The Chosen People

Chapter 1

In the beginning, there was Leah Bennett, sitting alone in a cafe. She had been there for over two hours, the remains of her second cup of chamomile tea gone cold in the mug.

Leah Bennett, twenty-seven, five foot five inches, 128 pounds, Taurus, often studied at cafes. She was a PhD candidate at NYU, currently suffering through the particular hell of writing her dissertation.

Like most lovers of thought, she was also jobless and in debt, so Leah lived with her parents in suburban New Jersey because they were the only landlords who allowed her to pay the rent in dishes washed and towels folded. There was nothing wrong with Jersey, except for the bad hair, nor was there anything theoretically wrong about a poor grad student living with her parents. But, Leah, because of her circumstances, always made the effort to be out of her house and the state of New Jersey as often as she could.

Thus, she studied in cafes, preferably indie cafes like this one where the staff of aspiring writers and artists moonlighted and understood that self-inflicted poverty prevented one from ordering things like lattes and foccacia. Leah drank herbal tea instead, as one bag could make two, possibly even three drinks, depending on how long she let the tea bag steep the first time. The waiters let her get free refills of hot water.

A high, nasally voice startled her out of the pages of Das Kapital. "If it isn't Leah Bennett in the flesh."

Leah looked up to see her sister, Jennifer Bennett-Bing, standing over her.

"Jen. And Chuck.” Leah started. “What are you doing here?” It wasn't like her sister and her husband to come to scroungy East Village cafes.

“Since you're always raving about this place, we thought we'd take the gang.”

The gang was six yuppie Yale alums who Jen and Chuck met ritually every month for drinks. All wore power suits, carried briefcases, and stared at Jennifer's bookworm kid-sister.

"Studying, as usual? What's on the menu for today? Ooh, Karl Marx,” Chuck teased, raising his eyebrows and looking back at a few of his friends. They smiled at Leah patronizingly.

"Yeah, well. I don't pay NYU thirty grand a year for my health," Leah replied dryly. Sometimes she really hated her sister's new husband.

"This place is packed! There are no tables!” commented a woman standing to Jen's left.

Swiftly scanning the room, Jen shrugged. "We'll just join my sister. You don't mind, do you, Ley? You need to take a break from that dreary stuff every now and then."

"No, of course not," Leah grumbled, gathering her books into a neat pile in front of her.

"Nice," commented another woman, tall, thin, with a fiery-red dye job. She dropped her shoulder bag on a chair without a word of thanks.

"So, do we have to go up there to order?" asked a man, tall and athletic, with perfect teeth.

"Yeah, it's self-service," volunteered Leah, glancing to the counter.

He grimaced. "Oh, well."

"There aren't enough chairs. We need to get more chairs," commandeered one of Jen's friends. Snapping her gaze around the cafe, she spied two unused chairs at the other end. "Darcy, Jeff, can you go over there and get those? Thanks."

Leah sunk in her chair, staring despondently at the serious, bearded face of Marx on the book jacket. The only thing worse than having to sit through a conversation with Jennifer's yuppie friends was showing up to Dr. Preston's office tomorrow without a revised outline for chapters three and four of her dissertation. Her palms began to sweat. Ten minutes, just to be polite, and then she was out of there. Grabbing her cell phone off the table, she quickly punched in a text message to Cherry: “Need rescuing. Call in 10. PLS!!!!î

The scrape of a chair made her jump.

“Sorry,” apologized one of the yuppies, a man in a sharp, navy suit. He set down the chair and shrugged off his jacket, revealing a fine expanse of shoulders. With a smile, he wandered off to the counter to order a drink.

Starting with Chuck, the yuppies soon began filing back to the cramped table, drinks in hand. Jen returned with a steaming oversized cup of red zinger tea.

“No caffeine for the baby,” she cooed, patting her still-trim stomach. Chuck joined in on rubbing his wife's belly and the female members of the yuppie crowd “aww-ed.”

Jennifer Bennett-Bing was the kind of older sister that nobody wanted - a noxious combination of late-born perfection and self-importance. She had gotten into Yale on a basketball scholarship and now she was an associate at a big, Midtown tax law firm. To their mother's rapture, Jen was newly married to Chuck Bing, a Yale med-school alumnus, whom she had met during law school. There had been a time when Jen hadn't been so perfect, a time before the plastic surgery when her nose hadn't been so straight and pointy, and a time before Yale, when Jen had been the star forward on their high school's basketball team and their mother had to beg the eldest Bennett sister to wear makeup. Those days were long over. Now Jen was their mother in-training, offering Leah unsolicited advice on everything from dieting to dating to fashion. Jen was the Bennett wunderkind and Leah its pariah, but at least Leah had the better set of boobs, or so she had always consoled herself.

Surrounded by seven yuppies, Leah abandoned all hope of getting past chapter eighteen. Two of them were in a heated debate over California merlots versus their Chilean counterparts. Leah wanted to cry. In a desperate move, she decided that during the next lull in the conversation, she would escape to one of the study lounges dotted around Washington Square. The guy next to her, the one in the navy suit, was bouncing his foot nervously under the table. He kicked her shin.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Leah shook her head. “No prob.”

He stared at her and then down to the table. “Fun.” He rapped on the cover of her book.

Shrugging, Leah replied, “It's better than Aristotle.”

“Hm.”

Leah wondered if he even knew who Aristotle was.

“So, are you reading that for fun?”

Leah burst out laughing, interrupting the concurrent conversation on the 2005 vintage. “Do you know anyone who reads Marx for fun?”

“Communists.”

“Leah gets off on all intellectual stuff. Don't cha, Ley?” Chuck chimed in.

“Oh yeah, porn for the brain,” Leah conceded. The guy smiled wryly. The rest gave her blank looks and returned to their conversation.

“Are you a student?”

“What do you think?”

“Well, you don't look like a communist.”

“And what do communists look like exactly?”

“I don't know. Pale, malnourished. I imagine they wear a lot of gray.”

Leah laughed. The conversation dwindled, but the yuppie kept glancing at her. In truth, she sized him up, too, out of the corner of her eye. Clean-cut and clean-shaven, he conformed to every stereotype Leah held about men in the banking world. He had straight, chestnut hair, cut short - too short for her taste, a light blue dress shirt that showed his torso to best advantage, and a blue and yellow striped tie around his neck. With warm hazel eyes and prominent cheekbones, he definitely fell on the better side of attractive, and despite Leah's disinclination for mainstream men, she had to admit that he was intriguing.

“So...religion is the drug of the people and all that,” he said, interrupting her examination.

“Opium of the masses.”

“Forgive my stupidity. You never answered my question.”

“Which was?”

“Are you a student?”

Leah leaned in close. “What if I told you I was a communist?” She lingered for a moment, studying his eye-color.

He chuckled. “I'd be very surprised.”

“You would?”

“I'd say most communists wouldn't approve of an expensive, graduate education.”

Leah snorted. “Or an expensive Yale education, either.”

“True, but I'm not a communist.”

“No, you're kidding." Leah turned away. Picking up Das Kapital and her notebook, she shoved them into her bag.

“I was at the wedding,” the man said again, referring to Jen and Chuck's ceremony. “I remember you.”

Leah smiled her annoyance. “I didn't realize I was that memorable.”

“Your toast was.”

Coloring, Leah resumed organizing her books. “Ugh, God. My mother didn't speak to me for a week after that speech.”

The man laughed. “I thought it was funny.”

“You're about the only one.”

“No, the 'Chuck's friends table' rated it quite highly.”

Leah finally smiled genuinely. “That makes me feel a bit better.”

“What was it you said? 'I knew Chuck was perfect for Jen when I saw that every single article of clothing he had on came from that season's Lacoste collection.'”

“I didn't say that!”

“Something like it.”

“It was J. Crew, not Lacoste.” Leah laughed along with the Yalie, who had risen a bit in her estimation. Her phone rang. It was Cherry, praise the Lord. Snapping it open, Leah replied, “Hey, Cherry. Yes...thanks. Yes...I'll be there in five. Bye.”

Leah hung up.

“Secret communist party meeting?” he asked.

“No. The library. I'm meeting a friend.” Leah stood. “Jen, Chuck, I'll see you on Saturday. Nice meeting you all.”

The man stood also and scooted his chair in to let her pass. “By the way,” he said quietly, “I'm Darcy. Darcy Fitzwilliam.”

“Leah Bennett.” She shook the hand offered to her.

“Good luck with that,” said Darcy, pointing at the book in her bag. Leah nodded and scrambled past him, relieved that she could get back to studying.

As she walked out of the cafe and past the window, Leah glanced inside and found Darcy still watching her. He smiled, and she caught herself smiling back. Then, she shook her head and wondered if any conversation involving Karl Marx could be considered flirting.

*

“Thanks, Frank,” Leah called over her shoulder, as she stepped out of her advisor's office.

“Yup. See you Friday.”

Sighing, Leah tread down the hall of the Philosophy department and hit the button for the elevator. As she waited for it to come, she stared down to her outline, rendered as indecipherable as hieroglyphics by the corrections in red pen. No matter how many books she read, how many different angles she took, he never even let her get past step one.

She pulled out her cell phone to answer a text left by Cherry several hours ago, inviting her to dinner that night. “Cant. Poor. Coffee in W Sq?” she typed.

The elevator arrived, and she stepped in. By the time she got out, Leah had already received her reply. “Cant. Working.”

“Right,” Leah muttered. On a Tuesday afternoon, most people would be at work. Cherry had recently gained lawful employment, as an assistant in a Harlem nonprofit. Sometimes Leah forgot that she wasn't in undergrad anymore, when most of her friends lived down the hall and had gaps of time in the afternoon to laze around Washington Square Park.

She had started grad school with the grand ambitions that most liberal arts majors from liberal universities graduate with. As an undergrad, Leah had been at the center of everything, treasurer of Students for Social Equality, active member of the Presidential Scholars program, a tutor for underprivileged kids at a Brooklyn high school. She had loved her studies, in particular, communist thought. In her senior year, she shocked her parents by announcing she was going to continue her education in this field. They had expected her to go on to law school, like her father and sister. Leah's mother, with whom Leah had never had a pleasant relationship, had been livid.

“What are you going to do with that? Why can't you do something practical like your sister? What's wrong with being a lawyer?”

“A communist! Your zeidy will be rolling in his grave!”

“We paid nearly $200,000 for college, and what? You want us to pay for four, five, six more years of a useless education?”

Leah knew of no other parent who thought a PhD wasn't good enough. But, that was Ruth Bennett, her mother, giver of life and migraines, who, Leah then noticed, had left a voice mail on her phone two hours ago, asking whether she was coming home that night for dinner. As Leah hadn't returned the call immediately, she knew her mother would be irate. Hitting redial, she waited for the phone to ring, for her mother to answer, and for them to get into yet another fight.

*

“Leah! Leah! I'm telling you, that girl will be the end of me. Leah!”

“What?” called Leah from the bathroom upstairs.

“Leah, where did you put the applesauce? You know your father will go absolutely cacamaimey if, God forbid, he doesn't have applesauce with his chicken.”

“It's in the closet, Ma.”

“Where?”

“The closet! I don't know. Where the other seventeen unopened jars of applesauce are.”

“Oh, found it!”

“Geez,” Leah muttered, threading the silver post of a hoop earring through her earlobe.

“Leah!”

“What! What, what, what, for God's sake, what?!”

Leah heard footsteps of her mother coming up the stairs. “I just wanted to...oh, Leah. We're having company. Can't you wear something nice, for a change?”

“This is nice.”

“Must you ruin every outfit you have with those awful boots?”

“I like these boots, and they're nothing Jen and Chuck have never seen before.”

Ruth Bennett sighed and put a hand on her hip. “Jenny's bringing a friend.”

“So?”

“Leah, please. Will you just listen to your mother for once? I bought you those black Enzo heels, and you never even wear them.”

“That's because I don't like them.”

“All right!” Ruth threw her hands in the air. “I feed you, I provide a roof over your head. I don't need to do these things, you know. You're twenty-seven. You refuse to get married or get a job...”

“I have a job.”

“A job with a salary! Not one where they deduct the money from your tuition.”

Leah sighed and looked to the tips of her vintage cowboy boots. Did she respond and cause World War 1573 in their house, or did she change her shoes?

“Okay, I'll change my shoes.”

From down the hall, Leah heard her father breathe a sigh of relief. Ruth continued to stand in the doorway of the bathroom, a deep frown on her face as she stared at her youngest.

“That eyeshadow makes you look like a stripper.”

“Ugh!” Leah groaned, pushing past her mother to get to her room. Ruth grumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Arguments like these were a common occurrence in the Bennett household. Ruth Bennett may have been a petite woman, but she was a hardliner. There was A-Way-to-Do-Things in Ruth Bennett's mind, and she ensured that everyone in her immediate sphere adhered to this Way, or else. Leah could do something as minor as forgetting to put the cap back on a pen and her mother would inevitably twist that into proof that Leah was going nowhere in life. She was lazy, a freeloader, an ungrateful daughter. Leah's father, David, had learned early on in his marriage to stay out of arguments like these, as he would usually be taken down in the crossfire.

The doorbell rang.

“That's them! Leah! David! Stop hiding in your rooms and get down here!” shouted Ruth. Sighing, Leah stood, glimpsed at herself in the mirror, and sighed again. She met her father in the hallway.

“Hey, shana. Don't you look pretty,” David complimented.

“Thanks, Dad. I hate the shoes.”

“The shoes look very pretty.”

“They hurt.”

“Your mother likes things her way.”

“Leah!! David!!”

“Coming!” They filed down the stairs.

Leah could already hear Jen's voice from the foyer. “Traffic was just awful. And now that there's this baby, it's just feels ten times worse.”

Leah rolled her eyes. Jen found a way to relate everything to the baby. Their father continued into the foyer to greet Jen and Chuck, while Leah held back, gathering her strength in the solitude of the living room.

“And Chuck,” Ruth kissed him loudly on the cheek.

“It smells great in here, Ruth.”

Ruth giggled. “You're a doll.”

“Let me introduce our friend. Ruth, David, this is my old roommate from Yale, Darcy Fitzwilliam...”

Leah's heart punched against her ribs. Darcy? The cute Karl Marx guy from the cafe?

“Thank you for having me, Mr. and Mrs. Bennett.”

“Ruth and David, please,” cooed Ruth. “So are you a doctor, too, Darcy?”

“I'm a financial analyst, actually.”

“Oh.” Ruth's voice dropped an octave, and Leah snickered. “Our other daughter is here somewhere. She's probably still in the bathroom with that makeup she loves so much. Leah!”

Leah's face turned crimson. “Yes,” she said, sheepishly appearing in the doorway. Leah was too embarrassed to even look at Chuck's friend.

“Jen and Chuck have brought a guest.”

“Yes, we've met before.”

“Have you?” Ruth said, suspicious of any interaction her daughter had outside of her presence.

“Come on, let's get out of this foyer and sit somewhere comfortable,” offered David.

“Leah, help me in the kitchen, please,” Ruth commanded.

From the corner of her eye, Leah glanced to Darcy. He was watching her. Somehow, Leah found that pleased her. Once away from their guests, Ruth began her play-by-play analysis.

“Well, with a name like Darcy Fitzwilliam, there's no way he's a Jew. It's so WASPy.”

“Ma! Lower your voice. He'll hear.”

Ruth waved off her daughter's warning and began slicing challah bread. “And a financial analyst. Anyone can work on Wall Street, but you need brains to be a doctor.”

“Oh, but I'm sure he'd loaded,” muttered Leah.

Ruth tsked. “Of course, he is. Most people who work for those big places just do it for the money. Did you see his watch? Omega.”

Leah shook her head in disgust. “I can't believe that's one of the first things that you noticed.”

“Men wear nice watches so that women can notice them. Leah, can you help, please, instead of just standing there? Here, put the asparagus into a serving dish. I'll give him this, though. He's a very attractive man. But, of course, in that WASPy kind of way.”

Her back turned against her mother, Leah let her jaw fall open.

“He looks like that actor, the one in that movie that just came out. You know?”

“Oh yeah. That guy.”

Ruth clucked. “You're too sarcastic for your own good. Come here, you have some shmootz on your dress.”

Ruth picked off a chunk of lint from Leah's shoulder. Smoothing the material, Ruth inspected her daughter and then smiled.

“You know, when you try, you're a very pretty girl, Leah.”

Her face softening, Leah shrugged.

“The problem is,” Ruth continued, “you don't try very often. Take this to the table.”

Sighing, Leah clicked through the kitchen and set down the basket of bread, catching sight of her reflection in the decorative mirror behind the dining room table. Instinctively, she smoothed out her deep brown curls and glanced to the living room, where Darcy sat with her father, Jen, and Chuck. Her mother was usually wrong about most things, but Leah was glad she had listened to her that evening and changed her shoes. Somehow, wearing the cowboy boots in front of Chuck's cute, but very straight-laced friend seemed embarrassing.

“Ohmigod, Leah,” Jen called from her vantage point in the living room, “Where did you get those shoes? They're really cute!”

What should she say? My mother bought them for me? I'm twenty-seven years old, and my mother buys my clothes? Leah opted for a simple, “Thanks.”

“They're a thousand times better than those awful boots that you have,” Jen added.

“The John Wayne ones?” Chuck chimed in. “Honey, I think you should get a pair of those. They're cute.”

Jen sniggered. Leah's eyes went instinctively to Darcy, who was staring at her legs, with or without derision, Leah couldn't be sure.

“Leah, can you take this to the table?” Ruth called from the kitchen, and Leah was forced to return. As she shuttled serving dishes loaded with food, she tried to recall what she'd been wearing the night she'd been studying Marx at the cafe. It had been Monday, but Leah remembered that she'd worn her favorite black tank top, her knee-length, acid-washed denim skirt, and - she cringed - the infamous boots. So he had already seen them. At least he had an accurate understanding of her fashion sense. Come to think of it, Leah wouldn't want Darcy thinking that she always wore gray dresses and Enzo heels. Then, Leah wondered why she'd been thinking of nothing but Darcy's impression of her clothes. What did that matter anyway?

“Alright, everyone, dinner is nearly ready, so let's light the Shabbos candles,” Ruth said, carrying two silver candlestick to the table.

They gathered around the table and watched as Ruth lit each candle and enchanted the Sabbath prayer in her Jersey-accented Hebrew. From across the table, Leah glanced to Darcy, aiming to determine his level of familiarity with the Shabbat ritual. Not that she cared if he were Jewish or not, although secretly she hoped he was, just to prove her mother wrong. After several seconds of staring, Leah couldn't determine his persuasion. The expression on Darcy's face was serene and observant. He held his body still, a marked contrast to the shifting or nervous fiddling of Leah's non-Jewish friends unaccustomed to Jewish rituals.

Suddenly, Darcy's eyes shifted from the bobbing flames of the candles to Leah. She looked away instinctively, a pink tinge spreading over her nose and cheeks. When she returned her eyes to him, it was like one of those moments from the movies that Leah had always thought unrealistic and cheesy. They were in a crowded room, she was flanked by her mother and sister, her father stood across the table, there were all kinds of ways that this unabashed staring could humiliate, and yet, Leah didn't look away. Nor did he. It wasn't normal or polite for two strangers to ogle each other. But Leah couldn't look away, even though her face, by that time, was scarlet and her heartbeat racing.

“Okay, let's eat!” her father announced.

“Is food all that you can think about?” Ruth chastised.

David shrugged good-naturedly.

“Oh, right. There's also football.”

Only then, could Leah break eye-contact. She sunk into her seat, mortified.

“Darce, ever tried kugel?” Chuck asked, passing him the porcelain dish.

He laughed. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don't think I've even heard of it.”

Blinking in mock-innocence, Ruth asked, “Now, are you of the Jewish faith?”

Leah sank deeper into the chair.

Again, Darcy laughed. “I'm not, although in our Yale days, Charles gave me a good introduction to it.”

In that nanosecond before replying, Ruth glanced to Leah with a knowing look. “I see. Well, kugel is a dish made out of egg noodles. The recipe was given to me by my grandmother, only I started putting cornflakes on the top since David won't eat it otherwise.”

David glanced up from his plate with a confused look, but said nothing. As a side note, Ruth added, “Leah won't eat it at all.”

“But, I love it,” added Jen. Leah sneered at her sister.

Darcy put a heaping square of the casserole on his plate, and Ruth smiled smugly. It was a victory for the kugel-lovers versus Leah. Once everyone had taken enough food and the meal began, Darcy sampled the kugel and pronounced it delicious. Ruth once again smiled complacently at her youngest. But, Leah noted, he chewed the dense casserole much more slowly than anything else and left a few remains on his plate once dinner had ended. At least Leah couldn't fault his manners.

Half of dinner was spent discussing Jen and the baby. The table received a detailed description of the ebbs and flows of Jen's morning sickness and how she could no longer smell ripe bananas without running for the bathroom. Ruth shook her head sympathetically, but Leah kept glancing towards Darcy to check for any signs of wanting to bolt for the door. Then again, he was friends with Chuck and Jen, so he'd probably already heard this account on several occasions, knowing Jen's propensity to talk of nothing but herself.

Chuck and Darcy helped clear the table, while Jen and Ruth began doing the dishes. David retreated to the den to watch the remainder of the Notre Dame-Penn State game. Leah sat on the living room sofa alone, thumbing through an old edition of Newsweek that she'd already read. The conversation in the kitchen turned to the yoga class Jen had begun taking. Eventually, Chuck also went the way of David Bennett and soon, Leah heard footsteps on the hardwood floors. Looking up, she felt her stomach tighten.

“Mind if I join you?” It was Darcy.

“Sure.” Leah closed the magazine and scooted over on the sofa.

“Can I ask you a question?” Darcy asked.

“Shoot.”

“Okay, I thought the Sabbath ended at sundown Saturday night.”

“It does.”

“So does your family always celebrate the Sabbath once it's over?”

Leah laughed. “Ah, see. We are a modern Jewish family. Chuck would never get out of work early enough on Fridays to get here, one. Two, Jen would never dream of giving up Friday Happy Hour with her girlfriends.”

Darcy smiled.

“The real secret is that we rarely do this. Ever since Jen got married, though, my mom's been on this family values kick. So there's your answer. We're not ritual Sabbath observers, so we improvise.”

“There's nothing wrong with family values. When I was a kid, I loved Sunday dinners. Now I live too far to go home for them, so this is nice.”

“But you get to leave tonight, whereas I get the continuing celebration of my mother's family values.”

Darcy chuckled. “Your mother's funny.”

“You wouldn't say that if she were your family.”

Darcy didn't reply, but chose to look straight at Leah's face with such forthrightness, she felt her cheeks flush.

“Um...so. I know your secret,” she said to divert him.

Leah saw his eyes widen. “You do?”

“Yeah. You really didn't like the kugel, did you?”

Darcy visibly relaxed and chuckled deeply. “Don't tell your mom.”

“I won't.”

“How could you tell?”

“Takes one to know one. We're kindred spirits. Kugel kindred spirits, I mean.”

“Well, we certainly disagree on politics, economics, and philosophy.”

Leah laughed. “Only the small stuff.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, everybody! Dessert!” called Jen from the dining room.

Leah raised her eyebrows. “Ever had bobka?”

“No. But, that I've heard of. It was on Seinfeld.”

“It's a known fact that all kugel-haters love bobka, so...”

“So what are we waiting for?”

Leah stood, brushed off her skirt, and led the way to the dining room, feeling a warm self-consciousness, the way one feels when they're imagining themselves through someone else's eyes. They sat down at opposite ends of the table. Nothing in their conversation had been provocative, but suddenly, Leah felt as if every sense in her body was attune to Jen and Chuck's friend. It was an unlikely attraction. Darcy, while handsome and engaging, certainly didn't resemble the kind of man who usually piqued Leah's interests. For one, his hair wasn't past his shoulders. He didn't have week-old stubble on his chin, nor did he wear T-shirts of obscure punk bands. Perhaps Leah was merely surprised that her dull older sister had a friend who could carry on a conversation about something other than the interior decorating of his apartment.

Come to think of it, it probably was only that. Satisfied, Leah took a bite of the flaky, chocolate bobka on her plate and then looked up at Darcy.

“Good, isn't it?”

“Yes,” he replied with warmth in his eyes, “very.”

Chapter 2

That night after everyone went home, the phone rang. Leah answered it from the cordless in her room.

“Oh, Leah. Good, it's you,” came Jen's voice.

“Hey, are you guys home yet?”

“We just dropped off Darcy.” Jen giggled.

“Okay...”

“So what do you think of him?”

“Who?” Leah narrowed her eyes at the receiver.

“Don't be thick. Darcy.”

“Darcy? Why?”

“No reason, Chuck and I just want to know.”

“Why?”

“Because we're your caring sister and brother-in-law. Now just answer the question.”

“He's...nice.”

“That's it? Don't you think he's cute?”

Leah rolled her eyes. It was middle school all over again. “Yes, I think he's cute.”

“She thinks he's cute,” Jen announced to the background where Leah surmised Chuck must have been. It was too ridiculous, but Leah was curious, so she swallowed Jen's bait.

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Oh, no reason.”

“Jennifer, you'd better tell me.”

“She's dying to know. Should I tell her?” Jen asked the background. Leah heard Chuck laugh.

“Well,” began Jen, clearly basking in her role as matchmaker, “let's just say that a certain man who we drove home tonight didn't say one word from Bergenfield to Midtown, and when Chuck asked him what he was thinking about, what do you think he said?”

Leah wanted to scream, “What! Just tell me, you melodramatic whore!” Instead, she steadied her voice and replied, “Hm?”

“He said, 'Your sister!'”

Leah said nothing, but she felt her stomach flutter.

“I quote, 'Your sister has good taste. That babka was fantastic.'”

Leah snorted. “That hardly even constitutes being a comment about me. It was more about the dessert.”

“God, you're so unromantic. Why wouldn't he just say, 'I was thinking about the babka?' Why would he even mention you, if he wasn't interested?”

“I don't know, Jen. Did he say anything else about me?”

“No, not really.”

“Then, we should automatically think that, by talking about my taste in pastries, Darcy and I are going to fall in love and get married and have seven kids?”

“I seriously hate you sometimes, Leah. I gotta go. We're almost home.”

“I hate you, too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Leah replaced the phone on its cradle. Sitting back on her bed, she stared at it, then down to her bedspread. “Well, why wouldn't he just say 'I was thinking about the babka?'”

She shrugged and decided not to read too much into her sister's yenta-esque tendencies, even though, for the next hour, she couldn't get her mind off of chocolate babka.

*

“And he likes my taste. That's what he told them,” Leah gloated into her cell phone.

“Ooh,” responded Cherry. “And what else?”

“That's it, actually.”

“Oh. Well, good taste is good. Cake and all that. You know, a way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”

“Yeah, but I'm not thinking about using his stomach to get to his heart.”

“Ooh, yeah. There are far more pleasurable organs, if you feel me.”

Leah laughed. “Dirty girl.”

A taxi laid on its horn for a good ten seconds at an over-eager pedestrian dashing across the street.

“Where are you?” Cherry asked.

“On the corner of 5th and 49th, waiting for my ever-unpunctual sister to show up so that we can go shopping for baby furniture together.”

“God, that sounds like hell.”

“She offered to buy me lunch. Knowing her, it will probably be somewhere expensive.”

“Make her take you for sushi. Anyway, back to this guy.”

“Right! I mean, I'm not thinking about any of his organs. He's not really my type.”

“Oh, forget that! All that bullshit about type is just in the mind.”

“No, it's a compatibility issue. He's a financial analyst, Cherry. He wears suits and probably buys the rest of his wardrobe at L.L. Bean.”

“So?”

“So, I think he's cute, but how are we supposed to have a conversation?”

“It seems like you've had two good ones already.”

“Those don't count.”

“Why not? Leah, you're cutting yourself off here. Every man deserves a chance.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Ruth may be a bitch sometimes, but she does have a point. You're always whining that you can't meet any normal guys. This guy sounds normal.”

“Yeah, too normal.”

“Please.”

“Okay, and he's also not Jewish.”

“Ooh, fun. Uncircumcised penises.”

“Cherry!”

“Uncircumcised guys are more sensitive, you know.”

Leah tried to control her laughter. “Yeah, that means it'll only take him two minutes to...oh, there's Jen. Wish me luck.”

“Okay, call me back after the Me-fest is over.”

Leah groaned. “That's what I get for wanting a nice meal.”

“You sushi whore. Talk to you later.”

Leah closed her cell phone just as Jen crossed the street.

*

As it turned out, the subject of Darcy Fitzwilliam became a moot point. One month passed in which Jen and Chuck, consumed with thoughts of the upcoming baby, and Leah, consumed with getting past the outline stage of her thesis, didn't mention anything about Darcy. He soon slipped from Leah's mind, which was just as well, since she had never seriously entertained the thought of a relationship with him.

Coming down the steps of the New York Public Library, Leah wrapped her scarf around her neck. It was one of the first chilly days of the year. The sky was a deep, cloudless blue, the taxis laid off of their horns, and no one rammed into her trying to make whatever important appointment they were running to. It was one of those rare but perfect New York City days, and Leah no longer wanted to be trapped in the library.

Trekking a few blocks uptown, she found the gyro lunch cart that Cherry always raved about. A line a dozen people long snaked down the street; Leah was the only person in it not dressed for business. It was a little past one, after all. Lunch hour for Midtown's employed.

Once Leah had gotten her gyro, she sat on a bench in a high-rise courtyard. Businessmen streamed in and out of the building, some leisurely, some nearly running. A steady flow of taxis stopped, dropped off, and then collected new passengers at the steps to the courtyard. The heartbeat of New York City, Leah figured, was measured in taxi doors opened and slammed. She took a large bite of gyro and moaned when a saucy piece of meat fell on her beige pants.

Dabbing at it with a napkin, Leah was so engrossed in rescuing her pants that she barely noticed when two men got out of a cab right in front of her.

“Leah?”

Snapping her head up, her eyes and heart nearly popped out of her body when she saw Darcy and another blonde, good-looking man standing in front of her, both holding briefcases.

“Hi!” Leah exclaimed, her voice higher than a soprano's. “Hi. Wow. What are you doing here?”

“I work here. In this building. For Derby & Shire Securities. What about you?” Darcy grinned at her.

Scrambling to find words in the face of two handsome men in well-tailored suits, Leah blurted, “Eating lunch.”

There was a short pause.

“I dropped some on my pants,” Leah continued, immediately coloring.

“That's too bad. Here,” Darcy said, opening his briefcase. He rummaged around and then pulled out a wet nap.

Laughing, Leah gratefully accepted it. “Thanks.”

“He keeps a first aid kit in there,” interjected Darcy's friend. “Band-aids, tissues, the whole lot.”

Leah smiled. Darcy seemed less amused, looking askance at his friend.

“I'm Richard, by the way. I work with Darcy.” Richard held his hand out and beamed dashingly at Leah.

Leah returned his handshake.

“Mind if we join you?” Richard asked. “We haven't eaten yet, and it's always nice to have some female companionship for lunch.”

“Sure,” Leah responded. “I can be your token female companion.” She thought she saw the flicker of a smirk crinkle the corner of Darcy's eyes.

“Gyros okay, bud?” Richard asked.

Darcy nodded, saying nothing.

“Don't miss us while we're gone,” added Richard. Leah saw Darcy glare at his friend with weary eyes.

“Oh, don't worry. I won't.”

They walked off to the gyro cart, and Leah regretted her parting words. His friend was spitting out some bad pick-up lines, but she didn't want Darcy to think that she found him cheesy and irritating, because that wasn't the case at all.

It took both men several minutes to order and receive their sandwiches. By the time they returned, Leah had finished hers and was still dabbing patiently at the stain on her thigh. The small bench barely provided enough room for the three, and Leah found her left thigh plastered to Darcy's right. Their shoulders touched.

“Thanks for this,” she said to Darcy. “You're my pants' hero.”

“Anything for your pants,” Darcy replied, to which both burst out laughing. The weird tension dissipated. “I'm sorry, that came out wrong.”

Leah felt relief that Darcy no longer appeared annoyed.

“So you came all the way out to Midtown for lunch?” Darcy asked, in between bites of his gyro.

“No. I was at the library on 42nd , and I wanted to try the food here.”

“Here? Why?” Richard broke in.

“The gyros are supposed to be really good. They're quite famous, actually.”

“No kidding. We come to this place at least three times a week, and I'm sick of them. Every time we joke that we'll shoot ourselves if we have to eat another gyro. Isn't that right, Darce?”

“Yes.” The frost had returned.

“I thought my gyro was really good,” smiled Leah.

“So how do you know old Darce?”

“Um, he's a friend of my brother-in-law.”

“Chuck,” Darcy grumbled.

“So that would make you Jen's sister.”

“Do you know Jen?” asked Leah.

“We've met once or twice through Darcy. You two are nothing alike.”

Leah shrugged. “Everyone says that.”

“I think you're a lot cuter than she is.”

Darcy got a piece of sandwich caught in his throat and started coughing.

“She's married,” reprimanded Leah. “You shouldn't be checking her out.”

Richard grinned. “You're not married, are you?”

“No, I'm not.”

Darcy frowned his displeasure.

“Glad to hear it. So why were you at the library?” Richard asked.

“I needed a book for my dissertation.”

“You're in school?”

“I'm getting my Ph D.”

Richard whistled. “There's nothing sexier than a woman with brains.”

“Yes, I'm sure.” Leah raised an eyebrow doubtfully, about to explode with either peals of laughter or a tart eye-roll at Richard's obvious flirting.

“It's true!”

“Well, your flattery has not gone unnoticed. I thank you for making the effort.”

“And would you rather I say there's nothing sexier than a ditzy blonde in a teddy?”

“Richard, women with brains,” Leah said, tilting her head, “don't like being pandered to”

Richard laughed. “Your friend's cute, Darce. I'm going to get back to the office. Leah, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Likewise,” said Leah, plastering on a fake smile.

Once he was gone, Leah dabbed at the now faded stain. Darcy had just finished the last bite of his gyro and balled up the paper wrapper.

“Is your friend always so suave?” Leah asked drolly.

“Yes.”

“Doesn't that get annoying?”

Darcy stared down to Leah. “Do you think so?”

“You don't?”

“Well, I do, but the women in the office seem to think differently.”

Leah shrugged. “That's not my type.”

At this, a relaxed smile played at the corners of Darcy's mouth. He stared at her in that same curious way he had stared at her on the sofa during Shabbat dinner. Blushing, Leah looked down to her lap.

“I'm sorry you had to be subjected to that,” he apologized.

“It's not your fault your friend has some of the worst pick-up lines I've ever heard.”

“We're work buddies, but not really friends.” Suddenly, Darcy checked his watch. “Shoot. I'm sorry, Leah, but I have a one thirty meeting. I should get going.”

“Okay,” she stammered, wondering if their acquaintance would end there. Suddenly, suit or not, she realized she didn't want it to. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“Yes,” Darcy replied. He opened his mouth to say more, but instead picked up his briefcase and bid Leah goodbye.

There's nothing like a retreating backside to stir up regret. As he jogged through the courtyard, Leah felt a slug of disappointment. Darcy may have looked preppy, conservative, and serious, but Leah wondered whether he might be more her type than a guy like Richard. She wouldn't mind going on a date with Darcy, at least. He was cute and affable. It probably wouldn't be the worst date she'd been on. Picking up her bag, Leah sighed and strode through the courtyard. She reached the steps before hearing someone call her name across the crowded space.

“Leah!”

Turning back, she saw Darcy jogging towards her. As he got closer, Leah noticed that he held a business card in his fingers. Darcy looked down at her, without making eye contact, and stuttered, “Um, I'd like it if you called me. That is, if you want.”

Practically pushing the card into her hand, Darcy didn't wait for her reply. He strode away with his gaze to the floor, as Leah watched him vanish into the building. With her heart galloping, she stared down to the plain business card, where, in small, concise handwriting, Darcy had written in: Cell - [phone].
*
Pros
Funny and smart
Cute!!!
Spark? Chemistry? There's something there
Gave me his number=call me=would be very rude not to

Cons
Not my “type”
Obvious Republican persuasions
Weird friends (Richard, Chuck)
Mom wouldn't approve ( <- so NOT a factor)

Leah studied her list. She had spent the past ten minutes thinking of the fourth con against Darcy that would tip the balance towards not calling. As it stood, all signs pointed to pro. Then, it hit her. Under the “Con” column, Leah scribbled: “I'm a wuss.”

Leah threw down her pen. “This is ridiculous.”

Picking up the business card in one hand and her cell phone in the other, she dialed Darcy's number. The moment it rang she immediately regretted calling, but now that her number would appear in his call log, she couldn't hang up. Her mouth felt sticky. The phone rang twice, then three times, and just when she thought she'd get away with a message on the voicemail, he picked up.

“Hello?” He sounded exasperated.

“Um, hi. This is Leah Bennett. If this is a bad time, I can call you back.”

“Leah, hi,” melted his voice. “How are you?”

“Um, good. Yeah, and you?”

“Good. Listen, can I call you back in two minutes? I just got out of the shower, and I'm dripping all over the carpet.”

“Sure, no problem.” Leah squeezed her eyes shut, trying to trap the salacious images flashing through her head.

“Thanks. Two minutes.”

“I've already started the timer.”

He chuckled. It sounded like aural porno. “Okay, bye.”

Leah hung up the phone and bolted downstairs. She needed water desperately and guzzled a glass in under a minute. Hurrying back upstairs, she flopped on her bed, waiting. It took him two minutes and twenty-one seconds to call back.

“You're twenty-one seconds late,” Leah said when she answered the phone.

“Damn, I thought you wouldn't notice.”

“I wasn't joking about the timer.”

“I didn't think you would call after the way I acted the other day.”

“Yes, well, I had to think it over seriously. I made a pro and con list.” Leah winced. A comment like that fell under the category of things you weren't supposed to tell a guy on the first phone call.

But, Darcy laughed. “Yeah? What did you come up with?”

“Let's see. Cons: definitely not my type, bizarre choice of friends, possibly a Republican.”

“You got one right.”

“As long as it's not the Republican one.”

“Ouch. And the pros?”

Leah tittered uncomfortably. “Maybe another day.”

“When?”

“When?” Leah repeated, feeling dumb.

“Yes, you pick the day.”

“Um...”

“Tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, sure. Where?” Leah raised her eyebrows at the phone, impressed at Darcy's decision-making skills.

“Wherever. Is there anywhere you'd like to go?”

“I only know divey places in Alphabet City.”

“I only know pretentious places in Tribeca. Let's meet at the Washington Square Arch and take it from there. Is seven thirty okay?”

“Okay, what should I wear? I mean, are we going somewhere super fancy?”

Darcy paused. “I kinda like those cowboy boots.”

“Yeah, you're definitely a Republican.”

Darcy laughed. “The boots have nothing to do with my political inclinations.”

Leah swallowed, feeling the meaning Darcy had wanted to convey. “Okay. See you tomorrow, then.”

“Goodnight.”

*

Ruth rapped on the door to her daughter's room.

“Come in.”

Leah lie sprawled on the floor reading a novel with a half-empty glass of orange juice next to her. She glanced up warily to her mother who was leaning against the door frame.

“You're not going to campus today?” Ruth asked.

“No.”

Ruth sighed dramatically. “Why?”

“Because.”

Ruth began tapping her foot.

“Because I have something important tonight, and I didn't want to drag my books around or be dog-tired after standing on my feet all day.”

“May I ask what this `something important' is?”

“God, Ma!”

“A mother has the right to pry,” Ruth said casually.

“It's a date.”

“A date. That's...nice.”

“Go ahead. I know you want to pump me for information,” Leah said, feeling the restraint in her mother's voice.

“What's he like?”

“Rich and successful. Happy?”

Ruth narrowed her eyes at Leah. “No, you should be at school, trying to graduate, so that you don't have to pay for another year of tuition.”

“Or, I could marry this guy and then have enough money to pay back my tuition and still afford a country club membership and my very own BMW.” Leah rolled over and arched an eyebrow at her mother.

“Leah,” Ruth sighed, “sometimes I don't know where I went wrong with you.”

“You're assuming something's wrong with me.”

Ruth sighed again, more dramatically this time. “I hope you have fun on your date. I'm going to work.”

Leah sang her goodbyes and returned to her novel.

*

“I have to be honest with you,” Leah said, setting down her glass, “I've never had a first date like this.”

“Like what?” Darcy asked.

“Like to a restaurant. That serves actual meals.”

“As opposed to those other restaurants that serve used auto parts?”

Leah laughed. “No. Like to bars or Starbucks.”

“You've been taken on a first date to Starbucks?” Darcy furrowed his eyebrows.

“My last boyfriend, actually. He was a 'free spirit.' That's code for cheapskate.”

Darcy smiled sympathetically. “I thought you would vehemently oppose the globalization and gentrification represented by Starbucks.”

“In theory, I do. But, in practice, I'm a big supporter of coffee shops that will let you stay there the whole day, even if you only order a $1.50 cup of tea.”

“But you still prefer that other cafe,” Darcy said, referring to the place where they'd first met.

“I do.”

“So what do you think?”

“What do I think about what?”

“About your first date to a restaurant. Am I disappointing you?”

“No, you're doing a good job.”

Darcy smiled.

“But, we're only on drinks so far,” warned Leah. “And salad's next. You could get some lettuce stuck in your teeth.”

“Are you the kind of woman who won't call a guy back over a misstep like that?”

“Depends on how nice the overall package is. Don't worry, since you got me flowers, I'll overlook any lettuce. But only this time.”

“That's pretty generous of you.”

A silence elapsed, one that, while not uncomfortable, would inevitably embarrass two people on a first date.

“So, this is pretty unexpected,” Leah finally said.

Darcy frowned. “Sorry, I run out of words when I'm nervous.”

“No. No, I mean, this. Us.” Leah gestured from herself to Darcy.

“Why's that?”

Leah leaned across the table. “You're telling me you always date women who wear cowboy boots? Or who have no job? Or who are sympathetic to the socialist cause?”

“No, not really. But, when you put it that way, what do you see in me? Why did you call me?”

“Because you asked me to. I thought it would be very rude not to,” Leah said jokingly.

“And was that on your pro and con list?”

Leah turned scarlet. “Yes, as a matter of fact. It was.”

“Are you going to tell me what else was on that list?” Darcy folded his hands on the table and leaned in, taunting Leah.

“No.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Darcy leaned back in his seat. “I thought that was the condition of this date.”

“Is that the only reason you asked me out? Because you wanted me to fluff up your ego?”

“No. I like you, Leah. That's why I asked you out. Because you're smart, and you're engaging, and you're beautiful. And I'd feel that way regardless of the cowboy boots or the slightly odd political views.”

Surprised into speechlessness, Leah reached for her water glass and downed a huge gulp. She nodded. “That was kind of the gist of my pro list, too. Not the...uh, beautiful thing, though. Cute. I wrote cute. And thank you. For the compliments.”

Darcy chuckled. “I still can't believe you made a pro-con list.”

“I can't believe a Republican called my political views odd!”

Darcy laughed, and they continued their mock-sparring until the salads arrived.

*

After dinner, Darcy walked Leah to the subway station, and they held hands. The giddy mood had calmed as dinner progressed, and Leah had stayed out longer than she planned. It was close to eleven o'clock.

“Did you have fun?” Darcy asked.

“Yeah, I did.”

“That's good. I did, too.”

Leah smiled.

“Can I see you again?” Darcy stroked Leah's knuckles with his thumb.

“You name the time and place, and I'll be there.”

“Friday night? We could go for drinks, then dinner.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Can you come uptown and meet me at my office? Say, seven?”

“I'll be there.”

“Great.” Darcy pulled her to face him. With great concentration, he stroked the curls framing Leah's cheeks. Her heartbeat sped up, instinctively feeling what would come next. Darcy brought Leah's mouth to his and kissed her. The pressure of his lips hit like a warm wind.

“I hope that wasn't too forward of me,” Darcy whispered.

“Well, I didn't slap you, did I?”

Darcy answered with another, lingering kiss. And another. Before Leah realized it, they were making-out in the middle of the street, something which she strongly objected to when it came to other face-sucking couples, but which, with Darcy, she couldn't and didn't want to stop.

After surfacing, Leah took a moment to collect herself. Darcy cleared his throat.

“Are you sure you're going to be okay? It's pretty late to be taking the subway. And the bus for that matter,” he said.

“I'll be fine. I've been doing this for years.”

“Okay. Just please be careful. Can you call me when you get home?”

“I will. Darcy?”

“Yes?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

Darcy looked at her questioningly.

“For the meantime, please don't tell Chuck or Jen about us. I just want to enjoy this right now, without listening to them gloat every time I mention you.”

Nodding, Darcy replied, “I perfectly understand. Let's just keep this between us for now. In a little while, we can let your sister feel like she was instrumental in arranging it all.”

Leah laughed, touched his cheek affectionately, and planted a chaste kiss on his lips before descending the steps to the subway. At the bottom, she looked back and saw Darcy standing there. He waved and Leah slipped around the corner to the subway turnstiles, a satisfied grin lighting up her face.

Chapter 3

Leah watched the lights on the highway rhythmically speed by. The bus was quiet, save for the roar of the engine. At this time of the night, most of the commuters were already home, and the bus was mostly empty. She replayed her kiss with Darcy, lolling in the pleasure of its memory. But somewhere behind the warm-fuzzies, Leah felt guilt gnawing through her happy recollection like moths through a wool sweater.

She had lied to Darcy. A very white lie, but nevertheless, a lie. And she didn't want to mar something that felt so good with deception.

Of course, one of the reasons she wanted Darcy to keep their budding relationship a secret was because she wanted to spare herself from her sister's I-told-you-so's. Jen and Chuck would gloat and cluck like roosters. But the main reason lay in the more formidable Bennett, her mother. Leah had dated non-Jews before. Her mother hadn't liked it, but Leah had always brushed off the snarky comments. Those boys had always been a joke - guys met at a bar, favors to Cherry. Somehow, this time felt different. Leah was twenty-seven. Both she and her mother knew that relationships meant much more now than they did two years ago, when she had been with her last serious boyfriend. At twenty-seven, relationships weren't just about companionship on Saturday nights, they were about companionship until death do us part.

And something in particular about Darcy had set up Leah's defenses. She didn't want to hear her mother's lamentations. She didn't want to hear how horrified her Zeidy, a rabbi when he was alive, would be if he knew his granddaughter was dating a goy. She didn't want to hear about the 5,000-something-year struggle of her people to practice their religion freely, only to have the twelve tribes of Israel toppled by Leah Bennett's hormones.

Her mother was nuts, and she just wanted to go out to dinner with a man she liked without it bringing on the apocalypse. After all, it wasn't like she was going to marry the guy.

*

Leah buried her head in her arms and sighed dramatically. Rubbing her back, Cherry consoled her, “He's a jerk. Come on, cheer up. You'll get over it...someday.”

“Yeah, right. You know, I really thought it would work. Yeah, it seemed unexpected, but that was what was so brilliant about it!”

“To be honest, I really didn't see the connection, but I'm not the doctoral candidate.”

Leah glared up to Cherry with burning eyes. “You're not supposed to see the connection. It was a subtle, yet powerful, influence. Lenin wrote about it in his journals!”

“Okay,” Cherry conceded, holding up her hands, “you're Miss Communist Theory, not me.”

Feeling her eyes begin to pool again, Leah sobbed, “He asked me what I'd been doing for the whole semester in Research Methodology. He said this was basic stuff and that 'I needed to ground myself more in the text, not flights of imagination.'”

“Oh, honey...”

“Cherry, I've really begun to hate all of this. The TA gig I don't mind. The grading papers, the seminars. But, if I have to spend one more day in the library, I'm going to eat my hand off!”

Frowning, Cherry popped a stick of gum in her mouth. She offered one to Leah, who slipped it out of the pack and began unwrapping it slowly. “Please don't eat your hand off.”

“I might! I just might!”

“Leah, you only just started your dissertation. It can take years for some people.”

Sniffling, Leah whined, “I know.”

Cherry leaned back in her chair, watching her friend wallow in self-pity. Leah's nose was red from crying. She had smudges of mascara rimming the bottom of her eyes. Glancing at her watch, Cherry realized that Darcy would be meeting them there soon.

“Honey, Darcy's going to be here in a few minutes, and you've run your mascara.”

“Oh, shit!” Leah began rummaging through her bag, pulling out a powder compact from the bottom. She opened it and began fixing her ruined makeup. Stuffing her hand back into her bag, she pulled out a tube of mascara.

“Most people have a makeup bag,” commented Cherry.

“Not me. What's the point? Do I look okay?”

“All of that crying has given your cheeks a nice, natural flush. But you need lip gloss.” More digging in the bag procured a lint-encrusted tube.

“Now do I look okay?”

Cherry smiled. “He's going to be as charmed as ever.”

For the first time that evening, Leah smiled. “I hope you like him.”

“From what you tell me about him, I'm sure I will. Either that, or I'll totally hate him.”

“Cherry!”

“I hated Malcolm, didn't I?”

“Malcolm was a loser. Darcy is...not.” Leah's face adopted a dreamy smile that frankly alarmed Cherry.

“I still can't believe that you, of all people, are dating a drone.”

“He's not a drone.”

Cherry clucked and shook her head. “You have it bad.”

Leah didn't respond. Pretending to pout, she couldn't maintain the offended veneer and began to giggle. “I know. You'll see, Cherry, he's just so cute and nice and polite and just so...so different.”

“He'd better be. He's the reason I haven't been able to see my best friend in two weeks.”

Leah frowned. “I know. I promise I'll make it up to you.”

“Sure, you will. Hey, some really tall guy is waving at us.”

“That's him!” Leah waved her fingers at him, beaming. Cherry groaned and received a swift kick to the shins.

“Sorry I'm late,” Darcy said, approaching the table.

“Actually, you're three minutes early. I'm Cherry Lucas.” Cherry stood and offered her hand.

“Darcy Fitzwilliam. I've heard so much about you. It's great to finally meet.”

Casting her eyes up and down Darcy's body, Cherry responded, “Likewise.”

If Darcy were nervous about his prone position under the microscope, he didn't show it. He turned to Leah and kissed her softly on the mouth. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she replied in a voice Cherry had never heard her friend use.

Darcy sat. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“White wine, please,” Leah answered.

“Cherry?”

Cherry's eyes widened. “Um...sure. I'll have a Corona. With a lime.”

Nodding, Darcy headed towards the bar to order. Cherry looked at Leah, opening her mouth dramatically. “He's buying us drinks?”

“You see?”

“Oh my God, that's so gentlemanly!”

“He's a gentleman!”

“Does he have a friend?”

Leah chuckled and stared back at Darcy. “Yes, in fact.”

“Hello, hook a sista' up!”

“I'll see what I can do.”

Darcy returned with Leah's white wine and a bottle of Corona. Making one last trip back to the bar to pick up his own drink, he returned to impressed stares from both women.

“Thanks for this,” Cherry said, shoving the lime inside the bottle and clinking glasses with him.

“Don't mention it.”

“So, I was planning this really big and dramatic Best Friend Speech for you, but I guess I can't use it now.” Cherry took a swig of beer.

Darcy smiled amusedly at Leah. “Best Friend Speech?”

“You don't want to know,” Leah said.

“Yeah, you know, `if you hurt her, I'll call in my brother and his Crips friends, and we'll make you pay for it.' That kind of thing.”

“I've bought your favor with a bottle of Corona, then? Not bad.”

“I'm easily pleased,” Cherry responded. Then, she narrowed her eyes at Darcy. “But don't hurt her.”

Leah laughed. “Okay, Cherry. You've fulfilled your duty.”

“So tell me, Darcy,” Cherry asked, leaning close to Leah's boyfriend, “what are your friends like?”

*

“I still think that it's pure selfishness and navel-gazing,” Darcy said.

“But don't you see? They're just trying to express the modern condition. The very selfishness and navel-gazing of their time.”

It was Sunday, close to midnight. Darcy and Leah strolled somewhere above Midtown. They had met early, at noon for lunch, then went to the Guggenheim, and for coffee afterwards. Their official date was supposed to have ended there, but in the cafe, afternoon turned to dusk, so they naturally started discussing dinner. After nearly two hours in a sushi bar, they felt obligated to leave when the waiter continued to ask them every ten minutes if they needed something else. So they went to a Starbucks around the corner and talked on the purple couches until the shop closed at ten-thirty. While a half-hearted effort was made to walk Leah to the subway station, they had passed the 72nd Street station an hour ago.

“Leah, it was a canvas with one brush stroke. Expression is one thing. Art is another. Art is about beauty, and that was just a brush stroke.”

Leah threw her hands up into the air. “Leave it to a banker to appreciate modern art!”

Darcy grinned. “Leave it to an NYU student to get riled up over art theory.”

Looking askance at him, Leah rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling self-depreciatively. Hooking an arm around her waist, Darcy pulled her to him. “Hey, I want to show you something.”

“What's that?”

Darcy stopped and pointed to the top of a building that seemed a block or so eastward.

“It's an apartment building,” Leah observed.

“It's my apartment building.”

“Very nice.”

Kissing the nape of her neck, Darcy murmured into her hair. “Why don't you come back with me?”

Leah chuckled.

“I could rile you up with some Keynesian theory. It would be really hot.”

“I've got to get home tonight, Darcy. I have to be back here for school tomorrow.”

“It's nearly tomorrow,” Darcy said, planting a kiss under her earlobe.

“Darcy...”

He pulled away. “Okay, okay. I understand. No Keynes.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No, it's okay. I'm sorry.” Darcy's face revealed disappointment.

They walked to the subway stop in silence.

“I'll call you when I get home, okay?”

“Please.”

Taking his face in her hands, Leah whispered, “Soon, okay? Just not yet.”

Darcy nodded, relief flooding his face. Tilting her head, Leah pressed her mouth on his, feeling her whole body melt under him. They parted, oblivious to the world, until Leah turned to take the stairs and came face-to-face with a very wide-eyed, open-jawed Jen and Chuck.

“Oh. My. God,” exclaimed Jen. “What are you two doing?”

“Jen! What the hell are you doing here? This isn't your stop,” Leah cried.

“They were doing construction, so we got off here. What's going on?” she said, beaming from Darcy to Leah.

Chuck laughed. “I don't believe it. This is the girl you told me about? Little Leah is the reason I haven't been able to get you out in three weeks?”

Leah's face had gone up in flames. “Shut up, Chuck.”

“Wait! Wait! You have to tell me how this happened,” Jen screeched. “See, honey, I told you she liked him. When were you going to tell us about this, Leah? I can't believe you kept this a secret from us.”

Jen jumped up the last flight of steps and grabbed Leah's hand. “You have to tell me everything.”

“I have to go home.”

“Oh my God, I could just die. Chuck and I had talked about it, but we just figured Darcy would never go for you because - oh, never mind. But, this is great.”

The expression on Leah's face must have changed because she felt Darcy touch her back supportively. Leah's heart began pounding in her chest. Her first instinct was to scream at Jen to shut her mouth. The second was to beg her not to say anything to their mother, but Leah couldn't very well do that in front of Darcy. Besides, she figured begged or not, Jen and Chuck would let it slip somehow. Her game was up. Suddenly, she felt like puking.

“Jen, I'm sorry, but you know Mom will freak if I don't get home soon. I've gotta go.”

“You can sleep at our place! I just have to know how this happened, or I will explode from the anticipation.”

Leah looked desperately at Darcy.

“Why don't you let Leah get back, and I can fill you guys in on the walk to your apartment?” he offered.

Not the ideal solution, thought Leah, but it made her appreciate Darcy even more. She could have slept at Jen's, but she was TAing tomorrow, and all of her materials were at home.

“Thanks,” Leah said quietly. “I'll call you.”

Leah prayed that Jen had the forethought, knowing Darcy's religion, not to reveal everything to their mother. As she made her way down the stairs, she could still hear her sister's hysterics from the street above. She knew at that moment, that all of the prayers in the world wouldn't make Jen see reason. Not when there was a succulent secret, just waiting to be divulged.

*

It seemed, however, than Jen and Chuck were more perceptive than Leah gave them credit for. A day passed, then several more, until finally it was Sunday again, and her mother had so far said nothing about Darcy. What she never failed to comment on, however, was Leah's noticeable absences as of late. Leah figured they pleased her mother; not being at home meant that Leah was at the library. She gave excuses for returning home late, saying that she had fallen asleep while studying, which she had done many times previously, or had been out with Cherry and the gang. For all Leah knew, her mother bought the excuses as Ruth never once pressed the issue. Ruth's behavior towards her daughter had only changed in one regard: Since Leah wasn't around as much, they got into less fights.

The past few days had been difficult for Leah. She had seen Darcy only once since Sunday's debacle. He had a major presentation in Boston on Thursday and Friday, which he had worked late on Wednesday to prepare. For her part, Leah had a backlog of midterm papers to grade for her two Intro to Western Philosophy discussion groups. With twenty students in each group and ten pages per paper due back in time for Monday's lecture, she imprisoned herself in a cafe of undisclosed location for the weekend, so that she wouldn't be the only TA delinquent with her grading, like last time.

Leah and Darcy placated their desire to see each other with minute-eating phone calls. Even though she knew she had gone over the allotted time of her monthly plan, Leah continued to use her cell to send and receive calls. The land line was too risky; her mother could answer it at any time.

Aside from getting caught by Jen and the mounting cell phone costs, Leah sensed that she could no longer keep the secret. Her thoughts were with Darcy too much; she had become absent-minded, grinning to herself in the oddest places when she recalled bits of their time together, and constantly talked about him with Cherry and her other friends. Besides, her feelings ached to express themselves physically. Being with Darcy, touching him, but not really being with him or touching him in the ways she wanted, had, especially in their five-day sabbatical from each other, become a hair-tearing exercise. On Saturday night, they had nearly engaged in a steamy bout of phone sex until Leah's cell phone battery died, and she realized she'd left the charger at school.

Darcy had expressed his desire to have her spend the night at his apartment. Although he spoke in euphemisms, he had more or less said that he wanted sweaty, prolonged, copious sex - a feeling which Leah shared. And while they could probably get away with holing themselves in during the day on weekends, Leah knew that this inevitably brought the sorrow and depression of parting at night, when the opposite was certainly more natural.

The final indicator that Leah needed to confess to her mother came during a phone conversation she had with Darcy on Sunday night, when Leah needed a break from grading papers.

“So have you thought about what I asked you the other night?” Darcy asked her.

“About?”

“About spending Thanksgiving weekend with my family in Connecticut.”

“Oh, that. I have thought about it.”

“And?”

“Are you sure your family won't mind? I'd feel like an intruder.”

“You wouldn't be intruding,” Darcy protested. “Besides, I asked my mother, and she's really eager to meet you.”

Leah gulped. “If it's okay with your mother, then I'd love to. I just have to make sure we're not doing anything special here first. Although I doubt we are. We never do.”

“Okay, just let me know sometime next week. My mother's going to the farm for the turkey on Saturday.”

“The farm?”

“Yeah, we hand-pick our turkey.”

Leah laughed. “That's so cruel.”

“No crueler than anyone else having turkey for Thanksgiving.”

“I don't know. I like to keep my bird anonymous. Don't you feel guilty, deciding which turkey's life you'll be ending in a few days?”

“They all meet the same fate anyway.”

“But don't you personally feel guilty?”

“No.”

After a ten-minute discussion on turkeys, they finally decided that was probably best to buy the turkey from the supermarket like everyone else. In any case, she told Darcy that she would get back to him that week about Thanksgiving.

She hung up and swallowed hard, wondering how she could weasel her way out of a Bennett Family Thanksgiving without arousing her mother's suspicions. She figured even for a pro weasel like herself, the feat just couldn't be done. She would have to confess all.

*

Leah settled on telling her father the truth. She hoped that, taking pity on his youngest, he would offer to pass on the information for her.

“Daddy?” Leah said, looming at the doorway of the den.

Her father, engrossed in the television, grunted. As it was Sunday night, David Bennett was in an NFL-induced coma.

“Just wait until after this play, Leah,” her father said.

Leah heard the referee's whistle, the roar of the crowd, and the commentator's voice nearly screaming the play-by-play as the Jets tried to make a first down. The quarterback made an incomplete pass, and her father gestured at the TV in disgust.

“They're going to have to go for the field goal now. You suck, Brady.”

“Daddy?”

“Oh, I'm sorry, shana. What is it?”

“Is now a bad time?”

“No, it's a commercial break. The Jets are really messing up their chances this season. But anyway, did you want to talk about something?”

“I was wondering if you knew what we were doing for Thanksgiving.”

David frowned. “Baby, you know I never know these things. You'll have to ask your mother.”

Just as Leah feared. “I mean, is it just going to be us like it always is?”

“I think so. I haven't heard otherwise. Why?”

“Well, because actually, I thought if we weren't doing anything special, that I might go to a friend's house for dinner...” The NFL theme song alerted David that the game was back from commercial break. He glanced briefly at the screen and then at his daughter. “...Um, he lives in Connecticut, so I'm invited to stay the whole weekend. Do you think it would be okay?”

Leah knew she had lost her father to football when he only grunted in response. She sighed in frustration. No wonder her mother always got so mad.

“Dad?”

“Oh! I'm sorry baby. It's okay with me if it's okay with your mo...Oh! Lindell, you shmuck! How could you miss that field goal?” Her father threw his hands up, his face stormy. “There goes the game. God damn!”

Rolling her eyes, Leah retreated to the hallway. What was it about football that turned the most sensible of men into deaf, dumb, and blind Neanderthals? She would have to steel herself and face her mother alone.

*

“Hi, Ma,” Leah said gaily, nearly bouncing into the living room where her mother sat with the crossword puzzle.

Setting down her pencil, Ruth replied, “What can I do for you, my dear?”

“Dad said we were doing the usual for Thanksgiving this year.”

“Your father has his head on cloud nine. I told him that we were inviting the Bings over.”

“Is that it?”

“Your Uncle Isaac might come.”

“Oh,” Leah played with a ring on her middle finger.

“Why?”

“A friend invited me over to celebrate Thanksgiving.”

Ruth narrowed her eyes. “Cherry?”

“No, a different friend.”

For a long moment, Ruth eyed her daughter. Leah felt as if she were being probed by a laser beam. “Who?”

“Just a friend. A guy.”

“It's not that Darrell or Drake or whoever that was over here for Shabbos, is it?”

Leah stared at her mother dumbfounded. Ruth sucked her teeth. “Don't be ridiculous, Leah. Of course, I know. Your sister told me.”

Jen! So she was as stupid as Leah thought! Plastering on her poker face, Leah replied, “It's Darcy.”

“I was wondering when you were going to tell me about Darcy.”

“Excuse me for not baring all. I didn't think you'd exactly clap your hands with joy.”

“No,” Ruth replied cryptically.

“So, can I eat Thanksgiving dinner at his place?”

“Where is 'his place?'” Ruth's voice was so even, so frosty, it sent shivers of fear through Leah.

“Connecticut.”

Ruth raised her eyebrows. “How will you get back here?”

“I'll be spending the weekend there.”

Sighing heavily, Ruth shot darts at her daughter. “I was trying to plan a family gathering so that we could all get to know the Bings a bit better, but I guess you're not interested in your family.”

“Oh, come on, Ma!”

“Leah, I've already bought the turkey.”

“There would be leftovers anyway, whether I was there or not.”

“This isn't about the leftovers.”

“I'm an adult, I should be able to go where I please.”

“If you were such an adult, you'd have a job, you'd pay rent,” Ruth yelled.

Leah sneered. “You're acting this way because he's Christian, aren't you?”

“Oh, please,” Ruth rolled up her eyes.

“You're jealous because I've chosen to spend Thanksgiving with another family and not ours.”

Ruth glared at her youngest. In a voice as hard and glinting as platinum, she replied, “Do what you want. You always do anyway.”

Leah threw her arms up and bolted up from the sofa. Under her breath, she muttered, “Bitch!”

“Call me names all you want!”

Slamming the door to her room, Leah flopped down on her bed and stared stoically at the ceiling. This had happened so many times before, it just wasn't worth crying over. Leah shoved her mother's words to the back of her head, picked up Zoey McAllen's midterm paper, and began to read.

Chapter 4

Leah stifled another yawn.

“Am I boring you that much?” Darcy asked, taking a bite of pizza.

“No!” Leah protested, straightening her spine. “I'm not bored. I'm just tired. I didn't get any sleep last night.”

Taking her hand, Darcy stroked it sympathetically. “At least you won't have to grade any more papers until finals.”

“That's true. Although that's only part of the reason why I didn't sleep.”

Darcy looked to Leah to continue. She sighed heavily and drummed her nails against the plastic table top of the pizzeria. “My mom and I got into a fight last night. She said some really crappy things.”

Conveying his sympathy with a simple, “Oh,” Darcy seemed not to know what to say.

“Do you think I'm ridiculous? Twenty-seven years old, living at home, and still fighting with my parents?”

“I don't think you're ridiculous. You have your circumstances.”

Leah shrugged.

“You couldn't move out? Find your own place?”

“I want to. But I can't afford a New York City rent. As it is, I'll be paying off student loans for the next thirty years.”

From the half-smile she received from Darcy, she knew he didn't fully understand her predicament. A man who made six figures a year couldn't possibly understand how weighty the burden of debt could be. It cast a shadow over every part of Leah's life. Although she had savings in the bank, she knew the money really belonged to NYU. Every time she bought a cup of tea, every time she went out to dinner with her friends, every time she bought a new T-shirt, she knew it was simply borrowing more money from NYU, and she would be paying for her drink, or her dinner, or her white tank-top until she was fifty.

“Well, what was the fight about? Money?” Darcy asked, interrupting Leah's moment of self-pity.

Leah stared at Darcy's face, at the way his eyes reflected all of his worry and concern for her. Could she really tell Darcy that the fight had been about him? He would be crushed. So she fibbed a little.

“It was about Thanksgiving.”

Darcy frowned. “Leah, if this is going to cause strife between your mother and...”

“No. She just bought a big turkey and was upset that there would be one less person. My mom doesn't really care if I'm there or not. I can't cook, and Jen's getting there early to help, anyway. I'd just be in the way.”

Leah reddened as Darcy inspected her face for any sign of covering up the truth.

“Darcy, I want to spend Thanksgiving with you. So my mother doesn't like it? She'll get over it.”

Nodding slowly, Darcy finally deferred. “Okay. Then you're going to come over for Thanksgiving?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Great! That's really great. My mom and dad will be really pleased. And I can't wait for you to meet my sister. She's going to love you.”

The subject of fights was soon forgotten as Darcy began expounding on all of the things they would do together in Connecticut over Thanksgiving weekend. He would introduce her to all of his high school friends, they would go apple-picking, they would drive through the countryside. Swept away by his infectious excitement, Leah forgot to be a nervous wreck.

*

After pizza, Leah and Darcy sauntered up the edge of Washington Square Park, each lost in thought. Leah dreaded going back to New Jersey that evening. With her mother refusing to speak to her, she hated being in the house. She hated that she had to say goodbye to this man who made her feel as funny as a stand-up comedian, as kind as a nun, as intelligent as the philosophers she read, and as beautiful as Botticelli's Venus. Instead, she'd have to take the bus for an hour to New Jersey to a place where she felt unwanted and resented.

During their walk, Darcy matched Leah's silence. By the serene look on his features, however, he seemed to welcome the quiet between them. Leah glanced up at him from the corner of her eye and everything in her went gooey. Her heart stopped, and in the beat-less interim, she realized something.

She could be with this man. Not just be with him for the evening or the next few weeks or months, but be with him. He understood her when, against all expectation, he shouldn't have. Darcy could be serious at times, mostly when discussing money or business, but he could laugh, too. He wasn't liberal or wild, like most of Leah's circle, but unlike many of her friends, he wasn't closed off to opinions that differed from his own. Leah had bought him The Communist Manifesto, which he had eagerly read, even writing notes in the margins. Darcy took an interest in her research and the workings of her life: her job, her friends, her favorite restaurants. Leah felt, rather than knew, that he cared for her and that he, too, also wanted to be with her.

But suddenly just feeling wasn't good enough any more. She wanted to know. And she could ask twenty questions to guess at it, but there were more direct and lucid ways to find the answer to that important uncertainty.

Leah hungered to know more about him. Would his musculature be chiseled or streamlined? Did he have chest hair? What were the color and shape of his nipples? As Cherry had lecherously suggested, was he circumcised?
Leah's heart raced. In the cold, autumn air, her face burned. Darcy said something, but unhearing, Leah still contemplated the possibilities of his body...and hers. Would he like the shape of her breasts? Would he mind the slight layer of pudge that had accumulated across her stomach ever since she started grad school? What if he didn't like her taste or smell? What if the sex was awful?

“Leah?”

“What!” she cried, her body scorching and uncomfortable.

Darcy started. “Did you hear me?”

“No. I didn't. Hear you. I'm sorry. What?”

“I asked you when you could meet me next time. I'm relatively free this week, except I promised some of the guys at work I'd go out for drinks on Thursday, but any other...”

“Darcy, what do you think about me?”

Surprised at the sudden interruption, Darcy stared at Leah inquisitively for several moments.

“I mean, not my personality or anything. I mean, me.”

Darcy furrowed his eyebrows.

“Do you...want to...Do you think that I'm...do you find me attractive? I mean, in that way.”

Looking like he wanted to laugh, Darcy asked, “Leah, what is this?”

Blushing, Leah faltered, “Nothing. Sorry.”

They continued walking, turning up 5th Avenue.

“I do,” Darcy answered. “Incredibly so.”

Rather than feeling pleasure at the compliment, Leah only reddened further.

“Why?” Darcy laughed.

Leah pulled his hand, bringing him to a halt. He gazed at her questioningly. Slipping her hands up his chest, Leah linked her hands at the back of Darcy's neck. She kissed him in the middle of the sidewalk, providing a few seconds of entertainment for a bored-looking doorman. Parting, she searched his face.

“What's this all about?” he asked, his eyes dancing.

“Can we go to your apartment?”

The expression on Darcy's face grew serious. Leah answered all of his questions with her flushed cheeks and parted lips. “I'd like that,” he murmured.

Leah nodded and felt her stomach drop.

“Let's get a cab.”

Releasing Leah's hand, Darcy stepped into the street and hailed a taxi easily. He opened the door, and Leah ducked in, nodding her thanks.

“62nd and Lex. The Pemberley Building,” Darcy said, sitting back into the pleather seat. Leah turned to him and melded her mouth to his for a kiss that would last until the cab stopped with a jerk in front of Darcy's apartment.

*

It was nervousness, and not desire, which set the pace for the evening. Darcy let them into his apartment, clicking on the lights, hanging his keys up next to the door, and shucking off his jacket. Trepidation punched at Leah's stomach as the shape of Darcy's torso revealed itself. Looking over his shoulder, he smiled softly.

“I wasn't expecting anyone. The place is a little messy.”

Leah returned his smile, but said nothing. Clearing his throat, Darcy asked, “Can I get you something to drink? I have white wine.”

“That'll be fine.” Her voice sounded so far away. God, she was nervous.

“The living room is over there. Why don't you make yourself comfortable?”

Nodding, Leah sauntered over to a coffee table, where three framed photos, the only decorations in the room, were placed. One picture was that of a good-looking, all-American family, posed on a lawn in matching red shirts. A black labrador sprawled in front of them. Leah recognized a much younger Darcy, probably in his late teens, and smiled. The next picture was of him in graduation robes, with his arm firmly around the neck of a breath-taking young woman. Leah knew better than to be jealous. She was the same girl from the family portrait, although older. His sister. The final photo was of Darcy's parents, a picture that, judging by the paper quality, hairstyles, and fashion, had been taken in the seventies. Darcy's mother had feathery chestnut hair, his father a handsome, wholesome smile. They were grinning, looking into each other's eyes, very much the couple in love.

Leah gingerly picked up the picture frame and stared at it. Darcy found her in that position when he returned with two wine glasses. Smiling up at him, Leah replaced the photo.

“I like that picture. Is that your parents?”

Darcy nodded and joined her. “It is. For some reason, I've always liked that picture, too.”

“All couples should look that happy.”

With an earnest expression, Darcy studied Leah's face. He handed her a glass of wine, and she thanked him, bringing the glass up to her lips and taking a small sip.

“Hm, it's good.”

While timidly sipping the wine, Leah glanced around the apartment. There were a few financial and sports magazines strewn on the coffee table, a tie draped over one of the arms of the gray sofa, but other than that, the place radiated cleanliness. Leah noted that no art hung on the wall. A slim, metal lamp stood in the corner, a cactus sat on a side table, and plenty of gadgets filled an entertainment center in front of a large sofa. It was definitely a man's apartment.

“Do you approve?” Darcy asked.

Leah grinned. “It needs a woman's touch.”

“Your touch?”

“If I touched it, there would socks strewn everywhere and bowls on the coffee table with leftover cereal stuck to them.”

“I'm only a bit better. I have a cleaning service.” Chuckling, Darcy tipped his head back and downed the last sip of wine. Noticing his pace, Leah took another nervous sip.

“It's good, but...”

“You can finish it later,” Darcy offered.

Leah nodded and set it down on the coffee table. “I'll clean it up. I promise.”

Although Darcy's mouth moved upwards in a smile, his eyes remained focused, watching her like a cat watches its prey. He took one hand and pulled her to him, seizing her lips in a long, slow kiss. Leah moaned, her hands seeking the back of his neck. Fingers hovering around the waist of her sweater, Darcy let his hands slide under the woolen material, touching the smooth flesh of her ribcage. Leah sucked in her stomach, worried lest he find it too soft to be sexy. Thankfully, he didn't linger there long, instead sliding his hands upwards to cradle her breasts. Inhaling sharply, Leah pressed herself into him, the motions of his hands growing firmer and more assured at her acceptance.

Darcy broke the kiss. “Let's go to the bedroom.” Before Leah could respond, he'd grabbed her hand, led her to a side hallway, and into a bedroom decorated with walnut furniture and an immaculately made queen-sized bed. He dimmed the lights and then turned to Leah, yanking off his tie.

Leah stepped closer to him, her hands reaching for the buttons of his dress shirt. They trembled, and noticing this, Darcy stilled her work.

“Before we do this, I just want you to know that I'm crazy about you, Leah.”

Leah smiled. “Me, too.”

Satisfied, Darcy let Leah get back to the task at hand. Once enough buttons had been undone, she slipped her hands inside his shirt, feeling the sturdiness of his chest. Darcy closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Tugging his shirt out of his pants, Leah unbuttoned the rest and slipped it off of his shoulders, admiring the results of her work. She could see hard lines of muscle at his shoulders and upper abdomen, but other than that, she was pleased to note that he was not a hard Adonis. His body was sleek, but not overly muscled, and relief flooded her like a shot of sweet brandy. For the first time since she arrived, Leah smiled genuinely. She reached for Darcy's belt, but he stilled her.

“My turn.”

Leah's smiled faded. “The lights...?”

“Stay on.”

Leah's disrobing was a much simpler affair. Simply tugging up on the hem of her sweater, Darcy pulled it up and over her head, letting her hair fall in a rustled pile around her shoulders. He traced his fingers lightly over her collarbone and down to the swell of her breasts. Leah watched him, his eyes reverent as his fingertips touched the smooth satin trim of her bra.

“Turn around,” he said, and Leah obeyed. He brushed her hair away, kissing her shoulder, and then unhooked her bra. Leah blushed scarlet as it fell away, and Darcy replaced the thin material with his hands. From behind, he kneaded her breasts, capturing her nipples in between his fingers. Gasping, Leah squeezed her eyes shut and leaned back against his body. She could feel his erection against her.

Darcy sucked at Leah's neck, slowly twisting her back to face him. He unclasped her tweed pants and slipped them down over her hips. They fell but got stuck around Leah's shoes. She giggled.

“First things first,” she said, sitting on his bed. Once she had discarded her shoes and slacks, she looked up at Darcy, now only in boxers, her eyes level with his erection. Leah suddenly grew self-conscious. Save for a plain pair of black, cotton panties, she was naked, and her body ached for the man in front of her. In her nervousness, she blurted out,

“Am I hideous?”

Darcy joined her on the bed. “Hideous? You're anything but hideous.” He stroked her curls back into order, placing a soft kiss on Leah's forehead.

“That's good,” Leah whispered, kissing Darcy. He pulled her down on the bed, his hands once again finding her breasts. As he suckled and bit a nipple, Leah felt all of the blood and heat in her body pool between her legs. She reached for Darcy's erection, stroking its length outside the fabric of his boxers and making him gasp when she reached inside to touch his skin. Closing his eyes, he bit his lip as Leah tortured and pleasured him all at once.

“Stop, Leah,” he whispered urgently, stilling her hand. Shucking his boxers, he now knelt before her totally nude. Leah thought she had never seen a more beautiful man. Darcy reached for the band of her underwear, pulling them down slowly and tossing them on the floor. He gazed down at Leah's body for a long moment. She flushed.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“How can you think you're hideous?” Darcy asked quietly.

“I'm a woman,” Leah answered with a cocked eyebrow. “It's our plight.”

“Well, you're not hideous.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

Darcy and Leah stared at each other for another long moment. Sitting up, Leah nuzzled her face into the crook of Darcy's neck. “What are we waiting for?”

Darcy shook his head. “I don't know.” He pressed her down again, taking his time to run his hand up her thigh and hip. Parting her legs, he stroked her with his thumb. Leah exhaled with a startled gasp. He continued to caress her, the pressure of his fingers making her cry out again.

“Darcy,” she breathed raggedly, “please tell me you have condoms.”

He nodded, nearly jumping to reach the side dresser. After he had rolled one on, Darcy stretched himself out over Leah and kissed her again, before parting her legs with his knees and entering her. Leah moaned, her hips rising to meet his. Rocking back and forth slowly at first, they stared into each other's eyes. They kissed languorously, lolling in the friction created by their conjoined bodies.

Darcy closed his eyes and buried his face in Leah's hair, groaning. Picking up his pace, he thrust into Leah, and she felt every motion of his hips with senses so keen, that she hoped Darcy's apartment building had thick walls. She gasped and moaned and cried out with every plunge, until she came. Digging his hands into the flesh of her hips, Darcy found his release, and for the next few seconds, they simply lay together, slick bodies pressed against each other, panting and trying to regain coherent thought.

*

Several minutes passed and they continued staring at the ceiling. It was Leah who moved first, groaning and rolling herself into the crook of Darcy's arm. He kissed the top of her head and smiled weakly.

“That wasn't too bad,” croaked Leah, her throat parched.

“Oh, Leah,” Darcy chuckled. “I'm so, so crazy about you.”

Time moved slowly, and it took several moments for Leah to make her reply. “I think I might be in love with you.”

Darcy look startled, and instantly Leah regretted what she said. His face changed in the next few seconds, however, warming to a look of satisfaction she had never seen. “Yeah?”

Leah nodded.

“I think I'm in love with you, too. I mean, I don't think—I know. I'm in love with you. I have been since we met that night at the cafe.”

“You're just saying that.”

“No, I'm not. Don't you think it's strange that I've known Chuck for nearly ten years and he's been with your sister for four years, yet never, not until I met you, had I been over to your house?”

“I hadn't really thought about it.”

“When he mentioned he was going to your house for Sabbath dinner, I practically begged him to take me. I said I wanted to learn more about the Jewish faith.”

Leah burst out laughing. “Did he believe you?”

“I guess. I went, didn't I?”

Propping her head on a pillow, Leah made a face. “I still can't believe you. Love at first sight?”

“Well, it wasn't love at first sight because I saw you at Chuck's wedding and didn't fall in love with you then.”
“Then love at first conversation?”

Darcy nodded. “I suppose that was it. You intrigued me from the start.”

“It was the same for me.” Curling into his body, Leah sighed. “I could so get used to this.”

“I could, too.”

Snuggling into the warmth of each other's body, they soon dozed off into a deep, satisfied sleep.

*

“Leah...Leah!” Darcy lightly shook her shoulders.

Rolling over, Leah looked up to him. “Just five more minutes.”

“No, Leah,” Darcy laughed, “I think your phone is ringing.”

“Huh?” Leah sat up in bed, still naked. Embarrassed, she and covered herself with the sheets.

“Your phone. Out there.”

“Oh. Clothes.” Leaning over, she grabbed Darcy's dress shirt lying in a crumpled heap on the floor and thrust her arms into the sleeves. Leah cast herself from the bed and pattered to the living room, where she had left her purse the night before. She looked at the clock on the DVD player. 6:03.

“Shit,” she muttered, digging her cell phone out. Without even looking, she knew who had called. “Home” read the caller ID.

“Shit.” Pressing redial, she didn't have to wait long before she heard her mother's voice.

“Leah?”

“Mother,” Leah said frigidly.

“Where are you? I've been worried to death! I called you four times!”

Leah considered lying, but what would be the point? Her mother knew about Darcy, and she didn't need her mother's permission if she wanted to spend the night with a man.

“I'm at Darcy's.”

Her mother paused in irritation. “And you couldn't call?”

“No, I couldn't.”

“Well...I hope he used a condom. ”

“Ugh, that's disgusting!”

“You're so careless that I don't know...”

“It's none of your business!”

“The next time you decide not to come home, maybe you could call so that I don't have the whole neighborhood out searching for your dead body.”

Leah rolled her eyes. “You're so melodramatic.”

“When are you coming home?”

Although she would probably be back that afternoon, she answered smugly, “I don't know.”

“Okay,” something in her mother's voice, a tinge of relief, made Leah pause.

“I'll call you, okay? I'm sorry I made you worry.”

“It's okay. I should be used to your antics by now. Goodbye.”

Leah snapped her phone shut, nearly throwing it in her bag. She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.

“Everything okay?” Darcy asked from the doorway, wearing only his boxers.

“Yeah,” Leah answered stiffly, nodding. “Just my mom wondering where I was.”

Darcy smiled. “You look sexy in my shirt.”

“I do?” Putting the prior conversation to the back of her mind, Leah sashayed over to him and ran her hands up his chest.

“You'd look sexier out of it, though.”

“When do you have to leave for work?”

“Eight forty-five, if I get a cab.”

Peeling the shirt off of her shoulders, Leah let it fall to the floor. “Well, then.”

Chapter 5

Dinner, dessert, and coffee were now encumbrances to the main course. That week, Darcy and Leah rarely met outside, instead choosing to order take-out and then spend the night engaging in good, old-fashioned exercise.

Leah spent less time at home, about which her mother had an endless string of snide comments. After the third sleep-over, Leah decided that less time at home was probably best, and she packed a duffel bag with a few mix-and-match outfits, several changes of underwear, toiletries, and an emergency makeup supply, and stashed them all in a drawer that Darcy had cleared out for her in his dresser.

He introduced her to his friends from work who, Leah was surprised to find, weren't dull at all and rarely talked about accounting. She noticed Darcy casting daggers at Richard whenever they spoke, so Leah made an effort not to fan the embers of a burgeoning jealousy.

As there was another family Shabbat dinner being held at the Bennett household on Saturday night, Leah had to bid goodbye to Darcy that afternoon. Given the novelty of their circumstances and the current frost between her mother and herself, Leah figured it best that Darcy stayed in Manhattan. He said he wanted to meet a friend for dinner, anyway, so it worked out. Leah hitched a ride back into New Jersey with Jen and Chuck, missing Darcy the moment she kissed him goodbye outside of his apartment.

“So what's he like, you know, in bed?” Jen asked, twisting around in the front seat.

“I really don't want to hear this,” Chuck protested.

Jen stuck her tongue out at him. “So?” She stuck her thumb up and then turned it down, wanting to know which. Leah stuck her middle finger up instead.

“You two are no fun,” pouted Jen.

“But things are going well it seems, Ley.” Chuck glanced at her through the rearview mirror.

“They are.” Leah grinned.

“You know, I would have never expected it. You're just so different from each other.”

“Opposites attract,” Jen offered.

A moment of silence passed through the car.

“Mom's pissed, though,” added Jen.

“So what else is new?” Leah folded her arms over her chest and stared at the buildings whizzing by.

“She says you're never home.”

“She's pissed when I'm home, she's pissed when I'm not home!”

“It's about respect, Ley,” Chuck interrupted. “Your mother just wants your respect.”

“Hey, if she wanted my respect, she'd respect my choices a bit more. She's always on my case. At least when I'm not home, I don't have to hear all of her bitching.”

“She bitches because she loves you,” said Chuck.

Leah rolled her eyes. She really didn't want to speak to her brother-in-law anymore.

“Jen, has she mentioned anything to you about Darcy?”

“No, not really. She just asked me what kind of person he was.”

“So she didn't say anything about him being, you know, Christian?”

Jen shook her head. “No. Why?”

“Well, that's a surprise. I thought that would be the first thing she'd pounce on. The WASP. Oy vey,” Leah imitated.

Jen sighed. “One day, Leah, you're going to see that Mom's not so bad.”

“Yeah, that'll be the day I start going to therapy.”

*

It was the first morning in three days that Leah woke up in her own bed. She smelled coffee brewing downstairs and the hearty, doughy aroma of matzoh brie, her mother's specialty that she fixed every Sunday.

Slipping down the stairs and into the kitchen, Leah was greeted by her father, reading the Sports section of the Sunday Times.

“Morning, baby. Big game today. Jets versus Dolphins.”

“Hey, Dad. Any left for me?” Leah peered into the frying pan.

“That's all yours.”

“Yes!”

“Don't forget to thank your mother. She made that especially for you.”

Heaping the matzoh brie on her plate, Leah doused it in maple syrup and sat down across from her father.

“What time does the game start?” Leah asked.

“One. It's an away game.”

Leah nodded, her interest in football extending only that far. Her father put down the paper.

“Your mom says you're not going to be with us this Thanksgiving.”

“No, I'm going to Connecticut.” Leah suppressed her annoyance. Hadn't she already talked to her father about this? Sometimes she tired of her father's football-induced absent-mindedness. She would never admit it to anyone, though. She would sound too much like her mother.

“With your new boyfriend?”

“Yes, with my new boyfriend.”

“You haven't been around much lately.”

Leah started to blush.

“But, I remember what that's like. When you first fall in love with someone, all you can think about is that person. The obsession wears off after a while, though.”

Taking a large mouthful of food, Leah was unable to comment. She wondered whether he father was speaking generally or more particularly about his marriage.

“Are we ever going to meet this guy?” her father asked.

“Dad! You did meet him!”

“I did?”

“Yes, at Shabbat dinner a while ago. Darcy. Don't you remember?”

“Oh, that guy. He's a good-looking guy. No wonder you're over there so much.”

Now, Leah did blush. “Dad...”

“Well, the next time you speak to him, tell him I say hello and that he better be treating my baby well or else I'll go over there and knock some sense into him.”

“He treats me very well.”

“I'm sure he does,” her father laughed. “Or else you'd give him hell. You're a Bennett woman, after all.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Chuckling, her father rose and put his coffee mug in the sink. “Nothing, baby. Ask your mother. I'm off to run some errands before the game starts.”

Leah shook her head and shoveled another forkful of her breakfast down. She glanced at the clock. 9:29. Darcy would be up. She decided that after eating she would call him and see what he had done in the eternal sixteen hours since they had last spoken.

*

Leah called both Darcy's home and cell phone number. Both went to voicemail. Frowning, she wondered if she'd called too early. But she knew he was always up before eight; he always boasted about it. Perhaps he was out getting breakfast. But, he only drank coffee in the mornings. Knitting her forehead, Leah assured herself that it was nothing and tried calling again ten minutes later.

Again, both calls went to voice mail.

The same thing happened thirty minutes later, fifty minutes later, an hour later, and an hour and fifteen minutes later. Leah had begun to panic, her thoughts filled with images of him passed out in a New York City gutter, or spending the night with another woman, or in jail. Her cell phone rang, startling her out of her brooding.

It was Darcy. “Hello?” she screamed into the phone.

“Hey.”

“Hey?”

“I saw that you called. What's up? How was dinner last night?”

Leah frowned. “Dinner was good. Where have you been? I called a million times.”

“Oh. I was at church.”

“Church. Oh. Church?”

“Yeah, church. It's Sunday.”

“You go to church?”

“Every now and then.”

Leah had no idea that Darcy went to church. They had never discussed religion; she thought it wasn't important to him. She knew no one who went to church or synagogue voluntarily, save for Christmas and Easter, or the High Holidays.

“Is today a holiday?” Leah asked.

“No. I find church relaxing. It gives me time to think and reflect on the week.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Does that bother you, Miss Opium of the Masses?”

Leah laughed. “No.”

“Good. I missed you last night.”

“I missed you, too.”

“I'm pretty sure I missed you more.”

The conversation continued in this vein for several more minutes, turning progressively more insensible and eventually dirty, until they promised to see each other the next day.

*

After several days, it was finally the fourth Wednesday in November, the night before the fourth Thursday in November, or Thanksgiving. Leah had packed a special duffel bag for Connecticut, one containing her grayest clothes, her brownest eye shadow, and her whitest underwear because, as her mother said, “You just never know.”

“Do you think these shoes scream `I'm corrupting your son?'” she asked, holding up a flattering pair of four-inch, ebony heels.

“No, I like those,” Darcy said, looking up from December's Sports Illustrated, which had arrived in that day's mail.

“I'm not asking if you approve of them. Will your mom approve of them?”

“I don't know.”

“Do they look slutty?”

“Leah, I don't know.”

“God, men are worthless sometimes!” She threw her hands up and disappeared back into the bedroom.

“Fine, they make your legs look really sexy.”

“Okay, they're out.”

Darcy sighed. “Why are you making such a big deal out of this? My parents don't care what you wear.”

“Yes, they do.”

“No, they don't,” Leah reappeared in the hallway. “Your dad may not, but your mom will. She'll notice every small detail, every frizzy curl, every passing comment, every article of clothing I wear.”

Pushing himself off of the couch, Darcy walked into his room. “My mom isn't your mom.”

“Men,” Leah muttered. “And I still have to bake that pie. And it's nearly midnight. Please kill me!”

“You don't have to bake any pies. My mother makes three pies every year, and it's always too much.”

“We can't show up empty-handed. What will she think of me?”

“We'll bring wine. Leah, Leah, please just calm down.” Reaching for her shoulders, Darcy began to knead them firmly. “It's just my parents. Not the President.”

“They're going to hate me,” Leah whispered. “I can feel it.”

“My parents trust my decisions. If I love you, they'll love you.”

Leah sighed. “I should bring the cowboy boots. They're Republicans. They'd like that.”

Chuckling, Darcy kissed her forehead. “That's my girl.”

*

Darcy turned the Mercedes down another street with two-story houses set back on wide, leaf-strewn lawns. Autumn in Connecticut, where there were trees, was a different experience than the season in New York or even north Jersey where exhaust and pollution turned the leaves a crusty brown.

“There it is,” Darcy said. “The blue one.”

“I think I'm going to puke.”

Slowing down, Darcy turned the car into a brick-paved driveway and turned off the ignition. Leah stared. The house, large and regal, stood at three stories. Painted cornflower blue with white trim, it was surrounded by tall maple and pine trees with neatly pruned hedges. Perfection radiated from its foundations, and Leah sunk in the passenger seat.

“Come on,” Darcy said, briskly opening his door.

Leah reluctantly exited the car and waited as Darcy hoisted their bags from the trunk. Just then, the front door opened and a huge, black dog bolted outside.

“Annie! Annie, get back here!” cried a female voice from within.

Annie bounded towards Leah, who screamed. Misinterpreting her reaction, the dog jumped around crazily, barking, while Leah plastered herself to the car for protection.

“Annie!” Darcy snapped, and the dog forgot Leah, sprinting to Darcy and barking in ecstatic circles.

“Sorry, she goes nuts when I come home. Hey girl.” Darcy cooed and rubbed the dog's ears, while Leah stood and watched, her hands still trembling. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a tall, regal woman standing in the doorway. She wore a pink cashmere sweater set, slender, gray slacks, and high heels. One strand of delicate pearls encircled her neck.

“Hello, darling,” she called out, and Darcy immediately looked up.

“Mom,” he smiled, patting Annie on the head and heading towards the front door. On his way, he motioned for Leah to follow, which she did awkwardly.

“Mom.” Darcy kissed her cheek lovingly, and his mother smiled back at him.

“I'm so glad you're here,” she said.

“Mom, this is Leah. Leah, this is my mother, Catherine Fitzwilliam.”

Leah extended her hand which Mrs. Fitzwilliam shook with bent fingers. The older woman's eyes crinkled pleasantly at the corners. She wore a layer of expertly applied makeup and, in general, exuded the air of a mother who enjoyed vacuuming and baking her own pies.

“Leah, welcome,” she said, her voice polite, if not exactly warm.

“Thank you for having me.”

“It's my pleasure.” Turning back to Darcy, she beamed. “Come in, darling. You must be exhausted from driving. Was traffic bad?”

Both Fitzwilliams sauntered into the house, while Leah trailed behind. Annie, at least, loved her, choosing to dig her nose into Leah's crotch. While Darcy reported on traffic from the city to I-95, Leah glanced around the immaculate house, with its matching red, blue, and white country decor and fresh flowers everywhere. Just then, an extraordinarily tall girl gangled into the kitchen, unnoticed by anyone except Leah. Darcy's sister, like her mother and brother, had chestnut hair which she held back from her face with a tortoise shell headband. She had deep green eyes and full lips, and though she must have been no older than twenty, she could have been a model. Leah smiled. Darcy's sister looked at her feet.

During a pause in the conversation, she cleared her throat. Darcy snapped his head back and grinned.

“Gigi.” He opened his arms, and his sister tackled him in a huge hug.

“Gigi, this is Leah. Leah, this is my kid sister, Gigi.”

Gigi stared at the floor and mumbled something inaudible to her brother. He laughed.

“Right, right. You're twenty-one, you're not a kid anymore.”

Seeing as Gigi wouldn't budge, Leah held her hand out. “It's great to meet you. I'm Leah.”

Darcy's younger sister blushed a shade of pink Leah had never before seen. Reluctantly, she took Leah's hand and barely managed, “Hello.”

“Gillian,” Catherine scolded good-naturedly. “Your name?”

“I'm Gillian,” she whispered.

Darcy grinned. “There's nothing like being with my favorite three women in the world.”

Catherine looked to Leah and raised the corners of her mouth. “Darcy speaks very highly of you. I hope we'll get a chance to chat over the weekend.”

“I hope so, too.” Leah smiled.

Catherine meant to return the gesture, but to Leah, it almost seemed like a forced bearing of teeth, the way a dog threatens an attacker. “Darcy, why don't you go say hello to your father? I think he's watching television in his study.”

“That's just like my father. On Thanksgiving, with all of the football games, we can barely get him away from the TV to eat dinner,” Leah joked.

“No,” Catherine countered, her voice rising an octave. “Lou's not a big football fan. He prefers golf.”
Leah swallowed and laughed nervously. Placing his hand on her back, Darcy said, “Come on, I want you to meet my dad.”

Leading her through hallways lined with family photos, they reached a comfortable den, decorated with trophies, medals, and plaques. Darcy's father sat on a reclining leather chair, with a tumbler of whiskey in his hand.

“Hey, Dad,” Darcy said, popping his head in.

“Hello, Son! I didn't hear you arrive.” A tall, well-built man with a hint of a paunch, Darcy's father stood and shook hands with his son, slapping him warmly on the back.

“We just walked in the door.”

“How was traffic?”

“Not too bad, once we got out of Manhattan. Dad, I want to introduce you to Leah, my girlfriend. Leah, this is my dad, Louis.”

Louis strangled Leah's hand in a death-grip handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Good to meet you, too,” she smiled back. But Louis had moved on, asking Darcy how his job was going. Darcy began a long tale about the markets and mutual funds, while Leah stood glancing at all of the golf trophies adorning the shelves.

Finally, Darcy turned to Leah. “Let's go put our bags down.”

“Good to meet you, Louis,” Leah said.

“Yes, yes...” Darcy's father had already turned back to the television.

Clonking up a wooden staircase, Darcy led Leah to a room at the end of the hall. “This will be your room.”

Darcy opened the door to reveal a clean, but staid guest room. “My room? We're not going to sleep together?”

“I'm not sure my parents would be okay with that.”

“Oh,” she said, her face falling.

“You don't mind, do you?”

Leah recovered quickly. “There was a time before Darcy Fitzwilliam when I could sleep alone in a bed. I will have to make do.”

“Great. Come here, I want to show you my room. My mom hasn't changed a thing since I left for college,” Pulling her hand, Darcy led her two rooms down. He opened the door and gestured for her to enter. The room didn't look like it had ever been occupied by a teenage boy. Decorated in browns and beiges, it looked more like a photograph out of Better Homes and Gardens magazine. Watercolors of fishing scenes decorated the wall. Antique fishing rods hung in straight rows on another wall. A russet bedspread covered the cherry wood bed.

“It's very...proper,” Leah teased. “Didn't you have any sports posters? Or Playboy pin-ups?”

“My mom would never let me hang those kinds of things. The tacks left holes in the wall, she said.”

Leah smiled. “You were probably such a good son.”

“Probably too good. My mother was devastated when I went off to Yale.”

“But it's so close.”

“Still...”

Leah narrowed her eyes at Darcy. This was very suspicious, all of this closeness between mother and son. It never boded well for the girlfriend.

“Why don't we go downstairs?” Darcy suggested.

Leah took two deep breaths, closing her eyes.

“What's wrong, Leah?”

“I'm just overwhelmed, I think.”

Wrapping her arms around his waist, Leah settled her face against Darcy's chest. He stroked her hair, reassuring her. “They adore you. I can tell.”

“Do they?”

“I promise.”

“Okay, let's go.”

Hand-in-hand, they walked downstairs and into the kitchen where Catherine had just pulled a steaming casserole from the oven. “Your grandparents should be here any moment with Aunt Mary. She's bringing the boys, so we probably won't have a moment's peace.”

Leah raised an eyebrow at Darcy. “Oh, my mom's parents and her sister are coming for dinner, too,” he explained

“Ah,” Leah said, nodding stiffly, unprepared for more new family members.

Darcy squeezed her hand reassuringly. Clearing her throat, Leah ventured a compliment.

“That casserole smells wonderful.”

Catherine smiled her thanks, but said nothing.

“I can't cook, so I respect anyone who can make edible food.” Leah laughed.

“Yes, well, I do try to make my food edible, at the very least.”

“Mom's a great cook...” Darcy jumped in, but Leah heard nothing. Her face boiled with humiliation. She hadn't meant to insult Catherine, but somehow, the comment had sounded awful. Leah vowed not to open her mouth for the rest of the evening.

The doorbell rang, and as Catherine was occupied with stirring the gravy, she asked Darcy to answer it. He whispered to Leah that he would be right back, leaving the two women in the kitchen. As Catherine seemed reluctant to speak, Leah was forced to break her vow of silence.

“You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything that I can help with?”

“No, thank you. I have everything under control.”

“Darcy says you make excellent pies.”

That comment received a distant smile. Finally, Leah gave up. A ruckus had broken out into the foyer, with the sound of wailing echoing off the hardwood floors. Leah heard Darcy trying to placate a sniffling child.

“You can have the Nintendo later, Matthew.”

“No! I want it NOW!!”

An elderly voice asked Darcy how he was, how was traffic, how was the office. Leah hung against the kitchen counter like a child left out of recess games. She felt embarrassed and unwanted.

“Can you take this to the table please?” Catherine asked Leah, handing her a butter dish. Happy to have something to do, Leah complied, taking her time in finding a space on the immaculate dining room table. She exhaled, composing herself.

“Yes, I feel that way, too, whenever Cathy's family comes over,” sneered Louis, striding into the dining room.

“No, I...”

But Darcy's father didn't wait for an answer. Heading to the liquor cabinet, he removed a bottle of Johnnie Walker and poured until the amber liquid filled the glass half-way.

“Would you like any?” he asked, not turning around.

Leah nearly declined. She rarely drank hard liquor and certainly never in front of people she was trying to impress, but she felt this situation called for a sip of social lubricant. “Just a taste, please.”

Louis poured her a generous shot into a tumbler and raised his glass at her, before disappearing back into the hallway. Taking one sip, Leah grimaced as the whiskey burned her throat. On second thought, she decided, maybe she had just better rely on her wit and personal charm to get her through the evening.

Just then, Catherine appeared in the dining room, setting a glass bowl of cranberry sauce on the table. She eyed the butter dish and narrowed her eyes like an artist inspecting her canvas. Then, adjusting the butter dish just so, Darcy's mother ensured that it laid on the table exactly parallel to the edge. With a wordless smile, she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Leah staring into her tumbler of whiskey, which she promptly tossed back.

Chapter 6

When the boys had been calmed, the relatives greeted, the traffic conditions reported, and the casseroles, rolls, and turkeys moved to the table, the family Fitzwilliam and Leah finally sat down to give thanks. Leah scanned the table and smiled. With the candles bouncing their gentle glow over a table decorated with pine cones and red maple leaves, with the family dressed in their best clothes, with everyone calm, without the blare of football from the next room or her mother's complaints that the turkey hadn't been done right, Thanksgiving with Darcy's family felt light years away from the same holiday with hers. Such a portrait of normalcy almost made Leah forget her anxiety about the dinner, and she relaxed.

“Dad, why don't you say grace?” Catherine asked with a calm smile.

“Don't you want to say it, Lou?” Darcy's grandfather asked.

Louis waved his hands. “I'm not made for public speaking. You go ahead, Phil.”

Phil, Darcy's liver-spotted, eighty-eight-year-old grandfather, nodded. “Let us hold hands and bow our heads.”

Catching Darcy's hand, Leah glanced at him, and he smiled with such tenderness it sent her heart melting. To her left, Leah took hold of Darcy's young cousin's hand and found it sticky—with what, Leah had no desire to know.

In his shaky voice, Phil began, “Father in heaven, we praise You for giving us Your Son to be our savior and lord...”

Leah shifted in her seat.

“...bless us all as we gather here tonight, and let us live happily in Your love. Hear our prayer, Loving Father, for we ask this in Jesus' name. Amen. ”

Mumbling her “Amen,” Leah glanced at Darcy as he stroked her hand with his fingers. He looked to her apologetically. She shook her head to let him know that she didn't mind.

“Lou, can you carve the turkey please?” Catherine asked.

“With pleasure.”

Serving dishes began to be passed around, and Leah noted with delight that kugel was not on the menu. She heaped spoonfuls of creamy, rich, fat-loaded side dishes onto her plate, thankful that she was at a house that wasn't consistently trying new heart-healthy, tasteless recipes a la the household Bennett.

“Leah, would you like white or dark meat? ” Louis asked.

“Dark, please. ”

As if noticing the strange young woman for the first time, Darcy's grandmother, who was a touch senile, peered down the table at Leah. “And who is this young lady?”

Darcy glanced at Leah. “Nana, this is Leah. Remember, you just met her a few minutes ago.”

“Is she with you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don't remember being invited to the wedding. I certainly hope you didn't elope. That would be scandalous.”

Leah chuckled. “No, Mrs. Bourgh. We're not married.”

“Not married?” she said in confusion.

“We're just dating, Nana.”

Mrs. Bourgh frowned deeply. “Darcy, if you have proper intentions towards this young woman, then you should marry her right away. Anything else would be scandalous!”

“Marriage? Mother, don't be silly,” interrupted Catherine. “Why don't you try some of my sweet potato casserole? I used your recipe.”

Leah reddened and glanced around the table, noticing she was not the only one who was blushing. Gigi, obviously embarrassed, stared down to her lap.

With all of the food doled out, conversation shifted from marriage to the safer topic of politics. Leah felt as if she were in a foreign land. Whereas a rousing conversation at Bennett family dinners consisted of lampooning Bloomberg, Bush, and Republicans in general, at the Fitzwilliams', the opposite held true. She had never heard Democrats so openly lambasted before, and she listened in wonder, as a man would listen with his ear to the door of the women's locker room.

“And now, she not only wants to run New York State into the ground, she wants to run for president, too? Well, that 'll be a dark day for this country if we elect another Clinton to the White House,” Phil declared, taking a decisive bite out of his crescent roll.

Leah swallowed an oversized mouthful of turkey and stared at her plate. She had volunteered on Clinton's 2000 campaign for senator; she adored Hillary Clinton. Throughout the conversation, Leah noticed Darcy frequently shifting in his seat and clearing his throat.

“So, uh, Grandpa, how's your golf game these days?” Darcy interjected.

Leah took a generous sip of wine as Phil began expounding on the art of putting. Glancing up, she noticed Gigi uncovering her hands from her face, the traces of a violent blush fading from her cheeks. Leah caught her eye and smiled sympathetically. Gigi once again stared at her lap. Leah repressed a sigh.

“So, Leah, we've hardly heard anything about you,” Louis suddenly said, rather loudly. Leah had noticed he'd refilled his wine glass three times during the course of the dinner.

“What is it that you'd like to know?”

“How old are you? What do you do? Where're you from?”

“Lou,” Catherine insisted softly, “I hardly think these questions are appropriate.”

“I don't mind, Catherine, really,” Leah insisted. Darcy's mother's face went rigid, and she nodded. “I'm twenty-seven. I'm a doctoral candidate of philosophy at NYU. And I'm from Bergenfield, New Jersey.”

“A doctor!” cried Mrs. Bourgh. “That's not a very ladylike profession, dear.”

“No, Mrs. Bourgh. I'm a student. I study philosophy.”

Catherine picked up her wine glass and sipped lightly from the edge. “And what exactly do you plan on doing with that?”

“I'll probably teach somewhere.”

“You mean at a college?”

“Yes, I hope so.”

Catherine nodded, but said nothing.

“Well, at least it's not so improper for a woman to teach. But, a doctor! Have you ever heard of such a thing?” cried Mrs. Bourgh, looking to her husband for support. He patted her hand.

“That's all right, Mabel. The girls these days think they can do whatever a man does.”

Darcy, Leah, and Gigi all flushed the same color pink.

“Mom, can we go play with the Nintendo DS?” sticky-handed George interrupted.

“No, you can sit here and finish your green beans,” Mary said, staring straight ahead.

“But, Mom, I hate green beans!”

“I hate them, too!” George's younger brother, Matthew, echoed.

Leah could barely suppress her look of surprise when both boys burst into tears and started banging on the table with their silverware, as their mother ignored them. Mary lifted her eyes heavenwards.

“Just pay no attention to them. They'll get over it soon enough.”

But for the next five minutes when anyone tried to speak, George and Matthew only wailed harder until finally, Louis got up and took them outside where they could run around in the leaves. By that time, everyone had finished eating.

“That was delicious, Mom,” Darcy said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Catherine smiled at her son. “Thank you, darling.”

“Yes, Catherine. The turkey was great,” added Leah.

“And don't you have anything to say, Gillian?” Catherine said to her daughter.

“Thanks,” Gigi whispered.

Catherine shook her head, her lips pursed in disapproval. “Help me clear the table, please.”

Head bowed, Gigi stood and began clearing plates. Leah joined her as Darcy stood and went to find his father and cousins outside.

“I always get stuck with dish duty,” Leah said quietly to Gigi. “I can't cook, so I'm the one who has to clean up.”

Gigi glanced at her and attempted a smile. Saying nothing in response, she strode to the kitchen, her arms loaded with plates, leaving Leah open-jawed in the dining room. This time, the sigh on her lips could not be repressed. She had never seen a young woman as gorgeous as Gigi Fitzwilliam, or one as introverted and awkward. Throughout the dinner, Darcy's sister kept her eyes only on her plate, never venturing a comment, and in her more daring moments, only expressing her emotions through small changes of her eyebrows. In Leah's family, where respect was doled out in proportion to the decibel level of one's voice, such behavior was completely alien.

Leah carried as much as she could from the table to the kitchen. After Catherine refused Leah's offer to help further, Leah walked back to the living room, where Mr. and Mrs. Bourgh sat sipping at small glasses of wine. Silently creeping up the stairs, she strode to the guest room and fished her cell phone out of her purse.

She pressed Home on the speed-dial and waited for the line to ring. Leah's mother picked up.

“Hi, Mom. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Leah! Hello, Happy Thanksgiving to you.” Ruth sounded cheerful.

“How was dinner?”

“It was delicious! I tried that new recipe for the turkey, and it was so tender. Everyone was raving about it.”

“That's good,” Leah smiled. “How are the Bings?”

Lowering her voice, Ruth whispered conspiratorially into the phone. “Well, Sheryl will be Sheryl. I thought if I have to hear any more about her shit-tzu, I'm going to go nuts. Michael just came back from a convention in Puerto Rico.”

“That's nice. Is dad there?”

Ruth sighed. “Your dad's been in football heaven the entire day. He's watching some game or another. David! David! Your daughter's on the phone...Oh, for crying out loud. Leah, he can't come to the phone. This is a big play, apparently.”

Laughing, Leah responded, “No, don't worry about it. I just wanted to see how everything went.”

“Good. Listen, Leah, I have to go. We're about to sit down for dessert.”

“Okay, Ma. Talk to you later.”

“Goodbye, shana,” Ruth cooed, and then hung up.

Leah sunk onto the bed, a strange feeling tightening around her chest. For the first time since her freshman year of college, she missed her family and wished she were back at home amongst the football games, the bickering, and the tough turkey, which had apparently turned out not-so-tough that year.

*

All of the guests had gone home, all of the leftovers packed in matching Tupperware, all of the dishes lined neatly into the dishwasher. Leah sat in the upstairs guest room, absentmindedly towel drying her hair. She wore one of Darcy's old, oversized sweatshirts that reached mid-thigh.

A knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts.

“Yes?”

“It's me. Can I come in?”

Leah smiled and opened the door to see Darcy, bare-chested, with a rakish grin on his face.

“What?” Leah asked suspiciously.

“I can't smile at the woman I love?”

“That's a smile with an agenda.”

“No,” Darcy protested. “I'm just happy. Come to my room.”

Glancing down the hall to make sure no one was there, Leah tiptoed into Darcy's room. He shut the door behind her, immediately pressing her against it, and captured her lips with his.

“Darcy!” Leah whispered urgently, giggling as he trailed his lips down her neck. “Darcy, what are you doing? Your parents are sleeping down the hall.”

“So?”

“So, don't you think that's a little...kinky?”

“Did you expect me to go four days without touching you?” he breathed into her neck, while grabbing her breast.

Leah gasped. “No...but what if we get caught?” Her worries quickly became fuzzy nothings as Darcy slipped his hands under the sweatshirt.

“It's okay. I lost my virginity in this room while my parents were downstairs.”

“Okay, that was way too much information. Darcy...” Leah groaned as a final warning. His fingers fondled her nipples, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.

“Shh. This is an old house with very sturdy, plaster walls. If you're quiet, they won't hear a thing.” Darcy led her to the bed and pulled her down on top of him.

“You know, this is a lot of pressure for me, having sex on the bed where you lost your virginity. No man forgets his first.”

“Don't worry, no man forgets his best, either. And you're the best.” Darcy skimmed his sweatshirt off of Leah and took a nipple in his mouth. Throwing back her head, Leah moaned roughly.

“But you've got to be quiet,” Darcy whispered.

“Sorry.”

Rolling her hips over Darcy's straining erection, Leah felt him suck in his breath. She nibbled his earlobe, and he shivered. “You were wonderful at dinner tonight. Thank you.”

“Yeah?” she said, running her tongue down his chest.

“Yes.”

“It's nothing to be thankful for.” Pushing him down on the bed, Leah unbuttoned his jeans and tugged down his boxers. She stroked his hard length and then lowered her mouth to it, licking the tip.

“Oh, God, Leah,” Darcy gasped.

Enveloping him in her mouth, Leah sucked slowly, her hands tickling the sensitive flesh where his hip bone met his thighs.

After several minutes of struggling for control, Darcy murmured, “Leah, I think...”

“Shh.” Rising to meet him, Leah sandwiched his face in her hands. “We're not done here yet.”

Leah peeled off her panties and straddled Darcy, lowering herself onto him. She began to ride him, leisurely at first, a slow, maddening pace. But when Darcy began thrusting up to meet her movements, Leah lost herself. Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused on the bolts of pleasure careening from her core with every meeting of their hips, the sound of flesh against flesh, the clean taste of his just-showered body. Within minutes, Leah's breathing turned into gasps as she climaxed and Darcy joined her. She collapsed on top of him, feeling his chest rise and fall in syncopated pants along with hers.

“That's something to be thankful for,” she murmured and Darcy laughed.

“It is.”

“Definitely not something I could have mentioned at the dinner table, though,” Leah smiled, rolling off of him.

Darcy winced and rubbed his eyes. He smiled apologetically at Leah and then said, “Speaking of the dinner table, I'm sorry if you were embarrassed tonight.”

“No. I wasn't.”

“My family's great, but sometimes they're a little...”

“Strange? All families are.”

Darcy rolled over and stroked Leah's face. “My parents really like you, though.”

“Do they?”

“Of course. Couldn't you tell?”

“To be honest, not really.”

Darcy frowned. “Oh.”

“Don't worry about it,” Leah reassured him, kissing the tip of his nose. “Your family and my family obviously express themselves differently. In any case, you seem to be the apple of your mother's eye.”

“Well, I adore her. My mother's the best woman I know. She just takes time in getting to know people. She was raised very conservatively and can be shy at times.”

Leah nodded. “Maybe we can hit the sales together tomorrow. A little female bonding.”

“My mother never goes shopping on the day after Thanksgiving.”

“Are you serious?”

Darcy nodded.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “She's not a fan of sales, I guess. She hates crowds. She likes taking her time.”

“Even if it means paying full price?” Leah was incredulous. She didn't know anyone who didn't wake up early to hit the after-Thanksgiving sales on Black Friday. It was practically a ritual in her family. She, Jen, and Ruth would wake up at five, get dressed in their best underwear and most comfortable shoes, go for bagels, and then be in the stores by seven. They'd make a brief stop at home at six in the evening to pick up David, and then they'd go out for Chinese food at Canton Garden. Leah called it their Stereotypical Jewish Day.

“So what do you do the day after Thanksgiving?” Leah asked.

“Usually, we start taking down the boxes of Christmas decorations from the attic.”

“Do you go buy a tree?” Leah asked, nearly ecstatic. As a Jew, this was one of the pleasures of the season she longed to do most.

“No, we do that a little closer to Christmas.”

“Oh.” Leah's face fell.

Darcy chuckled. “But maybe this year we can go earlier. I'll ask my parents tomorrow at breakfast.”

“Really? Oh, that would be so cool!”

“Anything for you.”

But Leah didn't respond, visions of Christmas trees dancing in her head.

*

Leah's eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she saw was Darcy, smiling sleepily at her.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

“Umh.” Leah didn't do mornings.

“You fell asleep here last night.”

“Oh, crap. Sorry.”

“I don't mind. I smell pancakes. You want to get up?”

“Mm, pancakes. Let me get dressed.” Kissing Darcy lightly, she tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack. No one was in the hall. Leah sprinted towards her room and shut the door.

“What to wear? What to wear?” She glanced at the clock. It was a quarter after eight. Jen and Ruth would probably be tearing apart the sale racks of Saks by now. Choosing a black button-up sweater and a boring pair of gray slacks, Leah sighed. Minutes later, she slipped into the bathroom to wash her face and met Darcy back in his room. He laughed at her.

“What are you wearing?”

“Clothes,” she answered crossly.

“I've never seen you look so...”

“Boring?”

“I was going to say conservative.”

Leah looked at him askance. “Can we just go?”

“Okay, okay. I always forget what you're like before you've eaten anything.”

Ignoring him, Leah led the way down the stairs and into the kitchen where Catherine was flipping pancakes.

“Good morning,” Leah said as brightly as she could.

“Good morning,” Catherine answered, her eyes trained on the griddle. “Sleep well?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Darcy, I hope you still eat pancakes for breakfast.”

“They smell great, Mom.”

“You two go sit down.”

Louis was already sat at the table, an empty plate in front of him. He was reading the front page of the newspaper.

“Morning, Dad.”

“Morning,” Louis responded, not looking up from the newspaper.

“Any plans for today?”

Peering up over his reading glasses, Louis stared at Leah and then looked to his son. “Not anything except raking the yard. I thought we could take down some of the decorations. Start getting the knots out of the lights. Why?”

“Actually, Leah and I were talking last night. Do you think we could go pick out our tree a bit earlier this year?”

“You mean today?” Louis scoffed as if it were the most ludicrous thing he'd even heard.

“What about today?” Catherine said, appearing with two plates of pancakes.

“Darcy wants to go get the tree today.”

“Well, we thought since Leah never gets to pick out a Christmas tree that today would be a good opportunity.”

“Oh,” said Catherine, “does your family use one of those plastic trees?”

Leah smiled. “No, actually. I'm Jewish.”

Catherine, ever so poised, nearly let the placid smile plastered to her face fall. Louis cleared his throat and went back to the paper.

“I see. Well, Lou, I suppose we could go get the tree today.”

Louis nodded. “Can we go after lunch? I want to rake the yard.”

Leah sliced through her pancakes, her knife screeching against the plate. “Sorry.”

Darcy beamed at her. “Okay, so it's set. We're going to pick out a Christmas tree.”

Leah grinned back, even though she didn't feel half as excited anymore.

*

The revelation of Leah's religion sent Catherine into near hysterics. After breakfast, she stood in the kitchen with a pensive look on her face, her smile gone.

“Mom, are you okay?” Darcy said, setting his plate in the sink.

“Oh,” she said, managing one of her smiles at Leah. “Leah, I hope dinner last night was all right for you.”

Taken aback at Catherine's sudden concern, Leah's eyes widened. “Yes, Catherine, everything was delicious.”

“Thank you for the compliment, but I didn't realize that you were...Jewish, and I certainly don't know anything about your dietary needs.”

“Oh, that's fine. I don't keep kosher.”

Based on Catherine's expression, Leah could tell that kosher meant as much to her as Sanskrit.

“I mean,” Leah explained, “I don't strictly observe our dietary restrictions. Actually, I don't observe them at all.”

Catherine sighed in relief. “Well, that's wonderful to hear. I was going to make steak tonight for supper, and I just didn't know if you could eat that.”

“Actually, Jews can eat beef.”

“Oh, can you? You're not vegetarians?”

“No, Mom, Hindus and Buddhists are vegetarians. Jewish people don't eat pork and shellfish and stuff like that,” Darcy explained.

Catherine waved her hand. “I'm so sorry, Leah. We don't have many friends of the Jewish faith.”

“That's okay.”

“Why don't you show Leah the woods, Darcy? They're beautiful at this time of year.”

Darcy nodded. “Does that sounds okay?”

“Sounds great,” Leah beamed at Darcy.

The empty smile returned to Catherine's mouth. Leah couldn't say she felt relieved, but at least things had remained at the status quo, as long as she could eat Darcy's mother's meals.

Chapter 7

“Can I wear this to church?” Leah said, standing in the doorway of Darcy's boyhood room. Straightening his tie in the mirror, he looked back to her. She wore a blue cardigan over a black skirt with her mother's Enzo heels on her feet.

“Looks good to me.”

“I can't believe I'm going to church.”

Darcy smiled at her through the mirror. “It means a lot to me.”

“I won't know any of the songs.”

“Don't worry. No one is expecting you to sing.”

From down the hall, they heard Catherine's muffled voice. “I said no, Gillian.”

Gigi's voice was too low to hear anything but nondescript sounds, but from the sharp tone, Leah could tell they were in the midst of a mother-daughter row. Frankly, Leah was glad it wasn't her.

She had spent four glorious days of no shouting or mean-spirited comments, of picking out a Christmas tree and beginning to put up the decorations, of driving through countryside set afire with autumn colors, of secret trysts on Darcy's childhood bed, and of Catherine's delicious, if unoriginal, home-cooked food. So when Catherine had suggested the previous night that the whole family attend church the next morning, Leah had agreed, happy and eager to be accepted so wholly into the Fitzwilliam clan.

On Sunday morning, however, she wasn't as happy and eager. Leah had not stepped into any house of worship—synagogue, church, or otherwise—since Yom Kippur five years ago. Having gone five years atonement-less and knowing her God's proclivity towards merciless acts of vengeance, Leah worried that breaking her dry spell in a church might cause terrible things to happen—a car accident, maybe, if not a flood. Plus, there would be a whole stand-up, sit-down, pray ritual that she wouldn't know. Would everyone there know that she was Jewish? Leah had laid in bed that morning with visions of the priest (or whatever Methodists called him) announcing to the congregation that they had an outsider among them.

Nevertheless, with an air of calm, Leah waited in the foyer for the rest of the family to assemble. Gigi trampled down the stairs, a look of utter hatred on her face. Leah blushed for her when she saw what Darcy's sister was wearing: a two-piece pink suit that was so formless and prim, it looked like it came straight from a 1980's Laura Ashley catalog. Their eyes met and Gigi flushed crimson. Catherine soon joined her children in the living room, wearing a beautiful maroon suit and a matching wide-brimmed hat. Leah didn't know women still wore hats, but she wasn't in Jersey anymore, so anything was possible. Once Louis galloped down the stairs as well, they departed, taking the Fitzwilliams' mini-van.

Pulling into the church, Leah's heart began thumping. Darcy patted her knee reassuringly, but she felt that from the moment she stepped out of the car, everyone was looking at her. As they approached the church, Louis, Catherine, and Darcy began seeing their respective friends, stopping to say hello. It took them ten minutes to make the thirty-foot journey from the parking lot to the church. Only Leah and Gigi stood around awkward and mute.

Trying to lighten the mood and her own worries, Leah turned to Gigi, “So, what's church like anyway? Any pointers for me?”

Gigi shrugged and looked at the tips of her shoes. “Don't worry. No one goes to church for God. They all go to gossip and see who's wearing the ugliest outfit.”

It would be the longest, unbroken speech Gigi would make that whole weekend.

Filing into the conservative, beige building, the Fitzwilliams found a pew that would seat their group and talked quietly to those around them until the service began. Darcy sat next to Leah, but was leaning forward, chatting about the Patriots with a fifth grade schoolmate. Leah picked at a hangnail. Finally, the harpist and accompanying piano struck a few angelic chords, and the minister waddled up to the pulpit and greeted the congregation.

Somewhere around the ten-minute mark, Leah relaxed enough to zone out. She stared at the cross on the wall behind the pulpit, at the feathered, flowered hat of a lady two pews up, at her fingernails. When everyone stood, she followed. When they sat, she sat. She opened the Bible to the right page and read curiously. The service ended quickly and announcements regarding fundraisers and coffee socials were made.

Before Leah knew it, they were back home, filled with homemade soup and grilled cheese sandwiches and once again standing in the foyer, bidding the family goodbye. Both Leah and Darcy were silent on the drive out of the neighborhood, staring at the rolling scenery. At a traffic light, Darcy put the car in park, leaned over, and kissed Leah softly on the lips.

“This was the happiest Thanksgiving I've ever had,” he whispered.

Surprised by the sudden, tender outpouring of affection, she responded, “Me, too.”

The car behind them started honking, and Darcy stepped on the gas and continued silently down the Connecticut highway. They chit-chatted easily about the upcoming week, work and school commitments, when they could next meet, and a new tapas restaurant which Darcy wanted to try. When they hit state lines, however, the mood sobered. Both knew that their farewell was drawing near, and even though they had arranged to meet on Tuesday night, a dinner date was only a concession; it wasn't enough.

Darcy exited the interstate, and Leah refreshed his memory on directions to her house until they arrived. Helping her with the duffel bag, he walked her to the door, where she fumbled with her keys.

“So, you'll call me tomorrow?” she asked.

“Yes. I wish you could come back with me.”

“I wish I could, too,” Leah frowned, “but I haven't been home since Tuesday.”

“No, I understand. Someday...maybe we can go home together.”

Leah raised her eyebrows, about to ask for clarification on that statement, when the front door creaked open.

“I thought I heard a car pull up,” announced Ruth.

Leah turned towards her mother, flushing. “Hi, Ma.”

“Hello, shana. How was your weekend?”

“Good. It was...really good.”

Ruth had completely opened the door and stood regarding Darcy.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Ruth,” he said, his voice collected. “It's nice to see you again.”

Nodding, Ruth replied. “The same to you. Please thank your mother for having my daughter over for Thanksgiving.”

“It was our pleasure, really.”

Leah saw Ruth's owl eyes, inspecting every part of Darcy's appearance, this time with the exactitude of a protective mother. She was desperate for Ruth to leave.

“You know, I was looking at the calendar, Leah. Did you know Hanukkah falls very early this year?”

“No,” Leah answered brusquely.

“I was thinking of having a party.”

Leah made a face. All of these gatherings and parties were so atypical of her mother, who was usually too frazzled to shop, clean up, and cook for large dinners.

“Darcy, I'd love for you to come.”

Leah's heart nearly stopped. “Ma, a Hanukkah party? Come on, we're not ten-year- olds.”

“What? I think it will be nice. The Bings said they'd come. I'm sure Darcy has met them before.”

“Several times, in fact,” Darcy chimed in.

“You see? It will be fun. I'm going to make latkes, and we can teach Darcy to play dreidel.”

“I don't even know how to play dreidel.”

“That's because you never paid attention at Hebrew school. Darcy, ignore her. Will you come to our Hanukkah party?”

Darcy smiled. “It sounds great. I'd love to.”

Leah furrowed her forehead in confusion.

“And since you liked the kugel so much last time, I'll be sure to make it this time, too,” Ruth said. Leah cast a droll look at Darcy, whose grin never wavered.

“Okay, Ma, thank you for that wonderful invitation. I'll be inside in two minutes. Thanks. Bye.”

“Drive carefully,” Ruth bade him.

Darcy nodded. After Ruth disappeared inside, Leah raised her eyebrows. “A Hanukkah party.”

“It sounds fun.”

“My mother's never thrown a Hanukkah party before.”

Laughing, Darcy took Leah's face in his hands. “Maybe she likes me. Goodbye, silly Leah.” He kissed her lightly on the lips.

Leah waited at the door until he had backed out of her driveway and disappeared down the street. She shook her head in confusion, hauled her duffel bag inside, and went to find her mother so she could ask about what exactly had inspired her to throw something as bizarre and unexpected as a Hanukkah party.

*

It was late, and Darcy kept sighing. Leah felt his eyes boring into her, but she was in the middle of an idea spurt, her fingers flying over the keys of her laptop. Frustrated, Darcy pushed himself off of the sofa and paced to where Leah sat at the dining table.

“Don't you want to come to bed?” he murmured into her ear, before nibbling on the lobe.

“Give me five minutes,” she swatted him away.

“You said that ten minutes ago.”

“...cannot be compared with Lenin's treatise.” Leah punched in the last letters of her sentence and looked over her shoulder. “I'm sorry. But, I'm on a roll here.”

Darcy's mouth tensed.

“Once I submit this tomorrow, I'll have all the time in the world to be with you.”

He nodded, his face slackening. Kneading her shoulders, he replied, “Okay. Do you mind if I go to bed?”

“No,” she said, touching his hand. Darcy kissed Leah goodnight and wandered to his room. Turning back to her computer screen, Leah re-read her last sentence and, frowning, deleted half of it.

*

Darcy's eyes opened. The space in his bed where Leah should have been was perfectly made and unoccupied. His bedside clock read 2:17. It was then that he heard muffled sobs, filtering in from the living room.

Opening the door to his room, he found Leah still at the dining room table, staring bleakly at her computer screen, choked with tears. She bolted up and wiped them away when she noticed him.

“Leah, what's wrong?” he asked, his voice scratchy from sleep.

“Oh, I'm sorry, did I wake you up?”

He went over to her. “What's wrong? Why are you crying?”

Unable to meet his gaze, Leah looked to the computer screen. Her lip trembled. “I've been working on this for six hours now, and it sucks! It makes no sense. Everything is all jumbled in my head.” She hid her face in her hands and began to cry in earnest again.

“I'm sure it's better than you think.”

“No, Darcy, trust me. It sucks. It's a weak argument.” Leah rubbed her eyes. “God, I've been studying this stuff for years, and it still doesn't make sense to me.”

“It's theory, Leah. It doesn't make sense to anyone.”

Leah glared at him through her fingers. She sighed shakily. “I'm just so tired of this. I've been trying to get this dissertation off of the ground for a semester. It takes some people years. Am I going to be one of those thirtysomethings who are still working on their thesis?”

Darcy could only rub her hand sympathetically. “Why don't you come to bed? You can wake up early and work on it then. Things might start making more sense if you've gotten some sleep.”

Nodding, Leah silently saved her document and shut her laptop. She mutely followed Darcy. She brushed her teeth, changed her clothes, and then collapsed into bed next to him. “I'm so sick of this whole thing.”

“Sick of your thesis?”

“Yes.”

“Can you change the topic?”

Leah contemplated the idea in the dark. “At this stage, I could. It would mean all of the research I've done so far has been useless. I'd have to start over from nothing. Frank wouldn't be pleased.”

“It's not Frank's future.”

“I know.” She sighed. “I used to love this stuff. Theory, thoughts, new, radical ideas. Now it just seems so...”

“So?”

“So pointless. Just a bunch of citations.”

Darcy chuckled. “I've never been a man of theory. Action—that's where it's at.”

Groaning, Leah rolled over to snuggle close to her boyfriend. “That's why you're good for me. I live too much in my head. And you're practical.”

He stroked her hair affectionately, thinking in the stillness.

“Ugh, why did I decide to study something so impractical and obtuse? Why couldn't I be like Cherry? I could have gotten a Masters, headed up my own non-profit. Saved the world while still making a salary.”

Darcy kissed her forehead. “You need a break.”

“I definitely need a break.”

“Could you take one?”

“I don't have the money for a vacation.”

“No, I mean a longer break. A sabbatical.”

Leah chewed this idea around. “I've never thought about it.”

“You've been studying the same topic since undergrad. It's probably just gone stale. Maybe if you gave yourself a semester away from it, you'd get some of the fire back.”

“Maybe,” Leah echoed.

“Why couldn't you ask Cherry if there was an opening at her company? That way, you could get away from all of that theory, do something practical that still kind of relates to your field, and earn a bit of money.”

Leah didn't respond. Darcy interpreted this as reluctance. “I just don't want to see you crying over something that you supposedly love.”

“You're right.” She yawned.

“Come on. You're sleepy, I'm sleepy. Let's talk about this in the morning when you feel better.”

Leah nodded, pecking Darcy's stubble-rough cheeks with a kiss. She was exhausted, but not too exhausted that before falling asleep, she couldn't mull over Darcy's suggestion.

*

“Baruch Atah Adonai,” sang Leah, her face cherry-red. “Elohaynu melech ha'olam, sh'ha-sah nisim lavotaynu baya-mim hahaym baz-mam hazeh.”

“A-a-men,” chorused everyone else, and then clapped for Leah's off-tune rendition of the second Hanukkah prayer.

Leah's father kissed the top of her head. “Next stop, Carnegie Hall.”

“Stop it, Dad.”

“I remember a time when you and Jenny used to fight over who got to sing the prayers, and now look at you two,” David fondly recalled. “We couldn't get you to sing if your lives depended on it.”

Both Leah and Jen blushed this time.

“Darcy, honey, do you know what the prayers mean?” Sheryl Bing, Chuck's mother, asked to the only non-Jew at Ruth Bennett's Hanukkah celebration.

“I have no idea.”

“We Jews,” piped in Ruth, “we're a very economical people, and we like to keep things simple. All of our prayers start the same. Baruch Atah Adonai Elohaynu melech ha'olam. `Praised be to you, Oh God, Sovereign of the Universe.'”

“If you can remember this, you're half-way to being a Jew,” Sheryl chimed back in.

“I wouldn't say `half-way,'” Ruth countered.

“Okay, but you're close.” It was a war of the Jewish mothers. Leah knew this competition to enlighten her boyfriend could turn nasty.

“The prayer is a thanks for the miracle of light that God performed for us back in the day,” Jen interrupted. “Can we open our presents now, please?”

Ever since the first trimester had ended, Jen's hormones had turned her into an irritable bitch. Ruth merely laughed, thinking her eldest could do no wrong. Boxes were swapped, Star of David wrapping paper torn and discarded, and gifts admired.

“Oh, honey, those Mozart CDs that I wanted for the baby,” Jen cooed, kissing her husband.

“Ooh, a Jets hats. Thank you, Ruth.”

“You know I hate purple. Why would you get me a purple scarf?” Ruth wrinkled her nose at the gift she received from her husband.

“That belt that I wanted! Cool!” Leah threw her arms around Darcy's neck and kissed his nose.

“So you do this every night for eight nights?” Darcy asked, when the gift-opening frenzy had subsided.

“When we were kids, yes. Not anymore,” Leah explained.

“Now she's lucky if she gets anything,” Ruth called out.

Leah stuck her tongue out. “Yes, I should be grateful for the roof over my head and food on the table.”

“And don't you forget it.”

“Okay, everyone,” Sheryl announced, stepping up the ante in the war for domination of the evening, “it's dreidel time!”

Ruth rolled her eyes at Leah, who smirked back. Her mother, for some reason, was in good spirits that evening. Ever since Leah had arrived with Darcy, Ruth had been all smiles and congeniality, asking him about work, about his interests, about his family. There had been minimal rude remarks and only slight maneuvering for power. The food had been delicious, the atmosphere festive, and Leah was happy.

Sheryl explained the rules of dreidel, and huddled around the table, the Bings, Bennetts, and sole Fitzwilliam began spinning. After several rounds, Ruth wanted to check on the coffee, Jen needed to pee, and Leah grew bored with the game so each abandoned the table. The boys, now playing for quarters rather than chocolate gelt, were absorbed in the game, and Mrs. Bing was absorbed in refereeing it. Hearing her mother remove the coffee cups from the cupboard, Leah wandered into the kitchen to offer her help. Soon, even Sheryl tired of the game and followed Leah in.

“What is it about men and competitive games? They're still going at it,” she huffed.

“Don't even talk to me about it,” Ruth conceded. “You can't pry David away from the TV when there's any kind of sports on. Even hockey.”

Leah chuckled.

“So, Leah,” Mrs. Bing said, pacing over to where Leah was cutting up a loaf of pound cake, “Chuck tells me that you and Darcy are an item.”

“We are.”

“And how long have you been seeing each other?”

“Oh, for about two months now.”

“So, is it serious?”

Glancing nervously over to her mother, Leah noticed Ruth had paused in pouring cream into a creamer, waiting for her daughter's answer.

“Um, yes, it's kind of serious.”

“Oh, come on. You can tell me. What does `kind of' mean?”

“Sheryl, leave her alone. It's only been two months. How's she supposed to know her feelings about it? They're practically still strangers to each other.” A hard edge had crept into Ruth's tone.

Sheryl lifted her palms in resignation. “Let me tell you, Leah, I've known this boy for years. As well-mannered and gentlemanly as they come. And handsome, too. He's a catch. And the way he looks at you. That boy has wedding bells in his eyes, trust me, I can see it. I've raised three sons, you know. And when Chuck first brought your sister home to meet me, he looked at her in the same way, and I knew. I thought, `He's going to marry this girl.' And one year later, he proposed. A mother can tell these things.”

“Leah's a feminist. She's told me on numerous occasions that she doesn't want to get married.” Ruth's eyes were icicles as she glared at Sheryl.

“Pphhfft!” poo-pooed Chuck's mother. “Not want to get married? A pretty girl, like you? No.”

“Uh, so I finished cutting the pound cake, Ma. What else?” Leah asked nervously, eager to flee the lioness' den.

“Nothing. That's it. Please put it on the table.”

Leah could see her mother struggling to maintain a calm facade. Very soon after that, Ruth dissolved the dreidel game to serve dessert. As before, Leah sat next to Darcy, both laughing in a shared secret joke as they scarfed down a cinnamon babka that the Bings had brought over. There were three concurrent conversations around the table, but Leah and Darcy were lost in their own world.

Pausing to take another bite of the cake, Leah caught her mother's eye. Ruth stared at them fiercely, her eyes narrowed. Seized by a sprialling sensation in her stomach, Leah couldn't look away. Mother and daughter regarded each other silently, until Ruth turned her eyes down to her coffee, swirling the black stuff delicately with a small spoon.

Chapter 8

“A job?” Cherry repeated, frowning at her friend's request. “You mean full-time?”

“Yes.” Leah held the mug to her lips, sipping the peppermint tea.

“I don't know if we're really in a position to hire anyone, Ley. We barely have the funding to pay me a decent salary.”

“What about any other organizations? Have you heard of any that are hiring?”

“Well, no. But I can ask around.”

“Can you? Oh, that would be great.” Leah squeezed her friend's hand across the table.

Cherry eyed her suspiciously. “How do you plan on juggling a full-time job and your thesis? My job isn't easy. I work literally all day. There's not a moment I'm not busy. And I'm usually at the office until six or six thirty.”

“I don't plan on juggling. I'm taking a leave of absence,” Leah declared.

“Oh. That's kind of...sudden.”

Leah sighed. “The dissertation is making me miserable. I talked with Frank about it, and he supports my decision. He even said that I seemed pretty directionless and told me in so many words that he'd rather I wait and get my thoughts together than waste his time for a year.”

“That's harsh.”

“He made it sound a lot nicer.”

“So, that's it. No more dissertation?”

“No. It's a sabbatical. I stay enrolled, but I take a year to do what I want to do.”

Cherry nodded. “If that's what you want, then let me talk to Dina tomorrow. She knows the director of every non-profit in Manhattan.”

“Thanks, Cherry. That would mean a lot to me.”

“Oh, no. This isn't a favor, it's a trade. I get you a job, and you get me a date with Darcy's friend who you keep telling me about.”

“Richard?”

“Yes, him.”

Leah laughed. “Okay, it's a deal.”

“Excellent. So when do you want to start working?”

“The sooner, the better. I'm broker than broke.”

“Don't cha just hate the holidays?” Cherry sympathized.

“Yeah, and I have twice the number of presents to buy this year. I'm invited over to Darcy's house again for Christmas.”

“Christmas with the Cleavers!”

“I have no clue what to buy his mom.”

“Well, what's she like?”

Leah wracked her brain for a comparison. “She's like Martha Stewart, only more perfect and with less personality.”

Cherry winced. “Can't you get her something safe? Like a picture frame?”

“A picture frame? Picture frames are so lame. That's only slightly better than a scented candle. Even a gift certificate would be more personal.”

“So get her a gift certificate.”

Leah shook her head. “Darcy told me she only wears insanely expensive clothes. Even if I got her a gift certificate for $100—and I can't because I don't have the money—it probably wouldn't even buy her a pair of socks.”

“She wears $100 socks!”

“Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration.”

Taking a sip of her cappuccino, Cherry replied, “You'll think of something. You're a smart girl.”

“I seriously hate Christmas,” grumbled Leah.

*

“Oh, a picture frame! Why, thank you, Leah,” Catherine smiled while inspecting the pewter frame in her hands.

Leah chuckled nervously. “You're welcome.”

Leah and the four Fitzwilliams sat around the living room, opening the first of a series of presents from under the Christmas tree. A fire crackled in the fireplace, giving off a warm scent that, coupled with the aroma of pine and fruit cake, made Leah feel as though she were Clara in The Nutcracker, lost in a Christmas dreamworld.

It was Christmas eve, and Leah had partaken in all of the Fitzwilliam family traditions—an intimate roast dinner, egg nog and fruit cake, a stroll through the neighborhood to admire the Christmas decorations, and the opening of one present of choice from underneath the tree. The Fitzwilliams, in all of their Norman Rockwell perfection, had even given Leah her own stocking, which hung above the fireplace next to Darcy's. Leah sensed that Catherine relished the season, with its pomp and ceremony, especially when she got to initiate a non-believer into the proceedings.

“All right!” Louis exclaimed, clapping his hands and standing. “We've opened the presents and drank the eggnog. Now, it's time to head to sleep and wait for what Santa might bring us in the morning.”

“Oh, Lou. I think the children are a little old for Santa,” Catherine chastised good-naturedly.

“You're never too old to believe in Santa! I think I'll have a little bit more of that eggnog, and then I'm off to bed.”

Rising, Gigi kissed her father on the cheek and bid them all a goodnight.

“Darling, have you decided what you're going to wear to church tomorrow? We have to be up early, and we were late the last time,” Catherine asked her daughter.

“I'm going to wear the same thing that I always wear.”

Catherine frowned. “Gillian, you can't keep wearing the same outfit. People notice these things.”

“I don't care,” Gigi said petulantly.

“Gigi,” her father warned. “Please show your mother a little more consideration.”

Grumbling her apology, Gigi promised that she would wear something different and then stormed up the stairs. Darcy smiled self-consciously at Leah, and they headed upstairs to his room.

“I'm sorry you had to witness that,” he apologized.

“Witness what?”

“That fight.”

Leah's mouth hung open. “That wasn't a fight.”

“Well, it wasn't appropriate in front of a guest.”

“That,” Leah said, shaking her head, “could not be construed as a fight in any way, compared to the spats I have with my mom. And I don't want you thinking of me as a guest. I want your family to act as naturally as possible in front of me.”

Darcy sighed, lowering himself onto the edge of his bed. “You're right. I'm sorry. My sister is just, well, going through a rough time, I think.”

“It's natural for a daughter to hate her mother from time to time,” joked Leah, kissing the crown of his head reassuringly.

Darcy chuckled. “Come here.” Hooking an arm around Leah's waist, he pulled her to him. Leah straddled his lap.

“Hello, Santa,” she whispered.

“Hello there. Have you been a good girl this year?”

Leah nodded. “I have.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. I'm with a good boy. He's a good influence.”

“He must be very lucky to be with such a pretty, funny, amazing girl like you.” Darcy punctuated his compliments with kisses to Leah's neck.

Leah giggled. “Santa, do you have a hard-on?”

Darcy answered by nuzzling Leah's shoulder. “Mm.”

“That's pretty pervy.”

“Santa wants an early Christmas present.”

“I may be Jewish, but I do know that Santa's supposed to give out the presents, not receive them.”

“Okay, then Santa wants to give you a present.” Darcy nibbled Leah's earlobe. “It's a nice present. Very stimulating.”

Leah moaned. “Santa, you're a dirty, old man.”

Darcy laughed, flipped Leah onto the bed, and proceeded to give her a truly memorable gift.

*

Later, Leah returned to the guest room to prepare for sleep. She tossed in bed, with more than sugarplums occupying her thoughts.

She thought about her dissertation, about somehow weaving her own thoughts through Marx, Lenin, Trotsky, and the gang. It depressed her. In her first year of grad school, Leah had burned with passion for their ideas, attending lectures around the city, volunteering for a small, communist newsletter, even taking up a part-time job working at a union, which she quit several months later when she realized how disorganized and political the organization really was. She was to publish her thesis to great acclaim, land a plum professorship at a small, liberal arts university, wear glasses with black, plastic frames (even though she had perfect vision), and consort with fellow intellectuals at underground cafes and salons.

And only days ago, she had been to the registrar's office to de-enroll herself from it all.

She hadn't yet told her family. Leah didn't want to break the news until she signed the contract for the non-profit job Cherry had helped her land. Her mother wouldn't be pleased. Ruth hated anyone or anything veering from the course cemented in her mind. It had taken her nearly two years to accept Leah's decision to get a PhD, now Leah would have to convince her that the decision to put that on hold had been the right one, too.

At least Darcy supported her, no matter what she did. He didn't care whether she was a student, an activist, or a copy girl, as long as Leah was happy. Having a person like him in her life was a totally new experience. In the darkness of the guest room, two doors down from him, Leah smiled and hugged her pillow as if it were Darcy. God, she loved him. She loved the way he made her feel, as if she would succeed in anything she tried. He made everything seem so easy—the thesis, the decision to put the thesis on hold, getting a job, telling her parents.

“If it makes you happy, of course they'll support you,” he had declared. Darcy didn't realize that not all families thought as generously as his, and that Ruth Bennett would be savagely bitter that her daughter had not only forgone law school, but that she would also be delaying her chances at getting any kind of higher level degree.

Leah sighed heavily and sat up. She wanted water and a chance to clear her head. She tiptoed down the stairs, her heart catching in her chest when she saw that Darcy, too, had not been able to sleep and was sitting in an armchair in the living room, staring at the softly lit Christmas tree. He noticed Leah and smiled.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked.

“No, I came down for some water. What are you doing up?”

“Thinking.”

Leah sat at his feet, laying her chin on his lap. “About what?”

“About a lot of things. About my life. About you.”

Leah lifted her head. “Me? What about me?”

His eyes suddenly grew serious, and he didn't reply for a long while. “Just about you within the context of my life. Don't worry. It's nothing bad. Why are you up?”

“I couldn't sleep. Too many thoughts in my head.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“My dissertation. And my mom.”

“Are you still worrying about that?” His voice was gentle, but Leah detected a thread of stiffness in his tone.

“I am.”

“Don't. It's Christmas. You can worry about it once you go home.”

Leah sighed.

“Why don't you get your water and go back to bed?” Darcy suggested. Something in his voice made Leah's stomach clench. He sounded...resigned. Weary. Or possibly annoyed. She nodded and stood.

“What about you?”

Darcy attempted a weak smile. “I still have things that I need to think about. I'll go to bed soon.”

Nodding again, Leah got her drink from the kitchen. She passed through the living room to say goodnight to Darcy, who only replied with the barest nod of his head. Furrowing her eyebrows, Leah returned to her room, where she stayed up for another hour, this time worrying about the sudden sullenness in Darcy and how it could have related to her.

*

“Kids, wake up or we'll be late for church!” bellowed Louis, stunning Leah from a black sleep. She groaned and checked the bedside clock. Seven thirty.

“Darcy, Gigi, Leah!” Louis knocked on all of their doors.

“Yes!” Leah croaked. “Good morning, Louis. I'm up.”

Shuffling to the door, she opened it at the same time as Darcy, whose mussed hair and sleepy eyes showed that he had just awoken, too. Leah's heart jumped, wishing that she could have been snuggled next to him when he had opened his eyes. He was always so cute then.

“Morning,” she smiled.

In a reversal of roles, he merely groaned and gestured for her to use the bathroom first. Leah splashed water on her face, puzzled by Darcy's silence. He thrived in the mornings and rarely had trouble waking up. Alarmed, Leah realized his thoughts must have kept him awake last night, too. He said that they had been about her. What, specifically, could they have meant?

Stepping from the bathroom, Leah tread down the stairs.

“Good morning, Catherine.”

“Oh, hello, Leah. I haven't made any breakfast. We'll eat after church, but help yourself to some cereal or toast, if you're hungry.”

“Okay.”

Leah poured a bowl of Shredded Wheat and sat at the dining room table alone to eat. Her mood grew grayer as she realized that Darcy, who never ate breakfast, wouldn't even come downstairs to join her.
As Leah dressed for church, she worried. She tried to remember everything that had passed between them the night before, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. They had made love, giggled in the afterglow, and then Leah had returned to the guest room. What had she done?

Coiling her hair into a manageable French twist, Leah frowned into the mirror. She thought she looked beautiful in the new suit she'd bought at Loehmanns. But, as Leah never wore suits, it was hard to know if the outfit, a sleek forest-green, tweed jacket and skirt, was appropriate for Christmas Day. Slipping on her high heels, she walked two doors down and knocked on Darcy's door, uncharacteristically shut.

“Yes?” he said, and she opened the door.

“Does this look okay? If it doesn't, I brought something different.”

Darcy glanced to Leah, “Yes, it looks fine.” Nothing lit up in his eyes, the new suit barely even registered.
Blinking, Leah turned around. “Okay, I'll change it.”

Just then, Catherine slipped out of her room, adjusting a string of pearls around her neck. “Oh! Leah, that's a lovely suit.”

“Really?” Leah perked up. “Is this appropriate for church?”

“I think it's fine.”

“Oh,” Leah said, casting her eyes back to Darcy, who stood adjusting his tie in the mirror.

Once Catherine had disappeared down the stairs, Leah turned to Darcy. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly, if not a little curtly.

“Because you seem...agitated.”

Looking at Leah, he smiled. “No, I'm fine. Really.”

“Okay, well, Merry Christmas,” she said to him. He nodded and returned the greeting, going back to his uncooperative tie.

*

Darcy remained uncommunicative on the ride to the church. Judging from his face, Leah could tell that he wasn't angry. He seemed pensive, consumed by thought. Except for Louis and Catherine's gossiping about the next door neighbors and the cardboard boxes of expensive electronic gadgets littering the curbside, the car ride remained silent and tense. Gigi, Leah noticed, wore a new dress—pink with drab, purple flowers and loose, it did nothing for her tall, graceful figure. She kept scratching her neck, her face set in a scowl.

The church parking lot was packed, and Louis couldn't find a spot, which annoyed him and further blackened the mood in the car. Fortunately, church was more festive, with its crowded pews decorated with holly and a huge Christmas tree in the sanctuary. Leah recognized many of the carols and enjoyed the service much more than her first visit at Thanksgiving. On the ride back to the Darcy's house, everyone's mood lightened. Darcy even attempted conversation about the Johnsons, who had sat in front of them.

At home, Catherine made pancakes and the family opened presents. With all of the boxes crammed under the tree, the task took over an hour. Catherine oohed and ahed at ghastly wool sweater after ghastly wool sweater, presents from her enormous family. Louis admired a new golf club bought for him by his wife. Gigi shyly thanked Darcy for a trendy T-shirt bought from a Greenwich Village boutique which Leah had picked out. Darcy even brightened for a few moments to thank Leah for his gift, a lush cashmere sweater that she had bought at Banana Republic and a jazz compilation that she knew he had been coveting.

For her part, Leah cheerily thanked Catherine and Louis for a sturdy pair of hideous mittens and Gigi for a handmade soap set. She kissed Darcy lightly on the cheek for his gift, a pair of delicate gold earrings, dangling with turquoise and blue topaz. All in all, it turned out to be a very happy Christmas for everyone involved, although Leah noticed that Darcy almost immediately retreated to the window, once the present opening had finished. He stared outside with that same ruminative face. Leah grew worried.

“Hey,” she said, slipping up to him. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yes, I'm fine.” His voice was peculiarly flat.

“Darcy, what's wrong? You're not fine. Did I do something?”

He smiled slightly then. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Leah furrowed her forehead. “Can you tell me?”

Glancing over at his family sitting so close to where they stood, Darcy turned to Leah. “I don't want to do this in front of them. Let's take a walk.”

Leah's heart stopped. This didn't sound good. Darcy was too serious. He was never serious. What had she done? She wracked her brain, but could think of nothing. Up in her room, her chest gripped with panic, Leah hiked on her thick, brown boots and met Darcy in the hallway.

“We're going for a walk. We'll be back soon,” Darcy announced.

“Okay, honey!” Catherine called from the kitchen. “Don't forget Nana and Grandpa are coming over at four.”

He promised he wouldn't, and then, taking Leah's hand, he walked out into the freezing air. Strolling in silence for several long minutes, Leah decided not to push Darcy to speak. She would let him talk in his own time, even though the dread she felt pressed painfully against her chest. Leah recognized the route they were taking. Darcy led her through the maze of houses in his neighborhood to a place where the development thinned out to a small wood, which everyone referred to as Oakham Mount. He seemed nervous, from the way he kept sighing and the breathtaking pace his legs kept.

Finally, Leah thought her chest would explode with fear if he continued to say nothing, and she pulled her hand from his. He stopped walking and turned to look at her.

“Darcy, what have I done?”

They were just entering the makeshift path that the local residents had carved into the woods. Looking around, Darcy put his hands on his hips and regarded Leah with narrowed eyes. He sighed heavily and looked away.

“Leah,” Darcy said. With a grim face, he gazed back down to her and then she knew. He was breaking up with her.

“Leah...” he repeated.

“Yes?”

Darcy cleared his throat. “Leah, I don't know how to say this.”

Leah throat constricted painfully. She wished he would just say whatever he had to say so that she could cry and relieve the awful tension. “What? For god's sake, just say it. I can take it.”

“Leah, I've known for a long time that...what I mean is, I love you.”

Nodding, Leah furrowed her eyebrows.

“I love you, but I've recently realized that that's not enough for me.”

Her mouth hung open stupidly. How could this be happening? Last night, they had luxuriated in each other's bodies and whispered their silly nothings, he had kissed her goodnight, and now this? She didn't understand.

Darcy continued. “What we have is good, but I'm not satisfied with it.”

“I don't get it,” Leah whispered. “What have I done? If you're not satisfied with our relationship, then just tell me, and I'll try to make things better.”

He shook his head. “No, that's not what I mean. I'm not being very eloquent.” He sighed heavily. “I thought this would be easier, if I didn't have to do it in front of my family but...”

Leah laughed bitterly. “Well, at least you spared me that humiliation!”

Darcy flinched. His reaction ignited something in Leah, and her tears dried up. “I love you, too. Or I loved you. And when people love each other, they communicate so that they can fix things between them. Communication is supposed to strengthen the relationship!”

“I know, Leah, and I'm sorry, but...”

“But, what? Last night, everything was great. We had dinner, we opened presents, we had sex! But, obviously, something's wrong. You've been silent the whole day, even last night in the living room. And now you've taken me out here just so you can break up with me...”

Darcy shook his head. “Leah, what are you talking about?”

Stiffening her posture, Leah raised her chin defiantly. “Go ahead. Say it. Get it over with.”

Blinking in confusion, Darcy stared at the ground. He remained silent for several moments, shaking his head, and then broke into a queer smile.

“Darcy?” Leah asked, her confidence draining away. She felt close to tears again.

Then Darcy laughed. Leah bristled.

“Is that what you thought, you silly girl?” Darcy said, grabbing her hands.

“Isn't that...what we...what you came here to do?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “I know I should probably be angry at you for thinking such a stupid thing,” he said, reaching one hand into the pocket of his coat, “but I can't.”

Darcy's hand reemerged, in it a tiny, black box. “I'm not breaking up with you, dearest, loveliest Leah.”

Taking her hands and turning her to face him, he bent his head to stare into Leah's eyes. “I'm asking you to marry me.”

---