by Ari Rhoge
Elizabeth tried to swipe at her from the driver's seat, and Jane dodged it, giggling. Lydia opened her eyes blearily, and nestled her face into Jane's knee. “You guys are disgusting,” she mumbled.
“Hey there, Shitty Beauty,” drawled Lizzy. “Let's get some food in you. How does Mexican sound?”
“Mmm.”
Lizzy's eyes flickered back to Jane in the mirror, whose smile had faded. She had asked her a couple of questions about Charlie again on the way to Atlantic City, but had stayed tight-lipped on the subject ever since then. He was circulating in her mind again — it was cruel, but Lizzy was hopeful. Perhaps it was for the best.
• • •
It was decided that it was better that Lydia stay at Elizabeth's apartment for a little while, to wait for the storm that was her mother to blow over and lose most of its thunderclouds. The girl dragged herself to Lizzy's bed, pulled the lilac comforter up and over her head, and slept until six o'clock.
It was dark outside when she stumbled into the kitchen, comforter and all wound about her tiny frame. Rain was pattering on the window outside. Lydia pulled out a chair by the island, and sunk into it. Elizabeth, standing across from her, put the kettle on. Jane was flipping through an issue of Cosmopolitan at the kitchen table.
“Mom's on her way.”
Lydia drew in a breath. “This is gonna be brutal.”
“Sorry, kiddo.” Lizzy tilted her head, sympathetically. “Go wash the make-up off your pretty face. And then come back in and I'll fix you a cup of tea — peppermint still your favorite?”
She nodded, miserably.
• • •
It was brutal. Full of loud, screaming arguments and lots of tears. But, at the end of 45 minutes or so, Lydia was pressed up against her mother's chest, her arms around her waist — and Tess Bennet sniffled, into her hair, “don't you ever scare me like that again!” Lydia's profuse apologies echoed back in response.
They ordered pizza for dinner. The only missing Bennet was Mary, who had just started her first-year fall-2011 semester in New York City, at the School of Visual Arts.
John looked around the apartment distastefully, pulling his mouth into a grimace. “Lizzy, did your apartment become shittier?”
She frowned, and took a bite of her cheese pizza before mopping away the grease with the back of her hand. Tess made a face, and handed her a napkin. “Did you forget how to be hygienic?”
“You can't forget something you never learned,” Jane said, dryly, winking.
Lizzy put her slice back on the paper plate. “That's it. —— Get out. All of you bastards, out of my house.” John began to chuckle, and she turned to face him. “For your information, Pops, my apartment is a little barren because Charlotte took away most of the furnishings.”
“Nice to know who had the domestic touch out of the two of you,” John tutted, regretfully.
“Is your coffee table an enormous stack of magazines?” her mother asked her, in complete wide-eyed astonishment. “Doesn't that defeat the purpose of a coffee table? You put magazines on the magazines? Magazines on magazines?”
Lizzy rolled her eyes. “Listen, I'll send you all invitations back after I visit IKEA half-a-dozen times, how about that?”
“You should marry a gay man,” suggested Lydia. Her make-up had been scrubbed off, exposing a pale, youthful, freckled face. She wore Lizzy's pink pajamas and a plaid robe, her white-blond hair secured back with a leopard clip. “He would do your decorating for free.”
“And I would give him what in return?” Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. “I don't have a penis.”
“I just remembered why I don't visit you more often, darling,” Theresa muttered, pushing her plate further away. “Is there any way you can convince Charlotte to move back in with you? The apartment was considerably cleaner before she went off and got married.”
“I know, right? Don't worry, I'm trying to get her to divorce Collins just for that purpose.”
The rest of the evening was spent in the apartment, despite its barren uncleanliness. Tess fell asleep on her husband's shoulder as they sat on the sofa — he was watching CNN with half interest. Jane thoughtfully dug out a blanket from the linen closet.
She met her sister in the kitchen as she was scrubbing dishes. Lydia had Lizzy's computer open at the kitchen table, typing away. Elizabeth nodded her head back when Jane appeared, gesturing at Lydia. “Girlfriend's writing her dissertation — 1,500 pages on Not Fucking Up —— and its sequel, Spiteful Acts of Rebellion.”
“I want to read it when you're finished,” Jane announced. Lydia stuck her tongue out at her.
Jane began drying each plate with a dishrag, setting it neatly in a stack. “So, what are you going to do about Greg? I think it was wise not to mention him to the parents, but I still know you better than the type to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Well — when a method of payback arises, I'll jump on it. I'm not so good at making plans.”
“Really? Because I was planning on leaving a pipe bomb in his mailbox,” Lydia chimed in. She looked pissed off, and a tinge of heartbroken, scowling from behind the monitor. She raised her head. “Seriously, I want to kick his ass into next week.”
“Well — if he's even a little smart, he's lying low for a little while.”
“I wonder what made him call you,” Jane mused. She took an apple from the fruit bowl, and polished it with her sleeve. “A burst of guilty conscience?”
“Possibly,” Elizabeth said, shrugging. “It was an incredibly dickish move.”
“I want him to walk into oncoming traffic,” Lydia said, bitterly.
“I'm pretty curious as to what his motives were,” Jane admitted.
“I want to staple things to his face,” continued Lydia.
“Honey, maybe you should go back to sleep,” Lizzy encouraged. “We'll work on his punishment, and flagging him down —— you just get your energy back and rest up.”
“I want to murder him and make it look like an accident.”
Jane shrugged, and took a bite out of her apple.
• • •
A month passed. Then another. Everybody moved forward. Jane broke up with Brian. Lizzy was overjoyed, but hid it well, even as her sister insisted that she was “just too busy with work to be in a relationship.” Bullshit could be scented out from a mile away, but, as long as Boatshoes Brian was snubbed out of the picture, she didn't particularly care. Working Charlie back in would be a trickier situation.
She wondered if he was back in Zürich, and considered asking Will.
Lydia enrolled in classes at a community college. She got a part-time job at GAP, and worked nights and weekends, attempting to sort herself out. She was peppier lately, having earned Lizzy as a temporary roommate. She was happy to have her there — it cured the loneliness.
Greg Wickham had yet to be confronted, and every time the issue was brought up around the apartment Lydia menacingly quoted Charlie Sheen — “I don't sleep, I wait.” He had changed his phone number, and blocked her on Facebook — flagging him down would require a little more effort, seeing as none of them had actually been round to his house.
As for Elizabeth, she could not seem to work Will Darcy out of her brain. Since Pemberley, she had seen him once — they had met for coffee in early October, but nothing had gone according to plan. She had seen him for a total of 10 whole minutes, an intermission between one of his trials. He had been sweet, but stressed and preoccupied, caught between giving her the attention he felt she deserved and working on his case notes. His tie was loose, and his dark brown hair ruffled from his running his fingers through it multiple times.
She had listened to him patiently, and hadn't said much — she didn't want to come on too strongly, give him something new to fixate on or stress about.
Lizzy had covered his hand with hers across the table, and Will had stared at her dolefully as she said, “you focus on what you need to focus on. Call me again when life settles down, and we'll hang out — it's no big deal.
”
It was a perfect, reasonable solution — she thought she had said everything well.
Except he hadn't called her in three weeks.
“I bore him,” Lizzy said, speaking, dejected, to the ceiling. “There is no other explanation. —— That, or I'm ugly.”
“Oh, shut up,” scoffed Lydia. She was digging through her sister's closet, and stopped to pull a gray-and-turquoise sweater from its wire hanger. “What's the big deal? You call him — what a novel idea!”
“No. I'm a girl.”
“I thought you were a feminist,” Lydia said, smirking.
“For the most part.” Lizzy propped herself up on her elbows. “Like most women, I just play the feminist card when it's convenient for me. But I still like the boy to call first — call me old fashioned.”
“Hey there, Old Fashioned.”
“Cute.”
She decided to be proactive about her concerns — at least partially. The next morning, Lizzy spent 15 minutes staring at her iPhone, typing up the most perfectly worded text — a little flirtatious, kind of noncommittal, partly genuine. The subtext beneath that text had to be analyzed, and OKd by her sister. Both of them. Mary didn't count.
Then Elizabeth sent it, and wanted to die. Will didn't respond for six hours, and she wanted to die some more. “God, I hate myself,” Lizzy moaned. “Why did I send that? Why. It's so obvious he doesn't want to talk to me. Why can't he just respond? I look like an idiot. I'm an idiot.”
“You like him,” said Lydia, grinning.
“Do you think he's lost interest? I did waste a lot of time. And I'm not the most encouraging girl in the world.”
“I think you should put some pants on and go to work.”
“Good call, man.”
• • •
He texted her back around lunchtime, as Elizabeth sat miserably in the faculty dining room, stuffing her face with forkfuls of spinach and the rest of her Cobb salad. Kevin Zimmerman watched her with grim fascination. And then Lizzy seized her phone after the ping! sounded, grinning with maniacal excitement. “He texted me back! Fuck yes.”
Kevin lifted both eyebrows.
Elizabeth stared back at him. “I don't like this version of myself.” And then she checked her phone.
I want to see you, too. What are you doing this weekend? I have to draw up a contract with a client in Philadelphia on the 11th.
“I am definitely making an ass out of myself this weekend — that's what I'm doing,” said Lizzy, gleefully, typing up a response. “Yee, he wants to see me! —— Kevin, stop staring — it's not polite.”
“Stop being entertaining and I'll stop staring at you.”
• • •
Elizabeth met Darcy on a Saturday afternoon. They met at a Brazilian steakhouse for early dinner, beating the crowds. She had so many expectations, so naturally her heart sank in disappointment:
Will wasn't himself — at least not who he had been at Pemberley. He still looked the same. Looked really good, actually. Seeing him out of his pressed suits was always an unusual treat for her. Lizzy found Will just as (and perhaps even more) attractive in jeans and a T-shirt, with a gray zip-up sweatshirt. It softened him, made him seem more accessible.
But he was quiet, and dinner was awkward.
After Lizzy spent five minutes pushing agonizing small talk, he finally spoke.
“So, how is Lydia doing?” Will asked, politely, cutting up his steak into chewable pieces. Elizabeth found the quirk kind of stupidly adorable, because she suddenly found everything he did adorable.
“Much better than we would have hoped,” she said, stirring her tea. “Living with me now, at least until she figures out what her next move is.”
“That's good.”
“Yeah.”
There was a palpable awkward silence, where only chewing and the clinking of silverware could be heard, and the muffle of other people's conversations.
“It was —— uh… she was with Greg Wickham that weekend,” Lizzy finally explained. “That's who she was with in Atlantic City. I've been meaning to tell you. It was pretty shocking.”
Will was looking into his plate with his eyebrows drawn together. “Yeah. That's —— wow.”
“I'm grateful he called. As big of an asshole that he is, at least he had like a humane moment of non-dickheadness.”
“Are you going to coin that word?” he said, smirking as he popped a piece of steak into his mouth.
Lizzy smiled. “Yeah — probably.”
“I could take care of him, if you'd like,” said Darcy, quietly. He wasn't looking at her again.
“What, like feed him to the fishes?” Lizzy snorted, nose crinkling. “Very sweet of you, but it's not necessary. I'm having trouble finding him to begin with. It wouldn't surprise me if he wasn't even in Philadelphia anymore.”
“I doubt that he is,” Darcy agreed, dryly. He refrained from saying anything more.
“Yeah,” Elizabeth murmured. She fiddled with her spoon, turning it over and over again.
For dessert, she suggested he come up to her place for coffee and tiramisu, which she had bought at Wegman's and had left out on the kitchen table, thawing from the freezer, before she left. Lydia had gone out to the movies with a friend from class, so they would have the apartment to themselves to catch up. Will obliged, neutral. It disappointed her even more.
He followed her in his car, and she met him just outside her building after they had both parked.
“Hey —— um… are we okay?” Elizabeth asked, sheepishly.
“Yeah,” said Will. “Why wouldn't we be?”
“I mean, I haven't heard from you in weeks. And dinner was nice, but it was pretty awkward. Just not what I expected, that's all. Not necessarily bad, I mean. But —— yeah.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Is this making sense?”
Darcy was half-smiling. He shook his head, and looked down, his hands buried in his pockets. They stood just outside her complex, the street lamp washing him out in a pale, amber–orange glow. “I'm happy it's not just me.”
“Yeah?” Lizzy smiled gratefully. “What's up with us?”
“I didn't realize you wanted to hear from me that much. I thought, I dunno, that you were kind of distant at the coffee shop. I realize we only had a handful of minutes, but you seemed really detached. I felt I had to respect your space, give you enough time to warm up, if you ever did.”
Elizabeth was staring at him with her mouth gaping open. “I didn't know I came across like that. I just didn't want to stress you out more than you already were.”
“Well, I got hung up on that phrase — hanging out. It kind of implied friendship to me. And we hadn't seen each other in so long. And you hadn't called.”
“Neither had you.”
Darcy laughed, and squared his shoulders. Lizzy glanced up at him, and he sighed. “It's just been me buried in work, completely distracted by this incredible girl, but knowing better than to go after her. It didn't turn out too well the first time. I was scared.”
Elizabeth blushed, remembering. “I haven't been all that encouraging this time around,” she admitted, under her breath.
“You can be frosty sometimes, yes.” She apologized, and pointed out cheekily that perhaps they were more alike than she had given them credit for. “Well, basically we both suck.”
“Yeah, seriously.”
Will narrowed his eyes at Lizzy, suspicious. “So, that Brazilian steakhouse… was that a date? An awkward, unclear date?”
“You did pay.”
“After I practically wrestled the check from you.”
Lizzy laughed quietly. She looked up at him, and Darcy tucked a curl behind her ear, his blue eyes searching her face. Lizzy stood up on her tiptoes, and kissed him once, firmly, on the mouth. Then she murmured, “do you wanna come up?” Will nodded, grinning.
She was quite proud of herself for the state of her apartment that evening, given that she had spent the entire previous day cleaning it. Even Lydia h
ad scrubbed the bathroom tiles and done a full load of laundry before succumbing to an episode of Pretty Little Liars and an entire bowl of popcorn.
“It's cute here,” Will said, encouragingly, hanging his jacket on the coat hook. “I haven't been here in months — almost a year.”
“Damn,” Lizzy whistled. She put the kettle on the stove, and hiked up her sleeves, pulling two clean plates from the dishwasher. “Well, you've made it just in time for dessert. Lucky you.”
“Very lucky,” Will murmured. His mouth quirked up in a smirk.
They shared a slice of cake, and caught the last few minutes of an old Saturday Night Live rerun on the TV. They were both standing, leaning against the kitchen counter, just beside the sink, as she held the plate and they used two separate spoons. “I mean, I have chairs,” Lizzy pointed out, helpfully.
“Sitting is overrated,” said Darcy, taking a spoonful. “Want the last bite?”
“Nope — it's all yours.”
“Cool, because I'm pretty stingy with this tiramisu — it's really good.”
“I'm glad,” Lizzy said, smiling.
“It's your fault — you bought it.”
“I have zero regrets.”
Will laughed, and Lizzy grinned, taking the polished plate from him. She turned on the faucet, and rolled up her sleeves again to do the dishes. She felt his hands settle on her shoulders comfortingly. She tilted her head back, and groaned. “Stop that —— I'm just gonna collapse.”
“Why?”
“My back hurts. I keep putting off my appointments to the chiropractor.”
“You're stressed out.”
“Is it easy to tell?” Elizabeth pouted, half-laughing.
“Yeah,” said Will, seriously. “You're knotted up all in here.” His hand moved between her shoulder blades. “Just relax for a bit.”
She let her chin dip down to her chest, her eyes falling shut as his hands worked out the kinks in her muscles. “What if I just fall asleep standing up like this?” Lizzy mumbled. “Like a flamingo.”
Will smiled, his hands moving in wide circles. “Well, you are wearing pink.” He gestured to her pale pink button-down.
A sound escaped her throat — a low, barely perceptible whine that cut through when his thumbs kneaded out the tension in her shoulders. The water was still running — she hadn't noticed. “Tell me the last time you relaxed,” he said, playfully. “Go.”
