"How much adjusting did you have to do? Nothing's changed! I still see you every day, I still cook your food, I still serve your coffee. What do you care?"
"I care."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want you to move."
"Why? Why don't you want me to move?"
Your head shakes slowly back and forth, unable to believe that this is actually happening. You want to blurt it out, to tell him what you've known for too long, but never dared to vocalize. A long silence passes over the two of you.
"Just say it, Lorelai," he speaks, and like the last few minutes of the conversation, his voice is surprisingly calm. There's a tinge of exhaustion in it, and you can't blame him. You're exhausted too, but you'll continue fighting it.
"Say what," you ask, part of you confused, and part of you feeling as if you know exactly what it is he's talking about.
"What this is about. What we've been dancing around for the past seven years."
You're surprised his voice as still as calm as it is. At this point, he'd usually have exploded with frustration. Briefly, you think he doesn't have it in him anymore, due to the fact that his voice is still laced with exhaustion, and something else that you just can't put your finger on. Exasperation? Hope? Both.
He's not the only one exasperated, though. How is it that after all the years he's known you, he doesn't realize that you could never come out and say something like that? You don't enjoy feeling vulnerable, and everyone knows that. Yet here he is, asking you to do something that's near impossible for you.
"Say it," he speaks again "and this moving situation could change."
You're surprised that he's so blunt, that he's putting so much on you when he could easily just say something himself. Part of you thinks that he's already put himself out there, but it's not enough to change everything between you two.
You want to speak; to tell him what's been on your mind for so long; to tell him what your every thought was when you found out that he lived with Nicole, but it feels as if your mouth has suddenly gone dry. All you can let out is a weak "I can't," seemingly against even your own will.
A shorter silence passes over the two of you before Reverend Skinner walks through the door. You briefly hear the Reverend tell you to continue before he walks out, but you feel as if you're numb to everything.
While he collects his toolbox, you wonder whether he'll be going home to Nicole, or to the apartment above the diner, which in your mind will always be the place you'll call his home.
You walk out together, but go in two different directions without a word. The bells remain unbroken.