call him back, surprised at how grateful I feel when I get voice mail. I leave him a message, telling him that Darcy is over and plans to stay for a while, so tonight won't really work out. Then I sit on my couch thinking about last night, my friendship with Darcy. Will I be able to live with myself if I get what I want at her expense? What would life be like without her? I am still thinking about it all when Darcy returns. Bulging plastic bags hang from her forearms. I take the coffees from her hands as she dramatically drops the bags to the floor and shows me the red indentations the bags made on her arms. I make a sympathetic noise until she smiles again.
'I got great stuff! Froot Loops! Root beer! Cranapple juice! And Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream!'
'Ice cream for breakfast?'
'No. For later.'
'Aren't you worried about your wedding weight?'
She waves her hand at me. 'Whatever. No.'
'Why not?' I ask, knowing that she will eat now and ask me later why I let her do it.
' 'Cause I'm just not! Don't rain on my parade!… Now. Let's eat Froot Loops!'
She busies herself in the kitchen finding bowls, spoons, napkins. She brings them out to the coffee table. She is in her giddy, high-energy mode.
'Would you rather eat over there?' I say, pointing to my little round table.
'No. I want it to be just like my house after a sleepover. We always ate in front of the TV. Remember?' She aims the remote control at the television and flips through the channels until she finds MTV. Then she pours cereal into bowls, carefully making sure we have the same amount. I am not in the mood for Froot Loops, but it is clear that I do not have a choice in the matter. Although I find it somewhat touching that she wants to re-create our childhood, I am also annoyed by her bossiness. Running roughshod, Ethan said. Maybe it is a precise description after all. And here I am, a willing participant, letting her steamroll me.
'Tell me when,' she says, pouring whole milk onto my cereal. I hate whole milk.
'When,' I say, almost instantly.
She stops pouring and looks at me. 'Really? They are barely moist.'
'I know,' I say, appeasing her, 'but this is how I liked it in high school too.'
'Good point,' she says, pouring milk in her own bowl. She fills it to the brim.
I take a few bites as she stirs her cereal with her spoon, waiting for the milk to turn pink.
Dido's 'Thank You' video is on. Of course, it makes me think of Dex.
'This song,' Darcy says, still stirring. 'You know the part when she says she's home at last and soaking and then 'you handed me a towel'?'
'Yeah.'
'That line totally reminds me of you.'
'Of me?' I look at her. 'I think it's supposed to be a romantic song.'
She rolls her eyes. 'Duh! I know that. Don't worry.' She takes a bite and continues to talk with her mouth full. 'I'm not dyking out or any-thing. I'm just saying you really are always here for me. You know, when the chips are down.'
'That's sweet.' I smile, push away the guilt, sip my coffee.
We listen to the rest of the song as Darcy noisily eats her cereal. As she finishes her last few bites, she raises the bowl to her lips, gulping the pastel milk.
'Am I being too loud?' she asks, glancing up at me.
I shake my head. 'You're fine.'
'Dex calls me the Slurper whenever I eat cereal.'
I get a pang as I always do when I glimpse a private part of their relationship-which I like to pretend does not exist. Then I realize with an even sharper pang that Dex doesn't have a nickname for me. Perhaps I am too bland to deserve one. Darcy doesn't have a bland bone in her body. No wonder it is hard to leave her. She is the type of woman who draws you in, holds your attention. Even when she is annoying, she is compelling, captivating.
Jennifer Lopez appears on the screen in all her voluptuousness. We watch wistfully as she gyrates over a rural landscape. 'Is her butt that great?' Darcy asks.
'I'm afraid so,' I say, although I actually enjoy telling Darcy this. She even views celebrities as competition, whereas no part of me begrudges Jennifer Lopez her fantastic ass.
Darcy makes a clicking sound. 'Don't you think it's kind of fat?' she asks.
'No. It's great,' I say, knowing that both of Darcy's cheeks equal one of Jennifer's.
'Well, I think it's kind of fat…'
I shrug.
'Dex loves her. He thinks she's totally hot.'
New Dexter information. Ding! Ding! Ding!What might this mean in the equation? I am fuller-figured than Darcy, but she is darker. I decide to discard the tidbit as not particularly helpful. I mean, most guys appreciate J-Lo no matter what their type. It's like Brad Pitt for us. You might not like blond men with pretty features, but c'mon, it's Brad. You're not going to kick him out of bed for eating crackers.
'Don't worry, though, I'm sure she's not that pretty in real life,' Darcy says, assuming all women are like her and need to be consoled whenever they run across someone prettier.
'Uh-huh,' I say.
'I mean, makeup artists can work absolute wonders,' she says knowingly, as if she has been in the industry for years. She pulls the blanket down from the back of my sofa and wraps herself in it. 'I like it here.'
So does Dex.
'You cold?' I ask.
'No. I just want to be all comfy-cozy.'
We watch videos until I almost forget about Dcx. As much as you can forget someone you're in love with. Then, out of the blue, during a Janet Jackson video, Darcy asks me a question I never anticipated:
'Should I marry Dexter?'
I freeze. 'Why are you asking that?'
'I don't know.'
'There must be some reason,' I say, trying to appear calm.
'Do you think I should be with someone more laid-back? Like I am?'
'Dex is laid-back.'
'No he's not! He's totally type A.'
'You think?' I ask. Maybe he is. I guess I just don't see him that way.
'Totally.'
I mute the television and look at her as if to say, go on, I am ready to be a really good listener. I think of putting on your 'listening cap' in elementary school, fastening the imaginary strap under your chin as the boys always did. I swallow, pause, and then say, 'It concerns me that you're asking this question. What's on your mind?'
I can feel my heart thumping as I await her answer.
'I don't know… Sometimes the relationship just seems a bit tired. Boring. Is that a bad sign?' She looks at me plaintively.
This is my chance. I have an opening. I consider what I could say, how easily I could manipulate her. But somehow I can't do it. I am already doing the unspeakable, but at least I will be fair about it. I am conflicted out, as they say at my firm. I can't take her case.
'I really don't know, Darce. Only you and Dexter can know whether you are right for each other. But you should really examine your concerns carefully-marriage is a very serious step. Maybe you should postpone,' I say.
'Postpone the wedding?'
'Maybe.'
Darcy's bottom lip protrudes and her brow furrows. I am sure that tears are imminent when her eyes dart over to the television. She brightens. 'Oh! I love this video! Turn it up! Turn it up!'
I unmute the television and turn up the volume. Darcy bobs up and down, doing a head and torso dance,
