"I can't believe it's been more than a decade since I laid eyes on Beverly Hills," Brenda Walsh called over the rush of the wind coming off the Pacific. Tucked securely in the passenger seat of a red convertible, the breeze whips her long mahogany hair across her pale skin. Behind her dark sunglasses, she sees the sights of her adolescence.
"Well, it hasn't been that long for me, but it's been long enough," her twin brother replied. A taller, masculine version of his sister, it's been eight years since Brandon left Los Angeles for the east coast. It's amazing how much can change but feel exactly the same. Seated behind the wheel of the car, he feels like he did on their first day at West Beverly.
Since their days in California, life had changed drastically for the Minnesota Twins. Brenda was now one of London's most coveted stage actresses, starring in a string of successful plays and musicals all across the U.K. and around the world. After Dylan had left her to go back home, she'd lost touch with the rest of the gang. Only Brandon knew what she was up to these days, and he didn't pass along much when he talked to anyone from back home.
Truth be told, Brandon hadn't kept in touch with many of their Californians either. He still spoke to Steve fairly often, one of his only links to his former life. He also kept in touch with Nat, his old boss from the Peach Pit. Since leaving Beverly Hills, he'd put his heart and soul into working for the Washington Post and becoming one of the most noted journalists in the Northeast. Between his constant coverage of politics in D.C. and business in New York, he hadn't found the time to return home for several years.
Their parents were still living in Hong Kong, though they had managed to visit their children once a year. Brenda would come to D.C. or Brandon would go to New York, but somehow, the Walshes always found a way to come together. The twins had even gone to visit their parents a few times. Yet, despite the distance, they were still as all-American and close-knit as always.
"Are you nervous about seeing everyone?" Brandon asked over loud hum of a Beach Boys song. The music reminded them that everyone wants to be a California girl and play in the surf all summer long.
Brenda smiled down at her hands in her lap before looking up to meet her brother's gaze. She nodded slightly, forcing herself to convey some sort of excitement. "Sure, I mean, it's been awhile. We're not the same people we knew all those years ago when we were all friends. So much has changed. I guess I'm just nervous."
"Me too," Brandon admitted. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he turned onto the old familiar street where he had spent his early adulthood. "Honestly, I wasn't sure that I would ever come back here. With you in London and Mom and Dad in Hong Kong, I didn't really see any point. It's amazing how one phone call can bring you back to the place where it all began."
Across town, Kelly Taylor is pacing the living room of her beach apartment, waiting impatiently for her boyfriend to finish his shower. Her blonde hair is pulled back off her face, her creamy skin sunkissed from the radiant California sun. She was already nervous enough about the events of the day, and his tardiness were only adding to her stress.
In the years since she had graduated from college, Kelly had made quite a life for herself. Now the president and owner of a successful public relations firm, she'd managed to gather a roster of some of L.A.'s hottest clients. Living in the beach house with her boyfriend of five years, Kelly had everything she thought she could ever want.
"I'm almost done," Dylan McKay yelled from the shower, his voice barely audible over the hot water pounding on his bare skin. He knew that his girlfriend was probably fuming at this point, he knew that she was worried about today. However, his own emotions had gotten the better of him, making him want this shower to last forever.
Kelly pounded on the door. "Hurry up! We were supposed to be there fifteen minutes ago. We're always the last ones anywhere. Our friends are tired of always having to wait on us."
"So, I guess making this shower a joint venture is out of the question?" he teased, killing the water and pulling the fresh white towel off the rack. Kelly is studying her hair in the mirror when he finally steps out, the linen clinging to his wide hips.
"You're so funny," she said, her tone bored. "Get dressed. We need to go."
Dylan rolls his eyes as she bounces out the room to gather the goods she needed to take over to Casa Walsh. After buying back half of the Peach Pit, Dylan spent most of his days helping Nat with the food ordering. It was the only part of the restaurant business he had ever taken interest in, and Nat was more than happy to teach him the ropes of running that aspect of the Pit. He'd also managed to finish getting his Master's in literature, and he was working on a book of poetry in his spare time. No one knew of his writing aspirations, not even Kelly, but it was secretly the thing that made him happiest right now.
"Are you ready?" he sighed, walking up behind his beautiful blonde girlfriend. She's leaning on the counter, pouring over the contents of the paper shopping bag on the marble surface.
"Yeah, let's get out of here. The sooner we get there, the sooner this will be over," Kelly mumbled, slinging the bag over her wrist and grabbing the car keys off their hook. Dylan tries to smile at her reassuringly, but he's not sure he's up to comforting her right now. Each wrapped up in their own thoughts, they know that they need to do what they have to do to make sure they can get through the day.
"I never thought that it would take something like this to get us all back together," Dylan commented. "I just wish that this reunion was under better circumstances."
Donna Martin-Silver gave herself a final look over in the full-length mirror in her bedroom. Her blonde hair had been many shades over the years, everything from platinum blonde to fire engine red to chestnut brown. Now, in its natural honey hue, she felt like herself for the first time in years. Smoothing an imaginary wrinkle out of her fitted black wool dress, she takes a deep breath and says a silent prayer to herself.
The owner of Now Wear This and Donna Martin Originals, Donna had grown to be one of Los Angeles' hottest designers in recent years. Her line had sold out last season, and she could barely keep her clothes in the store. Online sales had been strong lately, and everything in her professional life had basically fallen into place. She'd even managed to show in New York the previous spring during Fashion Week, and she hoped to have a repeat performance at home in L.A. in the fall.
"Don, we should get going," David Silver stated gruffly as he flew into the room. He barely looked at his wife as he searched through the top bureau drawer for his chrome cuff links. Looping them through the button hole of his white dress shirt, he doesn't even look at his reflection in the mirror. With his mind racing at a million miles an hour, he could care less how he looked at the moment.
"I'm ready whenever you are," she replied unemotionally. Throwing a crisp white handkerchief in her black beaded bag, she's the picture of togetherness.
David looked up and smiled at her warmly. "You look pretty."
"Thanks, I guess I just wish it were under better circumstances," she told him. "Let me fix your jacket." Donna pulled on the tail of his black suit jacket and removed a piece of red lint from the sleeve. Standing behind him, she leaned her head on his back and closed her eyes. Reveling in the warmth of his body and the proximity of just being near him, she realizes that it's been far too long since they were like this together.
David had been stressed out lately. Since being named the head of programming at the radio station, his stress level had gone through the roof. Between the endless meetings and trips across the country, they had had little time together recently. Donna had tried to create a romantic atmosphere on more than one occasion, but it usually ended with him falling asleep or her picking a fight. Eventually, she'd just given up.
Turning around, Donna allowed her husband to gather her up in his arms. For a moment, they just stood their in silence, letting touch provide them with the comfort they so desperately need. In the moment, the fighting is gone and all they are left with is a love that has endured for more than 15 years.
Finally, David pulled away and led her down the stairs. In the sunny kitchen of their spacious house, Donna glances at the last photograph of the entire gang together all those years ago. Framed and located prominently on the fireplace mantle in the dining room, she wonders if the girl in the picture had any idea of where life would take her. Looking at the other people in the photo, she is certain that none of them expected it to be like this.
"I love you, too, sweetheart. I'll be home in a few days," Andrea Zuckerman said sadly before pushing the end button on her tiny silver cell phone. Slipping it back into her tan leather handbag, she wiped away the stray tear that had managed to escape from her eyes. In the months since her divorce, the only comfort she had found was in knowing that she would never be alone as long as she had Hannah. And now, with her across the country at Jesse's, Andrea felt like she had no one.
This is silly, she chided herself. She would be home in a few days, and then, her life would get back to normal…whatever that was. Out of the entire gang, Andrea had seemed to change the most since their high school days. Once the uptight, rigid editor of the West Beverly Blaze, she was now the proud mother of a twelve-year-old brainiac daughter and one of the top neonatal surgeons in all of Boston.
It'd been awhile since she had seen anyone from Beverly Hills. In fact, she hadn't been back to the city since David and Donna's wedding six years ago. She still kept in touch with Kelly via email, and Donna had sent her a Christmas card or two over the years. More than once, she had picked up the phone to call Brandon in D.C., but the timing never seemed right. Her life was a mess, and she didn't want her old friends to know all the mistakes she had made in their time apart.
Divorcing Jesse had been the hardest decision she had ever had to make, though she's not quite sure that she would consider it a mistake. At some point, their arguments had far outweighed their reconciliations, and they had agreed to cut their losses. Though it had been hard at Hannah at first, they had managed to make it work. With a lawyer for a father and a doctor for a mother, she had grown accustomed to crazy schedules. Still, they had managed to work it out so that she was always with one of them, and she never went more than two days without seeing the other.
Stepping onto the chaotic sidewalk outside LAX, she raised her hand to hail a cab. As a bright yellow taxi pulled to a stop in front of her, Andrea hoisted up her suitcase and threw it into the open trunk. Once the car was well on its way to her final destination, she allowed herself to relax for the first time since landing in California.
Pulling a soft leather album from her purse, she began to slowly retrace the lineage of her teenage years. The first was a snapshot from the infamous slumber party where she'd finally become friends with Brenda, Donna and Kelly. The next was taken the night she and Steve had traveled all over Los Angeles looking to exchange an egg. Though they had never made it to the party, that night was one of the best times she had in high school. A photograph of Brandon and Dylan at the Peach Pit is next. Image after image, she tried to remember the last time they were all together. Thinking hard, she realizes that it's been so long that she can't even remember.
Almost as if on cue, the driver flips the knob and turns up the radio. The Pretenders' version of "Forever Young" pours out of the speakers behind her as she puts away the album and stares out the window once again. The sun sparkling off the blue ocean water, Andrea leans against the cool glass window and wishes that she could be coming home for any other reason than the one that has brought her back today.
"Steven, I just put Maddy down for a nap," Samantha Sanders called into the living room at her son. Stopping short in the doorway, she watches him for a moment before sitting down on the couch next to him. He is staring forward, frozen in the same place he's been for more than an hour. His usually lively blue eyes are dull and lusterless. Nothing can seem to penetrate the icy wall he has built around himself in the last few days. "Did you hear me, Gorgeous?"
"What?" he asked softly without looking at her. She repeated what she had just told him, and he nodded in response, showing a sign of comprehension at her statement. Deciding to leave him alone, the blonde man does not acknowledge her departure; he simply remains focused on the same scuff mark on the wall that has captivated his attention since he woke up this morning.
He knew that he had a million things he should be doing right now, but nothing really seemed to matter anymore. He hadn't been to the Beat office in more than a week, and the bills were starting to stack up on the kitchen counter. His mother had even had to remind him to go to the store to pick up food for his daughter.
A part of him feels guilty for ignoring his responsibilities to Maddy, but his body physically ached every time he even looked at her. He hadn't been able to hold her since they had heard the news. Steve knew that she probably needed him more now than ever, but his own pain kept him from acting in his daughter's best interest. Thankfully, his mother had tried to hold everything together, praying somehow that he would get through this.
Upstairs, his daughter's cry rings out. Waiting a moment, he realized that he was alone in the house and begrudgingly stomped up the stairs to retrieve her from her room. At seven, she was smaller than most of the other children and a total daddy's girl. Understandably, her clinginess had only grown in the past seven days.
"Hey, Princess, what's wrong?" he asked tenderly, perching on the edge of her white canopy bed.
"I had a bad dream," she explained, reaching for her father's hand. She wrapped her delicate fingers around his and squeezes. He notices the tears in her eyes for the first time before brushing them away carefully with his thumb. Pulling back the pink and lavender quilt spread over her petite body, he lifts her into his arms and buries his face in her dark hair. "I miss Mommy. I miss her so much it hurts, Daddy."
"I know, baby, I know," he can only murmur as he embraces her tightly to his strong body. His collar is quickly soaked with the salty tears of his only daughter. Coming through the gauzy curtains, the sun shines onto the framed picture sitting on the ledge next to her bed. Casting a glow around the photograph, the snapshot's subject looks like an angel in the light. Looking out at the sky, he hopes that her mother and his wife, Janet, is watching over them from above. An angel before her time, Steve is not sure how he and Madeline are going to make it without her.