It starts with a rumor. About me. A horrible rumor about me which is so completely unbelievable that I want to laugh but first I have to see him, to tell him how completely ridiculous it is and to have him agree completely. But when I get to his apartment he's not there.
Five years later:
I was depressed for a while. Then Lady Catherine, with unexpected, but not unwelcome, delicacy, introduced me to a nice young man who was working his way up in our company. We were married within a year, and a year after that, our daughter was born. Then the bills started coming. The company went bankrupt. There were accusations of fraud from all sides. Things got bad at home. He came home later and later, until he stopped coming home at all. A week after he last left, I got a call from the police in Vegas. He had crashed a stolen car into a bus, killing two innocent bystanders. This is not real. It's not real. It's…
Wake up, Anne. It was just a nightmare. It is 5:45 on December 27. I can't go back to sleep. Today is going to be a busy day. I go to my closet and pull out several large boxes filled with everything I plan to get rid of. Then I look again. Whoa. My closet is full. And everything in it is just gathering dust (only figuratively, of course). Suddenly I can't understand why I've held on to it all for so long. So I get some more boxes and pack everything up. My next problem: How am I supposed to get all this stuff out of here? I'm home alone, and Thomas is at work. I look out the window and see a car coming up the driveway. I push everything back in the closet and run downstairs to see who it is. A young woman steps out of the car. It's Maddie. She says Edward took Matt for the day so we could go out. We can hit the mall for the after-Christmas sales and go to Olive Garden for lunch. I ask if she would mind making a few stops first. We go up to my room and bring the boxes down to the car. It looks like we'll have to make three or even four trips, but she's cool about it. Our first stop is a consignment store a few blocks away. After I assure him nothing was stolen, the owner asks no questions.
January 2, 11:57 pm. Lady Catherine and Henry have long been asleep, and I am left to recall the events of the day. Lady Catherine forced me to meet a man named George Darcy. He has dark hair and green eyes and looked very serious throughout the meeting. He is the son of Lady Catherine's second cousin, Clara Fitzwilliam. I used to be her Barbie doll. Now I'm just a burden to be married off. How Victorian. Lady Catherine has been hinting for years that we have been betrothed (yes, she actually said that) since she married my father. Tonight she announced that we would be married in three weeks before leaving us to speak privately.
As soon as she left, he turned to me and I began quickly, George, I'm sorry but… Then he stopped me and said slowly, No, I'm sorry, Anne. I can't do this. I wish you nothing but the best and I don't want to hurt you, but I can't marry you. I stared at him, pleasantly surprised, but I suppose he must have misread my reaction as he continued, It simply would not be right or fair to you. My heart belongs to someone else. Before he could say another word, I said that it was perfectly fine because I was secretly engaged. After receiving his assurances that he would not tell my stepmother, we had a pleasant conversation until she came in again. He tried hinting that we could not get married, but she was perfectly oblivious. After dinner, he asked to speak with her alone. I was told to go to the sitting room, where I normally spend my evenings. I heard yelling and looked out the window to see him look up, wave goodbye, and drive away. Lady Catherine flew into the room in a rage. She continued ranting for hours, eventually going to bed around ten.
It is May. I am about to graduate. I walk up on stage to get my diploma and look out into the crowd. They are all there. Lady Catherine is frowning slightly and looking disinterested. But I don't care. Not today. Neither does Henry, who is sitting next to her and beaming. Then, in the seventh row, near the aisle, there's Thomas. I hope Lady Catherine and Henry understand that this is not a decision I am making lightly. I know they will be angry. They are very proud, and the thought of me leaving everything I have ever known to marry some guy with no fortune to speak of will hurt them. But then, Lady Catherine has never been a warm, loving person interested in my happiness or well-being. She'll be more concerned with covering all this up than anything else. She is forty-eight and extremely healthy, with no history of heart problems, so while it will come as a shock, it won't kill her. Anyway, this can't be that much of a surprise. For months now, I've been subtly asserting my growing independence.
After graduation, Lady Catherine is impatient to get home, but Henry convinces her to let me stay behind and celebrate and say goodbye to my classmates. When I get home around midnight, I see she fell asleep while she was waiting. Henry did not. He is waiting in my room, angry. I refuse to answer any of his questions and he leaves, locking the door behind him. Whatever. Just because he's five years older, he is so overprotective sometimes. Well open your eyes, Henry. I'm not a little girl anymore. I don't need protection. Besides, I can climb out the window and down the trellis. Ha.
I'm tired and fall asleep instantly. Even in my dreams, I am going over a checklist, making sure everything is ready. Jobs: check. House: check. Change-of-address cards: check. Marriage license, rings, dress, cake: check, check, check, check. Edward came over a few days ago to move our things to our new house. It wasn't much. Altogether, I packed one large suitcase, and my backpack, with some money and my wedding dress, is under my bed, ready to go. My dress looks like something a princess in a fairy tale might wear. I don't care if it gets a little wrinkled. I got rid of my books and Thomas took my graduation stuff last night. Now, I still have to change my name. Lady Catherine would say it's common, but in my opinion, Bennet sounds much nicer than de Bourgh, so much more down-to-earth. Anyway, I'll do that next week. I wake up at ten, take a long bath, and change into a pink short-sleeve v-neck from L.L. Bean, faded jeans, and sneakers. Perfect.
At noon, the maid enters and informs me that Lady Catherine and Henry are waiting in the dining room. Then Lady Catherine makes her displeasure known. I calmly tell them that I am leaving. Lady Catherine starts screaming and looks like she is going to murder someone. Henry looks worried. Right on time, Thomas arrives on his motorcycle. I run outside and jump on. I look back and see Henry looking shocked. Three hours later, I call them, first the home phone, then my brother's office, and then his cellular phone. When he finally picks up, I tell him where we are, and that if they want to come, they have five hours before the wedding. He desperately asks, And just what are we supposed to tell everyone? I reply, Tell them whatever you want. Tell them I married a wonderful man and we are very happy. Edward, Maddie, and Matt are here. We have the reception at their house. We have a small but beautiful cake, and all the decorations look perfect. I don't feel a bit guilty. Sure, I ran off and got married without giving my family even twenty-four hours notice, but I am an adult and I didn't do anything wrong. So begins the rest of my life.
Twenty years and one week later:
Life is good. I have a wonderful, loving husband, two beautiful, intelligent twin daughters, a close network of friends, and a lovely house in a nice neighborhood. Just one tiny setback…I also have amnesia. Three months ago, I was driving home from work when my car was hit by a drunk driver. I am told I suffered nine broken bones, a severe concussion, and was in a coma for two weeks. The doctor told me I may not get my memory back for months, years, and she did not say it, but I know she was thinking, perhaps never. Which is ironic, because I'm told I used to have a nearly photographic memory.
Now I sit at the kitchen table and look though an old scrapbook. There's one of Thomas and me talking on a park bench. He says his friend took it the day we met. I can't believe it. This was me? This pale, skinny little toothpick? I looked anorexic. One thing is certain; he did not fall for me because of my looks. I turn the pages to a few months later at my eighteenth birthday party. The change is minor, but it's there. A little more weight, a little more color. By the time we graduated in May, I looked healthy. Now, I try to focus on what is instead of what was. I am thirty-eight, five foot six, and one hundred and twenty pounds. I'm not quite sure what I do yet, but my husband is a social worker, and my daughters, Jane and Elizabeth, have recently started an internship at some company on the city. They just turned nineteen in March and recently finished their third year of college. They almost look identical, except Jane has her father's bright blue eyes and curly white-blond hair like his mother, and Elizabeth has my dark eyes and hair.
I look through my bag to see if I have any more pictures. Oh no. This is not my bag. First clue: Notebook full of hearts and detailed notes about a certain redheaded young man. Second clue: The lunches I packed this morning. I know they have a cafeteria in the building, but really, how healthy is the food? Like any good mother, I go to the office building and ask the secretary where I might find my daughters. She asks if I have an appointment. I reply that I do not, and explain that I am here because my daughters are interns and we got our bags mixed up. She looks a little surprised but gives me the directions to the office where they work.
I go up in the elevator and when I get out, I see a young man with light red hair talking with his friend. I know I have seen him before. Of course. He was in that notebook I found. And he is talking about Jane. I have the urge to up to him and say, You realize you're talking about my daughter, right? But I hold back. For now. I make my way to the office and see my bag next to a desk. I switch the bags and leave a little note on Jane's pad of pink sticky-notes.
Suddenly the young man from before comes in looking slightly confused. I start to explain that Jane took the wrong bag when he jumps in and goes off on a tangent about how wonderful she is. I reply that I know, and I am here because she left her bag at home. He asks if I'm her sister. Aww, he is so sweet. I tell him I am her mother and get a very surprised reaction when suddenly his friend comes in, and behind him, a very familiar and very confused-looking man.
Anne? he asks. I'm sorry, I say. Have we met? Then Elizabeth and Jane appear behind them. Mom? This is echoed by the two men who just came in. Jane makes the introductions. Apparently, the two younger men are also interns, and the older one is a CEO or something. Mom, this is Charles Bingley, William Darcy, and Henry de Bourgh. And this is our mother, Anne Bennet. Three mouths drop open. Elizabeth smirks a bit. Anne? the man – Henry – asks again. Have we met? I ask Jane quietly. She gives a small shrug and I turn to him. Don't take it personally, but I have amnesia, so I really don't know who you are. He replies, I'm your brother… I have a brother? Well, that's good to know. I wonder why I didn't hear about this before. Oh, well, nice to meet you again. I had better be going now. Oh, and girls, here's your bag. I'll see you at home. Then I walk away, very, very confused.
I go outside and see Thomas waiting on a motorcycle. Like it? he asks. It's just like the one I used to have before the girls were born. That's right. We were both settling down and it was always breaking down so he sold it. It's great, I say, and jump on. I put on a helmet and take one last look at the office building. Staring out the window, I see the man who says he is my brother scowling deeply. I hold on tight and enjoy the ride. So, I ask after a few minutes,why didn't you tell me I had a brother? I can feel him tense up a bit. Oh…so you've met. Well, the thing is, your family wasn't all that happy when we got married. I wait for him to continue. The thing is, we kind of, well, eloped. We had planned it for months. We got jobs and the house and everything before we made our move. The day after we graduated, we left early in the morning and came out here. We tried to explain and told them where we were going and invited them to the wedding, gave them a few hours, but they never showed. Suddenly, I remember something. A woman with black hair, Lady Catherine, dressed in an overly ruffled black silk dress adorned with pearls, gold, silver, and jewels. A large, silent house. So, I said slowly, they're really rich. And Lady Catherine was always so stuck-up and critical. And I didn't want to be like that. I don't know how to feel. I mean, it worked out okay, right? We just celebrated our eighteenth anniversary last week. It was the girls' first day at work so they were a little late. Actually a lot late. But that didn't matter. It was perfect. We had cake and ice cream and watched movies.
Twenty years. It's been exactly twenty years and one week since I last saw him. Since I ran out the door and jumped on that bike. Since I called to say I would be married. Could it be true?
It is five-thirty in the morning. I am going back to work for the first time in months. Apparently, I own a diner. I clean, cook, redecorate, and do a little waitressing when the first customers come in. No problem. Everyone is talking about the party. What party? you may ask. Tomorrow is our annual neighborhood block party. All the necessary preparations have been made. I've made dozens of calls, casseroles, pizzas, and pies. Jane and Elizabeth have told me all about everyone in the neighborhood. I'm ready. I'm going over a checklist when someone comes in. He's here. Henry. My brother.
He comes over and looks at me and asks, Why? Henry yells, Do you have any idea what you put us through all these years? We didn't know where you were or if you were alright. I cut him off there. I wrote you every month. I called every week and left a message when you wouldn't pick up. Maybe if you weren't so proud, you would have seen I was happy. I am happy. I have my family and friends and a job I love. Do you have that? He leaves soon after. Thomas comes in a few minutes later. I write another letter.
Henry,
You may not agree with some of the choices I've made, but they were my choices. If you can accept this, you are welcome to come over any time. Like, say, tomorrow at six? I hope to see you then.
Epilogue
~ or ~
Pride and Prejudice: Facebook Edition
He doesn't come. However, Charles Bingley and William Darcy arrive.
"She is tolerable…"
Oh, I hope Lizzy didn't hear that. Yes, she did. This can't be good.
"But she's nineteen! A Facebook/Taylor Swift-obsessed teenager!"
That man just doesn't know when to shut up.
Jane has been invited to dinner at the Bingleys' house.
Jane is very sick and staying at the Bingleys' house until she gets better.
A young man named William Collins has come to stay with us.
William Collins is stalking Lizzy.
We're going to a dance.
William Collins has proposed to Lizzy.
William Collins has been arrested for harassment.
Carla Lucas (no relation to the aforementioned Charlotte Lucas) is engaged to William Collins.
I wish Mrs. Lucas would shut up.
Charles Bingley and William Darcy have gone on a business trip and no one knows when they will be back.
Jane has gone to stay with the Gardiners.
Caroline Bingley is not Jane's friend.
Jane is back, but now Lizzy is going to her friend Carla's for two weeks.
Lizzy is upset.
Jane is back.
Elizabeth is traveling with the Gardiners.
Emergency, tragedy, misunderstanding, etc.
George Wickham has been arrested for drunk driving and fleeing the scene of an accident, among other things.
Charles Bingley and William Darcy are back.
Jane is engaged!
Elizabeth is engaged!
Henry is here to apologize.
It is a clear, crisp November day. A few days ago, the forecast predicted rain tonight, but a cold front moved in, and the first snowflakes are just beginning to fall. Perfect day for a wedding.