The Secret Diary of Lizzie Bennet (33 page)

Darcy also said it was because it seemed like it would be cruel. They’ve both moved on. Who knows if she would even take him back?

Maybe he’s right. In fact, I think he is. Everything that Jane has said since she moved to LA tells me that she’s enjoying life and moving on without Bing. But it still makes me so
sad.

No, Lizzie, stop it. I shouldn’t get involved. (In fact, that should be a belated New Year’s resolution.) No good has ever come of it. Hell, I took a step back from Lydia’s
temper tantrum, on the auspice that I had to focus on my own life. And Jane is doing great on her own in LA. Why should the sudden reappearance of Jane’s ex-boyfriend throw everything into a
tailspin?

There is so much more going on here—I’m learning so much at Pemberley, I’m part of creative strategy sessions, and I was asked my opinion on color options for this new
communications app they are developing. (I went with blue. Always go with soothing blue.) I’ve even been making friends, hanging out a little bit with Gigi and Fitz, who have threatened me
with karaoke.

Everything at Pemberley is about creating something new and innovative, not rehashing the past.

I’m not here in San Francisco to obsess about my sister’s love life.

So why is my mind obsessed with Jane and Bing? And admittedly, with Darcy?

They say New Year’s resolutions only last on average three weeks. So, this is the week to break them, right? Discounting the fact that I actually made my “policy of
non-interference” resolution four days ago, it seems like I’m right on schedule. Because not only did I interfere in Bing and Jane’s life again, I went and told Bing that Jane is
still single.

To be fair, he asked. He came to say good-bye—his “interviews” had finished and it was time for him to go back to class. I can’t imagine medical school is as lenient with
their third years as my grad school happens to be, but Bing doesn’t seem to be suffering for it.

He asked how Jane was doing. He was so earnest. And I realized it was the one thing he’d wanted to know since he saw me. It was the reason he walked through my door. So, as he fished
around for information, I just blurted it out: “She’s not seeing anyone.” And, “If you have something you want to say to Jane, you should call her.”

I know—I shouldn’t have done it! I just hope Jane can forgive me for it. In fact, I talked to her earlier today, with the express purpose of confessing my interference. But once
again . . .

“Studio and Design Services,” she said upon answering.

“Jane?”

“Oh, hi, Lizzie!”

“Sorry, I thought I called your cell phone.”

“You did—it’s just rote now for me to answer it that way—there are so many different vendors to deal with, I’ve been giving out my cell so they can reach me 24/7.
How are you doing?” she asked.

“Good!” I tried to sound cheerful. “Not as busy as you, I can guess.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy here. I’ve just been given some new responsibilities—can you hold on a second?” The phone went muffled and I could hear her say something
about mauve, not lilac, chiffon and her usual sweet “thank you so much!” before returning to me.

“I’ll let you go,” I said, chickening out. Now was not the time to dredge up old boyfriends, and how I told said old boyfriend she was still single.

“No, wait a second,” Jane said. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Oh, God, I thought. She knows about Bing. I was banking on the fact that she would be too busy to watch my videos (and, you know, having a life of her own), but even though she’s being run
ragged all day every day by her job—and loving it—she still knew that—

“Have you spoken to Lydia recently?” she asked.

“Oh.” I paused. “No. No, I haven’t.”

I could hear Jane’s disappointment in her silence. “I really wish you would.”

“If she wants to talk to me, she has my number,” I replied. Then, after a minute . . . “Have
you
talked to her lately?

“Only for a minute, I’ve been so busy. I think she met a guy in Las Vegas.”

“Perfect.” I rolled my eyes. “Well, Lydia can enjoy her random hookup. Maybe she can drive him crazy and not us for a while.”

“Lizzie . . .” Then, her tone shifted. “Oh, hold on a minute. I have to take this other call.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Okay,” she said, a little sad. “It was nice to hear from you.”

“You, too.”

Calls like that with Jane only throw into sharp relief how much I miss my sisters. Yes, that was plural. I do miss Lydia. I miss girl time, and girl talk.

But she’s not the only one who can be stubborn.

Luckily, there
is
some girl talk to be found in this city. Gigi’s invited me out to lunch, so perhaps that will fill some of the void. One of the true delights of being at
Pemberley Digital has been getting to know Gigi. She’s such a smart, fun, happy young woman, and every time I think about what George Wickham did to her I want to find and slap him all over
again.

“Darcy!” I called out in a whisper. I don’t know why I whispered, but it was near the end of another busy day and there were still some people milling about,
so yelling his name would have caused everyone to come to a dead stop. “I need to tell you something.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” I promised. “But, um . . . I need you to be aware of something. In the interest of respecting your confidence.”

He looked from side to side. “In my office?” he asked.

I nodded, and he gently took my elbow, guiding me down the hall into his office.

Which I hadn’t been in before.

I instantly felt like I was intruding. It was his inner sanctum, after all. Everything in here was very Darcy. It was smaller than I expected, and messier, too. Then I realized this was not the
office of a vanity CEO. This was the office of someone who worked.

Deep leather chairs faced a window that had a view all the way to the bay. Piles of books and papers sat on the windowsill. Everything was old school, except for his desk—which featured a
computer that was probably two generations ahead of what was currently on the market. As well as . . .

“Is that a bobble-head?” I asked, noticing the green bouncing thing next to the hi-tech equipment.

“Yes,” Darcy answered, blushing.

“Of Oscar the Grouch?” I said, stepping toward the desk.

“It is,” Darcy replied. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“No. I just . . . I never pictured you as the kind of person to have a bobble-head. Of Oscar the Grouch.”

Darcy reached out and settled Oscar’s bobbing head with a single finger. “Gigi gave him to me when we were kids.”

“Right. Gigi.” I took a deep breath. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What about my sister?”

I took a deep breath. No way out of it now. “A little while ago, I was filming, and Gigi . . . and please bear in mind I didn’t ask her to do this, she did it voluntarily . . . Gigi
came on video and told all of my viewers about what happened between her and George Wickham.”

It was the one part of the letter that I had held back. Out of respect for Gigi, and also Darcy. We’ve become the keeper of each other’s secrets, after all. I hadn’t even told
Jane or Charlotte about it. It had felt too personal.

Darcy leaned on his desk, for once his rigid posture bending slightly.

“Well,” he said. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I don’t have to post it. I can film something else before tomorrow.”

“No. It was Gigi’s decision to tell her story. She must have thought it was something she needed to do.” He sighed and rubbed his temple. “It doesn’t mean I have to
like it.”

It was curious, but I felt for Darcy in that moment. There’s a kind of frustration only little sisters can cause. So I felt for him. Was drawn to him. As he stood there, leaning on his
desk and rubbing his temple, I had to tamp down the urge to reach out and comfort him.

Which is ridiculous.

“Well,” I said. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

“Yes, thank you,” he said, straightening. “Are you headed home?”

He nodded at the bag on my shoulder.

“Oh. Yes. I was going to try walking to Haight-Ashbury and see some tourist-y things. But that’s kind of tough when it gets dark by four in January.”

“You were going to walk to the Haight? From SoMa?” Darcy asked, one eyebrow going up. “I know you like to walk, but that’s quite a distance.”

“I guess that’s not done?”

“Not after four in January,” he replied. “You haven’t had the opportunity to see much of the city yet, have you?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “But I’m looking forward to seeing it this weekend, with Gigi . . . and with you.”

Darcy’s cheeks went bright red and he mumbled something under his breath. Something that sounded like “so am I,” but I couldn’t be certain.

We stood there for another couple of seconds before I realized I was in his office, and it was up to me to leave.

“Well,” I said finally, “good night.”

“Good night, Lizzie,” he said, as I had my hand on the door. “And thank you.”

What a marvelous day! What a gorgeous, exhausting, interesting, illuminating day! Plus, I got to see sea lions.

But it wasn’t marine animals that made the day so special. It was, believe it or not, the Darcys.

Both of them. Gigi for her enthusiasm, and Darcy for . . . just being Darcy.

Once again, it was Gigi who constructed the plot. She asked me a few days ago if I would let her and her brother give me a tour of the city. As I haven’t been able to be as much of a
tourist as I would like, and I do enjoy spending time with Gigi, I said yes.

We met at a brunch place not far from my apartment.

“Lizzie!” Gigi cried, when she saw me approaching. She stood up from their table and waved like a maniac. Her brother rose, too.

“Are you ready for your epic tour of San Francisco?” she asked, as she moved chairs so I was wedged between her and her brother.

“It’s an epic tour?” I asked, turning to Darcy.

“It’s certainly comprehensive,” he replied.

“William planned quite the itinerary for today,” Gigi said, ribbing her brother. “I’m glad to see you wore your walking boots.”

“I . . . know you like to walk, but if you prefer, we can have the car—” Darcy added.

“No,” I interrupted. “It’s too nice a day to not walk.”

“Good!” Gigi chirped. “I agree. My tennis conditioning coach would love it if I walked everywhere. I’d have calves of steel.”

“So, what’s on the epic tour?” I asked.

“I thought we could go walk through Chinatown, then stop by Lombard Street, then down to the Marina,” Darcy said. “Does that sound worthwhile—is there any place
you’d rather go?”

“No, it’s great!” I replied. “I’ve actually been dying to see the Marina. I only went once, for dinner, so it was pretty dark. And I got lost on the way
back.”

“Well, you’re with natives this time,” Gigi said. “Getting lost isn’t possible. But now it’s time to carb up! You should get the waffles here, they are
A-mazing.”

Gigi handed me a menu, and as I began to peruse it (and yes, the waffles looked to be the standout), I noticed Darcy looking my way. Gigi was doing something on her phone, so I decided to try
something Darcy and I had never actually managed before.

Small talk.

“I think you out-hipstered yourself today,” I said.

“Because of the glasses?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious. He took the dark Elvis Costello frames off, blinking to focus. “I know, I wouldn’t have, but I couldn’t
get my contacts in this morning, and—”

“Darcy, it’s okay. I was teasing. They . . . they look good.”

They did look good. He put them back on and I couldn’t help thinking—maybe the hipster aesthetic wasn’t as unattractive as I previously thought. Some people could pull it
off.

“Say cheese!” Gigi said, snapping a photo with her camera before either of us knew what was happening.

“Great picture!” she cheered, upon review. “I’m going to document this whole day!”

* * *

San Francisco’s Chinatown is the best-known Chinatown in the world (outside of China, one presumes), and it earns that reputation. We walked from the famous green-roofed
gateway arch to the top of the street, marveling at all the little trinkets sold in the shops. I bought a pink bamboo umbrella for Jane and a small cat figurine for Lydia. Maybe someday we’ll
be on speaking terms again and I’ll be able to give it to her.

“Here, let me carry that for you,” Darcy offered, gently taking the bag out of my hand before I could protest.

“It’s not that heavy.”

“Which is why I offered,” Darcy said, with what might have actually been a smile. “If it weighed a ton, you’d be on your own.”

Holy of holies. Ladies and gentlemen, William Darcy attempted a joke.

“I guess I shouldn’t get a bonsai tree for my father, then,” I replied, playing along.

“Those aren’t bonsai trees. In Chinese culture they’re called penjing.” Then he stopped himself. “I’m sorry. Gigi says I lecture too much.”

I looked around for Gigi—I’d been trying to pace the walk so all three of us would be together, but Gigi kept running ahead or falling behind when she saw something interesting.
Right now she was across the street, admiring some beaded bracelets.

“Don’t worry about it.” I smiled. “Seriously, you shouldn’t beat yourself up over every word uttered.”

“It’s a lifelong trait,” he replied. “One I’ve tried to dispel.”

My mind suddenly flashed to all the cruel things in the past I said about Darcy without so much as an ounce of regret. “And one I should probably cultivate.”

Darcy’s gaze slid to me. “I think you’re fine.”

I could feel my face turning red.

“I think you’re fine, too.”

We left Chinatown several (lightweight) trinkets richer, and made our way to the famously winding Lombard Street—where the hills were decidedly unforgiving and I have to admit even my
preference for walking was being challenged.