It was a Wednesday. Pacifica had just delivered her last order, finished her latte and was stuffing another cash-in-hand paycheque into her satchel with a wide smile.
It had been a long one - busy, almost maddeningly so. She was fairly sure she had served at least six Waddles' worth of bacon and god knows how many bottles of Ranch.
Why certain members of the community drank ranch dressing, she wasn't entirely sure. Of course, Toby also drank dill pickle juice and Soos drank nacho cheese, so it was maybe just a 'thing' about Gravity Falls.
The hot afternoon sun practically baked the tables in a manner not unlike Susan's sweet potato with marshmallow and whipped cream. One of the few things on the menu that the Northwest heir was not quite ready to try, yet. Something about potatoes and sugar. Just wrong.
The tired teenager wiped her hands of grease on the kitchen's patent grease towel and huffed in relief as the clock finally ticked to the end of her shift - just as well, too. She was pretty sure Manly Dan would be coming in soon, and he always, always gave her a migraine.
"See ya later, Susan."
"Have a good night, Pacificaaaa!"
"Ha, sure - more nerdy magazines and movies with Dipper, I bet." Pacifica beamed, pulling the satchel around her shoulder and adjusting her hair.
"You never know." Susan smiled, pouring the last of the bacon grease into what Pacifica had dubbed the Trembley tub - which she now left outside for the mysterious figure every evening.
In reality, Pacifica didn't particularly care what they'd get up to this evening. It was just another day, and she was fairly content keeping the specifics of it quiet. Another warm, cozy summer evening back at The Shack was all she needed.
Nobody had to know. it wasn't important and - truth be told - she was still harbouring the fear that there might be paparazzi or a photoshoot going on outside. Sometimes this stuff was just… better to let pass by. She didn't need any of the artificial fuss. Just a quiet, peaceful evening with those she loved.
Although, it had to be said - the number of those she loved, at this point, had grown enormous compared to the same time last Summer; not least with the arrival of Dipper, or her new family with the Pines, or Susan. Hell, she was even overjoyed at the return of the eccentric McGucket, blueprints and gizmos in hand.
She had even heard rumours he was planning to do something for the town that would change everything. She wasn't sure what that everything was, but he was pretty insistent that everybody he bumped into would absolutely hear his cryptic hints, and absolutely get hyped up for it.
The blonde socialite stepped out of the diner's door and took her happy little jaunt down the trio of steps as she often had - only to be greeted by her unusually enthusiastic boyfriend, who ran to her and embraced her in a way that took her entirely by surprise. She burst out laughing as he almost successfully bowled her over.
"Whoa, what's gotten into you, Dip?!" She laughed, holding his shoulders. "Have you finally managed to sell a photo of a gnome to a magazine?!"
"Oh- oh, nothing." He smiled, wiping the sweat from his brow and trying to regain his composure. "Just happy to see you."
"Not that I don't appreciate the welcome, hon, but something else is definitely going on. You're about as subtle as- … well, as that hug."
"Hey, it's nothing, okay? C'mon, let's go home."
"If you say so. Dork." She giggled, kissing his cheek as he motioned her into the vehicle, taking the role of a sweaty, awkward chauffeur with gusto.
He attempted to slide along the hood and almost twisted his ankle as he messed up the landing - much to Pacifica's amusement - and was left trying to regain his balance in two somewhat messy hops before sitting in the battered old golf cart. His brow furrowed at Pacifica's giggling as he turned the key and took off down the road.
Of course, he was unable to maintain a straight face for long. Before long they were both back into their typical routine of teasing as the little buggy flew towards the Shack, running past the abandoned remains of the Oregco gas station that seemed to, these days, be perpetually flooded.
The air flowing through the cart, the sound of Dipper humming to himself, the chirp of the question quails and the marital woodpecker stock of the forests, the distant roaring of the waterfalls - it was the sort of thing that Pacifica had only recently gained the ability to appreciate; the sort of thing that just outright made her happy to exist. To live and be part of it all.
The lightweight cart jarred and leapt over the repeated lumps in the road that led to the Shack's 'rustic chic' yard of sand, gravel and stolen bags of cement from the local hardware store. (It was a Stan special. You wait until it rains and then charge eighty bucks to dig the bus out. Per wheel.)
Dipper turned into the carpark and struck the side of the Mystery Express's platform shelter, sending the flimsy wood and plastic awning onto the top of the long-suffering train ride. For the fourth time this week. It had become such a regular occurrence that Soos had punctured a hole in the roof for the train's smokestack to poke through. Small mercies.
Dipper practically dragged her out of the cart and into the shack with obvious excitement. Inside, there was only silence and darkness. The place was only lit via the natural sunlight streaming through stained glass windows, providing a dark - albeit fairly colourful - environment.
Of course, she could hear the mumbling and giggling from a mile away. Pacifica was fairly quick on the take. She soon realised what was going on.
"How did you guys even-"
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Came the cacophonic interruption. The lights flashed on. Air horns were tooted. Mabel swung by on her grappling hook. Waddles was wearing a top hat like a little gentleman.
Manly Dan, Wendy, Kevin, Toby, Grenda, Candy, et al were crammed into the tiny space, sprinkled with confetti and novelty macaroni shapes from Mabel - who had, seemingly, decided to take the role of a swinging flower girl.
It was like the entire town had descended into the tourist trap's living room, filling almost every nook and cranny with bizarre town eccentrics and familiar - if slightly crooked and occasionally vacant - faces.
Susan had even gotten there in the nick of time. Stan had smuggled her out in the El Diablo, which was now partially wrapped around a tree. There were no speed limits if you weren't actually on the road, right?
Even if Pacifica had managed to work out there was a surprise party, she was not quite prepared to see so many people. Her mouth was agape.
Dipper beamed. "You thought we would let it go by?"
"H-h-how did you even find out?! I haven't told anyone!" Pacifica laughed. "I mean, I-"
"Never mind, kid." Stan beamed, carrying an obscenely large and precarious-looking cake. "Jus' enjoy it, huh?"
"Guys, you- you shouldn't have!"
"Probably not." Ford winked, ruffling her hair. "Stan's practically coated the kitchen in frosting and Mabel ate all of the sprinkles."
"I'm on such a sugar high, I feel like I'm flying!" Mabel squealed from the ceiling.
"You are flying, hun." Kevin chortled, as he helped Stan put the plate down on the over-laboured table.
"Checks out, sweetcheeks!"
"SHE'S GONNA USE IT TO LOOK DOWN GUY'S TOPS!" Grenda shouted. "MABEL'S A GENIUS! A GENIUS I TELL YOU!"
Pacifica was only mildly aware of the chaotic dynamic produced by Mabel and her friends. She was distracted - 'marvelling' at the crooked, rather heavy-looking cake that was dripping green frosting everywhere. A pine tree and a llama candle both sat atop of it - much to her secret chagrin (what was it with those damned llamas?!) - slowly melting as the twin flames licked away from above. It wasn't the most appetising thing, it must be said.
Truth be told, it looked positively dangerous. But it wasn't ordered from some French bakery for a press photograph. It wasn't a styrofoam model of a cake for a formal presentation. It was real; a real life birthday cake that her new family had made for her. From scratch. Especially.
It was almost enough to bring her to tears (not just due to the residual smoke of burnt cake batter in the air) and she was pretty sure none of them would even understand why. Save the owner of the clammy, sweaty hand that was holding hers, who smiled at her sincerely.
"You guys are amazing." The young socialite said, simply.
"Even meeeeee!" Toby bleated from the crowd. "And I can't even spell amazing!"
"Sure." She chuckled - a thinly veiled pity chuckle, but a chuckle all the same.
"Bro, dawg, girl-dude, we're like, only here because you're amazing, dude. And for cake. And because I ordered pizza." Soos smiled, his arm around Melody. "We had to do somethin' to celebrate."
"We didn't even know there was free pizza." Cutebiker giggled, hands on his denim-adorned hips. "We just wanted to give our regards!"
"I don't know what to say…" Pacifica smiled. "You all came here just to say Happy Birthday?"
"You're one of us now, Miss Northwest." Ford smiled.
"And one of uuuussss!" Susan added enthusiastically.
"AND ONE OF US!" Dan roared.
The other townsfolk joined in the ongoing uproar. It was being painted into a particularly clear portrait - Pacifica belonged. She looked at Dipper gleefully, at the enthusiastic crowd, then back to the teetering cake. Admittedly, she looked at the latter with a mixture of joy and fear. Not least because jam seemed to be dripping from the base.
Stanley wiped his brow. "Hey, kid, it's your day, alright? Now blow out the candles, make a wish and all that junk - I dunno how long this frosting is gonna be flameproof for. Or if it's frosting."
"Alright, alright…" She smiled, took a deep breath and blew out the candles. The hastily carved lumps of wax (probably Mabel's effort, considering the glitter) promptly fell over into the sodden green sugar-paste that topped the cake with a thick splat, peppering both Dipper and her with spots of the food colouring Stan had hastily thrown into the mix.
The group cheered and applauded as if it was the reopening of Greasy's diner all over again.
"What did you wish for?" Mabel asked, now hanging from the grappling hook by her shoes.
"You know I can't tell you!"
"Pff, just a hint, then!"
Pacifica smiled, looked out across the living room at everyone that surrounded her. At the crooked cake in front of her - at the two Grunkles, Lazy Susan, Wendy, Toby… then at Dipper. "Y'know what? I didn't."
"You didn't?"
"I have everything I ever wished for."
The loud refrain of AWWWW almost masked the sound of Manly Dan's bellowing happy cry and the sound of really, really mediocre pop music being played from Mabel's hi-fi. She had now bedazzled herself to act as a mirror ball.
It was, thereabouts, the best birthday Pacifica had ever had. And, she was convinced, the only real one she could remember. No paparazzi, no forced smiles, no butlers dressing up as pre-teen girls to try and give the impression of socialising. (A long, particularly traumatic story.)
It was real.
It was scruffy, messy, poorly organised and soaked in food colouring and runny jam.
And it was hers.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, stained with green food colouring and haphazardly stowed alongside a bottle of Sailor Biffletop's Budget Imitation Rum Drink and Paint thinner, there sat a fine, vellum envelope that had been sealed with a wax monogram, flecked with gold leaf - and delicately perfumed with a scent of only the finest lobster and champagne.
Within it, there had been an equally fine letter, made of equally fine paper.
Dear Pines; I do not believe she would have informed you herself - so I shall take the initiative. Yours truly;
Pacifica's birthday is today.
Please, look after her. She's never had a Birthday Party with friends before.
I hope to see you all before the end of Summer.
Mr. Preston Northwest, VRP. (Very Rich Person)
(written by The Butler)