'Well, let me take you back there.'
We get in bed. He pulls the covers over us.
'You feel so good,' he says, caressing my side and moving his hand under my nightgown. I start to block him, but then acquiesce. Our eyes meet before he kisses me slowly. No matter how disappointed I am in him, I can't imagine stopping this tide. I am almost motionless as he makes love to me. He talks the whole time, which he doesn't usually do. I can't make out exactly what he is saying, but I hear the word 'forever.' He wants to be with me forever, I think. He won't marry Darcy. He can't. She cheated on him. They aren't in love. He loves me.
Dex spoons me as tears seep onto my pillow.
'You're so quiet tonight,' Dex says.
'Yeah,' I say, keeping my voice steady. I don't want him to know that I'm crying. The last thing I want is Dexter's pity. I am passive and weak, but I have some-albeit limited-pride.
'Talk to me,' he says. 'What's on your mind?'
I come close to asking him about the invitation, his plans, us, but instead I make my voice nonchalant. 'Nothing really… I was just wondering if you're going to the Hamptons this weekend.'
'I sort of promised Marcus that I would. He wants to golf again.'
'Oh.'
'I guess you wouldn't consider coming?'
'I don't think it's a good idea.'
'Please?'
'I don't think so.'
He kisses the back of my head. 'Please. Please come.'
Three little 'please's is all it takes.
'Okay,' I whisper. 'I'll go.'
I fall asleep hating myself.
The next day Hillary bursts into my office. 'Guess what I got in the mail.' Her tone is accusatory, not at all sympathetic.
I completely overlooked the fact that Hillary would be receiving an invitation too. I have no response prepared for her. 'I know,' I say.
'So you have your answer.'
'He could still cancel,' I say.
'Rachel!'
'There's still time. You gave him two weeks, remember? He still has a few more days.'
Hillary raises her eyebrows and coughs disdainfully. 'Have you seen him recently?'
I start to lie, but don't have the energy. 'Last night.'
She gives me a wide-eyed look of disbelief. 'Did you tell him you got the invitation?'
'No.'
'Rachel!'
'I know,' I say, feeling ashamed.
'Please tell me you aren't one of those women.'
I know the type she is talking about. The woman who carries on a relationship with a married man for years, hoping, even believing, that he will one day come to his senses and leave his wife. The moment is just around the corner-if she only hangs in there, she won't be sorry in the end. But time passes, and the years only create fresh excuses. The kids are still in school, the wife is sick, a wedding is being planned, a grandchild is on the way. There is always something, a reason to keep the status quo. But then the excuses run out, and ultimately she accepts that there will be no leaving, that she will always be the second-place finisher. She decides that second place is better than nothing. She surrenders to her fate. I have new empathy for these women, although I do not believe that I have yet joined their ranks.
'That's not a fair characterization,' I say.
She gives me an 'Oh, really?' look.
'Dexter's not married.'
'You're right. He's not married. But he is engaged. Which might be worse. He can change his situation like that.' She snaps her fingers. 'But he's not doing a damn thing.'
'Look, Hillary, we are talking about a finite timetable… I can only be one of those women for a month more.'
'A month? You're going to let this thing go down to the wire?'
I look away, out my window.
'Rachel, why are you waiting?'
'I want it to be his decision. I don't want to be responsible…'
'Why not?'
I shrug. If she knew about Darcy's infidelity, she'd be over the edge.
She sighs. 'You want my advice?'
I do not, but nod anyway.
'You should dump him. Now. Do something while you still have a choice. The longer this goes on, the worse you are going to feel when you're standing in front of that church, watching them seal their vows with a kiss that Darcy will drag on for longer than is tasteful… Then watching them cut the cake and feed one another while she smears icing on his face. Then watching them dance the night away… and then-'
'I know. I know.'
Hillary isn't finished. 'And then darting into the night on their getaway to frickin' Hawaii!'
I wince and tell her that I get the picture.
'I just don't understand why you won't do something, force his hand. Something.'
I tell her again that I don't want to be responsible for their breakup, that I want it to be Dexter's decision.
'It will be his decision. You won't be brainwashing him. You'll simply be going for what you want. Why aren't you being more assertive about something so significant and important?'
I have no explanation for her. At least none that she would find acceptable. My phone rings, interrupting our awkward silence.
I glance at the screen on my phone. 'It's Les. I better take it,' I say, feeling relief that the inquisition is over. It is a sad day when I am grateful to hear from Les.
Later that afternoon, I take a break from my research and roll my chair over to my window. I peer down on Park Avenue, watching people move about their daily lives. How many of them feel desperate, euphoric, or simply dead inside? I wonder if any of them are on the verge of losing something huge. If they already have. I close my eyes and picture the wedding scenes that Hillary painted for me. I then add my own honeymoon reel-Darcy clad in her new lingerie, posing seductively on their bed. I can see it all so perfectly.
And suddenly, all at once, it is clear to me why I won't force Dex's hand. Why I said nothing over July Fourth, nothing in the time since, nothing last night. It all comes down to expectations. In my heart, I don't actually believe that Dex is going to call off the wedding and be with me, no matter what I do or say. I believe that those Dex and Darcy wedding and honeymoon scenes will unfold while I am left on the sidelines, alone. I can already feel my grief, can envision my final time with Dex, if it hasn't happened already. Sure, I have occasionally scripted a different ending, one in which Dex and I are together, but those images are always short-lived, never escaping the realm of 'what if.' In short, I have no real faith in my own happiness. And then there is Darcy. She is a woman who believes that things should fall into her lap, and consequently, they do. They always have. She wins because she expects to win. I do not expect to get what I want, so I don't. And I don't even try.
It is Saturday afternoon, and we're in the Hamptons. I took the train out this morning, and now our whole group is reunited in the backyard. The togetherness is a recipe for disaster. Julian and Hillary are playing badminton. They ask if anyone wants to challenge them in a doubles match. Dex says sure, he will. Hillary glares at him. 'Who do you want to be your partner, Dexter?'
Until this point, Dexter did not know that I told Hillary anything about us. I had two reasons for keeping him in the dark on this: I didn't want him to feel uncomfortable around her, and I didn't want him to have free license to tell a friend.
