Curtis Sittenfeld - Eligible

“You know,” Liz said, “what year did you graduate? I’ll bet we’re close in age.”

“I graduated from college in ninety-seven.”

“Then you were in the same class as a good friend of mine. Did you know Jasper Wick?”

“Yes.” Darcy seemed unimpressed by the coincidence.

“You don’t think that’s noteworthy?” Liz said.

“Not especially.”

“Really? That here we are in Cincinnati in 2013, and you went to college in California in the mid-nineties with basically my closest friend?”

“That’s how socioeconomic stratification works. I’m sure you and I know other people in common, too, though personally, I find the name game tedious.”

“Well,” Liz said, “my apologies for boring you.”

Darcy didn’t say she hadn’t bored him; he said nothing.

“Jasper’s coming to Cincinnati soon to write an article about squash players,” Liz said. “Maybe you two should have a reunion.”

“I doubt my schedule will allow it.”

“Do you not like him or something?”

“We weren’t friends.” Darcy’s disinclination to elaborate, his apparent belief that he needn’t explain or excuse himself, was enormously irritating. And his eschewal of convention was even more bothersome than it would have been if he were unaware of etiquette, which, obviously, he was not.

“Were you both in love with the same girl?” Liz asked.

“Caroline mentioned your fondness for interrogation.”

“Some people think asking questions is friendly and polite. Plus, I’m a journalist.”

“Maybe the reason you’re a journalist is that it gives you a professional justification for being nosy.” Darcy took another sip of sangria, and very briefly, before he licked it off, a trace of purple liquid clung to his lips. Then he said, “Excuse me,” bowed his head, and walked inside, leaving Liz alone on the balcony.

DINNER WAS TO be individual pizzas that the guests would prepare to their own liking, with an array of thoughtfully selected toppings: sun-dried tomatoes, fresh basil, artisanal salami. While Liz appreciated the casually festive menu, it soon became clear that Chip had, by the time of his guests’ arrival, not yet made the dough, apparently unaware that it would need to sit for an hour after he’d mixed the ingredients. In addition, his oven could fit no more than four pizzas at a time. Thus, it was ten o’clock when they sat to eat, and half the pizzas were cool.

Liz ended up between Willie and Jane; somehow, on Jane’s other side, sat Darcy rather than Chip. It was not clear to Liz that she had, in her earlier exchange with Darcy, embarrassed herself, but it also wasn’t clear that she hadn’t. Thus, she decided to abstain from initiating further conversation with him.

“You look very pretty tonight,” Willie said to Liz at one point, and she was just tipsy enough — the sangria was indeed strong — to find the comment endearing rather than weird.

“Thank you, Cousin Willie,” she said. “You look very handsome.”

At the conclusion of the main course, Jane, Liz, and Charlotte cleared the plates, and when Charlotte and Liz were standing by the kitchen sink, Charlotte said, “Were you and Darcy flirting on the balcony?”

“Oh, God, no,” Liz said. “The opposite. And I’m pretty sure he’s dating Caroline.”

“Really?” Charlotte said. “I didn’t know that.”

At the table, Caroline was on Darcy’s other side and had spent most of the meal curled toward him in conversation like a poisonous weed. As a dessert of brownies and Graeter’s ice cream appeared, Jane murmured to Liz, “Chip bought me a mountain bike.” She didn’t seem pleased.

Liz looked at Jane. “That was nice of him.” While at the Tudor for dinner, Chip had mentioned that he’d already explored several area trails.

Jane shook her head. “I think it was expensive.”

“Well, I’m sure he wouldn’t have bought it if he couldn’t afford it. Sorry, Jane, but he’s into you.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Jane said. “Maybe his expectations are too high.”

Liz laughed. “You think if he gives you a fancy bike, you’re obligated to put out? Because if I’m not mistaken, you’ve been doing that for weeks.”

“It just seems soon for such an extravagant present.”

“Will you relax and enjoy being courted?” Liz said. “It’s not a diamond ring.”

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t accept that, ” Jane said. After a pause — on the other side of the table, Keith, his fiancée, and Chip were discussing a “hot” appendix Keith had seen the previous day — Jane added, “You think I should keep the bike?”

“Yes,” Liz said. “Go riding with him. Have fun.”

Willie, who had been in the bathroom, rejoined them then and gestured toward a pint of ice cream on the table. “The famous black raspberry chip, I take it?”

Liz passed the pint to him. “When in Cincinnati,” she said.

In spite of her plan not to initiate conversation with Darcy again — certainly not on this evening, and possibly not ever — Chip and all eight of his guests ended up back out on the balcony, and Liz found herself standing just inches from the person she’d sought to avoid. For better or worse, she was someone who filled silences and smiled at strangers. Thus she said to Darcy, “How was your pizza?”

“That cicada sound you like so much,” Darcy said. “It’s the males contracting their abdominal muscles.”

The sound was audible at that moment, beneath the simultaneous balcony conversations. She said, “Did you learn that in medical school?”

He dispensed one of his infrequent smiles. “I just looked it up on Wikipedia. It’s a mating call.”

“How romantic,” Liz said.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t wish Jasper Wick ill,” Darcy said. “Everyone should have the right to move on from their past.”

Liz looked at him sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I assume you know he was kicked out of Stanford.”

What? Liz thought. She said nothing, and Darcy, who appeared genuinely surprised, added, “Did you not know that?”

“It actually isn’t something we’ve discussed.”

In the shadowy summer night, they watched each other. “Didn’t you say he’s your best friend?” Darcy said.

“Why did he get kicked out?”

“I shouldn’t speak for him,” Darcy said. “But it’s not as if it was a secret. It caused a campus-wide stir.”

“Was it drugs?” Liz asked. “Or cheating on a test?”

Darcy’s expression had grown impatient; if an unspoken détente had occurred between them, it was no longer in effect. “Those are questions for you to ask Jasper,” he said.

“LIZZY, I CAME to say goodbye,” Cousin Willie said. “It’s been great to reconnect with you.”

Liz was at her desk, writing an email to Kathy de Bourgh’s publicist, who had ignored Liz’s entreaties since her failure to call during Kathy de Bourgh’s ten-minute window of availability several days before. “You, too,” Liz said to her cousin. Miraculously, Mary had agreed to drive Aunt Margo and Willie to the airport, and their imminent departure made Liz generous toward her cousin.

Willie stopped just a few feet from Liz’s chair; his countenance was serious, and he seemed agitated.

“Is something wrong?” Liz asked.

Instead of speaking, he swiftly bent down and pressed his lips to hers. The surprise of the kiss was exacerbated when it became evident that he did not mean for it to be brief; he proceeded to open his mouth, and with the intrusion of his tongue, Liz pulled back her head in horror.