Now, to introduce this story: I have always felt that Mary was a neglected character. Admittedly, of late she's gotten more roles, but they seem to be mostly Regency (if I miss someone's story, forgive me). So, this is my modern story about Mary Bennet.
Part 1
Mary Bennet had no illusions about life.
That one simple statement summed up the woman Mary had become. She was a serious career woman, single and with every intention of staying that way. She lived in a nice two-bedroom apartment about twenty minutes from her office, which made driving in the morning easy. The second bedroom was reserved for guests, and, when there were no guests, Mary used it as a study. She had one pet, a cat named Smoke, who came and went as he pleased.
Mary worked in Chicago as a consultant for a marketing firm. She had majored in science and business in college, so it when the firm had come looking for someone to work with the scientists in the company, Mary was the logical choice. It was a good job, and it suited Mary perfectly.
All in all, Mary liked her life. It was straight-forward and prosaic. She didn't dream of having a home and family; this was just what she wanted.
Mary was the third of five daughters, and, as such, the ignored one. She just couldn't compete with her sisters. Jane, the eldest, was incredibly beautiful; Mary was plain. Elizabeth, eleven months younger, was witty; Mary couldn't come up with anything entertaining to say that way. Catherine was gentle and sweet; Mary was blunt and a tad abrasive. Lydia was lively and fun; Mary couldn't help being serious. The only thing that Mary had over her sisters, in fact, was her intelligence, but no one had ever counted that for anything.
In high school, Mary had been a straight-A student. She had attended college at the University of Michigan and had graduated with honors. She'd been offered her job before graduation. But none of that had ever really mattered to her family.
With all of this taken into consideration, it is not surprising that Mary had no illusions about life.
On September 26, her twenty-sixth birthday, Mary made a nice dinner for herself and Smoke, then read a book all evening. Her sisters had always insisted that Golden Birthdays were lucky, but, as far as Mary could see, nothing unusual or special had happened. Further proof that there was no such thing as luck, and that life was predictable and prosaic.