Now, it was a quiet afternoon and Peter was cooking a late lunch. He had not done a bad job the other day, though it had been under Mike's supervision. However, under the circumstances, Mike and Davy decided to allow him to make lunch.
Peter took the time to himself to think about things. He had felt so good yesterday, when Micky had trusted him with his feelings. That had to mean something. Even if it wasn't a lot, Peter felt as if it was a bit of progress. Micky was beginning to feel trust towards them again, instead of feelings like he was with strangers.
Peter had known this was all hard on Micky, but until their little talk, it had been difficult to tell just exactly how hard. It was hard on everyone, but it had to be the worst for Micky. Then, when Micky had displayed his trust, Peter felt every bit hopeful. Every doubt in his mind was gone.
"Hey, Pete, how's it going?" Mike asked curiously, walking into the kitchen.
"Oh, it's coming along fine," Peter replied. "I think you're going to like it."
Mike smiled, "Good." He sat down at the table, just as Davy came over and sat down, as well.
"Mike," Peter began. "Do you think Micky will get his memory back in time for our gig?"
Mike sighed hopelessly, "I don't know, Peter. If he doesn't, I suppose we'll just have to cancel."
"Why?" Davy asked, sitting up.
"Well, I would think that would be obvious," Mike said sarcastically, yet teasing. "We can't play without Micky."
"No, that's not what I meant," Davy shook his head. "I meant . . . why not teach him how to play? Then we could do the gig, anyway."
"Do you really think he could learn to play in two weeks?"Mike asked, considering Davy's idea to be nothing but silly.
"That doesn't sound too bad, Mike," Peter interjected. "We could teach him just what he needs to know, and then we could play easy songs for him."
"I just don't see how that's possible," Mike told him.
"But, what if it could help him remember?" Davy asked, knowing that could possibly make Mike to agree.
"Yeah, Mike," Peter added. "His memory is there, he just needs something familiar to reach it and bring it out. Maybe the band could help do that . . ." Looking into the pan on the stove, he changed the subject, "Lunch is ready, guys. Let's talk more about this later."
"I'll go wake Micky up," Mike volunteered.
Minutes later, the food was in bowls and on the table, when Micky and Mike walked in.
"I'm hungry," Micky admitted. "What's for lunch?"
"Well, you guys were all nice the other day, when I made dinner," Peter told them. "So, I thought I'd make you all a treat."
Davy's eyes lit up, "What?"
"Cream of Root Beer soup," Peter said, proud of himself.
Upon that revelation, Micky was the only one who wasn't worried. "That sounds . . . different," he said, eagerly picking up his spoon and getting ready to eat. Before either Mike or Davy could stop him, he had spooned some into his mouth. Both watched with disgusted looks on their faces.
"Micky?" Davy asked, as Micky's face screwed up in distaste.
"That's . . . great," Micky lied, trying to compliment Peter.
"Thank you," Peter accepted the compliment.
Micky quickly grabbed a cup and got some water, gulping it down. That taste in his mouth was terrible! But it reminded him of something . . . It was awful; something he would never, never forget! Suddenly it dawned on him, Peter's soup. He had made Micky taste it before, and Micky had vowed never to eat it again.
"I'm sorry, Pete, but that was horrible," Micky admitted.
"But you just said it was great," Peter defended himself. "You said . . . wait, what?" He suddenly realized that Micky said that in the way he usually would, instead of the shy way in which he had been.
"I said that was horrible," Micky told him again.
"Hey . . . do . . . do you," Mike started, afraid to say it, for fear it might not be true.
But Micky knew what he was talking about. "Hey guys, you know what, I just realized something."
"You remember?" Davy asked cautiously.
"No, I just realized I can fly," Micky rolled his eyes, teasing. "Of course I remember."
"And it was my soup that did it," Peter said, proud that his soup was good for something.
"I hate to admit it," Micky said slowly. "But you're right. Your . . . uh, food . . . was good for something. But that doesn't mean I'm finishing it."
~*~*~*~*~
"Come on, Micky," Davy called. "Hurry up, we have to pick up the girls." It had been a week since Micky had gotten his memory back. Since then, he had gone back to the stables to see that pretty, young instructor that Davy had pointed out before. After plenty of convincing from the guys, Micky had asked her out.
"Do you think Jennifer will have fun tonight?" Micky asked Davy as he came out of his bedroom, all dressed up.
"Not if we never pick her up," Davy said sarcastically, anxious that he was finally able to go out with Sheila again.
"I'm coming," Micky snapped. "I'm just nervous."
"Why?" Davy asked. "She's a nice girl."
"I know, but I just . . ." Micky realized he was being silly and took a deep breath to calm himself down. "Okay, I'm ready."
"Alright, let's go," Davy said, pulling Micky's arm. "Sheila's house is on the way, so we'll pick her up first."
"Why can't we pick up my girl first?" Micky teased.
Davy sighed, why he had ever agreed to double date with Micky, he didn't know. This was certainly going to be a long night.
Well, at least things were back to normal. Or, at least, as normal as they could be for a Monkee.