Personally, I'd Rather Lick Sand
(Chapter Two -- Housemate for Hire and other Nuances)
"You're home!" Jane sprung up the garden pathway, bare feet slapping the concrete. She was beaming and her pale blonde hair was streaming like a banner in the wind. I'm not kidding. My twin is legitimately a fairy princess – true story. She poops rainbows.
Jane ruffled my hair, squinting in the sunlight, "Why are you back so early? Did Charlotte get you fired? Electrocuted George's hair?"
"That would be something to capture on my camera phone," I pondered, removing my visor, "Charlotte sent me home for a mental health day."
"Are we deranged?"
"Collectively? I don't think so. Singularly, it's a strong possibility," I grinned, linking arms with her as she led me up to the porch. Jane cast a decisive look, waiting good-naturedly for me to go on. There's no evading my sister, truly. Her golden attitude and aptitude for listening physically reach inside your soul to yank the truth out of you. And her pursed lips and narrowed, patient eyes just screamed Mother Hen. It's depressing – I crumbled.
"I got my first rejection letter from Watts & Darcy Co.," I spluttered, crossing my arms over my chest quickly, "Yes, I feel like punching infants. Yes, I'm incredibly discouraged. And yes, I do want to hunt this editor down and wring every ounce of life out of his flailing, decomposing body."
"Interesting," Jane blinked twice, squeezing my shoulder reassuringly, "Was that so difficult?"
"The pressure got to me," I mumbled, wiping the sweat off my brow. Gingerly, Jane pulled me down to the first step of the porch, and I held my knees to my chest. Down the curve of the driveway, I watched a middle-aged man push a polka dot twin stroller down the expanse of the sidewalk.
"If they slap you with murder charges Lizzy, I'll be a very lonely twin," Jane rationalized, picking a dust particle off her jeans, "Don't get me wrong, the description of this physically-wringing-life-out shtick is entertaining, but the law's a bit of a hassle in this situation. Personally, I'm all for it otherwise."
"I appreciate your support."
"Don't mention it. And you do know that even the best authors alive got their slew of rejection letters, right?" Jane took my hand, eyes like my father's and fiercely bright, "And that this shouldn't discourage you?"
"And yet it does," I scowled, turning away, "It was vicious, Jane, almost like a personal attack."
"I doubt that, Lizzy," Jane smiled patiently, "It's a wonderful creation of yours so of course it's natural to take offense when somebody disagrees with it."
"Disagree? Janey," I snorted, "I'll give you Spark Note's version."
"Humor me," she grinned, tucking a strand of my hair behind an ear.
I cleared my throat regally, "Miss Bennet -- You suck. Your characters suck. This is a festering, steaming pile of shit. You can go leap off a cliff, but be sure to take your manuscript from Hades with you."
"There's obviously no possibility of you exaggerating of course," Jane drawled, eyebrow arched. At my firm denial, she sighed wearily and yanked me up by the wrist, pulling me to the door, "Oh Lizzy."
"Oh Jane," I grinned, passively submitting to being forced inside. I'm Jane's baby sister in the truest sense of the word. There is no age gap (save for twenty three minutes between births where my mother questioned what power had possessed her to not take that epidural). But it's no secret that Jane Bennet mommies me through all the muck life can possibly afford.
Dragged inside, I was comforted by the lemon fresh scent of a newly scrubbed, one story home. This afterthought of a flat is Jane's baby – she keeps after it like a goose to her goslings. It used to be my uncle and aunt's first home when they were first establishing their business – they had never sold it, and were renting it out to us for the past three months for an absurdly reasonable price. It was fitting really, for real estate tycoons to have their collection of rented homes dotting the county. And it's twenty five minutes from the university we'd both be attending that autumn.
My mother hates it – it's too tiny for her taste. Then again, anything is too tiny in her mind's eye that can't accommodate five squawking girls, a passive husband and her own hysterical self.
I dumped my bags in the foyer and unlaced my Chucks, following Jane obediently into the kitchen. I knew what was in store. She would brew a heavenly pot of peppermint tea, we would sit at our sheet of wood (see dictionary: kitchen table) and I would bitch – incredibly. George and Charlotte have my sister pegged to a tee.
I'm not saying my twin is one-dimensional, just extremely predictable. We love her for it. She's pure sunlight, and I wouldn't change a thing. My three younger siblings can't be credited with such a title, regrettably, but you accept people for who they are. And if you can't, there's always duct tape.
"By the way," Jane addressed me, shoving the kettle under a running faucet, "I hope you don't mind, but I'm having a prospective housemate tour this evening. Three candidates have called."
"Housemate?" I repeated, temporarily disappearing next door into our open bedroom. The walls were so thin that conversation was easily managed, so I rifled through my drawers until I could find my sweats.
"Well," Jane called, and I heard the clank of the kettle on the ancient stove, "With tuition and the dent that buying textbooks created in our wallets, I think it'd be a good idea to have a third roommate to split the cost with. We do have two bedrooms."
"Jane," I laughed, poking my head out from the doorway, "The second bedroom's a disaster. We have a dozen packed boxes and a crappy paint job."
"One," Jane grinned, raking her hair into a ponytail, "I take it you haven't been in that room for two weeks or longer. I repainted it nine days ago. Did you not notice the Lowe's bags and the obvious paint fumes?"
"I'm really flaky and unobservant – was I at work?"
"You might have been," she paused, "I also loaded the boxes into the crawl space."
"We have a crawl space?"
"Yes," Jane sighed, exasperated, "And two, why are you in your underwear?"
"I'm changing into my sweatpants," I said plainly, "Unless you have no objection to me moonwalking in the kitchen stripped down to my skivvies."
Jane narrowed her blue-gray eyes pointedly, "That will be the first thing to go once we get a third roommate – there will be no Michael Jackson moves in skivvies."
"You're amused by my wondrous moves; admit it," I teased her, entering the kitchen now having reversed my sans pants situation. Jane rolled her eyes and smirked, digging out two mugs from the nearest cupboard. I leaned my elbows against the counter, trailing a finger against our small fish bowl. Two ordinary goldfish circled their own aquatic prison, and I made sympathetic faces at them – for moral support, of course.
"Don't scare the fish, Lizzy," Jane cautioned, placing my mug on a wooden coaster before me.
"Ben Affleck looks so sad today," I pouted, tapping the glass gingerly as the lighter of the two fish swam by.
"I thought that one's Matt Damon?" Jane asked quizzically, leaning back to cradle her mug to her chest.
"No, that's the darker one – he's a brooder," I followed Affleck with a fingertip, "Damon's the suicidal one, remember? He keeps trying to leap out."
Jane snorted in response.
"I hope this roommate isn't a bitch," I murmured, resting my chin in my palm, "I'll flip shit if you let Cruella de Vil claim that bedroom."
"Where she'll design Dalmatian curtains and such," Jane grinned, dipping a finger into her tea haphazardly.
"Naturally," I shrugged, taking a sip.
But sure enough, we did show the three candidates in that evening. Jane had made such a beautiful show of it too. For our squashed living quarters in all their cramped glory, there was a very zen vibe to the townhouse. Candles were lit at the end table by the front door. Homemade cookies were quickly baked so that the welcoming scent might diffuse through the air. And the lighting was just right so that one might be distracted from how absolutely tiny it all was and concentrate on the design. Boy, was Jane artsy.
We were a little drawn back from the first girl – mostly because of the spike through her chin. Not that we're overtly judgmental, of course, but spikes are hazardous during power outages, you know. Lightning storm and bam – you have a weapon of mass destruction fumbling for her bearings in the next room.
Plus, she heavily hinted at overt promiscuity. And as students, Jane and I needed as many hours of sleep we could garner without panting and squicky love declarations ravaging our walls through the adjacent room.
The second candidate never showed – call it a changed mind or lack of interest.
The third candidate was received at nine-thirty in the evening, three hours later than she had called us to expect. We were weary and slightly frustrated at this point. And when I unlatched the door, prepared to shoo this traipsing little time-jerker off with some carefully chosen words, it all seemed to falter.
This girl looked unbelievably shy. She was standing awkwardly, with her feet crossed and her hands wrung together nervously, cobalt eyes ridiculously wide. She straightened her purse awkwardly over a shoulder and leaned her weight against one leg.
"Are you Jane?" she asked, retrieving a neon green flier from her bag.
"I'm Jane, yes," I grinned, "You must be our third contestant of the night."
"I'm so sorry I'm late," she muttered, eyes downcast, "I had some car trouble."
"That's fine, as long as you're in one piece," I jutted a thumb backwards, "Come on in." I led her inside patiently, and we entered the kitchen.
"Lizzy?" Jane called, popping up from behind the counter. She yellow, elbow-length scrubbing gloves on and promptly pulled them off, clutching them behind her back.
"Still cleaning?" I asked teasingly.
Jane shrugged and smiled at our newest prospect, extending a hand, "Excuse the Clorox smell – I'm Jane Bennet."
"Pleasure," the younger girl smiled, but then turned skeptically towards me, "I take it you're not Jane then?"
"Our names are interchangeable."
"Lizzy," Jane warned.
"Lizzy Bennet," I greeted, "Sorry for the confusion, Miss --?"
"Georgiana Darcy," she greeted, a smile spreading on her face, "Thanks for the clarification."
"No problem," I grinned, liking her already, "Let me show you the prospective bedroom." I offered her the crook of my elbow, and she humored me and accepted it as we crossed the threshold into the sparse little space.
"I realize it's not much," I apologized, scratching my head unsurely. It wasn't the grandest of rooms to be sure – there was a single bed and a dresser, as well as a mahogany wardrobe perched across. But it was quaint and clean.
"No, it's fine," Georgiana beamed, "Really."
"Are you a college freshman?" I asked, taking a seat beside her on the stripped mattress, "Because you look younger."
"I'm seventeen, if that makes any difference," she laughed, "I skipped the second grade."
"Impressive," I teased, and Georgiana smiled quietly, "So, Georgiana – that's a mouthful."
"You haven't even heard my middle name," she muttered, glancing briefly at the walls.
"Any nicknames?"
"My brother calls me Georgy on occasion. I hate him for it, but there's not much I can do," she grinned sheepishly, "I'm branded."
"Sounds grim," I rose to my feet, "My mother used to call me The Keebler Elf."
Georgiana raised an eyebrow in question.
I shrugged, "I was small and mischievous – I would sneak cookies from the kitchen into my siblings' bedrooms."
"Robin Hood?" she grinned.
"I guess you could say that," I laughed, brushing my bangs out of my eyes. She smiled back.
An hour later, we had officially found our third housemate. Mostly on the grounds that she seemed tidy, overwhelmingly polite and had already had her first month's rent tucked away delicately into a crisp white envelope. The fact that her ringtone was David Bowie did her no harm either -- She would move in that Thursday.
Author's Note: Updates won't be this frequent; really, I just always feel the need to back up the first chapter quickly. I'm kind of inexplicably OCD about that, it's really strange! Especially because my chapters usually come once a week or once every couple of weeks. Anyway, thank you so much for the lovely response of the first chapter! I hope this continues to be enjoyable. I know Darcy's entrance is churning very slowly, but don't worry. He'll show up soon enough, of course. Please review!
