Chapter 13: Anatomical Heart

Clang! Jane popped one eye open and remembered she was in Daria's bed, not her own.

"Crap!" Her girlfriend's voice traveled from the tiny kitchen at the upper threshold of a whisper. Sensing she was trying to be stealthy, Jane closed her eyes with a smirk. She was lying on what had already become her side of the full-size bed in a room that screamed "Daria" with its relics of the past and portents of the future. To her right were, in order: Daria's empty spot under the orange comforter; a tall window with olive drapes and ancient sill nearly touching the floor; and a six-foot high bookshelf that held Daria's most precious tomes and was crowned by her human skull replica from high school (now updated with a dripping candle topper whose color changed periodically). Jane was watched over by the anguished and contorted animals of Picasso's "Guernica" on one wall and a blue-gowned Jane Austen on the other.

Hearing footsteps approach on the squeaky, scuffed dark wood floors, Jane opened her eyes to see Daria walking through the doorway in her tan sleep shirt and boxers. She was carefully balancing two steaming cups of coffee, a plate stacked with some sort of cookies, and an envelope on a shiny metal platter. Jane refrained from offering a greeting just yet, as Daria's eyes were fixed on the tray and she'd rather avoid an A.M. cookie shower. When the laser-focused young woman had carefully placed the platter on the bedside table, Jane sat up and met her eyes with a tiny smile. "Whatcha up to there, Morgendorffer?"

"I went to the bakery for those kolaczkis you like yesterday—the kind your dad brought back from his Polish Grandmas Run Amok photojournalism trip?"

"Ah yes, 'Babunias Gone Bzikowaty.'" Jane's eyes sparkled. "Daria! You know anything with heart-stopping amounts of cream cheese makes me weak in the knees, and probably in several vital organs as well." She leaned over for a kiss. "Thank you."

Daria grinned sheepishly and then handed her a raspberry-filled kolaczki and a cup of coffee. "No problem." She picked up the pearly gray envelope and sat down on the bed. Her voice draped in uncertainty, she asked, "What would you say if I told you that the Empress of Perkiness and Ruler of the Bosomy Blonde Isles, Brittany Taylor, is getting married in a sunset ceremony on the beach in just over three weeks?"

Pausing mid-chew with knit brows, Jane swallowed her kolaczki and replied, "I would say I'm less surprised than I was when I saw what the babunias did to that mailman." No response. Observing Daria's pensive face, Jane realized she was struggling to say something. She leaned back into the pillows and lightly nudged Daria with her foot. "Hey." Daria met her eyes. Jane asked gently, "Are you okay?"

A sigh escaped the (at least temporarily) tortured writer. She took Jane's hand. "I wanted to ask if you'd be my date." A look of surprise moved over Jane's face like a passing cloud. Well, of course she's asking me to be her date for the wedding. We've been together over two months now, and even though I didn't form an unlikely bond with Brittany the way Daria did, I still know some of the people who will be there. Oh, LORD. Daria broke into her thoughts. "Um, Jane? Your face looks like it's under siege by warring factions of emotion."

With a little shake of her head, Jane snapped out of it. "I'd love to be your date. I was just realizing how many Lawndale Martians will be there and debating whether to hit 'em with our relationship head-on," she punched her palm for emphasis, "or tase them until they fall over."

"Hmm. Tasers have a proven track record of immobilizing anyone from soccer hooligans to discombobulated grannies. Telling people about us, however," a blush crept up Daria's neck, "provides a chance to show you off. It's a difficult decision."

"A real puzzler."

"We're going to tell them, aren't we?" deadpanned Daria.

"Yup." Jane leaned in, cradled Daria's cheek in her hand, and gently kissed her. "I'd better get going so I can stop at home and change for work, where the children will be waiting with hands full of clay and poor impulse control. Remind me again why parents think a six-year-old can craft a remotely usable coffee mug?"

"I think it has something to do with mammalian instincts and blind adoration." Jane nodded her agreement, and the two of them made their way to Daria's heavy wooden front door. As Jane turned the old brass knob and stepped into the hallway, she noticed her companion's worried expression.

Turning to face her from the hall, Jane saw Daria glowing in the August sunlight that streamed through the living room windows and lit up her coffee table with its anatomical heart, a relic from high school. Daria's pale hand first pushed up her glasses and then held on to the upper arm opposite for dear life. She took a slow, deep breath and said, "I know you've been ready to…get a bit more physical…these days."

Jane raised her eyebrows, stepped back inside, and closed the door. Daria continued, "The thing is—I want that, too. Even if it turns out my collection of blueprints and hat with a light on it can't save me from the Lesbian Hall of Shame. And I wondered if at Brittany's wedding, with its posh hotel rooms by the sea…"

There followed a few moments of silent surprise. Then with a blush and a tiny smile, Jane tilted her head to the side and softly said, "That sounds perfect." She quickly closed the distance between herself and a miserably awkward-looking Daria and wrapped her in a strong, comforting hug. After standing that way long enough to set some sort of record for Friends Turned Lovers Locked in a Terrified Embrace, the pair shared a brief and tender kiss. Daria opened the door for Jane and said goodbye.

Jane was soon sliding into the driver's seat of her rusted but lovingly maintained station wagon. She leaned back and closed her eyes, heart full and fluttering. Didn't see that one coming. Good thing I've done a little audio-visual research on the topic already. I've got the virus on my laptop to prove it, but I can't take it to Upchuck—he may get overstimulated and have an early cardiac episode. She opened her eyes and raised them to the third floor of the converted 1920s office building she had just left. So Daria is ready to…god, I can't even use the word yet. It's so big. With her general fear of human intimacy, I didn't expect this for a while. Maybe it's different with me than it was with guys? The last thing I want to do is rush her. She put the old wagon in drive. But this is great! Not scary at all. Right.