Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin Page A

means.
    "So would you like to start with something to drink?"
    "Yeah Think we're going with a bottle of red. What do you
    recommend?" He squints at the menu.
    "The Marjorie pinot noir is superb." She points down at the wine
    list.
    "Fine. That one then. Perfect."
    She flashes another prim smile my way. "And are you ready to
    order?"
    "Yes, I think we are," I say, and then order the garden salad and
    tuna.
    "And how would you like that done?"
    "Medium," I say.
    Marcus orders the pea soup and the lamb.
    "Excellent choices," our waitress says, with an affected tilt of the
    head. She gathers our menus and turns on her heels.
    "Man," Marcus says.
    "What?"
    "That chick has zero personality."
    I laugh.
    He smiles. "Where were we? Oh yeah, the Hamptons."
    "Right."
    "So Dex says it's never a good idea to go out with someone in your
    own house. And I'm like, 'Dude, I'm not playin' by your dumb East
    Coast rules.' If we end up hating each other, we hate each other."
    "I don't think we're going to hate each other," I say.
    Our waitress returns with the wine, uncorks the bottle, and pours
    some into his glass. Marcus takes a healthy sip and reports that
    it's great, skipping the usual pretentious ceremony. You can tell a
    lot about a guy by watching him take that first sip of wine. It's not
    a good sign when he does the whole swirling thing, burying his
    nose into the glass, taking a slow, thoughtful sip, pausing with a
    furrowed brow followed by a slight nod so as not to appear too
    enthusiastic, as if to say, this passes, but I have had plenty better.
    If he is truly a wine connoisseur, that's one thing. But it is usually
    just a bunch of show, painful to observe.
    As our waitress pours my wine, I ask Marcus if he knows about
    the bet.
    He shakes his head. "What bet?"
    I wait until we are alone again it's bad enough that our waitress
    knows this is a first date. "Dex and Darcy had a bet about whether
    I'd say yes when you asked me out."
    "Get outta here." He drops his jaw for effect. "Who thought you'd
    go and who thought you'd diss me?"
    "Oh. I forget." I pretend to be confused. "That's not the point. The
    point is "
    "That they are so up and in our business!" He shakes his head.
    "Bastards."
    "I know."
    He lifts his glass. "To eluding Dex and Darcy. No sharing details of
    tonight with those nosy bastards."
    I laugh. "No matter how great or how bad our date is!"
    Our glasses touch and we sip in unison.
    "This date is not going to be bad. Trust me on that."
    I smile. "I trust you."
    / do trust him, I think. There is something disarming about his
    sense of humor, and easy, Midwestern style. And he's not engaged
    to Darcy. A nice bonus.
    Then, as if on cue, Marcus asks me how long I've known Darcy.
    "Twenty-some years. First time I saw her she was all dressed up in
    this fancy little sundress, and I was wearing these dumb Winniethe-Pooh shorts from Sears. I thought, now there's a girl with
    style."
    Marcus laughs. "I bet you looked cute in your Pooh shorts."
    "Not quite"
    "And then you were the one who introduced Darcy and Dex, right?
    He said you were good friends in law school?"
    Right. My good friend Dex. The last person I slept with.
    "Uh-huh. I met him first semester of law school. I knew right away
    that he and Darcy would make a good match," I say. A bit of an
    exaggeration, but I want to set the record straight that I never
    considered Dex for myself. Which I didn't. And still don't.
    "They even look alike No mystery as to how their kids will turn
    out."
    "Yes. They will be beautiful." I feel an inexplicable knot in my
    chest, picturing Dex and Darcy cradling their newborn.
    For some
    reason, I had never thought beyond the wedding in September.
    "What?" Marcus asks, obviously catching my expression. Which
    doesn't mean that he is perceptive, necessarily; my face is just less
    than inscrutable. It is a curse.
    "Nothing," I say. Then I smile and sit up a bit straighter. It is time
    for a transition. "Enough about Dex and