First Impressions: A Modern Pride and Prejudice Adaptation

Chapter 24

As soon as Robert's phone rang, Charlotte knew she had a chance she would never have again. She watched him walk away, speaking cheerfully to his sister. Without him at the table to guide them, and with Darcy there to dampen Liz, a sudden, heavy silence fell over the three of them. Liz looked at the rings her glass left on the table and the napkin. Darcy looked at a spot just above her left shoulder, though his eyes kept flicked to her face, equally hopeful and terrified that she would return the look.

Charlotte watched him through the corner of her eye, testing how long she could stand it. When the silence was finally too long for her, she reached out and nudged him. He jumped slightly, startled, and glanced at her, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. She motioned for him to move and he stood, letting her out of the booth. She stretched for a second and then said to Liz, "I'm going to get us more drinks. Lizzie, what do you want? The same or something new again?"

Liz shook her head. "No, I'm okay. I just got another one."

Charlotte shrugged. "I'm getting you one anyway. You'll finish that eventually and I don't want to keep getting up."

"No, Char, really, I'm okay—" She trailed off as Charlotte disappeared without acknowledging her refusal. Liz rolled her eyes and sighed. Darcy half turned his head to watch her walk away. When he turned back, he didn't look at Liz, just at his hands on the table.

There are different types of silence. There is the restful one of mutual agreement: it can often only happen when parties involved have quite a bit of work to do, or they know each other so well that there is no need to fill the void with noise. And then there is the dragging, lumbering silence that rises from discomfort. It presses heavily and prods the parties involved with knotted fingers. It whispers that they should speak or leave, not just sit there!

Liz grappled with the secondary silence for a few moments. She wished Charlotte or Robert would return quickly. They wanted to talk to her. She knew of nothing to say, except for the one topic they both wanted to avoid—his books. She regretted immensely waving the novel around in front of them the other day; he must have seen the title. She was so disparaging about his writing over the summer that she did not know how to overcome it. Nor did she particularly wish to compliment him.

Almost as soon as she had that thought, and despaired that they were doomed to complete muteness until one or the other of their party returned, Darcy said in a soft, hesitant voice, "You look... um, your outfit is nice."

She blinked. For a moment, she wondered if he read her mind. She squinted slightly, but he seemed genuine. He wasn't looking at her, but he didn't sound like he was joking.

"Thanks. My sister picked it out for me."

"Oh." He looked like he was trying to figure out which sister. She didn't help him along. She looked at her glass; Liz knew you could drink to forget and drink to black out, but wasn't sure if there was a pleasant middle where she could not exist there at that table, having a conversation with Darcy.

Well, there was, but it was probably standing up and getting in the car. But she couldn't exactly do that.

"Happy birthday." His voice was so small it was almost pitiful.

She fought the urge to bring her hand to her forehead or to cover her eyes. Instead, she rolled a bland smile across her lips. "Thanks. I would have thought you were above us mere mortals and our birthdays."

"Excuse me?" His eyes searched her face, trying to understand what she was saying.

She kept her face very straight and her tone casual, without the intonation of a laugh. "I mean... I assumed you weren't from the same time period as the rest of us. You always dress like it's 1875, after all."