Chapter 3: Going to See the King
Mr. O'Neill's memorial service passed with the expected tears and heartstring-tugging stories, as well as a wholly unexpected rendition of "Ave Maria" performed by a visibly shaken Angela Li. To Daria, the most startling thing about the funeral was the lightning-bolt that went through her body when Jane, overcome with emotion, gripped her hand and laid her head on her shoulder.
When the last hug had been given and Daria had abandoned hope of getting ex-cheerleader Brittany Taylor's mascara out of her shirt, the pair stood blinking in the light of a warm June afternoon in silence.
"Heeeeyy Janie. Do you and Daria wanna join me and Tom for pizza? I'm buying." It seemed Trent had materialized at Jane's right shoulder while the old friends were desperately trying to find a life-raft of witty commentary to save them from the excruciating waters of awkwardness.
Trent's relieved sister answered, "Yep! Nothing like a greasy slice to take your mind off your own mortality."
"Or to hasten the inevitable," deadpanned Daria.
Trent gave a raspy laugh that became a cough as they walked across the parking lot toward Tom, who was leaning against the aging, rattling Jaguar he refused to give up. Daria was reasonably certain that when Tom finished his Doctorate in Philosophy and landed a professorship at a university where even the water fountains were named after alumni, it would be this belching steel dragon that delivered him to the foot of the ivory tower.
A tiny smile appeared on Daria's face as she watched Tom open the passenger-side door for Trent. It had been a shock when the scruffy singer and his sarcastic consort with the Disney prince hair-do had shared their relationship with the world a year and a half ago. They had already been together for six months at that point, beginning with an unexpected meeting at a Bar Mitzvah played by Mystik Spiral and progressing through many deep and surprising conversations involving the nature and definition of "selling out" (Tom argued Trent hadn't), the purpose of life, and classical literature (in which Trent was bewilderingly well-versed). It turned out Trent was the Lane that Tom needed, and their first kiss in the chilly night air outside a coffee shop could not have felt more natural. As expected, the Lane parents took the news with the unflappable placidity that comes from a continual hash high and afterwards took the young men out for celebratory donuts. The Sloanes, on the other hand, initially responded with the uncomfortable silence of WASPS performing complex mental calculations to determine the social impact of their son's gayness. With time, they came around.
Trent slid into the passenger seat and yanked his creaky, uncooperative door shut. Daria's lingering smile faded when she realized she would have to climb into the back seat with Jane. She took a deep breath and brushed the non-existent wrinkles from her blazer (smooth, Morgendorffer) as she walked past Trent and then gripped the door handle. Like ripping off a bandage…made of duct-tape…over an oozing bullet wound…on a hairy simian. She opened the door and cautiously climbed in, keeping a solid three feet between herself and her frighteningly bewitching best friend.
Jane gave her terrified companion a sly sidelong glance and then scooted just close enough to nudge her and mutter, "Careful, Daria, we might breathe the same air if you're not careful." Daria's eyes twinkled behind her glasses as she turned to answer her friend, but when she took a breath, the dusky plum sweetness of Jane's perfume stopped her in her tracks. Oh for the love of the many pagan and Hindu gods, please let a pizza shop materialize outside the window of this ancient juggernaut immediately.
Daria mumbled a noncommittal reply, and the two friends rode in silence for the few minutes it took to reach their beloved Pizza King. The four of them took the booth across from the windows—the sea-green sanctuary where Jane and Daria had spent so many after-school hours trading sarcastic commentary on the world they were escaping together. Daria found herself sitting on the same side of the table as Jane after her artsy friend elbowed Trent and told him he'd better sit next to his new husband, because otherwise "what the hell were all those sparkly parades for?"
Two different types of pizza were soon agreed upon following a minimal amount of affectionate bickering between Trent and Tom. As they waited for their pies and Daria hosted a sporadic internal debate regarding how to share her story with Jane, the friends caught up on the events of the two months since Trent and Tom's wedding. Jane was still dividing her time between her own art and the make-your-own-pottery studio where she'd been working since leaving Boston Fine Arts College in her Junior year (the studio was called "Make My Clay" and featured a delightfully cheesy spaghetti Western facade). Tom was in graduate school, and Trent was giving guitar lessons to alienated teens when he wasn't playing weddings and Quinceaneras with Mystik Spiral. Daria was still sniffing out corruption for the small Boston newspaper where she'd interned and then taken a position immediately after college.
When the pizzas arrived, the topic shifted to memories of Mr. O'Neill and the strange little world that was Lawndale. Laughs were shared, time passed quickly, and before they knew it the grease had congealed on the few uneaten slices between them. Daria looked up to find Tom giving his husband the kind of look that belies a shared secret before he suddenly said, "Well, I hate to be the old man here, but I've got a philosophy paper and a cat who needs his insulin waiting for me in Boston."
"Aaw come on, we practically just sat down!" Jane laughed. She cocked an eyebrow at Daria and wryly quipped, "I always knew my brother would run off to Boston with a philosopher."
Trent replied in his characteristic mellow rasp, "If you predicted this one, Janey, you deserve an award. Like an extremely diabetic cat, maybe."
Tom cracked up, all dimples and love, as he threw an arm around Trent and buried his face in his shoulder. When his laughter subsided, the newlyweds offered Jane and Daria a ride home and then hugged them goodbye after they refused. Soon the young men had driven away—one of them slightly less grungy than in his teen days and the other slightly less pretentious—and left the confused female duo in their wake. Daria made a careful study of the cheese strands on her plate until Jane simply said, "Walk?"
Daria looked up into her eyes, difficult as it was, and wrenched the word out. "Yup."