The Secret Diary of Lizzie Bennet (37 page)

Jane and Bing are being awfully adult about the whole thing. Which I guess means that this is what an adult relationship looks like.

“Bing—or should I call you Dr. Lee yet?—would you pass the potatoes, please?” my mother cooed across the table at dinner tonight.

She knows the answer to that question, by the way. She knows, because she’s asked some variation of it every night for the past three nights. Because if one were to infer that the return
of Mr. Bing Lee to our quaint little hamlet is of the most interest to Jane out of all the Bennets, one would be mistaken.

When Bing left our house on that first day, he ran into my mother, pulling into the driveway.

My mother promptly flailed all over him, like a prodigal son-in-law returned.

Okay, that might be a little over the top—I have no proof of any flailing. But she did invite him to dinner that night.

To Mom’s credit, she restrained herself from pulling out all the stops this time. No trips to the store for forty-seven different possible entrées, no bananas flambé. She
edited herself down to four simple courses—well, five if you counted the sorbet palate cleanser.

Dad had a hand in this newfound restraint. When I told him Mom needed to be clued in to certain things, he took it to heart. He didn’t tell her about the videos—thank God, I have no
idea how I’d handle first showing her how to play videos on YouTube, and then the ensuing conversation. But he did tell her that George Wickham not only broke Lydia’s heart, but
violated her trust. I’m not certain what other details he gave, but ever since then, my mom has been very supportive of Lydia, of her counseling, and of just keeping things calm around the
house.

And that calm has included dialing back the enthusiasm she displays for her daughters’ jobs, futures, and, most importantly, love lives. Hence, the restrained meal.

I’m really proud of Dad. He’s been far more vocal as of late. He’s been talking to Lydia a little bit every day—and I mean really talking, not just the basic “how
was your day” and “did you do all your homework” we got most of our lives. And I know, could he have prevented it, he would have cancelled dinner with Bing to spare Jane the
embarrassment.

The thing is, Bing was more than eager to have dinner with us. So much so that Mom invited him back again. And again.

Which is why he was passing Mom potatoes across the dinner table once more.

As awkward as it was, luckily none of us were called on much to contribute to the conversation. Bing and Mom did most of the talking.

“No, Mrs. Bennet, I’m not Dr. Lee,” Bing replied.

“Not yet,” she said with a smile. “But that school of yours has just the strangest schedule. Did you say you were going to graduate in April or May?”

Actually, Bing had never said anything about graduation. Which was smart on his part. If my mom knew the day, she would finagle tickets and be sitting front row center when his name was
called.

Bing didn’t answer Mom, and just turned to Jane. “Did you want any more pot roast?” he said softly, offering the meat (on a brand-new serving plate!) to her.

“Yes,” Jane replied. “Thank you.”

“That’s my Jane,” my mother piped up. “She loves my home cooking. And she cooks just as well, you should know. Even though she’s become so cosmopolitan in Los
Angeles, she still knows how to make a house feel like a home.” She smiled, and Lydia and I shared a glance across the table. “But I do have to say the city agrees with her. Have you
two never run into each other in Los Angeles?”

“No,” Bing replied. “To my infinite regret.”

“It’s a big city, Mom,” I added, dipping my toe into the fray.

“It’s too bad that her job let her go. I have no idea what she’ll do now.”

“Mom, you know I’m looking for a new job,” Jane cautioned. “I even had some phone interviews last week.”

“Your daughter is amazing, ma’am,” Bing said, smiling at Jane. “I’m sure she’ll find an equally amazing job in no time.”

“I’m sure she will, Bing,” Mom agreed. “But tell me, how long are you planning on staying in town again?”

“I’ll be here for a little while,” Bing replied, not taking his eyes off Jane. “I have some time, and . . . well, there are some things here that Los Angeles just
doesn’t have.”

I am
shocked
that my mother managed to keep her fist-pumping subtle, and under the table.

The thing is, she might have something to pump her fists over. The way Bing looked at Jane all throughout dinner, and when I spy them talking alone, it’s clear that he’s not over
her.

And the way Jane looks at Bing . . . I think she might be a little afraid of not being over him, either.

But Jane is holding fast to her principles. So far, they are just friends. Nothing more, nothing less. And I think it’s smart. Why let yourself dream of something bigger, when you
don’t know if anything is going to come of it?

“What about this one?” Jane said. “I’d have to find a roommate to afford it, but my friend says that’s the safe part of Brooklyn.”

“It’s a studio,” I replied, leaning over her shoulder to look at the screen. “How are you going to have a roommate in a studio? Rotating sleep cycles?”

“At least it doesn’t have a bathroom key,” Lydia said from the bed. “Does anyone else have a really weird feeling of, like, didgeridoo?”

“A didgeridoo is an Australian musical instrument. But if you mean déjà vu, then totally,” I said, and Lydia threw a pillow at me.

Yes, there was a certain sense of déjà vu over the proceedings. Because once again, we were helping Jane look for an apartment. But this time, we weren’t looking in Los
Angeles.

No, Jane is moving to New York.

She got a job. A
great
job, from the sound of it. Since Jane lost her previous job, and since work is delightfully rare in this economy, she’d been applying everywhere, not just
Los Angeles and California. The job in New York was a pipe dream, a wild “why the hell not?” shot in the dark, but they liked her. They liked her style, her lookbook, the
recommendations she got from clients, and the referral she got from her old boss at the style firm here in town (hey, it turns out her newer ex-boss in Los Angeles has a reputation as an asshole;
go figure).

Sometimes, when you go for the pipe dream, you actually end up getting the pipe dream.

I am incredibly happy for Jane. And I feel a lot better about her career advancement this time than I did back in the fall when she moved to Los Angeles. Maybe because this is how it’s
supposed to be, and I’m finally at peace with it. We are all growing up. And changing.

“Whatevs, wherever you live it has to have a spare bedroom for me when I visit after summer classes,” Lydia said. “My counselor said it would be good motivation for me. Oh, you
should totally get a collection of hats. That’s what they do in Brooklyn, right? Wear hats?”

But thankfully some of us aren’t changing too much.

I like that Lydia is sounding more like her old self. A less boy-crazy, more future-planning version, but the spark that is Lydia is peeking out from behind the scared, bruised outer casing.

“I’ll make that my first priority,” Jane replied. “Right after rent. Which is . . . alarmingly high.”

“Well, your friend from college is letting you crash on her couch for a couple of weeks, so you’ll have a better sense of the market and what you can afford then,” I replied.
“Plus, you’re selling your car.”

One of the first things Jane’s college friend told her was that no one needs a car in New York City. And you know what they say: when in New York . . .

“Well, I’m not taking my car, but I’m not selling it, either,” Jane replied.

“What are you going to do with it, then?” Lydia asked. “Just let it sit in the driveway?”

“I’m giving it away. To you.”

As Lydia began squealing about no longer having to car-share with Mom, and crushing Jane’s ribs in a hug, I noticed Jane’s phone play a familiar personalized ring tone.

Bing bing bing bong. Bong bing bing bong. BING! BING!

Three guesses as to whom it belongs.

Jane heard it, too, and escaped Lydia’s chokehold of gratitude. She picked up the phone and, after a second, silenced it and returned to looking at apartment listings on her screen.

Lydia and I looked at each other.

“I’m . . . gonna go tell Mom about the car. She’s going to be almost as happy as me,” Lydia said, giving Jane one last squeeze before slipping out of the room.

“You haven’t told Bing yet, have you?” I said quietly, once the door shut.

“No,” Jane said, her voice small. “But I will.”

“You’re leaving in three days.”

“I know!” She nodded, her eyes not leaving her computer screen. “And I’m going to tell him, but . . . I’m just getting to know him again. I don’t know how to
say good-bye. Especially since I never had the chance to say good-bye the first time.”

I know why Jane is reluctant to say good-bye to Bing. Not because she doesn’t know how. I think she’s afraid that she won’t be able to when the time comes. Especially
considering how she felt about him before.

“Jane . . . you have to stop not telling him things.”

She kept her eyes locked on the computer but was no longer looking at it. When she finally did speak, her voice was small, unsure.

“Do you honestly think if I had told him about the . . . forty-eight hours of worry, it would have made any difference?”

Now it’s my turn to stare into space, thinking. Would it have made any difference? I don’t know. Heck, it might have driven Bing away all the faster, especially if he was listening
to a friend who was operating under the assumption that Jane was just using Bing. But then again, maybe it would have brought them closer. Made them open up to each other, and talk about the future
in a way they hadn’t been doing before.

I thought about Lydia, and how much I wished we had tried to understand each other before Christmas instead of blowing up and getting angry. And yes, I thought about Darcy, too, and all we
hadn’t said.

“I think . . . that you wouldn’t believe the problems that can be resolved just by people taking the time to talk to one another.”

“Mom, do not go in there.”

“But I need to get your dad’s socks out of the den.”

I moved in front of her when she tried to dodge me, like a point guard blocking the shooter. (What? I know basketball. I went to college.)

“Mom, trust me, you do not want to go in there right now.”

“For heaven’s sake, Lizzie.” My mother sighed. “This is my house, too. I know your father doesn’t like anyone in his den, and now you’ve set up your secret
little clubhouse in there—”

“Only because you turned my bedroom into your Zen meditation chamber. With an aquarium.”

“—but if I don’t get your father’s socks out from under the chair, they will stink to high heaven by the next laundry day. Trust me.”

She tried to get past me again. So I did the only thing I could. I told the truth.

“Mom, Bing found out Jane is leaving for New York, and he came over to talk to her, and they have locked themselves in the den. So . . . as much as I hate telling you this, it is possible
that all your dreams for Jane’s future happiness hinge on this one moment. So for the love of all that is holy, don’t go in there right now.”

Mom blinked at me. Then blinked at the door. Then back at me.

“Under those circumstances, I suppose I can come back for your father’s socks later.”

Mom moved on to the laundry room and I breathed a sigh of relief, holing myself up on the stairs to wait. Not to spy. Just in case there was screaming.

When Bing came in while I was filming, I didn’t know what to do. In the kindest way possible, he demanded to talk to Jane. So, I just sort of . . . left them in the den.

I don’t know what is going on in there (hopefully some abject begging), but I can’t imagine it would go well if Mom walked in and saw them. Plus all of my camera equipment is out and
. . .

Oh, crap.

I think I left the camera on!

Jane just called. She is safely ensconced on the couch of her friend from college in the grand and hat-wearing borough of Brooklyn (the safe part). And interestingly enough . .
. so is Bing.

Not that he’s ensconced on the couch. But he
is
in New York City. Because he and Jane flew off yesterday in side-by-side seats.

That’s right. Jane and Bing went to New York. Together.

Don’t worry. They’re not engaged. If that were the case, my mother would be dead and we’d be planning a funeral.

Nor are Jane and Bing living together—Jane imposed some strict rules on his coming with her, I think smartly, and rule number one is separate residences.

But what they are doing is giving each other a second chance.

While I was hiding on the stairs (and yes, my camera was on, capturing everything), my sister and her ex-boyfriend were having the heart-to-heart to beat them all. And it turns out, Bing had
been keeping some things from Jane, too—and from all of us.

For instance: it turns out, a third-year medical student doesn’t have a lot of free time to jaunt off to San Francisco for “interviews,” nor can he come to my quaint little
hometown to spend time “just friends” with Jane. How did Bing get around this little issue?

He quit med school.

Months ago. In retrospect, it makes a lot of sense. The reason he was in San Francisco was that he was trying to get his head on straight and Darcy gave him a place to be right after he dropped
out, so he could try to figure out what to do next.

I don’t know if Caroline and his parents even know yet. Well, they’ll know when they receive a call from him in their family’s pied-à-terre in Manhattan. I can’t
imagine Caroline will be too pleased. But what can she do about it? It’s his life.