Story title comes from 'Get Lonely' by The Mountain Goats.
"…I can't reach the phone right now, but leave me a message and I'll get back to you."
Lydia clicks end, then, on what feels like her thousandth call to George in the past few days. She's amazed his voicemail inbox isn't already full.
The thought crosses her mind that maybe he's deleting her messages.
She can hear her mother across the hallway in Lizzie's old room, muttering words like 'peace' as she attempts to meditate. The house is silent apart from her occasionally falling onto the floor when she loses her balance and quietly cursing; apparently yoga is not her mother's forte, Lydia thinks. Earlier, she heard Lizzie and Jane leave to get breakfast and buy groceries; their father, leaving for work, offered to drop the girls off at the café so they didn't have to walk as much. Now she has to just wait for her mother to leave.
In twenty minutes, of course, Lydia knows that her mother will depart for her nine o'clock Saturday morning yoga class, leaving the house empty for what will likely be the rest of the afternoon. Quietly, she pulls herself out of bed and opens her closet door. She's been wearing sweats and hoodies for days, but now she removes a flowery dress from a hanger, pulling it along after her, headed toward the shower.
She waits until she hears the definitive sound of the front door shutting behind her mother before she emerges from the bathroom, hair and make-up both fixed. She hurriedly retrieves her purse and a warm coat from the hall closet and rushes out the door, heading for the bus stop; today she can't afford to be late.
The bus drops Lydia off at the college ten minutes before the meet, and it takes her that long to locate the pool; despite their time together, George has never once taken her to a swim team competition. She sits in the middle of a set of bleachers, strangers crowding her in on all sides, and watches swimmer after swimmer diving into the chlorine water that she can smell even from her position.
Finally, after warm-ups, she sees George walk in and head towards his team, and her breath catches in her throat. She hasn't seen him since…
Lydia stops wandering in her thoughts and concentrates on the blonde man smiling and chatting just feet away from her. He yells encouragement to his team, claps and whoops when the guys do well, and seems so generally happy it makes her sick to her stomach. Whatever the circumstances of the website that has ruined her week, her life, and, apparently, her relationship, George Wickham is not in mourning over her.
She leaves when the meet is half over, disgusted with herself for coming in the first place, and wanders onto the city street, brightening in the afternoon light. Lydia breathes in the fumes of a passing car and walks until her feet ache in their thin soled sandals, until the smell of chlorine is sweated out of her skin.
It's too bad sweat can't remove the permeating presence of George Wickham, she thinks, as she leaves one more message on his phone. She wants to say that she came to the meet, that she misses him, forgives him, hates him… but all she can muster is his name.
Originally, Lydia planned on making it home before the rest of her family. She doesn't want to explain where she's been, but going back to a quiet house seems like the worst possible scenario at the moment. Instead, she weaves through buzzing crowds on the streets, the evening hours providing plenty of people to walk through. It's almost like being with someone when she stands close enough, almost.
As the night begins to press in, she's reminded that it's only February; the air cools and skyscrapers around her block the remaining daylight like metal trees in an industrial forest. She walks by George's apartment building once, twice, three times before she hears the sound of a xylophone in her pocket, the stupid standard ringtone of her phone.
She ignores it, but checks the screen to see Lizzie's face.
Later, Jane's face graces the little rectangle, followed by Lizzie again and then varied amounts of calls from each of them. She doesn't check the voicemails they leave or text messages they send, and her legs get cold and her head throbs like it's going to burst.
She finally pays a return bus fare at two in the morning, miles away from the college and her original destination. The rumbling of the vehicle nearly lulls her to sleep until her phone rings one last time. Lizzie. Again.
For once, Lydia is so irritated that she picks up, but she doesn't even have time to speak before her sister has launched into a worried tirade.
"Lydia, where are you?! You can't just disappear without telling anyone where you've gone; I thought you'd learned that by now! Did you even stop to think that everyone would-"
"I'm headed home. I'll be there in a few minutes," Lydia says, no emotion in her voice. Then, she hangs up, realizing it's the first time she's spoken to her sister since Lizzie showed her the website.
She stays silent through the rants about keeping everyone informed and being responsible and the looks of disappointment etched into her family's faces. For once, Lydia doesn't even have the energy to roll her eyes at their frantic states. She heads back up to her bedroom as quickly as she can and collapses onto her bed, massaging her sore and blistered feet.
Once again the house is silent, and it's nearly too much for her too handle. She thinks about creeping downstairs and staying with Lizzie and Jane in the den, who are now likely asleep and, if not, might feel just sorry enough for her to remain quiet and listen as she questions how anyone could be as misleading, cruel, heartless as George.
But Lydia's not ready to talk yet, so she spends the entire night watching her old videos, from the beginning all the way through to that last embarrassing one, where she proclaimed her love for a man who used her like she never meant anything to him.
In the morning, she tells Lizzie that she wants to be in another video.