Curtis Sittenfeld - Eligible

Briefly, Jane appeared to forget her distress. “Did you go to CrossFit?”

“I ran here,” Liz said. “There were no cars at home. Are you okay?”

Jane’s lower lip quivered.

“Not to put you on the spot, but is it Chip’s or from IUI?”

A few seconds passed, then Jane shook her head, unable to speak. After another interval of silence followed by an enormous sniff, Jane said, “Everything was so chaotic with Dad’s surgery. I kept meaning to buy a test, to see if the last round at the clinic had worked. Then I met Chip, and we were having such a good time that suddenly it seemed like maybe it’d be better if I wasn’t pregnant.”

“So it’s not Chip’s?” Liz said.

“They’re going to do an ultrasound to figure out how far along I am. Anything is possible, I guess, but we’ve been using condoms.”

“Does he know you’re pregnant?”

Jane sighed. “At the restaurant, the EMT asked if I could be, and I said maybe, but I didn’t mention the donor stuff. Of course, Caroline heard, and she told Chip before I had a chance. I think she called him from her car as I was riding in the ambulance. So he found me, and he was very sweet and worried. I wasn’t even sure I was pregnant at that point because they hadn’t done the blood test. But I felt like I had to explain to him about the IUI, and he was a little shocked, and then he got called away for a stab wound before we could finish the conversation. That was an hour ago.”

“Wow,” Liz said.

Jane wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and Liz stood to pluck a tissue from a box on the nearby counter. “At least I wasn’t just stabbed,” Jane said. “It could be worse.”

“True,” Liz said. “But you’re still allowed to be upset.”

“It was so strange at the restaurant, Lizzy. I thought — I never think this — I thought, ‘Maybe instead of sushi, I’ll order teriyaki.’ Raw fish seemed disgusting. But Caroline suggested splitting a few rolls, and I said okay. When the food came, I looked at it and just the smell — I was sure I would throw up. Instead, the next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor with a bunch of waiters staring at me.”

After procuring the tissue, Liz had perched at the foot of Jane’s bed. “So—” Liz hesitated. “Do you want to be pregnant?”

“I did.” Jane’s voice quavered. “Before meeting Chip, I wanted it a lot.”

INCLUDING THE TIME since Jane’s most recent period, the technician who completed the ultrasound placed the pregnancy at between nine and ten weeks; because Jane knew to the hour when the final round of insemination she’d undergone prior to leaving New York had occurred, she could confirm the estimate. “So a late February due date,” Liz said. “A snow baby.”

She didn’t mention Chip’s name, and neither did Jane. Notably, Chip hadn’t reappeared in Jane’s hospital room during Liz’s time there, nor had Caroline or Darcy; Liz had no recollection of bidding farewell to either of them after seeing Caroline in the hall.

Two hours had passed since Liz’s arrival at the hospital, and Jane’s emergency room doctor had just stopped in for a final consultation, inquiring as to whether Jane had an ob-gyn and encouraging her to take prenatal vitamins; Jane informed the doctor that she had been taking them daily for more than ten months. After she was discharged as a patient, it occurred to her and Liz simultaneously that they were without a car.

“Let’s start with Mary,” Liz said. “She’s likelier than Lydia or Kitty to keep her mouth shut.”

“We aren’t calling any of them.” Jane’s voice brooked no argument. “I’m not ready for them to know.”

After a few seconds’ hesitation, Liz asked, “Could Chip give us a ride?”

“He doesn’t get off until seven,” Jane said. “And then he has to do charts.” She was changing from her hospital gown into her clothes as she added, “We’ll take a taxi back to the sushi restaurant and get Dad’s car. And don’t say a word to anyone. Seriously, Lizzy — not even to Dad, in one of those heart-to-hearts you two like to have. Do you swear?”

“Do you have health insurance?” Liz asked.

Jane nodded. “Of course. Do you swear?”

On the one hand, Liz was enormously relieved; on the other hand, there was still a secret bankruptcy and a secret pregnancy to contend with. How exactly had her family members found themselves in such circumstances? “My lips are sealed,” she said.

“CHIP’S PARENTS HAVE a summer house in Maine,” Mrs. Bennet said as Liz chopped cauliflower on a cutting board by the kitchen sink. “In Boothbay Harbor, which is supposed to be stunning. Suzy Hickman’s sister and brother-in-law go there, and Suzy says the views are divine.”

“If you want to help, you can wash the cilantro,” Liz said, and Mrs. Bennet didn’t move from the spot where she stood.

“Obviously, a wedding is usually held where the woman grew up,” she continued, “but if Maine is meaningful to Chip, I’m sure one of you other girls will get married at Knox Church.”

“Has anything specific led you to believe that Chip and Jane are planning their wedding?” Liz asked. “Because that’s not my impression.”

Mrs. Bennet appeared offended. “Well, they’re head over heels!”

“I think they like each other,” Liz said, “but it’s still early.”

“I prefer when a man officiates,” Mrs. Bennet said. “It’s more natural. A lady did Allie Carnes’s wedding, and she had the oddest little squeaky voice.”

Liz had finished chopping the second of two cauliflowers; she lifted the cutting board and dumped its contents into a roasting pan. “I noticed some boxes in Jane’s old room that haven’t been opened,” she said. “What’s in them?”

“Those are presents I’m saving for Christmas.”

It was tempting, but surely ill-advised, to ask which future recipient of the monogrammed royal blue bath towels happened to share Mrs. Bennet’s initials.

“I’ve started thinking about what will happen when you and Dad sell this house,” Liz said. “I wonder if you and I should do some decluttering.”

“We wouldn’t dream of selling the house.” Mrs. Bennet laughed. “We’ll be carried from here feet-first.”

Liz opened the refrigerator, pulled out a bag of cilantro, and turned on the faucet. Avoiding eye contact, she said, “You realize shopping can be an addiction just like alcohol, right? I don’t know if you’ve ever thought of talking to someone.”

“What a preposterous thing to say! Do I appreciate a bargain? I certainly do.”

“What if I take some stuff over to the Resale Shop?” Liz said. “Just dishes we never use, or maybe the furniture in the basement from Granny. You don’t have to be involved.”

“Granny’s furniture is very valuable. Do you know what you ought to be doing, instead of meddling?”

“This is just a guess, but dating my cousin?”

“I’d like to see you do better than Willie.”

Since Liz’s adolescence, when viewing television commercials that celebrated the ostensibly unconditional love of mothers for their children, or on spotting merchandise in stores that honored this unique bond with poems or effusive declarations — picture frames, magnets, oven mitts — she had felt like a foreign exchange student observing the customs of another country. But if Liz wasn’t close to her mother, neither was she consumed with the maternal resentment she had observed in some friends. Her mother had been adequate — often annoying, far from abusive.

Liz turned off the faucet and shook the water from the cilantro. With as little emotion as possible, she said, “As a reminder, not everyone gets married, and bringing it up all the time won’t increase the chances for any of us. I’m definitely not interested in Willie.”