Whoever said that being a fantasy writer was a viable career choice deserved to be shot, Elizabeth mused, tacking the newest addition to the wall with her other rejection letters.
"Didn't the landlord say we couldn't put nails in the wall?" a soft voice asked from somewhere over her shoulder.
"Okay, Jane. A— It's not a nail; it's a thumbtack. And B— he also said the shower had good water-pressure, so who gives a fuck what he says." She noticed the almost imperceptible tightening of her sister's mouth and sighed. "Fine, who gives a frick what he says."
"Lizzie you know it's not the word that bother's me, it's the intention. And, as the person who actually paid the deposit on the apartment, I care."
Elizabeth threw her hands in the air in mock defeat. "You win. I'll use sticky tack for the next 500 I'm bound to get, but I can't do much about the ones that are already up."
"Thank you," Jane said as she crossed the small room to the bathroom. "And we both know you won't get that many letters. I'm sure someone will want to publish you. It'll just take time," she added before shutting the door.
"It's more likely I'll have set my manuscript on fire in some fit of Romantic inspiration well before I get that many rejections." Lizzie shouted through the door as she flopped down onto the couch. "You're taking your time getting ready," she added when her sister didn't respond. "Any reason you're particularly excited for this blind date?"
"Who said I was particularly excited?" Jane asked as she left the bathroom, smelling like something floral. She really should figure out what that perfume was, Lizzie thought. Jane had worn it for years.
"No one. It's just that you're actually wearing makeup. You know full well you don't need it, and you usually only wear it when there's someone you want to impress.
Jane flushed prettily under her light layer of foundation. "Do you think I will? Impress, that is."
Lizzie grinned. "He's an idiot who's not worth your time if he's not impressed. When are you supposed to meet him?"
"In about an hour," she responded lightly, slipping her coat over her shoulders.
"Then why are you leaving now?" Lizzie asked, sitting up straighter. "You're meeting at the MFA, right? That's only 20 minutes from here by bike."
"I'm taking the bus. I hate biking in the city."
"Christ, this guy better be worth your time if he's making you take public transportation."
"Goodbye Lizzie," Jane said meaningfully.
"Have fun, lovely. Call me if he turns out to be insane and you need some excuse to leave."
"You know I will Lizz."
Elizabeth smiled and Jane blew her a kiss as the door swung shut.
Alone in the apartment, Lizzie let her face fall.
It wasn't easy being Jane Bennet's sister. Jane had always had a charmed life. Perfect skin—even in high school— dark hair that somehow always fell in perfect, effortless waves, and blue eyes framed by eyelashes that would have put Elizabeth Taylor to shame. She could have been a model if she hadn't chosen to do a degree in illustration. And of course she had been the one in a million art student to get steady work doing what she loved. And she was just so god-damn genuine and kind that Lizzie couldn't begrudge her any of it. Though in her rare moments of total self honesty, she could admit that she hated herself a little for wanting to.
Elizabeth glanced at the clock on the stove- just past two in the afternoon. Way too early to start drinking.
She grabbed her laptop off the coffee table and opened up her latest work, staring blankly at the screen. Thank you for your submission. She typed a few words, deleted them. Unique narrative voice, but… She managed to get a few sentences in the second time before undoing it all. Not right for us at this time.
She just couldn't get that letter out of her head. She shut her laptop and tossed it onto the couch next to her, digging her phone out from her pocket and finding Charlotte Lucas's number.
"Hey Lizzy! Has Jane left on her date yet?" Charlotte asked brightly when she picked up.
"Yeah, she seemed pretty excited about it."
"You don't sound too excited about it," her best friend added after a pause.
"Can't get anything past you Char, can I?"
"Never have," she responded brightly.
Lizzie chuckled. "Anyway, it's not really that. I got another rejection letter today, and all of this is all just another reminder about how easy everything has always been for Jane."
"How many rejections is that? Twenty-seven? And besides, maybe this isn't easy for Jane. You don't know how the date's going to go. Maybe he's a pervert."
"Very funny, Char. And it's twelve."
"Either way, you clearly feel bad. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Care to help me get shit faced?" Lizzie asked brightly.
"Elizabeth Bennet!" Charlotte said in mock indignation. "It's the middle of the day."
"On a Saturday. You in or not?"
Elizabeth could almost see the wolfish grin she knew her friend would be wearing. "You know I am."
In the end, they didn't get shit faced. It only took Lizzie one tequila shot to remember that she hated the stuff, and they ended up getting sidetracked by some British comedy show on Netflix. And so when Lizzie half stumbled back into her apartment sometime past 11, she was just drunk enough to feel the alcohol, but not drunk enough to feel it the next day. And not nearly drunk enough to miss the pair of much-too-big-for-either-her-or-Jane boat shoes left neatly by the door.
