Chapter 35

Different

"Thanks again, Muffy! You're so sweet, you're liable to give me diabetes."

Ladonna gushed praise at Muffy through the open window while sitting comfortably in the warm limo cabin, Buster by her side. Muffy stood on the snow-slushed downtown curb as she saw them off, clad in her peacoat and gloves, schoolbag strapped to her back. Not long before the Autumn Ball had ended yesterday, Muffy had approached Luster with an offer and a smile.

"I want you both to have the nice date I promised," she told them at the punch fountain while the couple took a break from dancing. "Are you free tomorrow for brunch at Doré, on me?"

Muffy had picked up Ladonna from a fellow cadet's house fifteen minutes ago. She had been scheduled to help load a delivery of Christmas card drive supplies into the cadet's garage, a temporary holding site. Muffy was surprised to see a silver Sprinter backed up to the open garage door when she arrived, one that sported the Certified Pre-Owned of Elwood name as well as their slogan of "Safety. Service. We never compromise." printed across its side. More surprising was that her father had been behind the wheel of the van. He told Ladonna he would be glad to help her friend do all the lifting, to run along and not risk getting her dress dirty. Then he sent Muffy and Ladonna off with a cheery wave, telling them both to have fun and stay warm. Buster had been waiting for them on the sidewalk outside Arthur's house, hugging himself to protect against the cold. He wore jeans and Chucks, naturally, but he had possessed the good sense to dress them up with a smart blue button-up and brown jacket, no doubt borrowed from his best friend's closet. Secretly pleased to see that he was learning, Muffy had moved to the other side of the cabin so Buster and Ladonna could have one side to themselves for the rest of their journey. Now they were seconds away from departing for their date, leaving Muffy behind, on her own for a while.

"This is just so nice of ya," Ladonna continued.

"Very, very, nice, nice," Buster chimed in.

"Don't mention it," Muffy said airily, shouldering her handbag. "Now remember, the rez is under Daddy's name. Claude will know exactly what to do. Feel free to take your time. Relax, talk, and have some fabulous food. I recommend the croque madame or the brie crostini with fig jam and prosciutto."

"What are you going to do?" said Buster.

"I'll be fine. Don't worry. Bailey will text me when you're all set, and then he'll pick me up. Oh—one more thing…" Muffy pointed to a toggle on the door's control panel and added in a sweet, teasing voice, "This little button belongs to the privacy screen. In case things should happen to get…kissy. Have fu-un!"

As Muffy reached up to firmly pat the limo's roof two times, signaling Bailey to drive off, Buster spoke again.

"See ya later, Johnny!" he told Muffy with a wink.

"Johnny?" came Ladonna's confused voice as the limo pulled away.

Muffy giggled at this, but her smile faded after a few seconds once the significance of Buster's nickname had sunk in. He had only been playing; there were no hard feelings between them. Still, the memory of her unsavory deeds was attached to the name, and thinking about it stung. Muffy pressed her lips together, fighting the feeling of disgust that had crept up on her for what seemed like the hundredth time since yesterday afternoon.

This is a good thing you're doing, she told herself. Okay? So move on.

Following her command physically as well as mentally, she turned on her heel. It was freezing out here, and more snow had begun to fall, fat, wet flakes that plopped onto her shoulders as her feet carried her toward her intended destination. Easily, she could spend her wait time browsing the downtown shops, purchasing a latte from the nearby café, and perhaps paying a visit to Care to Ware and seeing how Buzz was doing. She could do those things, but she would not. There was somewhere else Muffy would rather be.

Alan stood at the ready, hand on the microwave door handle as the timer counted down. He was working the early shift at the ice cream shop on this quiet morning. He had been open for half an hour, and business had been dead ever since, but he expected as much at this time of day and at this time of year. He did not mind slow mornings as they afforded him the opportunity to set up for the day, meticulously and at his leisure. He had begun his shift by rushing to the back of the darkened shop to punch in the security code on the alarm before turning down the DMX system's blues station. Alan preferred music at a lower volume on slow days so he could read and study between customers. After placing the books he had brought with him on a shelf under the counter, he drew his phone from his pocket and glanced at his last text conversation before leaving it behind as well so he could wash his hands and start a new batch of toffee chocolate chip. He had received the message half an hour after returning home yesterday evening.

Did you leave? Are you OK?

The text had been from Muffy. Alan figured she would have been having too much fun at the dance to notice his absence, and he was shocked to hear his phone sound off while he changed into his pajamas. He had been quick to answer all the same.

I'm fine. I just decided it wasn't for me anymore. Thanks for checking.

OK Proud of you for trying. Have a good night, Zen Master.

Alan had frequently thought about the exchange and how considerate Muffy had been, so much so that it had invaded his mind this morning, causing him to overlook the large spots of congealed caramel sauce that had also evaded his mother's watchful eye during closing last night. The spots were on a table and one of its chairs, which were both dark in color. Alan deduced that the caramel had likely dribbled onto the chair's seat, and his mother had not noticed it upon flipping the chairs at closing time for mopping. Alan set to cleaning the spots as soon as he noticed them, grateful no customers had been in here to see them, or worse, sit down at that particular table. He removed most of the caramel with standard restaurant cleaning solution, but a stubborn, sticky film remained, and Alan had to improvise. Here he was now, heating a clean and wet towel in the microwave for twenty seconds, sure the extreme moist heat would easily dissolve the residue. The microwave beeped, and Alan acted quickly, removing the towel, playing a game of hot potato with himself as he tossed it from one hand to the other on his way back to the table. He was scrubbing away the caramel's remnants when his first customer entered the shop, heralded by the bell that hung over the door.

"Good morning," he said, still looking down to make sure he had gotten everything up. "I'll be right with you."

"No rush," said a bright and familiar voice, and Alan looked up to see Muffy, cheeks exceptionally pink from the cold, brushing snowflakes off her coat. "I'm not here for ice cream. Good morning, Zen Master!"

Alan had not expected to see Muffy again so soon. The last time he had seen her, she had looked like a character from a fairy tale. Today, she was back to looking like her usual self, which was still well put together. Gone were the curls, and her hair was now swept over her shoulder in a familiar, complex braid.

"Hi," he told her. "Why are you here?"

"I'm stranded," she said. "I sent Buster and Ladonna to brunch at Doré in the limo."

"Oh," Alan said. "Why?"

"Because…I believe in love. Anyway, I'm in town, I've got nothing to do, so I was wondering if I could hang out here for a couple of hours and do homework."

She gave him an earnest and questioning smile. Alan did not know why Muffy had not opted to stay home and do homework, but he was proud of her for getting it done this early on a Sunday morning after a big day like yesterday. And yet he could not help the words that came out of his mouth.

"Ah, sorry, Muffy. No loitering." Muffy's face immediately fell at this, and Alan broke, chuckling. "I'm just kidding," he said, opening one arm in a wide gesture toward the multitude of empty seats. "Be my guest."

A few quiet minutes passed as Muffy settled in, having chosen to sit on one of the stools, spreading her schoolwork materials out on the front counter and beginning her work. Alan tended to his first customers of the day, Mr. and Mrs. Stubblefield, an elderly couple, regulars who strolled in every Sunday morning after service at the nearby Presbyterian church. "Sundays are for sundaes!" Mr. Stubblefield would always cheer in his withered voice upon entering the shop, and today was no exception. Alan tended to their order of two small chocolate and strawberry sundaes while chatting with them, and then he left them alone while they enjoyed their treats at the table closest to the window. As always, they cleaned up after themselves, going as far as to return their dishes to Alan personally and wiping down their table with one of the hand sanitizing wipes Mrs. Stubblefield kept in her purse. Alan still went behind them with sanitizing solution after they left. As he returned to his post, Muffy broke her silence with a lazy, "Alan, what is an autotroph?"

"Nice try, Muffy," he said after a second's thought. No way would he automatically give her the answer. Her father paid him far too much to ensure she would recall the answers on her own.

"I just wanted to see if I could catch you off guard," she said with a grin. "I know what it is."

"All right, then. What is it?"

"Uh, um, how about those Grebes?" she said sheepishly.

"Baseball season is over," Alan teased, "and it was over for the Grebes a long time ago, unfortunately. So…what is an autotroph?"

Muffy huffed, obviously chagrined that her joke had backfired. "Fine…it's an organism…capable of forming organic—no—nutritional organic substances from simple inorganic substances."

"Very good. Can you give me an example of an autotroph?"

"Ugh, I regret starting this. Algae?"

"Which happens to be a type of autotroph known as…?"

"Crap."

"Incorrect," Alan laughed.

Muffy sighed, paused with squinted eyes for a couple of seconds, then, "Photoautotrophs. There. I'm not talking to you for the rest of the day."

Her pouting tone was playful. Alan was certain she would speak again as soon as she was in the mood. Muffy focused on her textbook again as Rattles loped into the shop and ordered his usual as of late: two chocolate malts to go, extra whip and two cherries on one, no whip and no cherry on the other. Alan wondered where he was headed with the shakes on such a cold morning but did not ask, and instead he made small talk with him about their Thanksgiving plans. It was possible he was reading too much into it, but Alan thought Rattles made extra effort to hide his disappointment when he mentioned that his father would be out of town, and he would only be able to spend the holiday weekend with his mother and stepfamily. After the shakes were spun and poured into disposable cups, Rattles popped his jacket collar before rushing out of the shop with them, head hanging perhaps a little lower now. Once he was out of view from the window, Alan turned back to Muffy.

"How about you?" he asked her, serious this time. "Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away. Are you still excited?"

"Of course," Muffy said, perking up. "I think I might have had my doubts when I caught how nervous Daddy looked, after Mom told him Chip was coming. The last thing I want is a repeat of Thanksgiving O-Seven, but so far, Daddy's been pretty calm about the whole thing. Maybe he's trying to hide it, or maybe Mom gave him a pep talk. She was so disappointed with how everything turned out last time, but she's been really optimistic about this year. She takes the fact that it was Chip's idea as a good sign, so she's been in overdrive, making sure the decorations and menu will be perfect for him, even better than they were last time. Maybe things will be great. After all the resistance he put up a couple of months ago, I can't imagine Chip showing up unless he really wanted to."

"I hope everything goes well for you," said Alan. "For all of you."

"Thanks—oh! That reminds me! I need to text Chip. I was so busy with the Autumn Ball yesterday it slipped my mind."

Muffy dug her phone out of her purse and tapped out a message to her brother while Alan wiped down the milkshake machine, determined to prevent any dried residue on this slow day. After a few seconds passed, Muffy placed her phone down next to her homework. "Done," she said. "I can't believe I almost forgot."

"Speaking of the Autumn Ball," Alan said casually over his shoulder as he returned to the machine to attach a clean spinner wand, "did, um, you and Binky have a good time?"

"Ohmigosh, it was so much fun! We all did line dances, there was a competition to see who could come up with the silliest moves—believe it or not, it was Kevin Brouder—and—oh my god—Binky, Buster, and George did a spontaneous little routine-lip-sync-thing to 'Single Ladies'! That was one of the funniest things I've ever seen!"

"What?" said Alan, whirling around, laughing with Muffy even though he had not been there to witness it. "You're kidding. Who on Earth was Beyoncé? What am I saying—it was Buster, wasn't it?"

"So shrewd," she told him, eyes sparkling with mirth. "They were frighteningly good at it, actually. Everyone had a great time. I think Binky was on cloud nine over the ball's success, and he looked even happier after I set him up with Maria."

"Maria?" said Alan. "Pappas?"

Muffy nodded.

"I didn't know."

"Neither did I," she said, "until I caught Maria staring at us on more than one occasion and put two and two together. I took a break to go talk to her, got a confession, and then I helped make the connection." Muffy touched the tips of her index fingers together for emphasis. "They spent the rest of the ball dancing with each other. It was so sweet."

Alan thought about this for a moment. "You could really tell how she felt about him from a look?"

"It's a gift. I did it with you, remember? That's how I could tell you liked Lydia."

"Oh, right. You did mention that. Well, it sounds like the evening was perfect."

"Yeah," Muffy said, but her smile wavered, and the sparkle in her eyes disappeared as she added, "Couldn't have asked for better."

She fell silent and went back to work. Something was definitely still bothering her. Alan had sensed as much shortly after running into her in the gym's vestibule yesterday, and the eventual fun time had by all had not been enough to wash away the burden. He wished she would open up. Alan did not know if he could help her with her problem, but simply unloading to someone might make her feel somewhat better. He was willing to listen if she wanted to talk, only how would he persuade her?

Lead by example, his inner monologue reminded him, like you did yesterday. Muffy isn't the only one who needs to talk.
It was worth a try.

"And speaking of Lydia," Alan began slowly, "I've been dreaming about her a lot lately—not nightmares," he was quick to assure Muffy after she shot him a concerned look, "just…dreams."

"Okay," Muffy said cautiously. "Are you all right with talking about them?"

"I'm fine, I think, more perplexed than anything."

In detail, Alan told Muffy about his dreams, how repetitious they were, how tiny changes happened within the scenario each time he dreamed, and how his dreams had increased in frequency.

"Every time I realize I'm dreaming," he said, "she says her goodbyes before I wake up. I know it's not really her. It's all me, talking to myself. There's something I'm missing, something I'm trying to figure out, but for whatever reason, I just…can't. It's frustrating, feeling this imperceptive. I know this all sounds exceedingly strange."

Muffy cocked her head to one side. "I don't think it sounds strange at all."

"No?" Alan could not hide his curiosity.

"No. It actually reminds me of something Francine told me once, not very long after her grandpa died. She dreamed about him a lot for a while. In her dreams, they did a lot of the normal stuff they used to do before he got sick—trading funny stories at the dinner table, playing Frisbee at the park…stuff like that. Before she woke up, he always told her that he was sorry but he had to go. Sometimes she would try to convince him to stay, but every dream always ended with him leaving anyway. Francine said the dreams scared her at first, but she got used to them, even though they made her feel sort of torn every time she had one. She felt sad to remember that her grandpa was gone, but she was also happy they had such a good time in her dream. I think dreams like that are probably normal."

"You do? You think I'm normal?"

"Come on, Alan. Of the many, many things you've taught me recently, the one that stands out the most is that you're way more normal than you think you are. What if you're not trying to solve some big puzzle in your dreams? What if you're just feeling your feelings? I know it's been two years, but it's been a long two years for you. You only really just said goodbye to her a few days ago, and you need time. And that's okay. That's perfectly normal."

Alan could have hugged Muffy. In addition to her kindness, she was actually being quite sensible. What was more, he could not believe he had failed to come to a similar conclusion regarding his situation. The idea that he was still processing his farewell was almost beautiful in its simplicity. The possibility alone that Muffy had cracked the code made him feel better, lighter.

"That's what I think, at least," she added. "I bet Dr. Hartmann-Krause could do a much better job of telling you what's going on."

"That's not really the way Dr. Hartmann-Krause operates," he said gently. "I mean, it's definitely worth mentioning to her considering my complicated grief, but she doesn't tell me outright what I'm feeling. But…I think I might agree with you."

"Really?"

"I like to challenge myself," he said, "but perhaps there merely isn't a challenge to be found here. What you said makes a lot of logical sense. Thank you, Muffy. You're a good friend."

At these words, Muffy frowned, and her gaze dropped to her textbook. "No, I'm not," she mumbled.

"Sorry?" said Alan. Surely, he had not heard right.

"I'm not," she said more clearly. "I…did a bad thing, Alan."

"Oh. Is that what you were upset about last week?"

"Oh no, not that. That was silly. This? If you only knew, you'd take back what you just said."

Rather than being put off, he crossed his arms and said, "Would you like to try me?"

Muffy shook her head. "It was such a bad plan. I thought I knew what I was doing, and I came so close to complete disaster."

Alan stared at her before replying with, "Wow. What must that be like? I have absolutely no idea. It's okay, Muffy. Go on."

"Well…it all started Thursday morning, when I really began to panic about the Autumn Ball…"

It took a couple of minutes for Muffy's confession to ramp up, but once it did, everything came tumbling out. Muffy admitted to Alan how she had felt embarrassed to attend the Autumn Ball alone, how she had felt too much pride to ask a boy to accompany her, and how she had taken advantage of Ladonna's absence and Buster's desire to impress his girlfriend. She explained Ladonna's surprise return and how hurt and angry she had been upon seeing Buster and Muffy together, that she had nearly stormed out of the gymnasium after telling Buster off.

"I just felt like there was no way he could refuse. I thought my plan was fail-proof and that everyone would end up happy in the end, me especially. I didn't see the risks, or maybe I just ignored them because I got what I wanted. And it wasn't even what I wanted, you know? I wanted to be there with someone who wanted my company too, but my Autumn Ball date was faker than that new Louis Portia Demwiddy has been carrying around. Everything sucked, and it was a miracle I was able to save their relationship. That's why Buster and Ladonna are at Doré right now, not because I'm such a good friend, but because I need to make up for being horrible! I mean, what the hell, Alan, am I right?"

"I—I can't say I was expecting that," Alan said after taking in everything Muffy had to say, "but I don't think you should be that harsh on yourself."

"Sure, I should. This isn't change. This is the same crap I've always pulled."

"Change is a process, and you should be willing to accept that you're not always going to be perfect."

"Yeah, you sort of said the same thing a few weeks ago outside your house, but here I am, still manipulating people."

"Listen to me, please. What's done is done, and you can't erase the past. You're doing your best to make things right, and that's really all you can do now. That, and keep trying because this was only a lost battle, Muffy, not the entire war. Trust me, I know that's a lot easier said than done. The numerous times I've agonized over my mistakes, the damage I've done to myself—it would seem the easy and logical thing to do is to beat myself up over them. It's beyond tempting. But that's not progress either. So, what do you do if you really want to change? You have to keep trying. Do you still believe in me after all the setbacks I've had?"

"You know I do," Muffy said quietly.

"And I believe in you," said Alan. "You were able to let go of Binky and set him up with Maria. A bad friend wouldn't have done that. As well…a bad friend wouldn't purchase a self-help book to learn how to help her friend cope with his anxiety. That's goodness, plain and simple, and you're capable of even more of it." He let his words hang before asking, "Would you like some cocoa?"

"I'd freaking love some cocoa," Muffy said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "Thanks, Alan."

Alan searched the shop's pantry until he found a canister of trial cocoa mix his mother had concocted for "malted marshmallow cocoa", an upcoming winter cone-crete flavor. He heated two mugs of milk in the microwave and eyeballed the mix, adding it until he thought the drinks were rich enough.

"Here you go," he said to Muffy as he placed a mug in front of her. "It's newly-developed, but we like it."

Muffy blew on the beverage a few times before taking her first sip. Her eyes lit up. "That's the stuff," she agreed, looking at the cocoa as if she had won a prize.

Alan crossed his arms atop the counter, resting there, waiting for his drink to cool as he stood across from Muffy. "It's not a Cinnabon, granted, but hopefully you'll derive at least some comfort from it."

Muffy said nothing. She looked up at Alan and regarded him with a soft expression for several long seconds.

"What?" said Alan, fighting the urge to squirm from her stare. "What is it?"

"You seem…different," was her quiet response.

Alan chuckled nervously. "No, I don't," he said, then, "How…how am I different?"

Muffy was thinking it over. It seemed she was having trouble pinpointing the purported changes she had noticed. Her eyes searched him intensively before she gave up with a tiny shrug. "I don't know," she said, "but you are."

Muffy took another sip. Before Alan could ask any probing questions in an effort to determine what Muffy had seen in him, the bell over the entrance jingled once more, stealing his attention from her. Muffy turned in her seat to have a look. In walked Francine, followed closely by George, who was already removing his mittens.

"Oh my god, that's better!" Francine bellowed after making an exaggerated shivering noise. She shook out her coat as they approached the counter. "Don't mind us. We're just warming up while we take a break."

"From doing what?" said Muffy.

"Building snowmen," said George.

"But there's not enough snow on the ground to build snowmen."

"There is if you make them small enough," Francine said, taking off her mittens and stuffing them into her coat pocket. "We built ours on the bridge railing at the creek. George used sticks as support dowels to keep them propped up. They look really funny. Maybe they'll freeze there."

Alan doubted the temperature would remain low enough for Francine and George's snowmen to freeze, but he declined to burst their bubble prematurely.

"Sounds like you two had an awful lot of fun," Muffy told her playfully, and Francine looked confused.

"Why did you say it like that?"

Muffy sipped her cocoa nonchalantly. "No reason."

Alan suspected Muffy knew more than she was letting on, but instead of listening to the girls squabble over Muffy's ribbing, he turned his attention to George.

"Hey, George, thanks again for the chessboard. I wish you'd allow me to pay you."

George shook his head. "I'm just lucky I got to work on such an awesome piece. I'd like to try my hand at more restoration sometime. It's kind of fun, fixing suff."

"Yeah," Alan said, "it is."

"Before I started work on it, I showed the board to Dad, and I gave him a rundown of the techniques I planned to use, you know, just in case he knew of something better, and he said that—"

"What?" Muffy said after gasping loudly.

Alan looked to see Muffy staring at her phone.

"What?" said Francine, trying to peer over Muffy's shoulder, but Muffy was sitting too high on her stool.

Muffy did not elaborate. She tapped the screen and held the phone to her ear, sitting with a nervous look while she waited for someone on the other end to pick up. A second passed, and George's phone began ringing inside his coat. For a moment, Alan thought Muffy had been calling George, but he quickly realized that was absurd.

"Hi, Sue Ellen," said George upon answering.

After that, concerned voices layered over one another as the scene played out.

"Jenna, slow down," Muffy said into her phone. "What happened? Why is she in the hospital?"

"Who?" said Francine. "Who's in the hospital?"

"Is she gonna be okay?" George said, breathing heavily, his voice a panic-filled squeak as he spoke to Sue Ellen. "Have you talked to her?"

"Who?" Francine said again, frustrated. She found her phone, likely checking to see if she had any missed calls. "Crap! My phone's dead!"

Following her lead, Alan leaned over to look at the shelf under the counter where he had left his phone. It sat in the shadows along with his books, its blue text message light blinking brightly. He grabbed his phone and quickly unlocked it.

"Alan? What the hell's going on?" Francine asked him desperately as he read his first missed text, which was from Binky: hey man did you hear about Fern?

To be continued…