Twenty Months

by Alicia Rogers

  After call seventy-one ended, he was treated to the happy news that model Eva Lane had given birth to a girl over the weekend – and it came straight from E! by way of that bobble head Giuliana Rancic's mouth.

  Her name was Abigail and she and her mother were doing just fine.

  A sigh was uttered.

  A scream was stifled, a Blackberry was pocketed, and Darcy practically numb over the idea he'd potentially missed the birth of his child (and seething over the name 'Abigail'), shuffled his feet towards the living room couch where he would remain for the next four days.

  Georgie did everything she could; she reminded him to shower (and occasionally to put on pants), she made sure his meals consisted of more than potstickers and cheerios, and she forced him to trim up the 'sad beard' before it reached prospector level, but, convincing him to leave the couch altogether was absolutely impossible. If she dared to speak a sentence that remotely sounded like "it'll be alright" she was met with derisive snorts and rolling eyes, and so she was stuck as a witness to her brother drowning in his own self pity.

  But today, as she eyed the sorry lump swathed in blankets and making dents in the cushions, Georgie felt something inside of her snap. One of the long discarded couch pillows made its way into her hands and she stood over Darcy.

  "No luck?" she asked sarcastically while drumming her fingers on the pillow.

  The lousy groan Georgie got from him in response tipped her over the edge and that pillow came crashing down on Darcy's head, repeatedly.

  Half disoriented and all pissed off, he scrambled to sit up; curses were shouted, his long limbs got tangled in the covers, and his hair stood on end. If she hadn't been so completely fed up with his bullshit, Georgie would've killed herself laughing.

  "What the fuck is your problem!"

  She hit him again for good measure. "I can't take it anymore! All you've done is lay here and I'm sick of looking at the sweat pants and the defeatist facial hair. I know it hurts, and I know doing anything outside of curling up into the fetal position seems exhausting and useless, but goddammit Will you're stronger than this! Eva won't answer the phone? Fine, go and see her in person and demand an explanation about Abigail, because the longer you keep doing this shit, the longer it'll take to fix you and Lizzie."

  The 'weapon' was tossed back into the pillow pile on the floor and all Darcy could do was stare at his little sister in bewilderment as she casually took a seat next to him.

  "You are going to drive me to drink," Georgie said and slipped an arm around his shoulders.

  He chuckled, leaning his head against hers. "What if she is mine? I mean, I don't care what the press does to me, but they'll eat Lizzie alive and she doesn't deserve that."

  "Well," she began after taking a deep breath, "and I say this with every confidence – then you're fucked."

  "Spoken like a true sage." Darcy smiled.

  "I know."

  "I'm terrified, Georgie."

  Her arm tightened around him.

  "I know."

  "Are you going to vomit? Because you're kinda looking like you're going to vomit and all I ask is for fair warning before you do," Georgie said.

  The street lights kicked on and a faint breeze sent the smell of barbeque wafting through the crack in the windows of the car where they sat conspicuously parked across the street from Eva's house. The journey here had been quite a harrowing one; most of Darcy's energy had been exerted in rolling off the couch, and its reserves depleted with the combination of arguing over Georgie's insistence on coming along ("Just incase you get the kind of news you don't want and decide to drive into the Pacific."), and the ditching of a rouge paparazzi that followed them for a good five miles.

  On the drive he'd kept himself distracted by blasting black metal so dark it could've only been recorded inside the charred hull of a Norwegian church, but now that things were still and there was nothing to dispel the quiet except the odd bit of sarcasm coming from his sister's direction Darcy could concentrate on nothing else but the churning of his guts. Reclining the seat back, he puffed out his cheeks and shut his eyes tightly. The idea of being sick hadn't even entered his mind until Georgie's little ramble, but now as his insides knotted and twisted, he could think of nothing more.

  With a deep sigh he gave her a sideways look. "I'll be sure to let you know," he said flatly.

  "So…how much longer are you gonna sit here?"

  "Until everything stops spinning," he grunted. "Or until my balls decide to quit hiding inside of me. Whichever comes first."

  "Oh." Georgie nodded. "Christ, we're gonna be out here all night."

  * * *

  Since he'd walked in the door, Lizzie kept a close eye on Charlie. Sure her redheaded brother in arms appeared relatively normal on the outside – his thousand watt smile was in full effect, he blew raspberries on Owen's tummy until his lips were probably numb, and most importantly he still looked at Jane as though she were the most beautiful woman on the planet, yet something was off.

  He didn't take up Lizzie's protest against emotional manipulation when Jane suggested they watch The Notebook. He fidgeted. He stopped talking in the middle of sentences or changed subjects completely, and even though the temperature in the apartment sat at a comfortable seventy-five degrees, Charlie had to toss his polo aside because it'd soaked through with sweat.

  When Jane quietly wept over the movie, and Lizzie rolled her eyes hard enough that fainting became a real threat, Charlie suddenly leapt to his feet.

  "I could use a drink!" he exclaimed. "How about you guys, huh? Janie, can I get you something?"

  There was a loud, watery sniff in response.

  "Lizzie?"

  "No thanks, I'm cool," she said.

  "Are you sure because you look like you could use one, too; I mean, you really look like you're dying of thirst over there…"

  She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not thirsty, Charlie. I promise."

  "I don't know, Lizzie…" he started, "I'm getting stranded in the desert vibes from you – I'm sensing you're parched beyond belief and that you would very much like to join me in getting a drink out of the kitchen." He gave an exaggerated yank of his head in the direction of the other room for emphasis and finally Lizzie humored him by leaving the comfort of her chair.

  "Fine, you caught me. I've got total cottonmouth going on," Lizzie said, reluctantly following. Once they were safely behind the kitchen door she added, "Charlie, do you have cottonmouth going on?"

  "What?" he blinked.

  "Are you high?" Lizzie asked in all seriousness.

  "Wha—oh no, god no!" he laughed loudly. "No, I…" he trailed off while fishing around in the pockets of his jeans.

  A gasp escaped her mouth at the sight of the ring now clutched between his fingers. "Oh, Charlie…"

  "It's too soon isn't it? We haven't even been together for a year and she's probably going to think I'm crazy, it's just that I love your sister so much and I can't imagine spending my life without her and I'm totally rushing this right? I've had this thing for like two weeks already and it's like it's been whispering to me. I keep taking it out of the box, putting it back in, taking it out – I even tried it on my pinky finger." With his free hand he pulled at the ends of his hair. "I'm like Smeagol the stage-five clinger, aren't I?"

  She threw her arms around him, laughing. "You're perfect! God, I'm so happy you're not high."

  "So you think I should?" Charlie asked, beaming.

  "Absolutely; Charlie, she's gonna love it."

  "How do think I should do it? I mean, how did Darcy propose to you…?" he blurted, his eyes widening at the slight fall of her face. "Shit, Lizzie I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

  "It's okay," she said waving off his apology. "Darcy was – it was great," Lizzie finished with a wistful smile. "He got down on one knee and all that; although he did puke beforehand."

  "I'm sure we're gonna have that in common," he said with a self deprecating chuckle. "I feel like I'm gonna have
a heart attack."

  "Are you guys bottling the Coke's yourselves, what's taking you so long?" Jane burst through the kitchen door and stopped dead once she caught a glimpse of the ring in her startled boyfriend's hand.

  And though all of the perfect proposal scenarios that had been running through his mind failed to include a sink cluttered with dirty dishes, Lizzie standing to the right of him in her pj's, and Jane slightly puffy-eyed from the combination Gosling, McAdams, and Alzheimer's, Charlie couldn't help feeling the moment would never be more perfect than this. So, he took a deep breath and stepped forward.

  "Janie, there's something I've wanted to ask you for a while now," he said with a sheepish grin. "I hadn't pictured this going down in the kitchen, but I really can't hold out any longer."

  Her eyes darting from Charlie's handsome, earnest face, to Lizzie's clearly amused one, Jane brought a delicate hand to her chest and expressed her surprise like only a Bennet could.

  "Oh Jesus shit."

  Lizzie giggled at the uncharacteristic swear and watched as her big sister dissolved into a teary mess when Charlie dropped to his knee. "Jane Bennet, do you wanna marry me?"

  Not another word passed between them; Jane pulling him to his feet and kissing him for all it was worth conveyed her answer quite nicely.

  "Are you sure you don't want to come in? This could take a while."

  "Maury knocks out this type of thing in ten minute segments; I'm sure I'll be fine." Georgie grinned at him. "Besides," she continued as she pulled her iPod out of her purse, "I've got an audiobook of War and Peace. I'm in it for the long haul if need be."

  "War and Peace?" Darcy cocked an eyebrow. "So you're saying I'm going to come back to find you in a coma?"

  "Nope, I'm saying quit stalling and get your ass out of the car."

  With a quick hair ruffle of encouragement from Georgie, Darcy placed his hand on the door handle and cracked it open. One foot slowly made its way to the pavement, reluctantly followed by the other and when he was out of the car at last, she wasted no time in locking the doors.

  Call seventy-six was placed while he drug his feet up the walkway (your call has been forwarded to an automated message system for…), a Blackberry was pocketed, a deep breath was taken, and a shaky finger lifted to ring the bell.

  The sound of the deadbolt clicked in his ears and Darcy kept his eyes trained on the ever widening crack in the door. What he expected to be greeted with was perfection from head-to-toe; Eva Lane was not the sort of woman who dabbled in casual. During the course of their relationship she'd never been anything other than totally put together. She awoke in a pristine state – not a hair out of place, not a speck of drool or a bit of crust in the corner of her eyes, or a funny sleep-line to be found, and she continued looking the part of a walking airbrushed magazine cover throughout the day until her head was forced to hit the pillow once again (rinse and repeat). Chaos was not something to be hinted at, her private life echoed her tightly controlled public image, and as he stared at Eva's messy ponytail and her sweats, Darcy realized that in a full decade of knowing her and with four of those years spent dating her, that this was the first time he'd ever seen her human.

  A faint smile crossed her makeup-free face. "Fitzwilliam."

  He swallowed. "I hate to just drop in like this, but I did call ahead about seventy-times," he said.

  "I've been expecting you. I figured it would've been sooner, actually, because I believe you've been sitting across the street for at least thirty minutes."

  "Twenty," he quickly corrected.

  "My bad," Eva said smiling crookedly and stepping aside to allow him to enter.

  "Where is she?" Darcy asked.

  Eva chuckled a bit, seemingly caught of guard by the abruptness of his question. "Wow, I thought we were going to do the awkward pleasantries thing first. I didn't even get around to asking if you wanted anything to drink. Do you? Because, I for one could really use a glass of wine…"

  "No more games, Eva." Darcy shook his head. "I'm exhausted and I'm miserable and I just don't have a fucking sliver of the patience it takes to dance around with you, so if you could maybe conjure up some compassion right now I'd be eternally fucking grateful."

  Her dark eyes cast downward for the briefest of moments. "Abby's upstairs; I just put her down for the night."

  "Is she mine?"

  "What do you think?" Eva snapped as she brushed past him on her way to the kitchen.

  Darcy was hot on her heels. "I don't know what to think!" he shouted. "I don't hear a word from you and all of a sudden you turn up and your five months pregnant!"

  "Well, laying low seemed like the only option especially after reading about you and Lizzie in People!" she shot back. "Silly me for thinking our sleeping together was some sort of reconciliation."

  "I'm not excusing my behavior! I'm sorry that I hurt you…"

  She put her hand up to stop him. "It's okay, Fitzwilliam. It's just, you were one of the good one's and I screwed it up, and after the way Lizzie talked about you and seeing how you looked at her – even for a second, I was so incredibly jealous and I let Catherine insinuate that you're Abby's father and you're not…."

  He stood slack jawed and feeling quite like his world had just stopped and exploded. "Could you repeat that?"

  "You're not her father," she said, "and I never intended for any of this to happen. Catherine invited me over for Easter brunch; I had no idea she planned to use my pregnancy to make trouble for you and Lizzie. I thought you knew I was coming, until I gotta load of Richard's face. I know I should've spoken up, but like I said, I was a little jealous and well, you know sometimes I can be a real cunt."

  Darcy laughed at that, raking a hand through is wild hair. "Yeah, I know." A beat, "So, is it Wickham, then?"

  "Seriously?" Eva rolled her eyes. "God no, I learned my lesson as far as he's concerned." A blush settled on her cheeks. "His name's, Bill; he's Anne's assistant, actually."

  He blinked. "Bill Collins?"

  A nod.

  "Henry Collins's brother?"

  "We hit it off." She shrugged. "He's sweet and I could really use sweet again. He's actually out picking up dinner right now."

  And Darcy found himself making another mental note of firsts when it came to Eva Lane; this was the only time he had ever seen her look truly smitten.

  "I wanted to tell you sooner, Will but I couldn't make myself answer any of your calls; I was ashamed at my behavior on Easter and too scared to face you." She paused to pour herself a glass of wine. "I honestly thought Lizzie seemed very sweet. Maybe one day she'll be up for having lunch."

  After months of agonizing, of beard growing and couch dwelling, the weight of Eva's words finally sunk in and Darcy was struck with the urge to not only dance around the room, but to cap it off with a scream of "Yes!" and a fist pump. However, he reined the impulse in and took up a seat at the kitchen bar instead.

  He grinned like a dope. "I'll take that drink now."

  Chapter 35

  Love is not a Competition (but I'm winning)

  "Hello?"

  The truth was he'd paced a good fifteen minutes before being able to raise a hand to knock on the apartment door. It wasn't cowardice so much as it was the importance of locking down all of the appropriate words onto the tip of his tongue, and Darcy carefully practiced his plea to Lizzie over and over; his shoes crunching over pavement grains as he moved back and forth, reciting and revising aloud (the beginning was good, the middle solid, but it got a bit shit near the end). He had one shot to get it right, make it count, and he approached it with all of the care, precision and fervor of a Grad student's fellowship proposal.

  During the drive to Santa Monica there had been a nice slice of delusion. Having dropped Georgie back at home, Darcy's imagination had the dangerous combination of a quiet car and pounding optimism to propel it; he dreamed of that apartment door swinging open to reveal a slightly frazzled Lizzie (rumpled sweats, hair piled on top of her head, smirk on
her face and makeup free – just as he liked her). Her eyes widened in surprise as she asked "What are you doing here?" and the threat of stilted conversation hung overhead, but they bypassed it completely.

  This Darcy only had to say "I'm not the father; you may jump into my arms now" and it was all over. Tears were shed while Dream!Darcy spun her around, Peter Cetera's "The Glory of Love" played in the background, fireworks popped off, and a crowd of strangers appeared out of thin air to offer a round of applause and hearty congratulations.

  Really, it was all very beautiful.

  But, the reality of his situation put a stop to it all and Darcy was left with his fist lamely suspended in the air.

  Abigail may not have been his, but she very well could have been. Once again, he'd gotten lucky in his fuck up and the fact that that little dream was fueled on a lucky break being the key to salvaging his relationship said that all of those months of misery – of insomnia and fucking sad beards had taught him nothing.

  There was a huff. "See, I have this magical tool…let's name it 'caller id' just for shits and giggles. Now, what this id does, is when I get a phone call, it identifies the person on the other end of the line so what I'm saying is, you should stop with the creepy silence because I know it's you, Darcy."

  Blushing, Darcy turned away from the front door. "Hi, sorry I didn't hear you pick up," he said, raking a hand through his hair.

  "Sure." The tone of Lizzie's voice was clipped and playing very clearly before Darcy's mind's eye was her dream counterpart telling him she loved him and never wished to be parted again.

  "Play him Mastodon," he blurted.

  "Okay…what?"

  "Charlotte mentioned something about you having trouble getting Owen to sleep." He tried to sound casual, but the knot in his throat was making it damn near impossible. "Eat any good free samples lately?" he chuckled.

  She told him, "I had this great multigrain cereal the other morning; I forgot the name of it, but I'll ask around the next time we're in Costco."

  "So you're not going to try the Mastodon?"