Face Timing

(Saturday, January 24, 2015)

At 9:05 PM, Wendy finally got to sit down on the loveseat in the Corduroy living room. Rather than just sit, she practically collapsed and just leaned back, loosening her muscles and stretching her neck. She felt exhausted.

At the moment, she was alone in the house—her three brothers and her dad had taken off for their weekly bowling trip to Roseburg and wouldn't be back until well after midnight. Her dad, still on crutches with his broken leg, wouldn't be able to bowl, but he could sure coach and critique the boys—and he sure would.

Wendy, meanwhile, had just finished washing, drying, folding, and putting away the week's laundry for the guys and had made a cleaning pass through the house. Except for Junior, who had vowed he would never do girl's work, the others at least made some effort. They swept a little, emptied trash, and kept the dishes cycling through the dishwasher. That left the mopping and heavier cleaning to her (sinks and fixtures were the ones she most hated), which she now did once a week. It ruined her Saturdays as far as her social life or recreation went, but it was still better than being a 24/7 live-in maid for four sloppy guys.

Now that she'd laid down the law, the house did not require her daily attendance—she did some light dusting, surface wiping, and tidying after school on Wednesdays as well as doing the heavy stuff Saturdays, though she dreaded the day when Junior would go back home and she'd have to swamp out her own room, which he had temporarily claimed. It was knee-deep in trash already, but she hoped Dan would come down on Junior about that. She was dropping hints, anyway.

She'd started the laundry and cleaning around ten that morning. She yawned. Better drive back to the Shack while I'm still awake, she thought. For the duration of Dan's recovery—until he could do the lumberjack work and carpentry again, which please God would be sometime in May and would allow Junior to return to his job up north in the lumber camp—she had temporarily moved into the attic bedroom that Dipper always used in the summers. With an effort, she pushed herself up from the loveseat, went out into a dark, cold, snow-blowy night, and drove over to the Mystery Shack. Her headlights made cones of swirling white snowflakes, but she drove carefully.

At the Shack, she checked in with Melody, Soos, and the toddler—Little Soos was walking around on his own now, so he qualified—and they were fine, Little Soos sleeping soundly and his parents watching TV. "Have you had dinner?" Melody asked her, all motherly concern.

"Yeah, thanks. I ate at the house right after the guys left for bowling," Wendy told her, smiling. Though now very obviously pregnant—nearly five months along—Melody would have offered to cook something for her. Wendy couldn't help yawning in the middle of her smile. "Sorry. Had a long day cleaning. Gonna go up and crash. Goodnight, guys."

In the attic bedroom, she stripped down to her underwear, then opened the drawer under Mabel's former bed and got out the warm, thick fleece pajama bottoms (she had discovered the need after a cold spell at the beginning of the month). She pulled the warm emerald-green pajama bottoms on, took off her bra, and, smiling, slipped into her sleep shirt.

It was one of Dipper's, a soft long-sleeved tee that he'd forgotten when he went back home to Piedmont after his and Mabel's Christmas break. She'd found it crumpled in the corner of the closet, and she remembered the mulberry-colored shirt from one of the times she and Dipper had done their morning run. Mistress of Laundry though she was—Wendy had not yet washed it. It still smelled just a little bit like Dipper.

Stepping fast because the floor was icy under her bare feet, she hopped into Dipper's bed, slipped beneath the two blankets, switched on the bedside lantern, and looked at her phone. Sixty-eight percent charge, that was fine. It was just before 9:30, just barely before, that is, so she called Dipper.

He answered right away. He had obviously been waiting for her call. "Hi, Wendy!" he said, grinning from her phone screen. "How's my girlfriend?"

Her grin answered his. "Hey, Dip. I'm good. Whatcha up to—boyfriend?"

"Just finished my homework, so I have tomorrow clear. I'm missing you so much."

She had the phone on speaker, and she cradled it close because she had the volume turned down for privacy as she spoke softly: "Same here, dude. So—how you likin' your new house? Ford says it's awesome."

"Awesome? Wouldn't go that far," Dipper said. "It's nice, though. Ford probably told you, he came and did his exorcism thing, but he and I both checked before he started, and there was no paranormal activity that we could detect. The house, well, I've got a bigger bedroom than my old one, and we have a library room in the basement. So far, Dad and I have unpacked about half our books, but we still have to get them in order. Ford and Lorena stayed over in the guest room, and Mom keeps talking about what a nice older couple they are! So that's it for me. What's the news up there?"

Wendy settled back against the pillows. "OK, let me see, what's the news in Gravity Falls—Oh, yeah, Ford had to help the Gnomes this week, you hear about that?"

Dipper looked surprised. "No! I haven't talked to him this week. What happened?"

He's still got stress lines under his eyes, Wendy thought. Dipper was the kind of boy who really tried hard—at everything. And he second-guessed himself and worried more than a boy of fifteen should do. However, Wendy gathered her thoughts and said, "Well, there's these critters called mole men."

Down in Piedmont, Dipper was lying back on his bed, too—Wendy could see the bottom edge of the big poster of Ghost Harassers that he'd taped to the wall above the head of his bed. He frowned in thought. "Mole men? Somebody said something about them. Oh, yeah! When he was disguised as that guy on the bean can, the Shapeshifter mentioned them, didn't he?"

"Yeah, I remember that, but I thought it was just part of his lies. Anyway, turns out mole men are real—Jeff told Ford they're the reason that the Gravity Falls Gnomes moved up to the surface hundreds of years ago, 'cause the mole men burrowed up from underground and were breakin' into the Gnomes' deepest tunnels and eating them. So now the Gnomes live mostly in the trees and just go underground only when it's real cold in the winter—but you know all that. Nowadays they evidently don't dig as deep as they used to, just far enough to get below the frost line, but all the same, one of the mole men broke through into a tunnel and caught and ate a Gnome."

"One we knew?"

"Name wasn't familiar, Mungle, or something like that. Anyway, the little guys asked Ford to help them get rid of the mole man before it went back and summoned more of its kind."

"Did he?"

"Oh, yeah. Turns out mole men are, like allergic to ultraviolet light. It evaporates them. So Ford's equipped the Gnomes with special small UV flashlights and stuff, and poof—"

The teens talked for an hour. Dipper told Wendy about how track training was going (he was the JV track team captain and assistant coach) and about his classes and Mabel's various adventures. Both started to get sleepy, but neither wanted to hang up, so they kept talking and smiling droopy-eyed at each other. "How about your college classes?" Dipper asked.

"Meh," Wendy said. "History's just OK, but there's a lot of boring stuff—the teacher's kinda old and is real big on us memorizing dates and all, which I can do, but it's not very inspiring. Got a 95 average on the weekly quizzes, though. I like the English class better this term. Good teacher, and I've already got a jump on most of the other students, 'cause I've nailed MLA and APA styles, which are what most of the research requires—one or the other, I mean. Got an A-plus on my first documented essay, and this teacher nearly never gives out A-plus grades!" She yawned. "'Scuse me. Tired, 'cause I spent most of the day over at the house, washing clothes and cleaning."

"How's your dad?"

Wendy rubbed the back of her neck. "Getting around good on his crutches now. As long as he does what the physical therapist says, he's gonna do fine. Dr. le Fievre here says the x-rays are looking good, bone's knitting, and he thinks Dad's cast can come off around the second week in February. Then he graduates to a cane."

"That's good," Dipper said. "And what about your house? Your, um, your closet, you know? Everything there still OK?"

"Yeah, it's fine, no more ghost snakes or anything." She was feeling comfortable and toasty warm, under the blankets. Lonely, though. She remembered a couple of nights when she and Dipper had slept cuddled together in one bed—no funny business, just keeping each other warm. It had been so nice. She asked playfully, "So how's your love life?"

"This is it," Dipper said with a laugh. "This is totally it."

She chuckled. "You're getting better at this mushy talk stuff. Hey, Dip? Could you do me a weird kind of favor?"

Immediately, he said, "Sure. What's that?"

"You got like a long-sleeved tee shirt you could spare?"

He looked surprised. "Uh—yeah, I've got about six of them. Why?"

"Got a green one, maybe?"

"Um, yeah, kind of a deep green. Why, Wendy?"

"OK, you forgot and left a, I don't know, I guess you'd call it a mulberry-colored one up here in the attic. I'll wash it and mail it to you—but first, I want you to wear that green one of yours all day. Maybe even do a little running in it, work up a sweat, you know? Then, without washing it, you mail that one to me."

Dipper looked puzzled, though he was smiling. "Why in the world?"

"Use your imagination, dude," she said. "Mm, wish we could touch. Be so nice when I'm all limp and relaxed like this. Hey, pack a couple of those shirts when you come up for the summer, too. The softest ones you have."

"They're kind of hot in the summer," Dipper pointed out. "But I'll make a note on my packing list."

"Oh, man! You got a packing list already?"

"Started it back in September," he admitted. "Because I look forward to the summer so much."

"Oh," Wendy said, putting the back of her free hand to her forehead. "You're so organized! Show me your list when you come back!"

"I shouldn't have told you about that romantic fantasy," Dipper said, but he was grinning. "Seriously, though, what will I do with two long-sleeved tees when the temperature gets up to 105 sometimes?"

"Use your imagination, I said. It's always cooler at night. You know, if we want to Webflix and chill. Oops, I hear Soos and Melody turning in downstairs. Yikes! It's past ten-thirty. Better get some sleep. Text me tomorrow."

"About what?"

"Oh," she said. "Like I keep sayin', just use your imagination. Love you."

"I love you, Wendy," Dipper told her.

All the next day he kept thinking I probably shouldn't do this, but his curiosity got the better of him. Sunday afternoon he and Mabel walked over to the park and just hung out for a while. It was cool—in the high fifties and overcast—and they wore long sleeves. In fact, Dipper was wearing the soft tee that Wendy had asked for, under his unzipped light windbreaker.

"That color doesn't really suit you, Dip," Mabel pronounced. "Makes you look a little like a discarded Christmas tree." She was in laddered jeans and a trademark Mabel original pink-white-and red sweater herself. They both wore sneakers.

"I don't mind the color, and it's comfortable," he said as he walked along beside her, his hands in his jacket pockets. Then at last, he got his nerve up. "Mabel, your friends talk in teen-slang code a lot. What does it mean if a girl wants to Webflix and chill?"

"You don't know that? Of course, you don't have any friends! Oh. My. Gosh!" Mabel exclaimed. She looked around and tugged Dipper away from the main path to a side trail where they were completely alone. They sat on a low stone wall beside a narrow curving pathway, no one visible in either direction. "OK, Brobro, give it to me straight up: Is the girl Wendy?"

"Uh. Well, yeah. Kinda," Dipper said, uncomfortably rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, she sort of mentioned it."

Mabel nodded triumphantly. "Last night, I bet!"

"Yeah, when we were face-timing. She seemed to think I'd know what she meant, but—"

Mabel held an imaginary PA microphone to her mouth. She kept her voice low, though: "Attention, passengers! All aboard for the booty call! Passenger Pines please report!"

Dipper caught his breath. "Booty—whoa, no, we don't, you know, don't, uh do that—we never have—we—we—"

"Wee-wee-wee, all the way to Wendy's home!" Mabel exclaimed, chortling. Then she sobered and gave him a long look. Softly, she asked, "She really said that?"

"Yeah. She said, uh, next summer we might want to Webflix and chill. But, heck, you know, we have our movie night once a week, we either watch the terrible movie channel or rent one off the Web, so it could just be, you know, movies and, uh hanging . . . out—"

Mabel was shaking her head. "Nuh-uh. Every teen knows what that expression means! Well, present company excepted, but almost all of them do! You're gonna get soooo lucky!"

"I don't think so," Dipper said, looking miserable. "Because right now, you know, I'm here and she's there, and there's all this distance between us and we really miss each other, but we sort of swore we'd hold off from the big step—"

Mabel popped his shoulder playfully. "But you kiss."

"Yeah, we kiss and, uh. You know. Hug."

Leaning closer, Mabel murmured, "In bed."

"Um—yeah, sometimes we lay on her bed and watch a movie. But, you know, fully clothed! And we just sort of snuggle."

Mabel held up a correcting finger. "Snuggle and smooch."

"Um—well, yeah."

Encouragingly, Mabel put her hand on his shoulder and patted it. In a serious voice—for her—she said, "Dipper, Wendy may be ready for the next step. She's gonna be eighteen before we get back to the Falls. You know, girls have these feelings, too."

"You, too?"

"Stick to the subject! Girls look forward to, um, being with the right guy. Or the right girl, sometimes, you know, I don't want to judge others. Anyway, we girls have, what do you call 'em, urges just like boys do. Wendy's nearly eighteen."

"So?"

"I read that the average age for the first time, you know, with that kind of stuff is about seventeen for girls and eighteen for boys, but some start as early as fifteen. If Wendy's put it off this long, she may be beginning to want a little more intimacy, you know?"

Dipper met her gaze. "Maybe. OK, now about the other subject: how about you?"

Mabel's pink cheeks blushed a deeper color. "Well—it's none of your business, but Teek and I have never, shall we say, Webflixed and chilled! But—yeah, we, you know. Smooch, snuggle, like you say. And sometimes I get real stirred up and curious, but—Teek's like you. A dork. A complete gentleman. He won't make a real move until I give him a signal." She looked away. "Haven't done it so far. But sometimes, yeah, I do feel like giving him that signal."

Dipper swallowed. "Mabel—if it happens, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

With a sad little smile, Mabel said, "'Cause if I did, you'd be upset."

"Yeah, I would," he admitted. "But this is Teek, and it's your life, not mine. Me, I really want to do what Wendy and I promised—wait at least until I turn eighteen. That's the best thing to do. But I won't tell you how to live your life."

"And if Wendy gives you that signal?" Mabel asked.

"I guess—I guess I'll have to decide what to do if the time comes." He hesitated and then said, "Remember that September when we were thirteen and helped Blendin rescue the Time Baby from being wiped out by Bill during Weirdmageddon, and we both got time wishes? I never asked you, but not long after that I started getting postcards and texts from Wendy, and they were, you know, more than just friendly. Did—did you make a wish that she'd fall in love with me?"

Mabel crossed her heart—appropriately, she was wearing that pink-and-white sweater with a big red smiling Valentine-type heart on it—and said, "Word of honor, that was not my wish. But I did wish that you'd find someone to be happy with. I didn't wish Wendy into falling for you, though. She did the falling all by herself."

Dipper sighed in relief. "Good to know."

"Yeah, 'cause I know you, Broseph. If you thought it was like a love-wish or love-potion dealy, you'd be all Dippery and stupid and break off with Wendy. You'd think it would be taking advantage of her and it wouldn't be honorable for you, blah, blah, blah. But trust me on this, Dip: Her feelings for you are real, just as real as yours for her. She and I have talked, and anyway, I can see it in her. I've watched it growing right along. You're one lucky guy, Dip. Don't you dare blow it!"

"I'll try not to." He stood up. "Think I'll jog a little. Want to join me?"

"Only If you don't go too fast. What, just around the park?"

"Yeah, no need to go to the track. Let's stretch out."

"You're not going to sprint, are you?" Mabel asked. His time was holding at about 10.18 seconds for the hundred-meter, and she couldn't compete with that.

"Not gonna sprint," he promised, doing calf stretches. He smiled. "We'll just jog along," he said, "until we work up a little sweat."

The End