Chapter 5
Closing the Circle
Summer's End; Boston to San Francisco, UA433
The turbulence began to subside as the jetliner passed over the California Sierras. A redeye wasn't her first choice, but her schedule couldn't accommodate anything else. At least it was a comfortable flight; she was pleasantly surprised when she picked up her boarding pass and found that he had booked her a first class ticket.
Is this a mistake? She had asked herself the same question a hundred times, it seemed. We're really good friends again. We can talk about anything, and now we could be ruining it all once more.
Perhaps the circumstances really had been the cause of that past failure, and both of them had eventually found their balance without the other. Only now, they were about to take the other's hand again, and were certainly putting that balance at risk.
Neither of them were the same person they were years ago. Had she grown enough? Had he?
No question, they had changed in very fundamental ways. She was no longer the shy, self-involved teenager he remembered. The world in its bitterness and rapture had revealed itself to her, both in the abstract and in the personal failures and triumphs she had lived in the years since they parted ways. She had learned of her own strength. She had learned to quench the fire of her convictions and passions with the cool quiet of reflection in the same way a blacksmith took red heat and the shock of water to steel, seeking the perfect balance between the razor's edge and the toughness to survive.
She no longer felt the need for self-pity. She had squared herself with the world, on her own terms. At least, that was how things were, until that fateful evening in Dauphine's flat.
He, too, had discovered inner strength; his creativity had banked itself into a white heat, something that she both loved and feared. It gave her endless gratification to see him succeed, yet at the same time he seemed to have become as unreachable as a nova in the night sky.
She leaned her head against the window and looked down on the deep green of the foothills, the mirrors of reservoirs and lakes, the crystalline sparkle of glass towers and distant windshields on the interstates far below.
The Sacramento river snaked along, splitting and fanning out into the fractal traceries of the delta. Despite the seeming chaos, the waters were slowly making their way to the Pacific in the only way possible in this moment in time.
Circumstances and constraints. Fate and destiny, the way humans describe the chaotic path of their lives. Such a simple map could only be seen in hindsight, from a distance that filtered out distraction and false hopes, leaving only the things important enough to remember.
The 747 began its slow turn into its final approach to the San Francisco International Airport. She could see the shadow of the airliner as it skimmed over the calm waters of the bay, getting closer as they approached the runway.
Jane still had her misgivings; she wanted her best friend and her brother together again, but the hope she held close was tempered by the memory of six years past.
"I'm gonna pound him if he does something stupid," Jane had muttered. "For that matter, that goes for you too."
"And I know you'll do it because you love us both," Daria had snickered.
"No I don't. You guys are idiots that don't learn." The smile was audible over the phone. "Don't come crying to me if... oh, hell, be careful, Amiga!"
Dauphine, on the other hand, was an incurable optimist and a hopeless romantic. She was all for it, which was no surprise. Honestly, Daria had no doubt about what her position on the matter would be, and perhaps that was why she called her, for a little bit of encouragement to take the chance and go for what she knew she wanted.
"At least wear one of those blouses Remy sent," she had yawned. "The creamy silk, the one with the white on the collar and sleeves. A little bit of armor, a little something unfamiliar. And the bracelet. It is my best work, my silly friend, I insist. It pairs perfectly with your glasses. And the small studs in your ears. Do not call me afterwards, if you are not with him still I do not want to hear of it. Call me in two days, Daria, but remember the time difference. Oh, Gerard says hello!"
As she reached for the overhead compartment, the flight attendant stepped up and retrieved her single carryon for her. Sometimes it was a pain in the ass being so short. Slipping her laptop into the side pocket, she switched her phone off airplane mode and made her way briskly down the jetway. It would be a moment before they released the rest of the aircraft cabin, and she wanted to put as much distance behind her as possible.
Making her way down the escalator to the baggage claim area, she saw a few people standing alongside the moving line with placards. She scanned them, looking for the driver that was to take her to the hotel that Trent had booked for her. It was still morning, and hopefully she would have time to freshen up before meeting him. She stifled a yawn as she walked by the line of suited drivers, looking for her name.
She saw it; neatly printed block letters on a card held by a tall, thin guy in scruffy jeans, ratty shoes and a badly fitting suit jacket.
Trent pulled off his sunglasses, picking her up in a hug.
A flash went off, and Daria looked up to see some college girls pointing excitedly. "I told you that was him," one squealed as they rushed forward.
Daria released him, smirking as he was forced into signing whatever slip of paper that the girls had available. One of them picked up the sign that he had dropped. "Omigod," she whispered. Daria facepalmed as cellphones were pointed in her direction.
"Sorry, ladies, but we really need to go. She's had a long flight," Trent said politely but firmly, grabbing her carryon and pulling her towards the exit. Faces turned to the slight kerfuffle, and airport security began to notice.
A Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb, and Trent pulled the door open, hustling her inside and returning the jacket to the driver.
"Sorry about that," he said sheepishly. "I just couldn't wait."
Daria smiled gamely and took his hand. "Does that happen a lot?"
"Thank God, no. Not usually, unless it's someplace where the demographics are right, you know, like college campuses, trendy eateries, theaters, you know, where smart people like you hang out."
"Great."
"Usually the fans aren't that aggressive. Just a lot of people noticing, usually sneaking pictures, polite requests for an autograph. I'm not a rocker, you know."
She looked out the window, appreciating the anonymity the dark tinted glass provided. They merged onto 101 North, towards the city. Opening a refrigerated compartment, he pulled out a bottle of water for her. "You must be parched from the flight."
"Thank you. It's too early for those damn Kiwi whatever wine coolers you got me drunk on," she deadpanned.
"Hey, I-"
"I'm kidding. I made my choices on my own."
Nervously, she took his hand again.
"Why did you go to so much trouble, Trent?"
"How could I not?" he replied. "I've wondered if I would ever have this time with you again, so after you called… after we talked over the summer, I would have moved heaven and earth if I had to."
She fell silent, her stomach in knots. She thought back to that conversation that started more than a month ago.
"Your songs…"
"You never figured that out?
"I always felt that I was on the other side of the glass looking at something I never thought I could have anymore."
"Jesus, Daria," Trent sighed. "You never said anything, so I always thought you were done with me, except as a friend. I thought that was all I had with you, so I never dared to push. I didn't want to lose that."
"Like I said, I hoped that a month in Paris would help me put things into perspective."
He tried not to stare, but he did a poor job of it."You look incredible," Trent said quietly. "Please don't get angry, I just kind of had to say it."
"It's okay, Trent. I had some pretty expert help."
"Your glasses are beautiful. You got them in Paris?"
"Yes," Daria sighed. "It's kind of a long story. It started when I almost had a meaningless fling when guilt set in. That's when I began to realize that I never really got over you, and that's what's been screwing up my love life all along."
He studied their hands, still together. He stroked the smooth skin beneath his fingertips, feeling the strength that lay beneath.
"I know crowds are really not your thing, but will you come to my gig? You've never been to one and this is the last one of the tour. It's at the Fillmore, and I promise not to publicly humiliate you. I hear they still hand out free apples to the crowd after the concerts, something that's been going on since the 1960's."
The corners of her mouth turned up. "Okay," she said quietly.
"You really do look fantastic. It's just easier to see now."
She laughed. "Will you get me a soda? I like crushed ice, not cubes," she said in an uncannily accurate imitation.
"Jeez, that's scary. I thought I had the wrong Morgendorffer sister for a moment."
"I've had years of exposure to her voice."
"So, this is kind of our first real date after six years."
"This is your nickel, Lane," she smiled. "If we were going dutch, I could spring for this water and maybe half a cheeseburger. I spent all my money in Paris. Otherwise, you can cover the first class flight, limo, the cheeseburgers, and the fancy boutique hotel. Do I get my own room?"
"It's a suite, so it's your decision."
"Good. Just because you've decided to blow ten grand on a date doesn't mean you'll have your way with me."
"That's your choice too," Trent smiled. "I'm incapable of making rational or ethical decisions in your presence, remember?"
"Hey!"
"Kidding, Daria." He paused, turning her face towards him. "But I'm not kidding about this." He leaned forward, their lips brushing together lightly. "I never stopped loving you."
She reached up, pulling him closer. "I tried to, but I never really could."
Damn seat belts.
A/N: A weekend date, after a long, long time. How did it go? One more short chapter…