Sal here.  Before I forget, @QueenBeatleBookworm tagged me earlier, so I'm doing the same for her.  Thanks, dear!  Ta-da.  I sure hope I did that right.  (What is tagging for, anyway?  Sorry for the dumb question, I'm just not very social media-savvy.  I don't even have a Facebook.  Pretty scary, right?)

Danny

I stop for a minute, and turn off the vacuum cleaner.  "Mom, what are we getting ready for?"

"What?" Her voice sounds a little annoyed, a little breathless.  She turns down the Oingo Boingo record playing, and peers out from her bedroom, brushing her messy hair out of her flushed face.  "What, sweetie?  I didn't hear you."

I ask again.  "What are we getting ready for?"

"Someone's coming to stay with us for a while," she replied. 

"Who?  Grandma and Grandpa?"

"No."

"Uncle John and Aunt V-"

"No, dear, nobody like that.  It's just one person anyway."

"Who?"

"You'll see," she mutters.  "God, what was I thinking?  What have I gotten myself into here?  How stupid could I be...?" 

Then she turns "Dead Man's Party" back up and goes back to work.  Weird.  Usually in December  she turns on the Christmas radio station, especially right now when our neighbor Mr. Adams is the DJ. 

Mom's been muttering to herself like that all Saturday, running around, going and going and going like a real-life Energizer Bunny. I don't get it. Whenever people come over to our house, like Lauren and her dad, or the Deacons when they visited us that one time, Mom will obviously straighten things up, but it's never been a whole day's worth of cleaning.

Since she got up this morning at five, she's dusted everything, cleaned the bathroom, straightened up the books on the shelves, even rearranged the furniture in the living room a little. But most of what she's focused on is in her bedroom- stripping the sheets, cleaning the baseboards, dusting the blades of the ceiling fan, dusting off the pop art prints on the walls- Andy Warhol, I think that's the guy, Mom really likes him- stuff like that.

She didn't even stop to tell me how the heck we got home last night. Our car's not in the garage or the driveway; she had to Uber to the grocery store earlier. I thought maybe I had just dreamed the whole thing with the time machine and the creepy dress-up party and the soft-sounding guy with the mustache named Freddie Mercury (never heard of him, but he must be important, considering how big and crazy his party was), but when I started telling her about the trip, she didn't look surprised at all.

When I finished, Mom nodded, and said, "Yes, Danny, it was real."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"Even the part where you, you know, kissed him and called him Mr.-"

"Danny, sweetheart, I love you, but we really don't have time to go over it all again."  

"But it was awesome!"  Now that it's over, I can be glad I was there.  "Time travel, wow!  1985- just like Marty McFly without the car!  Wait till my friends-"

"Danny, you can't tell anyone about Speck, or T-Rod, or anything that happened last night."

"What?" I complain.

"I know, I know, it's a drag, but Speck is a secret.  And you have to help keep it that way, or else they'll Crebinate you or something."

"Not even Lauren?" I had been so ready to tell her about my adventure; the only reason I didn't already run over there this morning is because she was off at synagogue.  I planned to do it when Roxie came to get Mom so they could pick up the Jetta.

"No, not even Lauren," she said.  "At least, not yet.  I'll let you know when it's okay.  Okay?"

"Okay," I mumbled.

But I'm still kind of bummed about it.  I want to tell her now.  She's my best friend, and she loves that kind of stuff. 

Oh, well.

Shrugging, I put my headphones over my ears and turn Mom's old iPod back on.  I forget to feel bummed out and break into a grin at what plays next.

"You don't have to be beautiful/ To turn me on/ I just need your body, baby/ From dusk till dawn..."

"Kiss" is my very favorite Prince song to dance to (I have different favorites for different reasons), it always gets me moving a little faster- plus it's fun to sing 'cause it's really high, and so is my voice. 

When I decide Mom's definitely not watching, I start twirling around and dancing like Prince does in the music video.  I even take off my glasses and set them on the coffee table; you can't dance and look cool with glasses like mine.  At the top of my lungs I sing along, moving the vacuum across the rug to the beat.  Fry barks at me from where he's curled up on the couch.  He doesn't really like loud noises unless he's the one making them- and it's pretty loud in the house today.

So loud, in fact, that I don't hear the doorbell ring.  I barely notice Mom hustle past me, I'm so lost in the music,  still singing "Kiss," still dancing with the vacuum cleaner, having a great time in my own little world.  It's only about half a minute later I realize I'm being watched.  I turn around, and there's Mom, covering her mouth, and my cousin Roxie, grinning widely.  

Aw, man. 

At least they didn't see me scream the last chorus, because I always go crazy on that one.  I take out my earbuds and shut off the vacuum, and do what I always do when I'm embarrassed: I go big.

"TA-DA!" I cry, jumping up and throwing my hands in the air before bowing low. 

Cousin Roxie laughs.  "Hey, there, Mini-Prince," she says in her Brooklyn accent.  "I missed picking you up yesterday."

I put my glasses back on and walk over to give her a hug.  But honestly, that's one of the reasons I didn't miss it: even though Roxie doesn't like pet names for herself or most anyone else, she calls me Mini-Prince.  I know it's just a joke, because I like him so much, but it makes me feel like I'm a baby, or really short, or something.  

Mom doesn't seem to like the name, either.  She swallows and remarks, "Except I don't think Prince ever danced with a vacuum cleaner... not that Prince, anyway."

"That Prince?"  For a minute I'm confused.  "How many princes are there?"

"Too many," Mom says with a slight smile, then looks at her watch.  "Care for a cup of coffee before we head out, Rox?  I'm pouring myself a roadie, need a bit of a pick-up."

"Didn't sleep much, huh?" Roxie asks.

"Night ended too quickly, day started too soon.  You know what it's like."

"Oh, yeah, tell me about it.  No, honey, I'm fine.  Also, thought I'd just tell you," Roxie adds, talking to me, "I'm almost done with your shepherd costume, I should have it all put together by Tuesday afternoon at least and I'll drop it off."

"Cool," I nod.  

"Have to say, it's going to look awesome," Roxie sighs.  

"I bet."  Our church is having a big Christmas program next Sunday night, and I'm playing one of the shepherds in the nativity scene.  I had wanted to be one of the wise men, because they have cooler colors and robes and stuff- and they don't have to sing.  But I do.  See, what Mom doesn't know is they also asked me to sing a solo in front of the whole church- which I am really, really scared about.  I'm so scared I don't even want anyone to know yet, so that I still have a chance to back out without anyone being mad at me for "quitting."

Mom smiles, this time like she means it.  "Okay.  Daniel-san, Roxie and I are heading to the university to pick up my car, and then I'm going to the mall to do some shopping."

"For who?" I ask.  "You or me?"

"Neither."

"Huh?"

"The man who's coming to stay with us for a couple of days literally has nothing to wear, so I'm buying some clothes for him before he gets here."

That sounds boring. I hate clothes shopping, even when it's for me. But Roxie looks interested. "It's a man?"

"Mm-hm," Mom nods.

"Who is he? Friend of yours?"

I try not to roll my eyes. She's already been married and divorced five times, always to guys that are younger than her, and here she is again, looking for Number Six. That's what Mom says, anyway, and Mom is right a lot. So I'll say it, too.

"Uh, you could say that. Used to be." Mom shrugs. "It's a long story."

Roxie says brightly, "If you want, I can help you shop for him. I don't have much on my plate today."

Mom doesn't answer right away.  She sweeps her hair up and out of her face so that the light roots where the white streaks ought to grow are visible.  Roxie's right; she does look tired. 

"You know, if you're willing to help me out with that, that would be great," she finally says, swallowing a yawn.  "I've got the measurements, K texted them to me, but I'm not sharp today."

"I'd love to," Roxie smiles.  I wince.  This is starting to sound like a very chick-y trip, even more than before.  I'd better act.

"Can I stay and go see Lauren?" I chime in quickly.  "That way, uh, you guys can do your girl stuff and shop and everything, and- yeah."

Mom arches her brow.  "Will you promise me not to say one w-"

"I promise," I say.

Mom nods, then tells me, "First, I need you to please clean out the bottom of Farnsie's cage, and- do you have any homework this weekend?"

"A little.  Math stuff.  I'm gonna do it tomorrow, after practice."

"All right.  Take care of Farnsie, see if there's anything else in your room what can be straightened up, then you can go to the Adamses.  You can stay till seven-thirty, that's when we're having dinner."

I nod and bow.  "Hai."

Roxie gives me another hug; Mom grabs her coffee, kisses my cheek, and tells me goodbye, ready to go get the car.  She doesn't like not being able to go where she wants, or being unable to drive. 

As they open the front door ("Good news, everyone!" Farnsie announces), Roxie goes back to asking questions about the man who will be visiting us.  I sigh.  Hopefully Mom doesn't answer her, either.  It wouldn't be fair if she told her, but didn't tell me. 

I wonder who this visitor will be- and why Mom won't tell me anything about him. 

My eyes light up.  Maybe, it's my dad.  Maybe that's the surprise.  Maybe Dad's coming home this Christmas.

But then my face falls again.  No, it's probably not.  That's a silly idea; if Mom doesn't know where he is, then he doesn't know where we are.  I guess I'll find out who it is later.

I sure wish it was my dad, though.  I want so much to meet him.  He sounds like such a cool guy.  The more I hear about him, the harder I pray each night that he will come back to see me.  I don't know why or how he disappeared, I don't know what he looks like, I don't even know his name, but I don't care.  He's still my dad. 

With a little sad sigh, I lean over the couch to scratch behind Fry's floppy, reddish brown ears.  At once he rolls over to show his belly, and he looks so silly with his paws folded over his chest that for a few seconds I stand there and do what he wants.  But then my phone buzzes in my pocket. 

Opening it, I see it's Lauren, asking, "When are you coming over?"

I text back, grinning, "10 mins."  A pause, then I send another, saying, "Y?  U miss me?"

The response is instant.  No words this time, just a little emoji with the tongue sticking out and both eyes squeezed shut. 

I close my phone up, feeling better.  She's so fun; she's not weird, but she doesn't mind that I am, the way most people do.  I still need to figure out what I'm getting her for Christmas; she and Mom are hard to shop for, and I'm not very good at saving my money anyway.

Lauren's getting impatient, so I'd better clean Farnsie's cage and go.  With a little shrug, I turn off the Oingo Boingo album and put a different one on- one that isn't Prince. Oingo Boingo creeps me out a little, especially the song "No One Lives Forever," which is what's playing now. I change it to Men at Work; they're happier-sounding, plus the first song on the album is exactly what I am thinking to myself about the man: "Who Can It Be Now?"

Cleaning stuff in my hand, I open Farnsworth's cage.  I pull him out and put him on my shoulder, but he doesn't stay there.  Instead he takes off, squawking and flying crazily around the living room, stretching his pretty green wings. Soon he gets tired of that and lands on top of my head, where he squawks one more time and then starts to preen.  That's how you know Farnsie really likes you; he lands on your head, which means he likes Mom, me, and Mr. Adams.  He's never landed on Dr. Preus, and he's been over here a lot. I think he scares him or something.

I don't blame Farnsworth.  I wouldn't land on Dr. Preus's head either, if I were a conure.

Don't tell Mom I said that, though.

*********************************************************************************************

Julia

Bam-Bam-Bam.

Without even opening my eyes, I covered my head with my arms. This is not fair.

Ding-Dong.  Ding-Dong.

I threw a couch pillow in a nondescript direction and mumbled, "Get off my lawn."

And then in the next second I remembered.  My pulse quickening, I rolled off the couch.  I gave the living room one last cursory glance, and nodded.  It would do.

I had just gotten back from the mall.  Roxie and her 1980's-tinged tastes had proved immensely helpful in picking things out for our visitor.  Dinner had already been started earlier today- I love crock pot cooking- so I had lain down on the sofa for a little catnap not fifteen minutes ago in a feeble attempt to get at least some sleep, for I hadn't had any aside of my routine blackout following Speck's transport. All night and almost all day, I'd been practicing my lines under my breath, trying my best to prepare for whatever Freddie was going to throw at me and however he decided to behave.

1985 Freddie would be a much more difficult specimen than 1977 Freddie.  Freddie at thirty-nine was much more of a jaded realist than he had been eight years prior.  This older version by now also had grown quite accustomed to having every whim being immediately catered to, no matter how ridiculous- and those who didn't acquiesce were promptly told to "F--- off" and dismissed forever.  Judging by his demeanor at the party, he was also much more aloof, and his temper had shortened by a great deal. 

Again, perhaps that was the facade, because 1985 Freddie was also much less worried about people's opinions of him, and he was still given to various acts of kindness.  But I wanted to be ready for anything.  There were a million ways this could go down, so I prepared for the worst ones.  Chances were, he would not be happy to see me, let alone stay under the same roof with me.

I was the one who left him, after all.

Slowly, I crossed the room to open the front door.  Before I'd even touched the knob, Farnsie knew what I was doing, and said, "Good news, everyone!"

I gulped.  "Not this time, pal.  When he leaves, then it will."

And I opened the door.

There stood K, his nose red with cold.  To my surprise, C wasn't with him.

"Where's your partner?" I asked.

"He had a conference to attend in Manhattan, as did Preus," he said.  "I stayed behind to oversee the, ahem, transaction.  You don't mind, I hope?"

"Don't be silly," I chuckled. 

He half-smiled, then asked, "So, you ready?"

I nodded.  "As ready as I'll ever be."

So we walked down the front steps toward the white Amazon van parked in my driveway.  I suppose that was their cover.  A clever one, too; FedEx would have been too conspicuous even for this time of year, but lately, you couldn't walk around the block without seeing either an Amazon drone or one of their blank white vans parked by the side of the road, no matter what day of the month.

A man and woman in white polo shirts clambered out of the van and opened the back.  Two other people dressed the very same way were sitting there waiting, on either side of a coffin-shaped, gleaming white container.  Silently, they pulled the box down while I had flashbacks of Mission Implausible.

"Shall we bring him in through the garage, or through the front?" One of the men asked.

So he's in that container.  They're carrying him into my house while he's basically lying in a box.   Now, that's what I call karma.

"It would probably be easier to go through the front door," I said.  "It's wider."

"We just don't to be too obvious."

I chuckled.  "Man, no one's going to care.  This is Jersey."

They saw my point.  Soon enough, and without much excess difficulty, they carried the unconscious body of a rock star into my two story, 1750-square foot rented house in the modest Monroe Township.  It certainly wasn't London's twenty-eight room Garden Lodge, but it wasn't an antiseptic hospital bed either.  All the same, I couldn't help the slightest tinge of embarrassment, when I thought of the depressingly drastic downgrade he would consider this.

He'll just have to pretend it's some hotel suite somewhere, I suppose.

"Take him to my bedroom, please," I said, and quickly added for my own benefit, "I'll camp out here on the sofa."

They did as I asked.  Once they disappeared into my room, and started rustling around in there, K put his hand on my shoulder.  Laying a finger to his lips, he led me into the kitchen where we could speak more privately.  Once we were alone, he reached into the pockets of his coat and pulled out two medicine containers.  I frowned, confused.

"What is all this?" I asked.

"Okay, listen," he said.  "This is extremely important.  Uh... Stuart took a look at Speck last night, and um, he found out that in order to keep a close eye on him and maintain the bridge connection a little better, he's - Freddie's going have to keep taking the- tracker pills.  One a day."

"Don't they only last a couple of hours?"

K blinked, then shook his head.  "Since he's on our side of the continuum, we can detect fainter traces of the tracker chemical."

"I'll make sure he takes them," I nodded.  "What's in that one?"

"This?" He tapped the smaller, unlabeled cylinder.  "Ah, yes.  These are even more crucial- and require even more consistence and care." 

So saying, K opened the tube, and tapped a tiny capsule the shape and size of a BB pellet into his palm. 

"What is it?" I asked.

He gave me the cleverest smile I'd ever seen on his wrinkled face.  "It's a vitamin."

I rolled my eyes.  "Why don't I believe you?"

K laughed.  "I honestly don't know what all is in this little thing, but I know it's very, very important that you have him take one of these every night before he goes to sleep.  Force it down his throat if you have to.  He needs them."

"It's not going to kill him, is it?"

"Oh, no, Julia," he said.  "Far from it."

"Then what?"

"It may not do anything, honestly, but it might.  And if it does, then... hurray..." K trailed off, staring at the pellet.

I knew better than to ask him to explain.  He was having a senior moment.  "I'll grind it up and sprinkle it in his vodka if I have to.  I won't forget."

"Hm?  Oh, good.  That's great."

"Anything else I need to know before you leave me alone with the panther?  When can I expect him to wake up?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I want to know when I should start drinking," I said dryly.

"Tomorrow morning, very likely.  Perhaps even before that, perhaps later.  We'll see."

A few seconds later, the medics emerged from my bedroom.  The easier time they had carrying the box told me Freddie was now lying on my bed.  The thought gave me chills.

Freddie's in my house.  Worse than that.  Freddie's in my bedroom.  Ten whole years, it's been, and  now he's in my bedroom.

"Hey," K whispered, "what are you going to do about Danny?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you going to- tell him? That he's his father?"

I swallowed.  I had been wrestling with that question among many today, and I still was no closer to an answer.

"Well," I said slowly, "I don't quite know yet.  I mean, considering that Stuart doesn't even know that-"

"Wait, what?" K's eyes widened.  "You never told him?"

I shook my head.  Stuart had always assumed that I'd become pregnant with Danny sometime after T-Rod, and I never gave him any reason to think otherwise.  How such an intelligent man could disregard the obvious resemblance without the glasses, I couldn't decipher.

"Well- I mean, certainly he's at least figured it out for hims-"

"No, he hasn't," I muttered.  "That's the problem.  So I'm just going to play that one by ear.  Freddie may be a little more intuitive than Stuart, but then again he might not.  It'll really depend on him and how he acts, whether or not I tell him."

Apparently there wasn't anything much else I needed to know, save that we would get a call from the lab once all was ready with Speck, upon which I was to immediately cart him back up and send him off.  The rough repair time estimate K gave me was "a couple of days to a week."  I nodded.  I had already lived with this man for two weeks of my life; I could endure one more if I absolutely had to.

"Good luck, Julia," K said as they were leaving.  "Don't forget."

"I won't," I tried to smile, belying how violently my stomach churned.  Before long, I had waved goodbye and shut the door. 

I was alone in the house with Freddie.

I had put Fry outside so he wouldn't get in the way of the pallbe- uh, carriers of the box.  He was scratching and whining to be let in; poor thing, he hated the cold.  So I opened the back door, and he rocketed toward my bedroom, following his nose.  And I panicked.  He was agile for a wiener dog; Fry loved to jump on top of the bed and sniff around, and he tended to bark at total strangers. 

Today was one day that wasn't going to be cute. 

I darted into my dim room to grab the little mongrel before he woke Freddie prematurely.  "No, Fry, back!" I hissed.  "Get out!  Let the man be!"

He yipped once, balancing on his hind legs, trying to push himself onto the bed, but I scooped him up before he succeeded and set him down outside the door, which I closed from the inside.  Then I slumped against the wall and slid down to the floor.  I clutched my heart in relief, settling wearily in a ball while Freddie was lying five feet away.

In spite of myself, I looked up at him.  He was rolled onto his side, so I could see only the back of his dark head and the curve of his sloping shoulders.  I could hear him breathing gently through his nose, once even letting out a soft, low moan.

Am I dreaming?  I asked myself.  Or is this really happening?

I stood up and walked closer.  I wanted to turn on the lamp and get a better look at him, but I knew better than that.  So I peered against the half-light, watching him sleep.

It had been so long since I'd really just looked at him.  True, I kept staring at him last night, but I wasn't really able to take anything in.  Now, I could; it made my heart ache strangely. 

Oh, that delicate nose.  Those sharp cheekbones.  Those elvish ears.  I know, such a dumb thing to notice, but I couldn't help it.  They were Danny's ears, too, after all. 

His mouth was relaxed under the mustache, allowing those teeth to poke out just a tad.  He seemed to be a little more muscular than before- not much, but he had definitely filled out around the edges, where before he was gaunt yet quietly wiry.  Now, he looked strong.  Strong and dangerous.   

Thirty-nine looks good on you, Mr. Mercury, I decided to myself.

Then I knelt beside him after walking around to the other side so that he faced me.  I leaned forward so close that now I could detect that scent.  Licorice and cigarettes.  I shut my eyes.

Eight years, and the man still smelled like licorice. 

Before I could start reminiscing to a fatal degree, I rose up and dusted off my hands, blushing.  "See you in the morning, jackass," I muttered, then scurried out of my bedroom.

It was ten till seven.  Danny would be coming home any minute, and we would be sitting down to a nice, pleasant dinner while that time bomb lay dormant ten feet away.  I'd very likely have to stay home from church tomorrow; Roxie would probably be only too happy to take Danny.  He had Sunday school and program rehearsal.  I had to be here when the bomb went off; someone had to take the heat, it might as well have been me. 

Though I had prepared and prepared all day for Freddie, I still might as well have been blindfolded and bound.  Anything could happen.  I knew that. I decided to save the news of Freddie for tomorrow, when he was awake and I couldn't hide him anymore. 

I covered my mouth.  Dear God, Freddie's going to meet our son.

Our son.  Danny was our son.  I'd always called him "my" son, but here, now, he was "ours."  But could I tell Freddie that?  Would that be wise, all things considered?

We would have to wait and see, come morning, when the Persian's dark eyes fluttered open and stayed open.

I heard the front door open and shut.  "Mom!  I'm home!"

I pasted on a smile and hustled over to greet him and pretend like today was normal, when in reality today was Topsy-Turvy Eve.

I was giving Freddie a chance.  One chance.  And that's it.  Perhaps one chance was too many, but it was too late for that. 

I swallowed.  Here goes nothing.