All Lydia really wanted was for someone to acknowledge the fact that she was fucking right. She called it years ago back when eensy weensy little Bing Lee hobbled through their life like an almost doctor looking for his lady love.
Probably a bad analogy, considering that was exactly what he was, but accurate nonetheless.
Lydia prided herself on three things: psychic ability, ESPM (extra sensory perception of men), and good analogies.
Take for instance, Jane. Jane was glowing like Lydia would on a good hair day, when the curling iron obeyed her every wish and her eyes just popped underneath the carefully cut bangs that framed her glorious presence. And that was saying something because Lydia was pretty much one hundred and forty six percent sure that she was the best looking one in the family.
Despite what Mama Bennet liked to say, Lydia was positive she had gotten the good genes.
See? Look at that. Analogy about Jane and detail. She was perhaps a great model slash author in the making. She could be like Oprah. And Nostradamus. Combined.
Regardless. The point was Lydia was right because Jane was glowing and that was all the proof she needed. She didn't even have to have Jane unfold her fingers from behind her back to show off the rock the size of Canada on her finger to know, instinctively, that her oldest sister was spreading her wings (and legs) and soaring away into Bing Lee's arms (and bed).
Needless to say, Mama Bennet was positively drowning in her own tears, Lizzie was still in shock, gripping Papa Bennet's arm like a feeble old lady about to fall over without her walking cane, and the aforementioned Papa Bennet looked entirely unaffected.
"I was fucking right," she crowed, fist pumping her thoughts into existence.
"Language!" Mama Bennet blubbered out while wilting into a Kleenex.
Jane blinked, barely suppressing her beaming look. "What?"
Lydia folded her arms, leaning against the door jamb confidently. "I knew from the minute future brother-in-law Bing Lee sauntered into your life wearing those ass-hugging jeans—"
"—that you were gonna grow old and have lotsa babies with him. Shame he's not a doctor anymore to give you any checkups—"
At that, Jane's face pinked up, and she began to utter some protest.
"—but at least now he can be New York's finest nonprofit owner and you can do the dirty on his desk—"
Again, garbled protests from somewhere deep in Jane's lungs.
"—while, you know, he's not busy rescuing animals and eradicating veteran homelessness or kissing babies or whatever it is he does these days."
Lizzie rolled her eyes, seeming to have finally come to grips with the situation. "You did not know."
"I so did!"
She raised an eyebrow challengingly. "And how could you have possibly known?"
Lydia shrugged, a smile playing at her lips. "A woman never tells her secrets."
"And by secrets you mean total bull—" Lizzie cut herself off, seeing the heavy glance her mother was giving her over the rim of their pink tissue box.
Papa Bennet yawned, slumping further in his corner of the yellow loveseat as the botany book slid further down his lap. "Girls, leave Lydia be," he said, patting Lizzie's shoulder. "Besides, it's such a lovely ring. Seven stones, princess cut set on gold, if I remember correctly?"
There was a long pause.
"How—" was the first word that flew from Lizzie's mouth, followed quickly behind the other quick exclamations.
"I knew I got my talent from somewhere," Lydia screeched victoriously.
"Daddy…?" Jane croaked, all the blush having vanished from her face in an instance.
And then finally, having settled the tissue box next on her on the roomy armchair, Mama Bennet sat up quietly, back taut with some unspoken consideration. Her daughters all turned towards her in anticipation, but after a long moment, she only sighed, rubbing her face wearily. "Meddling again?"
His lips quirked up, and finally shutting the informative pages in front of him, he replied complacently. "Not meddling, my dear. Just providing helpful insight to those who need it."
Lydia cackled. "Dad, you are the greatest. You're as regularly great as I am on my extra special best days when I wake up without tangles in my hair and—"
Jane interrupted, hand outstretched slightly as if trying to wrap her mind around something. "But how did you—but Bing was on a business trip in Canada when he bought—but I thought he's afraid of you…?"
"—the sun is shining and the birds are chirping and there's no period blood in sight—"
By this point, Mama Bennet had vacated the room, making a beeline for the kitchen fridge and muttering about interfering Bennet males who didn't have any consideration for her poor nerves. Lizzie had taken to pulling out her phone, furiously texting what was presumably a certain William Darcy. And Jane was still struggling to come to terms that her father, man who quite frequently won the Worst Dressed award, had had a hand in choosing her ring.
"—the point is, Dad," Lydia finished, "that I am excellent at analogies and details and men and telling the future and it's all thanks to you. Okay, well maybe not being good at knowing what the men want, but the rest I owe to you."
And Papa Bennet leaned back in his chair, smiling wanly. "Yes, well, maybe you should take up indoor container gardening as well. You know, I could teach you everything—"
And Lydia darted out the door quickly, skipping to the kitchen for a victory drink. "I was fucking—"
notes: I'm kind of a shitty friend who writes extremely late birthday fics and gives them to the birthday person to edit because I'm a shitty person, but I love you so. Happy birthday, Sonya! You are wonderful.