After the food arrived, they spoke only intermittently, which was unusual for them; she was tired and suspected he was, too. Interviewing people, paying close attention—it always wore her out. As they rode the elevator upstairs, she said, “You’re meeting the coach again for breakfast tomorrow?”
“Yeah, at nine-thirty at a pancake place near his house.”
In the hotel room, she used the bathroom first, and as she brushed her teeth, she wished, sex-wise, that she’d eaten fewer fries. But when she emerged from the bathroom, she found him sound asleep, still in his clothes. The TV was on, as were several lights. She didn’t wake him. Instead, after turning off the lights and the television, she slipped under the covers, listening to his steady breathing. He hadn’t offered to let her read his story from college, and if he had, she wouldn’t have wanted to. In fact, as she turned on her side and closed her eyes, she very much hoped that no copies still existed.
“YOU!” MRS. BENNET shouted as she hustled from the front door of the Tudor toward the Cadillac Liz was driving. “You have some nerve, young lady! Telling your sisters that Dad and I are selling this house just because you’ve decided it’s time.”
It was shortly after eight A.M. Having set her phone alarm for six o’clock, Liz had sleepily turned off the ringer and not awakened for another hour and forty-five minutes, at which point sunlight was flooding Jasper’s hotel room. As she’d driven along Columbia Parkway, she had rehearsed possible excuses for her whereabouts; to her right, the languid Ohio River had seemed to mock Liz’s agitation.
The moment she pulled into the driveway, Liz’s fears were confirmed: She saw her mother, who wore a cream-colored satin bathrobe and slippers; behind her mother was Jane (looking, Liz noticed for the first time, rather curvy); behind Jane was Mary; and behind Mary were Kitty and Lydia.
Liz pressed her foot against the brake and turned off the engine; surely the way to make a bad situation worse would be by running her mother over. As Liz opened the car door, her mother shouted, “This is not your decision! Do you understand that, Elizabeth? If and when the time comes, it will be your father and I who choose to sell the house.”
To Kitty, Liz said, “Why did you tell her?”
“I didn’t tell her anything,” Kitty retorted.
“It wasn’t Kitty,” Jane said. “I thought Mom knew.”
“You don’t get to waltz in and tell us what to do!” Mrs. Bennet’s face had become scarlet.
“Where am I supposed to live?” Mary asked.
“You’ll live here!” Mrs. Bennet said. “You’ll live just where you always have.”
“Get on the Internet and find an apartment, Mary,” Liz said. “It’s 2013. That’s what people do.”
“I know you and Jane think you’ve been terribly helpful with your organic vegetables and your opinions about how we can all improve ourselves,” Mrs. Bennet said. “But who do you think was making dinner for the last twenty years while you were enjoying yourselves in New York? Do you imagine I let your father and sisters go hungry?”
“We’ve been trying to make your life easier,” Liz said.
“We never meant to step on your toes, Mom,” Jane added. “We wanted to free up your time so you can focus on the Women’s League luncheon.”
“Everyone likes Mom’s food better than yours,” Kitty said to her older sisters.
“Do you know how you can make my life easier?” Mrs. Bennet, who was three inches shorter than Liz, drew herself up, scowling. “You can stop meddling in matters that are none of your business.”
It was at this point that Mr. Bennet, whose emergence from the Tudor had gone unnoticed, cleared his throat. “Lizzy’s not wrong about the house, and you know it, Sally,” he said. “We do need to sell. Girls, clear out your rooms and start looking for other living arrangements.”
Mrs. Bennet looked aghast. “You can’t be serious.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Mr. Bennet said. “Tempora mutantur, my dears.”
Mrs. Bennet appeared to be gasping for air. “I thought one of the girls would eventually live in the house with her own family.”
“Me,” Lydia said. “I’m going to.”
Mr. Bennet seemed defeated as he said, “Then I suggest you find a leprechaun and abscond with his pot of gold.”
Gently, Jane asked her sisters, “Have you guys ever thought of temping?”
“What do you care?” Lydia said to Jane. “You’re about to skip town.” She looked at Liz. “And you don’t really live here, either. You two are carpetbaggers.”
Mrs. Bennet’s tone was newly hopeful as she said, “Jane, maybe you and Chip can buy the house.”
An uncomfortable expression passed over Jane’s face, then she squared her shoulders. “Chip and I have broken up,” she said.
“Really?” Mary said. “You mean you’re no longer going out with the guy who’s shooting a dating show right now in California? I’m shocked.”
“Oh, Jane.” Mrs. Bennet sounded bereft. “Now you’ll never have children.”
IN THE BASEMENT, keeping in mind Shane’s advice to skip a true reckoning in favor of efficiency, Liz shoved Christmas lights into a file cabinet and a badminton set into an old suitcase with a broken zipper. She vowed as she worked to immediately recycle the magazines she’d let accumulate in her apartment the minute she returned to New York, as well as to sort through her closet and donate to Goodwill everything she hadn’t worn in the last year.
She’d been in the basement for close to two hours and had encountered what she suspected was an extended family of spiders—energetic youngsters, weary parents, deceased great-aunts—when she heard someone descending the steps. Lydia appeared, carrying a bottle of coconut water that Liz imagined, until Lydia took a long swig from it, was for her. “I can’t believe you talked Dad into this,” Lydia said. “You’re being really selfish.”
“It isn’t my decision, Lydia. Do you have any idea how much it costs to maintain a house this size?”
“It isn’t like there’s a mortgage.”
Rather than correcting her sister, Liz said, “How much do you think property taxes are?”
Lydia shrugged.
“They’re more than twenty thousand a year. Let’s say the boiler goes out—how much would you guess it costs to buy a new one?”
Lydia closed her eyes and made a snoring noise.
“I know you don’t believe it, but getting a job and a place of your own will be the best thing that’s ever happened to you,” Liz said. “You’ll feel so grown-up and independent.”
“You sound like a tampon commercial. Anyway, I’m moving in with Ham.”
“And not chipping in on rent?”
“He owns his place.”
“Do you really want to rely on a man to support you?”
“Spare me your feminist propaganda, Liz. You know, you should get Ham to help you down here. He’s the most organized person I’ve ever met. He only uses one kind of hanger, and they all have to hang the same way.”
“Great,” Liz said. “Send him over.”
Lydia took another sip of coconut water. “Kitty and Mary are talking about becoming roommates. Wouldn’t that be hilarious?”
“It’s not a bad idea.”
“I’d never live with Mary. She’s so annoying.”
“You do live with Mary,” Liz said.
Lydia laughed. A certain preemptive aura of departure indicated that she was about to go back upstairs—what must it be like, Liz wondered, to observe another person in the midst of a major task that was no more her obligation than yours and to feel not the slightest compulsion to assist?—and Liz said, “Do you even have a résumé?”
Lydia grinned. “Some of us are able to get by on our looks.”
WHEN U FINISHED today? Liz texted Jasper from the basement. Moving a million pounds of junk from parents house to storage locker, can’t wait to see you!
At sports mall til 7ish, Jasper texted back. Still on for dinner w/ Jane and
your friend?
She hadn’t formally canceled with Charlotte, Liz realized, though doing so didn’t seem necessary.
Just us & Jane now, she texted. Lets meet 21c lobby 7:45.
Less than half an hour later, when she heard her name being called from the kitchen, there were a few seconds when she thought Jasper had ignored her prohibitions about visiting the Tudor and come to rescue her, and she was touched. “Down here!” she called back, though even by then, she knew it wasn’t him.
“There’s a rumor going around that you could use some help,” Ham said as he entered the room.
“Really?” she said. “Wow. Thanks.”
He shrugged. “Slow day at the office. What’s our strategy here?”
Though Mary had accompanied Liz to pick up the rental truck and trailer, Liz had otherwise been feeling like the little red hen in the fable, planting and harvesting the wheat while the animals around her played. Now, at last, she had an ally, and if she weren’t so sweaty, she’d have hugged him.
“The storage locker is about ten minutes away,” she said. “If you’re really game, we could make the first trip now.”
This was what they did; up the steep, unfinished basement stairs, through the kitchen, and into the driveway, they carried suitcases and end tables and boxes full of decades-old files to the truck. “You don’t want to just dump this?” Ham asked about a stack of faded Easter baskets, fake grass still nestled inside them, when they’d made the first drop-off and were loading the trailer for the second time.
“I know it seems crazy, but if my mom asks if I got rid of anything, I want to be able to say no,” Liz said. “I mean, I have gotten rid of stuff since I’ve been home, but it was before today.”
“You sure you never got a law degree?” Ham said. They climbed into the trailer to stow the latest deposits, and as he hopped out, Ham said, “Random question: Do you think your parents are Republicans?”
“My dad, yes, with maybe a libertarian streak. My mom has the views of a Republican, but I’m not sure she votes. Why?”
“That was the impression I got from Lydia, but I was just wondering. You think your parents have any gay friends?”
“As Lydia may have mentioned, there’s speculation that they might have a gay daughter.”
“Lydia did share that theory.” They had reached the basement again.
“Is your family conservative?” Liz asked.
“Very. My mom moved to Florida after my dad died, to a retirement community I’m pretty sure is a Tea Party training camp. Unfortunately, she and I aren’t close.”
“You’re not conservative?”
“I’d call myself a centrist.”
“I think of CrossFit being conservative—is that wrong?”
“No, it’s right, although I’d say my box has a different vibe than some.”
“And you were in the military?”
“Yeah, the army. I spent some time in Korea and did a tour in Afghanistan.”
“Wow,” Mary said. “I can see the floor in here.” Liz hadn’t realized her sister was in the vicinity and hoped Mary hadn’t heard the recent comment about her.
“Want to give us a hand?” Liz gestured toward a brown corduroy beanbag chair with a split seam through which small bits of polystyrene were spilling.
“I’m sorry,” Ham said, “but that’s definitely garbage. Seriously, Liz.”
“Of course it’s garbage,” Mary said. “Did Liz tell you it’s not?”
“I don’t want Mom to get pissed at me for throwing things out,” Liz said.
“Then I’ll do it,” Mary said. “Where’s the trash pile?”
“It’s your lucky day,” Liz said. “You get the privilege of starting it.”
AT BOCA, JASPER ordered a seventy-five-dollar bottle of wine—especially since Jane wasn’t drinking, Liz hoped he planned to let Sporty cover the bill—and after the sommelier had delivered it, Jasper said, “If you guys are the scullery maids at your house for the summer, who’s making dinner tonight?”
Liz, who didn’t recall having used the words scullery maid with Jasper, said, “Actually, Jane made them some chicken and cold soup.”
Jasper grinned. “God forbid they fend for themselves, right? Hey, Jane, Lizzy mentioned you’re with child—mazel tov.”
Somberly, Jane said, “Thank you.”
“How you feeling?”
“All right,” Jane said.
“That’s great. I swear Susan was puking her guts out from conception to delivery.”
Liz could feel Jane glance at her, and it was with an air of overcompensatory cheer that Liz raised her glass. “Bon appétit,” she said. “Please, Jasper, tell us more.”
What Jasper really wanted to talk about, clearly, were his interviews with the squash players and coach, and he proceeded to do so over appetizers (oysters for him, beet salad for both Jane and Liz), entrées (pasta for Jane, scallops for Liz, filet for Jasper), and into dessert (crème brûlée for Jasper and Jane, nothing for Liz). Again, his long-windedness bothered Liz less than Jane’s observation of it; Liz suspected the evening was reinforcing Jane’s impression of Jasper as self-centered. He’d been describing the rather intense father of eleven-year-old Cheng Zhou when Liz said, “Did I tell you Jane’s going to be the private yoga instructor for a family in Rhinebeck?”
“Oh, yeah?” Jasper swallowed a spoonful of crème brûlée. “Who?”
“I went to college with one of them,” Jane said.
“So is it a real job or a pity thing?”
“Jesus, Jasper,” Liz said, and, in a jovial tone, Jasper said, “Well, she is pregnant and single.”
“Yeah, on purpose,” Liz said. “And she could go back to her job in the city if she wanted. This is just a change of scenery.”
“I thought you two had a leave-no-man-behind deal,” Jasper said.
Liz glared at him. “Things have changed, and you know what? I’m a big girl. I can handle being in Cincinnati without Jane.”
Calmly, Jane said, “I hope my friends haven’t hired me out of pity, but maybe I’ll never know.” Turning toward Liz, she said, “And of course I’m very appreciative that Lizzy’s staying here until our mom’s lunch event.”
“Speaking of which,” Jasper said, “I trust Sally Bennet and the gals are still having lots of productive three-martini meetings?” As he mimed pouring liquid into his mouth, Liz sensed that Jane, too, was bristling.
“Jasper,” Jane said. “Tell us more about the squash players.”
JASPER ORDERED ANOTHER bottle of wine from room service, and after it had been delivered, along with two glasses and a fruit and cheese platter, he made a toast. “To Cincinnati,” he said. “Which doesn’t suck nearly as much as you’d led me to believe.”
They were side by side on the bed, fully clothed on top of the covers, with the platter between them. Liz tapped her glass against his and said, “Wow, don’t give me a swelled head.” But she was already in a better mood; she was relieved not only that the dinner was finished but that Jasper had indeed paid for it.
“What were you moving to a storage locker this afternoon?” Jasper asked.
“I was clearing out the basement so the house doesn’t look like it should be condemned when the realtor shows it.”
“Your folks are selling their place?” Jasper reached for a slice of Gouda. “When my parents downsized, all I could think about was if it was the first step toward me feeding them creamed corn and changing their diapers.”
Liz squinted at Jasper. Hadn’t they discussed her family’s financial problems? And then it occurred to her that the conversation she’d had about selling the Tudor hadn’t been with Jasper; it had been with Darcy.
“My parents aren’t selling by choice,” she said. “They’re deep in debt.”
“That’s a bummer.” Jasper popped a strawberry between his lips and said while chewing, “Because I’d much rather you be an heiress.”
“Isn’t that what Susan is for?”
Liz said.
“Good point. Hey, I got an email from Brett Yankowitz saying if I write up my fly-fishing proposal, he’ll be more than happy to take a gander. Which is awesome, but after today, I’m like, maybe I should write a book about squash prodigies instead. As backward as the Cincinnati airport is, it’s still a hell of a lot easier to get to than Idaho.”
“Fly-fishing is more romantic than squash,” Liz said. “Wouldn’t you rather do your reporting standing in a beautiful stream instead of under fluorescent lights?”
“True.”
“Speaking of romance—” Theatrically, because she was incapable of not mocking herself when initiating sex, Liz winked at Jasper.
“Come here,” he said, and he reached out with both arms to help her over the cheese platter.
The kissing was fun; he was in a good mood, too. All of which made it surprising that once they were actually naked and recumbent, technical difficulties presented themselves. While not entirely flaccid, neither was the relevant part of Jasper’s anatomy sufficiently stiff to move on to the next stage of activity, and the more directly Liz attempted to improve the situation, the less promising the outlook became. They were facing each other, and at last, Jasper lifted away Liz’s hand. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said with frustration.
“It’s not a big deal,” Liz said, while trying to shove from her mind the thought that the whole squash article had been a pretext for him to fly to Cincinnati so they could have sex. “We’ll try again later.”
“You don’t want me to just get you off, do you?” Jasper said, which seemed a far less gallant question than Do you want me to get you off?
After a few seconds, she said, “Let’s try in a little bit.” She rolled over and reached for the remote control on the nightstand.
They landed on a political talk show, and the longer they watched, the more incredulous Liz felt. After not seeing each other for almost two months, how could this happen? Just purely as a physiological matter—shouldn’t he have been struggling not to finish too fast rather than to get started?