And the minister said, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride." It was like a fairytale. One that all the little girls wished for so that one day she'd be standing next to Prince Charming and live happily ever after. It seemed like I found my happy ending. I'm standing across from a gorgeous, green eyed man that loves me completely, and by my side are my best friend and daughter. Nothing could bring me off of this high. It's the most special moment of a woman's life. Looking in the eyes of my effortless love, I physically feel the stress of my life melt away.

But the magic of the moment didn't last long. The chapel doors slammed open, and all eyes were drawn to the man who caused it; Luke Danes. I cannot believe he came. And like this? Now?

My mind is overflowing with questions.

Why is he here? If he really meant what he said, then why would he make such a dramatic appearance? If he lied, then why would he wait so long to tell me? Why would he lie to me? What if he didn't lie and just came late? Why did that thought make my heart drop? Am I a horrible person? Why would I be sad that another man isn't jealous of her new husband?

Before I have time to really consider the answers to these questions, I spotted all the many eyes that turned back to face the new bride and groom. They thankfully were ignorant of the full meaning of Luke's appearance here. I looked at him once more before turning back to Christopher, my new husband. The man I plan to spend the rest of my life with, regardless of Luke.

His eyebrows began to furrow as he slightly leaned back in realization. As he slowly shook his head, I could tell he was getting upset. He is not as slow to conclusions as everyone else here. I quickly wrapped my arms around his neck, initiating our first kiss as husband and wife. I can't let him come to his own conclusion. In all honesty, I don't want him to come to any at all. If I'm so unsettled by this, I can only imagine what must be going through his head.

On the other hand, he doesn't know about last night, though nothing major happened that night. His anxiety is just a product of longtime jealousy. I wonder if Luke would tell him or if he even stuck around after the claps. I scanned the crowd nervously looking for him, praying to God that he went home.

But there is small part of me that wishes he is still here. I need to talk to him. I have so many questions for him. I'm sure as hell not gonna let this go. I finally spot him tucked away in a corner with his head hung low. I try to make my way toward him, walking down the aisle only vaguely aware of whom I pass or give fake sincerity of smiles to. Hugging one another, accepting congratulations from many people whom I have no interest in at the present moment. We are nearing the end of the aisle. As I glance at Luke once more, I feel Christopher wrap his arm around my waist, tugging me closer to him. It's our wedding day, I can't obsess over a stupid thing like a little chapel disturbance. Besides, by this time he was talking to my maid of honor, Sookie. I'll be sure to get details on that conversation at another time.

Chris and I step through the church doors and are greeted with an array of bubbles floating everywhere. We hurry through the small crowd, both with giant smiles spread widely across our faces. Genuine smiles, not tainted by the curiosity that Luke inflicted upon us. Soon enough we enter into the Lincoln Town Car, decorated in a cheesy fashion which I'm sure was the doing of Sookie and my daughter, Rory. Once my dress and I are stuffed in along with Christopher, we are headed to the reception hall.

The roads are clear, and the air is crisp. I'm no longer regretting my choice of long, laced sleeves on my Henry Roth dress. Yes, this gown may be very expensive and highly over the top for a small Connecticut wedding, but that's what being an only child and staying on semi-decent terms with my parents got me.

My parents, Emily and Richard, live in a large Hartford home in Connecticut. Because I don't allow them to spoil me with their riches, I often have to endure their hearty rants of their travels to Prague and Paris, and I sit through their demeaning chatter of why my lifestyle is dull and deprived of the ''fullest that life can offer''. Making my decision to live in the offbeat town of Stars Hollow, only a half hour away, all the more satisfactory. I also work in a cake bakery. With the hopes of someday opening my very own bakery full of my wondrous creations. It's all very hopeful and imaginative. Two things my parents are not. They always say, "Well Lorelai, why hope for a better future when we can hand you one with no hassle?" I try to shake them off by telling them that it's the process of achieving for myself that really drives me.

And I suppose that's true. I have had it pretty easy. Up until my pregnancy with Rory, and even then the father helped by taking full responsibility. Not running and hiding like I had thought he would. I only assumed as much because we were so young when I got pregnant. Second year of college.

Luke and I had been friends since high school, both attending the big school with high standards. But when college rolled around, he said that he didn't want to go to law school like his father and brothers, that he wanted to jump off the conveyor belt and become a teacher. It came as a surprise to me not that I didn't know he never wanted to turn into the men of his family, but the fact that he wanted to join the education field struck me as odd. He never seemed like the personable, teaching type. I definitely pegged him for more of a I-can-fix-your-car-with-a-beer-in-my-hand kind of guy. Which he still most certainly is. So as Luke went to a community college far from the Danes' influence, I went to Dartmouth on my family funds for economics. I didn't know at the time that I actually had a true calling for baking and that it was unambiguously the things i needed to learn in order to proceed toward my dreams. We kept in touch the entire time, not being more than an hour away from each other. Though I had other friends I made a long the way, I always felt that I was closest to Luke and that he shared the same feelings, correspondingly.

Nevertheless, I stayed relatively busy on the love front. I wouldn't say several, but I had multiple, casual boyfriends throughout high school. And college was similar. I had one serious boyfriend my freshman year. Dylan. He had a beautiful smile, but definitely knew about it. At first it wasn't a big deal. I thought he was just a man with confidence. I was actually attracted to it, admiring his charmed way with people. On occasion he would take me out on a date to an extravagant restaurant without reservations. He would simply smile at the hostess and tip her a small sum. That gesture made me feel special, like I was worth pulling strings for. But after a few months, I got sick of his cockiness and excessive flirting. Seeing his expectancy seep through that smug grin of his. By two months I was tired of it and knew I wasn't going to end up with him. So when I decided I wasn't going to sleep with him, he decided that he needed to make some changes in his life. Starting with me. But those types of things happen. Luckily, it was a clean break. I know, when people say that it's a clean break it seldom is, but besides a butt-dial I received one night, that was the last I heard from Dylan again. He was my only significant boyfriend before Christopher, although he didn't come into play until several years after Rory.

Luke had his fair share of girlfriends, too. He was committed to many nice girls, but not one lasted more than three or four months. Either she had an annoying laugh or whined, or my favorite, he couldn't stand the way she talked about her cats. Something always appeared without fail. When he started getting tied down.

There was a time, however, that I thought he finally met his match. Her name was Martha, a pretty redhead who was on her way to law school. They lasted for five months and twelve days, an all-time record for Luke. I really thought he was going to marry her. They exchanged "I love you's" and had the whole sock-draw-and-a-toothbrush bit going. And to this day he still is reluctant to speak of the turning point in that relationship. He told us that that was it and there was to be no more talk of it. That response shouldn't have surprised me as it did, Luke was never one to open up or talk about emotions. Only when it really mattered. So I suppose Martha didn't really matter to him.

I see a young mother walking with her baby in a purple stroller and am reminded of Martha now. I look back at my husband, then down at our intertwined fingers. I pull his hand up to kiss his thumb and smile again at him before looking out the window and up at the sky. Dark clouds are rolling in, but slowly enough that it shouldn't affect the reception.

The car stops and we both get out to be greeted by our small bridal party. Many helping with my dress. As we make our way inside and see the multitude of people swarmed about, I can't help but wish for the night be over. Sure, the wedding night is a thing to look forward to, but mainly the crowd of people is what frightens me the most. I try to be as social as I can through the night. If only people would quit mentioning how beautiful the service was. Yes, the chapel was a gorgeous site and the music was perfectly lovely, but at every mention of this wedding day, I will forever be haunted by the sight of Luke storming his way through the stained glass doors.

The night wore on and my feet were dying. I would take these blasted shoes off, had it not been for my mother's scolding and constant obsessing that the woman of the evening must not sit and wait to be greeted but go out and greet her guests. So that is what I've been doing for the past 8 hours. Barely making time to talk to Chris.

I spot him across the dance floor and try to get his attention, "Hey babe, I feel like I haven't seen you. It was first dance, first glob of cake and that was it! Where have you been all ni-."

He leaned in close, and I could smell the heavy liquor on his breath when he said, "You and me, Lor, we gotta have a talk." he starts wobbling, so i reach for his arms to steady him. "What the hell?" His voice rose with anger. He's clearly not referring to me trying to help him.

I take a step back and suggest that we have a chat in the hallway, away from the ears and eyes of our friends and family. He reluctantly acceded. The hall remains silent for several seconds. I say, "Hey," trying to buy some time, racking my brain for something better to say.

"Explain." Chris has never been one quick to anger. Even when drunk he's the one who slams into random strangers and tells them how much he loves them. He usually tries to be very understanding in all occasions, too. After the few weeks of dating, I told him that I had a daughter. That I have never, other than that one night, had a sexual or intimate relationship with her father, and that Luke is still very involved in both of our lives, but that that should in no way affect my personal relationship with him. He understood completely and asked right away to meet Rory. This time, however, he doesn't even try to deduce what happened. That small act must have really got to him.

It wasn't really all that small though. To a random onlooker, sure just a guy showing up to a wedding. But to me. To Christopher. It's slightly more complicated.

"Oh okay, so we're just gonna jump right in." I mumble to myself before saying, "I think I need to talk to him. Ask him what happened and why he came and all that."

"See, the thing is I think you know why he came. I think you've been talking a little too much. What have I always said? I knew it. I knew something was going on."

"What? Christopher, I honestly have no clue-" he cuts me off by putting his index finger to my lips.

"Did you cheat on me?"

"No."

I answer quickly and honestly. I begin to ask why he would ask such a thing, or even think I was capable, but he came in too soon. Asking an impossible, not so open-ended question: "Did you want to?"

I have no idea of anything to say at this point. Of course I would never cheat on him; he knows that. He also knows that this comes down to a matter of desire. Pure longing in the heart.

I want so badly to say no. That I want him and only him, forever. But I know deep down that I can't utter that single word.

It's simple. Just two letters. But I cant force them out of my mouth. I try to divert the question with something else, anything else. But nothing remotely acceptable comes to mind.

Just like that I no longer an answer. His hand came quickly and fiercely across my face, leaving a numbing sting.

The hall went quiet. Still. My eyes instantly welled up with tears.

What did I get myself into?

*•*

Chris walks away, leaving me stunned and unwilling to move. My cheek starts to burn and I do not want to go back in that room. I turn and find a door that leads to the back parking lot. Outside the window, the sky is dark and the clouds are angry. But rain has been so good to me in the past, so I walk out anyway.

I take a few deep breaths before discovering I'm not alone. Luke was seated on a set of stairs a little ways away. He beckons me over. I make my way to the stairs, sitting beside him and notice that his fingers are intertwined, and he's rubbing his thumbs together. Something he always did when he got nervous. I remember, on occasion, my hand being sandwiched between them. Like when we got locked down on a train around midnight. Or when I went into labor. He wasn't exactly in the delivery room with me, but the time prior he held my hand in his, squeezing periodically as a way of reassuring us that everything was going to be alright. He was so scared but even still, so attentive. He's always been that way, forgetting his nerves to calm mine or Rory's.

"What are you doing here?"

"Why'd you come to see me?" he asks, almost as if I never spoke.

So I repeat, "Why are you here?"

"Why'd you come?"

"I asked you first."

"But I'm betting that the answer I get is more significant than the one I give."

"Let's just see."

After a moment of pondering he says, "I don't know."

Of course he doesn't. He knew right away that our daughter should be named Rory. He knew that Lucy Morgan would end up pregnant before senior year of high school. He always knows the killer within the first eight minutes of the movie. But this, something of meaning, completely baffles him.

I turn my body to face him completely. He winces as if preparing for the doctor to stick a needle him.

"I'm so happy for you," he said as he motions to my wedding ring. And without taking his eyes off that ring, he says, "I just couldn't miss this amazing day. Congratulation." he takes a small sigh like he's just finished an exam. I watch him watching me. I watch his eyes take in my dejected features. Tense forehead, confused eyebrows, big, wounded eyes, flaring nose, biting my lower lip.

"Why do you lie to me?" My voice was soft, barely audible.

"What do you want me to say?" He begged, pleading with his eyes.

"The truth. For once? Please. Can you please be honest with me?"

"Honest?" He rose to his feet and took of her hands in his. The rain had started to sprinkle lightly on them at this point. "Honest would be me telling you that I can't go a single second without thinking about you. That I love the way you bite your nails then complain about how short they are. That I love watching those really old movies with you. And I love that you pride yourself on hating most candy but eat ice cream like it's the last surviving food; that you skip for a step after you trip to try to make it look natural. The truth is that I want more than for myself, but for you to be happy. For you to have everything you want. But I can't give that to you, Lorelai. I wish I could." he paused, pondering his next words. "You have no idea." He tugged on her hands and pulled her up to stand in front of him. "I feel like this is unfinished. You and me." he motions at himself then me then back again. "But I come here, and you're- with him. And I'm asking myself, 'what the heck am I doing?' Here, back at the church, with you. All of it. It's absurd."

He never rants like this. In all the years I've known him, he has never spoken so fluidly about his feelings. He usually doesn't let anything hit him. He was insusceptible to that sort of thing.

"Yet here I am, standing in the rain with you. Now tell me, why are you out here too?"

I want him to know everything. Everything that's been going through my head, about him, the wedding, Christopher, my oven-heated right cheek. But I have no way of telling him without screaming everything that comes to mind. I can imagine Christopher's face with a fist-sized dent.

He's always been my best friend. My go-to guy. The one I told my every thought, dream, or nightmare. He's always known. Sometimes without my saying anything; he just knows. As I have many times over the course of our relationship, once again I wish we had a telepathy where he could hear my thoughts, feel what I'm going through without having to explain or examine anything. I know he's expecting me to say something, but nothing comes to mind.

"I don't want to think right now." He looks at me, and I can tell he already understands. "Because if I think about - everything - I'll drive myself crazy and start crying. . . . And I have a feeling it won't stop."

The rain had picked up into a full down-pour as the thunder roared loudly.

Luke tilts his chin back and raises his hands, palm up. He stares at the rain. We sit in silence for a little bit and I'm thankful for the peace. No loud music or obnoxious laughter, no crying babies or mothers yelling at waiters. Just the calm melancholy of raindrops pounding on the roofs.

"I would stay here with you, I would. Maybe put on some Jack Johnson or Alexi Murdoch. But I have to go." he says, slowly and hesitantly rising from the cement stairs.

Tears fell from my eyes as water flows from a broken dam. Water that was stored up for a while, pushing the barrier, finally pours out in a harsh stream.

I watch him leave. My heart physically aches after him. His legs are in an even stride, no turning back. As he takes another step, I notice an old penny that looks like it's been there for ages. I can see how similar I am to that penny. Lost. Useless. Vulnerable. Forgotten. Wearied. I am no more than a penny in the rain.