fifteen
The next day I caved and did the unthinkable. I phoned Dex. It was a pathetic and desperate move, but there was no denying it, I had become pathetic and desperate.
'Hi, Dex,' I said when he answered his work line at Goldman Sachs.
He made a sound that was either a laugh or a cough, followed by silence.
'It's Darcy,' I said.
'I know who it is.'
'How are you?' I asked, keeping my voice steady.
'I'm fine. You?' he said.
'I'm… okay,' I said. 'I was just wondering… can you talk? Is this an okay time?'
'Um… Well, I actually have to run-'
'Well, how about later? Can you meet me after work?'
'I don't think so,' he answered quickly.
'Please. I really need to talk to you about something,' I said.
As I said the words, I realized that Dex likely no longer cared about my needs. Sure enough, he said again, 'I don't think so.'
'Why not?'
'I just don't think it's a good idea.'
'Because of Rachel?'
'Darcy,' he said, annoyed. 'What do you want?'
'I just need to see you. Can't you just see me? Please? I just want to talk to you. I'm sure she'd understand,' I said, wanting him to tell me that he wasn't seeing Rachel anymore. That they had broken up. I was hungry to hear the words.
But instead he said, 'Rachel would be fine with me seeing you.'
The statement wasn't clarifying. It could mean she was secure in their relationship. It could mean there was no relationship. I decided not to press. For now. 'Well, then, why won't you see me?' I asked.
'Darcy, you need to move on.'
'I
He sighed and then folded. 'Fine. Whatever.'
I brightened. My plan was going to work. He gave in because he secretly wanted to see me too. 'So let's meet back at our place at eight,' I said.
'
'You know what I mean,' I said.
'No. I'm not going there. Pick somewhere else.'
'Like where?' I asked, wondering if he had a nice restaurant in mind. 'You choose.'
'How about Session 73?'
The fact that the bar was mere blocks away from Rachel's apartment was not lost on me. 'Why there?' I asked snidely. 'Is that your new Upper East hangout?'
'Darcy. You're on thin ice,' he said. It was something he always used to say to me in jest. I felt a wave of nostalgia and wondered if he felt it too.
'Why can't we meet at the apartment?'
'Don't press your luck.'
'But I have some stuff to give you.'
'What stuff? I got it all.'
'Just a box of stuff you left. Stuff from the filing cabinet.'
'Like what?'
'Maps, instruction booklets, a few letters…'
'You can toss that stuff.'
'Can't you just meet me back at the apartment? We can talk for ten minutes. I'll give you your stuff and you can go.'
'No. Bring it to Session 73.'
'It's too heavy,' I said. 'I can't lift it, let alone carry it all that way-'
'Oh. Right. You're pregnant,' he said bitterly. It was a good sign; he wouldn't be bitter if he didn't still care.
'So I'll swing by your place at eight,' he said. 'Please have the stuff ready.'
'Okay,' I said. 'See you tonight, Dex.'
Later that afternoon, I left work and zipped over to Bendel's, where I picked up a fabulous sea-foam-green cashmere sweater that plunged in the back. Dexter was a huge fan of my back. He always told me that I had the best back and that he loved how strong it was and the way I had no fat around my bra strap. Rachel definitely had her share of back fat, I thought, as I raced across Fifth Avenue to my hair appointment at Louis Licari. After a fabulous blowout, I changed into my new sweater in the salon bathroom. In case Dex made it back to my place before I did, I wanted to be ready.
Sure enough, when I returned home, there he was, sitting on our front stoop, leafing through a document. He looked gorgeous. My heart raced just as it had when I first saw him walk into that bar in the Village so many years before. His tan had faded somewhat, but his skin still glowed. He had olive skin that would make any woman jealous. A perfect, even color, never a blemish. His sideburns were longer than usual-which gave him a sexy edge. I liked the subtle change. But with or without the sideburns, Dex was gorgeous. I had to get him back.
'Hello, Dex,' I said, smiling a slow smile. 'You're early.'
Dex grimaced and tossed his document into his briefcase. Then he snapped it closed, stood up, and looked me straight in the eye. 'Hi, Darcy.'
'Come on up,' I said, walking as enticingly as possible up the stairs to our third-floor apartment. Dex used to hate when I took the elevator three floors up, so I would show him that people could change. He followed me silently and then stood waiting with a grim expression as I unlocked the door. I walked inside, but he waited just outside the doorway.
'Well? Aren't you going to come in?' I asked, making my way over to the couch.
'Where's my stuff?' he asked, refusing to take another step.
I rolled my eyes. 'Can't you please just come in and sit down? I want to talk to you for one second.'
'I have plans at nine,' he said.
'Well, it's only eight.'
He glanced around nervously. Then he sighed, walked toward me, and perched on the very edge of the couch, placing his briefcase between his feet. I thought of all the times he had plopped down on that exact spot, kicked off his shoes, and reclined. We had eaten countless dinners on that couch, watched hundreds of movies and television shows there, even made love a few times in the early days. Now he looked out of place and stiff. It was weird.
I smiled at him, trying to alter the mood.
'Let's get this show on the road, Darcy. I gotta get going.'
'Where are you going?'
'That is none of your business.'
'Are you going out with Rachel? How are things going with her?' I asked, hoping to hear that their ill-advised romance-one based on hurt feelings and confusion-had fizzled, destroying their friendship along the way.
Dex said, 'Let's not go through the charade of inquiring about each other's lives as if we're friends.'
'What's that supposed to mean?' I asked.
'What part didn't you get?' he said.
'The part about us not being friends?'
'We're
'We date for seven years and now we're not
