Personally, I'd Rather Lick Sand: A Modern Pride and Prejudice Variation Romantic Comedy

by Ari Rhoge

  I dreamed a lot — I just couldn't remember most of it. We stopped by some rest shops, filled up, stocked up on snacks, and argued about films, a lot. Sometimes politics. Mostly bands, because Ben insisted on blaring Aerosmith for three hours, and Trish wanted to shoot her own foot off.

  She punched the shuffle button, scowling, and U2's The Sweetest Thing came on, seeming like a mutually acceptable alternative.

  “One of Bono's underrated ones,” she sighed, happily.

  “How can it be underrated if it's overplayed?” I smirked at her.

  “Eh.” Benny wrinkled his nose. “Bono is overrated. I like The Edge.”

  “I might fight you,” I said, laughing. He narrowed his eyes competitively at me, via the rear-view mirror, and mock-snarled.

  Eternal fire, she turned me to straw

  Oh, oh, the sweetest thing

  “Are we driving through the night?” Trish asked. “We're making good time. Maybe we shouldn't slow down.”

  “You know, I was thinking that,” Ben said, curiously. He looked at me. “And Lizzy's practically in a coma every five minutes.”

  I scoffed, waving them on. “Hey, do what you want.”

  “It's settled, then. With coffee breaks.”

  I smiled at him.

  “Oh, oh, oh, the sweetest thing,” Benny chirped, igniting Trish's giggles. I leaned my head back, and closed my eyes.

  Oh, oh yeah

  Blue-eyed boy and this brown-eyed girl

  Oh, oh, oh, the sweetest thing

  You can sew it up but you still see the tear

  Oh, oh, oh, the sweetest thing

  I sat up quickly. “Switch the song.”

  Trish muttered, “what, suddenly you're anti-Bono? I don't understand people.”

  “Just change it.”

  “Ch-ch-ch-changes,” continued Benny, glancing at his side mirror. Trish turned the dial, and a saxophone solo interrupted Ben's Bowie interlude. He glared at his wife. “I live for soft-core Jazz, thank you, Patricia.”

  “You're welcome, Benjamin.”

  I sighed, legs crossed and propped up on the back seat. It was dark out, cars whirling by quickly, lights and skyline in the distance. “Where are we?”

  “I keep telling you.” Trish yawned, head against the window.

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “It's true,” Benny said, laughing. “You just keep passing out back there. You're narcoleptic, I swear.”

  “It's good for her,” Trish murmured. “She's catching up on some sleep.”

  “Sorry, guys,” I said, wincing. “I'm kind of a stick-in-the-mud, aren't I?”

  “Not when you're conscious,” Trish smiled, glancing at me from over her shoulder. She reached into a plastic bag and pulled out a toy pug doll. “Bobblehead? I got it in the gift shop. I-Heart-VA. Now everybody can know that you love Virginia. Well, loved. We're almost out.”

  “We're almost out?' I balked, rubbing my eyes. “What time is it?”

  “12:30 a.m.,” said Benny, yawning, and rubbing his eyes blearily. “We should be in Charlotte by tomorrow, I think. Well, much later today. —— Same difference.”

  Charlotte. Charlotte.

  “Like, the city Charlotte?”

  “No… Charlotte Brontë, obviously. —— Go back to sleep, Lizzy.”

  I sat back, rubbing my eyes. I was beat. But I hadn't been able to stop thinking about somebody since we started out. Reluctantly, I reached into my bag, and pulled out my phone. I bit my lip.

  “Who you calling?” my uncle asked, looking at me through the rear-view mirror.

  I flipped over my phone again and again. “A good friend of mine lives just outside Charlotte. Do you think… would I be able to… ?”

  “I think we could spare an afternoon.” Benny yawned.

  Trish looked skeptical. “But we were making such good time!”

  “We're ahead of schedule anyway, honey.”

  She considered it. “Good point.” She sighed, turning around. “As long as this person isn't a complete psychopath, okay? And we're going with you. And it would only be a couple of hours, at most.”

  “That's fine,” I said, smiling.

  • • •

  Georgy's voice was dull with shock when I called her. But then she was laughing, giddily, and I couldn't contain myself either. I was just outside a rest stop by Greensboro, Trish and Benny ordering late brunch inside. I sat on the trunk of the car, watching the sun peek out from a mostly overcast sky. I had just woken up half an hour ago, and yawns were still sneaking up on me while I listened to Georgy. I squinted upward, smiling. “That'd be great. Nobody's home, though, right?”

  “No,” Georgy said, surely. “I'm here with Bea. Beatrice Reynolds — you'll meet her. She keeps the house. She has been doing so, since we were really little. —— Well, where are you, now?”

  “My uncle says we'll be in Statesville in a few hours. I don't know what the hell that means,” I said, laughing. “I guess after his description of I-77 he lost me completely.”

  Georgy snorted. “Well, I already gave you more directions. Past Statesville, you're not far at all. We're about 45 minutes away. You can't miss us. We're cut off from existence.”

  “Really?” I asked, dryly, grinning. “That's a little contradictory. Big house?”

  “Kind of,” she snorted. “Old renovated Colonial home? White, rickety? You really won't miss it. Ring me up when you're in Statesville, I'll give you directions on how to find Ashcroft, then Pemberley, from there.”

  “Er… 'kay.”

  “And Lizzy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you,” she said, sincerely.

  “Georgy —”

  “I'll see you soon!” Click, then nothing.

  I sighed, and shoved my phone away, clutching my jacket closely around my body. It was breezy, and kind of warm, for early March. And I was enjoying it, wind whipping through my hair and all. I glanced over my shoulder. Trish and Benny were still inside.

  They were good sports about it. Trish wasn't too thrilled — this was clear. It was her brother, but we were ahead of schedule anyway. Benny was happy. He needed time off his feet.

  I wouldn't know how to look at myself if I wouldn't have at least attempted to speak to Georgy. It had dogged my mind since Rosings. Her brother, thankfully, was in the city for the day. I had made sure of it (“cross your heart, hope to die, pinky swear that Will isn't home?" “Over the phone?” “Yes!” “Fine.”) My nerves were a little less fried.

  It was around 4:30 a.m. when we arrived outside Statesville, exhausted, weary, and lost. We weaved in and around this tiny secluded district called Derbyshire, and an even smaller one dubbed Ashcroft. And after 30 minutes dedicated to making wide, open circles trying to find one route, Georgy's directions led us sleepy-headed, irritated Philadelphians through a gorgeous scenic road featuring woods just beginning to regain their buds, past a babbling brook and an abandoned barn, to a large, white colonial perched high on a grassy hill, winding trees paving stone pathways all the way down the property.

  It. Was. Gorgeous. My jaw dropped.

  Rickety, my ass.

  “God.” Trish craned her neck out of the window. “Renovated mansion, I'm thinking? Looks ancient.”

  “It's beautiful,” Benny said, laughing. “You know somebody who lives here, Lizzy?”

  “I think so,” I said, whipping around. “This is the Pemberley neighborhood, right? The address she gave you?”

  Ben was inspecting the corner of the map he had scribbled on. “Hon, this is called the Pemberley Estate. It's an estate.”

  I opened my mouth and closed it.

  And Will Darcy actually lives here.

  I chased the thought out of my head.

  It was just so… Pemberley was… well, beautiful. It was all trimmed hedges, and winding, bare trees, and thick, grand pillars, green shutters, and arched domes, and cobblestone walkways, and more windows than I could count in a single sitting. And he lived here. I
t was something plucked out of a period piece and rooted down in some knoll in a remote patch of nowhere.

  “These Darcys,” Trish asked, getting out of the car. “Old money?”

  “I… I don't know.”

  “Let's find out!” she said, grinning. She raised a hand, tracing the shape of the roof from far away. “Oh, look at the east section, Ben. Remember that Spanish colonial we saw in Pasadena? Doesn't that remind you of it? Look at that inlay.”

  “It's definitely unique,” he nodded, turning to me. “Let's go in?”

  “Um,” I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

  It was even more remarkable up close. I forgot to greet the lady of the house when she opened the door, mouth hanging open as I stood on my tiptoes, neck craned all the way backward to see the rest of the house.

  “Lizzy,” Trish said, elbowing me sharply.

  “Wha—? Oh,” I snapped back, embarrassed. The woman was small and shrewd looking, dark eyes narrowed, crow's feet apparent. She had her lips pursed. “May I help you?”

  Since neither of my companions would speak, I guessed this was my territory. “Hello, I'm a friend of Georgy. Uh —— Georgiana. I'm Elizabeth Bennet. She's expecting me. Unless this isn't the right house, which is a pretty good possibility, I'm not sure —”

  She interrupted me, “this is Pemberley. You must be Lizzy.” I raised an eyebrow, and her expression softened. “And we are expecting you. Georgy's in the sitting room.”

  “You have a sitting room?” asked Trish, astonished. “Those are still around?”

  She looked at her critically (probably not a fan) and turned back to me. “I'm Beatrice Reynolds. I keep this house.”

  “Can I call you Bea?” I grinned.

  “… Maybe.”

  “… Okay.”

  For all my fawning, Pemberley was probably even prettier inside. Its foyer alone was dome-shaped, wooden inlay carved in intricate designs, stained-glass windows making rippling patches of color on the marble floor. I was temporarily distracted. In front of us stretched a winding staircase, something fresh out of a fairytale.

  “How is this place real?” I found myself mumbling.

  Mrs. Reynolds (“can I call you Bea now?” “Still thinking about it”) smiled quietly. “Right this way.”

  I was barely two feet inside the sitting room, my aunt and uncle trailing behind me, before I was hit by something. A girl-shaped something, whose arms winded around my waist and threatened to squeeze all the breath from my body. I wheezed, “Georgy! Asphyxiation!”

  She snorted, pulling away. “You haven't changed one bit.” She grinned at me, blue eyes tracing over my face. “Except you're cuter. Probably because I haven't seen you in months. No, you're just cuter. Oh, and you cut your hair! And —— oh. Hello.” She craned her neck past me. “You must be Lizzy's aunt and uncle.”

  “Oh, right. Aunt Trish, Uncle Benny, this is Georgy.” I stepped to the side, grinning. “Georgy, my aunt and uncle.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, smiling widely, extending a hand. I cocked my head at her, surprised. She had been so shy when I first met her. Mrs. Reynolds shut the door behind us, her hands folded.

  “Bea, you've met Lizzy.”

  “She won't let me call her Bea,” I mumbled.

  “Give her time,” Georgy insisted, laughing. “Could you give Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner a tour, by any chance? Lizzy and I will catch up in a bit — I just want to talk for a little while.”

  “That okay?” I whirled around, eyebrows raised at Trish.

  “Are you kidding?” she snorted. “Lead the way. I'm a kid in a candy store.”

  Mrs. Reynolds nodded, smiling tersely. She didn't seem too pleased, but, you know. “This way,” she chirped. They filed out of the room, Trish jittery and Benny rolling his eyes, shoulders slumped.

  “Sorry,” Georgy said, wincing. “Didn't mean to separate you guys.” I snorted at her, and she lit up, lunging for a hug again.

  “God,” I said, laughing, ducking out of the way. “I missed you, too.”

  “Did I mention that you look cute? Because you look really, really cute.”

  “You've… gotten a lot weirder since leaving Philly —— haven't you?”

  “It's possible.”

  I laughed, and took a seat beside her near the coffee table. She shoved a cup into my hands, which was apparently tea, in the cutest, daintiest, most floral sense of the word. I looked up at her. “I'm sorry, I forgot to bring my bonnet. Is that okay? I mean, I have petticoats in the trunk. It's just that —”

  She elbowed me, and I giggled. “I'm sorry, but have you seen your house? And the sitting room? And the tea?”

  She looked at the tea. “I see the tea.”

  “… That's cool. I see a lot more.”

  Georgy snorted, shaking her head. She had gotten taller, I noticed, or maybe a little lankier. She was definitely more tired, with purplish shadows rimming her eyes. But she seemed so completely happy, blue eyes bright, her nearly black hair falling out of its bun, wisps framing her face.

  “I'm sorry if I'm a mess,” she apologized. “I was kind of running around today.”

  “No, you're fine,” I said. “You just look tired.”

  “Oh. Classes,” she said, shrugging. “Heavy load, I guess.”

  “Mm.”

  There was a sufficient silence, and then Georgy glanced up warily. “Lizzy, I'm sorry. For not being honest with you. I'm sorry for leaving like I did — I didn't realize it would upset you guys so much.”

  And, suddenly, reality was back, grounded in front of us. Sometimes even jokes can't beat it away.

  I shrugged, tracing my cup absently. “Don't worry about it. I understand. I mean, I wish you'd told me, but I'm mostly mad at myself for it.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I knew Wickham. I could have easily warned you.”

  “Ah, right,” Georgy said, nodding. “Will told me that too.”

  I raised an eyebrow sharply. “What else did Will tell you?”

  Georgy gave a very diplomatic answer — she took a long sip from her cup, pretended to be interested in something on the mantle, and said nothing. I slumped.

  “How's Jane?” she finally asked.

  “Okay,” I shrugged. “Seeing other people. It's not working.”

  “Heard about that, too. The breaking-up-with-Charlie thing.”

  “And you didn't do anything.”

  “In my defense,” she said, wincing. “I found out about it a lot later than it actually happened. Will was back from Rosings by the time I heard about it. And I had other things distracting me at the time. Will was… well, yeah, I just had other things on my mind.”

  I didn't say anything.

  Georgy took my hand, smiling slowly. “I missed you, though. I missed both of you. Did you guys get a new housemate?”

  “Uh, some prospective candidates,” I said, laughing. “Most were shitty. Most were guys, which Jane was pretty much against from the get-go. We need a better way of advertising. I guess pubs aren't the brightest idea.”

  Georgy snorted, eyebrows raised.

  “That's what you get when you enlist Charlotte Lucas to help you housemate-hunt. She thought it would be funny.”

  Bea Reynolds poked her head in the doorway. “Hi, Georgy?”

  Georgy smiled. “Hi, Bea.”

  “Oh, my God, have you seen this chandelier? Ben, look! Is that… is that glass, or… ?”

  I slapped a hand to my forehead, laughing. Apparently, Trish was enjoying herself a lot more than anticipated. Bea tried her best not to look agitated. But when Georgy asked her what was up, she grinned ear-to-ear. “Good news. Will's home early. He's in the driveway.”

  I might have squeaked. No, seriously. I'm pretty sure a distinct, dying mouse sound escaped from my mouth. I almost shattered my cup.

  Georgy didn't pay any attention. “Oh, he must have finished early.”

  “What?” I blurted out. Geo
rgy whirled around, eyes wide. I pointed a finger at her. “You said —!”

  “Oh, right,” she said, laughing, disturbingly calm about it. “Honest, I thought he was going to be in the city all day. He was booked with meetings. Oh, Lizzy, I wouldn't worry about it —”

  But I was already on my feet. “You have to hide me.”

  “Sorry?” She gaped, then laughed.

  “Hide me.”

  “Don't you think you're being a little —”

  “Fine. If you won't help me, I'll figure it out myself.”

  “Lizzy, come on!” She was giggling.

  “Is this a closet?”

  “That's a bathroom.”

  “Is this a closet?”

  “Well, yes, but —”

  “Good.”

  At that, I wrenched open the door closest to me, and shut it behind me, completely encased in darkness — and cushy winter coats. I poked my head out at the last minute, Georgy trying to contain herself in front of me. “Oh, and one word, Georgy… one word! I'll ruin your life, I promise you.”

  “I wouldn't put it past you,” she teased. “Comfy in there?”

  “I hate you.”

  Then I froze, footsteps echoing through the foyer. Bea was talking to somebody, her tone pleasant and light. A man's voice responded. I shut the door, and sank down among old blankets and jackets, hugging my knees to my chest, face flaming hot.

  “Maybe I should look for my self-respect while I'm down here,” I muttered, pressing my hands against my face. God, how embarrassing. I'm officially a little kid. No, you know what? I am protecting myself! I am salvaging a mortified soul! Honestly, if this doesn't work, I can always move. I hear upstate New York has good real estate. I like log cabins. I could be the town shut-in. I could be Boo Radley!

  I could be certifiably insane.

  Then I heard him, and stopped, pressing my ear against the door. I couldn't exactly hear what he was saying, but suddenly Georgy was giggling something again, and I got extremely paranoid.