A/N: I don't own the obvious. Also, I stay away from you guys for such long times to prove to you that absence really does make the heart grow fonder…or because I moved and am back at school and busily student teaching. That life doesn't leave much free time for writing unfortunately.

I find it interesting that every Jane Austen novel ends with a wedding. After the characters are safely married, we see no more of their lives. Austen's detailed narration of events ends with the weddings. She gives us tidbits here and there to let us know that they lived good and happy lives but she doesn't tell us what life was like for Fanny and Edmund now that Edmund was the parson of the Mansfield parish or what life was like for Frederick and Anne after their wedding. Where did the Wentworth family reside? How many children did the Darcys have? And what in the heck ever became of Charlotte and William Collins?

I don't think it would have been good to continue the novels until the day that Fitzwilliam died or something like that. I'm not in favor of narrating the characters' lives until they die. But I think it would be interesting to see how married life and family life played out for these characters. I've often wondered if Charlotte and Mr. Collins ever had any children. I suspect that they did but I also pity poor Charlotte for marrying that toady and then successively being obligated to have sexual intercourse with him and provide him with an heir. My own girlfriend has frequently admitted that she would never get involved with Mr. Collins sexually. She describes him as a creep and she suspects him of being some sort of pervert or sexual deviant. I wouldn't go that far but I do understand what she thinks of him and why.

-An excerpt from a January 2011 essay by Mark F. Williamson entitled "What Comes After 'Happily-Ever-After?'"

Chapter Twenty-One

"I have big news," Jenna told me via text message one day in mid-August. "I'll be in the shop soon to tell you."

"Kevin got a job at Michigan State!" my sister announced as she flung open the shop door and rushed towards me. "He's going to be living in East Lansing. And we're going to start dating again."

I shot Mark a pointed "Keep your mouth shut" look before going to hug my sister and congratulate her. This was a victory for her as well as Kevin because it meant that they would be able to make their relationship work. It also mean that she mean enough to him that he was willing to make changes and sacrifices for their relationship-something that he had appeared unwilling to do the previous December.

"It's still going be really rough for us," she said. "But we're going to try to make it work. And he really likes me, Betsy. He wants to be with me. He's coming by himself this time. He's not bringing Emily. He told me that having her around isn't good for us and so he won't let her come with him this time. He's focused on us, on doing what's best for our relationship."

I grinned at her bright smile. "I'm glad to see you so happy."

She smiled even more at that. "I like him, Betsy. He's such a great guy. And I think we're going to get married someday."

Mark coughed at that. He hates listening to what he calls "girly-gushing." It's the result, according to him, of having too many sisters.

"Would you prefer that we talk about football?" I asked, walking back to my boyfriend.

He kissed my cheek. "Yes, please do. That would be sexy."

"Too bad," I replied. "I don't think Jenna knows anything about football."

"Lame," Mark replied. "We should educate her."

I laughed. "Good luck with that one, I spent many years of my life trying and I never got anywhere. She calls touchdowns goals."

"Well, she's kind of close there," he replied charitably. "You score goals in the other kind of the football, the kind we Americans call soccer."

My sister shrugged. "Can I have a large iced green tea before you two continue mocking me?"

"Sure thing," Mark said as he took the pitcher of iced green tea out of the refrigerator. "Betsy, are we still giving your sister free drinks or did we finally decide that we were losing money that way and we should be more fiscally responsible and charge her?"

"Well," I said slowly. "We do need to hire a new employee to cover the shifts you won't be able to cover when you go back to teaching in a couple of weeks. So I suppose if we charged Jenna for everything she eats and drinks here, we could afford another employee."

In a most mature fashion, my sister responded to this comment by sticking her tongue out at me and called me "Fart-face." This made Mark laugh and me remark that "I always was the mature one in this family."

This only made Mark laugh more. And I liked hearing him laugh. "I think you're full of it," he said. "I don't think you've ever been the mature one in the family."

"Have you ever heard me call anyone 'fart-face'?"

"She's too classy for that kind of language," Jenna said. "And she doesn't spend all her time around first-graders, so her insults are more intelligent."

Mark rolled his eyes, handed my sister her drink, and pulled me close to himself. "She is one of the only people I've ever met who uses Dickens characters in her insults."

"Like saying 'you're such a Miss Havisham' to people?" my older sister asked.

"Yeah," Mark said. "I know what she means but I still think she's crazy every time she says it."

I giggled and kissed his scruffy cheek. "Hey now, you're the one who runs around comparing people to Casanova and Don Juan."

Jenna laughed and shook her head. "You two are such dorks. I bet you sit around watching BBC movies together all the time."

"We regularly have BBC America nights with Art and Ellie," Mark replied.

"Oh dear God, have mercy on us all," my sister sighed. "You two are going to end up just like them in about fifty years."

"You know," I said with a smile and sigh. "I really wouldn't mind that, not at all. In fact, I think I might enjoy being like them. "

Mark snorted. "You're already well on your way, missy."

"Hey now," I said, running my fingers over his cheek. "I resemble that remark."

"Je t'aime,' he said with a sigh as he kissed the top of my head.

I smiled. "I like it when you talk to me in French and I have no clue what you're saying."

"That one is easy. You know what it means."

I giggled. "And it's sexy, really sexy."

"We really do need to hire another employee," I told Mark when we were alone in the office later in the day.

"I know," he replied. "Do you want to rehire Lucy now that she knows how to knit?"

"I don't think that's a good idea. I love her but I don't think she's ready to work her and I don't think she wants to work here. She hates getting up before noon."

"Then we should ask Mercy and Hannah if they know anyone who would be interested in working here," he said. "I like the idea of hiring students."

I laughed. "We should also make sure that they like books and knitting. I want to have employees who are interested in all the aspects of the store."

"Just as long as they aren't interested in you," he replied. "You're my favorite aspect of the store."

I swatted his hands away from my neck. "Stop trying to seduce me at work. Wait until we get back to my place or something."

He laughed. "You're getting dirty, girl."

"It's good for you. I'm working on your self-control."

"It's not working very well."

"Fine," I said, sitting down on the opposite side of the desk from him. "I'll talk to Mercy right now and I'll talk to Hannah tomorrow. And if they don't have any ideas, I'll put the 'Help Wanted' sign in the front window."

He smiled and ran one finger down my jawbone with a playful smile. "That sounds amazing. But can we go home now?"

I laughed and kissed his cheek. "Yeah, you can go upstairs and I'll drive myself back to the house."

"That's not what I was thinking of," my boyfriend replied with a petulant pout.

I shrugged. "But you said you wanted to go home."

He rolled his eyes. "I want us to go home together. I don't care which home that is."

"Okay, let's go to my parents' home."

Mark sighed. "We're going upstairs, Elizabeth. I will cook you dinner. We will engage in wild and frivolous sexual behavior."

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"I don't know. But I want to spend time lone with my girlfriend. So get your ass upstairs and into my bed."

I glared at him. "No, and don't think you can boss me around like that just because you're my boyfriend. If you want to sleep with me, you have to make me want to sleep with you. You can't just order me around like I'm some kind of a little sex doll."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Betsy. I was kidding."

"I know but you sounded like an asshole."

"Would you like to go home, eat dinner, and watch a movie instead?" he asked.

I nodded. "And we'll see where the evening takes us."

The evening took us to watch The Young Victoria with Art and Ellie. This was not planned. We walked into the house intending to watch An Ideal Husband but ended up with The Young Victoria and my landlords instead. This inspired Mark to make some quip about trading Mr. Knightley for Mr. Wickham. I threatened to punch him for that one. I told him that mustaches greatly improved the character of one man but didn't do as much for the other. He laughed and spent the rest of the movie snuggling with me while I knitted. He was always teasing me that he had to share me with knitting like it was the "other man" in my life. He knew that I loved knitting and it was important to me. But sometimes, I think it drove him nuts to snuggle with me-and two pointy sticks. But I promised to start making him a sweater the day that he asked me to marry him. I still believed in the curse of the boyfriend sweater. But I would make my fiancé or my husband a sweater. For now, it was just socks, scarves, mittens, and hats.

He loved that. He loved knowing that he wasn't getting everything until we were married-or at least until we were engaged. Mark likes going slowly and being careful. He's been hurt in relationships before and he has seen what happens when you move too fast. He doesn't normally put pressure on me although occasionally, I can tell that he wants to do more and go further than we already have.

I had to drive him home that night because we had both ridden from the shop in my car. We chatted pleasantly about our plans for the weekend during most of the drive but as I pulled up in front of the shop, he looked at me seriously. "Betsy, I need you know to know that I'm really sorry about what I said and did earlier today. I had no right to try to push you like that."

I nodded. "Mark, I do want to go all the way with you. But not yet, I'm not ready. To be honest, I'm more than a little scared of sex. I've never done it before. I want to feel safe and comfortable. And it scares me. Sex is a big deal, no matter how many people say that it isn't. If they hadn't had sex together, Carlye and Justin wouldn't be together anymore. But they did. And now they're married and they have a kid on the way. I don't want to make any mistakes like that. I don't want to mess up anything important."

He nodded. "This won't be easy on me, but I'm going to try to be patient with you."

"I need this from you, Mark," I told him. "I need this more than I need anything else from you. And I promise you that I'll let you know when I'm ready."

He kissed my fingertips. It seemed odd-like something out of an old movie. But Mark did it. And he smiled. "I love you, Betsy. And I'm willing to wait as long as I have to and as much as I have to. I think that Albert had it right in that movie. He was patient with Victoria and I'll be patient with you because that's what love is."

I smiled and ran my hand along his cheek. "You are wonderful."

A few weeks later, I found myself spending a Saturday afternoon sitting on my parents' back porch looking at their backyard while nursing a glass of wine and knitting a sweater. Lydia needed help with her math homework, so I was helping her-while knitting and drinking wine. I know how it sounds and it probably looked worse. But we were much more successful that you would suspect at first glance. My math skills, which are pretty decent due to owning my own business, improve substantially when I'm sipping chardonnay. However, Mark does not let me balance the books while drinking alcohol. He says that it's dangerous. I say that he's a wet blanket.

"You've got to keep Mom sober at that party tonight," my sister tells me as I write out the quadratic formula for her.

I looked at her. "That's a tall order. I'm going to be with Mark; I can't watch Mom all night too."

"But you know that she's furious about Dad resigning as department chair. She thinks that Dr. White stole the position from him. She refuses to understand that it was his decision and he did it because of me. She won't listen to reason or logic."

I smiled at my sister and sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

"You know that she'll make a scene if she's drunk."

"Lu," I said slowly after taking a sip of wine. "You know our mother. It is completely possible that she'll make a scene even if she's sober. She's a mildly dramatic person."

My sister smiled. "I know, Betsy. But you've got to try to help her. She needs you."

The idea that my mother needed me was strange. She had never needed me. She had barely ever wanted me. And I doubt that she had ever understood me. I tried to love her. And I think I succeeded most days. But I rarely liked her or enjoyed her company. But God help me; she is my mother and I guess that there is something I owe her. So I kissed my sister's cheek and smiled. "I'll keep an eye on her, Lu. But I make you no promises. You know Mom."

Just then, our mother walked out of the house. "So, Elizabeth, I suppose your father and I will be seeing you at that party at that asshole Chris White's house this evening. I'm guessing that you're going with that weird, manipulative boyfriend of yours."

"We'll be there," I replied, choosing to overlook her editorial comments. "Mark and I are looking forward to it."

"That party was at our house last year. It should have been here this year too."

I would never forget the previous year's party. That was when I met Mark. It all seemed so far away, so long ago. He called me a hippie and ditzy and said that I probably had horrible taste in books. And I thought he was a pompous asshole. I think I was secretly broken-hearted that he wasn't British or in his mid-forties; I'd built up this idea of Mark F. Williamson as a sexy silver fox. And he wasn't that. He was younger than I'd expected and while he was sexy, he hadn't lived up to my expectations. I'd been shocked-and maybe a little upset at first.

But in retrospect, it was a good thing that he didn't live up to my expectations. I couldn't have dated the man I imagined; he was an unattainable goal much like Mr. Darcy to me. But I could date and marry the Mark that I met. He was not at all unattainable. And he gave good back rubs.

Mark picked me up at six-thirty and drove me to the Whites' house. Unlike my parents who live in a ritzy suburban subdivision on the north side of Ann Arbor, Chris and Lisa White live in a very nice house in downtown Ann Arbor. Unlike most people (including Art and Ellie) who live downtown, Chris and Lisa have an amazing backyard; it's perfect for children and for parties. When I was a kid, I was really good friends with their son, Josh, and spent a lot of time playing there. Going there as Mark's girlfriend was kind of weird. I wasn't used to being Chris and Lisa's peer but rather their children's guest. But I suppose that part of growing up is becoming an adult and learning to call your friends' parents by their first names.

"You look amazing," Mark said as he opened my car door for me and helped me in the car. I was wearing a light blue dress that I knew he loved.

"I'm sweating like a pig underneath all this. Trust me," I told him with a smile.

He laughed. "Betsy, it is cooler today than it's been in weeks. You can actually wear pants for the first time in ages."

The past few weeks had been obscenely hot and absurdly humid. The new, cooler temperatures were a relief. Even going outside had seemed dangerous for a while and this cooler weather (highs in the seventies) was a cause for rejoicing. We could spend time in the Whites' garden during their party.

"Did you realize that we met a year ago tomorrow?" I asked Mark.

"Can we pretend that we didn't really meet until later in the year? Like, let's wait until sometime when I actually started to act like a human being and be nice to you. Let's say that we met in October. You made me a chaider and won my heart."

I laughed. "I like that story, but it's not true. So it won't be the story we're telling our grandchildren."

"Lame," he replied.

"Hey, you were supposed to be British."

"Says who?" he asked.

"Me," I replied. "I always thought you were British."

Mark smiled and shook his head. "The doctorate is British. The man is a Minnesotan."

I laughed. "You're ridiculous, Mark. And I think that might be my favorite thing about you. You're totally real. You're not one of those pie-in-the-sky academic types who can't tie their shoes or make a grocery list. You're real. And I love that about you."

He laughed and pulled into a parking spot a few houses down from the Whites' house. "I love you too," he said, kissing the tip of my nose. "Now let's go inside."

"Your parents aren't here yet," Leslie said when she opened the door.

"I didn't even ask you," I replied as we walked into the house.

She laughed. "I've known you since you were about three, Betsy. I could read the question on your face. Go get some wine and talk to people. Enjoy yourself, dear. Mark, it's good to see you. How are you?"

Mark kissed Leslie's cheek. "I'm doing really well. How are you?"

"Doing well," she replied with a smile. "We'll chat later. But it's so good to see you two."

Mark and I went out to the backyard where Chris gave us each a glass of white wine. "Dr. Williamson," he said with a warm smile. "Are you ready for the start of the semester?"

My boyfriend shrugged. "I've had a good summer but I like my line-up for the fall. I think it'll be good semester."

Chris smiled. "And you've got two mentees this year, yes?"

"Yep, it should be interesting. One of them is really fixated on Dickens, which should be fun. And then the other one is more interested in Austen-type stuff. She might be looking at Gaskell too but she hasn't decided on a thesis yet, so we'll have to wait and see."

"I think Betsy is going to start rolling her eyes pretty soon," Chris teased with a knowing wink.

I laughed. "I'm used to it. I know that this is Mark's version of talking dirty."

They both laughed and Chris opened his mouth as if to say something more but just then, my mother burst into the yard crying, "Elizabeth, how wonderful to see you."

I cringed internally as I handed my glass of wine to Mark and walked over to my mother. "Hey, Mom," I said with a smile. "How are you?"

"I'm wonderful. Could you be a darling and get me a glass of wine? I'm thirsty," she said all this without ever looking directly at me.

"Come with me," I replied leading her over to Chris White, who immediately supplied her with a glass of wine.

"White wine?" she said. "I prefer red. But booze is booze, so I'll take it."

I could feel myself blushing and Mark pressed my own glass into my hands. I took a sip and looked at him desperately. He smiled and put his arm around my waist. "Do you want to come with me and talk to Sarah and Ross?"

Sarah and Ross were his new doctoral mentees. He was very excited about them because they were his first of his career. He was also nervous because Ross wanted to work with Dickens and Mark hadn't studied Dickens as much as he had other writers. He'd told me once that Chris White had been planning on being Ross's mentor but then he became department chair and he had to hand Ross off to Mark because he didn't think he'd have time for a mentee.

Sarah and Ross were both lovely people and I liked them immediately. But I wasn't focusing my full attention on them because I was watching my mother who was becoming increasingly intoxicated. I was embarrassed for her as she spoke too loudly and without any regard for people around her. She had made several loud and impertinent comments about Chris White stealing my father's position as department chair.

Mark and I were talking to Art and Ellie when my mother really got started on Leslie White. She was telling her how the party wasn't as nice as the parties that "my darling husband and I used to throw. But of course you and Chris are amateurs. You'll get more experienced with age. But watch your backs. Once my lovely Elizabeth marries that handsome, rich Williamson boy, your day in the sun will be over. He'll overthrow you and put dear Joel back on top. Just you wait, Leslie," she said. She swung her glass as she spoke and sloshed wine-red wine that she had acquired from somewhere-on Leslie's yellow dress. "Just you wait."

I couldn't stand by innocently anymore. I walked over to my mother, whispered "sorry" and "send me the dry cleaning bill" to Leslie, and grabbed my mother's arm. "You're coming with me," I told her firmly.

"Like hell I am," she said before splashing the rest of her surprisingly full glass of red wine on me, staining my dress.

As I gasped, she walked away. Mark came over to me and put a hand on my shoulders. "Come on, Betsy. Your dad can take care of her. I'm taking you home. We'll get you cleaned up."

"I feel lost," I whispered as he led me to the car.

He pulled me to his chest and held me close for a minute before helping me into the car. And I realized that the still-wet wine had stained his white shirt. And I knew then that I loved him and he loved me.

Half an hour later, Carlye called to tell me that she had given birth to a baby girl whom they had named Margaret Elizabeth Collins earlier that day. And her marriage was unstable ground but "that isn't necessarily a bad thing," to quote her.

"I like that name a lot," Mark said when I got off the phone. "It's kind of too bad that your best friend just named her daughter that because I really like that name."

"We'll figure something out," I told him. "But I do like it too."

A/N: I know. I haven't updated in over a month. Please enjoy this and forgive me. Hopefully more will follow soon.