Birthdays have never really been a big deal in the Gallagher household. You might get some say in that night's dinner and usually some small, practical gift (socks, almost always socks), but they've rarely celebrated with a full-on party since it's an expensive precedent to set. In the cases where it's happened, it's generally been pretty spontaneous, such as when Carl found fifty bucks under a seat on the bus the day before Debbie's birthday and another time when Monica was on one of her manic swings and decided that Fiona needed a sweet sixteen party even though it was a month after her actual birthday. Or that time when Fiona happened into some coke on her birthday, though no one likes to remember that party.

So when Ian turns eighteen on a Wednesday, it's not unusual that the Gallaghers haven't planned any formal celebration. What's surprising is that Mickey has. Originally, he'd wanted to just invite folks over to the house, but when he mentioned it at work, Kev hadn't hesitated to volunteer the Alibi Room and donate a keg. Then when Debbie mentioned to Sheila that, since the party was no longer happening at the Milkovich house, Liam could come and Sheila wouldn't need to babysit him, Sheila had insisted on making the food. Debbie suspected Ian was going to be a little weirded out by the presence of Sheila at his birthday celebration, but she didn't say anything because Debbie also suspected that Mickey's plans for party food started and ended at opening up a couple jumbo-sized bags of chips and whatever Sheila made had to be better than that.

Debbie volunteered to make a cake and Carl asked to be in charge of decorations. Mickey offered him some money to cover it, but Carl turned it down. Then he shoplifted a "fuckton of balloons and shit" from the dollar store. At first Debbie thought Carl had only volunteered for this duty so he could get revenge at the dollar store manager who'd kicked him out for suspected shoplifting last summer, and she was still pretty certain that was part of it, but Carl made sure to get everything in Ian's favorite colors (green and orange), so it also felt like maybe a genuine gesture.

This is not to say that Fiona and Lip were overlooking Ian's birthday, even if they did keep a safe distance from Mickey's party plans, lest they be accused of interfering. They spearheaded a family drive to buy Ian a really nice present this year—new running shoes—with Fiona picking up every spare shift she could get to chip in the bulk of the cost. As she explained, "It's a goddamned accomplishment, getting through the year that kid's had."

The extra shifts mean that Fiona is going to miss most of the party, and Lip has an exam in his class tonight, so he isn't sure he's going to make it at all. Debbie thinks maybe this is for the best since things have been so rocky between Ian and Lip. She just wants, more than anything, for this to be a night free of drama. With the way they're treading so carefully around the subject, Fiona and Lip seem to feel the same way.

As Debbie stands in the kitchen, spreading the frosting over the top of Ian's cake, Carl's at the table, digging through a box of last summer's fireworks he's produced from God knows where, looking for sparklers. He's insistent that Ian's cake must have sparklers instead of plain old crappy candles.

"Is your boyfriend coming tonight?" Carl asks, setting aside a handful of cherry bombs.

"He's not my boyfriend for twenty-eight more months," Debbie replies automatically, adding another blob of frosting and spreading it smooth, "but he has to work tonight."

"Sucks. I might bring my girl."

Debbie sets down the knife in outrage. "You have another girlfriend? Where do you keep finding them?"

"Word gets around when you're a pimp."

"You're not having sex yet, are you?" Debbie demands to know. If he is, the world is truly, truly unfair.

"Depends on what you mean by sex," Carl replies smoothly.

"What do you mean 'what I mean'? Sex is sex."

"I dunno. Whatever."

Debbie scowls and returns to frosting the cake. Carl's clearly full of shit and trying to cover it up. He's not having anything close to sex.

"So, are you in love with your not-boyfriend?" Carl asks after a minute.

"I don't know," Debbie replies, "I think so."

"If you're gonna wait around two and half years to get your cherry popped, you should know if you're actually in love with him."

Debbie doesn't disagree with this sentiment. It's been on her mind a lot lately. Not that she isn't crazy about Matty, but she doesn't know if she wants to wait a million years for any action at all if she doesn't love him and really just likes him a lot. It's so confusing. Normally, she'd ask Mandy for advice, but Mandy skipped town right after Ian first got sick and hasn't been back. And she could never ask Fiona about any of this because Fiona can't think of her sister as anything but a little kid. And she can't ask Vee because Vee would tell Fiona everything. And Debbie's starting to suspect that Holly doesn't know shit about anything, so she's stopped asking her advice.

"Do you think Lip could help me figure it out if I asked him?" she asks.

Carl examines a fistful of bottle rockets then sets them aside. "Lip's love life is a shitshow. He doesn't know crap."

This is a good point. Debbie scrapes the last of the frosting from the bottom of the can and says, "Maybe I could talk to Sammi?"

"Oh, finally!" Carl cheers as he locates a slim package of sparklers at the very bottom of the box, "Sweet!"

Debbie figures the conversation is over, but as Carl heads out of the room with his prize, he says, "Why don't you ask Ian? He and Mickey are totally, like, gay married."

Debbie frowns over the cake. Why hasn't she thought of this?

Debbie, Carl, and Liam show up early to the Alibi Room to help set up. They hang the streamers that Carl shoplifted, as well as a banner that says 'Over the Hill.' Debbie doesn't think that's quite right for an eighteenth birthday, but she lets it go because Carl is so pleased with it. Then they start the work of blowing up the fuckton of balloons, though Debbie does most of the actual balloon blowing while Carl mainly uses them to make fart noises to amuse Liam.

A little before six, Sheila shows up with enough food to feed the entire neighborhood. For some reason, she's chosen a vaguely Mexican/South American theme, setting out trays and trays of taquitos, ceviche, fried plantains, and guacamole. Then the whores close up shop, turn on the dance music, and start helping themselves to the spread while Sheila looks on with an uneasy, polite smile. And at six, Mickey arrives with Ian and Yvegeny in tow.

Ian looks a bit bashful as he enters the bar. He's dressed up slightly for the occasion, wearing his leather jacket, and Debbie notices that his hair has very recently been cut. Mickey's swaggered in with his usual bombast, swinging Yvegeny's baby carrier as he hollers out, "Birthday boy has arrived!"

Ian's following with his head bowed slightly and a pink flush on his ears. Then his uneasiness disappears as he spots his siblings. Carl catches him in a big hug and Ian holds out an arm to pull Debbie into it as well. The middle Gallagher kids stand there for a long moment, just one mass of affection and relief. So much has happened since Ian's last birthday and right now it feels like they can erase it.

As they release each other, Liam runs up and Ian catches him under the arms. Ian swings the hysterically giggling toddler through the air and then sets him onto his shoulders, keeping a firm grip around each of Liam's ankles. Ian puts his head back to look up at his youngest brother and Liam informs him, "It's my birthday!"

Ian laughs in a way he hasn't for months. "Well, Happy Birthday!" he cheers.

The party gets going after that. It's mainly just the girls from the rub and tug and a few folks Debbie doesn't know, though a couple of Mickey's brothers show up at some point and a lot of the bar regulars are there since they haven't bothered to close the place for such a small event. Kermit keeps asking Mickey and Ian if "You kids gettin' married?" and congratulating them, and it's not clear if this is supposed to be a joke or is just drunken confusion, but, other than that, everyone seems to be having a nice, low-key time.

Sheila obviously feels out of place and spends a lot of the party micromanaging the food ("No, see there's already avocado in the ceviche. You don't have to put guacamole on top of it. Unless you like that…"). Then, to Debbie's great amusement, Mickey compliments Sheila on the taquitos ("Whatever the fuck's in these tube things is good!") and Sheila takes the opportunity to start explaining the entire recipe and cooking process to him. Mickey looks like a deer in the headlights and just shovels bean dip into his mouth while Sheila babbles at him.

Carl sits with Joey and Iggy, seeming to have found some like-minded compatriots, and Debbie finds herself getting into a long, surprisingly normal conversation with Svetlana about Yvegeny's teething. None of these 'scary' Milkoviches are so bad at all, really, once you actually talk to them.

Ian circulates for a while with Liam still on his shoulders, then fixes plates for both of them and takes a seat at the table where Debbie's now playing with Yvegeny. "Thanks for coming," Ian says as he cuts up Liam's food, "Means a lot to Mickey."

Debbie came to the party for Ian, of course, not Mickey, but if making Mickey happy makes Ian happy, she's fine with letting him think that's why she's here. She watches Ian watch Mickey, who's still trapped with Sheila, and Debbie can't help but take in the expression of pure affection on Ian's face. Ian loves Mickey; there's no doubt of that. Debbie wonders if she's ever going to have someone who looks at her like that.

"Are you gonna rescue him?" Debbie asks, noting that Mickey still looks incredibly uncomfortable with Sheila talking at him like…well, like a neighbor. Or like someone who gives a fuck about what Rick Bayless says about ceviche.

"Nope," Ian says so casually that it makes Debbie laugh.

Kev shows up to relieve Kate behind the bar then and he's got Veronica on his arm. Vee does a little dance as she makes a bee-line for the keg and Kev makes his way over to greet the guest of honor. Ian stands up and accepts a one-armed hug from Kev.

"Hey, thank for letting us have the party here," Ian says.

"No problem, man," Kev replies, "We miss seeing you around."

Debbie suspects that Kev is referring to not seeing Ian around on Wallace Street, but Ian seems to take him to mean the Alibi Room. "Yeah," Ian says as he inclines his head toward the glass of beer he's been nursing for an hour, "Can't really drink too much anymore."

Kev looks mildly offended. "We serve pop too."

"Ah…"

"Come on, man. You wanna come in with Mickey sometimes and get a pop, it's on the house. We'll put it on Frank's tab."

Ian laughs at this. Then he asks, "Hey, where's the girls?"

"Grandma's babysitting." Kev glances over at Veronica, who's got a taquito in one hand and a beer in the other and laughing at something one of the whores said. "Gonna have to take Vee home in a wheelbarrow tonight." Then Kev raps on the table with his knuckles, "Okay. Gotta go let Kate off the hook. You look good, kid."

Ian laughs again as Kevin heads over to the bar. "You do look good," Debbie says. She means it too. Ian looks so much better than he did even a week ago.

"Thanks," he says, smiling, "So do you."

Debbie rolls her eyes. "I'm thinking about cutting my hair short."

"Why?"

"I don't know," she says. She's been hungering for some kind of drastic change lately. "I'm tired of looking the same. Maybe I'll dye it."

"Ah, don't do that, Debs."

"Why not? It's my hair."

"Yeah, but it's nice the way it is. Besides, Carl looks like Lip, and Fiona and Liam have the same eyes…I always liked that you looked like me." He tousles the end of Debbie's ponytail. "You're my Mini Me."

Debbie smiles at this and almost asks him then about Clayton, about what Mickey said about it being obvious that Ian and Debbie have a different dad than the rest of them, about the question Debbie's been pondering for years, but she doesn't. She just wants to continue having a nice time, celebrating with her brother, who feels tonight so much more like the brother she remembered than the half-stranger who's been sitting in his place for all these months. She's missed him so much.

Mickey finally extricates himself from Sheila's lecture on "authentic co-me-dah" and saunters over to Ian. "You holdin' up all right?"

Ian smiles. "You holdin' up all right?"

"Christ that bitch is batty," Mickey says, shaking his head, "Food's all right, though." Then he fixes Ian with a solemn look, "I'm serious, man. You doin' okay? All these people and everything?"

"Yeah," Ian assures him, "It's great."

Mickey smiles at this and Debbie notices that when Mickey Milkovich smiles one of those rare, genuinely delighted smiles, it lights up his whole face. He's actually sort of cute.

Ian looks over to where Veronica and the girls have moved some of the tables out of the way and are currently getting down to a Rihanna jam, grinding on each other and laughing themselves silly. "Dance with me?" he asks Mickey.

"Yeah, fuck you, Gallagher," Mickey snorts.

Ian smiles shyly, as if he wasn't really asking and it was all a joke. But then Mickey dives in for a surprise kiss and it's startling, for one, because Debbie's never seen them kiss before and, for two, because it's quite a passionate kiss.

"Happy Birthday, Asshole," Mickey says as he finally breaks away and runs the back of his hand over his mouth.

"Get a room," Carl mutters as he passes by on his way to refill his plate.

Ian just grins and Mickey gives him a satisfied smirk before heading back to the bar.

"When did you know you loved Mickey?" Debbie blurts out.

Ian tears his eyes reluctantly from watching his boyfriend cross the room and seems to take a moment to consider how to answer. "Probably the second or third time we fucked," he replies honestly.

"How did you know?" Debbie asks, leaning in closer across the table.

"Dunno," Ian shrugs, "Just felt different."

"So, you knew for sure right away that you loved him?"

He takes a sip of his beer and nods. "Yeah."

Debbie frowns. This doesn't bode well for her uncertainty with Matty. "Well, were you ever in love with anybody else before him?"

"Thought I was," Ian flicks his eyes toward Mickey then back to Debbie, "Now I know I wasn't."

"Did you love Jimmy's dad?"

Ian doesn't hesitate as he responds, "No."

"Then why were you with him?"

He tilts his head slightly, as if weighing whether to answer honestly again. "The sex was good," he says.

"Oh."

"But mostly I liked it because he bought me stuff and took me to nice hotels. It was fun."

"I've never been to a hotel," Debbie says without really thinking about it. She's feeling so deflated. She's probably never going to have with Matty what Ian has with Mickey. She'll probably never have it with anyone ever. And she's probably going to die a virgin, having spent her entire life babysitting the hoard of illegitimate children her siblings are no doubt going to produce. Life is so not fair.

"Come on," Ian says, standing up, "Dance with me."

Debbie groans but gives in because she knows Ian secretly really enjoys dancing. He and Mandy used to get stoned and have impromptu dance parties in the boys' room. Sometimes Mandy would pull Debbie in to join them and teach her moves while Ian goofy-danced around them. He was always kind of shitty at dancing, though he could pull off some moves with such conviction that it made everybody laugh. Now Debbie giggles as Ian throws in some of the 'sexy' moves he must have learned while working at the club, and she marvels that anybody ever paid this idiot to dance.

Vee joins in, then some of the whores, and then Carl, who does a head-bang-y dance Ian once taught him because Carl is even less skilled at dancing than his brother. They're all dancing and laughing and even Mickey passes by and does about four facetious little beats while holding his beer glass and grinning slyly. Ian dances up to him (Debbie's brother is such a dork) and gives him a long, deep kiss until Vee slaps Ian behind the head and says, "Stop making all of us jealous." Ian laughs and dances back to his siblings while Mickey returns to his comfort zone on the bar stool. Ian takes up Debbie's hands and leads her into some silly, pseudo-waltz. Sheila's dancing crouched down with Liam, doing a variation on the hustle, bumping hips every other beat. Carl has gotten Kermit and Iggy to head bang with him. Debbie can't remember the last time she hurt this much from laughing.

Then Ian stops dancing suddenly and darts away from the group to hug someone in a tight greeting. Debbie realizes that it's Lip, just arrived. She dances a few more beats, watching as Ian leads Lip over to the keg and fills a glass for him. She notices that Lip puts his arm over Ian's shoulders and there no longer appears to be any tension at all between the brothers. Could it possibly be that easy a fix?

At that moment, Debbie decides she doesn't care. She decides not to have a care about anything in the world. She forgets about Ian and Lip, forgets about Fiona, and Frank, and Monica, and Clayton and Matty and even Mandy, wherever the hell she is. She forgets about Holly and Ellie and all the assholes at school. She forgets everything and keeps on dancing, swinging her red hair proudly.

Gallagher's love a party, even one that's thrown by a Milkovich, apparently. Lip and Ian end up talking for almost an hour, interrupted only when Mickey butts in to make sure Ian is switching from beer to pop. From what Debbie can tell every time she looks their way, the two brothers are mostly just joking around, chatting as if nothing was ever amiss between them. It's mostly Lip doing the talking, which is how it always was with them, but Ian appears to be enjoying whatever it is Lip has to say. When Debbie passes by them on her way to use the bathroom Lip's telling some story about Amanda and their Resident Advisor, and Ian's grinning like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard.

And then Fiona shows up and Ian greets her just as warmly as he did Lip. He and Fiona hit the dance floor almost immediately, Fiona appearing to be as amused by Ian's new dance moves as Debbie was. Mickey intercedes at some point, reminding Ian that he needs to get to bed at the regular hour, and the party has to wind down soon. So they get to the cake and the big present, both of which are hits. Ian appears quite moved as he delicately takes the shoes from the box and turns them over to admire their soles.

"This is too much, guys," he says, "these are so expensive."

"Ah," Fiona brushes off his concern, "We got them on sale."

"Still…"

"Nonsense," Fiona pulls Ian close and kisses the side of his head, "Just say 'thank you,' stupid. And promise us you'll get a lot of use out of them."

"I will," Ian smiles, "Thanks, guys. Really."

"So, what's next?" Lip asks, and for once it doesn't sound like he's challenging Ian or poking at him or trying to get a rise out of him. It seems like the kind of question you ask someone when he turns eighteen.

Ian takes a second to fit the shoes back into their packaging in the box and then says, "Going back to work."

"In Boystown?" Lip manages to ask without sounding too judgmental.

"No, no," Ian says, "Not looking like this."

"Not a healthy environment anyway," Mickey mutters and Debbie wonders if Mickey's been attending therapy sessions with Ian because that doesn't sound like a phrase Mickey would have used on his own even though she knows he's spoken pretty harshly about Ian working at the club before. She also notes that Mickey's a couple sheets to the wind.

"I've got some other work lined up," Ian says, "Mickey knows a guy."

"Is it legal?" Lip asks.

Ian gives a nervous laugh, "Yeah."

"Then what is it?" Fiona asks, doing that hesitant smile thing she does with Ian these days, as if terrified about whatever he's going to say next.

"Custodial work," Ian says quietly, taking a quick sip of his pop.

"What—like a janitor?" Lip asks.

"Yeah," Ian looks at him steadily, his voice almost defiantly even now, "Exactly like a janitor. It pays okay, and if everything goes all right, in three months I'll be able to join the union. Then I get benefits, sick days, which I'm probably gonna need, a pension…all that stuff."

"Health insurance," Fiona says almost to herself.

"Yeah," Ian says.

They all sit there in an awkward moment of quiet, processing this new information. Debbie's pretty sure they're all thinking the same thing she is. Ian was more ambitious and harder working than anyone any of them has ever known. Ian was smart and funny and thoughtful and strong. Ian was supposed to get out of this shithole and lead armies into battle. Now Ian's talking about pushing a mop and cleaning toilets for forty years until it's time to collect his pension. Debbie's not certain whether the whole thing makes her more depressed or pissed off.

"A Gallagher with a good union job?" Fiona says cheerfully, "I'd kill for that."

Even Lip's smiling encouragingly now, clapping Ian on the shoulder. "That's good news, man," he says.

And Debbie hates them in this moment. She hates that they think this is okay. She hates that their faith in Ian's potential has fallen so far that they can look at this as a positive future for him. Ian wasn't supposed to be a fucking janitor. Ian was supposed to be a hero.

"So, where you working at?" Fiona asks, as if it makes any difference at all.

"Uh, a school," Ian replies and Debbie's sharp eyes pick up on the fact that he's starting to blush a little, getting led into revealing something he's embarrassed about. Debbie quickly prays to god in her head that Ian isn't about to tell them that he's returning to their high school. Oh, god, please no…

"CPS?" Fiona asks.

"No, actually," Ian says and puts on a brave, false smile, "Chicago Poly Tech."

There's another awkward pause and Debbie pictures Ian in a janitor's uniform, cleaning up students' trash while Lip stands by with his rich college friends and pretends not to know him. Her eyes start prickling with tears at this image. It's so unfair. It's so goddamned horribly unfair…

But Lip gives a big smile at this information. "That's great," he says, "I'll get to see you a lot more. If you come to the cafeteria, lunch is on me."

Ian looks relieved to have this news received so well. Debbie can't take it, though. She slips down off her barstool and heads to the washroom. Inside she just stands there and glares into the sink. She can't stand to be around any of them right now. She folds her arms and digs her fingers into her flesh, not caring that it hurts. She's so angry she wants to scream. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Why does Ian, of all of them, sweet, kind Ian, have to get screwed? And why the hell do they all act like that's okay?

Debbie stays there, staring into the filthy drain, until she realizes that her arms are aching and she's left deep red marks on them. She takes a deep breath, takes a moment to fix her hair, and returns to the party.

Ian and Carl are crouched down and dancing with Liam. Mickey's talking to Kev and Lip at the bar. Fiona's sipping on a cocktail next to the remnants of Ian's cake. A lot of people have dispersed. Sheila and the Milkovich brothers have left. The whores have gone back upstairs to work. Svetlana's packed up Yevgeny and taken him home. The party is definitely on the wane.

Debbie slumps down on the barstool next to Fiona and says, "How can you just be okay with this?"

"With what?" Fiona asks but then realizes what Debbie's referring to. "It's a good job, Debs. It's honest work."

"I know," Debbie whines sadly, "But it's Ian."

Fiona's expression softens. "It's not a dream come true, but he's taking care of himself. And that's good. He's setting up stuff he's gonna need. He's being proactive, just like he always was."

"But he's fine now."

Fiona puts her hand on top of Debbie's. "You know he won't always be. He's gonna have some bad periods. It's good he's thinking about this stuff. Benefits like that? It can make a real difference in him staying healthy. And safe."

Fiona takes a sip of her cocktail and for a second she looks scared. "I'd rather know that my brother's safe and sound sprinkling sawdust on vomit forty hours a week than know he's out in the world someplace doing god knows what just to buy some meth or coke or whatever his brain tells him he needs and never seeing a real doctor. Let's be happy for Ian. Okay?"

Debbie feels like she's going to cry, but she swallows it. "But he's never gonna get out now."

Fiona smiles. "We don't know that. Maybe this is just for now. And, you know, so what if he doesn't get out? Maybe he stays here and he's happy anyway. Union job like that with steady pay? He's already beat the rest of us. He's gonna be the first Gallagher kid to get over the poverty line! Bet Lip's gonna be a little pissed when he realizes Ian got there first."

Debbie smiles reluctantly at this. Maybe Fiona's right and this isn't so bad. It doesn't feel like it, though.

Their conversation is interrupted as Lip leaps off his barstool and screams over to Ian, "Is this fucking true?"

Everyone stops to stare at the two of them, and Ian rises slowly to his feet.

"I didn't mean to tell him," Mickey slurs apologetically, "Just slipped out, man."

Ian ignores Mickey, his eyes steady on Lip's. "Yeah," Ian says, "It's true. Don't know why you care."

"Fuck!" Lip yells, throwing his head back in frustration.

"What?" Fiona cries, "What happened?"

"These fucking morons got fucking married today!"

Oh, shit. Debbie's jaw drops open and it feels like the temperature has fallen ten degrees in the room. Nobody says a word.

Ian's defiance slips a little, and he turns toward Fiona. "We just got the license. They make you wait 24 hours between that and the actual ceremony. We're doing it tomorrow."

"Yeah, you know why they make you wait 24 hours?" Lip spits out, enraged, "So you have time to come to your senses and realize what a stupid fucking idea it is!"

"What about Svetlana?" Carl asks, hitting on a salient point that Debbie's pretty sure none of them have even thought of.

"Got the divorce finalized two weeks ago," Mickey says with a bit of pride or maybe just drunken bravado, "She's got her green card. Bitch don't need me no more."

Fiona shakes her head. "But, Ian…you're only eighteen. Why would you want-"

"Power of attorney," Ian says firmly, "I don't want anybody but Mickey in charge if…something happens."

Lip's eyes look like they're going to pop out of his head. "Oh, so that's what this is? Some little bitch revenge move? A big fat 'fuck you' to your family?"

Fiona's wiping tears out of her eyes with the sides of her hands. She looks rattled. Debbie wants to ask her what 'power of attorney' means, what Ian's talking about, but can't find her voice.

"It's not about you," Ian says to Lip, "It's about what I want. And I want to make the decision now before I get to a point where I can't make that decision."

Lip just shakes his head. "Jesus, you really are crazy. That's who you want in charge of decisions about your fucking health? About your fucking finances? Your illiterate thug of a boyfriend? Fine. I'm done. Fuck you. Have a nice fucking life."

Lip grabs his coat off the bar and storms out. Ian puts a hand to his head and closes his eyes. Then Mickey's there beside him, putting Ian's coat over his shoulders.

"Hey, lets go now," Mickey says quietly, "You gotta get to bed anyway."

Ian gives in without a word and follows Mickey to the door, everyone else still sitting in stunned silence. Then Fiona pipes up.

"I want to be there," she says.

Ian just looks at her.

"Tomorrow," she continues, "At City Hall. We're all gonna be there."

Ian hesitates for a moment then sighs. "They open at nine."

Fiona nods and Ian gives them all a half-assed wave goodnight as he and Mickey head out.

Nobody says anything after they've gone. The only sound is the squeak of Kev's bar towel as he dries a glass. Vee starts stacking up abandoned paper plates and tossing them into the garbage.

"Does this mean we're gonna have another party?" Carl asks.

Fiona puts her head in her hands and laughs.