Romance Through the Ages

by Amy Harmon

  Oh my goodness. That smile. And I wanted to float away in his eyes.

  I loved this movie and it was going to end much too quickly. Finally Mr. Bingley, who turned out to be more adorable than goofy proposed to beautiful Jane. And then there was the hateful aunt. Rich snob! No wonder Mr. Darcy was so arrogant. And then Elizabeth couldn’t sleep because she knew she was in love with Mr. Darcy, so she went for an early morning walk in the meadow.

  The meadow.

  During the forty-five seconds that Mr. Darcy walked across the meadow, my life changed. Each long stride he took toward me—I mean Elizabeth—lodged itself in my heart and I would never be the same. The mist, the sunrise, the trench coat, and the sweet declaration of his love melded into the most beautiful few minutes I’d ever seen and I was bewitched body and soul.

  I felt a terrible emptiness when the movie ended. Mom and Janessa started talking almost immediately but I didn’t listen to them. I sat perfectly still, listening as the piano music filled my soul.

  When the lights came up, I followed Mom and Janessa out of the theater to the chilly, almost-empty parking lot. “Did you like it?” Mom asked. I nodded. “What about you, Janessa?”

  “It was much better than I thought it would be,” she said. “At least I’m not dreading the book so much now.”

  “You’ll love the book,” Mom said.

  “I’ll understand it better now that I’ve seen the movie,” Janessa said. “Lizzie? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You have a funny look on your face.”

  I shook myself back to the present. “No, you have a funny look on your face.” Maybe sarcasm could rescue me. I couldn’t let them know how utterly transformed I was.

  Janessa shook her head. “Whatever.”

  That night I couldn’t fall asleep. Something had happened to me. I was no longer the person I’d been just a few short hours ago. I didn’t think about Jake from the soccer team, the boy who’d been my crush for the last six months. I no longer cared if he noticed me or not. He was just a boy, after all.

  That night a dream was born. I’d discovered what I wanted, what I knew someday I must have. I knew I could never be satisfied until I found it.

  I wanted my own Mr. Darcy.

  Chapter Two

  Six Years Later

  Janessa walked into the kitchen stretching like a cat awakened after a century of slumber. Even in the morning, with her short, dark hair sticking up in all directions, she was beautiful. Janessa was the much prettier half of our best-friends duo. Her blue eyes and fair skin seemed lit from within, ethereal almost. My light, wavy hair and the freckles across my nose and cheeks would never inspire people to call me beautiful. Cute was the word most often used, if anyone commented on my looks at all.

  “Oh, you’re still here,” she said. “I thought you’d be gone to work already.” Janessa was a manager at Urban Elegance, a boutique women’s clothing store in the mall. She didn’t have to be to work until nearly ten so I was usually gone before she got up.

  “I needed a good breakfast this morning. There’s a teller meeting during lunch and Delia always orders the worst food. I may not get anything decent to eat until tonight.”

  “How was your big date yesterday? I wanted a full report but you were already asleep when I came in.” Janessa pulled out a bowl and rattled through the spoons. Everything she did in the kitchen made noise. Even by herself, she sounded like an entire staff of energetic sous chefs. She loudly shuffled through a half dozen boxes of cereal before settling on Cheerios.

  “It was fine but it wasn’t a big date. It was lunch.”

  “Was there potential?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What was wrong with this one?”

  “Who said there was anything wrong with him?”

  “You don’t have a list of objections for me?” Janessa raised one eyebrow, a talent I couldn’t master no matter how hard I tried.

  “I don’t have objections about everyone I date,” I said.

  “So when are you going out again?”

  “Probably never.”

  “So there was something wrong with him.” Janessa said.

  “No, there wasn’t. He was a perfect gentleman,” I said.

  “Then why don’t you want to go out with him again?” I shrugged. “Listen Lizzie. Any guy who gets up the courage to ask a girl out at the grocery store should get a few bonus points. Go out with him again.”

  Last week I’d been standing in the Asian aisle of the grocery store picking up some curry paste and coconut milk. “Do you actually drink coconut milk?” a tall, cute guy asked.

  “I suppose you could but I don’t know anyone who does. I use it for chicken curry.”

  “Sounds interesting. You like Indian food?”

  “It’s actually Thai.”

  “I haven’t had Thai food for years. I don’t know why. I think I liked it.”

  “I start craving it at least once a month. Sometimes I get it from Pok Pok and sometimes I make it myself.”

  “Pok Pok?” he’d asked.

  “It’s over on Division Street. If you like Thai, you should try it. The food is amazing.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. I’m Chad, by the way.” I shook his outstretched hand. I couldn’t help but smile. It was cute that he’d shake my hand in the grocery store.

  “I’m Lizzie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lizzie. I’m just stocking up on ramen.” He waved a little plastic pouch of ramen and put it back in his basket.

  “Ramen has its place,” I said.

  “I agree. It makes a quick and easy lunch.” We looked at each other for a moment longer than was comfortable. He smiled a slightly crooked smile. “Well, I guess I’ll take my ramen and run. Thanks for the recommendation. I’ll have to try Pok Pok sometime.”

  “Sure.” I watched as he walked away. When he reached the end of the aisle, he turned around and walked back to me.

  “I just have to ask. Would you mind if I called you sometime? Maybe we could meet for lunch or something?”

  “Oh, um…” He was cute and earnest but I could already tell there was no future.

  “Unless you’re not available. You probably have a boyfriend, right?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Then can I call you?”

  “Uh, sure. I guess so.”

  “Great.” Chad handed me his cellphone and I punched in my number. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” He put his phone back in his pocket and shook my hand again before he left.

  He’d called me two nights ago. We’d met for lunch yesterday.

  “I just wasn’t interested,” I said to Janessa. “Can we leave it at that?”

  Janessa folded her arms and looked at me for so long I started to squirm. “What?”

  “I wish you’d look at yourself. You’re ruining your life with this stupid obsession.”

  “I’m not obsessed.” I stood up quickly, nearly tipping my chair over. I rinsed my plate and put it in the dishwasher. I could feel Janessa’s eyes on me the entire time, but I refused to look at her. “And just because I’m not interested in this guy doesn’t mean my life is ruined.”

  “Let me guess. Was he blond?”

  “Knock it off.”

  “Too short?”

  “He wasn’t short. I’ve got to go.” I left the kitchen with Janessa on my heels.

  “Was he too cheerful?”

  “Oh brother. I’m not having this conversation with you.”

  Janessa grabbed my arm and turned me toward her. “Yes, you are.”

  “I’m going to be late for work.”

  “Then we’d better talk fast.”

  “I don’t have anything to say,” I said.

  “Then I’ll talk. You listen. You have to start giving these guys a chance.”

  I folded my arms tightly. “I give them a chance.”

  “You give them one date, two at the mos
t. But you’re not really giving them a chance because your mind’s already made up before you even go out.”

  I was getting annoyed. “I don’t have time for this conversation again.” Janessa was practically reciting word for word what she’d said after my last date. And the one before that.

  “Lizzie. If you don’t want to have the same conversation, do something different. Shake things up a little.” She smiled and did a little shimmy. I refused to smile no matter how silly she looked.

  “How do you suggest I do that?”

  “If this guy… What’s his name?”

  “Chad.”

  “If Chad calls you back, go out with him again.”

  I sighed. “I don’t see the point.”

  “Did you get a serial killer vibe from him?”

  “No, I got a nice-guy-that-doesn’t-deserve-to-be-led-on vibe from him.”

  “Nice guys are good. So you’ll say yes, right?”

  “If I’m not interested, it wouldn’t be fair to say yes.”

  “Oh knock off the baloney. You haven’t been fair to a guy since high school. You’re just afraid if you get to know a guy, you might like him. And wouldn’t that be awful? Was Chad funny?”

  “Yes, he was funny.”

  “Handsome?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know if I’d call him handsome, but he was cute.”

  “Cute is good. Especially if he was funny. So go out with him again.”

  “You act like it’s all up to me.” I walked to the closet and collected my purse. Like a tiger leaping on her prey, Janessa pounced at the bowl on the entry table and grabbed my car keys. “This isn’t funny, Janessa. I’m going to be late for work.”

  “Then let’s make a deal. You agree to go out with him ten times before you toss him aside and I’ll give you your keys.”

  “Ten times? No way.”

  “That’ll give you time to get to know him.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I’m serious, Lizzie. Ten is a good number. In that amount of time, you can make a real decision. Instead of one based on a stupid movie.”

  Now Janessa was skipping through a minefield. “It’s not a stupid movie and I’ve got to go.”

  “It’s the stupidest movie in the world if it ruins your life.”

  “Nothing’s ruining my life and I’m going to be late. Give me my keys and we’ll talk about this later.” A little tussle ensued as I tried to rescue my keys from her clutches. I almost had them when she darted to the bathroom and shut the door hard and fast, locking it behind her. “This is real mature.”

  “I don’t care about mature. You’re my best friend, Lizzie. I love you and I’m trying to save you from yourself.”

  I banged on the door. “Give me the keys. Now.” My voice had become shrieky.

  “I’ll give you the keys as soon as you promise you’ll go out with him ten times.”

  “I doubt he’ll ask me out again.”

  “Why? Were you a jerk?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I hesitated, knowing I hadn’t been very good company. “I’m pretty sure.”

  “If he doesn’t ask you out, you have to ask him.”

  “No way am I asking out a guy ten times. No way!”

  “You just have to ask him out once. If he doesn’t return the favor you can move on. But you have to be nice to him and give him a reason to want to ask you out again.”

  “This is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had.”

  “Listen Liz, I’m doing this for you. Give a guy a chance before you give him the old heave-ho.”

  I leaned my head on the door. “Just give me the keys. Please.” Now I was whining.

  “You’re the one keeping yourself from your keys. And probably true love.”

  I looked at my watch. Now I’d have to risk a speeding ticket or get to work five minutes late. I wasn’t sure which was worse—a ticket from a police officer or a tongue-lashing from Delia.

  “Fine. I’ll go out with him again if he asks me.”

  “And?”

  “If he doesn’t ask me, I’ll ask him?”

  “Right. And how many times will you go out with him?”

  “Way too many,” I said under my breath.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “Ten times. If he asks me.”

  The door cracked open. “And you’ll be nice to him?”

  “Whatever you say. Now give me the keys.”

  Janessa emerged from the bathroom and triumphantly dropped my keys into my outstretched hand.

  “You’re an idiot,” I said.

  “An idiot that loves you and wants you to be happy,” she said. She turned and headed down the hall. “Someday you’ll thank me,” she sang.

  “If I don’t kill you first.” I slammed the door behind me.

  Chapter Three

  “You have to call him today,” Janessa said. “Before you go to bed. I don’t know why you don’t just do it and get it over with.”

  “I don’t want to call him. If he wanted to go out with me again, he’d have asked me by now.”

  “He’s probably afraid to. If a guy doesn’t look and act like Matthew Macfadyen, he’s out of luck. Matthew Macfadyen is married and has two kids. It’s time to branch out.”

  “I’ll call him tomorrow.”

  “Sorry Lizzie. You’re calling him tonight. I’m not letting you go to sleep until you do. Give me his number and I’ll dial it for you.”

  “I can dial it myself. If I decide to call him.”

  I’d hoped Janessa would forget about this crazy agreement, but her reminders had become more and more persistent the last few days. I should have called him right away instead of waiting two weeks. Now it was sure to be even more humiliating.

  A thousand times I wished I’d never mentioned my adoration of Matthew Macfadyen’s Mr. Darcy to Janessa. We’d been seniors in high school when Janessa’s parents went on a Western Caribbean cruise and asked if she could stay with us for a week. Late one night, when my defenses were down, I’d confessed all. Well, almost all.

  “Whatever happened with Luke?” Janessa had asked. “You crushed on him for so long and then when he finally asked you out, you didn’t even care.”

  “I don’t know. I guess I just realized he wasn’t my type.”

  “Since when do you have a type?”

  “I didn’t used to, but I guess I do now.”

  Janessa giggled. “Spill it. What’s your type?”

  I thought about Mr. Darcy. “Tall. Definitely tall.” Tall enough to look out over a crowd of people and hold my gaze with his.

  “Luke’s tall.”

  I shook my head. “I like dark hair. And just a little long so it can be tousled and a little messy in the wind.” Or on a gorgeous gazebo. Or a misty meadow.

  Janessa rolled her eyes. “Did you seriously just use the world ‘tousled?’”

  “You know what I mean. A little messy. Not too perfect. And I like blue eyes.” Eyes that are bright and piercing at times and cloudy and smoldering at other times. Eyes that find me no matter where I am in a room. Eyes that show love when he’s looking at me, disappointment if I reject him and concern if someone in my family does something foolish.

  “Wow, that’s pretty specific,” Janessa said. “Does this ‘type’ have an actual name?”

  I didn’t want to tell her who it was. She’d think I was crazy if I told her I was in love with Mr. Darcy. And not just any Mr. Darcy, but a very specific Mr. Darcy. A Mr. Darcy that looked and sounded exactly like Matthew Macfadyen.

  After I’d given my heart away in that movie theater the year before, I’d immersed myself in all things Darcy. I’d looked up Matthew Macfadyen on the internet and discovered that, while he was pretty handsome in all his movies, his career might as well have started and stopped with “Pride and Prejudice.” It was in that role that he was perfect. Perfectly perfect in every way.

  I’d read Pride and Pr
ejudice with a highlighter in hand, marking each word Mr. Darcy uttered. I’d watched the six-hour version with my mom and even though I liked it, I wanted to hear my Mr. Darcy—the Matthew Macfadyen Mr. Darcy—say those lines. I read reviews and wondered at the women who preferred Colin Firth to my Matthew. Colin’s face wasn’t as expressive and he never took my breath away.

  Yes, my type was specific. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley specific.

  “Lizzie, are you thinking about someone in particular?”

  “No, why?”

  “Your eyes just got really far away and dreamy. Come on. Tell me who you’re thinking about.”

  “No one in particular,” I said.

  “You’re lying to me. Come on, spill it. You know I won’t leave you alone until you do.” Janessa was good at getting her way. She used a variety of tactics—nagging, threats of public embarrassment and when all else failed, sweetness.

  And so I told her. “I think my type is like Mr. Darcy.”

  Janessa looked confused. “I thought you hated that movie.”

  “I didn’t hate it. I actually liked it a lot. And someday I want someone just like Mr. Darcy.”

  Janessa swooned. “Who wouldn’t?”

  We watched “the real Pride and Prejudice” three times during the week she stayed with us. She was the perfect person to share my secret with because she nodded when I pointed out my favorite parts and she didn’t care when I watched the meadow scene over and over.

  Unfortunately, the friend who had kept my secret all these years had watched me govern my dating life by what she now called “my unrealistic Darcy expectations.” Where once she’d been my ally in my desire to find my own Mr. Darcy, she had now become my enemy. Well, not really my enemy. Just where Mr. Darcy was concerned.

  Lately, she’d been on a crusade to get me to “open myself up to other possibilities.” Why didn’t she just say it? She wanted me to settle. Like right now, for instance.

  “Call him, Lizzie. Before it gets embarrassingly late,” she said and tossed my phone onto the couch beside me. “I mean it.”

  I knew if I didn’t call, she’d jump on my bed or blare country music at 3 a.m., so I reluctantly dialed his number. On the fourth ring, his voicemail picked up. “Hey, this is Chad. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back.”