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

by Ari Rhoge

  “What?” he asked, blankly, jacket hanging loosely from his hand. “You're cold.”

  “Yeah, but when you do that —” I paused, faltering. “— It's just —— well, don't.”

  “Are you just a naturally suspicious person? Or do you have some anti-trust vendetta against Darcys?”

  “… Is this a trick question?”

  But he wasn't as patient with me anymore. He rolled his eyes, and practically threw the bundled-up fabric over my shoulder before he crossed the gazebo in wide-legged strides and hopped from the first step. I balked after him, and asked him where he was going. “I'm going inside for dinner,” he said, stoutly. “If you want to stay out, by all means, that's what the jacket's for. If you don't, you'd probably do best to follow me. If your pride can handle me holding the door open for you, that is.”

  The balled-up jacket went sailing in his direction, and he caught it deftly. When we reached the door, he held the door open at such an angle that I had to duck under his arm as he held it, catching full view of his extremely smug, smiling face.

  “God, you're hard to deal with,” I muttered, sharply.

  “Oh, good — you identify with the trait, then,” Will said, pleasantly.

  Unfortunately for me, there was some screwy little game going on during dinner time that had cleverly excluded me. Everybody seemed to be in on something, their hands firmly rooted in the cookie jar. It started with seating arrangements. You wouldn't think it would be so difficult, right? But no. I took a seat beside Benny, Trish and Bea sitting across from us in a pair, the Darcy siblings we assumed would be at both heads of the table. Suddenly, Benny scooted over one seat for no real reason, leaving a space open beside me, which who else, but Will Darcy himself, took. I slumped in my seat.

  It was a good thing Bea Reynolds was an exceptional cook. It took my mind off Will's constant attempts at sparking conversation, and the meaningful glances Georgy would give me across the table, and Aunt Trish's futile attempts to catch my eye, because she had probably figured out that something was going on. I filled up my plate with mashed potatoes and chicken cutlet and salad. And a roll of bread. And a glass of ginger ale — or two. I was actually really hungry — I didn't understand why until I remembered that I hadn't eaten anything but half a bagel early that morning.

  But the cookie-jar game didn't stop at the seating. Every other topic of conversation that was instigated usually had a similar focal point.

  First, Trish, who I really should have spoken to prior. She smiled across the table at the master of the house. “So, Will, you know our Lizzy through Georgy?”

  I looked up distrustfully, mouth hanging open and full of mashed potatoes — Bea gave me a reproachful stare, and I remembered to close it.

  “Yes, Mrs. Gardiner,” Will said, politely, fork halted midway to his mouth.

  A short giggle. “Oh, please, call me Trish.”

  Dear God, she had actually just giggled. My Aunt Patricia Gardiner, balls of steel, hard hitting, travel savvy realtor. Giggling.

  Benny coughed into his napkin, but it sounded like warbled, mutilated laughter.

  And Georgy was really no help at all. She perked up eagerly. “Yep, I introduced them. —— Why do you ask?”

  “I guess I'm just surprised that you weren't mentioned,” Trish said, delicately, to Will, lifting her glass. “You two seem to get along so well.”

  “Don't they just?” Georgy chirped.

  “Uncle Benny, I like your watch —— is it new?” I asked, quickly, pointing across the table. Benny lifted his eyebrows, surprised, and he inspected his wrist.

  “Uh, no.”

  “It looks new.”

  “But it's not.”

  “Tell us about it.”

  “… It's a watch.”

  I rested my head against my palm. You people are really no help at all. I made the mistake of stealing a sidelong glance at Will, who looked indifferent, for the most part, save for the tiny upward twinge to his lips.

  “Miss Bennet, how long are you in North Carolina for?” Bea Reynolds inquired, and I glanced up.

  “I guess until Aunt Trish and Uncle Benny chase me out,” I said, smiling slowly.

  “We're going down to my in-laws,” Benny clarified. “We planned to be there tonight, of course, before we got sidetracked. We'll probably have to leave after dinner. The actual event is Friday night, but you know how it's typical to get settled a day earlier.”

  Georgy didn't bother to conceal her disappointment — “you can't stay?”

  “No,” I said, softly, looking up at her. “I'd love to, Georgy, really. I miss you. But I have to be with my aunt and uncle — they're my one-way ticket home.”

  “We could always take you home,” Will offered, shoving his food around his plate absently.

  “That's really nice of you… honestly. But this isn't a quick drop-off in a nearby neighborhood. I'm a good three states away. This is 10 hours —— and probably more when you factor in traffic frustrations,” I said, simply, dabbing at my mouth with a napkin.

  “Don't worry about that — I wouldn't mind,” Will said, sincerely, and I told myself to stop looking for double meanings in his words.

  Trish was looking at us. “Well Lizzy, you did seem a little reluctant to spend time with my family. After all, you're not that well-acquainted with them.”

  “Yeah, I guess. But, either way, I couldn't ask you guys to do this.”

  “You didn't ask — we offered,” Georgy corrected, a wide smile spreading on her face.

  “How about this,” Benny suggested, clearing his throat. “Lizzy, it's ultimately your decision. But, either way, we'll be back on the road, heading back to Philadelphia by Saturday afternoon. Where you spend the time between now and then is your decision. We can always pick you up — it's not much of an inconvenience.”

  “Spend it here,” Will advised, glancing at me sharply. He hesitated. “Please.”

  I opened my mouth, strained. I couldn't possibly. Stranded here at Pemberley? Well, I suppose Georgy was here. But I would feel much more comfortable at a hotel. I voiced my opinion, but Georgy was immediately against it. “Don't be silly. Why would you book a hotel room when there's a perfectly good guest room right upstairs? There's plenty of room in this house, Lizzy. It wasn't meant to hold only three people.”

  “But what if you guys have weekend plans?”

  “Consider them cleared,” Darcy said.

  “That's ridiculous — don't do that for me.”

  “No, Lizzy — he's full of shit,” Georgy said, dryly. “Will has no weekend plans to begin with — he's a work hermit.”

  Darcy opened his mouth indignantly, then closed it.

  I looked up at my aunt helplessly, and she shrugged. “Your call, sweetheart. But I think it's already clear what you want.”

  • • •

  One hour later, I was watching from the foot of the grand staircase as Trish zipped up and gathered her bags from the foyer. Benny was outside, fixing a glitch with the GPS system, and Will had offered to help, escorting him outside. Georgy and Bea were in the kitchen, collecting plates (having shooed me out with shrill cries of “you're our guest!”), and I was left feeling like dead, straddling weight. Trish brushed her hair out from under her coat collar, dark auburn curls falling into her face. She gathered them into a loose ponytail, and sighed, grinning at me. “I will miss you, Lizbear.”

  I smiled at her, hugging my knees. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

  “Of course.” She patted my hand affectionately. Trish glanced over her shoulder and back, scoping out her surroundings. Then she crouched down in front of me, her elbows resting on her knees. “I really have to ask you something, though. I can't leave without asking this.”

  “What's up?”

  Her hazel eyes were narrowed, a smirk tugging at her mouth. “You do realize what a catch this Will Darcy is, don't you?”

  “Trish!” I whined, pulling away from her. She laughed brightly, and st
eadied me with her hands on my shoulders.

  “I'm serious,” Trish insisted. “There's something just so pleasant about him. And, of course, I guess it doesn't do him any harm that he's extremely attractive. And he's totally into you.” She gave a lopsided smirk. “Seriously, how are you not picking up on this? If I were your age, hot damn…”

  “Oh, Jesus,” I scowled, pushing away. “Trish, that is so ungodly disturbing. Dinner was enough. Please stop talking.”

  “Hey.” She raised both hands shamelessly. “I'm just telling it like it is. You better open your eyes, kiddo. Might miss something kind of extraordinary.” At that, she pressed a kiss against my forehead, and rose to her feet, gathering her bags. I snorted despite myself, watching her. She blew me a quick kiss, and clicked the door shut behind her, letting in a cold draft that ruffled my hair.

  • • •

  I had made up my mind to go to bed early. There were two different motives behind this decision:

  1 — Well, exhaustion usually does tend to happen as a direct result of road trips. Sleeping cramped in the back seat of a Yukon is as comfy as it gets for I-95, but I was pretty psyched for a true-blue mattress. And Bea had been an absolute doll and aired out the sheets for me, and opened the windows, and the whole shebang;

  2 — It was a little easier to avoid Will Darcy if I wasn't conscious. I was too bombarded and confused to deal with him.

  So, I showered, and shrugged into a hoodie and pajama pants, crept under the covers, and felt myself sink thankfully into the mattress. I closed my eyes.

  I guess I had overlooked a negative aspect of old renovated mansions — their uncanny ability to creak and moan in the middle of the night, especially in tricky, wind-fueled months like March. If I was better acquainted with Pemberley, I might have been able to tune it out of my mind. But I was jittery and exhausted, and, no matter which way I turned, the sounds grinding out of the walls and the floorboards made shivers run up my spine, especially in so dark a bedroom. I switched on the light. I paced. I watched 15 minutes of Craig Ferguson. I played solitaire on my phone. Fuck this.

  Shortly, I gave up, and slipped out of the room, not exactly sure what my intentions were. Maybe to see if Georgy was still up and about downstairs. But the house was eerily quiet and dark as I slowly descended the carpeted stairs, save for the strange amber glow coming from the sitting room and spilling out into the foyer. My breath hitched up. I wasn't sure if I should turn back or not. At the last minute, I decided not to, creeping into the room on my tiptoes.

  It was empty, and my shoulders fell. There was a fire in the hearth though, and I smiled. On the armchair was a woven quilt and an abandoned book, and I picked the latter up gingerly, dusting off the spine. A Room With a View — probably something Georgy had settled down with. I yawned, and settled into the armchair, the glow from the fireplace toasty and inviting. I leafed through a couple of chapters of the book, quilt drawn up to my knees, eyelids getting heavy. It wasn't long before I curled up and closed my eyes.

  I weaved in and out of sleep during those few hours — a couple of times, I could have sworn somebody was talking to me softly, and I murmured something back, felt the quilt being drawn up over my shoulders, hair stirred just slightly. But I drifted back off easily, unable to discern dreams from reality.

  • • •

  Beatrice Reynolds made her usual rounds in the morning. It was a matter of custom and propriety, a devotion to a house long after its master had passed away, leaving two (already grown) children she had a motherly affection for. Six o'clock on the dot was her hour, and she dressed quickly, washed up, and came into the kitchen. She set a greased pan on the stove, simultaneously filling up the kettle under the running faucet. She cracked eggs, and put sausages on a skillet, and, while they simmered, swept the corners of the kitchen with a broom that had yet to fail her in 20 years. She set tea on the table, milk beside Georgy's and two slices of lemon beside Will's. Then she wiped her hands on her apron, and wondered if the plants in the sunroom needed watering. She smiled to herself, and tutted. I watered them yesterday.

  And, so, having a perfectly lovely slice of time to herself, Bea resolved to return to the sitting room, where she had left a book she had read at least three times before. After all, it was her favorite. She crossed the way into the foyer, and stopped at the arched doorway curiously, a teacup cradled between her hands. There was a shape curled up in the armchair in front of the fireplace, too small to be anybody but Georgy. She snorted softly, and approached, only to stop halfway. Bea craned her neck. The first thing she noticed was the light-brown hair settled in interesting directions, bangs obscuring the eyes, a dusting of freckles over the bridge of the nose. She smiled. Lizzy Bennet.

  Lizzy slept in the fetal position. Bea Reynolds took precisely 30 seconds to be amused at this, hesitating on whether or not she should wake her. It wasn't that she was eager to throw her out of her place, only that she knew Lizzy would be far more humiliated to be found there by any Darcy sibling. So, she cocked her head and tapped the girl's shoulder gently. Lizzy only stirred, and curled up into a more compacted ball. Bea snorted, looking at the girl.

  Well, she wasn't beautiful. Truth be told, Will had dated more refined girls. Bea thought that she was reasonably pretty from first glance, if not a little ordinary. She tapped her shoulder again. Lizzy squinted up at her, and yawned, closing her eyes again. Then she opened them, sat straight up, glanced at the empty hearth and back. “Oh. Oh, whoops.”

  “Here I was thinking your bed might have been somewhat comfier,” Bea said, dryly, stirring her tea.

  Lizzy grinned bashfully and rubbed her eyes, knees drawn up to her chest. She sighed, her voice thick with sleep. “I guess it was warmer here.”

  “Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was cold upstairs.”

  “No,” Lizzy amended, hands resting loosely in her lap. “No, it was fine. I guess I got a little creeped out by how dark it was. And the house kind of has its own soundtrack in the night.” At that, she imitated creaking sounds, whistling to imitate gusts of wind. Lizzy stopped abruptly at the look Bea was giving her. “Uhm. Yeah.”

  “I see,” Bea smirked. “I have breakfast in the kitchen, if you'd like.”

  “I'd love,” Lizzy grinned, looking up. “Thank you so much.”

  Bea nodded her head once. She was beginning to realize why Will had become so drawn to this girl. It had something to do with how she smiled — her eyes had a tendency of lighting up, her cheeks marred by dimples. There was warmth and liveliness to the girl and, as she realized a few moments later, a wit that must have challenged the master of the house.

  Will was standing in the doorway, with his arms folded over his chest. Lizzy glanced up at him, and neither of the two said anything for a minute.

  “Bea, you found her here?”

  “I did.”

  “Sorry,” Lizzy mumbled, sleepily, rubbing her face. “Was there a search warrant circulating?”

  “No, I just assumed you had gone up into your room. You were here last night, too.”

  Lizzy raised an eyebrow at him warily. “And how would you know that?”

  “Because I… saw you here?” he answered, sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

  Lizzy hesitated, hands resting in her lap. “I'm trying to decide how to react to the prospect of you watching me while I slept — creeped out or just bizarrely flattered.”

  “I didn't watch you while you slept,” Darcy scowled, blushing despite himself. “I was just passing by on my way to the dining room.”

  But Lizzy was grinning widely, laughing at him. She had been trying to get a reaction, and he had realized it too late. She got up from the armchair, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Take a joke, Will, please and thanks.”

  “Would you still like some breakfast?” asked Bea, patiently.

  Lizzy whirled around. “Oh, yes, definitely. I just want to go wash up and get dressed.”

  “We'll wait for you.”

&nbs
p; • • •

  Friday, in its absolutely entirety, was left in Georgiana Darcy's mischievous hands to sculpt and manipulate to her liking. After all, Lizzy had stayed officially to be with her, a good friend and long-lost housemate. Now, all that was left was to incorporate another small detail. A way of subtly (or not so subtly) incorporating Will into the majority of the day. She raked her mind for ideas, examined scenarios of boating on the lake five miles away or simply going into town for some shopping, lunch, and perhaps a movie. In the end, she sided with the latter.

  “We could go into Newburgh,” she practically begged Will, tugging on his sleeve. Lizzy eyed her skeptically from the breakfast table, stirring her coffee. Georgy continued, “oh, Lizzy, you'd love it. It's so charming — such a tourist spot. You have these cramped little houses and used bookshops and boutiques. There's this old Victorian on the side of Westbrook that everybody thinks a woman was murdered in. Oh, and a Starbucks right next to it!”

  “Lovely,” Lizzy said, laughing.

  “Georgy…” Will was chewing thoughtfully. “You're so weird.”

  But, come midday, Lizzy was practically charmed by the little town. They wandered the streets cluttered with people, and ate lunch outside, because March was boasting warmer weather than it had in years. Lizzy shrugged out of her jacket as they ate under a shaded table at a corner bistro, looking at the crowd of people right next door, lingering outside a used record shop. Will suggested they go, and she shook her head, not wanting to inconvenience anybody.

  “Lizzy,” Georgy said. “I think he said it out of his own preference. Stop thinking that you're imposing on everything.”

  “On the contrary, you've managed to drag us out of the house on a Friday.”

  Lizzy looked up sharply, her brown eyes narrowed at the siblings. “Does this mean that you're missing classes? And you're missing work?”