Searching for Mr. Darcy

Scene Eighty-Six

By that evening, Maisie had messages from twelve other women Bastian had smooth talked into his mother's bed under the guise of being a wealthy doctor.  He'd found all of them online and appealed to their interests and hobbies, just like he'd done with Maisie.  Each of the women described the red flags they noticed but dismissed, just as Maisie had, because none of the flags were that bad.  Three had also been caught in the act by the mother - the others had met her at the end of the deception in other ways.  One had unexpectedly dropped by to surprise Bastian on his day off, and instead found his mother pruning the rose bushes.  Another had been contacted by the mother when she found a bra under the bed.

Each story was as gross as the last and Maisie prayed Priyanka took them seriously.  She got permission from each, including Bastian's mother, who was absolutely sick of her son's shenanigans, to screenshot their messages and send them to Yahoo!.  She blocked out the names of those who requested anonymity, started a new email with her story, and attached the screenshots.  The whirling noise of the email being sent gave her a sense of peace that took a ton of weight off her shoulders.

She slept like a baby that night.

****

Momma Frampton's "good" mood carried over to the next day - she requested her breakfast and coffee with pleases and thank yous and didn't once mention anything negative about her younger daughter.

"Are you feeling okay?" Maisie asked, touching the back of her hand to her mother's forehead.  No fever.  Momma Frampton swatted her away.

"I'm fine.  My leg hurts, but I'm fine."

"Do you want a painkiller?  You haven't had one yet this morning."

She nodded and Maisie tipped one into her hand.  She swallowed it and pulled her rigged table closer. "I think I'll do a puzzle.  Would you like to help?"

A memory hit Maisie like a speeding truck - at four or five years old, she climbed into her mother's lap and asked to help with a puzzle.  Her mother hugged her and handed her a piece.  "Where do you think this one goes?"

The memory had been hidden somewhere deep, buried away because it was incompatible with so many other memories.

Maisie took a seat beside her mother on the bed and selected a piece that looked like it belonged in the corner closest to her.  It fit perfectly in the second spot she tried, and her mother glanced over.  After a moment, her veiny hand landed softly atop Maisie's and patted it twice.  They worked silently for the next hour, until her mother was ready for a nap. Maisie pushed the table to the end of the bed and tucked her mother in.

While she was napping, Maisie checked her email, hoping for a response from Priyanka.  There wasn't one, so she went to the SMFD page to delete Bastian's article, but it was already gone.  She saw she had several DM's waiting - they were filled with messages from the other women screwed over by Bastian, all linking to a new article on Yahoo!.

Maisie clicked the link and eagerly read the update to the Bastian piece.  Priyanka included every single screenshot Maisie sent, along with her own words quoted at the beginning.  The edited piece ended with his mother's admission that her son as an entitled, misogynistic brat who she had kicked out of her house for good.

The new comments on the article from women were supportive, the ones from men mostly trollish.  It didn't matter, though.  Bastian's quotes had been removed and would not be what employers found when they googled her name.  Sure, she didn't love the idea of them finding the updated article, either, but it was certainly better than the alternative.

An apology email came from Priyanka that afternoon and Maisie read it with a smile on her face, but didn't reply.  She'd said everything she needed to say and was beyond done with the Darcy experiment.  She re-opened Facebook and clicked 'delete' on the page.