Curtis Sittenfeld - Eligible

Mrs. Bennet looked aghast. “You can’t be serious.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Mr. Bennet said. “Tempora mutantur, my dears.”

Mrs. Bennet appeared to be gasping for air. “I thought one of the girls would eventually live in the house with her own family.”

“Me,” Lydia said. “I’m going to.”

Mr. Bennet seemed defeated as he said, “Then I suggest you find a leprechaun and abscond with his pot of gold.”

Gently, Jane asked her sisters, “Have you guys ever thought of temping?”

“What do you care?” Lydia said to Jane. “You’re about to skip town.” She looked at Liz. “And you don’t really live here, either. You two are carpetbaggers.”

Mrs. Bennet’s tone was newly hopeful as she said, “Jane, maybe you and Chip can buy the house.”

An uncomfortable expression passed over Jane’s face, then she squared her shoulders. “Chip and I have broken up,” she said.

“Really?” Mary said. “You mean you’re no longer going out with the guy who’s shooting a dating show right now in California? I’m shocked.”

“Oh, Jane.” Mrs. Bennet sounded bereft. “Now you’ll never have children.”

IN THE BASEMENT, keeping in mind Shane’s advice to skip a true reckoning in favor of efficiency, Liz shoved Christmas lights into a file cabinet and a badminton set into an old suitcase with a broken zipper. She vowed as she worked to immediately recycle the magazines she’d let accumulate in her apartment the minute she returned to New York, as well as to sort through her closet and donate to Goodwill everything she hadn’t worn in the last year.

She’d been in the basement for close to two hours and had encountered what she suspected was an extended family of spiders — energetic youngsters, weary parents, deceased great-aunts — when she heard someone descending the steps. Lydia appeared, carrying a bottle of coconut water that Liz imagined, until Lydia took a long swig from it, was for her. “I can’t believe you talked Dad into this,” Lydia said. “You’re being really selfish.”

“It isn’t my decision, Lydia. Do you have any idea how much it costs to maintain a house this size?”

“It isn’t like there’s a mortgage.”

Rather than correcting her sister, Liz said, “How much do you think property taxes are?”

Lydia shrugged.

“They’re more than twenty thousand a year. Let’s say the boiler goes out — how much would you guess it costs to buy a new one?”

Lydia closed her eyes and made a snoring noise.

“I know you don’t believe it, but getting a job and a place of your own will be the best thing that’s ever happened to you,” Liz said. “You’ll feel so grown-up and independent.”

“You sound like a tampon commercial. Anyway, I’m moving in with Ham.”

“And not chipping in on rent?”

“He owns his place.”

“Do you really want to rely on a man to support you?”

“Spare me your feminist propaganda, Liz. You know, you should get Ham to help you down here. He’s the most organized person I’ve ever met. He only uses one kind of hanger, and they all have to hang the same way.”

“Great,” Liz said. “Send him over.”

Lydia took another sip of coconut water. “Kitty and Mary are talking about becoming roommates. Wouldn’t that be hilarious?”

“It’s not a bad idea.”

“I’d never live with Mary. She’s so annoying.”

“You do live with Mary,” Liz said.

Lydia laughed. A certain preemptive aura of departure indicated that she was about to go back upstairs — what must it be like, Liz wondered, to observe another person in the midst of a major task that was no more her obligation than yours and to feel not the slightest compulsion to assist? — and Liz said, “Do you even have a résumé?”

Lydia grinned. “Some of us are able to get by on our looks.”

WHEN U FINISHED today? Liz texted Jasper from the basement. Moving a million pounds of junk from parents house to storage locker, can’t wait to see you!

At sports mall til 7ish, Jasper texted back. Still on for dinner w/ Jane and your friend?

She hadn’t formally canceled with Charlotte, Liz realized, though doing so didn’t seem necessary.

Just us & Jane now, she texted. Lets meet 21c lobby 7:45 .

Less than half an hour later, when she heard her name being called from the kitchen, there were a few seconds when she thought Jasper had ignored her prohibitions about visiting the Tudor and come to rescue her, and she was touched. “Down here!” she called back, though even by then, she knew it wasn’t him.

“There’s a rumor going around that you could use some help,” Ham said as he entered the room.

“Really?” she said. “Wow. Thanks.”

He shrugged. “Slow day at the office. What’s our strategy here?”

Though Mary had accompanied Liz to pick up the rental truck and trailer, Liz had otherwise been feeling like the little red hen in the fable, planting and harvesting the wheat while the animals around her played. Now, at last, she had an ally, and if she weren’t so sweaty, she’d have hugged him.

“The storage locker is about ten minutes away,” she said. “If you’re really game, we could make the first trip now.”

This was what they did; up the steep, unfinished basement stairs, through the kitchen, and into the driveway, they carried suitcases and end tables and boxes full of decades-old files to the truck. “You don’t want to just dump this?” Ham asked about a stack of faded Easter baskets, fake grass still nestled inside them, when they’d made the first drop-off and were loading the trailer for the second time.

“I know it seems crazy, but if my mom asks if I got rid of anything, I want to be able to say no,” Liz said. “I mean, I have gotten rid of stuff since I’ve been home, but it was before today.”

“You sure you never got a law degree?” Ham said. They climbed into the trailer to stow the latest deposits, and as he hopped out, Ham said, “Random question: Do you think your parents are Republicans?”

“My dad, yes, with maybe a libertarian streak. My mom has the views of a Republican, but I’m not sure she votes. Why?”

“That was the impression I got from Lydia, but I was just wondering. You think your parents have any gay friends?”

“As Lydia may have mentioned, there’s speculation that they might have a gay daughter.”

“Lydia did share that theory.” They had reached the basement again.

“Is your family conservative?” Liz asked.

“Very. My mom moved to Florida after my dad died, to a retirement community I’m pretty sure is a Tea Party training camp. Unfortunately, she and I aren’t close.”

“You’re not conservative?”

“I’d call myself a centrist.”

“I think of CrossFit being conservative — is that wrong?”

“No, it’s right, although I’d say my box has a different vibe than some.”

“And you were in the military?”

“Yeah, the army. I spent some time in Korea and did a tour in Afghanistan.”

“Wow,” Mary said. “I can see the floor in here.” Liz hadn’t realized her sister was in the vicinity and hoped Mary hadn’t heard the recent comment about her.

“Want to give us a hand?” Liz gestured toward a brown corduroy beanbag chair with a split seam through which small bits of polystyrene were spilling.

“I’m sorry,” Ham said, “but that’s definitely garbage. Seriously, Liz.”

“Of course it’s garbage,” Mary said. “Did Liz tell you it’s not?”

“I don’t want Mom to get pissed at me for throwing things out,” Liz said.