wasting so much. I see her at the post office, triumphant no more, telling the mailman that no, she will not be needing the heart stamps this time. Two hundred flag stamps will do just fine.
I am in bed when Dex calls and asks if he can come over.
On the day I receive his wedding invitation, I still say yes, come right on over. I am ashamed for being so weak, but then think of all the people in the world who have done more pathetic things in the name of love. And the bottom line is: I love Dex. Even though he is the last person on earth I should feel this way about, I truly do love him. And I have not given up on him quite yet.
As I wait for his arrival, I debate whether to put the invitation away or leave it on my coffee table in plain view. I decide to tuck it between the pages of my In Style magazine. A few minutes later, I answer the door in my white cotton nightgown.
"Were you in bed?" Dex asks.
"Uh-huh."
"Well, let me take you back there."
We get in bed. He pulls the covers over us.
"You feel so good," he says, caressing my side and moving his hand under my nightgown. I start to block him, but then acquiesce. Our eyes meet before he kisses me slowly. No matter how disappointed I am in him, I can't imagine stopping this tide. I am almost motionless as he makes love to me. He talks the whole time, which he doesn't usually do. I can't make out exactly what he is saying, but I hear the word "forever." He wants to be with me forever, I think. He won't marry Darcy. He can't. She cheated on him. They aren't in love. He loves me.
Dex spoons me as tears seep onto my pillow.
"You're so quiet tonight," Dex says.
"Yeah," I say, keeping my voice steady. I don't want him to know that I'm crying. The last thing I want is Dexter's pity. I am passive and weak, but I have some-albeit limited-pride.
"Talk to me," he says. "What's on your mind?"
I come close to asking him about the invitation, his plans, us, but instead I make my voice nonchalant. "Nothing really… I was just wondering if you're going to the Hamptons this weekend."
"I sort of promised Marcus that I would. He wants to golf again."
"Oh."
"I guess you wouldn't consider coming?"
"I don't think it's a good idea."
"Please?"
"I don't think so."
He kisses the back of my head. "Please. Please come."
Three little "please"s is all it takes.
"Okay," I whisper. "I'll go."
I fall asleep hating myself.
The next day Hillary bursts into my office. "Guess what I got in the mail." Her tone is accusatory, not at all sym
pathetic.
I completely overlooked the fact that Hillary would be receiving an invitation too. I have no response prepared for her. "I know," I say.
"So you have your answer."
"He could still cancel," I say.
"Rachel!"
"There's still time. You gave him two weeks, remember? He still has a few more days."
Hillary raises her eyebrows and coughs disdainfully. "Have you seen him recently?"
I start to lie, but don't have the energy. "Last night."
She gives me a wide-eyed look of disbelief. "Did you tell him you got the invitation?"
"No."
"Rachel!"
"I know," I say, feeling ashamed.
"Please tell me you aren't one of those women."
I know the type she is talking about. The woman who carries on a relationship with a married man for years, hoping, even believing, that he will one day come to his senses and leave his wife. The moment is just around the corner-if she only hangs in there, she won't be sorry in the end. But time passes, and the years only create fresh excuses. The kids are still in school, the wife is sick, a wedding is being planned, a grandchild is on the way. There is always something, a reason to keep the status quo. But then the excuses run out, and ultimately she accepts that there will be no leaving, that she will always be the second-place finisher. She decides that second place is better than nothing. She surrenders to her fate. I have new empathy for these women, although I do not believe that I have yet joined their ranks.
"That's not a fair characterization," I say.
She gives me an "Oh, really?" look.
"Dexter's not married."
"You're right. He's not married. But he is engaged. Which might be worse. He can change his situation like that." She snaps her fingers. "But he's not doing a damn thing."
"Look, Hillary, we are talking about a finite timetable… I can only be one of those women for a month more."
"A month? You're going to let this thing go down to the wire?"
I look away, out my window.