Epic Adventures of Lydia Bennet (9781476763248) (4 page)

Well, not everything. She still didn't know about Lizzie's videos at that point (although she knows now, and watching her try to figure out YouTube was like watching her be the first contact for an alien invasion). But the stuff about George, and me, and . . .
that
everything.

But the minute I heard my mom's voice break when she said “Lydia?” I knew I couldn't stay. So I grabbed my keys and drove to Mary's. We sat in the backyard and I flipped through the same magazine for hours while she read some Russian novel that didn't look nearly as captivating as she seemed to think it was, but at least I wasn't home.

So I don't know what he said. I don't know how Mom reacted, in that moment. I just know that when I got home that evening, Lizzie was poring over our collection of rarely used takeout menus, and we ordered Thai for the three of us. Me, Lizzie, and Dad, who'd said Mom had overworked herself cleaning and gone to bed early.

I couldn't sleep that night, so I snuck back downstairs after the rest of the house was dark and quietly turned on a marathon of bad reality TV. An hour or two into it, my mom walked through the living room and into the kitchen, not even looking at me. I almost thought she was sleepwalking. But ten minutes later she came back with two mugs of hot chocolate, set one down in front of me, and settled in next to me on the couch. It wasn't long before she was asking me questions about the show and we were poking fun at how awful the people on it were.

I guess I drifted off somewhere during episode five, because when the sun came out a few hours later, I felt fingers idly slipping through my hair and realized I was lying down with my head on my mom's lap.

The next dinner she made had included all my favorite foods. And she hasn't mentioned George since.

Now that I think about it, I haven't been the one to tell anybody. Everyone's just found out, some way or another.

It wasn't as strange sitting down at the dinner table after Lizzie left as I had expected it to be. But the absence of Jane, the awkwardness of Lizzie introducing Darcy to the family, and the general uncomfortableness that had permeated everything right after the fallout of the tape had kind of already made all our recent family dinners weird.

Mary impressed me during dinner. She sat staring straight down, silent, dark hair shielding half her face. She was like a misplaced member of the Addams Family, transported directly out of the TV and straight to our kitchen table.

I knew the reason she sat that way was because she was hiding a book in her lap and reading through whatever conversation she found completely disinteresting. I think my dad knew it, too. Yet absolutely any time Mom attempted to engage her or asked for her opinion, she could parrot back whatever had just been said, without fail.

“So, Mary, where is that lovely boyfriend of yours these days?” Mom said, spooning some peas onto Mary's plate.

Mary's head came up. Barely. Just barely. Enough to convince Mom she was engaging.

“Nonexistent. We broke up. In January.”

Mary's head went back down.

“Oh no! Such a tragedy!”

Up.

“Not at all.”

And down. End of questioning.

See? Mad avoidance skills right there.

And, yeah, in a different situation, I would have been dying to pry into Mary's love life like Mom, but I wasn't.

Mostly because I already knew Mary's boyfriend drama.

Last year, Mary—who never likes
anyone
—liked Eddie.

They dated. Yes, Mary dated. It happened. I saw.

Eddie started a band in his garage. It was him and his friend Todd, and they both played atonal synthesizer and wrote songs about roadkill. Oh, and they never left the garage. Ever.

Stunningly, Eddie thought Mary was getting in the way of his music, and he broke up with her.

He
. Broke up. With
her.
I mean, Mary may be quiet and emo and into bass guitar, but at least she doesn't write songs about dead animals. As far as I know.

Anywho, it was still Mary's first boyfriend. First breakup. So the fact that she's avoiding the topic of dating is not a surprise.

Also, she's Mary.

Without Lizzie or Jane to ruthlessly question about their reproductive prospects, Mary's avoidance skills, and my being off-limits, Mom gave up and started talking about her upcoming tennis lesson.

I helped clear the table after we all finished eating (and after Mom shooed Mary away from the kitchen, insisting she's still a guest and can't help with anything), and as I was rinsing off my plate in the sink the conversation finally shifted to what it kept shifting to no matter where I went: me.

“Are you ready for school tomorrow?” Dad asked, still sitting at the table.

“It's the same as always.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mom hesitate as she scraped some leftovers into a Tupperware container. Just for a moment, but I saw it.

“Mm-hmm, it is your last set of classes at this school, though.”

I shrugged, even as I realized nobody in the room was actually looking at me during this conversation. “Sure. No big.”

“It's good that counselor of yours is right down the hall if anything comes up.”

“Lizzie already grilled me on everything, Dad. There's nothing to worry about.”

Mom buzzed around behind me, loading the dishwasher. It's not often she's quiet and Dad's the one speaking. It was kind of unnerving. Like she was biting her tongue.

I don't know when my dad moved from the table, but I felt his hands on my shoulders as he leaned down and kissed the top of my head.

“We're allowed to worry, peanut. That's what parents are supposed to do.”

I didn't say anything this time. The “supposed to” hung in the air, a reminder of the guilt I knew he felt over thinking he hadn't been there for us over the past year. It was silly, his feeling guilty, but I knew sometimes feeling guilt didn't make sense.

I heard him leave, and the remainder of the cleanup was only silent for a moment before Mom started telling me all about the phone call she had with Jane last week. She had filled me in the day it happened, but I pretended it was all new and fascinating. I passed her the soap for the dishwasher and wondered who she'd talk to about my sisters' lives when I was gone, too.

Maybe I should get her a parrot.

This is one of those times I would have vlogged.

Sitting up in my room, getting ready for the first day of class, showing off my fancy new school supplies (if I had gotten fancy stuff), wondering who would be in my classes, what failed careers my community college professors had attempted before ending up here, what boy (or boys) I'd pursue for the summer.

This is one of those times I would have vlogged, if I still vlogged.

I thought about it. Picked up my phone, switched over to the camera, flipped it around, stared at my face. A pimple was forming over my right eyebrow. Perfect. I'd have to put toothpaste on that later.

People kept tweeting me to make at least one more vlog. I saw that. It took me a couple of weeks before I decided it would be better to turn off my Twitter notifications and delete the app from my phone. But during that time, I saw everyone saying how awful it was that my last video—before everything came apart—was about how I had fallen completely in love with George Wickham, and that I really needed to post just one more, at least one more.

They weren't being mean. I know that. They pitied me. They wanted me to rise up and be this strong, independent woman and show that I was going to be okay. They wanted a proper end to my story.

It frustrated me that I couldn't do it. It frustrated me then, and it frustrates me now, sitting in my room, finger hovering over the record button.

It isn't that I'm not that person. I'm freaking Lydia Bennet. I'm awesome, and I can do anything.

Except when I can't.

A knock on my door interrupted my failed attempt at vlogging.

“It's open.” I put down my phone, crossing my fingers that the slow, heavy knock meant it was Mary on the other side of the door and not one of my parents. Room visits often meant serious conversations, and I could only handle so much from them in one night.

“I finished unpacking. And I finished my book.”

Definitely Mary. Thank God.

“I'm glad hanging out with your favoritest cousin comes second to reading,” I teased.

Mary shrugged and plopped herself down across from me at the foot of my bed.

“I can't believe you only brought one bag of stuff,” I said. “You're living here like all summer. I mean, you didn't even bring your bass guitar.”

She shrugged again. I swear, if she could get away with only communicating via shrugging, she absolutely would. “The rest of my stuff is only an hour away. Besides, I have to wear all black for work, anyway.”

“Oh, that will be so hard for you.” Like anyone's ever seen Mary in color.

“I start tomorrow,” she said.

“I thought you had another week before they needed you?”

Shrug. “Manager called this morning. Someone quit, so they upped me to this week.”

“Well, I hope it doesn't get in the way of your grand plans to get a library card and sit in Jane's closet all day with the light off.”

She cocked her eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”

“All of Jane's windows get direct sunlight. Ooh! I can come visit you in between my classes. I get free drinks, right?”

“Let me at least get through the first week before I put my job in jeopardy handing out complimentary lattes.” Mary sighed. “But you can still come visit, if you want.” She paused, fidgeting with her sleeve. “I don't know how things will work out with taking breaks and talking to customers and whatever, but I
will
be right there, so if anything comes up—”

I cut her off with a groan. “Not you, too. Did Mom and Dad put you up to this?” She shook her head. “Lizzie?” Again. She opened her mouth but I barreled through. “Well, either way, seriously, I'm super fine and I will continue to be super fine. Everyone constantly asking me about whether I'm fine isn't going to make me any more fine than I already am because I. Am. Fine.”

Mary looked at me. I waited for her to shrug, but she didn't.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” She nodded, still not looking away from me. “Okay.”

“I've got some spreadsheets I want to set up for Lizzie, so I'm gonna get started on that.”

“Seriously? Lizzie just left a couple of hours ago—she's probably not even there yet.”

“Still. She should have them before she meets with investors again.” Mary got up and made her way back to the door. “ 'Night, Lydia.”

“ 'Night,” I called as the door shut behind her.

Part of me knows it wasn't easy for Mary to make that kind of offer. But I just can't anymore.

I looked at the clock on my phone and realized I still had some time to kill before I could justify attempting to sleep. So I dragged myself off my bed, over to the computer on my desk, and sat in the not-as-comfortable-as-I'd-have-liked chair I snagged from Lizzie's room after she left. I tapped the mouse to wake up the screen so I could scroll through my email and found the latest one from Central Bay College.

It came in last Friday. And when I saw the subject header,
CENTRAL BAY COLLEGE FALL SEMESTER APPLICANT
, I thought,
Oh! Is this it? My formal acceptance? Will my student ID and cafeteria pass be attached?

Nope.

Dear Miss Bennet—

We received your transcripts and financial aid information, so thank you. However, we discovered part of your application was missing.

Please complete the attached forms and return to the admissions office by—

Immediately, I'd checked the document, slightly freaked that I'd somehow missed part of the application. Slowly my heart rate
returned to normal. It wasn't so bad. It was just a form asking for my name, social, a lot of the same stuff on my other forms. The only new things they wanted were two letters of recommendation (yeesh) and an essay.

If Mary's working tonight, so can I
, I decided. Since Friday, she'd been pushing me to get this done before classes start, anyway. So I pulled out the essay questions and pasted them into a blank document.

Recount an incident or time when you experienced failure. How did it affect you? What lessons did you learn? What would you do differently now?

My cursor blinked back at me.

Now that I think about it, I have a couple of weeks to work on this. It's way more important that I get plenty of rest for my first day of school tomorrow.

Good night.

Lydia the Counselor's Fantastically Awesome and Insightful Questions for Lydia the Traumatized Young Woman

1. Barring the counselor/counseled relationship, would you do me? Would I do you?

2. Is it still as lame to start a movie with therapy as it is to end it that way?

3. How are you so awesome?

4. What do you see yourself doing in five years?

5. In ten years?

6. In a
hundred
years?

7. Why did you choose psychology as your focus?

8. Where do you think studying psychology will lead you?

9. Why is it important that you go to where that is?

10. Who will you meet there, if anyone?

11. Why can't you just stay home? Or why don't you want to?

12. Where is everyone else going?

13. If you're so awesome, why do you still feel so alone?

I don't think I've ever been as simultaneously nervous and excited as I was the morning I started kindergarten. Mom didn't work, so I never did preschool or day care or anything like that. Kindergarten was really and truly my first day of school.