Danny

"Mom, can I -"

Before I even finish, she chirps, "Ah, ah, ah!  Bad start!"

"Oh, sorry.  May I please have a piece of rum cake for breakfast?  You know- 'cause it's the last day of school and stuff?"

Mom nods.  "You may- as long as you eat a piece of fruit first."

"Yes!" With that, I grab an apple out of the fruit basket and bite into it without washing it first.  Mom just rolls her eyes; she's told me many times it's better to wash apples before you eat them but I don't care.  Lately she's getting to the point where she doesn't care either, and just sighs and says that I'm acting just like my grandpa. 

It's about half an hour before I have to leave for school, and I still haven't seen Freddie yet.  I glance at the shut bedroom door with a little huff. 

"Freddie sure sleeps late," I grumble with my mouth full. 

Mom just smiles- but it's the same weird, sad smile from earlier.  "He's up, sweetie."

"He is?" My eyes widen.

"Mm-hm.  I was just in there a moment ago, he was in the bathroom shaving."

I blink.  "Is he happy?"

"Happy?"

"You know, is he okay?  Is he not- mad?" 

"I think so," she chuckles.  "He smiled at me when I walked in, so I think we're good."

"Did he say anything?"

"Yeah.  He said 'Hello'- and you are very, very nosy!"  She pinches my nose, the way Freddie likes to do.

I shake my head.  "No, I'm not, I'm just curious!"

"There's a very fine line between 'curious' and 'nosy,' Daniel-san," she informs me. 

"What's the difference?"

She thinks over her answer.  "How shall I put this?  Um- I'd say that 'curiosity' is more just the feeling, and learning about something from a more, I guess, removed standpoint.  Reading books about something, doing research, that sort of thing.

"But nosiness?  Nosiness is more along the lines of outright prying- you know, listening in on other people's conversations, opening up their mail- oh!  Speaking of which, your gift from the De- uh, your Uncle John came in yesterday, I nearly forgot."

"It did?" I grin widely.  "Where is it?"

"Downstairs, on the tree."

I frown.  "On the tree?"

"You'll see."

So I hustle a little ways downstairs, then stop, looking back.  She doesn't know I can see her face change to something sadder as she turns away.  I wonder if it's because Freddie's leaving, or because I kept asking her about Dad earlier, since talking about him always makes her so unhappy.  Maybe it's both.

"Hey, Mom?" I say.

She whirls, pasting on a smile.  "Yes, sweetie?"

I look into her face. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says softly.  "Really."

"Promise?"

Mom nods.  "Promise.  Now- not to change the subject, but I'm cooking some eggs for myself and you-know-who, would you like some?"

"Nah, I'm good," I say over my shoulder.  "Can I put more music on the playlist too?"

"I'd rather hear a record right now, personally," she calls back.  "Pick something."

"Cool.  Is Prince okay?"

"Not right now, sweetie, try something else- like some Howard Jones, maybe.  Yeah, do that."

I roll my eyes when she turns around.  So much for 'Pick something.' 

"Oh!" she stops me one more time.  "Hey, Danny, come back here a second, I need you to do me a favor."

So I run back up the stairs again, only for her to instruct me in a very serious whisper, "Whatever you pick, sweetie, when Freddie walks out of that bedroom, I need you to change the album right away and put on some disco.  Just have Bee Gees or Donna Summer or- or the Pointer Sisters ready and waiting when that door opens.  Got it?"

"Sure, but- why?"

"Just trust me."

I don't get why all of a sudden Mom's into disco.  It's weird.  But still, I agree, and when I head downstairs to put Howard Jones' Dream Into Action on the turntable, I pull out Energy by the Pointer Sisters just in case.

I realize now what she meant by "on the tree," instead of "under"; the Deacons' gift is in a bright green envelope- and a kind of small one too, small enough for me to have overlooked up till now.  I almost wonder if Mom hasn't made a mistake, and this is just a regular old Christmas card, but it's addressed solely to me with the words "DO NOT OPEN TILL XMAS" printed in great big letters along the sealed flap.  I wonder what it could be. Doesn't seem too exciting, since exciting presents are the ones that come in big boxes wrapped up in shiny papers.  Still, I'll wait.   

Setting the envelope back in between the branches, I glance over at the piano.  The keys are covered, and the notebook, perched on the music rest, is shut.  This time, I don't hesitate at all to look at it.  After all, I've already seen what he's written in it, and it's not as bad as he made it out to be; as long as I don't tell Mom, I'm good. 

"And do you feel scared?  I do," Mom sings along with Howard, "but I won't stop and fal-ter/ And if we threw it all away/ Things can only get better."

Without even realizing it we start doing that back and forth thing between Howard Jones and his backup, the "whoa-oh-ohs", with me singing his, and her singing theirs.  We do this a lot actually, I think, it's just so fun- but I stop a moment when I hear somebody's phone vibrate.

I look down at the coffee table, see the blinking red light on Mom's phone.  I pick it up, and see the notice that it's a text from Uncle John.  So I swipe my finger across the lock screen and read the message: "I'm about to board the plane, heading your way."

I frown.  Uncle John's coming to see us?  What for?  It's not for Christmas, he spends that with his real family.  Mom obviously knows about it, too, so why didn't she say something? 

To be nice, I reply to the message, typing in, "Sounds good, please B careful!"  Just before I send it, though, I change the "B" to "be"; I don't want Uncle John to know I'm reading Mom's texts and responding to them as though I'm her.

What is nosiness?  This is nosiness.  But at the moment I don't care.

I barely just press the "send" icon when there's a knock on the door.  My jaw drops.  Man! I say to myself, half-jokingly.  How'd he get here so fast?

"I'll get it!" I holler.  The notebook still clenched in my hands, I rush up past the kitchen where Mom is still singing and catch a glimpse of the still-shut bedroom door.  What is he doing in there anyway?

"Good news, everyone!" Farnsworth squawks when I open the front.  Instead of finding Uncle John waiting out on the stoop, I see Lauren standing there in a t-shirt and jeans.  It's amazing; thirty-one degrees outside and her teeth aren't even chattering.

"There it is!" she gasps when she sees the notebook in my hands.  "Why didn't you bring it over?"

"Mom was already up," I yawn.  "She was downstairs, and I couldn't sneak off with it.  That would have made Rick really mad if he found out from her anyway."

Lauren runs inside, making sure to avoid the mistletoe still hanging over the threshold.  "Can I see it?"

She's pointing at the journal.  "What for?"

"I wanna see the love letters."

I roll my eyes.  "They're not love letters, they're just songs."

"Yeah, sure," she snickers.  "Love songs- for some person named Angel.  Why don't you let me see for myself?" 

With a sigh, I hand her the pad.  I swear, Lauren just doesn't get it.  Just like Freddie told me in the car, "Just because I write a song about it doesn't necessarily mean it applies to me.  It's just a song."  It doesn't completely make sense since he wouldn't even let me look at half of the lines anyway.  If it's not about anything, it shouldn't matter, period.

Oh, well.  He's a rock star, I guess he doesn't have to explain.

"So that Rick guy is still here?" she asks, skimming through the pages.

"Yeah, he's in the bedroom."  I point down the hall toward the master.

Lauren cocks her head.  "Isn't that - where your mom sleeps?"

"Uh-huh," I nod.  "So?"

"I thought she and the Joker were, you know- dating."  Mr. Adams thinks that Dr. Preus has Jack Nicholson eyebrows, so Lauren calls him the Joker- and it always cracks me up.

"They are," I giggle.  "But she and Fr- um, uh, Rick are sharing that room till he goes back."

She looks blank.  "So- are they- sleeping in the same bed?"

"I don't think so, there's a papasan in there too, I think that's how they're working it," I say.

I know they're sleeping in the same room, but I can't imagine they'd be sharing the bed.  Mom's told me so many times that she would never do that, sleep in the same bed with a man she wasn't married to.  She loves Dad too much.  But you know, to be honest, a microscopic part of me, like a couple of molecules maybe, almost wishes she could let herself be in love with someone else just a little.

Not that I don't want Dad to come back, because I do- but he in case he never does, I do want someone there, someone who doesn't mind talking to me- and who will stop Mom from being so sad on the inside.

Someone weird, cool, and nice, with black hair, a British accent, and big hands...

"Well, anyway."  Lauren folds her arms.  "Hey, Danny, is it okay if I can borrow one of those pictures of the British dude- um, your godfather?"

"Uncle John? Why?"

"I told Dad he was the retired bass player for Queen, but he doesn't believe they're the same person- he says it's just my imagination." She shakes her head.  "Grown-ups."

"Tell me about it," I mutter, nodding. 

I almost holler to Mom, asking where we keep our two old photo albums, but I remember that they're still at Cousin Roxie's house.  When we came to New Jersey for Mom's job, we lived with her for a couple of months before moving to Monroe. Mom keeps vowing to go collect those last few belongings, but she just never gets around to it, so Roxie has had almost all our physical pictures of our life in Texas and with the Deacons- life before Dr. Preus, I guess you could say- for the last three years.

So instead, I shrug.  "Mom's got those framed pictures up in the attic.  I can bring one down for you for proof."

She nods.  "Cool." 

I back up and jump for the attic cord, but just like before, I'm too short to reach it.  Lauren giggles, then leaps up to grab it.  Her fingertip barely grazes it, but it's too far up even for her- and I'm quietly relieved.

"Let me get a stool, hold on," I say.  Before I can turn around, though, someone else's arm reaches up and pulls it down- the same one that did it a few days before- while its owner tells us both "Good morning" with a cigarette between his teeth. 

"Thanks, Fr-Rick!" I correct myself just in time, grinning up at him. 

"You're very welcome," Freddie smiles back.  Lauren just barely remembers to hide the notebook from view before he casts a glance her way.  I know I should be running downstairs to change Howard Jones to the Pointer Sisters, but I'm too afraid to leave her alone with him, in case he notices what she's holding.

"What is it you're looking for anyway?" he asks.

I try to think of something believable.  "Uh, we're, um- looking for the key."

"Key?" Lauren frowns.  "What k- OW!  Hey!" 

While she leans down and rubs where I "accidentally" stepped on her foot, I nod, stick with that story.  "Yeah, the key to the box.  You know, the box?"

"Mm.  Well, if you find it, do let me know, would you please?" Freddie ends this with a little wink.

I wink back.  "Hai.  Come on, Lauren, let's go."

"Be careful," he warns us- and then when we're about halfway up the ladder, he adds, "Oh, and by the way, when you're through with my notes, do me a favor and give them back to me."

We both turn to him, alarmed.  But Freddie only smirks at us, then walks away, shaking his head.

Weird, I say to myself as I reach the top.  Does he not care what we read in it anymore?

I don't wonder about it much longer, though.  Lauren yanks the light chain over our heads, flooding the attic with an ugly yellow glow.   I tiptoe over to the open box where Mom and me stashed all the pictures we took down around the house. Wrinkling my nose a little, I lift the top picture, the one of Mom and Dr. Preus standing together at that gala they attended a little while ago.  I don't know why she wanted to take that one down, too, but she did.

"Here's one."  I draw out a kind of small framed picture of me, Mom, and my godparents- one of those photos you take with a tripod, I think- and hand it to Lauren.  "Will that work?"

"Great," she chirps.  "Oh, by the way.  Guess what?"

I shrug, rustling around some more in the box.  "What?"

"Mr. Rick is officially famous."

You don't say, I mutter inwardly.  "How?  Is it that picture you took, or the radio thing?"

"Something else.  I heard Dad talking about it just before I came over.  Apparently the manager of the band, or something, um- he met Rick yesterday at the station."

My eyes widen.  I don't know what that might mean for us, but I know it's big, whatever it is.  "And?"

"I don't know, Dad didn't say."

"Thanks a lot," I grumble.  "You're a big help."

"I'm sorry!" she scoffs. 

I shake my head like I just saw Freddie do, and huff, seriously disappointed in my friend.  "Didn't you get any clues at all?"

"Not really, I just- heard little words, mostly- something about somebody arriving-"

"Arriving?"  My head flies back to Uncle John's text.  "Who's arriving?  And where?"

"I don't know- but they're coming here.  'They', was what he kept saying."

"So it's more than one person."  I scratch my head. 

"Uh-huh."  Lauren thinks it over a minute.  "I kinda think the rest of them are coming over too."

I gulp. "Rest of who?"

"Queen!" she squeals.

"SHH!" Without thinking I slap my hand over her mouth. "What?"

Lauren rips my hand away, but at least now she's whispering. "I think it's the other two guys coming over. The Afro-dude-"

"I told you, that's not an Afro!" I hiss.  "It's more like Halliday's, that guy from Ready Player One!  Remember?"

"Never saw it."

I'm stunned.  "You never saw Ready Player One?"

"No, it's stupid."

I scoff.  "How do you know?"

"Mom said."

"Whatever."  I bet Mr. Adams liked it though, I grumble.  I don't take this heresy to heart, though; this is the same girl who thought the live-action version of The Aristocats was the best thing she'd ever seen.

"I mean, I'm just saying," she goes on, "maybe he and the drummer- Roger, right?- they might be coming over to America!"

"To what?  See Rick?"

"Uh-huh!  Maybe they're so wowed by how this guy looks just like him, they want to see him too!"

Suddenly I feel a little sick inside.  "Maybe that's what he meant, then," I whisper.

"Who?"

I take a deep breath.  "Uncle John.  He sent a text just now, saying something about boarding a plane, and heading our way."

"John Deacon is coming too?" she gasps.  "Oh, my God, this is so amazing-"

"SHHH!  What are you, nuts?  They'll hear you!" I hiss, jabbing my finger down toward the second floor.

But Lauren just tosses her red ponytail back over her shoulder.  "They're not listening to us."

"Mom is always listening," I murmur solemnly. 

"Not now, she isn't."  She yawns, stands up and stretches.  "It's stuffy in here, I'm going back down."

"Okay," I mumble.  "Don't let Rick see the picture, though, okay?"

"Why not?"

"It would be bad," I say.  "Extraordinarily bad." 

"All right, I won't," she nods, before clambering carefully down the ladder, humming along to "Life in One Day."

To be honest, I still don't know why it's such a big deal that Freddie doesn't know about his bandmate being my godfather- I don't even know if it still is a big deal anymore, thanks to all that's happening now- but I don't want to take any chances.  I'm in enough trouble with Mom as it is.  I don't mind being in hot water with kids at school, Ms. Rydinger, or even Dr. Preus- but when Mom gets mad at me, it's the worst thing that can happen.  I never know what she's going to do, or how she's going to do it. 

Heck. I've really screwed up. And this close to Christmas too.

Nobody was supposed to know.  This was all meant to be a big secret, the fact that Freddie is here.  I didn't mean for this to happen, all I did was introduce him to my best friend and her dad- as Rick!  Not as Freddie Mercury, but as Rick Frickin' Dubroc!  That's all I did!  And now look!  Now everybody won't shut up about him, now the whole entire world knows about Rick- and if the other guys from the band see him and realize it's the same guy...

Oh, dang, oh, dang, this is all my fault. Oh, wait till Mom finds out, she's gonna kill me so much.  I'm only nine years old, I don't wanna die yet, at least not until after Christmas.  That would be the worst, being killed right before our trip.  Maybe she'll wait till after so I can see Uncle Scott and Grandma and Grandpa and everybody, and THEN kill me.  I hope so.  Dang, I hope she doesn't tell Santa.

With a little shivery sigh, I start laying the pictures we pulled out back in the box.  As I do, a shimmering blue cover catches the corner of my eye.  I peer closer and pull it out.  It's a book, titled Mercury and Me, with a cover picture of Freddie standing next to some other guy who's holding a cat.  They both have mustaches and a similar haircut, but Freddie's a little taller, and not as stocky as this other dude; I hate to say it, but they remind me of a real-life Mario and Luigi.  it's a kind of weird picture, honestly; Freddie's got a funny look on his face, sort of zoned out almost, like he's watching the six o'clock news instead of smiling for the camera.  Come to think of it, neither of them are smiling.  The cat looks happier than Freddie does, to be honest.

Wonder what he's thinking about there.

"Psst!  Danny!"

Lauren's voice jogs me out of my focus.  I squint down at her from above.  "What?"

She's got this huge grin on her face.  "Come check it out."

"Check what out?"

"You'll see."

Shrugging, I toss the book back in the box; I was so busy looking at the picture that I didn't notice the author's name, but I think it's a safe assumption that "Mario" is the "me." Without thinking much else about it, I climb down.

I sigh.  "All right, what's so-"

"Sh!" Now it's her turn to cover my mouth.  Lauren points toward the kitchen, tiptoes back to where she's been watching.  I duck down a little and peek around the corner like she's doing.  Right when I do so, the song changes on the album to probably the best track Howard ever wrote.

https://youtu.be/V-A6WH1kQLc

Mom and Freddie are in the kitchen together, talking in low voices.  Her hair's down right now, she hasn't pulled it up for work just yet; he's dressed for the day as well, and clean shaven. He takes a little sip of tea every now and then, while she's cracking eggs on the counter and opening them over a metal bowl.  Where we're standing, I can't make out most of what they say, but that's all right.

"Did you want some eggs, too?" she asks him, just loud enough for me to hear.

"That sounds lovely," he murmurs.

Mom's mouth curves a little.  "How do you, uh-  like them again?"

Freddie smiles.  "Don't you remember, dear?  I like them... the way I like my women."

Lauren frowns, confused.  I don't get it either- but Mom's trying hard not to laugh.  "Ah, yes.  You never did explain what you meant by that."

"No?"  He sidles up a little closer.  "Would you like to know?"

"I'm a bit curious."

"Very well."  Then Freddie leans in, cups his hand around his mouth, and whispers the answer.  Lauren and I strain to catch it, but we don't hear a single syllable.

Which stinks, because Mom absolutely bursts out laughing.  "Oh, my gosh," she cries.  "Shame on you, you wicked, wicked man!"

"Well, it's true!" he giggles innocently.  "I can't lie."

"Oh, really?"

"Really.  Not yet, anyway, it's still rather early in the morning."

"Fair enough."

After a moment, they stop giggling like weirdos, and Mom goes back to singing softly to "No One is to Blame."  Freddie sets down his mug quietly near the sink, and he pads closer to her.  Right before our very eyes, he slowly slips his arms around Mom's waist, and seems to pull her against him.  And my heart, for some funny reason, flutters.

She kind of lifts her head, turns it toward where he's got his nose sort of nestled against her cheek.  Now they're looking at each other.  Lauren giggles a little, but I don't think it's funny.  I don't know what I think it is, really- but I like it. 

Something in Mom's eyes changes, I can tell even from all the way over here. Freddie smiles, leans in closer.  I hold my breath, thinking maybe he's going to try and kiss her or something- but he doesn't.  All he does is give her a very gentle Eskimo kiss.  Her eyes shut, and so do his.  I swallow hard- and for a brief crazy second it's all I can do not to shout, "Come on, you guys!  Just kiss already!"

That's when Freddie opens his eyes and looks right at me.  I freeze, forgetting to pull back like I should.  But it's too late, I'm spotted. 

He clears his throat, which makes Mom look as well.  For a minute they just stare at Lauren and me- then burst into embarrassed laughter, and after a moment, so do we. 

But inside, I'm not laughing.  Because to me it's still not funny.  This is serious.

I'm not thinking about Dad right now.  I'm not thinking about Dr. Preus.  I'm thinking about them, Mom and Freddie together- and I remember that after tonight, there will be no such thing as "them" anymore, or "us".  And it's horrible.

I don't want Freddie to leave us.  He can't leave us.  I don't care how many cats he has at home or how many friends he has around the world or how many rooms he has in his house.  I don't care if it means the whole world knows where he is and they don't ever leave us alone again.  I don't care if it means I'm in trouble for the rest of my life.

He just can't. Not now.

Sal here!  Sorry this chapter took so long in being written, but I was busy with the one shot and I couldn't quite decide how I wanted this chapter to pan out in the first place.  In order to make up for the delay, I do hereby offer you this lovely interpretation of one Danny Samuels, by the magnificently talented @slightly_mad.

Thank you so much, dear- and thank all of you for the feedback and support!