AN – So this little plot bunny sprung into my head this past week and would not leave which is annoying from a needing to revise anymore pov. Inspired by A Monster Calls – which is brilliant film (the book is also phenomenal) and excellent if you need to ugly cry and the Band Perry song – If I Die Young, also excellent. It is a late night f it write to clear the mind, followed by a heavy edit session because I kind of liked it in a maudlin way. If you are feeling down don't read it. Sad AU oneshot. I hope you like, thanks for reading. x
Satin
Rory
She wasn't even sure why she had marked the date on her calendar. It wasn't a special date. It didn't signify a birth or death. It was simply the first Saturday of April. All she had known was when the date was suggested for her upcoming wedding she had been hesitant; instead insisting that the wedding be June, when the weather would be invariably better. When it had been suggested, she hadn't realised why it had bothered her and it had taken her 27 days to realise why. The realisation hitting her on the rainy windswept day when she had visited her Mom's grave on the 16th anniversary of her Mom's death. It had struck her when she had looked at the grey granite headstone and took in the dates that book-ended the tragically short life. It was those dates carved in the granite surface that answered why she was uneasy. The first Saturday of April, today, marked the day she became older than her Mom.
With a sigh Rory rolled out of her bed, or at least what used to be her bed. It was the bed that she had slept in from the age of seven through to last summer when left home for her new home in New York. It was a single sleigh bed with dark wooden ends. Her grandparents had allowed her to pick it when she was little, she had never had anything new before and even when she hit her teen years and they insisted it was too small for her she had insisted on keeping it because it was the last thing she had picked out with her Mom. It was the last time she had been happy with her Mom, pretending that they were on a real sleigh 'dashing through the snow' like the ubiquitous Christmas song Jingle Bells said they would. Her Mom had promised to get to the snow so they could do it for real. It had barely snowed at all that year. Her Mom had loved the snow, it was as if it had grieved her loss too.
Now her bed was a ridiculous now oversized king bed situated in her beautiful apartment in New York. The apartment was a gift from her future in laws so she and her fiancé could fulfill their obligation as the perfect All American powerhouse couple. It was close enough to the publishing house where she worked, copy-editing and proof reading whatever genre was flavour of the month. Her career was perfectly acceptable as long as it didn't interfere with her proper job of corporate wife. She sighed again and studied her reflection in the mirror. She had looked in this mirror a hundred thousand times but this time it felt different. This time her reflection showed her the face of a person who was 24 years, 5 months and 24 days old, a whole 24 hours older than her mom had been when she had died.
Rory didn't know why she had wanted to be home this weekend. Perhaps it was the draw of the familiar. The safety in her grandparents big staid Manor. The safety of being with them or being loved by them, of being loved so completely. Where the only thing that was required of her was to love them back.
Slowly she pulled on her robe, it was pink, oversized and covered in flowers. Her grandmother had called it garish and tacky when she had chosen it ten years ago but she had wanted it so her grandmother had given in, like always.
As she made her way downstairs she could make out the faint sound of music, some nondescript female singer singing a lilting soulful tune. Jazz light was as far as she had ever been able to make her grandmother pull away from her classical music preference, with the exception of when Emily had had a bit too much to drink when she would belt out a surprisingly good rendition of Madonna's Like a Prayer.
As Rory neared the dining room she paused and observed her grandmother. Perfectly presented, as always, there were countless wedding and society magazines surrounding Emily as picked at her breakfast. Rory almost felt bad for coming home this weekend, Emily seemed to think that it was for the purpose of more planning and a chance for them to spend time together now that she lived permanently in New York. The visit wasn't about that. Rory wasn't sure she had the strength to tell her Grandma why she was home or that she cared little about any more wedding plans. She didn't care about finding the perfect shade of satin ribbon to go around the favour boxes. Not today at least.
She smiled slightly despite her melancholy, she had never seen her grandmother as excited as she had been while planning the wedding. It had awoken something in her, enlivened her. It was cute and desperately sad at the same time. Emily had never had the chance to plan her Mom's wedding, instead she'd planned a funeral.
After a few moments of observing the woman who had raised her Rory took a step forward making Emily noticed she was there. A warm loving smile flooded her grandmother's face before Emily's eyes narrowed slightly as she took in Rory's ensemble.
"Its eight thirty Rory, you should get dressed."
"Just a minute Grandma, I just needed some coffee," Rory took a step forward moving towards the kitchen. She hesitated for a moment and then lurched forward, kissing her grandmother messily on the cheek and scurrying into the kitchen.
The long pause that followed before the noise of the chair scraping against the wooden floor told her she had surprised Emily. Her grandparents were loving but they weren't hugely affectionate. Kisses and hugs were reserved for partings and greetings of periods of more than 24 hours. Not something dealt out at the breakfast table. Rory poured herself some coffee and took a sip, waiting for Emily to come to her. After what seemed like an eternity her grandmother entered the kitchen, a look of wary concern on her face.
"Rory?" Emily's voice was laced with nerves, "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah," Rory shrugged and then set down her coffee. "I'm going to go out for the drive this morning."
"Alright," Emily's dark, impossible to read, eyes looked her up and down. "You would tell me if something was wrong?"
"There's nothing wrong Grandma," Rory offered her a weak smile. Emily's look back was one of piercing disbelief. "There isn't," she tried to sound sincere but it fell flat, her grandmother's hand inched forward and suddenly the reason she had come home spilled out of her. "I'm older then Mom."
Her grandmother froze, her eyes widening a fraction, as the words hit her like a tonne of bricks. Emily took a step back and stared down at the floor, with a faint nod she dismissed Rory and Rory retreated from the kitchen. She got as far as the living room and her bones seemed to freeze. Her whole body locking as the long ignored feelings of loss hit her. Her ears barely perceived her grandmother coming up behind her. Emily's steps soft and hesitant. Emily stepped in front of her and Rory felt her body sag. She threw her arms forward, capturing her Grandma as words about it not being fair spilled out of her. Grandma, was the only person who understood. The only thing that was comparable to losing your Mom was losing your daughter.
Emily
She sat and held Rory until time had no meaning, it was as much for herself as for her sobbing granddaughter. It had been many years since she had held Rory while she cried about the absolute unfairness of Lorelai's passing. This day was nothing of importance. It wasn't a birthday. It wasn't the anniversary of the awful day Lorelai had left them. It was just a day. Yet at the same time it was the most important of days. Not least for the fact that she had now actively parented Rory for the same time that she had had with Lorelai, she wasn't sure why that meant something. She had been and would always be Lorelai's mother. She had just got it so wrong for most of the time she had had with her. It wasn't until the end that she'd finally started to get it right. Just when the only way she could make amends was by making sure she didn't make the same mistakes with Rory.
The day that Lorelai had turned up on the doorstep had been the same as any other. Calls, and function planning meetings, errands to run. Being busy for the sake of being busy. Anything to be away from the aching emptiness of home. The sight of the hunched slight, hooded figure sat beside the door had angered her as she had pulled into her immaculate driveway. Her first words as she had stepped out of the car had been. "Whoever you are, you better remove you personage from my property before I call the police."
Lorelai had looked up then, and Emily hadn't been sure what had shocked her most, the fact that it was Lorelai or Lorelai's appearance. They hadn't seen Lorelai since Christmas with her customary, I'm-only-here-for-Rory appearance at their party. Then she had been vibrant and bubbly with her perfectly honed sass and sullenness at full blast. The shadow who had stood in front of her only looked like Lorelai because of the burning brightness of her eyes. Lorelai was thin, too thin, her cheekbones razor sharp, her skin dry and pale, her eyes sunken. Under the hood of the coat that was too thick for the first week of September was a bright pink headscarf, hiding what would later be revealed to be a patchy scalp. Emily knew she had hid her shock badly, that the pause had been too long, but Lorelai had given her a nod of understanding and mumbled something about wasting police time before asking if they could go in because she was cold.
The first day had been a blur, one in which somehow the subject of what was actually wrong with Lorelai had been omitted. In the chaos of Lorelai asking for move back because she couldn't work anymore and Rory needed stability, "It hasn't worked, there isn't anything left they can do" had been the closest Lorelai had come to saying the horrifying words. In the back of her mind Emily had known, of course she had, but she ignored it just as she had been able to ignore Lorelai's pregnancy or acting out. Ignoring the bad made enjoying the few good moments easier. She had her daughter back at home like she always wanted and best of all she had her granddaughter, her beautiful precocious granddaughter, all wide eyed and grateful for everything she gave her.
It hadn't been until 3 days later when she had had a blazing row with Richard that she had actually processed the fact that her daughter was dying. The look on Richard's face when he had said the most hurtful thing he had ever said to her in their entire marriage had crushed her as much as the realisation. He hadn't meant to say what he had, it had come out in the heat of the moment, he was grieving in his own way, but then Richard always carried on until he cracked. Losing Lorelai properly had made him shatter, only Rory had kept him going. Only Rory had kept them both going. Eight years old was too young to become an orphan. Not that she was an orphan but the Hayden's had never been consulted on what would happen and they never challenged it either. The only acknowledgment they ever made of Rory was a sizeable cheque that Rory had received on the death of the Hayden patriarch, Christopher's way of doing right by the daughter he had rarely seen.
Raising Rory had been the answer to everything. Emily had had the chance to have the daughter she always wanted whilst simultaneously ensuring she didn't screw up like she had with Lorelai. With Lorelai she had always challenged everything that Lorelai had wanted, always picked apart anything that didn't fit with her precise world. With Rory it had been different, she had allowed her granddaughter to make her own choices only offering a "are you sure" in a mildly forceful manner. Sometimes Rory had changed her mind, sometimes she hadn't. Emily had, she hoped, been the best mother she could be with Rory, she had been mediocre with Lorelai, at least until the end.
When they had come to the house, there was no fight in Lorelai anymore, not for her. What was left was saved for fighting the illness that was slowly beating her. Everything was about staying here as long as Lorelai could so she got the most amount of time with Rory. Most of the time Lorelai spent in bed conserving what little energy she had. Emily hadn't realised just how frail Lorelai had been until six days after their arrival when she had heard a crash and had found Lorelai on the bathroom floor. Lorelai had tried to take a shower and hadn't been able to stand for long enough. Emily had nearly ran that day but she hadn't, she couldn't. Her daughter had needed her, her beautiful broken and brittle daughter. Lorelai had been so light Emily had been easily able to carry her back to the bed. It had been humbling and both simultaneously humanising and dehumanising. Seeing it, really seeing it in the bruises on Lorelai's skin and the stark outline of ribs and spine had been the last blow that broke the barrier between them. The remaining few weeks they had been spent talking, about what had happened, about what Lorelai wanted, about everything. Only in death could she and Lorelai ever be friends. Only then had they been able to connect. It had all been too late and it would never be enough.
In the midst of caring for Lorelai had been Rory, this wide eyed bewildered child who could be distracted by the finer things in life but stoically filing away every piece of information. Information that had then burst out of her the first Christmas without Lorelai when Rory had collapsed in a heap and sobbed about the lack of fairness that her mother had been taken from her
Emily bent over and kissed Rory's brow, her skirt was wet from Rory's tears and Rory was breathing raggedly. "Honey" she whispered tenderly stroking Rory's arm. Rory was still deep within her sorrow, she wouldn't rise from it for a while. Emily looked up, her eyes fixing on the oil portrait above the fire. The picture had been redone at Lorelai's request. Where once had been a portrait of she and Richard stood proudly behind a sullen eight year old Lorelai, now hung a portrait of her stood by a seated Richard with a shyly smiling eight year old Rory on his knee. Her eyes dropped to the picture on the mantel. It had been taken when Lorelai had a rare moment of energy, it was of Rory and Lorelai dressing up in some of Emily's ball gowns. Lorelai had been buried in that dress. When Emily had asked about that Lorelai had gently scoffed, make a light quip about her being a slave to fashion and then shrugged and said, 'something pretty and satiny, like your dress'. From that moment that dress had been Lorelai's, Emily had been the one who laid her out in it. She had been the first and last person to dress Lorelai. If her daughter was being taken from her that was how it would be.
She had only cried twice about losing her daughter; as she felt Lorelai slip away and as Lorelai had disappeared under the ground. Lorelai had wanted to be cremated. It was the last thing that Emily hadn't been able to understand. The last thing she couldn't let her have. She couldn't bear the thought of her daughter's body being burnt. It was stupid and pointless within the context of body disposal but to her it meant something. The last time they had seen Lorelai Lorelai had been whole, or as least as whole as the cancer had left her. That day it had been her that had fallen to the ground. It had been Richard who had carried her like she had weighed nothing. Not even Trix had said anything about inappropriate displays of emotion. Somethings no one touched. She had never cried for Lorelai since. All the energy she had, that went into Rory, just as Lorelai had done as she had slowly ebbed away.
Lorelai
It surprised her that Rory had realised the meaning behind the day; that she was older than her. If she had still been alive she would have been in her forties now, but in death she had been frozen at twenty four. Although frozen as if she hadn't been sick.
She observed the pair on the couch and sighed heavily. From her position on the stairs she could see it all. Her daughter shaking with the force of her sobs, her mother stoically trying to be calm as her eyes roved the pictures on the mantle. These two was why she was still here, why after sixteen years she was still stuck in limbo. They had both begged her not to go in her final days and somehow her spirit never had. She never pretended to even attempt to understand it but she relished the fact that she had had a chance to be here. To sit at the side-lines and watch her daughter go through life and soar. To watch her mother and father raise her daughter and love her in the way she herself had always wanted to be loved by them. Too late she had realised that they did. It was only time that had allowed her to see that beneath the formality and society upbringing the sweeping absorbing love that sustained Rory had been there for her all along.
She chewed her lip and pulled her knees into the oversized Yale shirt that she had found herself wearing. It had been the outfit she had died in. Her father's Yale T-shirt, over washed to perfect comfortable smoothness and a pair of her mother's satin pyjama bottoms. During the last few days of her mortal life everything had been about comfort and texture. She had only felt comfortable in these clothes. She had only felt comfortable in their arms. Her parents had taken it in turns to sit with her, holding her in the position that meant she had been able to breathe more easily. It was her father who had given her permission to go. It was her mother who had held her as she slipped away.
It was Rory who she had seen first. She had taken her last breathe and then woken up. Here but not here. But most importantly here to see, to support. She had sat watching Rory that night as she slept unaware that she was gone. She had always watched. There was nothing else she could do. None of them could feel her, none of them could see her. Her comforting touch provided no comfort but she tried, as she always had to be the best she could for them. With a sigh she got up from her position on the stairs and made her way down the small flight, crossing to kneel in front of her mother and her daughter. Tenderly she placed her hand on Rory's head, the other coming to rest of Emily's elbow. She was here for them, for as long as they needed her to be. For as long as they needed her. She was here.