Chapter 10: Donuts and Memories
Silence and mid-morning sun filled the Morgendorffer living room as the two old friends took in its shiny new wood floors and familiar maroon sofas. When Daria nervously cleared her throat, she was sure it had been loud enough to shake loose a few of the recently-added family photos on the banana hued walls. Alas, Commune Period Helen and Jake were still holding tight next to Braces Era Quinn.
Daria snuck a sideways glance at her lanky friend, who was leaning back with her arms crossed over her white v-neck t-shirt and taking in the scene. Her battered old gray boots peeked out from the oversized black cargo pants that flooded around her feet in a manner most unfashionable for 2007. At least some things haven't changed—I see we both continue to hold trends in roughly the same regard as rampaging, maul-happy kangaroos.
"So Helen has been getting more sappy and maternal these days, judging by the Wall o' Photos," Jane remarked. A pause, a squint, and then a shocked, "Daria! Is that a pink sweater I spy on the 16-year-old version of you?"
"You try convincing my mother an olive-green jacket and combat boots go with the Summer in Kiev backdrop at Fyodor's Foto Fun."
"Did your parents have to trek to Mordor to retrieve Quinn's braces pic from a fiery pit? I can't believe she let it see the light of day."
"That was my dad. He rode valiantly into battle against Quinn and won with the argument that everyone thinks Charlize Theron is gorgeous even after her silver screen turn as a decidedly un-hot serial killer."
"Ha! How is Quinn's dental hygiene degree coming along?"
"Second time's the charm, apparently. She says she likes telling cute guys all about her yoga while their mouths are propped open and they can't interrupt."
"That's our Quinn," Jane responded wryly.
Reassured by the constant of Quinn's vanity in an ever-changing world, the confused and slightly punch-drunk duo made their way to the Morgendorffer kitchen. They soon located bagels and Jake's secret stash of donut holes (as Daria said, "Better eat the evidence before Mom sees these and delivers another three-hour PowerPoint presentation on warding off a second heart attack"). When the conversation had slowed to a creep and the final crumbs had been wiped off the old table, the two young women stood awkwardly beside the kitchen sink.
Daria hung the dishcloth over the faucet and focused intently on re-rolling the left sleeve of the button-down she'd worn to Mr. O'Neill's funeral. "I should really ditch this funeral garb before making the drive to Boston. Want to head upstairs so I can change?" Blushing fiercely at the implication of what she'd just said, Daria cringed visibly and awaited Jane's snark.
What she got instead were Jane's warm, amused smirk and complete understanding. "In one way it's weird being unable to change clothes in front of you without giving it a second thought—and in another way, it's not weird at all."
A flustered pause from Daria, followed by, "It definitely is…all those things."
Jane laughed. "Tell you what. You go ahead and change, and I'll walk to my parents' house to pack up. But, um, I was hoping…"
"Yes?"
"I was hoping you might want to have dinner at my favorite Indian place in Boston tonight. I've been meaning to take you there. And it has those cool elephant statues I was telling you about."
Daria noted Jane's hopeful expression and felt a sweet warmth overtake her. "You know I can't turn down a good pachyderm ambiance. What's the dress code like for non-elephant patrons?"
Smiling now, the wan painter replied, "I'm afraid it's a bit fancy-schmancy."
"Well then, I shall call upon my fanciest fancy-pants. Or, you know, skirt. It's undetermined as of yet."
"Sounds good. Meet me there around seven? I can text you the address."
"It's a"—oh crap, don't say date—"plan."