Curtis Sittenfeld - Eligible

“For you, maybe,” Liz said. “I mean, sorry, but I still consider you a jackass. Do you imagine you’re doing me some big favor by overlooking how unattractive I am and how much you hate my family and declaring your love anyway?”

Darcy’s surprise was apparent in his widened eyes, a surprise, Liz thought, that served as further evidence of his arrogance. Tightly, he said, “I was under the impression that you appreciated candor. It wasn’t my intent to offend you.”

“How could I possibly want to be with the person who pushed Chip and Jane apart? I know now that you told him to break up with her. And I know you were part of getting Jasper kicked out of Stanford. This idea you have that your judgment is better than everyone else’s, that you alone should decide the fates of other people — the only question is if being a surgeon gave you a god complex or if your god complex is what led to your being a surgeon.”

“I see,” Darcy said. “And you believe that I have not only the will to control people’s behavior but also the power?”

“The facts speak for themselves.”

“Let me assure you that the idea for Chip to leave medicine and go back on Eligible didn’t come from me.”

“You may not have bought his plane ticket to L.A., but I’m sure you influenced him.”

“And when you suggest that I got Jasper expelled from Stanford”—Darcy’s expression was haughty—“just so I fully comprehend, was it that he was innocent and I planted evidence on him, or was it that he was guilty but I should have unilaterally decided to let him off the hook?”

“There are worse crimes than writing an idiotic story.”

Darcy scrutinized her face before saying, “Yes, there are.”

“Even if you hadn’t screwed over Jasper and Jane, I’d never want you to be my boyfriend,” Liz said. “And even if you hadn’t just insulted my looks, my personality, and my family, and blamed your interest in me on sex hormones — even if you’d expressed your attraction like a normal human being, I still wouldn’t.”

She was experiencing a pleasing anger, a satisfying outrage rare in her daily encounters, and she expected him to be experiencing it, too. But rather than glaring back at her, he seemed wounded, and a small seed of doubt formed within Liz.

“I apologize for misreading the situation so egregiously,” he said. Then — it was such a strange, old-fashioned gesture — he basically bowed to her. “Forgive me.” He turned, and in a matter of seconds, without further farewell, he was gone. Immediately, Liz began to question whether she’d imagined the whole bizarre exchange.

Still standing on the threshold of the open door, Liz found that she was shaking; her anger was quickly slipping away, replaced with a growing uneasiness. How was it possible that Darcy— Darcy —had announced that he was in love with her? If it was at some level gratifying, it was also unthinkable. How thoroughly confused she felt, how rattled and off-kilter.

From behind the closed door of her bedroom, Mary called, “Lizzy, did someone just ring our doorbell?”

FOR THE REST of the day — while helping her parents settle in at the country club, while dropping off unexpired canned goods from the Tudor at a food pantry, and while discussing final fumigation preparations with Ken Weinrich (yes, Liz had watered the soil the previous day) — through all of it, Liz thought continuously of Darcy. Eating a late lunch on the porch of the country club with Mary and her parents, Liz could hardly follow what anyone was saying, even when the subject changed from Mrs. Bennet’s speculation about why things hadn’t worked for Jane and Chip to what Kathy de Bourgh would be like. Frowning, Mrs. Bennet said, “I’ve always found her very strident.”

It was Mr. Bennet who was driving Liz to the airport for her flight to Houston, though they stopped first at her sisters’ apartment to get her bags. Just outside the door of their unit, set on the floor and leaning against the wall, was a plain business envelope with Liz’s first name written on it.

“Who’s that from?” Mary asked, and Liz folded it in half, stuffed it into her pants pocket, and said, “Nobody.”

Mary made a scoffing sound. “Yeah, apparently.”

The envelope practically thrummed as Liz rode to the airport in the passenger seat of her father’s car.

“Do you remember when you and Mom are allowed back in the house?” Liz asked as her father merged onto 71 South. “It’s one o’clock on Friday. You’ll need to dump out the ice that’s in the ice maker. Don’t make a gin and tonic with it.”

“It’s remarkable, isn’t it,” Mr. Bennet said, “that for decades at a time, I’ve stayed alive without your daily instructions?”

“The fumigation guys will have opened all your drawers and cabinets for air circulation,” Liz said. “And the doors and windows, too. But Mary will come over and help close everything. And then, please, will you and Mom both really, really try to keep the house looking presentable for when agents want to show it?”

Without checking his rearview mirror, Mr. Bennet moved over a lane, and a car just behind them honked. “Relax, my dear,” he said. “We’ll all be just fine.”

“Do you realize you almost had an accident right now?”

Mr. Bennet reached out his arm and patted Liz’s knee. In an uncharacteristically serious tone, he said, “Lizzy, you’ve been a voice of reason amid a cacophony of foolishness. It was very good of you to come home this summer.”

AS SOON AS she had checked her suitcase, made it through airport security, and found the gate from which her plane would depart, Liz opened the envelope. The letter filled four pages of notebook paper, and Darcy’s handwriting, which she had never seen, was of medium size and no particular beauty; inscribed in black ballpoint ink, it seemed to be that of a person making an effort at legibility:

Dear Liz,

First off, don’t worry that I’ll try to persuade you here of what I suggested earlier today. The sooner we can both forget my misguided idea, which you obviously found so repulsive, the better for both of us. That said, I’m compelled to clarify a few points regarding Jane and Jasper Wick. I realize that some of what I say might offend you further, and that’s not my intent, but if it’s a by-product of stating the truth, so be it.

I was, of course, aware that Chip had fallen for your sister. In fact, his feelings for her seemed deeper than for any woman I’d observed him with before. However, although Jane is always a polite person, I wasn’t convinced that she reciprocated his interest. The night of Chip’s dinner party, I heard Jane tell you that she didn’t think she should keep the bike Chip had bought her because of her doubts about their relationship. Granted, I already didn’t think your family was the ideal one for Chip to marry into — I know you won’t want to hear this, but, beyond your mother’s pushiness and preoccupation with social climbing, I find Lydia and Kitty’s indifference to basic manners mind-boggling. And remember that I have a sister close in age to them. I didn’t think such shallow, pampered egotists existed except on reality television…which brings me to my next point. Regardless of my reservations about Jane (reservations Caroline shared, by the way), I couldn’t have convinced Chip to leave Cincinnati and join the Eligible reunion. Frankly, I assume he used Jane’s pregnancy as an excuse to do what he already wanted to, which was take a break from medicine.

You know your sister better than I do, and I’m willing to concede that I may have been wrong about her feelings for Chip. But if she is or was smitten with him, I didn’t see the evidence. Nevertheless, I genuinely like Jane, and if I’ve caused her to suffer, I’m sorry.