But Hillary makes her snide remark in a way that you simply cannot miss if you are aware of the situation. Which apparently Julian is, because he gives her a look of warning. It has become clear that he will be the steadying force in their duo.
She does not stop there. 'Well, Dex, who is it going to be?' She rests her hand on her hip and points at him with her racquet.
Dex stares back at Hillary. His jaw clenches. He is pissed.
'What if two people both want to be your partner, then what?' Hillary's voice is dripping with innuendo.
Darcy seems oblivious to the tension. So do Marcus and Claire. Perhaps everyone is used to Hillary's occasional confrontational tone. Maybe they just chalk it up to the lawyer in her.
Dex turns around and looks at us. 'Any of you guys wanna play?'
Marcus waves his hand dismissively. 'Naw, man. No, thanks. That's a girly game.'
Darcy giggles. 'Yeah, Dex. You're a girly man.'
Claire says no, she hates sports.
'Badminton is hardly a sport,' Marcus says, opening a can of Bud-weiser. 'It's like calling tic-tac-toe a sport.'
'Looks like it's between Darcy and Rachel. Doesn't it?' Hillary says. 'You want in, Rach?'
I am frozen at my post at the picnic table, flanked by Darcy and Claire.
'No, thanks,' I say softly.
'You want me to be your partner, honey?' Darcy asks. She looks across the yard at Dex as she shades her eyes with her hand.
'Sure,' he says. 'C'mon then.'
Hillary snorts as Darcy hops up from the table with a warning that she sucks at badminton.
Dex looks down at the grass, waiting for Darcy to take the fourth racquet and join him in the plot of grass outlined by various flip-flops and sneakers.
'We play to ten,' Hillary says, tossing the bird up for her first serve.
'Why do you get to serve first?' Dex asks.
'Here,' she says, tossing the bird over the net. 'By all means.'
Dex catches the bird and glares at her.
The game is cutthroat, at least every time Hillary and Dex have control. The bird is their ammunition and they smack it with full force, aiming at one another. Marcus does the color in a Howard Cosell voice. 'And the mood is tense here in East Hampton as both sides strive for the championship.' Claire is cheering for everyone. I say nothing.
The score is 9-8, Hillary and Julian lead. Julian serves underhand. Darcy squeals and swats with her eyes closed and through sheer luck happens to make contact with the bird. She sends it back across the net to Hillary. Hillary lines up her shot and hits a vicious forearm that conjures Venus Williams. The bird sails through the air, whizzing just over the net toward Darcy. Darcy cowers, preparing to swat at the bird, as
Dex yells, 'It's out! It's out!' His face is red and covered with beads of sweat.
The bird lands squarely beside Claire's flip-flop.
'Out!' Dexter yells, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm.
'Bullshit. The line is good!' Hillary shouts back. 'That's match!'
Marcus offers good-naturedly that he doesn't think a badminton game should be called a match. Claire is up off the bench, trotting over to the bird to examine its alignment with her shoe. Hillary and Julian join her from their side of the net. There are five pairs of eyes peering down at the bird. Julian says that it is a tough call. Hillary glares at him before she and Dex resume their shouting of 'out' and 'in,' like a couple of playground enemies.
Claire announces a 'do-over' in her best 'let's make peace' voice. But clearly she was not an outdoor girl growing up because declaring a do-over is one of the biggest causes of dissension in the neighborhood. Hillary proves this to be the case. 'Bullshit,' she says. 'No do-over. The line has been in all day.'
'All day? We've been playing for twenty minutes,' Dex says snidely.
'I don't think it's landed on the line yet,' Darcy offers. But not as if she cares. As competitive as she is in real-life matters, sports and games do not concern her. She bought properties in Monopoly based on color; she thought the little houses were so much cuter than the 'big, nasty Red Roof Inns.'
'Fine. If you want to cheat your way through life,' Hillary says to Dex, disguising her true intent with a friendly smile, as though simply engaging in playful banter. Her eyes are wide, innocent.
I think I might faint.
'Okay, you win,' Dex says to Hillary, as if he could not care less. Let Hillary win her stupid game.
Hillary doesn't want it this way. She looks disoriented, unsure whether to reargue the point or savor her victory. I am afraid of what she will say next.
Dex tosses his racquet in the grass under a tree. 'I'm gonna take a shower,' he says, heading for the house.
'He's pissed,' Darcy says, offering us a blinding glimpse of the obvious. Of course, she thinks it's about the game. 'Dex hates to lose.'
'Yeah, well he can be a big baby,' Hillary says with disgust.
I note (with satisfaction? hope? superiority?) that Darcy does not defend Dex. If he were mine, I'd say something. Of course, if he were mine, Hillary would not have been so merciless in the first place.
I give her a measured glance, as if to say, enough.
She shrugs, plops down in the grass, and scratches a mosquito bite on her ankle until it bleeds. She swipes at the blood with a blade of grass, then looks up at me again.
'Well?' she says defiantly.
That night, Dex is so quiet at dinner that he borders on surly. But I cannot tell if he is mad at Hillary, or at me for telling her. He ignores both of us. Hillary ignores him right back, except for an occasional barb, while I make feeble attempts to talk to him.
'What are you ordering?' I ask him as he scans his menu.
He refuses to look up. 'I'm not sure.'
'Go figure,' Hillary mumbles. 'Why don't you order two meals?'
Julian squeezes her shoulder and shoots me an apologetic look.
Dex turns in his chair toward Marcus and manages to avoid all conversation and eye contact with me and Hillary for the rest of our dinner. I am seized by worry. Are you mad? Are you mad? Are you mad? I think as I struggle to eat my swordfish. Please don't be mad. I am desperate, frantic to talk to Dex and clear the air for our remaining time together. I don't want to end on such a sour note.
Later at the Talkhouse, Dex and I are finally alone. I am ready to apologize for Hillary when he turns on me, his green eyes flashing. 'Why the hell did you tell her?' he hisses.
I am not well trained in conflict and feel startled by his hostility. I give him a blank look, pretending to be confused. Should I apologize? Offer an explanation? I know we had an unspoken vow of secrecy, but I had to tell someone.
'Hillary. You told her,' he says, brushing a piece of hair off his forehead. I note that he is even hotter when he's angry-his jaw somehow more square.
I push this observation aside as something snaps inside me. How dare he be angry with me! I have done nothing to him! Why am I the one feeling frantic, desperate to be forgiven?
'I can tell anyone I want,' I say, surprised by the hardness in my voice.
'Tell her to stay outta this,' he says.
'Stay out of what, Dex? Our fucked-up relationship?'
He looks startled. And then hurt. Good.
'It's not fucked up,' he says. 'The situation is, but our relationship is not.'
'You're engaged, Dexter.' My indignation boils into fury. 'You can't separate that from our relationship.'
'I know. I'm still engaged… but you hooked up with Marcus.'
'What?'I ask, incredulous.
'You kissed him at Aubette.'
I can't believe what I'm hearing-he is engaged and is finding fault with a nothing little kiss! I fleetingly wonder how long he has known and why he hasn't said anything before now. I fight back the instinct to be
