by Bernie Su
* * *
Okay, now that I’m not crying anymore, maybe I can make some sense of this. Of how I’m feeling. But the hardest thing to admit is that . . . I never knew. I never knew anything about Lydia.
I never knew how much I hurt her.
At the beginning of Lydia’s videos, when she’s in Vegas, she is so defiant, ready to party even though “Lizzie would disapprove.” Because she’s “so irresponsible” and “crazy.” She was lashing out—to hurt me in the way I hurt her. At the time I was too mad at her to see it. But now, with the benefit of painful hindsight, I know.
Also, I never knew how lonely she was.
I was gone, Jane was gone, Mary had her own life. Her school friends abandoned her in Vegas when she went overboard with the partying. Lydia felt left over. And that led her to the only person in town who seemed to want to hang out with her: George Wickham.
And I never knew how truly manipulative George was.
He had answers for everything. Sold my sister on a sob story about how yes, he did spend all the money Darcy gave him in his first year of college, because he was trying to impress his friends. When he admitted he’d screwed up, Darcy—the closest thing he had to family—wouldn’t help. Totally plausible, totally reasonable. And if I hadn’t known about his history with Gigi, I might have even bought it.
Whenever Lydia tried to joke with him, he would act hurt and make her back down. Make her doubt herself. He pressured her into commitment—saying that “someone has to look out for you” and getting her to declare that they were dating. Whenever they discussed me or Jane, he was always the defender, saying we don’t care about Lydia. But he does. He would do anything for her. Lizzie and Jane? They don’t need you—they have each other.
And she believed it.
And finally, I never realized that Lydia has never been told that she is loved exactly as she is.
That’s what George honed in on about her. Lydia’s never had anyone say they love her just the way she is. She’s always too much, or not enough. Too crazy, too energetic, too wild. Not serious enough, not studious enough, not good enough.
I’m the one who told her that. That’s my doing. With a stupid goddamn book. With every single disappointed sigh and disapproving look and trying to rein her in.
But I told Lydia a lot of other things, instead.
I scolded Lydia for getting drunk in public. You know who I didn’t scold? Charlotte, when she got drunk at the Gibson wedding.
I admonished her for her sexual behavior. You know who I didn’t admonish? Jane, when I caught her sneaking out of Bing’s room at Netherfield, or when she told me about her forty-eight hours of worry.
I told Lydia time and time again she was being irresponsible. You know who I didn’t think was being irresponsible? Me, when I turned down a good job offer from Ricky Collins.
How could I have never told Lydia that I love her? Just as she is? Exasperating, caring, crazy, wonderful, all of it. What the hell kind of sister does that make me? How could I be that person who just picks and picks at her until she’s so starved for approval she’ll take it from anyone and anywhere?
I feel like I don’t know her at all.
And how could I have not seen her this whole time?
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 11TH
I’m emotionally spent. The last day has been so hard, but so necessary. Lydia and I finally talked. She came into my room, and I was so relieved to actually see her in the flesh at first that I forgot about everything else. Almost forgot about the camera. But Lydia didn’t. She wanted it on. And I think it’s what allowed her to talk to me.
She’s been broken by him, but not beaten. She was in love with George. And he used her, and threw her away.
And I’d been calling her selfish, and crazy, and a slut for the last ten months on the Internet.
We needed to talk. We needed to break down. I needed to tell her that I loved her.
There was a lot of crying and apologizing, and I don’t know where to begin getting to know my sister again. The biggest thing I can do is to be here for her now. After our big crying session, I made Lydia lie down in my bed, and I held her as she fell asleep.
She was snoring softly after a few moments. I don’t know how much sleep she’s gotten this past week.
“How is she?” Jane asked me, ducking her head in.
“I don’t know. A little better, hopefully, from here on out. You were right,” I said.
“About what?”
“About watching Lydia’s videos. She’s . . . I’ve been the worst sister. There are no two ways around it.”
“Lizzie, you’re not the worst sister. You—and I, sometimes—just forget that Lydia hears everything we say. And underneath that bright, loud outside she wears, she’s vulnerable.”
“Pretty sure I still get the worst sister award.”
“Fine. Then start making it up to her.”
And that’s what I’m going to do, from here on out.
“Dad’s back,” Jane said.
“Did his PI friend from college find anything?”
“Not really. Just a trail that goes cold at that company on the website.”
“So we can’t buy it back,” I concluded in despair.
“I don’t think so.” Jane shook her head. “Besides, who’s to say George doesn’t have copies? Uncle Phil says we can try to sue them for not having Lydia’s permission to release it, but they still have to release it first. And we don’t know who to sue yet. Besides, it could take months to settle a case like that, if not years. And a lot of money we don’t have.”
I felt all the air leave my body.
“Dad must be so disappointed.”
“I think he’s more worried about Lydia. She hasn’t talked to him, either.”
It was at that moment that Dad appeared in my doorway. His trench coat still on, his hat in hand. Utterly defeated. He walked past Jane and me, and went to sit beside Lydia sleeping on the bed.
“I remember when she was so small,” he said, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Smaller than either of you two. She came early. Couldn’t wait to greet the world.”
Just then, Lydia opened her eyes. Blinked and saw Dad sitting over her.
“Lydia,” he said, his voice breaking.
“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” she said, bursting into tears again.
“No, my girl, no,” he said, wrapping her in his arms. “It’s not for you to be sorry. We’ll fix this. You’ll see.”
Since then, yes, some things are fixed . . . or on their way to being fixed. Lydia’s talking to us again, and eating more. Not at dinner, of course—Mom is still mentioning George every chance she gets. Dad wants to see if Lydia will agree to speak to a counselor. Someone objective, who can help.
But the sex tape . . . I don’t know if it can be stopped at this point. At this moment, there are three days left before it goes live.
I’m beginning to fear that sometimes, the bad guy gets away with it.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 12TH
“Lydia, my love,” my mom said as she was drying dishes in the kitchen, “bring in that serving plate to your sister. I’m so glad you came down to dinner tonight.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Lydia said softly, handing the serving plate to me. She let Mom embrace her and sneak in a quick feel of her forehead.
“You’re still a little warm. But another day or two and you’ll be well enough to go back to school, see your friends . . . and maybe invite that lovely George over for a meal sometime?”
Lydia froze in her tracks, unable to answer. So I did the only think I could.
I dropped the serving plate I was washing.
“Lizzie!” Mom cried, turning to me. “What has gotten into you?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, as I bent to pick up the broken shards. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Lydia snapping back to reality and escaping the kitchen while our mother’s attention was taken.
“That’s my good serving plate, too!” she crie
d. “I swear, between you and your father, I’m going to have to get an entirely new set of china!”
This particular trick was also employed this afternoon by my father, breaking a teacup to distract my mother. Great minds think alike.
“You’re right, dear,” Dad said, coming over to Mom. “Clumsiness comes from my side of the family. Now, I’ll help Lizzie clean and you go rest your feet.”
And with a kiss on her cheek, my mother was placated, and moved off to the living room.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“You’re welcome,” Dad whispered back.
“How long do you think we can keep this up?” I asked.
“How many dishes do we have?”
“Mom’s going to have to be told something eventually. Especially when the website goes live.” As oblivious as my mom is about the Internet, this is something that would get out. A friend of a friend would mention it, and it would make its way back to her. “She should at least be prepared.”
“You’re right,” Dad conceded. “At the very least, she’ll want to know why we are selling the house to pay attorney fees.”
My head came up.
“Are you really going to do that? Sue the website company and George?”
“If George can be found,” he grumbled. “But Lizzie, if that website goes live, there’s no other choice. Lydia is our daughter. And I promise you this—your mother would agree with me.”
“True.” I glanced at my mom, sitting in the living room next to Jane. “Mrs. Bennet is a mama bear. Don’t mess with her cubs.”
She seemed to be going on and on about something while Jane knitted. I’m not sure, but I think I heard the word “Bing” in there. And then a deep, sad sigh.
“But let’s spare ourselves the initial histrionics as long as we can,” Dad said, cringing with the memory of the last boy who broke one of her daughters’ hearts.
A wave of guilt washed over me. My dad must have seen it on my face because he said, “What is it? Something new couldn’t have happened in the last three minutes, could it?”
“No.” I gave a small smile. “Just . . . if I hadn’t been making videos then Lydia wouldn’t have been, and now you’re talking about selling the house . . .”
“Don’t. This is not your fault. Besides, I quite like the videos. Especially the ones where you dress up as me.”
“You do?” I said, a little shocked.
“Yes. Although I’d been wondering where my blue bathrobe was, and I would like it back when you’re done with it.”
I blushed. “I ransacked your closet for your costume. Sorry, I thought you were done with it.”
“A man is never done with a bathrobe, Lizzie.” He smiled at me. “And while your caricature of your mother is a little overly broad, it’s plain to see that you know she loves you. And that you love your sisters, and your friends.”
“Dad . . .” I said, my voice going soft.
“I find . . .” He paused, cleared his throat, and then started again. “I know that I have not been the most attentive father. I let your mother do the hard, mundane work of parenting, not realizing how important it is. But now, through your videos, I can see what I’ve been missing. You’ve created something wonderful, and . . . I’m really quite proud of you.”
I wrapped my arms around my Dad’s waist, and we forgot about the shards of crockery on the floor. We’d get them later.
But at that moment, I was just so glad to be able to talk to my dad again.
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 14TH
It’s gone! It’s down! The website is down, and I don’t know how or why, but whoever did that, I could kiss you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Charlotte’s looking into it. I’m looking into it, though my contacts and knowledge in this section of the web are limited. But someone out there just saved our family, and I want to know who to thank.
Lydia and I are . . . better. I’ve decided I’m going to stick around home for a little while, to be there for her. And she has her first session with a counselor tomorrow. Someone highly recommended, with more skills than we have to get her through this time. Dad’s going to drive her. They could use some father-daughter time, too.
I feel like we just battled a dragon, and somehow the dragon just up and died on us, and all I want to do now is flop into a heap of exhaustion. We won the fight but have no idea how. And we still have to pick up the pieces and try to go back to our normal lives.
For me, that means grad school.
For Jane, that means looking for a new job.
For Lydia, that means . . .
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 15TH
“Well, Lizzie,” Dr. Gardiner said when I came into her office for office hours. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Yes,” I said as I sat down. “I don’t know if you’ve been watching my videos lately, but there was a bit of a family crisis, and I had to come home.”
“I know,” she replied. “And I’m very, very glad that your sister is doing better and that horrible website came down. But I would have thought you’d return to Pemberley Digital, to finish up your independent study.”
“No. I’ve decided to stay in town for the rest of the school year. I’m confident I have enough from my month there to produce a thorough prospectus on the company.”
“Are you sure? I would think that you’d be welcome—”
“I’m sure,” I said. The truth was, I didn’t know if I’d be welcome. I hadn’t heard one word from Darcy, or Gigi, or anyone at Pemberley Digital since my abrupt exit. And if I did go back . . . it’s not like we could just pick up where we left off, is it?
Besides, Lydia asked me to stay. So I’m staying.
Luckily, Dr. Gardiner didn’t say anything else on the subject.
“Well, your last two prospectuses were very well received by the review board; I’m sure you’ll do just as well with Pemberley’s. And with your last one.” She smiled at me. “Speaking of, do you have any idea what it will be?”
I took a deep breath. “To be honest, I have been hyper-focused on my family, so I haven’t set anything up. I will try all of my contacts from VidCon, but not many of them are local enough to suit my needs. And I know you don’t want another remote shadowing.”
Dr. Gardiner nodded. “It would look a lot better to the graduate board if you could avoid it.”
“Well, I um . . .” I hedged. Finally I threw up my hands. “Dr. Gardiner, as my advisor, what would you advise I do?”
She gave me that patented inscrutable look.
“Lizzie, school will be over in a few short months. You will have to find a way to meet your credit obligations, as well as deliver your thesis. To come up with a final company to study at this late date . . . you might need to get creative.”
I bit my lip and gave a quick nod. “Right. That makes sense. I’ll work on it.”
I have absolutely no clue what I’m going to do.
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 20TH
With everything that was going on with Lydia, I’d forgotten about some things. Such as—Jane hadn’t been watching my videos. Which means she didn’t know about Bing being in San Francisco.
When I told her, she reacted . . . as well as I think could be expected. Stunned nearly speechless, but not completely thrown by it.
Instead, what completely threw her was Bing showing up on our doorstep a couple of hours ago.
I don’t know how she handled it with that much class. If Darcy showed up all of a sudden, I don’t know what I would do. Not that Darcy and I have a romantic relationship the way Jane and Bing did—or at all. Heck, we’re not even really friends. I mean, maybe at one point in time . . . anyway, back to the real topic at hand.
I was the one to spot Bing as he came into the house. From my perch in the den I could see the door and the stairs, so I pulled him into the room immediately.
A few things have changed since the last time I saw Bing. Namely, he’s found the videos.
Yes. About time, t
oo.
And now, he knows how much he hurt Jane. I think he came here with the intention of apologizing, but I don’t know how much Jane is going to be willing to forgive him.
Because at first, she wasn’t even willing to see him.
“Jane, Bing is here.”
She was with Lydia in her room, searching for jobs on her computer. But when I made my unceremonious announcement, her head came up.
“What?”
“Bing—the guy who broke your heart last year. He’s here. I left him in the den.”
Jane looked from Lydia to me with eyebrows raised.
“Um . . . I . . . I can’t,” Jane said, flustered.
“Okay,” I replied. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”
“Are you sure?” Lydia asked her.
“Yeah. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
When I went downstairs and told him she was busy and couldn’t see him, I’d never seen anyone so crushed. It was as if I’d killed a puppy. And the puppy was Bing.
But then, miracle of miracles, Jane came into the room.
“Jane!” he said, standing up.
“Hi, Bing,” she replied quietly.
It was like watching them meet for the first time all over again.
I left them alone after that, ducking out to the hallway, where I found Lydia hovering on the stairs.
“Hey,” Lydia whispered, “did she go in?”
“Yes,” I whispered back. “What did you say to her?”
Lydia shrugged. “Just that she was owed an explanation for how she was treated. I’d want one.”
And Lydia is right. As much as she claims to have moved on, I can still tell that Old Jane is underneath the New Jane exterior. And since she’s lost her job, and is back home, she’s pretty much in the same position she was when she met Bing a year ago. Except now she knows he’s capable of breaking her heart.
We waited for a few minutes on the stairs, straining our ears for any clues as to what was going on in the den.
When we finally heard movement, Lydia and I both scrambled out of sight immediately. (We are our mother’s daughters in some respects.)