'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 interest 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.'
