Curtis Sittenfeld - Eligible

“No argument here,” Chip said.

Liz hoped she didn’t sound confrontational as she said, “So why’d you do it?”

Chip’s expression was strange, or perhaps it seemed so only because Liz didn’t know him well; she wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or proud, but when he spoke, it was clear he was utterly sincere. He looked at Jane before saying, “I did it to find love.”

AFTER DINNER, JANE returned with Chip to his apartment, and he dropped her off back at the Tudor just before six in the morning, when he was due at the hospital. Though Liz could tell Jane was trying to be quiet as she entered the bathroom on the third floor, Liz was glad for the opportunity to talk with her sister. They decided to set out early for their run — the temperature was expected to reach the mid-nineties by noon — and they descended through the quiet and semi-dark house, where the rest of their family slept.

In the driveway, they stretched. “You don’t think Mom’s trying to pimp me to Cousin Willie, do you?” Liz asked as she extended her left leg, her heel balanced against the asphalt. “Even as desperate as she is on my behalf, I hope she’d draw the line at incest.”

“Since he’s our step-cousin, it’s not technically incest.”

“No,” Liz said. “But it’s still technically gross.” She pointed toward the street. “Ready?”

As they jogged out of the driveway, Jane said, “If you don’t want people to treat you like you’re single, whether it’s Mom or anyone else, you could tell them you’re not.” This wasn’t a new conversation; Jane thought that at least their parents should know about Jasper, especially since it was possible that Mrs. Bennet might feel sympathy for the delicate circumstances surrounding Jasper’s wealthy grandmother-in-law.

Liz said, “You mean the way you’ve been so open about your IUI?” When she glanced at her sister, Jane’s expression was somber. “You know I’m kidding, right?” Liz said. “So I thought last night with Chip went really well.”

Both women were quiet as three SUVs in varying hues of silver drove by, then Jane said, “Maybe Chip’s the right guy at the wrong time. Would you ever live in Cincinnati? Like, permanently.”

Liz chortled. “Wait, are you planning to break up with him or to stay here forever and become his wife?”

“There are reasons to live in Cincinnati besides Chip.”

“Name one. And don’t say Cincinnati is cheaper, because everywhere is cheaper than New York.”

Jane smiled. “Yet you were outraged that Darcy doesn’t like it here.” They were approaching the country club, and Jane continued: “Everything in New York is such an uphill battle. And even though I used to feel like I couldn’t live in Cincinnati because I wouldn’t have my own identity — I could only be Fred and Sally’s daughter, or ‘one of the Bennet sisters’—maybe I was wrong. Talking to Dad’s nurses in the hospital, or that night I went to the lecture at the Hindu temple — I can see now that there are a lot of different Cincinnatis. This sounds dumb to even say, because it’s so obvious, but most of the city has nothing to do with Seven Hills or Hyde Park or”—Jane gestured to her right—“the country club.”

“So where would you live? Over-the-Rhine?”

Jane’s expression became sheepish. “Oh, I’d definitely want to live in Hyde Park. Not next door to Mom and Dad, but maybe a bungalow around Erie Avenue.”

Had Jane been looking online at real estate? Would it be a betrayal for Liz to check the search history on her own laptop, which Jane occasionally used? Liz said, “If I moved back, I’m sure I’d find some great place to live. I wouldn’t have to make a reservation to take a spin class or wait in line just to get into the grocery store. But then I’d look up one day and be like, ‘What the fuck have I done?’ ”

“You still sound like Darcy,” Jane said. “Speaking of which, Chip is planning a dinner party, and he wants you to come. But just to warn you, Darcy will be there, and so will Caroline, of course.”

“I’d be delighted to attend. I’m willing to overlook Chip’s horrible taste in friends and sisters because of his wisdom in falling for you.”

“Caroline is actually nice when we hang out at the apartment.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“The only night Darcy’s free this week is Sunday. Can I tell Chip you’ll be there?”

“Not only will I be there,” Liz said, “but I’ll be impersonating a pleasant woman with great manners.”

“COME HERE,” KITTY whispered. Standing in front of the open door of the second-floor guest room, she crooked her finger.

“What?” Liz said at a normal volume, and Kitty whispered, “Shh!”

As she got closer to her sister, Liz could hear a rhythmic whirring, like that of a fan. On reaching the guest room’s threshold, she was greeted with the sight of Cousin Willie sprawled on his back on one of the twin beds, the covers kicked off and Willie clad in tighty-whitey underpants and nothing else. His mouth was open, and he was snoring extremely loudly. Beside Liz, Kitty convulsed with silent laughter.

It was then that Lydia appeared behind them in the hall, apparently having gone to retrieve her smartphone. She held it in the air, its camera trained on Willie’s form, or at least this was what she did until Liz grabbed the phone away and jammed it under her left armpit. “No,” Liz said, also at a normal volume.

“Give it back,” Lydia hissed, lunging toward Liz.

“Only if you leave him alone.” Liz’s preference at this juncture in adulthood was to avoid physical fights with her sisters, yet the longer she’d been in Cincinnati, the less remote the possibility had come to seem.

“Give it to me,” Lydia said.

“He doesn’t even know,” Kitty said.

“Exactly,” Liz said. “If I catch either of you filming him again, I’ll drop both your phones in the toilet.”

“Fuck you,” Lydia said, but when she grabbed for the phone again, Liz let her take it. Lydia and Kitty strode away, and Liz glanced inside the guest room. She’d expected that the commotion would awaken Willie, but he continued to snore undisturbed. Gently, Liz shut the door.

HER ARTICLE ABOUT asking for a raise was due by the end of the week, and Liz still hadn’t succeeded in interviewing Kathy de Bourgh, the famous feminist. To Kathy de Bourgh’s publicist, Liz had sent emails that were, in various iterations, lighthearted and casual, stern, obsequious, and desperate. She’d been rereading Revolutions and Rebellions, the classic work in which Kathy de Bourgh chronicled her time in the women’s movement from the early sixties on: the marches and sit-ins and arrests, her testimony before the Senate Judiciary Committee on behalf of the Equal Rights Amendment, which had occurred (this detail had titillated Liz when she’d first read the book as a college freshman) on the same day that Kathy de Bourgh called off her wedding to the smolderingly handsome attorney general of New York. However, as much as Liz was enjoying Revolutions and Rebellions this time around, she knew that her editor wouldn’t be pleased if she used decades-old book quotations in lieu of fresh remarks from an interview.

So cognizant of Ms. de Bourgh’s jam-packed schedule, Liz wrote in her latest email to the publicist, but if I could get her on the phone for even five minutes, I know our readers would be thrilled to hear her perspective. And just as a reminder, we at Mascara still proudly consider Ms. de Bourgh “family.” Prior to becoming a professional activist, Kathy de Bourgh had herself been a reporter and had worked for two years at Mascara; it had been Liz’s employer that in 1961 published the still-legendary article about the week Kathy de Bourgh had gone undercover as a dancer at a Times Square nightclub.