The Secret Diary of Lizzie Bennet (40 page)

Wow. That’s a huge part of my life for the past year, coming to an end. Another thing to feel sad about.

Maybe, instead, I can think of it as the next phase beginning, with me being a little wiser.

Not to mention older.

“So, what are you going to do when we turn twenty-five tomorrow?” I asked Charlotte. “I know . . . let’s go rent a car for no reason!”

Charlotte laughed, and we moved to the living room and set up camp. In spite of my distraction and all the work I have to do, I had managed to pull myself together enough to get Charlotte a
birthday present.

“Aw . . .” Charlotte said, unwrapping it. “It’s a mug. From our grad school. You bought this in the student center gift shop, didn’t you?”

“I did,” I admitted.

“It’s okay,” she said, giving me a hug. “I understand you are lonely and despairing now, and therefore can’t be counted on to do anything like groom and feed
yourself. That’s why I’m here.”

“And me!” Lydia said as she entered. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure, come on in,” I said. “Plenty of Chunky Monkey for everyone.”

Lydia grabbed the carton of ice cream, then noticed the gift wrap strewn in front of Charlotte. “Oh, are we doing presents now?” she asked. “I’ll be right
back.”

As Lydia bounced out of the room, I turned to Charlotte. “What else you got in the bag?”

She fished inside and brought out two movie choices. “This evening’s distraction. Do you want to watch pretty people fall in love or things blowing up?”

I eyed them both. “Do you have anything with pretty people blowing up?” I asked, and Charlotte threw a pillow at me.

This right here? This is why I have a bestie.

“I vote carnage,” Lydia said as she came back in the living room, bearing gifts. “If that’s okay with you guys, of course.”

“Carnage it is,” Charlotte said, and smirked at me as she moved to put the DVD in.

“Happy early birthday!” Lydia said, handing me the packages. “The green top is from Jane, and the necklace is from me—and I also got you a book titled
Where Did I
Leave My Pride? A Nerdy Girl’s Guide to Making Lame Phone Calls.
”

I stared at Lydia open-mouthed until I saw Charlotte behind her, her shoulders shaking from suppressing laughter. And I burst out laughing, too. Then so did Lydia.

It’s why I have sisters, too.

Today was . . . something incredible. And I think I’ll let it speak for itself.

Happy. Just happy.

Still blissfully happy.

Okay, one more day of just being happy and then I’m sucking it up and telling Mom.

Mom took it better than expected. Eventually.

“Mom, I’ve invited someone over for dinner tonight,” I said.

“Of course, dear—you know Charlotte’s always welcome,” she replied, humming as she put the casserole in the oven.

“Actually it’s not—” But at that moment, she flipped the disposal on, drowning out my words.

Well, I tried to warn her. In truth, I was kind of looking forward to seeing the look on her face when Darcy walked through the door.

And I wasn’t disappointed.

“Mom, Dad,” I said, guiding Darcy into the living room by the hand once he arrived. “You remember William Darcy.”

“Mrs. Bennet, a pleasure to see you again,” Darcy said, with only the slightest bit of nervousness in his voice. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one that could hear it.
I’ve been making a study of it the past few days.

My mom looked from the bottle of wine he held out to her, up to his face, then down to our intertwined hands. Then she mustered up every ounce of southern hospitality she had in her being.

“Of course,” she smiled, taking the bottle of wine. (I’m thinking Bing gave him pointers on what vintage to get.) “So nice to see you again.” She cleared her throat
and turned to me. Suddenly, her voice took on a high pitch not often heard outside of the Muppets. “Lizziewillyouhelpmeinthekitchenplease?”

I was pulled away so quickly I might have whiplash. I was barely able to overhear my father as he greeted Darcy. “Don’t worry, young man—this will all be sorted out quickly.
That, or my darling wife will have murdered Lizzie, but either way it’s an exciting start to the evening, eh?”

Once in the kitchen, Mom launched into me.

“All right, Lizzie, is this some kind of joke?” she asked.

“No, it’s not,” I assured her.

“Because that’s the only explanation I can think of for William Darcy being in my living room.”

“Well, another explanation is that we’re dating.”

“Lizzie, do be serious.”

“Mom, I thought you’d be happy!” I replied. “After all, he is . . .”

“Rich?” my mother finished for me. “Out of all my daughters, I thought you were the one who didn’t care about that.”

“Actually, none of us care about that,” I quipped. “But perhaps I’ve been more vocal than Jane or Lydia.”

“I thought you only cared about
character
,” my mom rambled on. “I thought you would
never
want to be with someone as rude and snobbish as Darcy.”

“He’s not rude or snobbish,” I replied. “I . . . we all misjudged him.”

“He’s nice, Mom,” Lydia’s quiet voice came from behind us. “You should give him a chance.”

Mom’s head whipped back and forth between Lydia and me, her mouth agape. Finally she turned to me. “You’re really dating him.”

“Yes,” I said, catching Lydia’s smile.

You could hear a pin drop in the kitchen. Until . . .

“Well for heaven’s sake, why didn’t you tell me?” she screeched. “You bring your boyfriend over to dinner and I’m serving a
casserole
?”

“One that I think will pair very well with that wine.” But Mom was having none of it. She was already rummaging in the fridge for something more fancy she could prepare.

“Lydia, quickly—toast some bread. We need crostini appetizers immediately!”

Dinner went pretty well after that. I found Dad and Darcy engaged in a conversation about the arts of bonsai versus the arts of penjing. Lydia came out of the kitchen fifteen minutes later,
bearing a tray of hastily arranged crostini.

“Hi, Darcy,” she said shyly, having trouble meeting his eye.

“Lydia,” he replied warmly. “How are you doing?”

She managed to look up at him then. “Better. A lot better now. Thanks.”

“I’m glad,” he replied.

Lydia looked aside for a moment, then ditched the tray and gave in to her impulse to hug him. Darcy was a little shocked, but he took it well.

I met my Dad’s eyes. He simply glanced from me to Darcy, and then asked, “So, young man—do you like trains?”

The casserole actually did pair well with the wine. Dad only teased Mom twice about how the simple dinner had miraculously turned into a multi-course meal, and she only threw one dinner roll at
him. Darcy seemed startled, but I squeezed his hand and let him know that this is just how family—my family—is: We tease each other.

After dinner, Dad pulled me aside into his den.

“How did your mother take it?” he asked, a small smile playing over his features.

“Dinner didn’t speak for itself?” I replied. Mom should really be forced to cook on the fly more often. The vichyssoise was particularly excellent.

“I suppose so. I knew she’d come around quickly. Mind you, if I’d not had the advantage of seeing your videos, I might have been as bewildered by your choice as she
was.”

I blushed. “I know I’ve been a little harsh on him in the past, but . . . all that’s changed.”

“I know.” My dad nodded. “And when I took him to see my train collection, I managed to thank him for what he did for Lydia. There is no possible way I can repay him for it, but
I just want to make sure that your being with him is not
your
way of repaying him for it. Do you understand?”

“Dad, it’s not,” I stammered. “He’s so much better than I thought . . . He’s smart and kind, and thinks deeply about things. The people that he
loves—his sister, his friends—they know that he’s one of those people that you want to have at your side in case of a crisis. Or no crisis. He’s the one person you want to
see every day, no matter what.”

“You mean, he’s the one person
you
want to see every day,” Dad said.

“Yes,” I replied.

“You really like him then?”

“Dad, I love him.”

There was nothing really to be said after that. My dad just wrapped me in a bear hug and kissed the top of my head. “Then I am very happy for you. I wouldn’t be, mind you, if it were
anyone less worthy.”

He released me and stretched out his arms, as if hugging the world.

“Well, I’m quite at my leisure, then,” he said. “Although I have no idea what your mother’s going to do now, without Jane’s or your romantic lives to fret
over. And I won’t allow her to bother Lydia with it.” Dad looked thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t think Kitty’s been fixed yet. We can see about getting her a nice
cat boyfriend and creating some cat grandchildren for her to fret over.”