Chapter 20: Under Glass

Daria flipped on the bathroom light and narrowed her eyes at the mound of lipstick-streaked tissues that had become a familiar sight since Jane moved in a month ago. There were also eight different tubes of body paint on the counter, but that was only because they were getting ready for the Boston Museum of Medical Oddities Halloween Party, where Jane would be elaborately costumed as Water Lilies With Oil Spill in a rather perverse nod to Monet.

Daria spotted a bit of black plastic peeking out from the tissue pile and carefully retrieved her hairbrush. When she looked into the mirror, she noticed something odd setting atop the toilet tank behind her. She crossed to pick it up, saw it was a blowtorch, and cast her eyes to the ceiling for help from whatever ancient Goddesses of Fire and Messy Girlfriends might lurk there. As she did, she heard the hollow thok of something rolling into the wall. She bent and picket it up with her free hand. It was…a plastic grapefruit?

"Babe!" A startled Daria dropped the grapefruit and wheeled to face Jane, whose eyes sparkled as she said, "You found my grapefruit. Thanks." She bent to pick up the still-rolling orb, causing the blue towel turbaned on her head to drop to the floor.

Daria felt an affectionate smirk taking over despite her slight annoyance. "At your service. Is it for your mixed media sculpture?"

Jane lightly tossed the piece of plastic fruit up and caught it. "Yep." She peered at Daria through her mussed bob. "Did you decide on a costume for tonight yet?"

Daria gently placed the blowtorch on the counter and walked over to kiss her. "I did."

"And?"

"It's a surprise." Daria gave her eyebrows an almost imperceptible bounce.

Jane tightened the belt on her old chartreuse robe and playfully pointed at her. "Alright, Morgendorffer. You have two hours."

I definitely won't need that much time, Daria thought.

Two hours later, Jane was adjusting her water lily hat in front of the bathroom mirror when Daria approached and then stopped just far enough away so she wouldn't be noticed. Her brilliant girlfriend was a sight to behold, from the "oil" dripping down one cheek to the asymmetrical black dress and her blue-green limbs with their scattered pink water lilies. Even her lips were lily-pink tonight.

Suddenly, she looked over her shoulder and remarked, "That's a great 'Daria' costume you have on, Daria."

Daria smirked and pulled a handful of rocks from her pocket. "I'm Virginia Woolf."

Silence.

"And my jeans are black." Pause. "For Halloween."

Jane's oil spill undulated as she shifted her weight to one foot in its knee-high black boot. "So, I went to your newspaper's holiday party and listened to Darrel's ten-minute monologue on the widespread misuse of the semicolon, but when I ask you to play along, I get"—she waved a hand searchingly—"rocks."

Daria struggled to formulate a response. It hadn't occurred to her that Jane might take her minimal amount of Halloween effort as disappointing commentary on the state of their relationship. Although to be fair, after over two years of dating, it probably should have occurred to her. "I see your point." And then, sincerely, "I'm sorry, Jane. Do you think you can paint me so I look waterlogged?"

Jane looked to her black cat clock with its swinging tail pendulum and said in a far less irritated tone, "I don't think we'll have time." Her lips thawed and formed a half-smile. "But next year, okay?"

Daria did a mock curtsey, but she meant what she said next. "It would be my honor to serve as your canvas."

Soon the cab had arrived and they were on their way to what they hoped would be a truly weird Halloween party. It did not disappoint. As they entered the Museum of Medical Oddities, they were enveloped in the violet glow of black lights and the haunting strains of what sounded like a metal band on downers. They surrendered their tickets to an attendant who was seated behind a glowing, white-draped table and concealed by a horse mask with frightfully vivid teeth.

As they walked cautiously into the loud and cavernous main display area with its nooks and crannies full of deformed skeletons, wax models of abnormal fetuses, and all manner of growths under illuminated glass, Daria didn't realize someone was approaching behind her until she felt a tap on her shoulder. She spun around to see the Star Trek version of Charles Ruttheimer standing next to his disproportionately hot girlfriend, Stacy, who appeared to be dressed as some sort of sexy Martian. After disingenuously excited hellos, Charles took in Jane's costume (spending a bit too much time looking her up and down, Daria thought) and commented, "Ever the artist, Jane."

Stacy chirped, "And Daria! Are you the artist who painted Jane? Mo…Mo-nett?"

Huh. That would have been a good idea, thought Daria. She cast an apologetic look at her girlfriend, who was staring into the middle distance. "No, I'm actually Virginia Woolf." She pulled a handful of rocks from her pocket.

Stacy smiled, confused. "Oh, that's…neat."

Daria was soon able to get them off the subject of costumes and on to the whereabouts of Tom and Trent. Stacy directed them down a long hall, one exuberant breast nearly escaping her silver bustier as she pointed the way. Daria and Jane picked up glasses of wine and then walked down the dark corridor, the sounds of sleepy and weirdly apologetic metal music fading gradually as they went. They passed a glass case holding a human skull with a protruding cutaneous horn and followed the passageway right, where they suddenly came upon Trent and Tom examining a shelf full of tiny jars.

There were hugs and greetings all around, this time sincere, and a mutual appreciation session regarding costume choices (Trent was a Werewolf of London in an "I Saw Big Ben" t-shirt, while Tom made for a charming sprinkled donut). But when the topic changed to the couple's adoption progress, the mood shifted.

Tom looked down at his white sneakers, seeming to gather his thoughts, then looked back up and said, "Well, it's a lot harder than we realized. Even though I got that adjunct position a few months back and our money situation is better, we could still be on a waiting list for anywhere from two to seven years."

Daria saw Jane's jaw drop cartoon-style out of the corner of her eye just before she exclaimed, "Seven years! But there are so many kids in foster care."

Trent put a gloved werewolf hand on Tom's shoulder and explained, "You're right, Janey. But if you want to adopt an infant, it can take a really long time."

There was a heartbroken pause, then Daria said confidently, "You're going to make excellent parents. And hopefully it only takes seven year for people who…stitch cats together in their spare time."

Jane supplied, "Or are addicted to cough syrup."

Daria added, "Or suddenly turn off the radio when you're singing really loudly."

Jane elbowed her. "I only did that once."

The guys were smiling now. Tom said, "Let's hope you're right. Because this waiting really does suck."

Trent and Tom soon went to get drink refills and perhaps try some slow-motion moshing, which left Daria and Jane standing alone in front of a row of ominous, tiny jars. Daria leaned in and squinted at the placard beneath one of them. "It's a herpe," she monotoned. "A very, very old herpe."

Jane took a look. "Huh, whaddya know."

There was a pause, then Daria asked, "Jane, are you still irritated with me about my general lack of effort in costuming?"

Jane sighed. "I know it's sort of who you are, Daria."

Daria bristled at the comment. "Right. And it's 'sort of who you are' to leave blowtorches and plastic produce lying around in the oddest locations."

Jane turned to face her, shocked. "You have literally never said a word about my art supplies before."

Daria crossed her arms and raised her eyes to look up at Jane, who was taller than normal in her heeled boots. "Well, since we're airing grievances tonight, it seemed like a good time to mention it."

Jane gave a wry—and in no way warm—smile and raised her voice as she said with mock cheerfulness, "Oh, good! Because I've been meaning to bring up the nearly-empty coffee mugs that are all over the apartment. Last week I found one in the shower, Daria. The shower."

Daria tilted her head to one side and smirked. "Oh, the same shower where you secretly sing Boys Are Guys songs and somehow think I can't hear you?" A combination of embarrassment and rage contorted Jane's features as she slowly backed away. Daria quickly began to suspect she had gone too far. "Jane, wait—"

But her girlfriend had already rounded the corner. Daria set off after her, but she proved impossible to find in the enormous main room with its revelers in underwater headbang mode. Daria decided to make her way to the bar area, which was set into a dimly lit alcove off the dance floor, so she could watch the crowd for Jane. She had just sat down at a high-top table with her new glass of wine and pushed the enormous centerpiece of skulls, black candles, and red roses to one side so she could see the dance floor when she heard a voice behind her.

"Excuse me." Daria turned to see a tall, androgynous Dracula with bright red lips and a blonde pompadour smiling down at her. The self-assured stranger continued, "I wanted to tell you how much I like your costume." Seeing Daria's confused expression, she added, "I saw you explain it to the bartender. I love Virginia Woolf, so…"

Daria gave a small smile of gratitude and said, "Thanks. Not a lot of devotees out there these days. And that's a nice Dracula costume, too."

The charming young woman toyed with the medallion on its satin ribbon at her throat, winked, and replied, "I thought it might help me pick up girls."

Daria snorted a laugh into her wine glass and set it back on the table. "You should meet my old classmate, Upchuck. He would appreciate that sort of brazenly cheesy line." Seeing the hurt expression on her companion's face, Daria went on, "Look, I'm sorry—um—"

"Toni."

"I'm sorry, Toni. It's been kind of a rough night. My girlfriend is thoroughly pissed at me and I can't find her."

Toni took a step closer. "So she's off doing goddess-knows-what?"

"No, definitely not."

Toni grasped her cape in one hand then slowly and melodramatically raised it to screen them both from the dance floor. With twinkling eyes and whiskey-heavy breath, she said in a stage whisper, "But she's not here." As Toni closed her eyes and leaned in to close the last few inches between them with a kiss, Daria leapt from her chair before their lips met and spilled her wine on the table in the process.

The brunette's cheeks glowed with anger as she deadpanned, "Much like the mythical Dracula, you don't show a lot of concern for others. I said I have a girlfriend. And we're happy."

But one of them was most certainly not happy when she spoke the words.

Daria hadn't seen Jane as she emerged from the crowd and spied her girlfriend's shoes beneath the cape, so close to a pair of pointed black boots that it was difficult to believe they were doing anything but kissing. She hadn't seen Jane put one hand over her mouth as her eyes filled with tears and she dashed back into the crowd. By the time Daria had convinced Toni to leave her alone and cleaned up the spilled wine, Jane was already wiping away running mascara and blue-green paint in the back seat of a speeding taxi.