Epilogue: Back to Normal

The afternoon sun warmed Blossom's face as her light pink eyes fluttered open. She groaned, shielding her eyes and rolling away from the window. She opened her eyes again just wide enough to peek at the alarm clock. She sat up. It was already passed two. Really? She slept that long? Well, she did fall asleep at sunrise… Nonetheless, Blossom slipped off her covers, slid her feet into her fluffy red slippers and grabbed her ruby red robe. She tied it on and headed to the bedroom door. Then she stopped, feeling an eerie sense of déjà vu. Then, too tired to care, she opened the door and made her way downstairs.

Blossom paused at the top of the stairs. She blinked, the déjà vu coming back right away. In the living room below, Butch, Buttercup, and Bridie were sitting on the couch playing that racing game again. But this time, Bubbles and Boomer shared a nearby armchair, Bubbles nestled comfortably on Boomer's lap, both of them cheering the others on. Blossom chuckled, the déjà vu disappearing and quickly replaced with another strange feeling. Less than twelve hours ago, they were thousands of miles away battling for their lives. And now things were already back to normal. Butch and Buttercup seemed to have made up, too, the two happily insulting each other as they played ("Oh my God, Butch, stop crashing into me!" "Fuck you, bitch! You're in my way!") Bridie bounced in her seat, her head bobbing to music playing quietly from the television. And from the smell of freshly brewed coffee tickling Blossom's nose, the Professor too was already back into the swing of things. Blossom had to admit the only weird thing was that Boomer looked unusually comfortable, but perhaps this was part of the norm nowadays.

Silently, Blossom floated down the stairs and headed into the kitchen. As expected, the Professor sat at the table, sipping his coffee and watching the excitement in the living room. He waved at Blossom.

"Afternoon, darling," he said softly. "Sleep well?"

"Actually," Blossom started, filling a clean mug with fresh coffee. "I did. Very well."

"Wonderful," the Professor said with a chuckle. Blossom took a seat next to him, stirring some sugar into her mug.

"Déjà vu, eh?" Blossom mentioned.

"Ohhh yes," the Professor laughed. "Almost too much."

"Did I miss anything?" Blossom asked. She took a sip of her coffee.

"You know, I was going to ask the same thing," the Professor replied. He looked at Blossom. "So… Bubbles? And Boomer?"

"Oh, yeah," Blossom said. "Long story."

"And the others made up, I suppose?"

"Can't you tell?" Blossom gestured at Butch and Buttercup, who were now kissing quite heavily for a moment. Bridie had to make a noise to make them stop.

"So what about Brick?" the Professor asked suddenly. Blossom winced.

"Oh, uhhh, what about him?" Blossom retorted, trying to sound casual.

"Is he back home?"

"Oh! Yeah. Yeah, he's back in Chicago," Blossom replied.

"He'll be back soon," the Professor said, though Blossom didn't like the slight confidence in his voice. She didn't like it when the Professor seemed to know more than he should. She sniffed.

"Yeah, probably," she said.

Just then, there was a knock at the front door. Blossom jumped, almost spilling coffee on her. She rocketed to the kitchen doorway and watched Buttercup peek through the eyehole.

"Delivery boy!" she announced. She opened the door and very happily repeated herself. "Delivery boy! Hiya!"

"Uhh, hi," spoke the awkward-looking, redheaded delivery boy. "I have a, uh, delivery. Um, is there a Blossom Utonium here?"

Blossom's ears perked up. Buttercup scoffed.

"Duh!" Buttercup scoffed. "Where are you from, Mars?"

Blossom zoomed over to the front door, pushing Buttercup away. She smiled warmly at the boy. "Hi, yeah, I'm Blossom."

"Hi," the boy mumbled. He shuffled uncomfortably for a second, and then thrust a clipboard and a pen into Blossom's hands. "Sign here."

"Er, no problem," Blossom said, scribbling her signature on the clipped-on paper and handing it back to the boy. She looked at him expectantly. "So what is it?"

Then, the boy handed her a slim manila envelope and two roses, one red, one pink. He tipped his hat, muttered thanks, and dashed off to his truck. Blossom stared at the things, having absolutely no idea where they came from. Buttercup shut the door next to her.

"Oooo, roses?" Buttercup jeered. Her tone dropped. "From who?"

"Yeah, where did that come from, Blossom?" Bubbles asked, hopping off Boomer's lap. Blossom hovered over to the empty armchair and sat. She gazed at the roses for a second, then placed them on the coffee table. She stared at the package, searching for a return address.

"I don't know," Blossom replied with a shrug. "I guess we'll just have to see."

She turned the package over and carefully pealed the envelope open. She reached inside and pulled out…

"My notebook!" Blossom exclaimed, opening it and flipping through the pages of her writing.

"Whoa," Boomer muttered as Bubbles laughed.

"Someone found it!" she squealed. Blossom nodded, smiling.

"I can't believe it," she said. "I'm… pleasantly surprised!"

"What did you get?" The Professor asked from the kitchen doorway. Blossom held up her notebook and the roses.

"My notebook that I lost in West Virginia! And some roses!"

The Professor made a face. "Roses?"

"I don't know either," Blossom chuckled. "Maybe just a nice gesture from whoever found this."

"And you still have no idea who that's from?" Buttercup asked next to her.

"Nope," Blossom replied. She flipped through her notebook again. Then, she noticed something. She opened her notebook wide and stared at the very last page. Someone had written something in a quick, angular scrawl. It took her a second to realize it was written in a different language, too. French, to be exact. She quickly glanced at the signature below the message… then slammed the notebook shut.

"Well, if you don't mind, I better put this stuff away," Blossom said, collecting her things and standing up. The others watched Blossom race up to her room, closing the door behind her.

Blossom tossed the roses and her notebook on the bed and hurried to her closet. She searched through the rubbish, tossing old clothes onto the carpet and ripping open taped up boxes. Finally, after several minutes, she found what she was looking for: an electronic translator. Then, she leapt back on to her bed, opened the notebook, and started translating. It didn't take long, Blossom only fumbling when she had to type accented letters. Within minutes, she had written a rough translation, re-wording some of the funnier phrases. When finished, she read it to herself.

"Dear Blossom,

How the hell am I supposed to read your notebook when it's written in CHINESE? All I wanted to do was read your inner thoughts and dirty secrets. Would've come in handy someday, you know? Oh well. Here it is. You should try to be more careful about your things in the future.

Guerelli's doing well and everything's settled. The Queen is in prison, and from what I hear, all those guys we pounded are not happy to hear she's alive. Heh… I also got promoted, which means I won't be back for a while. I figured I'd let you know. I would've called, but I seem to not have your number. We should fix this somehow, say… dinner. In my city. 8 PM. Tonight. Meet me at Buckingham. (You know, that fountain where we beat the shit out of Princess? Remember?) We'll eat, exchange numbers, and maybe you can spill some of those secrets I didn't get to read from this notebook. And don't be too overdressed – you won't need it, especially if things go as planned.

See you tonight, then. Don't be late. We have reservations at 8:15, and I expect you to be punctual as usual. And so help me God, if you're wearing pants…

Sincerely,

Brick

PS – Like the roses? Red and pink. Aren't I fucking clever?"

"Yeah, I guess you are," Blossom said, smiling. She ripped out her translated page, tossing it into the garbage bin. She looked back at the message, her finger gliding over the signature. She laughed. Maybe things weren't really that normal. This was certainly a new development…

Blossom looked at the closet, still open and over-flowing with stuff. Right away, she spotted the one piece of garment every woman should have in her wardrobe: her little black dress. She had worn it only once or twice in college, and it was always just for a night out with friends. It's not like she ever went on dates or anything. She wondered if it would still fit a year or two later. It should. Then another thought drifted through her head.

Even wearing that dress, she'd still be too overdressed, wouldn't she?

The End