Epic Adventures of Lydia Bennet (9781476763248) (24 page)

“Lydia! Oh, I've heard so much about you!”

Allison's smile took up half her face as she walked over and shook my hand. One of those weird super eye contact–y handshakes where my hand ends up sandwiched between both of hers.

“Allison . . .” I started. “You're the one who works in PR, right?” I looked to Jane for confirmation, but Allison nodded her head enthusiastically.

“That's me! Shea's off in her room studying—” She turned to my sister and lowered her voice. “Shocking, I know.”

Shea. That's the grad school roommate. Jane's never talked much about either of them—everything we talk about is always work, Bing, work, Bing, and asking about how all of us at home are, of course—but
those are the two facts I do know. Anything else would be new and surprising, just like everything else here.

“We're going to toss Lydia's stuff in my room real quick,” Jane said.

“I was going to watch a movie in a few minutes, if you two would like to join? There's a documentary about the Manson Family on demand,” she continued.

“I don't know . . . Lydia's probably pretty tired—” Jane replied. But I knew that tone. That wasn't the “I genuinely think you're tired” tone so much as it was the “We need to talk” tone.

And talking, I knew, would have to happen sooner or later. It's just that I would much prefer it be later, is all.

“Actually, that sounds great!” I interrupted. “Let me just get changed out of these gross airplane clothes.”

“Are you—” Jane started.

“Who can say no to a family-friendly documentary?” I said, grinning, and started dragging my stuff past Jane toward another smaller hallway. “Which one's yours?”

“To the left.”

I steered myself over that way but heard a door creak open from the other end of the hall behind me.

“I heard Allison say you guys were watching a movie?” a voice said quietly. I turned around and saw a girl who definitely could have walked straight out of that a cappella zombie movie appear in the doorway of one of the other rooms.

“Yeah,” Jane said, equally hushed. “Don't worry, we'll keep it down, I know you're working. Shea, this is—”

“Lydia,” she cut her off. She looked me up and down before nodding her head at me. “Hi.”

“Hi . . .” I said back.

She turned her attention back to Jane, shooting her a questioning look.

“Just text me if we're too loud.”

“Thanks,” Shea replied, and before I even noticed her move, she was back in her room with the door shut securely behind her.

“Friendly,” I murmured once we'd gotten into Jane's room.

“She's great,” Jane countered. “Just busy. Living with other people requires . . . compromise.”

“Hey, I just lived with Mary all summer, you don't have to remind me,” I joked.

Mary.

Right.

Another thing I didn't want to think about tonight.

Fortunately, I wouldn't have to. Not yet.

“So, how about that movie?”

I had one of those startle-y moments when I woke up the next morning—the kind where you slightly panic for a minute because you don't know where you are. And no, it wasn't just because Allison's documentary turned out to be about a murderous cult rather than a sweet, adorable family. There were cupboard doors banging closed in the kitchen and I must've been sleeping more lightly than usual, because I came to immediately, thinking Kitty had knocked something over in my room. But then I remembered Kitty wasn't there, because I was sleeping on Jane's couch, and the other side of the living room wall was the kitchen and that's where the sounds were coming from.

That never happened. I was used to waking up on our couch, or in Lizzie's room, or on a friend's floor, or in a boy's bed. It never fazed me.

But I guess I hadn't woken up anywhere but in my own room since George.

It seemed like such an insignificant change—being startled by unfamiliar surroundings when you never used to be. But something about it scared me, the second I realized that's what had happened. Like my eyes were suddenly brown, or my elbow wasn't double-jointed anymore.

That was the second slight panic within the first few moments of waking up this morning.

The third came when a high-pitched whistle cut through the apartment.

I figured out pretty quickly that it was a teakettle, but yup, awake now.

I shook Jane's blanket off me and sat up. The whistling stopped, thank God, and I heard whoever was in the other room start to walk toward this one not too long after.

“Hi! I hope I didn't wake you up!” Allison said, heading toward the couch. I barely had time to move my feet before she sat down on the far end.

“No, I was up,” I lied.

“Do you mind if I turn on the TV?” she asked, already pressing buttons on the remote. I nodded, fairly certain she wasn't looking at me as she barreled on. “I just have to watch
Meet the Press
with my tea. Ooh, sorry, I'd have seen if you wanted any but I thought you were still asleep.”

“That's all right,” I said, and yawned. “Is it okay if I hop in the shower?”

“Oh, of course! Jane's towels are the purple ones on the second shelf in the cabinet,” Allison said. “Fair warning, the hot water runs out pretty quickly, and there are three more people, so . . .”

I nodded through another yawn, grabbing my toiletries and some daytime-appropriate clothes from my suitcase in the corner, and shuffled toward the single bathroom.

After about twenty minutes and an annoyed realization that I had forgotten my face wash and had to borrow Jane's, I felt way less
yawny and more ready to go out and finally see the epicness that is supposed to be New York City.

“What do you want to see first?” Jane asked, pouring me a cup of coffee in the kitchen. She had gotten up while I was in the shower and made tea for herself and coffee for me and a “hi, bye” Shea passing through the living room on her way to the library.

“You mean you don't already have an itinerary planned out?”

“I may have jotted down some ideas,” Jane admitted.

I grinned, knowing that even if it wasn't a full-blown schedule, that was only because Jane had been super busy. Lizzie may be the nerd, but Jane is organized and prepared for all situations.

“I'm totes down for whatever you wanna show me,” I told her.

“Perfect!” Jane smiled. “We can do the sightseeing stuff today and then get you a little more acquainted with the local places after that. Sound good?”

I nodded. “Let's tourist it up, sis!”

“I just have a few emails I have to deal with from work before we head out. Give me ten minutes?”

I waved her away and sat down at the kitchen table to finish my coffee while she went back to her room.

I pulled out my phone and idly checked my text messages. Nothing new, but I scrolled down to my last conversation with Mary and stared at the screen for a few seconds, my thumb hovering over the virtual keyboard.

How's SF?
I finally typed after considering a few options.
I'm in New York!
wouldn't have provided a question;
What's up?
is too general; and
Hey, I'm really sorry I screwed up, are we good yet?
is too much for 9:00 a.m.

Crap, 9:00 a.m. Which means it's 6:00 a.m. on the West Coast. Mary is an early riser, but nobody gets up that early on a Sunday. Hopefully my text doesn't wake her up and prompt crankiness. That would not be a good way to start talking again.

Either way, I probably have a couple of hours before she maybe
decides to actually respond, so that means I have a couple of hours before I can get anxious about her maybe not responding. Hypothetically. I've never been good at waiting.

At least I'd get to spend the day distracted by my adventures with Jane and not have to think about all the messes I temporarily left behind. This trip isn't about that. It's about taking a break and regrouping. And, at least for a few more minutes until Jane finishes up work duties, it's also about beating Lizzie at this pop culture trivia game on my phone.

*  *  *

Ten minutes turned into thirty, which turned into an additional twenty when Jane got a work call as we were walking out the door, but after that, we finally got the tourism started.

“Keep your purse in front of you and make sure it's always zipped up,” Jane told me as we pushed through the turnstile in the subway station. “The train gets really crowded and you have to be aware of your surroundings at all times.”

“You sound like Mom the first time she let me walk to school by myself,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“I'm serious! Bing's already been pickpocketed twice.”

Somehow, it didn't entirely surprise me to hear that Jane's very smart but also somewhat naïve-seeming boyfriend had fallen victim to subway theft on multiple occasions. But it's also kind of ridic, because everyone who knows Bing also knows that if any stranger just asked him for money, chances are he'd whip out his wallet and ask if they preferred twenties.

But I did what Jane said anyway, and soon understood why it's so easy to get stuff stolen from you. Sweaty bodies pressed up against mine as we all crowded onto the 2 train—not even in a creepy grope-y way like I'd heard happens on public transportation, just in a “well, crap, there's not enough room for everyone” way. I sucked it up and clenched my fist around the metal bar above my head as
the train tried to toss me even further into strangers, thankful for the hand sanitizer I would be making generous use of once we got aboveground (seriously, Mary would freak). I was in New York City; I was going to do things the New York City way. Hey, nobody ever said Lydia Bennet wasn't ready for an adventure.

I thought we'd go see the Statue of Liberty, picnic in Central Park, climb to the top of the Empire State Building (if
only
for the Jay Z song, to be totally honest), and zip back to Times Square for an expensive, overrated dinner and a Broadway show.

Turns out, not only is tourism in New York City dirtier than I'd imagined, it's also significantly more time-consuming.

After a long underground commute and more walking than I'd done in a while (at least Jane had also warned me to wear comfortable shoes), we'd hopped onto a ferry, which took us to tourist stop number one, the Statue of Liberty.

“I'm so excited to get to take you to all these places for the first time!” Jane whispered to me as we stood in the outrageously long line to actually go up to the top of the crown thingy.

I'd been debating whether it was worth it, considering how much longer it was looking like it was going to take—on the one hand, the Statue of Liberty! It's in so many movies! But on the other, the middle-aged couple in front of us wearing matching
I
NY
shirts had been discussing the possible meanings behind the discoloration of their chiweenie's poop for the past twenty minutes—but Jane's excitement sealed the deal for me. If Jane wanted to be here, I wanted to be here.

Fortunately, though the long wait in line would have been an easy place to corner me to talk about everything that had happened this summer, Jane knew better, and we mostly talked about her job (with several phone/email interruptions regarding it), and Bing's work at the center, and what kind of things we might do around the city. Getting to the Statue of Liberty came and went during the conversation, and it wasn't underwhelming, but it
wasn't overwhelming, either. It was just . . . whelming? Is that a thing? But Jane was still happy, and I was glad to be here with her, so it was all right.

*  *  *

Finally, by late afternoon, and after an abbreviated stop at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, we found ourselves walking through Central Park. My feet were
dying
, but at least it was alive with things to see. We passed musicians and mimes and kids throwing pennies into a fountain. I told Jane I wanted to see
everything
, but she just laughed and told me the park may be a little too big for that, but maybe I could come back one day next week while she was at work and mosey around.

After about an hour of walking, I convinced her that
one
little snack from a street cart wouldn't ruin dinner, and we snagged a couple of overpriced pretzels before settling down on a cute wooden bench next to the water.

“This isn't
real
street-cart food, you know,” Jane said. “It's like the food you get at a convention center. There are a lot of authentic street carts outside of touristy areas—we'll have to try some while you're here.”

“ ‘Real' street-cart food,” I said, mocking her, and stopped devouring my pretzel long enough to throw air quotes up around my head. “You're so New York now.” It was true—Jane had always been the most stylish sister ever—but now she has this polish, like moving so fast through the streets tumbled her surfaces shiny and smooth.