Pride, Prejudice and the Perfect Match

by Marilyn Brant

  He figured answering, Because I made a bet I had to win, wouldn’t impress her the way he needed to. “Uh, because I spend a lot of time working,” he said, which wasn’t a total lie. “Meeting people takes time and energy. Plus it’s hard to know if someone you meet in passing has a similar relationship objective or if that person’s just playing games.”

  He almost bit his tongue at his own hypocrisy on that line, but he studied her reaction. She was scrutinizing his every move.

  ***

  Beth observed the Good Doctor from dark head to pricey-leather toe. His pose so casual, his face so open. Here was a guy who had nothing to hide. And why should he?

  He was thirty-two and drop-dead gorgeous.

  He spoke in the rich tones of a man accustomed to privilege, and he had expensive tastes to match.

  He was a full-time physician with a great career already going, plus plans to move ahead with an altruistic project that she knew firsthand was badly needed.

  He made her reasons for being here seem as petty and self-serving as they were. She was guilty as accused: a game-player. If he knew the truth about her, he wouldn’t want to spend another two minutes in her company, let alone want her to join his clinic’s team.

  She tried to remember the categories from her “stereotypes” list:

  Ambitious? Yes.

  Physically stronger? Oh, yes.

  Assertive, critical, competitive? Certainly assertive, yes. More information needed on critical and competitive.

  Values the rational over the emotional? This one should be clear-cut, and yet…a clinic for low-income mothers and their children? He didn’t come across as coldly logical or cutthroat enough to score high there, but she’d have to dig deeper to know for sure.

  “What about you?” he asked. “With all those university guys out there, why search for your Perfect Match off campus?” The corners of his lips twitched and the dimple in his right cheek became more pronounced.

  “I—I, um—” she stammered. “I guess I couldn’t find the kind of person I was looking for there.”

  “Someone who could match your softball skills?”

  “What?” Her softball skills were atrocious.

  “You said in your first email how much you enjoyed playing softball. Couldn’t find anyone on campus to play with?”

  Oh, boy, he remembered everything. Beth had no honest answer readily available, so she just laughed.

  “Hey, with the weather warming up, maybe we could catch a Cubs game at Wrigley Field some—” His smart phone dinged. “Damn. It’s probably…” He read the number. “Yeah, sorry. I’m being paged and have to get back.” He gave her an apologetic glance and rose from his seat. “That’s the disadvantage of being on call.”

  He said more things about the hospital, but she let her mind wander. Whew. End of date. She’d lived through it, thankfully. Only she didn’t get as much information as she needed. Maybe if she got him to write down his thoughts. She could send him a really long email this weekend and—

  “…so, what do you say, Charlotte?”

  Huh? “I—um, pardon? What was that?”

  “I said, how about dinner on Friday night? Luigi’s?” He sent her a smile that made her stomach melt to her toenails.

  “This Friday?” Only three days from now. Her mind flew to the commitments she had lined up for the week. Other than needing someone to watch Charlie, she could probably swing it, but it still wouldn’t be easy with work and school obligations. “Well, I think I could do that,” she said slowly. What was she saying? What was she doing? And, oh, brother, what was she possibly going wear?

  “Great. How’s six? I could pick you up at your pl—”

  “No! I mean, thanks, but I’ll probably need to run some errands first, so why don’t I just meet you there.”

  He reached down and softly touched her shoulder. “It’s a date.”

  ***

  Will sped to the hospital, glad no cops were running radar in the vicinity. He marveled over Charlotte Lucas. Amazing woman. Truly. She’d made him wish he didn’t have a job to do. Wish he could’ve been completely candid. A pang of well-deserved guilt socked him in the gut.

  Aw, man. He liked her.

  Well, that could only spell disaster. If she knew what his motives had been, she might very well despise him.

  After shoving his hard-earned, steel-blue Ferrari into park, he burst into the ER and called out to the head nurse. “Who came in?”

  The white-haired lady tossed him a clipboard and pointed toward Exam Room 1. “Lydia Jenkins and her eight-month-old. High fever. Abdominal pain. Raspy cough. May be pneumonia.”

  Worry gripped his heart and squeezed. “The mom or the baby?”

  “Both,” she said.

  He rushed in the room, taking in the disheveled appearance of the nineteen-year-old mother and her squalling infant. “Hey, darling,” he said to Lydia, placing his fingers on the pulse points of her wrist. “When did all this start?”

  “Maybe ‘bout two weeks ago,” she whispered, clearing her throat as a cover, it seemed, for her coughing. “Thought it was just a bad cold. Wouldn’t go away. Then Brittany got it.”

  He brushed some dark blond hair off her forehead and patted her shoulder before sliding over to examine the baby girl. No question about it, this child knew something bad was going down. Sobs wracked her small, pale body, and he could tell every breath was a labored wheeze.

  “She gonna be okay, Dr. Darcy?” Lydia asked. “She just needs some medicine, right?”

  Will listened to the baby’s chest through his stethoscope. Born three weeks premature and having a low birth weight kept Brittany in the high-risk category for complications such as these.

  “Antibiotics should help,” he reassured her, but he’d known Lydia since her third trimester. Injections and a few pills wouldn’t solve a thing long term.

  He didn’t need to overanalyze the chart. She’d barely received any prenatal checkups because she didn’t have a job, couldn’t afford the insurance premiums and hadn’t been aware then of the free services available to her. No father around, of course. Parents too far out of the picture to assist. The baby needed better care than what Lydia could provide in order to grow into a healthy adult. The poverty cycle set them up and perpetuated the problem time and again.

  He scribbled out a couple prescriptions, giving Lydia samples of each medication from the hospital stash so she’d have fewer to buy. He then administered the first liquid dose to the infant.

  “Rest up, darling,” he told Lydia. “I’m not discharging you two until after dinner, so use the next few hours to catch a nap and eat a something healthy. You might be in for a long night once you leave. I’ll send a nurse down in a bit with some formula for Brittany, too.”

  Gratitude filled the girl’s eyes. “Thanks, Doc.”

  Will scrambled through his next set of patients still thinking about Lydia and her daughter. It led him to other thoughts. On his first break, he reached for the phone and punched in a familiar number.

  “Hey, there, Mom. How are you?”

  “In a flutter! Did you see Oprah this morning?” She paused unnecessarily. He knew she knew the answer. “Well, anyway, there was this whole segment on radical home transformations. ‘Backyard makeovers,’ she called it. These experts came into some old couple’s house and just turned their crummy lawn into a Japanese garden. Incredible. And now I’ve got so many ideas.”

  “Wow. That’s great news.” He thought of his mother’s distinguished Cape Cod in the upscale Pemberley Park neighborhood that he’d helped her select and pay for. Lawns around there were manicured as diligently as a Hollywood starlet’s fingernails.

  “Well, yes. I called Home Depot and that nice college boy down the street—you know, the paralegal’s son? He’s there picking up some things for me right now. He’s going to help me lay down the stone footsteps this afternoon.”

  “Stone footsteps?”

  “I’m going for the �
��English’ look,” she said, as if that explained everything. To him it sounded like the ‘graveyard’ look.

  “Wow,” he said again.

  “Once I have it all done, you’ll have to come over for tea and crumpets. Or maybe raspberry scones would be better. You could bring a girlfriend?” Will didn’t miss the hopeful note in his mother’s voice, nor could he overlook her desire to recreate a page from her favorite childhood book, The Secret Garden.

  His thoughts strayed to Charlotte Lucas again, this time imagining her meeting his mom. It was always his biggest test for any woman he’d dated, not that many girlfriends had gotten that far. But Charlotte had real promise. He hoped she might see behind the middle-aged-lady façade and view the wonderful woman his mother was inside.

  Few twentysomethings he’d encountered were genuinely good with the older generation, but anyone involved in his life would have to treat his mom well. In his book, she was on par with Wonder Woman.

  “Tea sometime sounds like a great plan, Mom.”

  “Good. Oh, gotta go, honey. I hear the neighbor boy in the drive.”

  He hung up. Only three days until Friday. Bet aside, he couldn’t wait. If he’d known a lady like Charlotte was out there, Bingley might not have had to bribe him into trying this Love Match thing.

  Will envisioned himself and Charlotte together.

  Him: Working at the clinic, helping patients, giving medical treatments, being able to share his knowledge with mothers in a way that made a difference.

  Her: Working nearby, offering encouragement and insight, then providing ideas to emotionally support the children of these mothers.

  What a team they’d make.

  With no dependents, no major outside commitments, nothing to distract them, they could really do some work that mattered. And maybe, just maybe, she’d be glad he hadn’t chosen her for the typical male reasons. Glad he wanted more than a woman with merely natural charm and good looks—though she had those, too—but also someone whose lifestyle would mesh perfectly with his because their specific interests and living circumstances lined up. As a couple, they’d be on the same page. Share the same worldview.

  Yeah.

  She’d definitely appreciate his foresight.

  THREE

  “Jane just called for you,” Beth’s coworker Abby announced on a fast pass through the office, long blond hair flying like a cape behind her. “Said she needed to talk with you before you took another breath.”

  Abby, having been at the social work agency for over a decade, knew everything and everyone tangentially associated the place. Beth’s friendship with Jane was reason enough for Abby to take an interest in the phone call and in the person who made it.

  “Impatient one, that Jane,” Robby, her Jamaican-American colleague, said with a shake of his dreadlocks.

  Beth had just returned from a visit to Anna Marie Dermott’s apartment and felt she could live without more verbal ping-pong this afternoon. Her social-work predecessor had rightly described the woman as “cantankerous.” Beth preferred serving the elderly to any other population, but this lady made more demands than a toddler at Toys ‘R’ Us.

  Still, Beth knew her best friend didn’t take well to being ignored. She picked up the phone, knowing a lecture was coming, and dialed Jane’s cell.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Jane exploded, living up to her redheaded temperament. “Leaving me an email like that—after the fact! No advanced warning. No plans to fill me in on what happened with Number 49. You call this behavior friendship?”

  Beth squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced. She’d thought of little else but Dr. William Darcy for twenty-four straight hours, but admitting this to Jane would be dangerous. Jane would see nothing wrong with finding him cute, would even encourage a get-together or two for research—alias firmly in place, of course. But to really fall for the guy? Jane would have her neck.

  “It all just came about really fast,” she said, remembering Will’s dazzling smile, generous spirit and sharp mind. “I’d planned to call you right away, but Charlie had a project for school that we needed to work on Monday night, and I can never talk when he’s there. And last night, by the time I finished the extra reports for work, it got too late and so…anyway, that’s why I emailed. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about meeting Will yesterday.”

  “You should be sorry,” Jane said. Beth knew she was trying her best to sound severe, although her friend’s half giggle on the line spoiled the effect. “I was deprived of all the pre-date anticipation and study-related speculation.”

  “Who’s Will?” Abby asked, eavesdropping without apology, eyebrows raised.

  Beth glanced at her and shrugged. “Just a guy.”

  On the phone Jane all but squealed with sarcasm. “Now he’s just a guy. Heck, no. Better tell her he’s Your Destiny. Tell her you’ve found your Perfect Love Match.”

  “I’m not telling her that.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Abby put her hands on her hips in a maternal pose and looked irritated.

  “You got yourself in big trouble, lady,” Robby said.

  “We’ll talk about this later, Jane. I’ve got to go. Now.”

  “I’m bringing dinner,” she said, giving a last, indignant huff. “Plan to divulge every analytic detail.”

  ***

  Charlie must have been waiting behind Mrs. Moratti’s door. When Beth knocked, he jumped out at her.

  “Mommmmmeeee!” The three-foot-seven body flung itself full force, squeezing her middle tight with wiry, six-year-old arms. She buried her face in his hair and inhaled. He smelled distinctively of boy: No-Tears shampoo plus fruit snacks plus grass and mud. Her Charlie.

  “How did school go this morning, baby?”

  “Good. We made caterpillars today.” He grinned and pulled a multicolored, construction paper figure out of his Spiderman backpack. It vaguely resembled a leggy insect. “And we watched some cocoons in our tank and drew pictures of ‘em, but not even one hatched into a butterfly yet. It was Mikey Rodrigo’s birthday, so we also got cupcakes with sprinkles and jellybeans on top. But I took off my jellybeans ‘cuz they were green and that color’s icky.”

  Beth exchanged an amused glance with Mrs. Moratti, the kind woman who collected Charlie from the bus stop each day at noon and acted as his stand-in grandmother with ample hugs and cookies. “How about here? Everything go well?”

  The older lady nodded. “Buona,” she said with her heavy Italian accent. “S’alright today. No problemo. Snack already, at two. One video, then some PBS.” She smiled, her eyes so warm and compassionate. Her adult sons lived far away now, but they always came back to visit. Mrs. Moratti was a love magnet.

  The gray-haired woman patted the top of Charlie’s head in a gentle, almost reverent manner. “Just-a one accident this afternoon. Under the table and then—bump.”

  Beth looked Charlie over. He seemed unfazed. If she’d known a kindergartener could be so uncoordinated, she’d have given him Klutzy as a middle name instead of Samuel, after her nimble grandfather. Then again, considering her own graceless moves at the Koffee Haus yesterday, the kid came by the trait honestly.

  She thanked Mrs. Moratti with a quick embrace before leading Charlie to their apartment.

  It didn’t take long. Four doors down the hall, on the right-hand side, the name Bennet was painted on a little blue plaque. Home sweet home.

  “What’s for dinner, Mommy?” Dark eyes looked up at her with their undaunted optimism and trust in her ability to provide. She glanced apprehensively at the cupboards, knowing they were down to their last few boxes of noodles. Then she remembered.

  “Oh, I don’t know, actually. Auntie Jane is coming over.” She snuck a peek at her watch. “Probably in about a half hour or so. She’s surprising us with dinner.”

  “Goody! I love her ideas. Think she’ll bring us McDonald’s again? Or maybe meatballs from her freezer?”

  “It’s always a mystery with Auntie Jane.”


  Charlie sniffed the air in anticipation. “I know she’s not my real Auntie, but she’s so awesome.”

  And more than a little crazy. Beth smiled. “She sure is,” she agreed, meaning it. “Now, go play until she gets here.”

  Twenty-five minutes later, Jane marched in without preamble and plopped a large, veggie-loaded pizza on the chipped Formica table. The heavenly scent wafted up and made Beth’s eyes water.

  Jane seemed unaffected by the aroma. A burning sense of focus hovered above her like a spotlight, though. The intensity powerful, the curiosity unconcealed in her expression. She eyed Beth with arched brows throughout dinner, but showed considerable restraint until later, when Charlie was safely engrossed with his miniature cars two rooms away.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?” Beth said, stalling.

  Jane sighed and held up a finger for each of five questions. “Is he a dimwit? Was he as attractive in person as he seemed online? Did he make you laugh? Make you glad you only have to put up with him until you finish your project? Ask you out again?”

  Beth considered the questions. “No. Yes. Yes. No. Yes.”

  Her friend squinted then focused on the one Beth wished she could’ve sidestepped. “When are you going out again?”

  “Friday. Luigi’s.”

  “This Friday?”

  “That’s what I said when he asked. But I’m thinking maybe I should cancel. Except I still have a few questions about him. Some things I need to straighten out.”

  Jane shot her a direct look. “Questions about your project, right? Not about the man himself?”

  “Right. The project.”

  Leaning forward across the white tabletop, Jane gave her a long, assessing stare. She crossed her arms. “Shoot, Beth. I can’t believe it. You like him, don’t you?”