The Secret Diary of Lizzie Bennet

by Bernie Su

  “It doesn’t even make sense, right?” I said when I was done. “Her coming here and throwing all that stuff at me. Especially the stuff about Darcy. I mean, I know Caroline has a crush on him, but it’s not like—”

  “Yeah, that’s not what this is about,” Lydia said, swallowing a spoonful of yogurt.

  “It’s not?”

  “It’s about how everything was going fine in Caroline-land up until a year ago, then it all started to fall apart when Bing quit school.”

  “Wait . . . Bing quit school only a couple of months ago—not last year.”

  Lydia shot me a glance over the top of her sunglasses. “The first time he quit school, I mean.”

  I blinked. “The first time he quit school?”

  “Lizzie, med students don’t get five months off in the summer to just hang out. And people who aren’t like in the midst of a total identity crisis don’t just up and buy a house in the middle of nowhere. Bing dropped out of school. And Caroline and Darcy were sent up here to get him back on track.”

  Little puzzle pieces were beginning to fall into place in my head. Bing being able to simply leave LA and buy Netherfield. The looks his parents gave him at his birthday party. And toward the end of summer—all the pressure on him, the flying back to LA for “interviews,” the lack of communication between him and Jane. He’d quit school. And he’d been pressured into going back.

  “But if Caroline saw her brother was unhappy . . .”

  Lydia shook her head. “Lizzie, if I told you I’m quitting school, starting a rock band with Mary, and moving to Mexico, what would you do?”

  I answered without hesitation. “I’d lock you in your room until your passport expired.”

  “Well, damn, there goes that life plan,” she smirked at me. “I actually really feel bad for Caroline. As bitchy as she is. Especially about me.” She furrowed her brow. “Scratch that—I don’t feel bad for her at all.”

  “Yeah you do,” I replied, watching Lydia carefully. “Why?”

  My sister shrugged, and focused on her yogurt. “I dunno. It’s just . . . she’s not the golden child. People don’t have expectations of her. And that can really suck. Finally, she was asked to do something important and she proved herself. It was hard enough the first time to pull him away from Jane, but to have him go back—and quit school again—means she failed.”

  “How do you know all this?” I asked after a moment.

  Lydia just gave me a look that spoke volumes about my current stupidity. “Because I watched them. Duh.”

  I let that settle over me as my yogurt melted. Meanwhile, Lydia finished hers and lobbed the cup toward the trash can in a perfect arc.

  “Anyway, all the Darcy stuff stems from that. She can’t get her brother to listen to reason, she sees her crush Darcy following the same path, and suddenly she doesn’t have anything.”

  “Okay, all the Bing stuff makes sense,” I reasoned. “But Darcy’s not following the same path. He’s not running away, or wildly altering his life to be with . . . someone.”

  “Right—’cuz most people buy companies for no reason.” Lydia just sent me that smirk again. “You keep telling yourself that.”

  “He didn’t—”

  Lydia just eyed me and stood up from the table. “Whatevs. Are you done with that or do you want to grab a lid for it? Either way, I’m not letting you in my car with an open drippy yogurt.”

  TUESDAY, MARCH 12TH

  I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. About what Charlotte said, about what Caroline said, and about what Lydia said.

  And I’ve come to absolutely zero conclusions.

  Maybe because I haven’t spoken to the one person in this situation that matters—Darcy.

  I keep saying that Darcy and I are not involved, that it was a moment of possibility that passed. But I recently finished my rewatch of all my videos, and . . . maybe we are.

  But if we were involved, why haven’t I heard one word from him? Especially when he went through so much trouble to save my sister.

  Unless he didn’t want me to know.

  Darcy has managed to completely bewilder me. Yet again. Go figure.

  At one point, I thought I knew him, and I dismissed him. Then I got to know him, and I realized there was so much more.

  I just don’t want to sit here passively, wondering forever. Which means maybe I should take matters into my own hands.

  SATURDAY, MARCH 16TH

  “He hasn’t called back yet, has he?” Charlotte asked immediately when I opened the door.

  “Happy early birthday to you, too,” I replied. “Why don’t you come out of the rain before you start the inquisition.”

  “It’s barely drizzling,” Charlotte said, but she stepped inside and shook off her jacket. “And, happy early birthday!”

  Tomorrow is Charlotte’s and my mutual birthday. Our mothers went into labor at the same book club meeting, and delivered us about three hours apart. I don’t think book club has ever been as interesting since.

  Not many people can say that they’ve known each other their entire lives, but Charlotte and I can. Hence why Charlotte thinks she’s earned the right to bombard me with personal questions the minute she walks in the door.

  Which she probably has.

  “So . . . did Darcy call back yet?”

  Yes, amazingly, over the past couple of weeks I managed to forget that I don’t live in the nineteenth century. And while I was biting my nails over the fact that I hadn’t heard from Darcy, and wistfully cyber-stalking him, I conveniently forgot that telecommunications work both ways. (I blame the movies for this little gendered slip-up.) So, finally, at my wits’ end, I gave Darcy a call. And ended up leaving a message.

  “Hey, Darcy. It’s Lizzie . . . Um, if you could call me when you get a sec, I’d like to . . . chat.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever been lamer. And trust me, I’ve been very, very lame in my time.

  That was three days ago.

  “No, I haven’t heard back from him,” I told Charlotte. “Why do you have what has to be the entire freezer section of Ben and Jerry’s?”

  “I was hedging my bets,” she replied. “Either you would be miserable over the lack of Darcy calling, or he would be here and you would be making out, in which case I would just go eat this all by myself on the way to the SPCA to pick out a cat. Maybe a ferret.”

  “It’s the former,” I said, taking a pint of Cherry Garcia.

  After three days, a girl can take a hint. I don’t know what I’d hoped for when I called Darcy. But I know that the idea of hearing his voice again got my heart beating faster, so the fact that I haven’t can only be a disappointment. It’s so strange. Not six months ago, I thought Darcy was snobby, rude, and stuck-up. I thought he was convinced that he was better than everyone else and that I in particular was beneath him, and worthy of scorn. So I scorned him right back.

  But now my feelings have changed so much. Now I know he’s shy, and strong, and loyal. Yes, a little socially awkward, but it makes his efforts all the more endearing. Now, I know he doesn’t feel that he’s better than me. But I know that he is better. And if I could go back in time, I would do everything differently.

  So, yes, I’m a little sad. But I have plenty of other things to worry about. My final independent study, building out my prospectus based on my own fictional web video company, and finishing my thesis. The videos will have to end sometime soon so I can put the whole project together.

  Wow. That’s a huge part of my life for the past year, coming to an end. Another thing to feel sad about.

  Maybe, instead, I can think of it as the next phase beginning, with me being a little wiser.

  Not to mention older.

  “So, what are you going to do when we turn twenty-five tomorrow?” I asked Charlotte. “I know . . . let’s go rent a car for no reason!”

  Charlotte laughed, and we moved to the living room and set up camp. In spite of my distraction and all the work I have t
o do, I had managed to pull myself together enough to get Charlotte a birthday present.

  “Aw . . .” Charlotte said, unwrapping it. “It’s a mug. From our grad school. You bought this in the student center gift shop, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” I admitted.

  “It’s okay,” she said, giving me a hug. “I understand you are lonely and despairing now, and therefore can’t be counted on to do anything like groom and feed yourself. That’s why I’m here.”

  “And me!” Lydia said as she entered. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Sure, come on in,” I said. “Plenty of Chunky Monkey for everyone.”

  Lydia grabbed the carton of ice cream, then noticed the gift wrap strewn in front of Charlotte. “Oh, are we doing presents now?” she asked. “I’ll be right back.”

  As Lydia bounced out of the room, I turned to Charlotte. “What else you got in the bag?”

  She fished inside and brought out two movie choices. “This evening’s distraction. Do you want to watch pretty people fall in love or things blowing up?”

  I eyed them both. “Do you have anything with pretty people blowing up?” I asked, and Charlotte threw a pillow at me.

  This right here? This is why I have a bestie.

  “I vote carnage,” Lydia said as she came back in the living room, bearing gifts. “If that’s okay with you guys, of course.”

  “Carnage it is,” Charlotte said, and smirked at me as she moved to put the DVD in.

  “Happy early birthday!” Lydia said, handing me the packages. “The green top is from Jane, and the necklace is from me—and I also got you a book titled Where Did I Leave My Pride? A Nerdy Girl’s Guide to Making Lame Phone Calls.”

  I stared at Lydia open-mouthed until I saw Charlotte behind her, her shoulders shaking from suppressing laughter. And I burst out laughing, too. Then so did Lydia.

  It’s why I have sisters, too.

  SUNDAY, MARCH 17TH

  Today was . . . something incredible. And I think I’ll let it speak for itself.

  COMPLETE TRANSCRIPT OF EVENTS RECORDED ON SUNDAY, MARCH 17TH

  LIZZIE: Thank God for Charlotte. And for Lydia. And for Jane. Who is still really happy with Bing in New York! And that’s great. That they get to have this second chance and are running with it. And second chances . . . second chances are rare. I’m pretty sure I used all mine up.

  (The door opens.)

  LIZZIE: Hey, did you need money for the tip?

  DARCY: Excuse me, Lizzie?

  (I jump up.)

  LIZZIE: I thought you were . . . Chinese.

  DARCY: I . . . can understand the confusion. Would you . . . care to sit down?

  (We sit. It’s awkward.)

  DARCY: Do you . . . film everything in your life?

  LIZZIE: No, I swear. You just have impeccable timing.

  DARCY: Well, I can’t begrudge your videos, certainly. They have been very useful, from my perspective.

  (pause)

  DARCY: I was surprised to see Charlotte.

  LIZZIE: It’s our birthday.

  DARCY: I’m sorry . . . I didn’t know it was your birthday.

  LIZZIE: No, I mean—why would you?

  DARCY: I . . . Happy birthday.

  LIZZIE: Thank you.

  (pause)

  DARCY: You called me.

  LIZZIE: I left a message, yes.

  DARCY: I was in Chicago, that’s why—

  LIZZIE: Oh, God—I didn’t intend—I thought you would just call back; you didn’t have to come here.

  DARCY: Yes, I did. I needed to see your face when I asked you . . . why?

  LIZZIE: Why?

  DARCY: Why did you call me? I’ve been watching your videos. I know that you have found out . . . certain things about recent events.

  LIZZIE: “Recent events”? You bought up whole companies to save my sister. For what you’ve done for my family, we cannot thank you enough.

  DARCY: Your family owes me no thanks. As much as I have learned to respect them, I did not do it for them. I did it for you.

  LIZZIE: My gratitude is there and it always will be.

  DARCY: Lizzie, I have to admit to some confusion. Because you also said on your videos that we are not friends. And I realized you were right—even though we got to spend so much time together in San Francisco, we hadn’t become friends. But then I thought perhaps you wanted to amend that.

  LIZZIE: I do!

  DARCY: So . . . you want to be friends?

  LIZZIE: Yes! . . . Well, I mean . . . well. God, no wonder you’re confused.

  DARCY: Lizzie, I still feel the same way I did in the fall. More strongly, even, than I did then. So if you just want to be friends or say thank you for recent events, then I—

  (Voices suddenly become muted, because I’m kissing him.)

  LIZZIE: Does that . . . clear up some things for you?

  DARCY: Some . . . I could use some further illumination on certain points, however.

  (Muted noises, more kissing.)

  LIZZIE: Just so you know, you’re not the only one who was confused.

  DARCY: Really?

  LIZZIE: Well, we had been getting along at Pemberley, and then after I left there was nothing but radio silence from you and—I thought . . .

  DARCY: I didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me. I watched your videos and your focus was solely on your sister, as it should have been. I realized I would have just been an unwelcome distraction.

  LIZZIE: Not unwelcome. I promise.

  DARCY: Then, I heard what you said to Caroline, about my life being my choice and your life being yours, and it got my hopes up again. But I didn’t know if it was because of what you found out or—

  LIZZIE: I get it. Confusing. God, for two such smart people we can certainly act like idiots, can’t we?

  DARCY: One might even say it’s our forte.

  LIZZIE: Well, let me make things as clear as possible. William Darcy—I don’t want to be just friends. And I don’t want to be with you because I’m grateful to you. I want to be with you . . . because of you. Got it?

  DARCY: Clear as day, Lizzie Bennet.

  (muted kissing sounds)

  LIZZIE: Um, one sec.

  END RECORDING.

  MONDAY, MARCH 18TH

  Happy. Just happy.

  TUESDAY, MARCH 19TH

  Still blissfully happy.

  WEDNESDAY, MARCH 20TH

  Okay, one more day of just being happy and then I’m sucking it up and telling Mom.

  THURSDAY, MARCH 21ST

  Mom took it better than expected. Eventually.

  “Mom, I’ve invited someone over for dinner tonight,” I said.

  “Of course, dear—you know Charlotte’s always welcome,” she replied, humming as she put the casserole in the oven.

  “Actually it’s not—” But at that moment, she flipped the disposal on, drowning out my words.

  Well, I tried to warn her. In truth, I was kind of looking forward to seeing the look on her face when Darcy walked through the door.

  And I wasn’t disappointed.

  “Mom, Dad,” I said, guiding Darcy into the living room by the hand once he arrived. “You remember William Darcy.”

  “Mrs. Bennet, a pleasure to see you again,” Darcy said, with only the slightest bit of nervousness in his voice. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one that could hear it. I’ve been making a study of it the past few days.

  My mom looked from the bottle of wine he held out to her, up to his face, then down to our intertwined hands. Then she mustered up every ounce of southern hospitality she had in her being.

  “Of course,” she smiled, taking the bottle of wine. (I’m thinking Bing gave him pointers on what vintage to get.) “So nice to see you again.” She cleared her throat and turned to me. Suddenly, her voice took on a high pitch not often heard outside of the Muppets. “Lizziewillyouhelpmeinthekitchenplease?”

  I was pulled away so quickly I might have whiplash. I was barely able to o
verhear my father as he greeted Darcy. “Don’t worry, young man—this will all be sorted out quickly. That, or my darling wife will have murdered Lizzie, but either way it’s an exciting start to the evening, eh?”

  Once in the kitchen, Mom launched into me.

  “All right, Lizzie, is this some kind of joke?” she asked.

  “No, it’s not,” I assured her.

  “Because that’s the only explanation I can think of for William Darcy being in my living room.”

  “Well, another explanation is that we’re dating.”

  “Lizzie, do be serious.”

  “Mom, I thought you’d be happy!” I replied. “After all, he is . . .”

  “Rich?” my mother finished for me. “Out of all my daughters, I thought you were the one who didn’t care about that.”

  “Actually, none of us care about that,” I quipped. “But perhaps I’ve been more vocal than Jane or Lydia.”

  “I thought you only cared about character,” my mom rambled on. “I thought you would never want to be with someone as rude and snobbish as Darcy.”

  “He’s not rude or snobbish,” I replied. “I . . . we all misjudged him.”

  “He’s nice, Mom,” Lydia’s quiet voice came from behind us. “You should give him a chance.”

  Mom’s head whipped back and forth between Lydia and me, her mouth agape. Finally she turned to me. “You’re really dating him.”

  “Yes,” I said, catching Lydia’s smile.

  You could hear a pin drop in the kitchen. Until . . .

  “Well for heaven’s sake, why didn’t you tell me?” she screeched. “You bring your boyfriend over to dinner and I’m serving a casserole?”

  “One that I think will pair very well with that wine.” But Mom was having none of it. She was already rummaging in the fridge for something more fancy she could prepare.

  “Lydia, quickly—toast some bread. We need crostini appetizers immediately!”