Free Eligible by Curtis Sittenfeld

almost flavorless. “Does anyone else want anything?” she asked.
    Everyone did except for Jane—they requested hamburgers and cheeseburgers and french fries—though at the last minute, just before Mr. Bennet and Liz walked out the back door, Jane called after them, “Fine. I’ll take an order of onion rings.”

“ARE YOU STILL planning to stay in Cincy until September?” Jasper said to Liz over the phone. “Because I don’t know if I can wait that long for you to get back.”
    “I was thinking we should meet somewhere for a weekend in August,” Liz said. “Maybe Cape Cod?”
    “Here’s my question,” Jasper said. “I realize your mom’s shindig is the biggest thing ever to happen in her life. But when she claims to be spending her days on nonstop planning, what’s she literally doing? Isn’t the event at a hotel that’s making the food and taking care of the setup?”
    While Liz had wondered the same thing, she wasn’t sure Jasper knew Mrs. Bennet well enough—they’d met only once, years before—to have earned the right to ask. “She and the other women are trying to get donations for the silent auction,” Liz said. “And the proceeds from the auction go to a shelter for homeless teenagers. It’s not total society-lady fluffiness.”

    “Okay, now you’re making me feel like a bad person. But doesn’t your mother know I need my Nin?”
    Liz smiled. “You know I’m here for my dad, not my mom. Besides, you kept me waiting fourteen years. Surely you can wait two more months.”
    “What kind of jackass would keep Liz Bennet waiting for fourteen years?” Jasper said. “If I ever met that guy, I’d punch his lights out.”

WHEN CAROLINE BINGLEY and Fitzwilliam Darcy walked through the door of Charlotte’s downtown apartment, the sight of Darcy rattled Liz more than she wished to admit.
    “Sorry,” Jane murmured to Liz—Chip and Jane had indeed decided to start their evening at Charlotte’s—as the newest arrivals headed into the kitchen to obtain drinks. “Are you okay?”
    Liz squared her shoulders. “Of course.”
    But Darcy’s comment at the Lucases’ barbecue about Liz’s ostensibly single status— I suppose it would be unchivalrous to say I’m not surprised— had echoed unpleasantly in Liz’s head during the last week. Could it have been his spontaneous attempt at wit? Or in their brief encounter, had he taken note of some off-putting feature of her presentation—disgustingly bad breath, say—that no one, even Jane, had ever felt comfortable mentioning? In New York, Liz rarely dwelled on the contours of her romantic life, but in Cincinnati, the irregularity of her arrangement with Jasper had come into sharper focus. Depending on how long Susan’s grandmother took to die, it could be several more years before Jasper and Susan officially divorced and, Liz imagined, she and Jasper moved in together. Eventually, in some low-key ceremony, they would marry. It seemed plausible she’d be the last of her sisters to wed, but Liz didn’t share her mother’s view of matrimony as a race. After all, she already had a companion to reliably talk things over with and another body in the bed to reliably curl against, and weren’t those marriage’s truest perquisites?

    And yet, with regard to Jasper, Liz wasn’t impervious to self-doubt. At a co-worker’s wedding, when filling out a form that required her to declare her marital status or identify an emergency contact (she always wrote Jane’s name), or if otherwise confronted with evidence of choices she’d made without necessarily having recognized them as such in the moment—these circumstances all gave her pause. In recent weeks, as she’d repeatedly bumped into former classmates or old family friends, the proof was ample that other people’s choices had been different. A few days before, she had met Charlotte for a drink at Don Pablo’s, which had once been their favorite restaurant, and as Liz took a sip of her