A/N: Yes, I'm starting a new story. I promise to update more frequently than I have in times past. It's an AU, but how and why it is should become clear pretty quickly.
Big, shiny, grateful props to JeS, witchofnovember, CIAChick, and fallingfables for beta-ing and offering to beta. It was my first time, and they were all incredibly gentle. (Yes, that was set up for a dirty.)
Disclaimer: I don't own the show or the characters, just the story idea. I may occasionally borrow dialogue and situations from the original show, but I won't always use them in the original context
Chapter 1
Lorelai sat in the back of her mother's Mercedes, wondering, as she often did, how she let herself get talked into this stuff. She pouted for a while, staring out the window as the car silently prowled the back roads of the Connecticut countryside. After a few minutes of self-pity, though, she needed a distraction. She turned her attention to the exchange between the women in the front seat. Emily and Francine were always good for a little ringside entertainment.
"Emily, the chair you picked out in that last place in Woodbury will go perfectly in your sitting room. I really envy the way everything in your house just . . . matches so well."
Oooh! Hayden opens with a left jab of "Your Taste is Boring." How will Gilmore come back from that one?
"Why, Francine, thank you. Of course, we can't all have your . . .eclectic taste. I was just saying to Richard the other night that your house is always so fun."
And Gilmore matches blow-for-blow with her specialty, the classic Insult-as-Compliment Combination!
There was a brief silence, but Lorelai knew from experience that it was just a lull between rounds.
"Emily, are you sure we're going the right way? I swear, you always did know the most out-of-the-way places."
Wow! Hayden with the Directional Incompetence/ "You Know All the Truck Stops, Dontcha?" One-TwoPunch! That's gonna leave a mark! "I'm sure we're fine. Besides, Rory pulled the directions for us off the Internet. She's so talented with computers." Gilmore attempts a comeback with the Grandparent Bragging Gambit. Always a risky move, especially if . . ."Yes, she's such an intelligent girl. So much like her father."
. . .you share the grandchild with your opponent.
Lorelai was just beginning to enjoy the show when Emily, as if just noticing her presence, looked at her in the rear-view mirror. "Lorelai, at this next place I really want you to look for a new coffee table to replace the one in your living room. Honestly, I don't know why you've held on to that eyesore as long as you have."
Lorelai frowned, but as usual didn't say anything. She loved that coffee table. It was the first thing she and Christopher bought when they moved into their own house. She'd bought it for five bucks at a flea market in Bridgeport, and spent weeks sanding it down and painting it. Rory had learned to walk by pulling herself up on it.
Oh, well. She'd do what she always did when it came to dealing with her mother. She'd fight that battle another day.
strummy-strummy-la-la
A few minutes later, they passed a sign announcing their arrival in the town of Stars Hollow. Lorelai was surprised that she'd never heard of the place, having lived less then fifty miles away from it her whole live. But, then, she usually managed to escape Emily and Francine's Antiques Roadshow and Catfight Review. Stupid Ava, cancelling the Booster Club meeting at the last minute. Stupid Lorelai, letting her mother know she had no plans for the day.
They pulled up in front of a small clapboard building with a sign in front identifying it as Kim's Antiques. Lorelai immediately pictured calico, doilies, and rose-petal potpourri. Instead, they stepped through the door and into a dark space crammed full of furniture and knick-knacks, most of which Lorelai knew wouldn't meet Emily and Francine's keeping-up-with-the-DAR standards.
A disembodied, vaguely-accented female voice came to them from somewhere in the back of the store. "Be right with you! Everything in the front of the store is 20 off!"
Emily looked mortified and Francine victorious, and Lorelai knew that neither of them was going to be the first to say that the place was a mistake and suggest leaving.
After a few uncomfortable moments, a small Asian woman (Ah-hah! "Kim" as in the Korean surname, not "Kim" as in the elementary school teacher with the headbands and the kitty-cat sweaters?) appeared seemingly from nowhere.
"May I help you?"
Emily, in an obvious ploy to save face, went into her best Lady of the Manor bit. "Yes, I'm looking for a china cabinet. Solid mahogany. Nothing after 1930."
"I have just the thing," smiled the woman (Mrs. Kim?). "It is not mahogany, but it is very nice. Follow me, please."
Having no interest in china cabinets, Lorelai wandered around the front of the store. She figured she should at least act like she was trying to find a coffee table, but after a few minutes of inhaling dust and looking at a dozen tables that, frankly, all looked alike to her, her eyes were burning and her head was pounding.
She needed coffee.
She heard the front door of the shop open, and a girl about Rory's age appeared.
"Mama, I'm home," called the girl in the general vicinity of the back of the store.
"Lane? Is that you?" came MaybeMrsKim's voice.
Lorelai had to bite her lip to keep from laughing when the girl rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mama, it's me."
"I have tofu muffins and green tea for you in the kitchen. You may have one muffin, then you will do your homework. Remember, we have Bible study tonight."
This time, the eyeroll was accompanied by a look of abject persecution Lorelai recognized from her own teen years. She sensed she may have found a kindred spirit.
"Psst," she hissed, startling the girl. "Hey, kid. C'mere."
Lane approached her slowly, obviously not accustomed to being accosted by complete strangers. "Yes, ma'am?"
Lorelai decided to let the "ma'am" bit go since she had more important things on her mind. "So, is there anywhere in this berg to get a shot of tequila? Or at least a decent cup of coffee?"
The girl blushed and looked around cautiously, not unlike Deep Throat in a Washington D.C. parking garage at 3 o'clock in the morning. "I can't help you with the tequila part," she whispered, "but Luke's Diner has amazing coffee—not that I've ever had it. 'Cause I haven't. I'm not allowed to have caffeine. So I don't"
"And where might one find this Luke's, Oasis of Caffeinated Magic?"
"It's right across the street," giggled the girl, pointing out the window.
Lorelai smiled. "Thanks, kid. You may very well have prevented a nervous breakdown and a couple of homicides today." She fished around in her purse and pulled out her Emergency Snickers. "Here," she said, handing it to the girl. "You look like you could use this—not that you ever eat chocolate, of course. 'Cause you don't."
The girl smiled gratefully, and Lorelai set off in search of coffee salvation.
strummy-strummy-la-la
It took her a few minutes to find the place, but who could blame her? What kind of business has two different names? "My diner, my hardware store, my diner, my hardware store," she muttered as she opened the door.
As soon as she walked in she was hit with the Holy Trinity of Blessed Food Smells: burger grease, pastry, and coffee. The place was empty (did people in this town not eat between breakfast and lunch?), so she took a seat at a table by the window. She watched a street musician play an acoustic version of "Born to Run" as he made his way past a gazebo, and she saw a bearded man in a cardigan step out of what looked like a market to sweep the sidewalk, but then she got distracted by a plump, pretty, red-headed woman and a tall guy in a wool cap arguing very loudly over . . .kumquats?
Just as she was trying to decide if she'd stepped into a Frank Capra movie or a David Lynch film, she was startled by a gruff, masculine voice at her shoulder.
"What can I get ya?"
Standing next to her, pen poised over his order pad, was a tall man about her own age, wearing a flannel shirt and a backward baseball cap. He was also wearing the kind of I don't need this crap expression that historically made her want to give the wearers of such expressions . . .well, crap.
"Yes, I'd like a cup of coffee, a slice of rhubarb pie, and a plate of mashed yeast."
Flannel Guy paused mid order-jot and stared at her.
"A what?"
"A slice of rhubarb pie," she replied sweetly.
"No, the other thing."
"A. Cup. Of. Coffee," she said slowly, as if to a two-year-old.
"No, the last thing you said," growled Flannel Guy. Wow. Low boiling point on this one!
"Oh! Oh!" she cried, as if just realizing what she'd said. "The plate of mashed yeast. That's Woody Allen. Remember in Annie Hall, when he--"
"Never seen Annie Hall."
"Really?" Now she wasn't just faking surprise. Who hadn't seen Annie Hall?
"I don't really watch a lot of movies."
"Really? Then, what do you do in your spare time?"
"Well, I . . ." Flannel Guy caught himself when he realized he was about to explain his leisure-time choices to a total stranger. "Look, do you want the coffee? I don't have rhubarb pie, but I have peach. Take it or leave it."
"Just the coffee, please."
Flannel Guy stalked behind the counter, poured a cup of coffee, stalked back to Lorelai's table, and set the cup down with a thunk. "Anything else?"
"Not right now, thanks."
He tore her ticket off his pad, slapped it on the table, and stomped back to the counter to do whatever diner-types do in the middle of the morning.
For a minute, Lorelai began to worry that the friendliness level of the service in this place would be a direct indication of the taste of the coffee. One sip, however, told her she didn't need to worry.
"Oh, my god!" she cried.
Flannel guy, apparently thinking she'd found a bug in her cup or something, came hurrying over. "What's the matter?"
Lorelai looked up at him in wonder. "This? Is possibly the best coffee I've ever had. In my life."
Flannel guy blushed. "Well . . .uh . . . thanks. I'm glad you like it."
"Oh, you misunderstand, my friend. I don't like it. I love it. Oooh! I'll have to tell my daughter about it. She'll love it, too."
Flannel Guy looked at her as if she'd just said confessed to buying her daughter heroin before sending her off to work the streets. "You give your kid coffee?"
"Well, it's not really a matter of 'give.' She usually makes it herself. Or goes to Starbucks and gets it.
Flannel Guy's eyes widened. "How old is she?"
"She just turned sixteen."
"You have a sixteen-year-old kid?"
Lorelai could see him doing the math, just like everyone did when they first found out about Rory.
"Let me help ya out there," she sighed. "My daughter is sixteen. I'm thirty-two. I got pregnant the Christmas before I turned sixteen, we got married three months later, I had Rory in October, and the rest, as they say, is history." She didn't know why she felt like she had to explain herself this guy, or why she even cared what he would think. After sixteen years, she was used to the whispers, and the judgmental looks, and the people doing obvious mental arithmetic right in front of her. And she wouldn't trade Rory for anything. It was just that sometimes, especially when she met someone new, she felt as if she was spending her whole life doing penance for a mistake she made on the balcony of her bedroom when she was a kid.
Flannel Guy blushed and cleared his throat. "Oh, no, no. I wasn't judging you or anything. I was just surprised." He pulled uncomfortably on the bill of his cap. "Actually, my sister had a kid when she was really young, too. But she turned out to be a real mess. At least you got married and . . . everything."
"Yeah," Lorelai said with an uncertain smile. "Everything turned out fine." Everything according to plan.
Just then, the bell above the diner jingled. A pale, scrawny young guy walked in and approached Flannel Guy with a thick stack of papers.
"Good morning, Luke." So, Flannel Guy is Luke—the Luke on the confusing sign?
"Whaddya want, Kirk?"
"I just thought I'd drop off my resume with you."
"You've given me your resume three times this week, Kirk. Every time it's got new pages added."
"That's because I keep remembering additional jobs I've held. But this is the complete version, I promise."
"I'm not gonna hire you, Kirk. I don't need any extra help right now, and even if I did, I wouldn't hire you."
"Well, just keep my resume for future reference. I think you'll be especially interested in the 'Food Service Experience' section on pages 17 to 21." Kirk thrust the papers into Luke's hands and scampered out the door. Luke, in turn, tossed the papers into a trash can behind the counter.
"This town is a freakin' loony bin," he muttered.
"Oh, I don't know. I think it's kind of nice." Lorelai smiled and held up her now-empty coffee cup. "Could I get a refill, please?"
"Already? I just poured you a cup."
"Yes, and now the cup is empty, and I'd like it to be full again. Hence, re-fill."
"Caffeine is hell on your central nervous system, you know," sighed Luke as he reached for the pot.
"Hey, thanks for the nutrition tip, Slim Goodbody." Lorelai glanced out the window and saw Emily striding across the street. "Actually, could make that to go? I have a feeling I'm going to be leaving any second."
"There you are," Emily cried as she burst through the door. "How could you leave me alone with that woman?"
"Which one?"
"Both of them! That Mrs. Kim wouldn't know Louis XIV from Crate & Barrel, and Francine? Well, she just sat there, so smug and self-satisfied, as if that horrible place were my fault."
"So, you didn't find anyhting?"
"Oh, I bought the china cabinet. They're delivering it on Thursday. Now, let's go. Francine's already at the car, probably on her cell phone with Biddy Charleston, telling her what a disaster I am at antiquing."
Emily marched back out the door, and Lorelai made her way up to the counter. Luke handed her the coffee, but shook his head when she went for her wallet. "First time customers are on the house."
"Well, thanks." Lorelai took the paper cup from him. "It was nice meeting you . . .Luke?"
Luke nodded. "Yeah. It was nice meeting you, too . . ."
"Lorelai."
"Nice meeting you, Lorelai."