251. End of the Beginning

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Summer trudged up the steps and unlocked the door to find the house dark and deserted. Behind her the doorway framed the bleak gray dusk as a swift and businesslike snowfall began settling in for the long haul.

She flopped onto one of the tea room’s flowery armchairs, the old-fashioned wood feeling foreign and stern against her slouch. It was the perfect setting for depression.

What is it you want your life to look like?

Jen’s question ran circles through her mind like an uncontrollable child. She hurled answers after it. Making friends. Spreading beauty. Living with passion. Sharing life with her friends. Obviously.

But none of the answers struck home. She was exhausted and alone and cold. Far from chasing her passions, she was stuck chasing monster children every morning. She’d switched one dead-end job for another, just to pay the rent, still a slave of cash and reality. And Zen insisted on getting himself murdered by the psycho neighbor and Sushi had been avoiding her and Otto hadn’t appeared for days. Some community.

Why weren’t they making friends and feasting and talking long into the night? Where were the adventures and brilliant endeavors?

The front door opened and the light flicked on in the entrance. Moments later, Zen trundled into the tea room, nose in a book, and flipped the light switch before flopping cross-legged onto the floor, absolutely oblivious.

“Hi,” she purred.

He looked up, mildly startled. “Hi!”

“What’s the book?”

“Oh, this?” Zen absent-mindedly flipped it over to show the cover. “The Royal Road to Romance. I borrowed it from RA.”

“RA?”

“Our neighbor. RA.”

“Psycho old man? He let you–”

“He’s not psycho. He’s brilliant,” Zen corrected her without rancor. “Listen to this; it’s perfect.”

With great relish he began to read aloud.

“‘A rebellion against the prosaic mold into which all five of us were being poured rose up inside me.’ Just like us!”

Summer sat up. “No way. It says that? In a romance book?”

“Oh, no. Capital-R Romance. Adventures and beauty and exotic journeys. ‘Foreign ports and foreign smiles.’” He picked up the book and continued reading. “‘I flung my book away and rushed out of the apartment on to the throbbing shadowy campus. The lake in the valley, I knew, would be glittering, and I turned toward it…’”

A flicker of hope warmed to life inside Summer. Soon she and Zen were reading to each other, alternating every few pages, letting themselves get swept away into the tale of youthful adventure as the snow pattered soft against the windows.

Somewhere during the second chapter the door slammed open with a rush of snowy air.

“No, that’s just stupid–” Sushi’s voice rang with conviction.

“He’s a cunning philosophical tool–” Otto insisted.

“Your face is a cunning philosophical tool!”

They tumbled into the tea room, stripping off snowy jackets and red in the face.

“Zen, tell Sushi that Q is an act of genius.”

“He’s a gimmick,” she retorted.

Otto swatted at her airily. “There’s no talking to you about serious matters. Go get your sketchbooks. We have work to do.”

“What work?” Summer asked as Sushi dashed out.

“Gaming tables. We’re collaborating with Alex. She’s on character design, I’m lead geographic sculptor. Slartibartfast, if you will, but with dignity. Heavier on the forested mountains, lighter on the fjords.”

“What?” Summer asked blankly. Sushi dashed back in.

“Sorry, Summer.” Otto replied crisply. “Time is of the essence. Youth comes but once.”

“I’ll explain later,” added Sushi. Soon they were huddled over the sketchbooks in avid conversation.

“I think it’s pie time,” Zen announced, rising.

“I’ll join you.” Summer cast a dubious glance over at Sushi and Otto. “It’s going to be a good night for stew.”

The rhythms of peeling and chopping soothed her as Zen described the mysterious interior of the old man’s house.

Alex arrived home just as Summer’s stew reached a simmer. She ran out to greet him.

“Hey you,” he smiled fondly and enfolded her in a cold strong hug. He smelled of snow and a hint of aftershave. Delight swelled up inside her, tempered slightly by a remaining worry.

“What happened with the rent?” she asked. “Did you manage to get us a little more time?”

He smiled, mischievous with mock confusion. “More time? With this upstanding crew? We’re paid in full. No problems. Petrioli sends his regards.” He looked around, rubbing his hands for warmth. “Getting chilly in here. What do you say we build a fire? And then I want to test out a drink concept I’ve been playing around with: sweet-cream cider, heavy on the cloves, maybe a splash of brandy.”

They were still in the kitchen perfecting the cider seasonings when the doorbell rang. Zen ran to answer it. A lanky young man shuffled in the doorway, looking uncertain and strangely familiar.

“Thomas!” cried Zen.

“Hey Zen. Are you guys busy?”

“Not at all, you’re just in time for stew. And pie, afterwards. Come on in.”

“Good to see you,” added Summer, feeling a surge of optimism at the unexpected arrival.

“What brings you here?” asked Zen.

“Oh, I dunno. I guess I just wanted to see what’s next. You guys are always doing some interesting thing or another.”

“We are?” Summer asked.

“Oh, sure. That house party was pretty solid, with all the cookies. And talking to strangers, and that weird game Zen tried to recruit me for, and–” His hand flopped back and forth in a general sort of gesture. “–I mean, look at this. Who lives in an awesome old house with a fire and a tower and pie and friends?”

“Well said, sir.” Otto appeared in the doorway. “Get this man some stew.”

He turned to Thomas.

“Come. Sit. Warm yourself by the fire. Allow me to tell you about the next big thing in tabletop gaming for the gentleman of taste.”

Summer slipped into the kitchen to begin ladling stew. Cheery laughter rang in the next room.

Images flashed through her memory. CafeNow. Their first dark night in the house. The meltdowns, the baking, the psycho neighbor and afternoon drinks with Jen’s family. The party gone wrong, Trey’s garage and her accidental late-night kiss. Maddie and Caden. Alex, at long last.

This, she decided. This is what I want my life to be.

She passed bowls of stew and steaming mugs of cider through the service window to a flurry of eager hands, then entered the tea room. A rush of voices greeted her, warm and joyful. She settled in between Alex and Sushi.

“This is good,” Zen announced. “I’m glad we’re here.”

“Hear, hear!” cried Otto.

The friends hoisted their mugs.

“Wherever there is injustice,” intoned Otto. “You will find us.”

“Wherever a child throws spaghetti,” added Summer. “We’ll be there.”

“Wherever coffee brews in the dead of night,” Alex said, “We’ll ignore it.”

“One for all and all for pie?” Thomas chimed in.

“Off on another whirlwind adventure!” cried Zen.

Everyone turned to Sushi expectantly. Her face crinkled into a smile.

“I love you guys.”

Their mugs clunked in a toast.

“The Dream World Collective!”

 The End

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