Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin

student who
    is a dead ringer for Cameron Diaz. Hillary claims that it doesn't
    bother her. I find that very hard to believe, even for someone with
    her moxie. In any case, she doesn't seem to be in a hurry to find a
    Corey replacement.
    "Summer potential or long-term potential?" she asks me, running
    her hands through her short, sandy hair.
    "I don't know. Maybe long-term potential."
    "Well, you looked like a total couple last night," she says. "Out
    there dancing."
    "We did?" I ask, thinking that if we looked like a couple, Dex must
    know that I'm not dwelling on him.
    She nods, finds her "Corporate Challenge" T-shirt, and sniffs the
    armpits before tossing it over to me. "Is this clean?
    Smell it."
    "I'm not gonna smell your shirt," I say, throwing it back. "You're
    gross."
    She laughs and puts on her obviously clean enough shirt. "Yeah
    You two were out there whispering and laughing. I thought for
    sure you were going to hook up last night, and that I would get the
    room to myself."
    I laugh. "Sorry to disappoint."
    "You disappointed him more."
    "Nah. He just said good night when we got home. Not even a kiss."
    Hillary knows about the first kiss. "Why not?"
    "I don't know. I think we're both proceeding with caution. We'll
    have a lot of contact between now and September You know,
    he's in the wedding party too. If things blow up, it could be bad."
    She looks as if she is considering my point. For one second I am
    tempted to tell Hillary everything about Dex. I trust her. But I
    don't share, reasoning that I can always tell her, but I can't untell
    her and erase the knowledge from her mind. When we are all
    together, I would feel even more awkward, constantly thinking
    that she's thinking about it. And anyway it is over.
    There is really
    nothing to talk about.
    We go downstairs. Our housemates have already assembled
    around the kitchen table.
    "It's kick-ass outside," Darcy says, standing, stretching, and
    showing off her flat stomach under a cropped T-shirt.
    She sits
    back down at the table, returning to her game of solitaire.
    Claire looks up from her Palm Pilot. "Perfect beach weather."
    "Perfect golf weather," Hillary says, looking at Dex and Marcus.
    "Any interest?"
    "Urn, maybe," Dex says, glancing up from the sports page. "Want
    me to call and see if we can get a tee time?"
    Darcy slams her cards onto the table and looks around defiantly.
    Hillary doesn't seem to notice Darcy's objection to a round of golf
    because she says, "Or we could just pop over to the driving range."
    "No! No! No! No golf!" Darcy pounds the table again, this time
    with her fist. "Not on our first day! We have to stay together! All of
    us. Right, Rachel?"
    "Guess that means no golf today," Dex says, before I am forced to
    become involved in the great golf debate. "Darcy's orders."
    Hillary gets up from the table with a disgusted look on her face.
    "I just want us all to be together at the beach," Darcy says, putting
    a benevolent spin on her selfishness.
    "And you make the prospect seem so pleasant." Dex stands, walks
    over to the sink, and starts making coffee.
    "What's your problem, grouchy bottom?" Darcy says to his back as
    if he is the one who just told her how to spend the day.
    "You are
    being such an old stinkweed. Sheesh."
    "What's a stinkweed?" Marcus asks, scratching his ear.
    It is his
    first contribution to the morning conversation. He still looks half
    asleep. "I'm not familiar."
    "Just have a look at one right now," Darcy says, pointing at Dex.
    "He's been in a bad mood since we got here."
    "No, I haven't," Dex says. I want him to turn around so I can read
    his expression.
    "Have too. Hasn't he?" Darcy demands an answer from the rest of
    us, looking at me specifically. Being friends with Darcy has taught
    me the art of smoothing over. But sleeping with her fiance has
    dulled my instinct. I am not in the mood to chime in.
    And nobody
    else wants to become embroiled in what should be their private
    argument. We all shrug or look