What I think the scene would've been like if we saw Jess actually talk to Liz about walking her down the aisle. Prompted to me on Tumblr.
Disclaimer: I own a few credit cards, and my own camera, but nothing involving Jess Mariano's abs so life is pointless now.
He can't believe he's doing this, telling his mother that he'll walk her down the aisle. She's going to be so happy, which will make her jump up and down and hug him and kiss him, and he's just not the touchy-feely type.
Jeez, another marriage, to yet another guy. Which number is she on now, the fifth?
She may seem happy now, but it doesn't matter anyways. She'll be on to the next one in a few months, once this one turns out to be just as crazy or flighty or neglectful as the others, the worst being Jimmy, of course. Not only did he think it'd be smart to get Liz pregnant when she was so young – and what a great prize her son turned out to be, Jess thinks self-deprecatingly – but to think it'd be good for everyone, especially his son, to bail before he could even open his eyes.
Even when he had nowhere else to go, after he had let down the only two people in that godforsaken town to actually give a damn about him – hell, maybe even love him – he went to his dad. God, he wished he hadn't. First, it was fucking awkward, and then it just got ridiculous. They got into fights every day about "Jess you need to do something with your life" and "Jess I can't take care of you."
That was rich coming from him considering he wasn't even there to begin with.
He doesn't want to end up like his dad. Ever. There's always that fear that genetics will rear its fucking ugly head and he'll end up being an even bigger asshole than he already is, and he doesn't want that.
He can't have that.
While he and his mom had never been close, he certainly doesn't hate her – regardless of Luke's proclaiming to the contrary, or TJ's for that matter – and he's already fucked up two relationships with people he cares about. He won't do it again.
He still won't be happy about it, though.
-/-
He comes in to the diner around 4 o'clock, barreling through the door making the bell ring wildly. Liz is sitting down at the end of the counter, messing around with jewelry on that tiny little tree holder – why do they even make those things anyways – laughing loudly with the curvier dark haired woman sitting next to her. He stands rigid in the doorway, sighing deeply.
Here goes nothing.
He strides up to her, his hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket and his head bent, rumpled hair falling into his eyes. "Liz, can we—can we talk?"
She spins around, gasping and almost knocking the jewelry she's making off the counter in the process. "Oh, my baby boy! I missed you!" She grabs him by the neck, pulling him closer for a suffocating hug and kisses him on the cheek. "Ugh, you're so handsome." She turns to the woman beside her. "Cindy, isn't my boy just handsome?"
Cindy smirks, eying him up and down. "I certainly wouldn't kick you out of bed."
He cringes noticeably. She's the next Miss Patty.
Liz rolls her eyes, letting him go. He wipes away the kiss discreetly. He looks at her incredulously. "You just saw me yesterday."
She grasps his hands, giggling slightly with a smoke filled husky voice. "I know, I know, but I'm making up for lost time, baby."
"Huh." He just stares at her. That's new. His left hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck. There's sweat gathering at the nape, his nerves kicking in. "Speaking—speaking of, uh, can I talk to you real quick?"
Her eyes brighten. "Of course, honey, anything for you! What is it?"
"No, I meant, uh," he hooks a thumb behind him, indicating the stairs, "upstairs." He stares pointedly at her, hoping she'll get the hint and put him out of his misery sooner rather than later.
She shakes her head, her earrings jangling. "Sure, sure." She loops her arms through his, guiding them to the upstairs apartment. She turns back around, pointing at the pile of jewelry. "I'll be right back Cindy, make some more of those white crystal dangly ones while I'm gone, yeah?"
-/-
Upstairs, they're sitting across from each other at the kitchen table. He's wringing his hands together, while she sits back with a smile on her face.
She's always so smiley now. She never used to be like this. It's weird.
She leans forward on her arms, one hand coming to rest on top of his to stop his nerves. It doesn't work.
"Well, spit it out."
Sitting back, he wrenches his hand free to run through his un-gelled hair. He really needs to start buying some more soon.
"Okay, um—well, here's the thing. TJ and Luke are on my ass about this, okay?" He points a finger in her face. "I'm not doing this out of any good will or some shit, just trying to get them off my back. You got it?"
Liar.
She raises her hands, surrendering. She still has that damn smile on her face.
Turning his head to face the bed so he doesn't have to look her in the eyes, he puts his hand in front of his mouth, muttering the words low under his breath. "I will walk you down the aisle."
She puts her hand to her ear. "I'm sorry, what was that?"
Sighing, he sets his jaw, the tendons pulsing while he looks her in the eye. "I said, I will walk you down the aisle, okay?"
She giggles. "One more time, I can't quite hear you there."
"What, do you want it in writing? Come on. I'm trying here." He's getting fed up quickly; he's never been good at this. He gives her a pleading look, his eyebrows rising to his hairline.
She just stares at him, an imploring look in her eye. Then she squeals and his eardrums pop with the sound. Fucking ow. She claps and jumps up and down in her seat, her short choppy hair flying around her face.
(He thinks about her short hair for a moment, last time he saw her, a few months back. Her running away from him, looking devastatingly beautiful and adorable all at once with her breath panting, the ends of her brown hair resting on her glossy lips, and her blue eyes sparking madly in the street lights.
He can't think about her right now.)
Liz comes around the table, wrapping her arms around his neck from behind the chair and resting her chin on his shoulder. "Ah, both my best guys with me at my wedding. My wedding. Can you believe that?"
He wants to say he can. She's been through so many marriages before, but he refrains.
"You giving me away, Luke bringing Lorelai—adorable woman, by the way." She sighs, wistfully. She doesn't seem him whip his head around to look at her. "It's going to be magical."
"Whoa wait, Lorelai's going to be there?" His hands are clenched into fists and his heart is beating faster. Fuck no.
He just knows that she's going to say something, whether about how he hurt Rory or how he looks like he needs to take a bath. Either way, it won't be nice. Not that he can blame her.
"Of course she's going to be there. Like I said, she's going with Luke. They're so adorable, aren't they? He really should just ask her out on a date already. I mean, come on. It's been years since he's had someone!" She continues to rattle on and on about how great they would be for each other that she doesn't notice him getting up and pacing. He goes to the fridge, grabbing the last beer he can find. He needs a drink.
It's quiet when he comes out of his thoughts, looking up from his fifth sip and with snarled lip to see Liz staring at him with a knowing – and almost caring – look in her eyes. "You know, Luke told me about her."
"Well, I would assume so; the man's been in love with her since the fucking dawn of time." He slams the beer down, thinking of ways that he could possibly get out of not being anywhere near Lorelai while still reluctantly pleasing his mom.
She looks confused for a minute, but shakes her head. "No, not Lorelai. Rory." He stiffens at the name, using his thumb to pick at the label on the bottle. "Luke said that you two had a little something after I shipped you out here."
He doesn't say anything, just averts his eyes and bends his leg at the knee to rest his foot on the cabinet, all arrogance and nonchalance. It's gotten him this far, right?
Crossing her arms across her chest, Liz sidles up closer to him. "Did you go around breaking hearts?"
Ugh. "Okay, we're done here." He gulps down the rest of his beer. "I said what I needed to say. I'll see you tomorrow."
He hears her scoff as he wanders over to his old bed, grabbing a book and pack of cigarettes. She speaks in his ear, making him jump. "Oh, don't pull that. You've been doing that evasive shit since you were 13. Come on." She grabs him by the shoulders, turning him around to face her. He stuffs the book in his back pocket, combing his fingers through the corners. "Do you love her?"
He shakes his head. "Jeez." He shakes her off, moving towards the door.
"I mean, I knew there was a girl. There had to be a girl. Look at you. My little James Dean wannabe." She better not fucking pinch his cheeks. "I haven't met her yet. Is she pretty?"
Ethereal.
(But Jess Mariano doesn't use words like that to describe a girl he's no longer seeing but can't stop thinking about. He's too cool to state that, no matter where he is, he thinks about her. At the bookshop, he ventures to daily. He comes across a John Keats anthology and he'll think about how she used to ply him with make out sessions on the couch two feet away just to get him to read it to her. She said she had a thing for his voice when he got somber and read about love. At the diner across the street from his building, he'll smell the coffee grinds and think about the time that she had taken a sip of coffee before meeting him one day after school and when he kissed her, his tongue lingered on that little drop on her upper lip before dipping into her mouth.
And the few times, when he goes to the art museums – for something to do when waiting for a page from work – he'll think about the trip they made one weekend to New York without telling her mom. They had roamed the city with hot dogs in one hand and their arms around each other. She wore a skirt that day, and when they took the subway during mid-day he ran his pinkie along the hem before dipping down to tickle her inner thigh. She berated him for "public indecency," but then as they walked into the MoMA to check out the sculpture garden, she stuck her hand in his back pocket and kept it there the rest of the afternoon.)
Shaking his head of the daydream, he looks back at his mom. "Again, are we done?"
"It's okay if you do. You know. Love her, I mean. It won't make you any less of the badass you think you are." She shakes her hands around, sarcasm very evident as her bracelets making a tinkling noise with the motion.
"Okay, I get it." He bites the words out as he turns to look at her, his voice growling with frustration. The anger reverberates through his whole body and he feels like he just grew ten feet because Liz's giggling stops short, and she jumps at the sound, scooting back on the heels of her feet. She looks scared; he's never yelled at her before. He's been sarcastic? Yes. But yelled? Never.
He deflates instantly, walking towards her, his mouth open and ready to speak.
She holds her hands up, looking contemplative. Not sad, like he thought she would be. "Why did you agree to do this, honey? You certainly didn't do it for me. You could've done something else to get them off your back if you really didn't want to do this."
He thinks part of it is definitely for Rory, to show her – somehow, he doesn't know how – that he's a man of his word and he can be responsible, even if it's in minute quantities. But he also knows that regardless of what Luke or TJ or even Jimmy has said, she's still his mom. She was still the one that was there for him the first 16 years of life.
No matter how nutty she can be.
And even though he still doesn't fucking understand it, she seems to be truly happy with this Etch-a-Sketch weirdo. More so than the several other douchebags that had come through their door in the years.
"I—I just, I don't know." He squirms, his shoulders twitching and he looks at his feet. "You just…you are happy, aren't you?" Not a question, but a confirmation.
She looks skyward, a small smile of contentment on her face. "I am, baby. I really am."
He nods, his teeth chewing at the inside of his lip. He may not understand TJ, but he understands what it's like to be happy. At least, he did once.
He breathes in deeply, still not used to this. "Then…then, I'm doing it for you." He smirks solemnly, looking down at his feet. He hears her gasp, ready to squeal again. He points at her one more time. "But I won't be happy about it."
She laughs loudly, bringing him into a hug. Yeah, he'll still never get used to this.
-/-
Later that day, while he's sitting in the apartment, barefoot and relaxed in the recliner and watching re-runs of I Dream of Jeannie, he thinks back to when Rory would sit in his lap in this chair. Her legs primly crossed so her school skirt wouldn't fly up, but she'd whisper in his ear that she's always wanted a genie costume and kiss his neck and do things with her tongue that would make him question his self-control. He's in the middle of yet another daydream when Luke barges in, dropping a pile of books and tapes in his lap. Self-Help. "I'm done with them. Enjoy."
He eyes them wearily at first, not trusting anything wrapped in a cheery message. But maybe he's found just the ticket to show her who he is now.
And like he said, he is a man of his word.
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