“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.”