29: The Mundane and the Fantastic

The faint sounds of Sick, Sad World greeted Jane, who was slowly opening the apartment door while juggling keys, a bag full of energy drinks, and two freshly-glazed mugs. Suddenly, Daria's face appeared in the crack as she rushed to take the mugs off Jane's hands. She studied the intricate miniature paintings that wrapped from one side of each handle to the other and remarked, "Fiery pit or nuclear winter. The eternal question." She gently set the mugs on the counter.

Jane slid the last of her energy drinks into the fridge, closed the door, and wrapped her arms around Daria. "Your choice, babe. You know, in terms of mugs—not the extinction of the human race."

Daria gave her a squeeze. "In both cases, I think I'd go with nuclear winter. And they're amazing."

"Thanks, I made them on my breaks at work. Lots and lots of breaks." She looked out over Daria's shoulder, taking in the coffee table with its flickering candle and anatomical heart, and beyond them the open window filled with soft gray summer clouds. An afternoon breeze carried with it the memory of rain.

Daria pulled back and took Jane's hands. "You'll never guess who sent us a message on the website email." Their satirical site, The Poison Parfait, was still more of a hobby than anything—but recently, the electronic foot traffic had picked up. Daria's recurring script-style feature about rich house-husbands who are secretly alien influencers had a tiny cult following, and they had even sold a few of the Real House-Husbands from Galapagork-9 t-shirts Jane designed. Jane's regular portraits of politicians inserted in classic works of art—with some tongue-in-cheek additions—had a little fan base, too, and they'd recently sold three keychains featuring a well-known shill for fossil fuels adrift on a scallop shell in oily seas. Jane had studied branding while earning her Commercial Art certificate, and now a small parfait glass bearing a skull and crossbones adorned their products.

Jane considered the question of the mystery e-mailer. "It's not Mr. O'Neill…"

"Nice. Let me help. You know how we couldn't figure out who sent us that strange package yesterday?"

"With the unmarked squeezy tube that may have come from a sociopath. I remember."

"We were supposed to get the email before the package. It was from Andrea."

Jane tilted her head slightly to one side. "You mean Lawndale Andrea? She of the unsettling poetry and eternal glower?"

Daria nodded. "Apparently it's a tube of her homemade holistic foot cream."

"Holistic…?" Jane looked puzzled.

"Cream. For feet. That was my response, too." Daria stepped into the living room, retrieved her laptop from the couch, and set it on the counter. Gesturing toward the email on-screen, she continued, "Andrea says it's got powdered crystals in it. She set up a table at a few flea markets and a county fair, and I guess people like it. She's asking if she can advertise on our website."

"No kidding? We've never had an advertiser before. What would we get out of this deal?"

"She's offering ten bucks a month. And free foot cream." They both eyed the unmarked tube on the T.V. stand with suspicion.

"Well, I know I always ponder better with pizza," Jane said.

"It's comforting that some things never change."

An hour later, they were eating pizza in their pajamas. Jane was pretty sure any possible heaven would be just like this. "So," she said, "Stacy's wedding was last weekend."

"Yup, July 16th. Quinn said she met Upchuck's parents. His mom is a Women's Studies professor, and his dad is a pervert who sells boat insurance."

"That somehow raises more questions than it answers."

Daria smirked and took another bite of pizza. She finished chewing and nudged Jane's shoulder with her own. "How do you think they met?"

"Hmm, he was oiled up at a boat show?"

Daria countered, "Or he was a case study in one of her classes?"

"I've got it: a failed pervert rehab program."

Daria dropped her voice into movie-announcer range. "He was her greatest challenge—and she never got the boat wax out of her Betty Friedan sweatshirt."

Jane snorted laughter and rested her head on Daria's shoulder. If she could spend her whole life this way, she'd die without regrets. She tried to imagine what it would be like to marry Daria for the fifth (or maybe fiftieth) time that week, but once again, all she could see was a warm haze and a quietly joyful kiss. The details were a mystery, and—much like the handful of times they had tiptoed around this topic in conversation—they were hard to pin down. What remained was a cloud of happiness and a heart at high altitude.

When they had finished their pizza and stashed the leftovers in the fridge, Jane fetched the tube of mystery cream and raised an eyebrow at Daria. "Wanna try it?"

Daria shrugged. "Sure. We're not into sandals, so if our feet are permanently disfigured, no one will know."

The first thing they noticed was the scent. Daria had flipped open the cap and immediately remarked, "It smells like a swamp full of lavender."

She handed the tube to Jane, who gave it a sniff, nodded, and cautiously squeezed a bit onto the back of one hand. "Huh, it's green. And it bubbles." They exchanged bewildered looks. "My skin isn't burning though, so…" Jane pulled off her socks, rubbed the green goo into her feet, and re-socked them. Then it was Daria's turn.

They spent the next few hours curled up on the couch with their phones as Sick, Sad World gave way to a documentary about people who live their lives as squirrels. Jane must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing she knew, it was three o'clock in the morning and Daria was gently waking her from a nightmare about escaping a squirrel cult.

They stumbled to their bedroom, half-conscious, and Jane pulled off her hooded sweatshirt and socks as she crawled into bed. Suddenly, here eyes popped open in the dark. "Daria. Did you feel your feet?"

There was a moment of silence and a rustle under the covers. "Damn. Maybe we should take Andrea up on her offer."

"Yeah, this stuff is really good."

Daria rolled over to face Jane. "It's like time travel for feet. I think mine are in elementary school again."

"Ugh, long division." Jane wrapped an arm around Daria's waist. "Even if she didn't pay us, I'd be happy with a steady supply of this green magic."

"Me, too. But let's not tell her. That ten bucks could buy two Beefy Explosion Burritos and a box of the corner store's finest wine."

Jane snuggled closer to Daria. "Oh! A date night. We've hit the big-time now, baby."

Daria cradled Jane's soft black bob and gave her a lingering kiss. As Jane drifted toward sleep in the silvery moonlight, she spied a hint of a smile on Daria's face.