Read Online The Secret Diary of Lizzie Bennet by Bernie Su, Kate Rorick - Free Book Online Page A

fanned herself lightly, the picture of Southern fragility. She was stuck on the idea of
Bing going back to school—i.e., leaving without her having secured him for Jane. “It’s not meant to be a summer house. It’s meant to be a family home, with children and
dogs, and . . .”
    “My brother’s a very busy young man,” Caroline jumped in, saving us all from Mom dropping her widest hints. “But don’t worry, if there’s anyone who can handle
the rigors of being a medical student and then a doctor along with the joys of homeownership, it’s my brother.”
    “You know, there’s an excellent medical program right here . . .” my mom tried again, but thankfully she was stopped this time by someone with a little more force.
    “Well, my dear, I believe it is time for dessert!” my dad said, rising from the table. “She’s been putting together something special for tonight—she wouldn’t
even let me see what it was.” He smiled at the guests.
    “Oh, yes! You all stay right here—I’ll be back in a moment!” Mom said brightly, bringing attention back to where she (read: we) were comfortable having it: the food. It
was admittedly delicious (which is standard for my mom; she really knows how to cook), but in a terrifyingly overelaborate way (which is not standard, and you will see the terror it invokes in a
moment).
    My mom trotted off to the kitchen, and after refusing assistance from her appointed helper (me) came back with a wheelie cart.
    And a blowtorch.
    “Bananas flambé!” she cried. “Girls, this is how I snared your father.”
    My dad looked a little taken aback, but he played along. “Yes, she was training to be a table-side dessert chef at a restaurant when we met.” There was a brief pause. “Thirty
years ago.”
    “And I remember exactly how it goes—don’t you worry, honey.” My mother smiled, and turned on the blowtorch.
    I think you can guess what happened next.
    I doubt we will ever get the smell of burned bananas out of the dining room drapes.
    Once we’d put out the tablecloth—Dad fetching the fire extinguisher and Bing smothering the flames with a casserole pot lid; I like to think they bonded during this small
crisis—Mom looked ready to break down in tears.
    My dad only had to shoot me one look for the appointed helper to spring into action.
    “Jane, I have a thought,” I said. “Why don’t we go out and grab a drink?”
    “Oh, yes!” she said gratefully. “The night is still young.”
    “That sounds like a great idea,” Bing approved, with visible relief. “Carter’s Bar?”
    “I’ll text Charlotte, have her meet us.” We would need reinforcements to get over the trauma of dinner.
    “And I’ll tweet Darcy,” Caroline added, her fingers already flying on her phone. Which I had actually seen her do a couple of times during dinner. Great—that meant
chances were Darcy was informed of the Great Bennet Dinner Debacle already (™ the Universe).
    I had been trying to do a video update during this dinner, running up and down the stairs to film short snippets in my room as the meal spiraled out of control. (Considering the number of times
I excused myself to “use the bathroom,” I can only imagine that Bing and Caroline now think I have an incontinence issue.) I wanted to see if immediacy added to the energy of my posts
(boy, did it!), but I had to abandon the story half told to go to Carter’s.
    Where the second half of the evening was, if you can believe it, even more interesting than the first.
    And once again, Lydia played her part.
    At first things were going well. The addition of Charlotte and the atmosphere of Carter’s helped to normalize everyone. Also, alcohol.
    Darcy, of course, kept to himself. Even when he was sitting at the table with us. His mouth shut and his chin pushed back in a look of complete condemnation of anything, you know,
fun
.
    Saturday night and the bar was packed, so of course Lydia would run into someone she