Acting on autopilot, I close the passenger seat window while watching Lizzie's silhouette disappear through her front door. The entire journey back to Bing's house, I don't have a single coherent thought. After parking in the driveway, I stay inside the car while I try harder to focus. My senseless jumble of thoughts, however, react to this mental pressure by retreating completely, leaving me with only faint inclinations of what previously had been so overwhelming. Frustrated that in a moment when I would really like to know how I feel, I can't interpret my own mind, I jump out of the car, grab my bicycle, and start pedaling down the street without even changing.
Speeding through the suburban neighborhood, with only the dim, orange hue of the street lamps, the mellow chirping of the hidden insects and the refreshing summer night breeze for company, I can feel myself relax. I concentrate on the rhythmical motion of my legs, up and down and up and down again, until my mind wanders, as it always seems to lately, to Lizzie.
Just thinking about her has a way of brightening my mood, making the ends of my lips curl up for an easy smile, as though my body knows I am happy before I do. I shake my head, trying to dispel my natural, satisfying reaction. I know I am in love with her — I have treated this as fact since I made this conclusion on a similar bike ride months ago. But I also know it is unhealthy. It's what I told Bing when he stubbornly refused to emerge from his Jane-induced sulk. It occurs to me that it's actually quite ironic. I ordered Bing to move on while I was eager to pursue my relationship with Lizzie, but it turns out it is Bing, and not me, for whom the reciprocated love of a Bennet sister is destined. I pedal faster.
I start to formulate a strategy for slowly weaning myself out of love, but instead I keep seeing her leaning on the car window, staring straight at me, and saying my name for the first time.
"Goodnight, William."
Her use of my first name was purposeful. It had to be. She had walked away from the car, only to turn around to wish me goodnight. She had stared at me with her striking green eyes reflecting what I could have sworn was affection. Not to mention her refusal to deny she was in a relationship with me to my aunt. Granted, Lizzie was obviously not in a cooperative mood, but if she loathed the accusation of being my girlfriend, she would have candidly denied it. If I were to weigh the evidence, the results from this evening would be in my favor.
Wouldn't they? As rational as I try to be, I know full well that the last time I made an analytical decision based on what I thought of as unbiased reflections of our interactions, I was mortifyingly wrong. I was left staring at a door that was slammed behind me, breathless and tense with adrenalin, my lips still faintly tingling from a kiss that, though initiated out of relief after unfurling all of my feelings, left the tangy sting of unexpected rejection.
It was that day just a few months ago that I learned of the pain that comes with expectation. I had meticulously made room for her in my future —accommodations anticipated due to my love for her — only to discover that my planning was premature. That I made space only to have it be left vacant. As prosaic as it sounds, her rejection left me with a hole in my life. And in my heart.
By now my calves have acquired a pleasant burning sensation and I can feel my dress shirt starting to stick to my chest, so I whip the bike around and start pedaling back to Bing's. As I pedal, I try to come to a decision regarding what path I want to take. I could protect my remaining dignity and go back home, resuming my work and life in an attempt to achieve the contentment that I had just a year ago. I could try to limit my interactions with Lizzie to the inevitable times when our paths would cross because of Jane and Bing. I could.
I remember after leaving the office that day, I was livid. After all, what right did she have to think so poorly of me? I knew I was loyal and hard working and compassionate. That I was a good brother. A good person. So what if I wished she weren't poor or family to…less than desirable relatives? If her circumstances were better, everything would be so much easier. Convenient. As soon as that thought occurred to me, my anger instantly faded away and was quickly replaced by shame. I loved her, but I was worried about how she would make my life inconvenient? Suddenly all those concerns I had wrestled with my entire time at Netherfield up until I saw her again at Collins & Collins seemed incredibly self-centered. I was worried about how she would reflect on me, yet it never occurred to me that I could reflect poorly on her. I had expected her to say yes. I should have known. Lizzie never does what I expect her to.
I could leave, but I won't. Not when I've found someone who makes me want to deserve her love instead of expecting it to be given to me. I resolve to screw my pride. It's never done any good when it's come to Lizzie anyway.
Somehow this conviction makes me surer of our recent interactions. I realize that it is because this time I was paying attention, not just to how I felt, but also to how she did. When she visited Pemberley, she had been atypically reserved. Still Lizzie, but a Lizzie who was determined to prevent her eyes from meeting mine. I think now that she acted, not out of hatred or indifference, as I had feared then, but from embarrassment. I suddenly appreciate that I wasn't the only one who regretted my behavior. I reflect on her immediate and easy friendship with Gigi, wondering, if her actions, like my own recently, were motivated by a desperate desire to make things right. With this perspective, I consider tonight's car ride, including her apologies, and gratitude, and that moment when we both really looked at each other and time blissfully suspended, and I begin to dare to hope.
By now I've reached Bing's house, so I carefully lean my bike against the garage wall and sneak inside and upstairs to my designated room as silently as I can. Leaving the lights off, I shrug out of my now rather sweaty dress clothes and pull on some pajamas before plopping onto the bed. Although I have decided tomorrow will be a day of risk, I am too tired to be anxious. Instead my thoughts circle around a pair of fine eyes, reciprocated kisses, and her voice softly wishing me goodnight.