#mickey 90th

The phone rang at 3:30 on the dot, just as they agreed.  Donald’s heart raced as he picked up the phone.

“H-hello?” he said.

“Donald!  How are you?” Mickey said, his voice so warm that Donald could practically feel it like melted butter in his chest.  

“I-I’m good!  How are you?”

“Oh, I’m doing great!  I just got home from filming.  I wish I could tell ya more about it, but I think you’re gonna really love it when–”

Suddenly, they were interrupted by the sound of a door slamming open.

“Uncle Donald!  Have you seen the baseball gloves?” came Huey’s voice.

Donald looked at his nephews sharply.  “Shh!  I’m on the phone!”

“On the phone?” Louie asked.

Dewey gasped.  “Is it Mickey Mouse?  Don’t tell me it’s Mickey Mouse!” Donald rubbed the bridge of his beak.  “Go back to the Manor, and I’ll–”

“It is Mickey Mouse, isn’t it!”

“Please just give me an hour–”

“I want to talk to Mickey Mouse!”  Dewey was bouncing on his toes.

Normally, this would be the part where Donald would tell the person on the other end of the phone that he would call him back in a few minutes, but he couldn’t do that on his first phone call with Mickey Mouse in ten years.

Donald took a deep breath and started to silently count to ten.  Right after he got to four, Dewey snatched the phone right out of his hand.

“Hellooooooo?”

His brothers grabbed at the phone with cries of “Gimme!” and “I want to talk to him!”

Donald felt his face grow hot, and he exploded.

“Give me back that phone!” he screamed, his words quickly devolving into inarticulate quacking.

The boys laughed as he chased them out of the houseboat.  He waved his fist at them from the main deck for a few extra seconds for good measure, his angry quacks echoing off the side of the Manor and the houseboat.  Then he went back inside.

Donald took a deep breath before picking the phone up off the floor–the boys had wisely dropped it before escaping to the Manor–and pressing it back to the side of his face.

“Hello?” he said.

“Is everything alright over there?” Mickey said with what sounded like suppressed laughter in his voice.

“Yeah, it’s just…you know.  Kids,” Donald said, forcing a chuckle.  “I told them not to bother me this afternoon, so of course they did anyway.”

“Might as well have sent them an invitation to come on over and wreak some havoc, right?” Mickey said.  

Donald laughed.  “You said it.”

“How have your boys been doing?”

Donald could never pass up the chance to talk about his boys, and he found himself telling Mickey all about what they and Webby had been up to lately.  And then Mickey talked a bit about his own nephews, and then about some of the projects he was working on, and Donald talked about living with Uncle Scrooge and the state of the houseboat.

“It was completely destroyed a few months ago when one of my uncle’s mortal enemies tried to destroy him and the town.  Took me back to square one.”

“Oh, was that when those shadows tried to take over Duckburg?  I saw something about it on the news.”

“Yeah, sort of,” Donald said.  He’d never mentioned it in any of his letters because…well, how could he?  ‘Yeah, this catastrophic thing just happened, but don’t worry, it’s all fine and dandy.  Mostly.’  After a few weeks, Donald had given up on trying to figure out talk about it without freaking his old friend out.

“And who was that again?  I thought I recognized her…”

“Magica De Spell,” Donald supplied.

“Right!” Mickey said.  “Boy, it’s been a while since she’s shown up, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah.  She’s been in my uncle’s dime the whole time.”

“No!  Not old Number One?”

“Mm-hm!” Donald said.  

“Wow.”  Mickey paused for a moment.  “I’m glad you’re all ok, even if your houseboat isn’t.”

“Not entirely,” Donald said.  “One of the kids’ friends…well, it’s complicated.  But she’s not really…she kind of…”  Donald licked his beak.  “Died?  Sort of.  But she turned out to be a shadow, so…I’m not sure if you could call it dying?  I don’t know.”

Mickey was silent on the other end.  “You’ll have to explain that to me sometime.”

“Gladly,” Donald said.  “As soon as I figure it out myself.”  Why was his life so confusing?  “But I’ve got the houseboat back to being a houseboat again, even if it still has a ways to go.”

“That’s good to hear,” Mickey said.

“Oh!  Before I let you go,” Mickey said.  “I was thinking about maybe taking a trip up your way sometime soon, and a trip to Calisota wouldn’t be complete without a visit to one of my best pals!”

Donald was this close to asking Mickey who this best pal of his was before he realized…

It was him.

Donald swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.  “That would be great!  When are you planning on coming?”

“Around the eighteenth, but nothing’s set in stone yet.”

Donald felt his eyes grow damp.  That was Mickey’s birthday.  He wanted to spend his birthday in Duckburg.  With him.

“Y-yeah!  We’re free that whole week!”  And then Donald remembered the current status of his life.  “Or, well, we will be, barring any spontaneous adventures.  Though I have a feeling that you being here will keep the kids around.”

“Swell!” Mickey said.  “I’ll let you know as soon we get everything planned.  I can’t wait to see you again!”

“Me, too!”

“Alright!  I’ll see you then!”

“Yeah, I’ll see you then!”

“So long, pal!”

“Bye!”

Donald waited until he heard a click on the other end before he hung up the phone and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.  

The eighteenth.  That was just a little under a month away.  Donald began pacing the floor.  That meant he had a little less than a month to plan.  What would they see?  What would they eat?  What would they do?  Was Mickey interested in seeing McDuck Manor?  No, probably not–he’d seen it before, albeit over a decade ago.  Was Mickey interested in seeing the Money Bin?  

Donald stopped his pacing and considered.  Maybe?  

He had a lot of planning to do.

Today was the day.  Mickey had insisted on hiring his own car, otherwise Donald and Launchpad would be meeting him at the airport.  Donald had a stack of conversation starters tucked away in his pocket of his freshly washed shirt, just in case.  He paced the foyer of the Manor, wringing his clammy hands, waiting for his friend to arrive.  

Donald heard the sound of a car driving up and wiped his hands on his shirt.  He walked over to the door.  But would he seem too overeager if he opened the door so quickly?  Donald retreated back towards the stairs, but immediately found himself pacing back to the door to peak out the window.  

No.  He couldn’t be that close to the door when the doorbell rang.  Donald walked back to the staircase and forced himself to sit down.

Or…should he open the door now and greet Mickey in the driveway?  Would that be too eager, or would that be friendly and welcoming?  Donald buried his face in his hands.  Why was this so hard?

And then, before he could make a decision, the doorbell rang.

Donald took a deep breath and started walking back to the front door.  His hands were suddenly shaking, which was absolutely ridiculous because it was just Mickey Mouse.  If Mickey didn’t want to see him, he wouldn’t have come.  Or spent the last year being his pen pal.

When Donald reached the door, he swallowed, wiped his sweaty palms again on his shirt (and silently hoped that he wasn’t leaving stains), put on a smile, and opened the door.

“Donald!” Mickey cried, taking his hand in both of his and shaking it warmly.  “It’s so good to see you, pal!”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Donald said, staring at their handshake instead of actually looking at Mickey’s face.  Somehow, this felt so…surreal.

And then Mickey was pulling Donald into a hug, and Donald found himself squeezing back just as tightly.  

Donald hadn’t realized how much he missed him.

Mickey let go.  “Awww, I’ve missed you!”

“Me, too,” Donald said, his smile coming easier as his anxiety began to ebb.  “Come on in!”

“Wow, McDuck Manor hasn’t changed much in the last few years,” Mickey said, looking around.

Donald looked around, too.  “Yeah,” he agreed.  Really, all that had changed were a few portraits on the wall.  And the people who lived inside.  Speaking of which…

Donald heard some whispered giggling and chastising coming from up around the corner on the stairs.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Donald said and went to investigate.  Sure enough, his four ducklings were sitting on the stairs, looking like deer in the headlights now that they’d been caught listening in.

One day.  Donald had asked them for one day.

“Can we meet Mickey Mouse?” Dewey asked, and in that moment, Donald remembered that Mickey was an iconic star and not just an old friend.

Donald felt his beak spread into a smile.  “All right.”

The kids sprang up and rushed past him.

“But don’t–!”  And it was too late.  They were crowding around Mickey, lobbing questions and shoving photographs and sharpies at him.

A shrill whistle pierced the air, stopping the kids in their tracks.  Donald took his fingers from his beak and put his hands on his hip, his face creased in a frown.  He pointed to the floor in front of him, and the kids dejectedly went over to their uncle.

“You call that normal?” Donald asked them, referencing an earlier conversation they’d had on their expected behavior.

Mumbles of “no’s” and “sorry’s” answered him.

“Try again,” Donald said, his tone of voice clearly letting them know that this would be their only second chance.

This time, the kids went over to Mickey, much more calmly, and introduced themselves.  Mickey greeted them just as warmly as he’d greeted Donald, and soon he was signing autographs and taking selfies.

“Now go find something else to do,” Donald said when they finished, herding the kids away from Mickey and back towards the rest of the Manor.  “You’ll have another chance to talk to him.  Later.”  He turned back to Mickey, a bit of color rising in his cheeks.  “I had hoped to fend them off for a little longer, but there’s only so much you can do, you know?”

“No, your kids are great!”  Mickey slapped Donald on the back.  “And now that that’s out of the way, I won’t have to worry about signing any more autographs around here!”

Donald rubbed the back of his neck.  “Yeah, well.  Louie may have plans to try to get as many of your autographs as he can to sell them for profit.   So, just…please tell him no if he asks for any more.”

To Donald’s relief, Mickey laughed.  But then, they were interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing.  They turned to find a figure standing on the landing of the stairs.

“Hiya, Mr. McDuck!” Mickey said.

Scrooge nodded at him.  “Mickey.”  He descended the stairs and disappeared into his office.

Scrooge was nothing if not a…decent host.

“Come on,” Donald said.  “Let me show you the houseboat.”

After a brief tour and a surprising number of compliments about the shape the boat was in, Donald and Mickey sat down for a late lunch.

“You really have quite the boat here,” Mickey said.

“Yeah.”  Donald looked around.  “I guess I do.”

“I can’t believe you did all this on your own!”

“Well.  Mostly on my own.”

Mickey shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it.  “And from a complete shipwreck.  That’s amazing.”

Donald felt his cheeks grow warm.  “It keeps me busy, especially with Uncle Scrooge and the kids going off all over the world all the time.”

“You can’t even tell that it used to be in so many pieces!”

Donald snorted.  “That’s because she’s always looked like that.”  He patted the wall fondly.  “Something’s always breaking or falling apart.”

Mickey laughed and took another bite of his food.  

“Mm-mm.  This is delicious,” he said.  “These spinach and artichoke grilled cheese sandwiches are really swell!  You have to give me the recipe!”

Donald blinked.  “I don’t really have a recipe.”

“You don’t have a recipe?”

Donald shrugged.  “I just sort of throw it together.”

Mickey looked at him, and then down at his sandwich, and then back at him.  “Wow.”

“I could…try to figure out a recipe, though,” Donald said.  “You’ll have to wait until I make them again, though.  Unless you want another one?”

Mickey shook his head, wiping his mouth with his napkin.  “No, I’m stuffed.”

Donald started clearing the plates.  “You said Minnie’s going to be on The Vision later this week?”

“Oh, yeah.  She’s promoting her new fashion line, Polkadots and Moonbeams…”

They talked late into the night; by the time Donald saw Mickey off to his hotel, McDuck Manor was asleep.  Donald tiptoed back to the houseboat, changed into his pajamas, and crawled into bed.  But he was buzzing too much to fall asleep.  Mickey Mouse was here, in Duckburg.  He’d gone out of his way to spend the day with Donald, and he was doing it again tomorrow (on his birthday, no less).  Not for the first time, Donald ran through the list of things they could do in his head.  He really hoped that there was something on that list that Mickey would want to do.

The next day, Donald woke up bright and early thanks to the anxiety fluttering around in his gut.  Which was ridiculous, really.  Mickey had had a fine time yesterday, and he’d been excited to see Donald again today.

But anxiety was never really one to listen to logic.

Mickey had a radio interview that morning, so he wasn’t going to come over until a little later.  So Donald tidied up around the houseboat (well, as much as he could, seeing as it was still only half put-together and strewn with two-by-fours and the contents of his toolbox) and then banged around in the kitchen for a while before heading over to the house for breakfast.  

“How was Mickey Mouse?”

“What’d you guys do yesterday?”

“Did he give you any money?”

“What was he like?”

“Good, talked, and no,” Donald said, taking some orange juice.  “And…I don’t know.  He was just like…Mickey Mouse.”

“Isn’t it his birthday today?” Webby asked.

“It is,” Donald said.

“And he wanted to spend it with you?” Louie asked.

Webby smacked Louie upside the head while Huey grabbed something from under the table.

“Party hats!” he said, putting one on his head.  He tried to pass them around, but Webby was the only one that accepted one, so he forced one on Louie and threw some confetti in the air.

“This calls for some DJ Daft Duck!” Dewey shouted, pulling his keytar out of nowhere and pressing the “Happy b-b-b-birthday!” key.

The doorbell rang.

“Behave,” Donald said sternly, and then went to answer it.

Donald opened the door to find Mickey in a pair of old overalls.  Before he could ask why, the kids popped out around him with a chorus of “happy birthday!,” party blowers, and one “Happy b-b-b-birthday!”

“Aww, thanks, kids!” Mickey said.

“Happy birthday!” Donald said, too.

“Thanks, pal!”

Donald fumbled in his pockets.  “I came up with a list of things we could do today.  Let me just find it…”

“Actually, I thought we could work on your boat a little.”

Donald froze.  “Work on my boat?”

“Yeah.”

“On your birthday?”

“Yeah!”

“You want to spend your birthday working on my houseboat?”

“I thought it seemed fitting, since I got that first letter of yours back on my last birthday.”

Donald smiled, his eyes suddenly damp.  “Ok,” he said.  “I don’t see why not.”

“Oooh, oooh, can we help, too?” Dewey asked.  

“As long as that’s alright with you,” Mickey said to Donald.

“Sure.”  Donald turned to face the kids, hands on his hips.  “But I want you all on your best behavior, ok?”

“Yes, Uncle Donald,” they all answered.

The kids followed Donald and Mickey out to the houseboat, and they got to work.  

The kids were surprisingly helpful, and so was Mickey.  Donald never realized how many different skills Mickey had picked up making all those films.

Today, they focused on replacing the shutters and the siding, which meant a lot of hammering and surprisingly few injuries.  Well, except for Donald, who managed to hit both of his thumbs with the hammer.  Multiple times.

Mickey regaled them with stories of Hollywood and celebrities and on-set mishaps, and in return, the kids told him all about the adventures they’d gone on with Uncle Scrooge and on their own.  Soon, they were all talking as easily as if the kids had known Mickey their whole lives.

The door to the Manor opened, and Mrs. Beakley stepped out.  “Lemonade!”

They stopped what they were doing

“Thanks, Mrs. B.!” Mickey said.

Dewey threw his hands up in the air.  “You know Mrs. Beakley, too?”

“Of course I do!”

“How did we not know you people knew Mickey Mouse??”

“And Uncle Donald said that being one of the Three Caballeros was the dark family secret,” Louie said, and Mickey snorted into his lemonade.

“Oh, man.  I can’t believe I forgot about that,” he said.  “Do you still talk to them?”

“Once in a while,” Donald said.  “We just saw them a few weeks ago.

“That sounds great!”

“Yeah, well.  Until a giant flower started trying to eat us.”

Mickey shook his head.  “You have the weirdest life.”

“Alright, everybody!” Huey said, finishing his lemonade.  “That’s enough loafing around!  Time to get back to work!”

“Who exactly are you trying to impress?” Louie asked him.  

“Oh, come on.”  Huey pushed his brother towards the boat, and everyone else straggled after them.

“Dinner’s ready!” Donald called out the window of the houseboat hours later.

“Finally!” Dewey said.

“It’s getting too dark out here to see what we’re doing, anyway,” Louie said.

“It’s not like you’ve been working very hard,” Webby said.

“I did plenty,” Louie insisted.

“You put up two rows of siding.  Three hours ago,” Huey said.

“I told you, I’m quality control.  I’ve been making sure you’ve been putting everything on straight,” Louie said, looking through a square made with his thumbs and forefingers.  “At least I didn’t spend the whole day taking selfies!”

“What can I say?  Pics or it didn’t happen,” Dewey said.

“Or what didn’t happen?  You didn’t help put the houseboat back together?”

“Putting the houseboat back together with…you know.”  Dewey gestured.  “Together.  As a family.”

“I thought that was what the autographs were for,” Mickey said innocently.

Dewey’s face turned about as red as Donald’s did when he got angry.

“Wash your hands,” Donald told the kids.  Soon, they were ravenously tucking into dinner.

“That was amazing, Donald,” Mickey said.

Dewey pulled out his phone and hit “record.”  “Wait, say that again!”

“No phones at the table,” Donald said.

“Do you really think that anyone will believe Mickey Mouse likes your cooking without video proof?”

“Hey!”

Mickey laughed.  “It really is amazing.”

“Got it!” Dewey said triumphantly.  He kept fiddling with his phone.

“Put your phone away,” Donald said again.

“I just have to post it.”

“Dewey…”

“Just a second!”

“Three…”

“But–”

“Two…”

“Fine!”  Dewey put the phone away in his pocket.  

“We have one more thing,” Donald said.

“Dessert?” Louie said, perking up.

Donald took out a big birthday cake covered in lemon buttercream icing and confetti sprinkles from the refrigerator.  On top, he’d written “Happy birthday!” in pink icing and surrounded it with candles.

“For me?” Mickey said.  “Donald, you shouldn’t have!”

“How could I celebrate one of my best friends’ birthdays without making a birthday cake?” Donald said, and he could have sworn Mickey’s eyes were shining just a little more than usual.

“Thanks, pal!” he said.

Huey turned the lights out as Donald lit the candles, and they all sang Happy Birthday to Mickey Mouse (with Dewey recording the whole thing on his phone, of course).

“Gosh, I don’t know what to wish for,” Mickey said when they were done.

“Peace on earth!” Huey said.

“Love and friendship!” said Webby.

“Internet fame!” Dewey said.

“He’s already famous,” Louie said.

“Not for him.  For me.”

“If Dewey gets internet fame, then I get money!”

“That’s not how birthday wishes work,” Donald said, his head in his hands.

Mickey just laughed.  “I think I know what to wish for now.”  He blew out the candles.  

“Ooooh, what’d you wish for?” Dewey said.

“You know it won’t come true if he tells anybody,” Huey said.

“I hate that rule.”

The next day, Mickey stopped by the Manor on his way to the airport to say one last goodbye before he headed back home.

“It was really great seeing you again,” Donald said.

“It sure was!” Mickey said.  “We can’t let another ten years go by before we do it again.”

“No, siree!” Donald said.

Mickey gave Donald a hug.  “I’ve got to go catch my plane,” he said.  “See you real soon!”

Donald waved as Mickey got back into his car.  “Goodbye!” he said.  “See you soon!”  He kept waving until the car was out of sight and gently closed the door behind him as he stepped back inside the Manor.