Curtis Sittenfeld - Eligible

Kitty was watching Liz with doubt. “Why did Chip and Jane break up?”

“I’m not sure if they want the same things.”

“He dumped her?”

“They’re still not officially finished, but I think it’s mutual.” Briefly, Liz was tempted to ask if what Lydia had declared several nights prior in the kitchen was true — that everyone in the family knew about Jasper. He was due to arrive in Cincinnati the following week, and as the date approached, Liz had become increasingly conscious of the oddness of hiding his visit from her family. Yet surely the oddness of his entering the Tudor, which she had no plans for, would be even greater. At least he’d meet Charlotte; for the second of Jasper’s two nights in town, Liz had made a dinner reservation at Boca, for which Jane also would join them, assuming she was still around.

In any case, asking Kitty about Jasper would eliminate all doubt, and whether because of age difference, geography, or temperament, Liz had never spoken openly to her younger sisters. In certain ways, they knew one another well, they recognized one another’s habits and preferences; yet years could pass without a conversation of real substance occurring between them.

“Chip once had a patient who’d stuck a lime up his butt,” Kitty said. “Did you know that?”

“I can only imagine what questions you asked to elicit that information.”

Kitty grinned. “Maybe Chip’s proud that he got it out.”

AS LIZ AND Mr. Bennet left the rehabilitation center after his physical therapy appointment, her phone buzzed with a confusing and unpunctuated text from Jane: Chip gone

Calling Jane in front of their father was impossible; then, as they headed south on 71, Mr. Bennet said, “Stop by the fish market, will you? I’d like some oysters.”

She knew he meant the smoked kind, and Liz tried to remember whether smoked oysters were healthy. She said, “A Seven Hills classmate of mine is a real estate agent now, and he can come over and discreetly look at the house. What do you think?”

“Supposing I say no — in that case, what time will this fellow show up?”

If the situation were not so dire, Liz might have felt abashed. She said, “He’s free tomorrow at the same time Mom has a Women’s League meeting.”

“Of course he is.”

In the fish market parking lot, Liz said, “Are you okay going in alone?”

“For heaven’s sake,” Mr. Bennet said. “I’m not a boy in short pants.”

“I didn’t know if you’d need help carrying stuff.”

As Liz watched him walk in the rear entrance of the store, she called Jane and said, “Gone where?”

“To Los Angeles.” Jane sounded more confused than upset. “Remember when I told you Eligible is doing a reunion show? He decided to be on it after all.”

“Did the hospital let him take a leave?” Liz asked.

“I don’t know. He only sent a text.”

An unpleasant recognition was spreading within Liz that Jane’s worst fears about Chip were wholly justified. “What a flake,” Liz said. “I’m sorry, but who bails on their job — their job as an ER doctor — after less than three months? Will you forward me the text?”

“Hang on.”

A few seconds later, the gray bubble appeared on the screen of Liz’s phone: Hi want to let u know I’m headed to LA today 4 eligible fan favorites reunion show. Been wondering if dr right fit. Great getting to know u, u r really special person.

Raising the phone back to her ear, Liz said, “Is this a joke?”

“He must have been in a hurry,” Jane said.

“I don’t care if his hair was on fire. This is appalling.”

“I want to feel compassion for him.” Jane’s voice was firmer. “I don’t like being angry.”

“Jane, even a yogi can be pissed when her boyfriend turns out to lack basic communication skills.” Liz could see their father emerge from the store carrying a plastic bag.

“I know I can,” Jane said. “I just don’t want to.”

“Well, you’re definitely better off without him.” How rapidly Liz’s once-favorable opinion was curdling, what unflattering details, previously ignored, could be marshaled as evidence for a contrary view: Chip had been nice enough, yes, but clearly narcissistic and immature; he had never been serious about medicine or her sister. “Dad and I will be home in five minutes,” Liz said. “Want to go to Graeter’s and drown our sorrows in mocha chip ice cream?”

As Mr. Bennet opened the passenger-side door, Jane said, “I hope you know how much I appreciate your support, Lizzy. But now I think it really is time for me to leave Cincinnati.”

LIZ HAD SCHEDULED Shane Williams’s visit to the Tudor for one o’clock; meanwhile, her father had, albeit without good humor, agreed to ask Mary to drive him to the Mercantile Library; and under the guise of sisterly thoughtfulness, Liz had scheduled a prenatal massage for Jane. Though Lydia and Kitty were unaccounted for, they were the least likely to be home in the middle of the day.

Shane remained much as Liz remembered him: fit, preppy, cheerful, and loquacious. After she opened the front door of the Tudor and he leaned in to hug her, she stole a glance at his ring finger and noted that it was bare. In light of Shane’s profession, there was a decent chance he was gay. Yes, he’d been the prom date of her friend Rachel in 1993, but back then, even at progressive Seven Hills, students hadn’t exactly been bursting out of the closet.

“If anyone comes home, we can pretend we’re just catching up,” Liz said. “I know I mentioned this on the phone, but my dad hasn’t told my mom they need to move.” Such candor about her family’s financial predicament would, Liz knew, particularly displease her mother, but Liz didn’t see how she had the luxury of discretion.

“It’s a beautiful house,” Shane said.

As Liz led him into the living room, she said, “How have the last twenty years treated you?”

Shane laughed. “Can’t complain.” He gestured toward the large water stain on the wall. “What’s up with that?”

“It looks awful, doesn’t it? I keep meaning to call a contractor and figure out the problem.”

“As long as you’re at it, you could think about painting this room. If you went a few shades lighter, it would really brighten things up. Maybe a pale gray or ecru.”

As he spoke, Liz noted — how had this fact never registered with her? — that the walls were an uninviting mustard shade.

“If you replace the painting over the mantel with a mirror, that’ll also help lightwise,” Shane was saying.

Liz pulled her phone from her pocket and typed in his suggestions as they moved from the living room back through the front hall to the den, then the dining room. In the kitchen, Liz said, “Unfortunately, since the goal is to sell quickly, I can’t see them doing a full renovation here.”

“At least this is really open,” Shane said. “Buyers like that now.”

Upstairs, his suggestions were similar: painting the walls, removing clutter, fixing anything conspicuously broken (such as the pocket door on the tiny bathroom in Mary’s room, which had for at least a decade closed no more than halfway). In Kitty’s room, Liz said, “In case this isn’t obvious, my three younger sisters still live here. I’m not sure if it’s the boomerang generation thing or just their personal immaturity, but they basically—”

Before she could complete the thought, a form rose from the swirl of sheets and pillows on the double bed and took the shape of Kitty herself. Bleary-eyed and messy-haired, yet still displaying her unconcealable native beauty, Kitty squinted at Liz and her guest. “Why are you in my room?” She pointed to Shane. “Who are you?”