Twenty Months

by Alicia Rogers

  Darcy remained standing in the sort of muck John Varvatos oxfords were never meant to see as Danny gleefully made his way out of the alley. It wasn't until the flashing lights and the burps of police cruiser sirens filled the entrance that he allowed the dour mask he'd been wearing slip from his countenance.

  Fitzwilliam smiled and knew that the donation he would make to the LAPD was going to be worth every penny.

  **

  SHOULD'VE JUST PUT IN AN APPLICATION AT BURGER KING

  Friend of the Darcy family caught in a shocking extortion attempt.

  In today's "ungrateful bastard" news, word is former E! employee and current asshole, Daniel Wickham tried to pay back the family that had the nerve to take him in and shove hot meals and an excellent education down his throat, by extorting $500,000.

  Stealing from the Darcys is like taking a twenty from your memaw's purse – it's not gonna do anything but make that Big Mac Value Meal you just bought taste like shame and regret.

  Anyway, Mr. Wickham is looking at five-to-ten, and with those green eyes and that creamy complexion, I'd say he's gonna need a care package of jumbo-sized anal lube.

  While they've had to deal with this shit, the couple's newborn son remains in the hospital. I'm starting the Owen Darcy prayer circle right here. Get better, little one.

  Posted by: Michael K

  Chapter 33

  Edit the Sad Parts (month eight)

  The last four months of Lizzie's life had been a perfectly choreographed dance; one that she performed with a costume made up of weary smiles and greasy hair. The hospital room during her recovery time had become a veritable revolving door, and she played host to a laundry list of faceless family members and casual acquaintances that wanted to get a peek at the next generation Darcy (while smoothly mentioning their economic hardships and how cool it would be if she could throw a couple bucks their way). Jane used her vacation time in order to be there everyday, and was very good about sitting through paternity test episodes of Maury, and lending an ear whenever some distant cousin dropped by to be inappropriate. After school Mary and the twins brought books (that surprisingly reached outside the realm of Vogue and Gossip Girl), and snuck in the occasional outside food source, while Mrs. Bennet had mentally regressed her twenty-one year old child to about a very sickly five – tossing heavy blankets on Lizzie and barking at nurses to fluff her pillow, Mr. Bennet was keen to sit back and occasionally offer witticisms over the top of an issue of The LA Times.

  Before dragging his girlfriend home, Charlie was always up for a chat. She could count on a Mario Kart battle with Richard, on Charlotte and Henry squeezing themselves in from time to time, and on a phone call from Georgie promptly at eight o'clock.

  It was a well calculated effort, and one that Lizzie appreciated more than they'd ever know, because it kept her from ever truly being alone with Darcy.

  Since Owen's birth, the depth of her conversations with Fitzwilliam went about as far as "How are you feeling?/Can I get you anything?/I'll be right back". Despite their being surrounded by loved ones ninety-nine percent of the time, Darcy slipped into the silent routine she once believed he only reserved for strangers; the warm, funny man Lizzie discovered all those months ago was gone, and in his place was an obedient errand boy that only spoke when spoken to.

  The moments they spent with Owen proved to be the worst; under the blood shot eyes, the barely kempt hair, and the ever increasing stubble (on chin and leg), she and Darcy were two people agonizing over whether the life they'd helped create would get to experience all the world had to offer, and they couldn't even talk to each other about it.

  Lizzie would have given anything to not be angry anymore, to chuck her wounded pride, fling herself into his arms, and have a long ugly cry session that dissolved into declarations of love in between all of the sobbing. But, she just couldn't, and Darcy's autopilot was incapable of forcing her to have a change of heart.

  Eventually she returned to the apartment just off of Santa Monica that once upon a time she'd longed to see, (finding the room to be much smaller than she'd remembered and pushed all laments over the lack of plush, white couches to the back of her mind), and eventually Owen was able to leave the Ceaders NICU effectively ending the most emotionally draining two months in his parents lives.

  The tentative agreement they'd reached that first night in the hospital remained: Monday through Thursday Owen was hers, and the weekends were spent with Darcy. Taking great pains to not be papped during all of this back and forth, they agreed to an exclusive photoshoot with People, and taking even greater pains to not see each other – Jane, and a visiting Mrs. Bennet always presided over the custody switch.

  And though sometimes she felt as if she'd collapse under the weight of all that inner turmoil, Lizzie simply did the best she could. She discovered diaper changing was an art form (and that boys could have a sort of 'Old Faithful' effect), got back into her size two jeans (much to Charlotte's very vocal disgust), looked forward to a point in time where her nipples wouldn't ache so damn much, and coped with busy days fueled by 1.5 hours of sleep…

  "Aw, I know you must feel awful…you go ahead and cry it all out…"

  Because, Owen it seemed had gotten nearly all of his father's physical attributes – his eyes were brilliantly blue, his hair dark, and his face rather fond of a constipated expression – his 'Lizzie-ness' so far could only be traced down to an apparent hatred of sleeping at night.

  Even a mobile of grinning anamorphic ducks piloting airplanes couldn't cheer poor, little Owen Darcy up (who could blame him, really? Ducks with beaks full of human teeth were fucking creepy), and his mother risked permanent ear damage, bending down into his crib. Nostrils flared, she took one big sniff and recoiled in horror.

  "Good job getting me to mistake the 'massive dump' cry for the 'lack of sleep' cry," she commented dryly, lifting Owen out of bed. "It singed mommy's nose hairs; you should be proud."

  When he was all changed, and when the toxic waste diaper was sufficiently disposed of, Owen squirmed, and cooed, and made just the tiniest hint at a wail to come as Lizzie attempted to place him back in the crib. Her head cocked to the side, she caught a glimpse of the flashing digits on the clock:

  7:00 a.m. on the dot; another Darcy trait reared its ugly head – Owen, was annoyingly punctual.

  Lizzie wasn't sure of the official start date of their early morning ritual, but during one particular night of nonstop tears, she'd scooped up her son and headed out of the door. What she'd perhaps intended to be a soothing walk around the neighborhood, turned into a soothing walk through Costco since Owen hadn't calmed down before she reached the main road. She dipped into the store, wandering among isles of bulk Charmin and Purina, occasionally stopping to chat up a stocker or to sample some new multi-grain cereal, and before she knew it, she had a blissfully unconscious infant in her presence.

  Owen, it seemed, had come to expect this type of treatment everyday (Darcy trait #406: a ridiculous sense of entitlement).

  She dressed them both quickly, used her fingers to work away the few tangles in her hair, and secured him to her chest in the baby sling. When Lizzie and Owen emerged from the bedroom, they were greeted by a smiling Charlotte who pressed a steaming cup of Starbucks's finest into her best friend's hands.

  "What the hell are you doing up before the crack of noon?" Lizzie teased, pausing a moment to savor the taste of macchiato, and briefly kissed the cup. "God, I've missed you."

  "I'm just getting in from Henry's, and uh would you two like a moment alone?" Charlotte laughed.

  "Nah, you're good," she shook her head. "All of the x-rated action is taking place in my belly."

  "So…I've been doing some thinking," Charlotte began carefully, even taking to working the toe of her shoe back and forth in the carpet, "and in my opinion…"

  Despite the caffeine high Lizzie's expression darkened instantly. "The answer's no."

  "You don't know the opinion yet!"

  "Su
ch is the power of an educated guess," was the dry response.

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Talk to him, Lizzie! Setting aside the fact it's painfully obvious Darcy means the world to you and you miss him like crazy, I think you could use his tip for getting Owen to sleep. He doesn't exactly have a Costco nearby."

  "I don't need a tip from him, Char," she sighed heavily. "This works…"

  "This is ridiculous and draining, and there's got to be a better way!" Placing both hands on Lizzie's shoulders, Charlotte looked her square in the eyes and said with an exasperated smile, "It's been four months since you've physically seen or heard the man. Whether you choose to forgive him is totally up to you, and you know I'll support your decision, but…and this is just in my opinion…"

  A snicker, "Mmmhmm."

  "You're gonna regret it if you don't take a chance on fixing this," Charlotte finished, and kissed Lizzie's forehead. "I love you; don't be stupid."

  "This is not being stupid – this is self preservation," Lizzie told her flatly and she maneuvered out from under Charlotte's grasp. "Thanks for the coffee," she called out over her shoulder as she headed for the door and towards the thrifty shoppers paradise that would calm her fussy baby.

  * * *

  The Fitzwilliam Darcy Misery Tour began the day Owen came home from the hospital. In a bout of mania brought on by the sight of a clean computer desk and packing boxes in Lizzie's bedroom, a sheet of paper was ripped from its spiral notebook binds and a new list was scribbled in a shaky, illegible hand:

  Top Three Wrongs that must be Righted

  It was dramatic and silly, and made him feel like an even bigger tool than he already did, but his determination to get a fucking grip saw no other way. The names were written in order in from damaged to catastrophic and when he finished he sighed, dug his cell phone out of his pocket and hit send on the first name in the 'recent calls' list.

  "What's shakin, Big Daddy?"

  Georgie was disappointingly chipper, and in addition to possible irrevocable destruction of their relationship he was about to ruin her good mood. Somehow this bothered him more than anything.

  "I…we need to talk."

  What was arguably the first honest conversation Darcy had had with his baby sister in months was just as brutal as he'd expected (after all, nobody takes kindly to being lied to), and had ended with him being sworn at in several different languages – some of which he hadn't known Georgiana could speak.

  She planned to visit LA in July and while the trip was still on, Georgie made it quite clear that seeing Darcy's face was no longer on the itinerary ("I'll stay with Richard and I swear to god, Will if you come around…").

  When the day finally arrived, Darcy placed a quick call to his cousin who offered up support ("...It's been very nice knowing you, Darce. Make sure to will me the house in Cape Cod"), raided the school supplies section of a nearby Walgreens, and headed for LAX. Despite her insistence, he was determined not to tread lightly around Georgiana; he owed her a better explanation than he'd been able to give over the phone, and their bond was far too important to let crumble under his stupidity.

  So, he awkwardly stood in front of the baggage claim gripping a brightly colored poster board. It wasn't bubble-lettered, or pink, and there was a distinct lack of glitter, but he'd hoped she'd appreciate the sentiment anyway.

  GEORGIE PORGIE

  In bold, sharpied black stood out against the neon green poster, and when she emerged from the crowd wearing sweats and the thin irritation of someone that's been holed up on a plane for more than an hour, the siblings locked eyes and Georgie's lips quirked up in a smile that was all too brief.

  Perhaps she'd temporarily forgotten she hated his guts.

  The walk towards him was slow and deliberate and the scowl on her face was heartbreaking. "What are you doing here?"

  He shrugged with a rueful smile. "Richard couldn't make it."

  "I see you're not tired of lying," she said rolling her eyes.

  Darcy winced. "Georgie, please…"

  "You know what, Will? There's not a bag in the world that could contain the amount of douche you are," she snapped. "You are a…you are a douche canoe. I'm not sure what hurts the most: the lying to me about your relationship with Lizzie or the fact that you felt you had to lie to me about your relationship with Lizzie. I'm not two years old anymore I can keep a secret if I need to."

  "I know and I'm so unbelievably sorry, Georgie…"

  "I love Lizzie like sister, Will and I was just supposed to give her up in a year and a half?" Her bottom lip gave just a hint of a tremble marking the presence of a sadness the girl was doing her best to keep hidden and Darcy choked on his words.

  "No, no one's giving Lizzie up," his voice strained for a tone louder than a whisper. "Can we go somewhere and talk? Are you hungry? You could yell at me over moo shu pork," he offered, hopeful.

  There was an awkward pause, but in the end she fought back a smile. "Yeah, I guess but only if you're buying."

  For the first time in four months Darcy felt himself relax.

  **

  "So, what all this time you guys were faking? Does Lizzie even really like us; I mean, you said she was an actress maybe she's better at it than you thought."

  Chinese takeout cartons were strewn about the coffee table; soft noodles dangled precariously on the edge of their container, and there was a nice mix of grease and soy sauce pooling on the surface of Darcy's $1400 investment, but Georgie no longer looked like she wanted to kill him and that was all that mattered.

  He leaned forward in order to snatch up one of her dumplings with his chopsticks. "We were faking being in love at first, and Lizzie never put on an act when it came to you. She adores you, Georgie. I should know, she was far from being my biggest fan in the beginning and didn't hesitate to show it."

  Halfway from shoveling fried rice into her mouth Georgie stopped and grinned instead. "At first you say?"

  Darcy gave a good natured roll of his eyes. "Yep."

  "Would you care to elaborate on that, brother dear?"

  "Not really," he dragged the words out teasingly.

  And for that he took a dumpling square in the forehead.

  "How very adult of you," Darcy sardonically told her while wiping off.

  She shrugged. "I could say something about you already keeping enough details about this relationship hidden from me. I could, but I'm not going to." Casually sipping at her drink Georgie added, "Because that would be petty."

  Smiling wistfully he shook his head. "I love her, Georgie and it's simultaneously the best and the most fucking awful feeling in the world. I'm still dealing with wanting to burst into song one minute and wanting to shoot myself in the head in the next, and when I think about how badly I fucked this all up the bullet nearly wins out."

  "So, that explains the 'sad beard' then," she quipped with a nod towards her brother's facial hair. "Have you talked to her?"

  He gave her a sideways look. "You see the beard; what do you think?"

  "Oh c'mon, Will!" she groaned loudly.

  "I'm giving her space – it's the only thing I know to do right now," he sighed. "Besides, I've got one more thing on my list to worry about before I can even think about fixing things with Lizzie."

  Georgie swung her focus on the piece of notebook paper that sat amidst the cartons and the plates, and she glowered making sure to plop a soggy lo mein noodle right on top of Eva's name.

  Chapter 34

  Edit the Sad Parts. Part Two

  Your call has been forwarded to an automated message system for…

  A sigh was uttered.

  A scream was stifled, a Blackberry was pocketed, and Georgiana watched with the kind of rapt, morbid attention usually reserved for slowly passing by the site of a gory accident, the gradual slumping of his shoulders as he moved dejected and lumbering towards the living room couch.

  Today marked the seventy-fifth time Will had attempted to get in touch with Eva only to reach the standa
rd automaton voice of her wireless provider, and Georgie feared he was now well past the limit sanity deemed acceptable.

  Propelled by the success of their own reconciliation, Fitzwilliam continued 'operation: feel less like a twat' with slight overconfidence. Getting Eva's voicemail the first time didn't faze him; he left a pleasant, if unbelievably awkward message that inquired after her health and the health of the baby (their baby?) and ended it with a request for her to get back to him with due date information and the like. Calls two through ten repeated the same sentiment, but included apologies for being a massive asshole.

  Number eleven occurred after a long night in which Owen apparently felt like testing his lung capacity, and that message was an incoherent mix of babbling and weeping he prayed would never see the light of the internet.

  By the twentieth call, the confidence was nonexistent, the message was a simple "Call me", but the hope was still there; Fitzwilliam was determined to do the right thing even if in the end his push for self improvement didn't aid in getting Lizzie back, and that optimism kept him going because when all of this was over, at least it would have been worth it.

  The fifty-fifth defeat, however, loudly declared him to be a fucking sucker, his optimism to be for shit, and when the contact attempts reached a futile sixty and a pathetic seventy the idea that he'd been played for a fool took hold and refused to let go. Darcy's mind settled on the reason for Eva's not answering being due to all of the time laughing at him and taking bikini shots for Wickham's prison love letters must've taken up; and if he was quiet long enough he swore he could hear Auntie Catherine cackling from atop her bell tower in Beverly Hills.

  He didn't want to think Eva could be so cruel as to lie to him about possibly carrying his child, but he'd so famously misjudged her character in the past. Add to that the fact the only reason Auntie even bothered to open her eyes is to crush happiness, and it no longer seemed like such a stretch of the imagination to believe their intention was to break him.