Chapter Two
MACEY
An email from Macey to her mom, Friday, September 6, 5:45 p.m.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Never Mind
Hey Mom,
Please disregard my last email. I no longer need vibes. I’ll never get out of this job and will probably die alone . I now need a miracle.
–Macey
AS IT TURNS OUT, I do need a miracle, because only a few hours later, I found out that I don’t have a Mr. Darcy. Just as I got home from work, I received a text from Derek, canceling on me.
And the disappointments just keep on disappointing.
“What am I going to do?” I say, my words muffled as I lie face down on a plush leather sofa in the upscale condo my best friend, Amelia, is kindly letting me stay in after I was unceremoniously kicked out of my apartment three months ago.
You are not strong or brave, you can’t do hard things, and you still have a freaking wedgie.
I should have changed out of these pants as soon as I got home, but I opted to wallow on the couch instead.
“Is there anybody else who can go with you?” Amelia asks as she sits beside me, running her fingers through my hair. The gesture feels a bit foreign, since physical touch is at the bottom of Amelia’s list of love languages. She’s much more the gift-giver type, which is funny because giving gifts is last on my list. I overthink it, and I’m terrible at receiving them.
I suspect her newly developed desire to comfort is more out of worry. A few months ago, I had a panic attack—my first one, according to the doctors. They called it an “acute anxiety episode.” They gave me meds, but I haven’t needed them since. Still, it feels like Amelia’s been walking on eggshells, worried I might fall apart again. She witnessed the hyperventilating, the shaking, and the sweating. I think it traumatized her, because she’s been treating me like I might shatter at any moment ever since.
“There’s no one. Not this late. I’m leaving in eight days, and now I have no Mr. Darcy.”
That should be the title of the autobiography I’ve always wanted to write: No Mr. Darcy for Me.
Ugh. This whole trip—the bright spot in my life—feels sort of tainted now. This trip feels like more than just a prize—it’s a lifeline. After months of feeling stuck and small, winning this trip felt like the universe finally cutting me a break, a way to prove to myself that things could still change for the better. And now Derek has gone and ruined it.
“There has to be someone who could go with you,” she says.
“I mean, the paperwork said they’d provide one for me if I couldn’t bring someone,” I remind her.
The package did say this, among all the other instructions that were sent in the large, ornate envelope Amelia and I giddily went through together upon its arrival. It also came with a script to memorize, which I’ve spent so many nights going over. Pride and Prejudice Park is very serious about their reenacting.
“That’s true,” she says, but she doesn’t sound convinced.
“Too bad you can’t go,” I say.
Amelia should be there with me. She’s been my Pride and Prejudice coconspirator since high school. We love all Jane Austen’s works, but Pride and Prejudice is our favorite. We’ve read it countless times and used to watch the 2005 movie weekly—even keeping the tradition in college, watching it together over the phone.
We have our favorite scenes that we rewind over and over. Darcy walking across the meadow to declare his love? Still gives me chills.
Of course, we also watch the 1995 BBC version, though it’s a bit more of a time commitment. But who’s turning down Colin Firth as Darcy, emerging from the pond with a white shirt clinging to him? Not this girl.
“I wish I were going too,” Amelia says. “But the collection launches next week, and I can’t miss it. Plus, there were no spots left.”
I know. The cast is full for my week, and Amelia’s collection—her big project at her job as a marketing director for a luxury home goods brand—is about to be revealed. It’s a huge deal, and she’s worked hard. We’ve probably had this exact conversation before—me wishing she could come, her reminding me why she can’t. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing. It sucks to have a dream we both share come true for only one of us. I didn’t even know there was a contest until she submitted our names and I won, Lady Luck coming in clutch when I needed it the most. It feels unfair. We should be doing this together.
“Well, Mr. Darcy is available now,” I say grumpily.
“And you know I’d do the role justice. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you ,” she says, pitching her voice lower.
“Nailed it,” I say, flatly.
“We’ll find someone else to go,” she says.
“It’s fine,” I tell her. I mean, the thought of flying by myself, figuring out the train, and talking to strangers alone doesn’t sound all that fun, but I’ve navigated worse. “I’ll do my best not to get kidnapped.”
“That’s not funny,” Amelia says, tapping me lightly on the shoulder before getting up. I stay face down on the sofa—the kind I could never afford. I’m pretty sure every piece in this condo would bankrupt me.
“I’m ordering Thai food,” Amelia yells from the kitchen.
“I’m having ramen for dinner,” I yell back.
“No, you are not,” she says.
Amelia’s stubborn, especially when it comes to feeding me, and honestly, I can’t argue right now. Like, literally, I can’t. I’m stuck on this couch.
I know it’s the gift giver in her but accepting her kindness is hard. Especially since she’s letting me stay, free of charge, in the guest room of the condo she shares with her brother, Zane. I’ve been here three months, which is two and a half months longer than I planned. No one’s complained (at least not to my face), and I’ve asked so many times if I’m still welcome that Amelia has had to reassure me, “I’ll let you know if you over stay your welcome.” Still, I hate feeling like a burden. As soon as I get back from Pride and Prejudice Park, finding my own place is priority number one. It’s not like I haven’t tried, but decent apartments are either too expensive or require a roommate—and let’s just say my experience with roommates hasn’t been stellar.
I thought I had lucked out with my last roommate, Sienna, until she and my ex, Caleb, fell in love and decided to move in together, effectively kicking me out. Oh, and Caleb was still my boyfriend when they broke the news. So that was fun.
This was the second time I’ve found myself homeless, since I couldn’t move in with my mom because she had to sell her place to afford the court-mandated rehab she was ordered to go back into (this particular info was the straw that broke the panic attack), and so Amelia offered up her guest room. Coincidentally, it was the Porters who stepped in to help the first time my mom had to go to rehab. It was my freshman year of high school, and I was only supposed to stay with them for a year, but when Mom was deemed unfit to care for me and my dad was out of the picture, I ended up spending all four years of school with Amelia and her family. I owe them so much, and now I keep adding “Amelia buying dinner” to that list.
At least Amelia’s job pays well. It helps with the sting when she insists. And, of course, so does the food. She’s also an heiress of sorts, since her parents’ company, Foothills Stoneworks, a high-end stone masonry business, is ridiculously successful. Amelia and Zane will inherit a fortune one day. A tidy sum for Amelia, and the entire company for Zane. They get generational wealth, while I inherit a strong genetic propensity for mental illness. Lucky me.
After wallowing for a while, I roll off the couch—literally—and change into my sweats. By the time I pull my hair into a messy bun and slip on a T-shirt that says I Can’t, I Have Rehearsal , the condo smells like onions, garlic, and curry. When I step into the living room, Amelia’s in comfy clothes too, her dark hair styled the same as mine. She’s arranged a delicious spread of Thai food on the coffee table, and the 2005 Pride and Prejudice movie is paused, waiting to play.
“I think we should run away together,” I tell her as she hands me a plate.
“You know I would, but I think Garrett would have a problem with that,” she says, giving me a little smirk.
Ah, Garrett. Amelia’s boyfriend of two years. I started dating cheating Caleb around the same time she met Garrett. We dreamed of double dates, married life, and buying houses next door to each other where our kids would be forced to be best friends.
But Garrett and Caleb never got along. Probably because Caleb’s a douchebag, and Garrett ... well, he’s kind of a douchebag too. Don’t tell Amelia I said that, but it’s true. Put two douchebags together, and they’ll spend all their time trying to out-douchebag each other.
At least Garrett didn’t fall in love with Amelia’s roommate and kick her out. That would’ve been awkward—especially since, until I moved in, Amelia’s only roommate has been her brother.
“Where is Garrett?” I ask, looking around the room as if he might pop out from behind one of the couches, wearing a polo because he’s always in a polo. He’s also always here.
“He’s in San Diego golfing with some clients,” Amelia says.
Garrett sells medical supplies, I’m pretty sure. I tend to tune him out when he talks about work. Whatever it is, it involves a lot of schmoozing and taking clients out to overpriced dinners and expensive rounds of golf.
“You know,” Amelia says, her lips twisting to the side. The face she makes when she’s up to something. “I bet Garrett would go to Pride and Prejudice Park with you.”
“What?” I ask, surprised. She can’t be serious.
“Do you want me to ask him?”
Amelia thrives on solving problems before they even exist. I, on the other hand, need to marinate in my chaos a bit before taking action. But she’s already in full fixer mode, and there’s no stopping her once she gets going.
“Um, that’s ... okay,” I say, trying not to sound offensive, because there’s no way. I am not spending a week with Garrett Gunderson reenacting Pride and Prejudice . If I wanted a douchebag to go with me, I’d call Caleb. There’s no free trip in the world that moocher wouldn’t jump on.
Besides, Garrett is no Darcy. He’s more of a Wickham—or better yet, a Collins. Definitely a Collins. He’d be the type to wax poetic about Lady Catherine’s superior connections and noble opinions. In Garrett’s case, though, it’s his highfalutin job and his “noble” golf swing. No, thanks.
“You wouldn’t have to go by yourself,” Amelia says.
How do I tell my best friend of twenty years that I can take care of myself? Even before the panic attack, Amelia was always trying to fix things, always trying to make everything better. I know she means well—I really do—but every time she steps in, it feels like she thinks I can’t handle my own life. And while, sure, sometimes I can’t, that doesn’t mean I need her swooping in to save me.
“Well, thanks, but ... don’t you think it would be kind of awkward to go with Garrett?” A straight-up “no” feels too harsh, so I try to drop a hint, hoping she’ll catch it.
“Why?” she asks, like I’m the one being ridiculous.
“Well, for one, he’s not really into Pride and Prejudice .” This is true. He refuses to watch it, which, personally, I think should be a deal breaker. Even jerkwad Caleb would sit through it with me sometimes.
“Yeah, that’s fair,” Amelia says, tapping her chin with her finger like she hadn’t thought of that.
“How about we eat dinner and watch Darcy,” I say, trying to put this conversation on hold in hopes that maybe she’ll forget.
“Good plan,” she says, and we fill our plates with food, then settle onto the couch.
Soon our bellies are full, and we find ourselves sprawled out on the comfy couches, completely engrossed in a movie we’ve watched so many times, we could probably quote it in our sleep.
“Can you believe you’ll be living in this world soon?” Amelia says as Elizabeth walks to Netherfield.
I shake my head. “It’s going to be amazing,” I say, excitement creeping in despite my Darcy-less situation.
According to the schedule in the packet, on day one we’ll have a character briefing and wardrobe fitting, as well as etiquette lessons to fully immerse us into the world of Jane Austen. I’m most excited for the ball gowns, and least for the corsets.
We watch, pausing occasionally to wonder how the reenactments will work. There are five buildings on the property, each representing a location from the book. We stay in whichever one corresponds to our scene. I’ll share a room at Longbourn with whoever plays Jane, and when I visit Charlotte at Hunsford Parsonage, I’ll stay there. The more we watch, the more excited I get.
Just as Darcy proposes to Elizabeth, the front door of the condo opens, and Zane walks in, finally home from work. His dark-brown hair is slightly tousled, as usual, and his polo is half tucked into jeans. His blue eyes—the same shade as Amelia’s—flicker toward us in our lounging state. Even in the dim light from the TV, he looks annoyingly handsome, all effortless athletic build and sharp jawline.
“What’s up, loser,” Amelia says to her brother, stopping the movie so we don’t miss anything, even though we could probably repeat the lines verbatim.
He glances at the paused screen, Darcy’s rain-soaked face frozen in a dramatic expression, then back at us. “Not this movie again.”
“Yes, this movie again,” Amelia parrots. “Please go away.” She shoos him off with a wave of her hand.
“Sorry,” I tell him, not that I’m apologizing for watching Pride and Prejudice for the umpteenth time, but I am sorry that we’ve taken over the living room. Maybe Zane had plans to be here or something? My face heats up from that one word. Whyyyyy?
Zane looks at me, his eyebrows pulling downward briefly before he strides over to the coffee table, zeroing in on the empty plates and the remaining Thai food. Earlier, I’d asked Amelia if we should put it away, and she’d told me to leave it out for round two. Not her normal MO—Amelia likes things neat and clean, but sometimes she surprises me.
“Thai Paradise?” Zane asks, referencing the restaurant nearby where Amelia usually orders takeout. The corners of his mouth pull up to show straight white teeth, the result of three years of braces.
“Help yourself,” she says.
Zane doesn’t need to be asked twice. After filling his plate, he sidles over to the couch, nudging Amelia’s legs with his knee until she reluctantly shifts them aside so he can plop down beside her.
“Couldn’t you try another movie sometime? Like Star Wars or something?” he asks once settled.
“No,” Amelia says, and I can hear her irritation in that one word. “Why don’t you go hibernate in your room like you always do?”
“Because I don’t want my room to smell like food.”
“It already smells like feet, so I think the food would be a step up.”
Ah, siblings. I never had any, though I always wanted one. When I was young, I would ask my parents for a brother or sister, but they never obliged. Then, like half of married couples, they got divorced, and neither remarried. So not even half siblings or stepsiblings for me. Watching Amelia and Zane bicker always makes me a little jealous because I know that behind all the snark, there’s love. I think so, at least. Sometimes, I’m not so sure.
I’ve known the Porters since I was eight, when my family moved next door. On our first day in our new house, while my still-married parents were unpacking, they sent me outside because I was getting in the way. That’s when I found Zane teaching Amelia how to rollerblade. I walked over to them and said hello, and then they ditched their skates, and we spent the rest of the afternoon jumping on their trampoline. That’s how we met. That’s how it all started.
Zane is only two years older than Amelia and me, and for many years, we were inseparable. The three of us did everything together. We walked to school together, and then afterward we’d meet up in one of our backyards—usually the Porters’—and make up games and build forts. As we got older, Zane started to ditch us for his friends more often, but he’d still find time to spend with us.
Then my dad left my mom and me for a woman he met online. Janette was her name. Think Lady Catherine de Bourgh, but worse—arrogant and just generally insufferable. Their affair lasted three months before she moved on.
After the divorce, my mom couldn’t afford to stay in El Dorado Hills, so we moved to an apartment in Citrus Heights. I call that time the “dark years” of my life; had I become a villain, it would have been my origin story. My mom struggled—that’s when all the drinking and recreational drugs started—and I had to try to hold things together. My coping mechanism? Becoming a perfect peacemaker. If I kept everyone happy, maybe things wouldn’t fall apart. But they did anyway.
The only bright spot was the weekends I spent with Amelia and Zane. Sometimes my mom would drive me, or the Porters would come get me. Despite the distance, Amelia and I stayed close—best friends. And Zane? Well, he was my friend too, at least at first. But then I ruined it by developing the most ridiculous crush on him. Let me be a cautionary tale: Never fall for your best friend’s brother. It doesn’t end well, and things with Zane ... got weird because I made them weird. Why, oh why, did I write him that stupid love letter? So here it is, Zane. My heart on a page. Barf. I can’t even think about it without feeling sick.
I doubt Zane told Amelia about the letter, because if he had, she would have surely said something to me, or at least teased me about it. But she never did, which means he didn’t tell her, and I’m forever grateful to him for that. It’s been ten years, and it’s still my most embarrassing moment. One I hate thinking about.
It wasn’t hard to fall for Zane, though. Back then, he was thoughtful and kind and would do things like bake me cookies for my birthday and was always quick to remember small details about me. I guess he still might be like that, but I wouldn’t know. Like all unrequited love stories, we’ve drifted apart.
We never talked about it. Only a couple of days after delivering the letter that shall not be discussed, Zane left for college across the country, so I hardly saw him. Then I went to Sac State, and since then my interactions with him have been minimal at best.
The fact that I’m sharing an apartment with him now demonstrates how desperately I needed a place, because had there been any other options, I would have taken them in a heartbeat, if only to save myself from the awkwardness. I’ve made it work, though. Zane mostly stays in his room, and when he ventures out to the living room or kitchen, I barely talk, like I’ve forgotten how to make words with my mouth. It’s a symbiotic relationship.
I know it’s ridiculous to still feel this way after all these years, but something about Zane just short-circuits my brain. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman, yet here I am, reverting to my teenage self every time he walks into the room.
“I can’t believe I watched the rest of that,” Zane says a little while later, after Darcy and Elizabeth have finally kissed and the credits are rolling. He lolls his head back against the couch, an empty plate balancing on his lap.
“It’s because you secretly love it,” Amelia says.
“Yeah, no,” Zane responds, dryly.
“You agree with me, right Macey? That Zane loves Pride and Prejudice ?”
I give them both a closed-mouth smile, because ... words.
“You’re a moron,” Zane says to Amelia and starts to get up from the couch.
“Wait,” Amelia says, and Zane sits back down. “How did I not think of this?” She shakes her head back and forth before twisting her lips to the side.
“Think of what?” Zane asks, confused.
“What do you think about taking next week off and going with Macey to Pride and Prejudice Park?”
No, no, no. I sit up on the couch. I need to put an end to this line of thinking immediately.
“Pride and Prejudice what?” Zane asks.
Amelia’s shoulders drop, and she lets out a sigh, like she’s talking to a petulant child. “It’s a resort where superfans of the book get to dress up in Regency clothing and act out scenes from it. I told you about it.”
“Wait.” The corner of Zane’s mouth lifts upward. “People really do that? I thought you were kidding.”
“Yes,” Amelia says, irritation in her tone. “And Macey won a trip for two, but her Mr. Darcy cancelled. So you should go with her.”
Amelia’s head moves back and forth, from Zane to me. Her irritation with Zane has now morphed into bright eyes and a huge smile, indicating that she thinks this is the best idea she’s ever had.
I give her bulging don’t you dare eyes, willing her to read my mind that I want her to stop this immediately. The idea of reenacting romantic scenes with Zane is mortifying.
But she doesn’t see me, or my I will hurt you glare. Nothing is getting through to her because she’s on a mission.
“Why aren’t you going?” Zane asks Amelia.
She side-eyes him. “Because I can’t play Darcy, duh. Plus, I have the product launch at work. You know this. I can’t miss it. Come on, Zane, you could totally do this.”
I need to say something because Zane is the absolute, 1,000,000 percent, last person I’d want to go do Austen cosplay with. Just picturing it gives me the ick. For myself . The thought of reenacting scenes with him is so embarrassing, it’s actually helping me see how ridiculous a place like Pride and Prejudice Park really is—like my Darcy goggles have been yanked off.
“Well, I can’t go,” Zane says with a quick shrug.
I almost let out a sigh, I’m so relieved. The Darcy goggles are back on.
“Why not?” Amelia asks him.
“I have work,” Zane says.
She waves his words away with her hand. “You work too much.”
“Yes, but I, too, have a project I can’t leave.” He looks over to me. “Sorry, Macey, I wish I could help you out.”
I give him an understanding smile and nod my head, even though I’d love to hug him right now for saying he can’t go.
I’m not one to think things happen for a reason, but I’m sort of wondering if this conversation was meant to be, because I’m now completely cured of wanting to go with someone. There are apparently worse things than having no one to play my Mr. Darcy.
I will happily go to Pride and Prejudice Park all by myself now.