Chapter 17: Unspeakably Sweet

"Girls, you're here!" A clearly excited and flustered Jake hovered in the doorway of the red brick house, smiling and hurriedly wiping his fingers on the threadbare "Kiss the Cook" apron he wore. He ushered them in, snowflakes in their hair, as he called musically over his shoulder, "HEL-en, it's Daria and JA-ane!" He turned his attention to the snowy travelers. "Did you know cranberries have seeds? My damned cranberry gingersnap pie is going to be chock-full of them unless I can find a cheesecloth. What's a cheesecloth?"

After averting the cheesecloth crisis by assuring Jake he could find one at Payday, Lawndale's soulless big-box store, the girls hung up their coats and followed him into the living room with its shining oak floors. They were taking their seats on the spotless new sofa when Helen came down the stairs with her cellphone to her ear. She paused near the bottom, gave Daria and Jane a quick smile, and mouthed 'One minute' before continuing,"Yes, Eric, but they can't prove the varnish company knew how much toddlers would like the taste of it." Jane discreetly raised an eyebrow at Daria, who gave a tiny shrug. Helen strode on into the kitchen as Jake struggled to untie his apron. After a brief battle, he laid it gently over the back of the recliner and sat down with a nervous smile on his face.

Daria cleared her throat and asked, "So Dad, where's the grand marshal of the Christmas Fashion Parade?"

"Oh, Quinn! She's on her way." He arched a brow and continued in a low, conspiratorial tone, "I hear she's got a fella, but we haven't met him yet."

Just then, Helen poked her head into the living room and trilled in her best June Cleaver voice, "Girls, would you like some hot cider?"

Jane met Daria's inquiring gaze with a small nod, and soon they were holding steaming mugs as Helen settled into the armchair near her daughter's elbow. Jane looked into the warm cup framed by her pale hands, her palms half-covered by olive green sweater. Whoa. Is that a fucking cinnamon stick? She took a tentative sip. As the surprisingly good cider filled her with warmth, she felt a smile starting at one corner of her mouth. Jane leaned back into the couch and met Helen's expectant gaze. Raising her mug slightly, she said, "Thanks, Helen, you make a tasty brew." Jesus Lane, who says that? Am I actually nervous? It's just Helen and Jake! She took another sip and furrowed her brow. But I swear they know what we did at that rest stop on the way here.

Helen leaned forward, peering intently at Jane over her mug of cider. "So," she began sweetly, "what have you and Daria been up to?"

Jane pondered for a moment, looking to the ceiling. "Well, I've been working on a new mixed media piece about Guantanamo Bay." She glanced at her girlfriend, who was pushing her glasses up on her nose.

Daria caught Jane's eye and then replied, "You should see it, Mom. I never knew saltwater taffy could look so menacing. Jane is a genius." Apparently noting her couch mate's fiercely blushing cheeks, Daria hurried on. "And I've been investigating a petting zoo scandal, so that's not going to win me any Pulitzers."

Helen smiled and reached to pat Daria's denim-clad knee. "I'm sure you'll get a chance to prove your journalistic brilliance sometime soon." A cloud passed over her features as she remarked, "Unless you're surrounded by chauvinists and sycophants."

Just then, a delighted Jake paused mid-sip in his cider and exclaimed, "O-o-o, a cinnamon stick!"

Helen sighed, retrieved the remote, and flipped on the TV. An hour later, Jane and Daria were listening to a musical assault on the Grinch's character while Helen checked work emails on her Blackberry and Jake struggled with a newly-acquired cheesecloth in the kitchen, his happy humming of "I Saw Three Ships" punctuated by an occasional "Dammit!"

When the front door let in a sliver of afternoon light, followed by one end of a positively bulging pink duffel bag, Daria got up to help Quinn navigate the threshold with her assorted gift boxes and be-wheeled suitcase in tow. Jane watched her girlfriend carefully place Quinn's brightly wrapped presents under the enormous (if fake) pine tree by the windows, its twinkling branches bending from the weight of shoddily made elementary school creations and twenty-five years' worth of keepsake ornaments. It was unspeakably sweet.

When Quinn had re-established Pink Dominion over her teenage bedroom and sat down in Jake's vacated chair with a fashion magazine at the ready, Jane broke the undeniably awkward and growing silence with a question. "So Quinn, heard from the Fashion Club lately?"

The vaguely amused redhead laid her magazine aside so she could sit cross-legged in the chair. "Stacy is the only one I really talk to, and she's lost her mind and is dating Charles Ruttheimer." With a shrug, she continued, "But she seems happy. Tiffany ran off with some hairy environmentalist guy, can you imagine?" She giggled.

Daria leaned sideways to nudge her girlfriend's shoulder with her own (at which point Jane was sure she saw Quinn blush) and remarked, "A makeup-less Tiffany shouting at oil tankers through a megaphone? Better keep an eye out for other signs of an alien takeover."

Jane quipped, "I did meet a child who could not possibly have been human at work the other day." Quinn laughed, and the conversation turned to New Year's plans.

Before long, the three young women were making a valiant effort to finish the butternut squash spaghetti that had been prepared by a fraudulently enthusiastic Helen, conscious (as always) of her husband's heart health.

When the table was cleared and the dishwasher had long since finished its humming, Jane diverted her attention from It's a Wonderful Life—which was surprisingly good—long enough to see Jake's head drooping and his recently acquired readers sliding off his nose. When he listed into Helen's territory, she gently squeezed his shoulder and asked if he'd like to go to bed. He nodded sleepily, yawned, and asked the girls what their plans were for the rest of the evening.

They stared blankly at each other for a few moments until Quinn broke the silence with, "Well, I would like to see if any of my classmates are back." Jane checked her companion's face for a response and found her own distaste for the idea mirrored there. But then Daria shrugged, undoubtedly recognizing the novelty of Quinn making this request at all, and asked Jane if she'd like to go.

Forty-five minutes later, they were crunching over discarded peanut shells as they made their way to a table in the only dive bar open on Christmas Eve. Quinn wrinkled her nose as she brushed papery peanut skin off a heeled boot, then took a seat at the rickety table. Jane sipped her seven-and-seven as she scanned the room, classic rock and the aroma of ancient cigarettes washing over her. The yellowed walls indicated it hadn't been painted since the smoking ban was passed. Next to the long bar with its tiered rows of glass bottles hung a corkboard completely covered in curling newspaper clippings featuring the Lawndale Lions. In one corner, a lonely pool table sat abandoned on this slow night.

Jane's reverie was interrupted by Daria, who leaned over, pointedly looked at a lone figure on a barstool, and commented just loudly enough to be heard above the music, "Well, the back of that head looks familiar."

Jane followed Daria's gaze to what had to be Janet Barch. She seemed to be leaning with her cheek in one hand while the other was loosely flung over a whiskey glass. Jane furrowed her brow. "She's alone. Do you think we should say hi to her?"

Quinn cleared her throat and said with a teasing smile, "If you two are going to chat with old teachers all night, I'll go say hi to Jeffy." They turned their attention to the front door, where the red-haired jock who had once helped Daria's father free a squirrel had already taken notice of Quinn and seemed to be trying his hardest not to appear too excited.

As Quinn tossed her hair over one shoulder and strutted toward Jeffy, Daria and Jane pushed in their chairs and cautiously approached the figure on the barstool. Janet looked up as they stopped beside her. "Well, girls," she said with a slight slur, "you came home to Lawndale."

Daria gave a nod and asked, "How have you been, Ms. Barch?"

Janet smirked. "Oh, I've been getting by. Lawndale just keeps getting emptier." There was an awkward pause before she abruptly changed directions. "Neither of you ran off and married a man yet, did you?"

Jane could feel herself blushing as she nervously rubbed the back of her neck and replied, "Nope, can't say we've done that. Actually, it's funny…Daria and I are dating. Each other."

Janet's eyes lit up as she unknowingly sloshed her drink on the bar and exclaimed, "Ha! I knew it."

Daria shifted in apparent discomfort and gave her former teacher a small smile. "You successfully inoculated us against the advances of the hairier sex." She appeared to think for a moment and then added, "Eventually. It may have had a sleeper effect."

Janet pointed a drifting finger in the rough direction of the young couple and warned, "Don't…let it…go," before returning her attention to her drink and her head to her hand.

Several hours later, as Jane lay next to a sleeping Daria in the silent darkness of her teenage bedroom, she couldn't stop seeing the pain and regret in Ms. Barch's face. Being careful not to disturb her girlfriend, she slowly sat up and scooted out of bed. As she padded softly toward the kitchen, she heard faint humming just before she noticed the small light over the stove was on.

"Hi, Jake."

"AAH!" The spoon clattered back into the ham brine as he jumped and wheeled around. He clutched his chest, prompting Jane to wonder how she'd ever tell Daria she had killed her father, and then exclaimed in relief, "Oh, Jane! Sorry I'm so jumpy. I was brining the ham."

Jane gave a nervous laugh. "No, I'm sorry I scared you. I was just going to get some water."

When she had filled her glass and was about to say an awkward goodnight, Jake stopped her with a gentle remark: "So, you and Daria seem really happy."

Jane found herself smiling as she raised her eyebrows and replied, "Yeah, we are." After a brief pause, she continued, "Sometimes I wonder why we didn't get together sooner."

Jake nodded and resumed spooning brine over the enormous ham. "Some things take time. Like this ham brine—two whole days!"

Jane laughed out loud. Jake smiled, and they parted more comfortably than they had met.

As Jane slipped beneath the covers, Daria stirred and snuggled into her. When Jane whispered, "I just talked to your dad in the kitchen," she saw Daria's eyes pop open in the dark. With a chuckle, she continued, "Don't worry, our conversation was bland and mostly ham-based."

Daria smiled sleepily, gave Jane a squeeze, and deadpanned, "You may be an incorrigible scamp, darling, but I love you."

Jane breathed in the scent of Daria's hair, remembering the first time she'd heard those words. It was the morning after Brittany's wedding. Jane was carefully making her way across the beachside hotel room, flooded with sunshine, to deliver a cup of coffee to Daria. The wide-eyed writer sat surrounded by green and blue pillows with the white comforter pulled up under her arms, pale shoulders gleaming in the early light, when the words of love tumbled unexpectedly from her mouth just as Jane handed her the steaming mug. Now, kissing Daria's nose, she responded as she had at the beach and many times since. "I love you, too."