Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin Page B

Darcy."
    "Yeah," he says. "I hear you."
    We start the typical first-date conversation, discussing our jobs,
    our families and general backgrounds. We cover his Internet
    start-up that went under and his move to New York.
    Our food
    arrives. We eat and talk and order another bottle of wine. There is
    more laughter than silence. I am even comfortable enough to take
    a bite of his lamb when he offers it to me.
    After dinner, Marcus pays the bill. It is always an awkward
    moment for me, although offering to pay (whether sincerely or
    with the fake reach for the wallet) is so much more awkward. I
    thank him, and we make our way to the door, where we decide to
    get another drink.
    "You pick a place," Marcus says
    I choose a new bar that just opened near my apartment.
    We get in
    a cab, talking the whole way to the Upper East Side.
    Then we sit at
    the bar, talking more.
    I ask him to tell me about his hometown in Montana.
    He pauses
    for a beat and then says he has a good story for me.
    "Only about ten percent of my senior class went to college," he
    starts. "Most students don't even bother with SATs at my high
    school. But I took the thing, did fine on it, applied to Georgetown,
    and got in. Of course, I didn't mention it to anyone at school just
    went about my business, hanging with my boys and whatnot.
    Then the faculty catches wind of the Georgetown thing and one
    day my math teacher, Mr. Gilhooly, takes it upon himself to
    announce my good news to the class."
    He shakes his head as if the memory is painful. "So everyone was
    like, 'So what? Big fucking deal.'" Marcus imitates his bored
    classmates by folding his arms across his chest and then patting
    his mouth with an open hand. "And I guess their reaction pissed
    Mr. Gilhooly off. He wanted them to truly grasp the depth of their
    inadequacies and future doom. So he proceeded to draw this big
    graph on the board showing my earning potential with a college
    degree versus their earning potential bussing tables at Shoney's.
    And how the gap would get worse and worse with time."
    "No way!"
    "Yeah. So they're all sitting there like, 'Fuck Marcus,'
    right? Like I
    think I'm hot shit 'cause I'm going to make six figures someday. I
    wanted to kill that dude." Marcus throws up his hands.
    "Thanks
    for nothing, Mr. Gilhooly. Way to win me some friends."
    I laugh.
    "So what the fuck am I supposed to do now? I gotta fight the
    image of dork gunner boy, right? So I go out of my way to show
    everybody I don't give a shit about academics. Started smokin'
    weed every day, and never stopped the practice in college. Hence,
    well, you know, my finishing next to last at Georgetown. I'm sure
    you've heard about the remote?" he asks, peeling the label off his
    Heineken.
    I smile and tap his hand. "Yeah. I know the story.
    Except the
    version I heard was that you were dead last."
    "Aww, man!" Marcus shakes his head. "Dex never gets that shit
    right. My one-point-six-seven beat someone out! Next to last,
    dude! Next to last!"
    After two drinks, I glance at my watch and say it's getting late.
    "Okay. I'll walk you home?"
    "Sure."
    We stroll over to Third Avenue and stop in front of my apartment.
    "Well, good night, Marcus. Thank you so much for dinner. I had a
    really nice time," I say, meaning it.
    "Yeah. So did I. It was good." He licks his lips quickly.
    I know
    what is coming. "And I'm glad we're in the same house this
    summer."
    "I am too."
    Then he asks if he can kiss me. It is a question I don't usually like.
    Just do it, I always think. But for some reason it doesn't bother me
    coming from Marcus.
    I nod and he leans over and gives me a medium-long kiss.
    We separate. My heart isn't palpitating, but I am content.
    "You think Darcy and Dex bet on that?" he asks.
    I laugh because I had been wondering the same thing.
    "How did it go?" Darcy yells into the phone the next morning.
    I am just out of the shower, dripping wet. "Where are you?"
    "In the car with Dex. We're on our way back to the city,"