Curtis Sittenfeld - Eligible

She had been such a fool, such a preposterous, unmitigated idiot; how could she have been this foolish?

She said, “Who else are you sleeping with?”

The expression on his face was oddly compassionate as he said, “You really want me to tell you?”

“Yes.”

“Fiona.”

“The editorial assistant?”

He nodded. Liz didn’t know how old Fiona was, but definitely under twenty-five; also, red-haired and gorgeous. All this time, Liz had understood that her relationship with Jasper closely resembled a distasteful cliché; she hadn’t understood that it actually was a separate, equally distasteful cliché.

“Anyone else?” Liz asked. When she and Jasper made eye contact, he didn’t do anything — he didn’t nod again, or shake his head, or speak. Then he pulled her toward him and she let him; she lay with her face pressed to the warm skin of his shoulder.

“You’re like my life coach,” he said softly, and she was pretty sure this was his ultimate compliment.

So many years — her entire adulthood thus far! — wasted on this man. And she was more to blame than he was. Would extricating herself be difficult or not difficult?

She still thought they might have sex, either later that night or the next morning before he flew back to New York. But they didn’t, and he had to leave for the airport early in order to return his rental car.

KDB GIVING A speech in Houston on Thurs, Aug 29 to Nat’l Society of Women in Finance, read an unexpected email to Liz from Kathy de Bourgh’s publicist. 20 minutes available after for sit-down interview, assuming mention in your article of speech/organization.

In theory, Mascara frowned on agreeing to conditions of coverage, but in practice, it happened constantly. Also, twenty minutes with Kathy de Bourgh, modest as it might sound to a nonjournalist, was enough of a coup that it would result in a full profile rather than a few remarks tucked into an article on a different subject. Thus, without checking in with her editor at Mascara, without doing further research on the event, Liz wrote back, I definitely will attend.

“I KNOW THIS isn’t your cup of tea, so thank you,” Jane said. She and Liz stood in the backyard, beneath the fungus-afflicted sycamore tree.

“Just, not to sound disrespectful, but we should leave for the airport eight minutes from now,” Liz said.

Jane had invited Liz to join her as she bid a ceremonial farewell to the Tudor, which Liz superstitiously thought but did not tell Jane increased the likelihood that the prospective buyers wouldn’t like the house after all.

Jane closed her eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled, then said, “Om.” Liz didn’t close her eyes and wondered if their parents or sisters were watching from a window. “Thank you for sheltering our family all these years,” Jane said. “For keeping us warm in the winter and cool in the summer”—both claims, Liz thought, were rather generous, given the draftiness that kicked in around November and the erratic functionality of the third-floor air-conditioning—“and thank you for being a place where we celebrated holidays and played games and ate delicious meals. Even our challenges here have made our lives richer and deepened our ability to feel. Our family has been very lucky to live somewhere beautiful.”

At the mention of games, Liz had remembered a specific round of gin rummy she and Mary had played in the eighties, when Liz had gotten a perfect hand and ginned before she drew for the first time; in spite of herself, she felt genuine sadness. But it wouldn’t have been honest to attribute the sadness entirely to the Tudor’s impending sale. It also was attached to her disappointment with Jasper, a disappointment that abruptly and retroactively colored the past: All those years growing up here, she’d unknowingly been headed toward a selfish, dishonest man.

Jane said “Om” once more and opened her eyes. “Do you want to add anything?”

Liz shook her head. “I’m okay. I’ll put your suitcase in the car while you say goodbye to everyone.”

MR. BENNET BID farewell to Jane indoors, but the female members of the family all followed her to the driveway, where Mrs. Bennet continued to offer miscellaneous advice, as if Jane were leaving for her freshman year of college. “Get a little single-serve coffeemaker so you’re not dependent on those ladies in the morning,” she called into Jane’s unrolled window. “They’re only about thirty dollars.”

“Mom, I don’t drink coffee,” Jane said, and from the driver’s side, Liz said, “We need to go so she doesn’t miss her plane.”

“I love you all,” Jane said. “And I’m only a phone call away.”

“A nice hostess gift is a cheese board,” Mrs. Bennet said. “But if you get one that’s bamboo, tell them not to put it in the dishwasher.”

“Jane won’t be their guest,” Lydia said. “She’ll be their servant.”

“Bye,” Liz called, but she hadn’t begun accelerating when, entirely audibly, Mrs. Bennet said to Kitty, “I just wish Chip hadn’t gone back to California.”

As Liz turned out of the driveway, she said to Jane, “Did you decide what you’re doing with your apartment after September first?”

“I guess if I’m not going back, I should end my lease, but the idea of moving — well, I shouldn’t complain after you and Ham cleaned out the entire basement yesterday. You were heroic, Lizzy.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you saw the storage locker. Ham did his best, but it looks like the town dump.”

“I have this fantasy of getting rid of almost everything I own and replacing it with minimalist baby gear. Just a car seat, some onesies, and some cloth diapers.”

“Is there any such thing as minimalist baby gear?” Liz asked as she made a left onto Torrence Parkway. “In other news, I think maybe I’m finished with Jasper.”

“What happened?”

“Besides me finally seeing what’s been in front of my face all along?” Liz tried to smile, and without warning, tears came to her eyes.

“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane said. “I’m sorry.”

“He was awful at dinner,” Liz said. “Don’t you think?”

Sympathetically, gently, Jane said, “He was just being himself.”

THE GRASMOOR, WHICH was located on Madison Road — Liz passed it on her jogs — consisted of two handsome, three-story, cream-colored brick buildings with green awnings. The unit Liz and her parents viewed, which was for sale for $239,000, had three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, two terraces, and a view of the fountain in the courtyard. For the duration of the tour, which was conducted by Shane, Mrs. Bennet wept, a fact that seemed to cause greater consternation for Shane than for Liz or her father.

“Seriously,” Liz said as the tour concluded, “getting this much space for this amount of money is incredible.”

“My dear,” Mr. Bennet said, “your coastal affectations are in imminent danger of becoming tedious.”

“For comparison, I’d love to show you a unit down the street,” Shane said, and Mrs. Bennet said, “I don’t have the energy.”

Liz said, “Mom, let’s keep going a little longer.”

“You have absolutely no idea what this is like for me,” Mrs. Bennet said.

“Losing a house can be like losing a member of the family,” Shane said. “Am I right, Mrs. Bennet?”

She looked at him vaguely — Liz had decided against mentioning Shane’s race in advance of his meeting her mother, saying only that he’d been a Seven Hills classmate — then, as if Shane hadn’t spoken, Mrs. Bennet turned back to Liz. “I’m sure you can’t understand now,” Mrs. Bennet said. “But someday you’ll learn what it’s like to be treated with utter callousness by your own children.”