Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin Read Free Book Online Page A

way," Chanel Suit counters. "Rachel had her chance to be
    with Dex but that window has long passed. And now she is the
    maid of honor. The maid of honor! It is the ultimate betrayal!"
    I work late that night, delaying my call back to Dex. I even
    consider waiting until tomorrow morning, mid-week, not calling
    at all. But the longer I wait, the more awkward it will be when I
    inevitably see him. So I force myself to sit down and dial his
    number. I hope for voice mail. It is ten-thirty. With any luck, he
    will be gone, home with Darcy.
    "Dex Thaler," he answers, his tone all business. He is back at
    Goldman Sachs, having wisely chosen the banker route over the
    lawyer route. The work is more interesting, and the money much
    better.
    "Rachel!" He sounds genuinely happy to hear from me, although
    somewhat nervous, his voice a bit too loud. "Thanks for calling. I
    was starting to think I wasn't going to hear from you."
    "I've been meaning to call. It's just that I've been really busy
    Crazy day," I stammer. My mouth is bone-dry.
    "Yeah, it's been nuts here too. Typical Monday," he says, sounding
    a bit more relaxed.
    "Yeah"
    An awkward pause follows well, it feels awkward to me. Does he
    expect me to bring up the Incident?
    "So. How do you feel?" His voice becomes lower.
    "How do I feel?" My face is burning, I'm sweating, and I can't rule
    out the possibility of regurgitating my sushi dinner.
    "I mean, what do you think about Saturday?" His voice is lower
    still, almost a whisper. Maybe he is just being discreet, making
    sure nobody in the office hears him, but the volume translates as
    intimate.
    "I don't know what you're asking me"
    "Do you feel guilty?"
    "Of course I feel guilty. Don't you?" I look out my window at the
    lights of Manhattan, in the direction of his downtown office.
    "Well, yeah," he says sincerely. "Obviously. It shouldn't have
    happened. No question about that. It was wrong and I don't
    want you to think that, you know, that it's typical practice for me.
    I've never cheated on Darcy before. Never You believe that, don't
    you?"
    I tell him that of course I believe him. I want to believe him.
    Another silence.
    "So, yeah, that was a first for me," he says.
    More silence. I picture him with his feet up on his desk, his collar
    loosened, tie thrown over his shoulder. He looks good in a suit.
    Well, he looks good in anything. And nothing.
    "Uh-huh," I say. I am gripping the phone so tightly that my fingers
    hurt. I switch hands and wipe my sweaty palm on my skirt.
    "I feel so bad that you've been friends with Darcy forever, and this
    thing that happened between us it puts you in a really atrocious
    position." He clears his throat and continues. "But at the same
    time, I don't know"
    "What don't you know?" I ask, against my better judgment to end
    the conversation, hang up the phone, choose the flight instinct
    that has always served me well.
    "I don't know. I just well, in some ways well, objectively
    speaking, I know what I did was so wrong. But I just don't feel
    guilty. Isn't that awful? Do you think less of me?"
    I have no idea how to answer this one. "Yes" seems mean and
    judgmental; "no" might open the floodgates. I find safe, middle
    ground. "I have no room to judge anyone, do I? I was there I did
    it too."
    "I know, Rachel. But it was my fault."
    I think about the elevator, the feel of his hair between my fingers.
    "We were both at fault We were both drunk. It must have been
    the shots they just sneaked up on me and I hadn't really eaten
    much that day," I ramble, hoping that we are nearly finished.
    Dex interrupts. "I wasn't that drunk," he states plainly, almost
    defiantly.
    You weren't that drunk?
    As though he has read my mind, he continues. "I mean, yes, I had
    a few drinks my inhibitions certainly were lowered but I knew
    what I was doing, and on some level, I think I wanted it to
    happen. Well, I suppose that's a rather obvious statement But
    what I mean is that I think I consciously wanted it to