Eligible

by Curtis Sittenfeld

  Guardedly, Liz said, “Hi.”

  He had always been handsome and still was, but Liz noticed for the first time how old he looked: His curly blond hair was more silver, and the corners of his eyes were marked by crow’s-feet. When had this happened? She didn’t derive pleasure from her observations; instead, they made her sad.

  Everyone disembarked on the twenty-second floor, and Jasper set a hand on the sleeve of her coat to hold her back. He said, “I’m trying to respect your wishes here, but do you really need to starve me out?”

  “I’m not starving you out.”

  “What, then—we’re just done? After everything?”

  “You had your chance.”

  “If you’re boning some other dude, just promise me it isn’t Darcy.” She said nothing, and as more guests spilled out of another elevator and passed them, Jasper added, “Can’t we at least grab coffee? I miss our conversations.”

  She pulled her arm away from his grasp. “Then I guess you shouldn’t have treated me like you did.”

  THE TEXT FROM Kitty arrived while Liz was pulling laundry from the dryer in the basement of her building: M & D took L & H out for dinner at country club last nite. Thot u want to know.

  Liz called her sister immediately. “This is huge,” Liz said. “Don’t you think?”

  “I guess.” Kitty’s voice sounded flat, possibly bored.

  “Are you painting your nails right now?” Liz asked.

  “If I was,” Kitty said, “how would I just have texted you?”

  LIZ TELEPHONED HER mother next. “I heard you and Dad had dinner last night with Lydia and Ham.”

  “There’s a new shrimp pasta on the menu,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I wasn’t in a seafood mood, but I think I’ll get it next time. And Lydia had the filet mignon—the club always does a good job with that.”

  Knowing she should leave well enough alone, Liz said, “Are you okay now with Ham being transgender?”

  “Oh, that’s a birth defect,” Mrs. Bennet said quickly. “It’s like a cleft palate. It’s not for any of us to question God’s plan, but all you need to do is look around to know some people aren’t born the way they should have been.”

  Was this a theory espoused in Transgender 101: A Simple Guide to a Complex Issue? Not having read the book, Liz couldn’t be sure.

  “Ham is thinking of opening a second gym,” Mrs. Bennet was saying. “All his classes have wait lists, so expanding would make sense.” She sounded, Liz thought, uncannily like the version of herself she had always yearned to be: a mother-in-law bragging about the successful husband of her daughter. Then she added, “Lizzy, I can’t find a very nice throw pillow that I bought at the old house. It has a pineapple on it. Do you remember seeing it?”

  For a few seconds, Liz froze. Then she said, “Maybe it got mixed up with the donation items for the auction.”

  THE TEXT FROM Darcy, which arrived just after ten o’clock on a Thursday night, read: Hi, Liz, I’ll be in NYC next week, and I’d like to take you and Jane out for dinner. Are you free either Tues or Wed? I realize this is short notice.

  How perplexing these few lines were! Why would Darcy wish to have dinner with her and Jane? Did he remember that Jane no longer lived in the city? Perhaps, Liz thought, he hoped to avoid issuing an invitation that might otherwise sound like a date.

  And then, as sometimes happened, the memory of Darcy’s declaration (he’d been in love with her, he’d wanted to be her boyfriend) flew through Liz’s head, followed by that dreadful echo: I’m sure you’ve heard from my brother about him and Caroline.

  Yes, there’d been extenuating circumstances; but none, Liz thought with sorrow and regret, had been extenuating enough to absolve her.

  LIZ’S PROFILE OF Kathy de Bourgh appeared in the December issue of Mascara, and Jasper’s article about Cincinnati’s powerhouse squash tradition appeared in the December issue of Sporty; the two magazines hit newsstands within a day of each other in early November. By the afternoon, six people had texted or emailed Liz about Jasper’s article, four of whom knew she knew him and all of whom knew she was from Cincinnati. She read it that night.

  Only after finishing it—the focus switched between the coach and the eleven-year-old boy with the intense father—did she realize that a part of her had expected Jasper’s article to morph from a straightforward sports feature into a breaking-the-fourth-wall direct address to Liz herself, a postmodern confession or self-exculpation on Jasper’s part. Yet it was none of these things; it was only about squash. Was she disappointed or relieved? She’d have expected the former but instead, without doubt, felt the latter.

  The next morning, Liz discovered that after going to bed, she had received a two-sentence email from Kathy de Bourgh: Dear Liz, Thank you for taking the time to depict me with respect and accuracy. I enjoyed meeting you and am most appreciative. Kathy

  Liz hadn’t previously communicated directly with Kathy de Bourgh and was briefly unsure how to address her. Then, decisively, she typed, Kathy, the pleasure was mine. I’m delighted you enjoyed the article. Liz. She forwarded Kathy de Bourgh’s email to her editor, Talia, prefacing it with the word Nice and three exclamation points.

  THROUGH AN EXCHANGE of texts with Darcy that didn’t veer in subject from logistics, Liz had agreed that she and Jane would meet him at seven o’clock at a bistro in lower Manhattan. Jane, who was reluctant but obviously sensed Liz’s wish for her attendance, arrived in New York via train in the afternoon.

  Though Liz wished she could be as indifferent to Darcy as Jane was, an irresistible curiosity gripped her. The evening might leave her bruised or remorseful, but she was compelled to know why he wanted to see them. As they entered the restaurant, Liz’s heart pounded and her body pulsed with a jittery energy.

  Following the maître d’, Liz made eye contact with Darcy from several feet away, and when he stood—without smiling, he held up his right hand—an odd happiness swelled within her.

  “Oh my God, Chip’s here,” Jane said.

  It was true—Liz had been so focused on Darcy that she’d failed to notice that Chip was also waiting at the table.

  Liz glanced at her sister and said, “I had no idea, I swear.” Jane bit her lip, and Liz said, “Is this okay? We can leave.”

  “It’s fine,” Jane said quietly.

  Even before they reached the table, Liz felt herself oversmiling, talking too loudly and with excess enthusiasm. “Hi!” she said to Darcy and Chip. “Chip! What a surprise!” Chip was now standing, too, and the physical and symbolic intricacies of all of them greeting one another seemed nearly insurmountable. Thus, despite her misgivings, Liz threw her arms around Chip in the friendliest and most midwestern of hugs, and he half-hugged her back while kissing her right cheek. She then hugged Darcy. Had the two of them ever hugged? Not, she was pretty sure, while clothed. Even as this thought formed, the hug had concluded, and they were all sitting. She wondered if the men were shocked by the size of Jane’s belly.

  “What are you doing here?” she said to Chip with great energy, and though she willed herself to turn down both the volume and the chumminess a notch, the strange and ambiguous situation was impelling her to take the reins of the conversation. “Are you in New York for long?”

  “I’m not.” Though he was considerably more subdued than Liz, his voice contained its usual sincerity and kindness. “But it’s really good to see both of you.” It was clear that the sentiment was directed at Jane; every molecule of Chip’s body seemed turned toward and attuned to her. Was it possible, Liz wondered, that he found this lushly curvy version of Jane to be as beautiful as Liz herself did? When he said to Jane, “I hope you’ve been well,” such depth of feeling infused his tone that the wish did not seem inordinate.

  “I’ve been living up in Rhinebeck, which is very relaxing.” Jane removed the napkin from the table in front of her and unfolded it on her lap. “Are you still in California?”

  Chip nodded. “We wrapped the Eligible shoot in October
.”

  Liz wanted to ask if he’d found love, of either the genuine or the scripted variety, yet posing the question in Jane’s presence seemed cruel. Instead, Liz said, “So what’s next for you?”

  “Funny you should ask. I’ve gotten an agent, actually, who’s talking to some folks about my hosting a medical talk show on cable. It’d be a roundtable thing—me, a nurse-practitioner, an alternative type like an acupuncturist or chiropractor. I’m hoping it’s a way to use my expertise without fighting in the trenches like this guy.” He gestured with his thumb at Darcy and added cheerfully, “If there was any lingering doubt that I’m a lightweight.”

  There wasn’t, Liz thought, but Jane said, with more force than Liz would have expected, “I think you’re being too hard on yourself. If working in an ER isn’t what you want to do, you shouldn’t be miserable.” Was she, Liz wondered, talking only about medicine?

  The waiter approached, and Darcy said, “Shall we get a bottle of wine? Jane, I don’t know if you’re drinking.” Both he and Chip already had a cocktail in front of them.

  “I’m not,” Jane said.

  Liz said, “But your doctor self sounded impressively nonjudgmental, Darcy.”

  The expression on Darcy’s face then was hard to read—it might have been irritation—and Liz thought, You’re the one who invited us here.

  “I’m sure Jane knows that she doesn’t need to answer to me,” Darcy said, but he said it stiffly, and it occurred to Liz for the first time that he was not entirely at ease, which was all that was necessary for the last of her own nervousness to vanish. Besides, between them, the two men at this table had broken both her and her sister’s hearts. They didn’t deserve her nervousness!

  She said, “Chip, have you ever considered auditioning for that dance competition show?”

  “Believe it or not, it’s very hard to win a spot. Not to mention, I’m sure I don’t have what it takes. No, if I have any self-respect, the Eligible reunion will be my reality-TV swan song. If I stay in television, I’d like it to be more service-oriented.”

  As the four of them selected then received their entrées, Chip spoke the most, Liz the second most, and Darcy and Jane only intermittently. Chip never uttered the words pregnant or pregnancy but seemingly without discomfort alluded several times to Jane’s condition, inquiring about how she was feeling, where she planned to deliver, and whether she envisioned continuing to teach yoga after the baby was born. Darcy paid for the meal—when Liz pulled her wallet from her purse, he shook his head sternly—and after he had passed his credit card to the waiter, Jane went to use the restroom. When she stood, so did both men. In her absence, Chip said to Liz, “She really seems good.”

  “She is.”

  “And she’s—she’s well-settled in Rhinebeck, it sounds like?” Did he wish to be contradicted? During the meal, Liz had concluded that they were all gathered so that Chip and Darcy could officially absolve themselves; they could go forth into the rest of their lives confident that they hadn’t wronged the Bennet sisters in any deep or permanent way, assured that they were all on Waspily amicable terms. And this belief that they were entitled to absolution—it seemed the most self-indulgent act of all. But were they gathered instead for Chip to attempt to rekindle the relationship? The possibility was intriguing and alarming.

  Carefully, Liz said, “I don’t think she’s made a concrete plan for after the baby comes.”

  “I’m glad she—” Chip began, at which point his phone rang. When he checked the screen, he said, “If you’ll forgive me, it’s Caroline.” He stepped away from the table, and Darcy and Liz were alone.

  “Do you want to join the call?” The question came out as less joking and more bitter than Liz had been aiming for.

  Darcy looked at her curiously.

  Liz held up her own phone. “I just downloaded a solitaire app, so I can keep myself entertained.” When he still said nothing, she heard herself add, “That sounds like a euphemism for masturbation, doesn’t it?” In her head, she thought, Liz! Stop! I command you to stop at once! Aloud, she said, “Why are you in New York anyway?”

  He nodded once toward the table. “This dinner.”

  “No, seriously. Why?”

  “I flew to New York this afternoon, and I fly back to Cincinnati at six A.M.”

  A new confusion seized Liz.

  “Does Chip leave tomorrow?” she asked.

  Darcy shook his head. “He’s here for a few days.” Then he said, “It sounds like your parents are coming to terms with Lydia’s marriage.”

  Liz squinted. “Who’d you hear that from?”

  “It’s good news, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Liz said. “It is good news.”

  “You also might be interested to know that Georgie has agreed to donate Pemberley as a historic landmark. She wants us to perform some type of ritual farewell before the handoff, and I understand I have you to thank for that.”

  “Actually, that’s Jane’s bailiwick, not mine,” Liz said. “I did mention it to Georgie, though.” Liz wanted to inquire after Georgie’s health, but the enmity between herself and Darcy prevented her. She was grateful when Jane reappeared, and a minute later, so did Chip.

  “I hope my manners won’t seem lacking if I suggest that just Jane and I go for a little stroll,” he said. “Jane, would you consider it?”

  Jane flushed radiantly. She glanced at Liz. “Are we expected anywhere else tonight?” Which, Liz knew, her sister was fully aware they were not.

  “Nope,” Liz said.

  Turning back toward Chip, Jane said, “Then I’d love to.”

  Liz and Chip embraced once more, and Jane somberly thanked Darcy for the meal (again Liz envied the way Jane was compelled to show Darcy neither phony friendliness nor conspicuous derision). Jane and Chip had scarcely left the table when Liz asked, “Is he trying to get back together with her?”

  “That’s for him to answer,” Darcy said.

  Liz rolled her eyes. “You put way too much stock in discretion.”

  He smiled thinly. “Or maybe you put too little.”

  A silence arose, a silence in which neither of them looked elsewhere or fiddled with their phones; he seemed to be scrutinizing her. If she wasn’t careful, Liz felt, she might blurt out, How could you have picked Caroline Bingley over me?

  Surely, surely, he had to say something. But no. He said nothing at all, and when Liz could withstand it no longer, she said, “I guess you’ll be getting up at the crack of dawn, huh?”

  “A car is coming to my hotel at four.”

  “In that case, you shouldn’t even go to sleep. You should go on a bender.”

  “I imagine my patients tomorrow would prefer I didn’t.”

  Did he understand that she had, under the guise of a joke, been putting out a feeler about if he’d like to get an after-dinner drink? She scooted back from the table and reached for her coat. “Then I’ll let you get your rest.” She pulled her purse onto one shoulder. “Take care, Darcy.” It was borderline rude, she knew, not to wait for him and leave the restaurant together; it was borderline cold to wave with false jauntiness rather than exchanging either an Ohio hug or a New York kiss on the cheek. But he was welcome to complain about her manners to Caroline—what did it matter at this point? And anyway, when the tears burst over Liz’s eyelids and streamed down her cheeks, she wanted to be away from him, alone on the sidewalk in the cool night.

  LIZ HAD FALLEN asleep on the couch in her living room while waiting for Jane. Thus the lights were on, and the novel Liz had been reading had dropped to the floor, when Jane knocked. Liz was still only partially alert as she opened the apartment door, saying, “I really had no idea Chip would be there. You believe me, right?”

  Jane rested one hand atop her belly. “Lizzy, he proposed.”

  “What? Are you serious?”

  Jane nodded.

  “Holy shit,” Liz said. “What did you say?”

  Jane was practically whispering. “I sa
id yes.”

  “Oh my God!” Liz embraced her sister. “This is insane. Start at the beginning.”

  “Let me get some water. Want any?”

  “No thanks.” Liz glanced at her watch and saw that it was three-thirty. “Did you guys have sex?” she asked.

  Jane moved from the sink in Liz’s galley kitchen to the living room. As gracefully as was possible for a woman twenty-four weeks pregnant, she perched on the arm of the couch, to which Liz had returned. Jane’s expression was both bashful and joyous. She said, “I was worried he’d be”—she waved a hand over her midsection—“freaked out. And I think it was strange for him at first, but then it was really nice.”

  “Was this before or after he’d proposed?”

  “After. Lizzy, I know you think he acted flaky, but I was ambivalent, too. The situation was so confusing, and now we both know what we want.”

  “I take it he didn’t have a ring?”

  Jane shook her head. “He had no idea how I’d react.” Her brow furrowed. “There’s kind of a crazy part to all of this. The Eligible reunion will start airing in January, and, obviously, the network wants what happens to be a surprise. For all those shows, they make the contestants sign confidentiality agreements, and the agreements last until the whole season has aired. Even if a couple falls in love during the shoot, they’re not really supposed to see each other for months, until after the last episode. If they violate the contract, they’re liable for the entire budget of the show, which is something like five million dollars.”

  Jane took a sip of water, then went on: “The reunion took place at this fancy compound by the ocean in Malibu, and Chip said from the minute he got there, he knew he’d made a mistake—not in leaving medicine but in leaving me. He’d let his doubts about being a doctor, which he’d had for years, cloud his judgment about our relationship, and after he found out about my pregnancy, he was overwhelmed. But when he got to California and was supposed to be in romantic settings with other women, all he could think about was me. He wants to raise my baby as his child. The catch is that because of the contract he signed, we can’t be together for at least four months—unless, and this is the crazy part, he thinks that if I’m willing to do it, we can get married now as part of an Eligible special. During the reunion, he talked a lot about me with a producer he’d known from his first season, and she tried to convince him to invite me on the show, to come out to Malibu, but he thought that wasn’t fair to me, because the whole thing would have been filmed. In fact, he wasn’t even planning to reach out to me at all until Darcy suggested it—Chip was worried I hated him. Anyway, he saw this producer last week, and she’s pretty sure that if we get married on the air, the network will pay for the wedding, and afterward, before the special runs, they’ll rent a house for us somewhere secluded while we wait for the baby.”