Chapter 25: Cupcakes and Compromise

Daria watched a yellow balloon nod gently in the May breeze, tethered to the picnic shelter and its colorful mates by a bit of silver ribbon.

"Daria?" Helen said sweetly. "Can you pass me the salt? Kay's potato salad is…" and then, in a whisper, "Well, I don't think she's ever made potato salad before."

Daria smirked and handed it over. "Pot lucks may not be a familiar concept to the scotch and hedge-fund set. Tom had to explain it and provide online resources."

Jane suddenly emerged from behind an entirely over-dressed woman—an aunt of Angier's—holding two cups of lime green punch topped with sherbet flotsam. "Trent says they're going to start the baby toss soon." Seeing Helen's look of concern, she hastily added, "The game! You know, there are these little plastic babies. And I think it's kind of like beer pong? Except not really. And there's no booze." She handed Daria a cup of punch.

Helen gave a nervous laugh. "Well! I'm glad to hear no infants are being flung this afternoon. Now, Jane." She patted the picnic bench next to her and Jane obediently sat. "You must be finishing your certificate soon. In…art?"

"Yeah, it's in Commercial Art and I'll be done in about two weeks."

"Wonderful! That should come in handy with the satire website you girls made. The Arsenic Cookie?"

Daria cracked a small smile. "The Poison Parfait, Mom. We're getting more traffic lately and people have started asking about merchandise. You know, tote bags with our logo on it, that sort of thing. If we had a logo."

Jane appeared to actively subdue her excitement. "Which we will, soon. I'm working on a few different options. Then we can put it on mugs, shirts and keychains with the best zingers from Daria's writing and some of my art from the site. You know, shamelessly prostitute our creativity for cold, hard cash."

Helen turned to her daughter. "Daria, how are you doing all this while you're still working at the paper full time? I'm glad your site is doing well, but that sounds like a lot, honey."

Daria pushed her glasses up her nose. "Well, I just wrapped up my story on the school board that was actually a cigar club, so I have a little more time now."

Jake suddenly materialized behind Daria, causing her to jump and spill a bit of punch when he exclaimed, "Say! Isn't that the one where they used car wash money for cigars, and board meetings were just old mafia movies with whiskey and Havanas?"

"That's the one."

"It was a great story, kiddo."

"Thanks, Dad. How are Amanda and Vincent doing?" Daria gestured toward their current location under a tree, where Vincent was smoking a very long, thin cigarette and Amanda was photographing a dead squirrel.

"Good, good," he replied with a level of uncertainty. "Jane, your mother tried to explain something called Reiki to me, but maybe I'm not the most 'spiritual' guy because I don't understand what she was talking about."

Jane suppressed a chuckle. "Don't worry, it's not just you. I went to the grocery store with her yesterday and she totally confused the bagger by telling him which crystals would heal his acne."

They were suddenly interrupted by raucous cheers—Angier's stately aunt had just tossed a miniature baby into a red plastic cup full of goodies. She did a tiny, undignified jump despite herself and laughed as she gave Tom a hug. Quinn rested one hand on her barely-three-months-pregnant belly and blew into a colorful party noisemaker with the other, cheeks flushed and eyes smiling.

"She looks happy," said Helen, her tone hard to interpret.

"She does," Daria responded matter-of-factly.

They watched the festivities for awhile from the shade of the picnic shelter, and after a time Jane joined in the game. Daria watched her sink a plastic baby and then jokingly tease Trent, who had missed on his last seven throws, before offering him chocolate from her cup.

The minutes passed in happiness, and soon it was time to clean up. Guests gradually departed until all that remained were Trent, Tom, Daria, Jane, and leftover cupcakes flanked by plastic babies.

As they were preparing to make the last trip to their vehicles, Tom suddenly set his (frankly, creepy) sandwich bags full of plastic babies on a picnic table. "All right," he began as he looked to Trent, "You're right. We have to get their take on this."

Trent nodded slowly and replied, "Go ahead, hon."

Tom sighed. "It would appear…that my parents think our baby has my genetics."

There was a brief silence as Trent put a hand on Tom's back, then finished what his husband had been trying to say. "And it didn't work out like that."

Realization dawned on Jane's face. "So when you said they had to run more tests…"

Tom cleared his throat. "Well, they did, but those extra tests were just for me. Not to gross you out Jane, but your brother's little guys are like gladiators"—Jane wrinkled her nose— "and mine are more like confused hamsters stuck in a toilet paper tube."

Daria found it wisest to stay quiet at this particular moment. Plus, she had no idea what to say.

Jane had it covered—sort of. "Well, shit. I'm sorry Tom."

He took Trent's hand, seeming to seek comfort there. "Thanks. Anyway, by then we had found an egg donor and my parent were ready to write Quinn her first check. So when my dad made a comment about 'Super Sloane Swimmers'"—there were matching nose wrinkles from Daria and Jane this time—"I just kind of laughed along. And then he signed the check. And today, Mom and I were getting punch when she said how happy she and Dad were to see their line extended. How they couldn't wait to see a 'little Tom' running around. And yes, I know I should have corrected her. But I also know they can be—let's face it—aristocratic dicks. And Quinn doesn't have a job to support herself right now if the surrogate payments stop."

Daria and Jane looked at each other, temporarily speechless. This time Daria picked up the thread. "As much as I'd like Kay and Angier to know what we think of the proposed country club-ification of Quinn's uterus…I get it. As long as Quinn knows whose DNA is setting up shop in there, that is."

Trent nodded. "She does. We're all just keeping it under out hats for now. Or in Quinn's case, her shirt." Tom smiled and briefly rested his head on Trent's shoulder.

Jane cleared her throat. "Well, hell! Looks like we've got ourselves a little secrets club here."

Daria's lips curved in a half-smile. "As long as none of us get inebriated around our parents or run for office in the next six months, we should be fine."