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It’d been two weeks since the premiere of the Fatheads special, and if he wasn’t a dead man by now, he was going to be.
“All right, let’s try this again.” Rocko took a deep breath, settled his chest, and started from the top. “Rachel, I wanted to apologize for the way I acted after the special. It was immature of me to make a grand spectacle of myself just because I didn’t like something about it, and for me to act that way after everything that happened was, well, selfish. I understand that as much as I love the Fatheads, you’re the creator, and any changes you make to the show is none of my business, so…I’m...I’m, uh… ugh, do you have to lick yourself like that while I do this?!”
Spunky glanced up at him from the couch, leg in the air and tongue lolling out of his mouth.
Rocko sighed with uneasy frustration, smacking his forehead as his head hung low. “Never mind. I’m bound to blow this anyway.” He walked over to his window, peering at the Bigheads’ newly rebuilt house. “If I haven’t blown things with Rachel already.”
Her ice cream truck sat parked along the curb, a mere wooden fence away. It’d been sitting there since noon, outlasting a moving van by two hours, and while he did hear the occasional hustle and bustle next door, he hadn’t seen sight of her. In fact, he hadn’t seen or heard from her at all since the premiere, though given her parents had been staying with her, he couldn’t blame her. Or, at least, she hadn’t spoken to him. Maybe she kept better touch with Heffer and Filburt after his public tantrum, which he couldn’t blame her for either.
Was today even a good day to try to apologize? She could be exhausted by the time she’s ready to leave. Should he watch until she came out, or just listen for the sound of her engine? Would it be cowardly of him to hide in the house until the truck was gone and simply wait for next time? Or even the time after that?
He felt Spunky nudge at his leg, giving a whimper of sympathy.
“I’m fine, boy.” He leaned down to scratch Spunky’s ears. “Just regretting some choice words, is all. But how was I supposed to know Baby Fathead was Rachel? It’s not like cartoonists typically put themselves into their shows like that, right?”
Spunky quirked his head to the side, blinking innocently.
Rocko groaned, massaging his head as he leaned against the windowsill. “Heffer just had to show me that fan site. He just had to show me that trivia page and those comments and…” He let his head thump against the glass. “I hate the internet.”
The muffling of a trio of familiar voices called his attention. He raised his head in time to see a vibrant flash of purple hair peaking over the fence, bobbing its way to the ice cream truck.
“There she is!” He jumped to the door, but as he gripped the knob, hesitance struck him once more. “But…shouldn’t I figure out what to say to her first? If I give her a hasty apology now, it might seem less sincere than a well thought-out one. She might even think I’m doing it just to get it over with.”
And there went the engine.
“RACHEL!” He left the door partially ripped off its hinges, running to the truck and waving to get her attention. “Rachel, wait! Hang on! I need to talk to you!”
He stood anxiously by the truck’s side, unable to see clearly through the passenger window. The door eventually swung open, the engine still running in the background. Rachel wasn’t in her normal red dress, but an old baggy red t-shirt, sleeves rolled up high to her shoulders. Combined with a pair of gray sweats, a disheveled ponytail, and a light sheen of sweat on her face, it was clear she had a busy day, and yet she still had an easy smile to spare. “Hey, Rock. What’s up?”
Rocko froze, his tongue going numb in his mouth. Was it possible for one’s organs to fall into their feet all at once?
“Uh…h-hi?”
She smirked, leaning against the truck with folded arms. “Hi. You wanted to talk?”
“Er, yeah! Right! Uh…” He tapped his fingers nervously, trying to string together the apology in his head again. “H-how are you?”
“I’m fine,” she shrugged. “A little beat. Spent most of the day helping my parents move in again.”
“That’s good! You’re very helpful! In that way. Heh.”
“Thanks?” She raised a curious brow at him. “What about you? Are you feeling okay?”
“Y-yeah! Yeah, I’m fine, perfectly—”
“You’re sweating a lot…”
“E-er, listen, um…” He tugged hard at his shirt collar, but to no avail. His eyes dropped to his shoes, pigeon-toed and trembling in his anxiety. “About what happened at the premiere…I just…I was…I shouldn’t have…”
“Rocko?”
He looked back up at her. Her voice had gone soft, and she stepped off the truck.
“You wanna sit down? I don’t want you passing out in front of my parents’ place.”
He looked that ill, did he?
“Sure. That’d be good.”
They dropped down onto the curb, the truck quietly humming before them. Rocko wrung his hands together and took a deep breath. He turned to face her, but he couldn’t quite bring his eyes to meet hers just yet.
“I…I wasn’t a very good friend last week. I took advantage of O-Town’s impending doom just to have a chance at seeing an old cartoon again, and when I saw it, I acted like a…a massive knob. You didn’t have to put in all that work. You said yourself you were done with cartoons. But you did, way more than other creators might have. Then I had to go and be a wanker over something I didn’t like.” He finally raised his eyes to hers, a little startled at how closely she was sitting. “Rachel…I’m sorry about what I said. Not only because I was too stupid to realize Baby Fathead was you, but because I was so possessive of something that’s not mine. Something that doesn’t deserve to be mine. The Fatheads is your story. Your life. I’m just an overexcited fanboy who’s lucky to even call you my friend. And for me to act that way after telling your father to be more supportive of you…” He turned away, smiling mirthlessly at the ground. “That just makes me a rotten hypocrite, doesn’t it?”
A long silence followed, heightened by the sound of the late afternoon breeze beginning to pick up. At least, it felt long to Rocko, staring at his feet again, afraid to move the slightest lest it shatter the world around them.
“Rocko?”
When he didn’t turn to her, she guided his snout in her direction. She met him with a gentle smile, and a shimmer in her eyes that wasn’t there before.
“You don’t have to like everything I do.”
Before he could properly react beyond a confused stammer, she pulled him into a warm hug, burying her face into his shoulder. In the warmth of her embrace, the bumbling wallaby was rendered speechless, a thousand and one emotions racing through his head. Was this…the first time they hugged?
“You’ve never been a bad friend to me, Rocko. Even at the premiere.” She pulled back, squeezing his shoulders gently. “And even if your intentions weren’t completely altruistic, you still brought me back home. I rediscovered something I loved again, because of you.”
“But, didn’t I ruin your comeback?”
Rachel snorted, her hands dropping back to her sides. “What comeback? I made the special to save my parents and the rest of O-Town. That’s it. I’m happy selling ice cream for a living. Besides, it takes a lot more than one angry fan to ruin something.”
Rocko grinned sheepishly, slightly cringing. Angry fan. That’s a wonderful demographic to be a part of. “Still, after all that, I shouldn’t have been so ungrateful. And to stand up on your truck like it was a protest rally—"
“Hey.” She flicked his nose lightly, stopping him before he could ramble again. “I forgive you.”
“But—”
“I forgive you. Get over it.”
She pulled him into another hug, and the glowing warmth returned. He couldn’t quite explain it, but it wasn’t just in her hug. It was in the way he felt her nuzzle into his shoulder, as if embracing someone she held dear. It was in the way he noticed the lavender smell of her hair for the first time since reuniting. It was in the way he suddenly became very aware of the pounding in his chest, and the strange but familiar fluttering that accompanied it.
But it was most apparent in the way that, in the face of all these sensory mysteries, he still found himself hugging her back, a wave of tranquility finally bringing him back to earth.
“A-HEM!”
A violently gruff cough ended their hug prematurely. Five feet behind Rocko, Ed was taking out the trash, eyes bulging with the fury of an overprotective father.
“Dad,” Rachel chided.
His eyes darted between Rachel and Rocko for several seconds, his body quaking with rage until he forced himself back down the walkway. Even under his breath, they could hear him deliriously mumbling about spacehead slackers staying away from his daughter.
They flinched as he slammed the door, the impact leaving several fresh cracks on the freshly remodeled house. A beet-faced Rocko turned to Rachel again, only for her to give a smirking eye roll. “He’ll get over it.”
“Er, yeah. Heh heh.”
They stood up from the curb, Rocko accepting a helping hand when he couldn’t quite regain his balance on his own. The sun was setting just over the horizon, a sight he hadn’t noticed until now.
“So,” he started, shyly rubbing his elbow, “I guess I’ll be seeing you around?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe a little more often. Thinking of starting a route somewhere around here.”
“Really?”
“Why not?” she shrugged. “I’ll be closer to family.”
“That’s great!” A small burst of energy sent him almost bouncing. “Then you hang out more with me and the guys!” He regretted his enthusiasm as soon as it came out of his mouth, shrinking back to what he believed was an acceptable amount. “I mean, if you want to.”
Rachel chuckled, holding herself in a way that attempted to hide the smile on her face. “I wouldn’t mind that…” A spark of an idea flashed in her eyes, much like a camera going off. “Wait here.”
She jumped into the truck with haste, followed by the crash of her turning her mobile living space inside out. After about a minute, she leaned out the door again, a thin card between her fingers.
“Keep it. I’ve got plenty.”
Rocko took the card from between her fingers – a glossy, brilliantly colored card with her initials on the front, her business number printed beneath. “Your catering card?”
“I wrote my cell number on the back.”
His eyes jerked back up to hers, the wallaby gawking in disbelief. Surely the sun must’ve been playing tricks on him, or else that might have been a tint of pink on Rachel’s face.
“I’m not a studio figurehead anymore,” she said, “so if you ever wanna do something – you, me, Heffer, and Filburt – give me a call. I’ve missed you guys.”
A wide smile grew on his gradually warming face. “I…I missed you, too.” Now he was burning. “I-I mean WE missed you too! We, not just me. Heh heh.”
Rachel giggled. Had he ever heard her laugh before today? Sincerely laugh? It was lovely. “See you around, Rocko.”
She shut the door to her truck, leaving Rocko goofily waving at his reflection until she sped down the road. Even with the sunset in his eyes, he watched her drive away, hill after hill, until her truck was just a blurry speck.
He looked down at the business card, flipping it between his fingers. Her number was written out in fine-tipped marker, wet and slightly shimmering. By now, he was used to seeing her signature as simply “RB”.
For him, she wrote “Rachel”.
“Heh. Crikey– EEEE-YOWCH!”
A sudden stab in his backside sent him flying off the ground, hopping and yelping about in pain. He reached back in an attempt to pry out the offending weapon, grasping blindly at air until he found what felt like a stick.
With a painful tug, he yanked the flimsy thing out of him, baffled when he found the tacky heart-shaped pointer at its end.
“Who the blazes is shooting arrows around here?”