“Perhaps you didn’t realize I was paying attention.”
“You know,” Liz said, “what year did you graduate? I’ll bet we’re close in age.”
“I graduated from college in ninety-seven.”
“Then you were in the same class as a good friend of mine. Did you know Jasper Wick?”
“Yes.” Darcy seemed unimpressed by the coincidence.
“You don’t think that’s noteworthy?” Liz said.
“Not especially.”
“Really? That here we are in Cincinnati in 2013, and you went to college in California in the mid-nineties with basically my closest friend?”
“That’s how socioeconomic stratification works. I’m sure you and I know other people in common, too, though personally, I find the name game tedious.”
“Well,” Liz said, “my apologies for boring you.”
Darcy didn’t say she hadn’t bored him; he said nothing.
“Jasper’s coming to Cincinnati soon to write an article about squash players,” Liz said. “Maybe you two should have a reunion.”
“I doubt my schedule will allow it.”
“Do you not like him or something?”
“We weren’t friends.” Darcy’s disinclination to elaborate, his apparent belief that he needn’t explain or excuse himself, was enormously irritating. And his eschewal of convention was even more bothersome than it would have been if he were unaware of etiquette, which, obviously, he was not.
“Were you both in love with the same girl?” Liz asked.
“Caroline mentioned your fondness for interrogation.”
“Some people think asking questions is friendly and polite. Plus, I’m a journalist.”
“Maybe the reason you’re a journalist is that it gives you a professional justification for being nosy.” Darcy took another sip of sangria, and very briefly, before he licked it off, a trace of purple liquid clung to his lips. Then he said, “Excuse me,” bowed his head, and walked inside, leaving Liz alone on the balcony.
DINNER WAS TO be individual pizzas that the guests would prepare to their own liking, with an array of thoughtfully selected toppings: sun-dried tomatoes, fresh basil, artisanal salami. While Liz appreciated the casually festive menu, it soon became clear that Chip had, by the time of his guests’ arrival, not yet made the dough, apparently unaware that it would need to sit for an hour after he’d mixed the ingredients. In addition, his oven could fit no more than four pizzas at a time. Thus, it was ten o’clock when they sat to eat, and half the pizzas were cool.
Liz ended up between Willie and Jane; somehow, on Jane’s other side, sat Darcy rather than Chip. It was not clear to Liz that she had, in her earlier exchange with Darcy, embarrassed herself, but it also wasn’t clear that she hadn’t. Thus, she decided to abstain from initiating further conversation with him.
“You look very pretty tonight,” Willie said to Liz at one point, and she was just tipsy enough—the sangria was indeed strong—to find the comment endearing rather than weird.
“Thank you, Cousin Willie,” she said. “You look very handsome.”
At the conclusion of the main course, Jane, Liz, and Charlotte cleared the plates, and when Charlotte and Liz were standing by the kitchen sink, Charlotte said, “Were you and Darcy flirting on the balcony?”
“Oh, God, no,” Liz said. “The opposite. And I’m pretty sure he’s dating Caroline.”
“Really?” Charlotte said. “I didn’t know that.”
At the table, Caroline was on Darcy’s other side and had spent most of the meal curled toward him in conversation like a poisonous weed. As a dessert of brownies and Graeter’s ice cream appeared, Jane murmured to Liz, “Chip bought me a mountain bike.” She didn’t seem pleased.
Liz looked at Jane. “That was nice of him.” While at the Tudor for dinner, Chip had mentioned that he’d already explored several area trails.
Jane shook her head. “I think it was expensive.”
“Well, I’m sure he wouldn’t have bought it if he couldn’t afford it. Sorry, Jane, but he’s into you.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Jane said. “Maybe his expectations are too high.”
Liz laughed. “You think if he gives you a fancy bike, you’re obligated to put out? Because if I’m not mistaken, you’ve been doing that for weeks.”
“It just seems soon for such an extravagant present.”
“Will you relax and enjoy being courted?” Liz said. “It’s not a diamond ring.”
“Well, I definitely wouldn’t accept that,” Jane said. After a pause—on the other side of the table, Keith, his fiancée, and Chip were discussing a “hot” appendix Keith had seen the previous day—Jane added, “You think I should keep the bike?”
“Yes,” Liz said. “Go riding with him. Have fun.”
Willie, who had been in the bathroom, rejoined them then and gestured toward a pint of ice cream on the table. “The famous black raspberry chip, I take it?”