“He didn’t say the ‘without a heart’ thing.” She chewed on a fingernail.
“Not explicitly, but basically.”
“Sure, but—”
“And listen to me, Darcy…” Bingley sat up straight and took a more serious tone. “I’ve known you for a long time, and I’d like to think I’m one of your best friends—”
“You’re my only best friend.”
“Right,” he went on. “And as your best friend, I gotta say, you’re not a snob.”
“Well, not anymore. I’ve been trying to change, after he said those things.”
“No, Darcy, I’m saying that you’ve never been a snob. I’m saying that Luke or anyone else who ever thought that about you is wrong.”
“What?” She laughed. “But everyone thinks I’m a snob. I’m rich as hell and I’m pretty and I’m smart and I grew up super-privileged and I never date because none of the men I meet are good enough for me and—”
“Okay, but, Darcy, see, none of those things mean you’re a snob. And none of those things mean you only care about yourself. You’re privileged, yes, but that’s not your fault, and it’s not a sin or a crime to be driven and aim for success, nor is it a crime to achieve that success.”
“Hmm.” She thought this over. He had a point. She couldn’t blame herself for her genes and her goals, and maybe if other people did, then that was on them, not her. “But what about me thinking I’m too good for everyone?”
“Do you really, though? You don’t go on dates because the men you meet are creepy Wall Street losers and you have enough self-esteem to know not to waste your time with them. It’s not that you think you’re too good for everyone, it’s that you have confidence and think highly of yourself, which you should, because you’re incredible.”
Oh my God, Darcy thought, he’s right. Luke misunderstood my self-esteem for snobbery. He judged me. No, worse, he prejudged me. He assumed he knew me but he didn’t. He labeled me and wrote me off. If anything, he’s the snob. The kind of snob who thinks he’s better than everyone because of the very fact that he goes around acting like he’s not better than everyone. God, she thought, that’s the worst kind of snob there is.
“Bingley, you’re so right,” she said. “He was wrong about me. He made me feel like a bad person, but I’m not a bad person.”
“No, you’re a good person. You’ve always been a caring friend, and you rushed home to be with your mom as soon as you found out about the heart attack, didn’t you? If you ask me, that sounds like the opposite of snobby and selfish.”
“You’re right!” She found herself growing simultaneously excited and indignant. “And I give so much money to charities! And I volunteer at homeless shelters on my time off.”
“Do you really?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “I want to do it more, though.”
“Admirable,” Bingley agreed.
“Luke didn’t take any of these things into consideration. All he knew was that I hold myself in high regard, and he interpreted that … negatively. He saw my self-esteem and was … repulsed by it.” She mulled this new version of reality over in her mind. The more she thought about it, the more unnerved she became.
“Okay, well, hold on, let’s not go that far. We don’t want to jump to conclusions,” said Bingley.
“So what are you saying we should do?”
“I don’t think there’s a we in this, but I think you should talk to him. Calmly. There’s plenty of time in relationships to voice your concerns. Trust me.”
“But that’s just the thing,” Darcy went on. “Do I want to be in a relationship with someone who has so poorly misjudged me?”
“Do you … think he understands that he misjudged you?”
“I honestly don’t know. Now I’m starting to think that if he ever thought I was snobby and selfish, he still thinks I’m snobby and selfish.”
“Maybe. But again, all you have to do is talk—”
“The only thing that ‘changed his mind’ about me was that I basically bought his brothers out of juvenile hall. And quite frankly, even though my heart was in a good place when I did it, I don’t think it’s exactly the most noble or awesome thing I’ve done, by any means. I don’t know if I’m even proud of it, to be honest.”
“Why wouldn’t you be? You got them out of some seriously hot water.”
“But what if they deserved to be in that hot water?… Sorry, that sounded callous. What I meant was, what if they needed to learn the hard way in order to straighten out? They’re pretty gnarly kids, from what I hear, and they don’t have any reason to change their ways, now that I swooped in and essentially made it so that they can act however they want and not get punished for it.”
“Darcy, you are hilarious. Please, let’s deal with one issue at a time. If you’re really worried about that, you can go back to Principal Whatever-Her-Name-Is and renegotiate.”
“Okay. Like, how?”
“I don’t know,” he laughed. “Maybe you can pay for them to go to one of those fancy wilderness camps where they can learn how to be respectable humans, or something like that. But that’s not the number one priority here. In the meantime, all you need to focus on is talking to Luke about his feelings. Try to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“Oh, no, no, no. Now you want me to give him the benefit of the doubt? What about in the waiting room, when you had to go and bring all this stuff up in the first place? The time for giving him the benefit of the doubt is over, buddy. The truth of the matter is that, number one, he doesn’t like my confidence, which is basically the essence of who I am, and that, number two, deep down he thinks I’m a snob.” She took a deep breath and looked up at Bingley, who was looking at her with a mixture of amusement, concern, and irritation. “And that, number three, if deep down he thinks I’m a selfish snob, then this is going to become a problem again in our relationship. He’ll just keep making me prove over and over again that I’m not a selfish snob, when really he should be the one proving to me that he’s not an arrogant jerk.”
She put her hands on her hips in an attempt to regain a sense of feeling in control and grounded. Never in her whole life had she felt so unhinged, so untethered from herself, so insecure. Her anger and confusion glazed over into sadness. This wasn’t how she wanted to start a relationship.
“Darcy, all I ever meant to do by bringing this up is to make sure you’re not blinded by the light. It’s not a big deal. It’s always good to check in with your partner to make sure you’re on the same page, and sometimes that has to happen in order to realize you’re just not. What you shouldn’t do is ruin this whole thing by attacking him or turning on him before you even have a conversation with him. Have a conversation, Darcy. Give him a chance.”
“Okay.” She sighed.
“Okay. Are we done here?”
“Yes.”
“Then can Glenda come back now? I think my muscles are more tense than they’ve ever been.”
21
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Luke asked from across the table. He and Darcy were sitting down to dinner at Ruth’s Chris Steak House and she was having a hard time keeping her newfound resentment from spreading out across her face like a bad rash.
Stay calm, she told herself. Give him the benefit of the doubt. Just have a civil conversation with him, like Bingley said, and everything will be fine.
“Mm-hm.” She smiled with her lips pressed tightly together and opened up the menu. “Do you think we should order appetizers?”
“Sure. It’s just that you’ve seemed pretty moody since I picked you up … and you wouldn’t kiss me when I tried to kiss you. If something is bothering you, you can tell me.”
Just tell him, she tried to command herself. Say it as calmly as possible, but just say it. If you keep saying nothing is wrong, he’s going to think it’s worse than it is. You’ll make this into a bigger thing.
“I’m just hungry,” she said, against her best judgment. “
You know how I can get when my blood sugar is low.”
“Sure,” he said, sounding confused and disappointed. He picked up the menu and began looking it up and down.
Dammit, Darcy, she cursed herself, why are you being like this? She tried to find something on the menu but couldn’t focus. Her mind was filling up with several different voices: one that told her to tell Luke how she was feeling, one that told her to end the relationship now and walk away, one that told her to protect her heart by any means necessary, and one that angrily judged each of these options for their flaws, shortcomings, and potential to cause her pain.
“Hi, I’m Amy and I’ll be your server for tonight.” A peppy blond woman approached their table. “Can I get you started with some drinks?”
“Uh, yeah,” Luke said, caught slightly off guard. “Can I have a Stella Artois, please?”
“Certainly. And for the lady?” Amy turned her attention to Darcy.
“I’ll have the blueberry mojito,” she said quickly. Not having the wherewithal to make an intentional choice, she picked the first drink she saw.
“Awesome,” said Amy. “Those will be right out.”
“I didn’t know you drank mojitos,” said Luke.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she replied coolly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means maybe you weren’t looking at me close enough to know that I like mojitos. Maybe you assumed I’m a martini-only kind of girl, without taking the time to really get to know what type of drinks I like or don’t like.”
Of course, this was nonsense, and completely pointless to say, because Darcy was in no way a mojito type of girl. In fact, she didn’t like any type of drink that was too sweet or too bubbly, and anybody who knew her at all would know that.
You’re being psycho, she told herself. If you can’t be a responsible adult about this whole thing, then you should get out of here before you make a scene. She’d always had such impressive self-control and couldn’t understand why it had suddenly vanished. She wondered how she could get it back, then wondered if she could get it back or if it was gone forever.
“Whoa.” He leaned back as if he’d been pushed. “Something is up with you, and you’re going to tell me. I don’t deserve to be spoken to like that. If you’re unhappy, tell me why. Otherwise, please cut it out.”
“Cut it out?” she snapped. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not a child.”
“Then why are you acting like one?”
“I’m not,” she insisted, though she knew she was. Her frustration level was now so high that she felt on the verge of ripping off a piece of bread and throwing it at him.
“Clearly something is on your mind, but instead of telling me what it is, you’re being silently bitter and snarky. I’m not trying to be a jerk. I just wish you’d be up front with me.”
“Well, if you’re not trying to be a jerk, then you’ve failed.” She darted her eyes away from his so that he couldn’t see she was on the verge of tears.
“Are you going to make me guess what this is about?”
“No. You know what, Luke—”
“Is it about what your parents said? I thought we decided we weren’t going to let that get to us.”
“It’s not about that,” she snapped.
“Oh, so it is about something.”
“Obviously.” She knew it wasn’t fair, but at this point she was becoming irritated that he hadn’t been able to figure it out for himself. On top of everything, was he also dumb?
“Wow.” He was looking at her as though she were a wild zoo animal let loose from her cage. “Hold on. You’re acting hormonal. What is this really about?”
Dammit, Luke, she thought, you really shouldn’t have said that. Anything but that. Now things are going to get ugly. She felt like the Hulk, triggered and unstoppable.
“Are you kidding me?” She gawked mockingly.
“Oh boy, here we go.”
He doesn’t deserve this. Go home before it’s too late.
“You think just because I’m upset about something it has to be because I’m hormonal? You don’t think I could have an actually valid reason to be upset?”
“You could, Darcy, but you won’t tell me what it is.”
“We’re in public. I don’t want to make a scene.”
“You’ve already made a scene.”
Darcy’s mouth puckered. He was right and she knew it. She was losing her composure and spiraling out of control. She didn’t recognize herself anymore. Maybe this actually is hormonal, she thought, but it feels so much deeper than that.
“I have to go.” She stood up, teary eyed. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Darcy, I’m starting to get worried.”
“There’s nothing to be worried about. Just leave me alone and forget about having a future with me.”
She turned and hurried out the front door, simultaneously hoping and not hoping that he’d follow her out. He didn’t.
* * *
Makeup running down her cheeks, Darcy unlocked the door to her childhood home, ran up the staircase, and threw herself down on her bed. She didn’t care that the mascara would stain her satin sheets; she buried her face deeper and deeper into them until the world faded away and all she could hear were the sounds of her own muffled sobs.
When she was finished crying, she sat up, grabbed Little Lion off the shelf, and held him close to her chest. She thought about herself just a short month and a half ago. She was living comfortably in New York, enjoying her own company and the many rare pleasures of being an independently wealthy woman. She didn’t have anyone special in her life and therefore didn’t have anyone she felt she had to please. She could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, and she almost never cared what people thought about her. She had virtually forgotten that Luke even existed, and had almost completely given up on the idea of her father ever forgiving her or approving of her actions. How had so much changed in such a short amount of time? What if her mother hadn’t had a heart attack—would Darcy still be complacent in New York, trudging ahead with her role as partner in one of New York’s most successful hedge fund companies?
She knew there was no use in speculating, but either way, she had to get a grip, and in order to get a grip, she would have to understand why she lost her grip. As a logical person, she felt inclined to buy a bulletin board and map out the clues and evidence she had so far, the way Claire Danes does in Homeland, but decided it was ridiculous to take something this ridiculous so seriously. When she was growing up and had a problem that needed solving, she used to go on walks in the expansive Fitzwilliam garden, and now that seemed like the only possible thing that could begin to cheer her up. She dried her eyes, bundled herself up, and headed out for the garden.
Like the Fitzwilliam home itself, the Fitzwilliam garden was famous in the neighborhood for being the largest and the most beautiful. It dipped down in a grassy knoll behind the mansion and then stretched out in seven acres of lush greenery. The garden had been first planted and groomed in the 1960s, way before Darcy was born, and had grown and developed into a wonderland of apple trees and baby’s breath and honeysuckle and lavender and elaborately geometric topiary and ivy growing up a gazebo made of glass. As kids, she and her brothers would play hide-and-seek among the topiary. But hide-and-seek was her least favorite game, so while the “It” person counted to twenty, Darcy would sneak away to the gazebo and lock herself in, then lie down on one of the benches and look up at the clouds, watching the wind blow them gently past her glass roof. The gazebo was off limits, so nobody would think to look for her in there, and the garden was so big that the boys could hunt and hunt for hours before suspecting that Darcy had fled the game entirely. Then the sun would set and Mrs. Fitzwilliam would call them in for dinner, and Kenneth would call out, “Okay, Darcy, you win. Come out, wherever you are. It’s time for dinner.”
She’d wait five minutes after that, until she was sure ev
eryone was inside, and then she’d make her way out of the gazebo and indoors for dinner, proud of herself that nobody knew her hiding spot. The secret was that the gazebo was such an obvious hiding spot that nobody thought to look there.
Now it was a winter night, and so there were no clouds to gaze up at, only one never-ending blanket of dark purple-gray. Darcy strolled through the garden, hoping that focusing on its many eccentricities and attractions would calm her mind, and maybe provide her with some answers. As she walked she became more and more confident that if she cleared her mind, the answers would come.
She arrived at the gazebo and pulled open the iron-rimmed door. If the night air was chilly, the inside of the gazebo was freezing, but Darcy didn’t mind. Her brain had always felt sharpest in the cold. She flipped on the light switch and could see her shivering reflection in every pane of glass. She sat down on one of the benches and curled her knees up into her chest.
Can’t I just stay like this forever? she wondered. Couldn’t I curl up here and hide out for a while? Would anyone really notice I was gone? I could say I’m going on vacation but just stay right here, instead. This seemed like a much easier, more appealing option than having to come out and face the world, having to parse this whole mess with Luke, having to deal with how horrible everything felt.
Just then, she heard a noise. It was a rustling in the topiary. Her heart skipped a beat. It’s just a squirrel, she told herself. Ignore it. But then came the footsteps. They pattered down the cobblestone pathway she had just walked down, and they were approaching the gazebo. Oh my God, did somebody follow me? Her heart thumped in her chest. I shouldn’t have come out here alone at night, she thought, rushing up to make sure the gazebo door was locked.
The person to whom these footsteps belonged came closer and turned the knob of the gazebo door. Darcy relaxed her shoulders slightly, knowing that as long as this person didn’t have the nerve to break the glass, then she was safe. And if they did have the nerve to break the glass, she knew the alarm would go off and the police would be there in minutes. But, to her shock and dismay, she heard the sound of jingling keys, and then the sound of a key sliding into a lock.