The Secret Diary of Lizzie Bennet (5 page)

“It wasn’t that bad.” There was silence, and I imagine a sardonic look exchanged between friends that mirrored the sardonic look exchanged between Charlotte and me.

“Listen, you’re having fun,” Darcy said. “You have somehow managed to find the only pretty girl in this town. Go back in and keep dancing with Jane Bennet. I’ll go
home and send the driver back for you.”

“Come on, don’t do that,” Bing said. “Stay a little while. I want to introduce you to Jane. Properly. You’ll like her. She’s . . . I’ve never met anyone
like her.”

I had to give Bing props for that. Whether or not he’s good enough for Jane, he’s got good taste.

“I’ve never met anyone that smiles that much.”

There’s that Darcy charm. Finding fault with
smiling.

“And you know what,” Bing continued, ignoring his friend’s attitude, “her sister Lizzie is pretty nice, too. I bet if you asked her to dance again, she’d say yes.
Give you a do-over?”

Before I could even wonder if I actually
would
give him a do-over, I could feel icy derision coming off Darcy in waves, curving around the corner to my hiding spot and leaving me
cold.

“Lizzie Bennet is . . . fine, I suppose. Decent enough. But why should I bother dancing with her when no one else is?”

My jaw dropped silently. So did Charlotte’s. I mean, seriously. Who the hell does this guy think he is? I didn’t really hear what was said next because of the rage flooding my ears,
but Bing must have worked some magic on Darcy (or more likely had some dirt on him) and got him back inside the party.

“Wow,” Charlotte said.

“And to think, I was beginning to feel I had been too harsh on him.”

“Well, at least you have an out with your mom. All you have to do is relay that little conversation to her and she’ll never bug you about marrying into the Darcy fortune
again.”

And that was basically the Gibson wedding. Charlotte was pretty tipsy the rest of the night, but held it together. I left her in good hands with her mother, her little sister Maria, and a tall
glass of ice water. Lydia danced too much, and didn’t alternate water with her hard liquor and ended up vomiting in the bushes outside (very near where Charlotte almost did), and that was
about the time the Bennet family decided to go home. Mom tried to persuade Jane to stay with Bing and have him give her a ride home (
in his limo
), but Jane was pretty tired by that point,
too.

Tired, but smiling. A lot.

My mother crowed the whole way home about watching Jane and Bing dance together. Calling it the happiest day of her life. Which sums up my mother for you.

Charlotte was right, though. My mom was willing and able to dislike Darcy. She had found him pretty rude when she’d tried to speak with him before the Most Awkward Dance Ever (™
Charlotte Lu). I gave her a truncated version of our conversation while dancing, or lack thereof. I kept what I’d overheard outside to myself. Mom might be a little hyper-focused on marriage,
but she’s also a mama bear. Don’t mess with her cubs. And under no circumstances insult them.

Charlotte was right about something else, too. At least I have plenty to vlog about when we record tomorrow. Although, considering the number of vodka tonics I fetched her (and the slurring
pocket-dial), I may have to do this one without my bestie. She’s going to need to sleep her victory off.

* * *

P.S. Before I went to bed, I was idly checking my phone. Bing and Jane have followed each other on Twitter. Jane only follows family and fashion on Twitter.

I know my sister. And I don’t know how to feel about this.

I’m feeling a little . . . bad today. It’s hard to put my finger on it, but there’s just an overwhelming sense of unease.

This is what happens when Charlotte goes out of town.

She called me yesterday after the latest video posted and asked me to cover for her at discussion group this week—there was a family emergency she had to deal with. As the world’s
best bestie, I am taking on all her grad student responsibilities (thankfully I still have my Tuesday morning study period), while doing all the filming for the videos by myself.

On the plus side, the last video I posted had the most views yet—likely a combination of the fact that I mercilessly teased Jane about how she met Bing at the wedding and the fact that I
accidentally showed a close-up of my boobs (thanks again for being hung over, Charlotte).

And I think that is why I have been feeling bad of late. Not about my boobs, but about Jane, and the merciless teasing. She’s just been so . . . happy. And yes, Jane is normally quite
happy. But this is different—at least it is to me, since I know her so well. There’s an inner glow, a quickness to blush. Humming under her breath.

Am I wrong in thinking this is a little quick? She
just
met Bing. Less than three days ago. There is way too much we don’t know about him for Jane to be thinking of him this
much.

But don’t tell my mom that. She’s got them married off already. And while Jane would usually have the presence of mind to gently stop Mom’s imagination from speeding like a
runaway freight train, this time she’s just . . . going along with it.

Take this morning. Jane was running late for work, a job she LOVES, but didn’t blink when Mom stopped her from heading out the door and asked her if she knew what Bing’s favorite
food was.

“No. We haven’t talked about food,” Jane said. And by the look on her face, I could tell she was wondering if she should know what kind of food he likes.

“Well, let me know when you do,” my mother said. “I want to practice recipes before he comes over for dinner.”

“Whoa—Bing’s coming over for dinner?” I asked.

“Well, no—not yet,” my mother conceded. Then she gave Jane a coy, teasing look. “But sooner or later he’ll be eating here. Dinner. Breakfast.
Thanksgiving.”

All I wanted to do was slap my forehead and beg my mother to pull up on the reins, but Jane just gave a little laugh, and shook her head, before waving good-bye on her way out the door.

I remind you, Jane and Bing met three days ago. All they have done since is text a little. And my mother is ready to welcome him into the family.

I wonder what Jane is thinking. Is she being biased by Mom? Mom, who is so eager to love a rich potential son-in-law that she’s blind to all his faults (whatever they may be) and pushing
her daughter into a currently nonexistent relationship?

It makes me wonder what would happen if we were not forced to live at home.

“Forced” is perhaps too strong a word, but circumstances certainly require it. Jane doesn’t make enough money at her entry-level job to take her student loans out of deferment,
let alone pay rent and utilities somewhere. She’s lucky she makes enough to keep her junker of a car running.

And I moved back when, after four years of living on my own for undergrad, I got accepted to the grad school with the best communications program . . . within driving distance of my
parents’ house (luckily, my car is less of a junker—I bought it off of Dad when I went away to college with three years’ worth of summer job money). Considering the student loans
I had already amassed, I traded in my independence for some small relief.

I have another year left before I have to start paying off the stellar education my penchant for studying and learning bought me, and the prospect of it scares me to bits.

Since Lydia only goes to community college, her expenses are admittedly less, but she still doesn’t have any money coming in—just money going out. (She also doesn’t have a car,
and has to share with Mom and beg rides off of everyone else.) In some parts of the world, we would have been left to our own devices the second we turned legal, so it’s actually really good
of our parents to let us continue to live at home.

But if we didn’t? If we were able to be as adult in reality as we are in age . . . maybe Jane wouldn’t be taking the prospect of Bing so seriously. Maybe she’d be able to keep
it casual with him, without the constant reminder of our mother’s expectations. Without the pressure cooker of five adults living on top of one another with only one bathroom, and being
unavoidably mixed up in each other’s business at all times.

Sometimes it feels like a prison. But it’s the prison I know.

Hence the merciless teasing of Jane in my last video. (I can be passive-aggressive at times. I do get some things from my mother.) I really should apologize. I really should try to be more
open-minded about Bing. Jane knows what she feels, right?

But then again, Jane is a lot stronger than she looks. When I teased her about Bing, she started teasing me about Darcy, and now that’s all the commenters want me to talk about. They think
I “met” someone at the wedding. Someone that my mother may one day invite over for dinner, breakfast, and Thanskgiving.

Ha ha, no. Sorry, viewers. I’ll simply have to tell them about what he said to Bing about me, and put his prickishness front and center. That will get them off the scent. And no, I’m
not at all worried about impugning the character of a douchebag on the Internet. After all, I’m just going to say what actually happened.

Jeez, more Darcy? That’s all they want? Me to talk about a wedding that took place a week ago now? I have other things going on in my life, you know. I have school, and
finals coming up, and . . . okay, I guess just more school—but that’s important to me! Darcy is most certainly
not
important to me.

PIE CHART: THINGS THAT ARE IMPORTANT TO ME

Honestly, I would rather just forget him. Hope and pray that our paths cross as little as possible while he visits Bing and not at all thereafter. But then I think about my audience—the
semi-large one (and growing!) that I weirdly have now. Do I make it clear to them just how awful he was? After all, I still haven’t detailed the Most Awkward Dance Ever (™ Charlotte Lu,
but I’m stealing it) on air yet. Surely, that would make them realize how awful he is. Or is that just feeding the beast? And is feeding the beast something I want to do?

Ugh, I wish Charlotte were here. She would help.

. . . Fine. You want more Darcy, people? You get him.

I got my Charlotte back! I picked her up at the bus stop today. She’d been in Fresno (glorious Fresno!) for the past week.

“Why Fresno?” I asked the second she got into my car, hugging her. “Why did you abandon me in my hour of need?”

“You mean why did I abandon you in your hour of needing someone to help you film videos to go take care of my aunt who landed in the hospital?”

“Well, when you put it like that . . .”

Charlotte’s had a close relationship with her aunt ever since she was little, and they ended up bonding on a family trip to China when Char was eight. Her aunt even helps pay for
Charlotte’s school, which is good because her family is in even worse straits than mine.

“How’s Aunt Vivi doing, anyway?”

“She’s better,” Char said. “The timing couldn’t have been much worse, though.”

“What do you mean?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Just that missing school with finals looming is not ideal, that’s all. How much make-up stuff do I have to do, anyway?”

I fill her in on the papers and other assignments that got handed out in her absence. I took over our discussion group, so luckily she doesn’t have the annoying busywork of grading
freshman essays.

I feel like something is going on with Charlotte that she’s not telling me. But if Charlotte doesn’t want to talk about something, it doesn’t get discussed. Seriously, when she
got her first kiss in ninth grade, she didn’t tell me. And it wasn’t because she thought I’d be jealous—I’d gotten my first kiss the year before in a harrowing game of
spin the bottle and lorded it over her, as one is wont to do. She just didn’t think it warranted a conversation. So she decided to not talk about it.

Thus, I’ve decided that Char was not off visiting her aunt—an aunt who, by the way, knows how much school means to Charlotte. Heck, said aunt is helping to pay for it. There is no
way she would condone the removal from her studies for a week. No, I’ve decided Charlotte was having a torrid holiday with a tall, dark, and handsome stranger. That’s my headcanon, at
least.

But when Char doesn’t want to talk about stuff, she just turns the conversation to another topic. Which she did then, with supreme skill, before I could ask her anything cropping up in my
suspicious mind.

“So how’s Darcy?”

I nearly swerved off the road. “What?”

“Darcy. You know, the guy you’ve made the last three videos about.”