A Moment in Two Parts

"Fuck," I breathe, my thumb stabbing at the screen of my phone to disengage the line.

"Rory's coming home?" a chipper Finn strides over to refill my glass.

"Richard's dead," I mumble, groping for my glass of scotch, gulping it down.

"Gilmore?" he asks.

"Of course, Gilmore," I growl back, snatching the scotch bottle out of his hand, splashing more in my glass.

"Shit, Logan. I was trying to not jump to the worst possible conclusion," he replies.

"When has Rory been to the East Coast since I moved back except to let me see the kids for a few days and go see Lorelai, Emily and Richard?" I shoot back.

"She hasn't," he agrees. "But then it's not like you've even talked to her or tried to win her back since you came back, either."

"You think I don't want Rory back?" I fumble, the incredulity obvious in my voice. "You think I don't want my wife and my kids back with me?" Honestly what he's saying doesn't even make sense.

"No, you've wanted her back on your terms."

"What the hell does that even mean?" I shoot back.

"That you can keep the job so you can continue to rub it in Daddy Mitchum's face that you can do his job even though he's not the one that groomed you or taught you how to do it. You've wanted her to surrender to your terms instead of a negotiated compromise," he says like he's explaining something to my five year old - he's seen more of her recently than I have, mostly living in the small guest house on the property of Rory's and my home. But Colin had business out West, so they switched places for a bit. Well, business and a need to ditch his new wife - I'm still not sure why he got married in the first place.

I stare at the dark amber liquid, thinking back to when drinking scotch was rebellious, not a habit - like that time we stole Richard's scotch and replaced it with tea.

It makes the corner of my mouth raise. I can't help it. Rory looked so beautiful that night, even with tears streaming down her face as she got her heart broken in front of a bunch of guys she barely knew. So determined she wasn't going to be this person Richard and Emily seemed to think she was destined to be - some anachronism from the forties, fifties or sixties that gave perfect parties, always having the perfect anecdote to engage her guests, but no true inner life of her own. No purpose of her own other than supporting her perfectly chosen husband and raising his children.

The vision of her that matched up with my own family's vision. The one neither of us ever wanted or even understood.

When did drinking scotch become just what I did, instead of a silly act of rebellion to piss off my dad? When did doing things my dad and granddad did become my destination rather than something to avoid?

Did I come back because I knew I could do the job or because I wanted to prove a point to the mighty Mitchum Huntzberger? Is Finn right? That I could come in and take over HPG after his bypass - not because he groomed me, but because I had learned all of the skills I needed to run HPG the hard way. On my own. Was coming home my ultimate act of rebellion?

Except it wasn't just me. It was we. It was us.

We built a life and a company and a family together. A life we made together away from the chaos of my family. Me and her. She and I.

A life I love and one that in no way resembles this half life existence I've been living for the last nine months. A life of brilliant colors and laughter and the patter of small feet running through the house and the joyous sounds of happy children - both seen and heard. Of birthdays celebrated just because you want to remember how happy you were the day they were each born.

"How can you go back after everything he's put us through? After he's thrown up roadblocks at every opportunity, making things harder for us at every turn!"

She isn't wrong. In fact, my wife has a way of being right almost all the time. A way of being right and not rubbing it in my face even though I tend to assume that conclusion, somehow hearing the echoes of my parents' fights in my head even though my marriage has never been anything like theirs.

No, the life I built with her is nothing like the life that the family had imagined for the two of us back at that disastrous dinner so long ago.

But then this isn't the life we built together, I acknowledge, looking up at the perfect view of Central Park South and the ice skating rink that the spacious apartment courtesy of HPG affords me.

Our life together is more bridge and tunnel, more DIY on the weekend - because while we can justify using trust fund money to buy a nice place, we couldn't justify getting one that's in perfect shape or brand new and we certainly couldn't get something and just pay workers to do everything while the two of us only supervise and give orders. We chose to live a different life. A better and happier one.

My wife is coming home - Rory's coming home. And I have no idea what to expect, I'm not even sure I know what home is anymore. Home has been her for the last ten years - it's been us, not just the house we live in. It certainly isn't an apartment in New York that she's deliberately avoided for the last nine months. This isn't the way I imagined a reunion with her and the kids in my mind - "Fuck!"

TBC

endnote

This is the first Gilmore Girls story I've written in over eight years. I want to thank my beta, jstcallmesmitty who held my hand through trying to make this work. This is as much writing exercise as anything, trying to find voices again. Thank you to anyone who reads, favorites & comments are much appreciated. Second part will be up in a few days.