The town square was even noisier than Rory remembered it could be. The gazebo was all red, white and blue, blinding her as it reflected the mid-day sunlight. She had already seen a lot of familiar faces and the feeling of home was already settling in; she hadn't even put her bags down yet, but she knew that, pretty soon, it would be as if she had never left. Shame it would last so little.

"Rory, dear! Are we finally getting you back for good?"

"Oh I wish, miss Patty. I have some campaign souvenirs for you, I know you have a little thing for the senator."

"Oh sure honey, let's call it a 'little thing'."

She would not complain too much. The last time she could be around for this long – four entire days - was Christmas; it was better to make the most out of the crumbs she got. And it was especially bittersweet this time: for the last year or so in the Obama campaign trail, she did not have a home outside of Stars Hollow. She had spent that year inside buses and motels, going up and down the country, never spending more than a few weeks, tops, in the same place. She had covered all sorts of unprestigious and unremarkable little rallies and events. Now the senator had won the nomination and she had finally landed a somewhat more prestigious job, covering the campaign headquarters' every move - and she would finally have a somewhat permanent home, with a somewhat permanent bed and a sadly permanent rent.

She was excited, but still. The thought of having somewhere else to call home weirded her out. She stopped for a second, taking in the noisy, colorful mess of Stars Hollow in the Fourth of July. Home. Then she headed out to her actual house, in the slowest of paces, stopping to chat with everyone she met in the way.

She finally got there, dropped her bags on the porch, and noticed the note on the front door.

"Hon,

holiday disaster at the inn. Be back ASAP.

Got you some boxes in case you want to start the packing.

Actually please start the packing, I won't help since it is too much for my motherly heart to take.

Also, it is super boring hard work.

Mom

P.S wait for me to order dinner or your ass can fly back to Montana"

Rory smiled. Just the sight of Lorelai's handwriting was already comforting. She lazily pulled the bags into the living room and proceeded to go make some coffee.

- x -

She woke up in her goldenly lit childhood bedroom. Oh god, jetlag is a bitch.

Her mother sure wasn't home yet. If she was, Rory wouldn't have woken up on her own. Also there would never be that much quiet with Lorelai in the house.

She glanced at the laptop she had left open on the bed when she fell asleep. She had been checking the news and her work emails – no matter what she did, those emails were always pilling up. "Oh man, just because I thought about it, here comes another one", she began ranting to herself. "How can I ever enjoy the peaceful holiday I earned through sleepless nights and dangerous caffeine intakes (even for my Olympic standards) if my inbox keeps buzzing like that?, I know, I just know I will be thinking about work all - the damn – time, seriously…"

Wait. It was not a work email, it was her landlord. Landlady, actually. Her lessor, if you will. Her deposit had cleared and her new home was waiting.

Rory stared at the email a little longer. It felt so grown-up. The last year had been so fun and adventurous in a way she hadn't even thought she would be able to handle; still, now it felt like she was finally starting to adult. She was so excited. She would adult the best, she was a natural at adulting, everyone would see.

Suddenly the anticipated nostalgia gave her a rest and she felt a burst of energy and will to pack her books. They were the thing she missed the most, even though she would always carry up to ten books at any given time (by now her colleagues knew better than to offer her help when she was struggling with her bags). It was so heartbreaking to come home to empty shelves in a random shared hotel room. She often caught herself wishing to skip through this or that particular book, to read some passages again, or even to re-read the whole thing, and in those moments she would miss her Stars Hollow room more than ever.

Well, almost ever. She checked the clock, anxious for her mom to come home. Finally, she decided she could begin the packing while waiting for her.

She filled a big-ass box before she remembered it would be impossible to lift if it was filled exclusively with books. She got half of them out, threw some clothes in, unfolded a new box and began to rearrange that half. She could never go very far, though, before getting distracted opening the books at random pages and sighting at the wish to read some of them again. She forced herself to continue her work: there went her Stephen Kings, a couple Lovecrafts, one Vonnegut, some Dickinson, both Fitzgeralds and a single shameful Dan Brown. And then she boxed a book that gave her pause. The back cover looked familiar.

She un-boxed it: Crónica de una muerte anunciada. Well, she sure never read it, her Spanish was not that good. But she never owned a book she had never read, that would be nonsensical. She turned it on its side: Gabriel García Márquez.

Oh! She connected the dots: it was Chronicle of a Death Foretold. She had that book on her TBR List forever, and finally got around to reading it during her junior year at Yale. Still, she did not recall having a copy in Spanish… She skipped through it absentmindedly, and found a page where someone had written in ink. It was a small list:

Home

Bridge

Booze

Her

She stared at that page, at that sharp handwriting. It was angry and written with more strength than strictly necessary. The bullet points almost teared the paper and each word was crossed like items on a shopping list, the shadow of that crossing over the whole word. Except for the last one - that one was left to itself.

Jess, she thought. This is Jess' book.

She hadn't thought about him in forever. When did she last see him? Longer than forever. Was it when she visited him in Philly? She closed the book shut, feeling self-conscious at that memory, as if Jess could see her through his surprise words. That memory? Uncomfortable as hell. She wished she could take back all she did in that fateful year, so maybe they could have talked as friends when they met, instead of having every interaction clouded by the mess her life was at that point. He was always nice to talk to, she wished she had kept his friendship through those years. She knew so little about his life, and he knew even less about hers. Jess…

She heard it when Lorelai kicked the front door open.

"Hon, I'm home! Brought food!"

"About damn time!"

Rory got up to meet her mom. Before she forgot all about the book, though, she opened it again and realized that, near that little list, Jess had underlined a sentence - again with anger, but also with less strength, as if he had grown tired while pushing the pen:

Era como estar despierto dos veces.

- x -

Lorelai had fallen asleep in the couch during their second run-through of Desperately Seeking Susan. Right now, Cigarette Girl was screaming:

"My God, we thought you were dead!"

And Susan was calmly reassuring her that no, she was just in New Jersey. "I know the feeling, sister", Rory said to the screen. The New Jersey primary was full of mixed feelings, since Hilary Clinton had won that one and her teenage loyalties had painfully surfaced.

She got up and sought a blanket to cover Lorelai. That's OK, Rory thought. They were not so young anymore, maybe their glory days of instant repeat-binge were behind them. Also, her mom had woken up freakishly early (for her standards) and it was best to save their energies for the busy Stars Hollow tour they had planned for the next day.

Still. It was early, there was movement in the town square – the nocturnal plotting of the Fourth of July Festival. She felt very awake, and she knew she would probably regret that long nap when she and her mom were running around the Festival tomorrow, trying to hit all the firework launching spots before midnight. But still. She went out.

Stars Hollow felt so out of place during summer, it was nice. A hot night. It made her feel restless. She had that summer night feeling that something big was about to happen.

As she made her way to the square she could swear she heard that maddening Lazy Hazy Crazy Days of Summer" tune play softly in the background, but it was probably just self-suggestion.

She finally got there, and that was when she saw a familiar piece of crap car parked in the corner of Luke's. Jess. It was Jess! Rory felt a wave of affection, remembering the notes his teenage self had left on that book. She looked around, deciding to go ask for him, wanting to tell him what she had been doing. It was nice that the universe had pushed him into her mind again, after over a year. Two years?

She took a step forward, imagining how nice it would be that she would be the one to show up unannounced in his doorstep for once. Well, that is what she did the last time, but you know. This time she was less confused, her heart was cleaner, they could catch up.

Before she could take another step, tough, she saw his familiar figure against the diner's lights. He was coming down the steps with Luke. They shared an affectionate hug and exchanged words she did not hear, then Luke went back in and the lights were out.

Jess stopped on the steps to shove a book inside his bag, the same bag he had forever ago. His hair still looked messy and his eyes probably still looked dark. She walked towards him and stopped across the street when he finally felt her gaze and looked up. By then he had already reached his car.

He had that crooked smile on his face when he said "hello, Rory". She smiled back.

Then he nodded and got in the car. As he drove away, Rory felt that nostalgic urge to punch him in the face.

She turned around, unsure if she felt frustrated or if it was actually some kind of satisfying conclusion for the short story she was writing herself in her head. When she got home, she stuffed some more books in that box, sealed it, and pushed it to the living room corner before going to sleep.