She was sprawled across her bed, clutching a pillow to her chest, the blankets over her knees and her right foot dangling over the edge. She was dead to the universe and likely to stay that way until he burst through the door.
"GOOOOD MORNING!" he announced loudly and cheerfully, making her jump into a half-sitting position.
"My hair," she slurred as she ran her fingers through the tangled locks. She dropped her hand and squinted up at him, then threw the pillow at his face and lay back down, curled around another one.
She heard an umpfh as though it actually hit him in the face, and rolled back over, not sure if she could believe her ears. He had, for the first time that she could remember, not caught something that she threw at him. She sat up, curiosity leaking through as her mind registered what he had in his hands.
He set something down on the floor while pivoting on one foot, and flopping down beside her on the bed, keeping his left hand steady so he did not spill his gift…
"French toast!" she hooted happily. "It's about time for a bit of brekky," she said in her best Liverpudlian accent. He groaned.
"Come on, enough with the' Yellow Submarine' stuff. We are not going back for the premier again, especially not after you made such an impression on George Harrison…"
"Hey," she said defensively around a mouth full of toast. "It was not that big of a deal."
"You snogged the man behind his wife's back!"
"I did not! Pattie was not anywhere around!" she swallowed with a contemplative look on her face. "But that would explain why she threw that purse at me at the premier of 'Tommy.' Although she had no room to judge me, she was at that one with Eric Clapton." She giggled at the memory. "Ahh George… you will always be my favorite Beatle…" she held a fork with a piece of toast on it up to the ceiling.
"Yeah, well," the Doctor started, bringing her back to the present. "I popped out this morning for some business, while you were busy sleeping…" he said the last word pointedly. "And while I was out I got breakfast and this!" he picked up the large bag that he had set on the floor.
She mopped her plate for leftover syrup with the last bite, and set it aside. "And so this is… the new puppy I asked for?!?" she asked excitedly.
He gave her a look, then dumped the bag's contents on the bed. "No… it's all your mail that people sent to you since you dropped out of school." He made sure it was empty then set it on the floor. "Why on Earth would I put a dog in a bag, anyway? Who does that?"
She was pawing through the small pile of envelopes and boxes. "Bill, bill, bill, bill… check! Expired… bill… bill… magazine… magazine… bill… 'the second to last issue' magazine… 'the last issue' magazine… the 'actual last issue' magazine… the 'please reorder this magazine' magazine… bill…birthday card…'Congratulations on your new Baby'? Oh, wait, wrong address… phew, I was beginning to wonder… bill… bill…"
He held up a small box. "This one says it's from your mom."
She dropped the New Baby card into her lap, and took the box reluctantly. "Oh dear...well, let's see what she had to send." She opened the brown paper-wrapped check-box-sized package. "Oh look, it is actually a check box. Like literally, she ordered custom Tweety bird checks. Good to see she still has her brilliant sense of humor." She opened the lid. "I thought so," she flipped it over. "Empty. Just like her soul." She sighed.
He was not certain what to say, so looked at the smaller pile, when an expensive looking cream-coloured one caught his eye. "Hellloooo… looks like someone got married." He handed it to her.
"Oooh.. who was it, I wonder?" she looked at the front and frowned. "Jane Chara… funny, I don't remember her even dating anyone, like, ever. She pretty much kept to herself." She ripped open the outer envelope. "Well," she continued, "that and for a while, she pretty much lived at my house. So no time to date anyone." She popped open the sticker on the inner one. "And then after that we talked on the phone every night. Just like…" she read the invitation. "..Girlfriends."
He, with a look of confusion on his face, took the gaudily decorated piece of paper from her, and read out loud. "Mr. and Mrs. Don Chara and Mr. and Mrs. Frank Simmons wish to invite you to the wedding of Jane Chara and… Samantha Mehl." He dropped his hand and roared in laughter.
"I always thought she was a bit odd," she said, numbly. She crinkled her brow. "No wonder she took such offense when I yelled 'gay' at her."
He wiped his eyes as he stuffed the invitation back into the envelope. "How close where you to this Jane, anyway?"
She pushed her hair back behind her ear. "Oh, look, a Victoria's Secret catalog! That is good; I have been in need of some new bras."
He tilted his head to the side. "Oh really, that close, huh? Tell me, how often did she spend the night, did you say…?"
She paused for a second, then continued flipping through the catalog, muttering something unintelligible.
He thrust his neck out and held a hand up to his ear. "I'm sorry, I missed that, could you speak louder?"
She sighed and dropped the catalog to her lap. "Every weekend, alright? And minor holidays." He raised his eyebrows. She looked at a spot on the wall behind his back. "And… one Easter. But I swear," she tossed the catalog away from her and picked up a blue envelope that was beside her foot. "I had no idea. Except.." she paused as she was halfway through opening it.
"Except….?" he prodded.
"Although… her stepbrother did say once… but," her voice rose in pitch suddenly. "but she flat out denied it when I told her what he said, and I watched her, she beat him to a pulp with a playstation controller. He.. its…" she looked him in his eyes, pleading. "She couldn't… it couldn't.. he was lying, right?" she hugged her knees to her chest.
He moved closer to her and with a quiet, 'come here,' she laid her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her protectively. "It's okay," he said soothingly. "It can be quite a shock at first. But don't worry, I am sure she cared for you in the same way you cared for her." After a moment, he looked at her hands. "So, who is that from?"
She stirred. "What, this? I don't know, I didn't even look at the return address." She still had her left thumb stuck in the slit. "It says "Dillon Cooper. I don't know any Dillon Coopers from Kansas City, do I?" she thought for a second, then finished ripping into it.
He looked down inside it. "No white powder?"
She shook her head and pulled out the second envelope inside. "No, but it appears to be another wedding invitation. Great, I hope this is not another friend coming out, or I am going to cry." She opened it and started reading, then squealed. "My God!"
"What, what is it?" he asked, astounded at how fast her moods could change.
"It's from my actual real best friend from High School! Not the secret admirer one. Oh my goodness!" she was positively at a loss for words.
"This Dillon Cooper guy?"
"No, silly! Its my friend Misty. Misty Saunders. Her mom was a big Clint Eastwood fan, and she used to say that the night she conceived Mist, she had watched "Play Misty for Me." Kierra chuckled. "Her mom was a big doper. My mom wouldn't let me spend the night there."
"But she let the—"
"Yes, yes. Can we drop that now?"
He shook his head and grinned. "Never."
She frowned and hit him on the nose with the invitation, then resumed reading it. "It says here that it was on June Seventh." She looked up. "One thing you could say about Misty, she wasn't ever too imaginative. Probably had white and red as her colors, too." She looked back at the invite. "Say, Doctor, what day would it be if we were not, you know, traversing time and space, and I was still in my little hovel in Londontown?"
"Welll…" he thought for a second. "For you, I guess it would be …the thirteenth of August at 10:17:38 AM," he paused and looked at her. "Greenwich time."
"Oh, then we missed it," she said, pretending not to notice the data-overkill. A thought crossed her mind. "Hey Doctor, do you think..?"
He smiled. "We even have time to pick up a gift."
