Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Lorelai managed to extricate herself from dinner with Emily and Francine with a promise to serve refreshments at the next Historical Society fund-raiser. She jumped into her Explorer, grateful for the chance to escape. She realized she probably got the raw end of whole fund-raiser/dinner deal, but she'd cross that bridge when she got to it. She drove home in the fading daylight, just she and Bono singing at the tops of their lungs about all the things they still hadn't found.

The house was dark and quiet when she got home–a situation that was becoming more and more common in the life of the Haydens. Rory had become more involved in school activities this year and rarely made it home for dinner during the week. Part of Lorelai was glad that Rory was so busy building her own life, but she couldn't help being just a little concerned over Rory's complete absorption in her duties at Chilton. Rory had always been so serious and bookish as a kid, so unlike either Lorelai or Chris. For a while Lorelai had been worried that the collective weight of the Gilmores' and Haydens' had managed to smother the spark in Rory in a way they hadn't been able to do with Lorelai or Christopher (at least, she admitted to herself, not completely, anyway). When Rory started Chilton last year, though, things seemed to change. She became more outgoing (she'd even gone to a couple of the dances!), she'd joining a number of the clubs, and this year she'd be come the first sophomore to ever serve on the Franklin editorial staff. Lately, though, Rory was jumping into her extracurriculars with the same single-mindedness with which she approached her studies. She was pushing herself hard, as if she had something to prove.

Lorelai dropped her purse and coat on the couch and had just sat down when she saw the blinking light on the answering machine. She hauled herself up with a groan, walked over to the desk (a 19th-century roll-top Emily had found through a dealer in Fairfield) and began playing back the messages.

As soon as she pressed play, a cheerful, tightly-wound voice shattered the silence. "Hi, Lorelai, it's Ava. Just wanted to touch base with you on the spring fashion show. I think I've found a fabulous site, but we need to confirm ASAP. Oooh! Carolyn told me Barney's is having a sale on Ralph Lauren next weekend. Call me and we'll plan a good old-fashioned gal's shopping trip in the Big City. Bye-eee!"

The second voice was unfamiliar, but it was unmistakably One of Us. "Yes, Lorelai, this is Eunice Pierpont with the Hartford Historical Society. I've just spoken to your mother, and we're so thrilled that you're going to help out at our little soiree next month. Now, I've e-mailed you all the details--"

Lorelai fast-forwarded to the final message. "Hey, Lor, it's me. Listen, the Old Man just dumped a new account on me, so I'm not sure when I'm gonna get out of here. I'll try to be home for dinner, but if I'm not there by, like, seven, go on and start without me, okay? Okay. Gotta go. Loveyabye."

The machine clicked off, and Lorelai sighed. She wasn't surprised that Chris wouldn't be home for dinner, and truth be told, she didn't even mind that much. As she glanced down at the desk, she caught sight of the one and only photo of their wedding. It had been, in Emily's words, "a small, but elegant affair" in the Gilmore living room. After all, a big, formal production "wouldn't have been appropriate under the circumstances." In a rare moment of photographic alchemy, the photographer had managed to capture accurately capture the emotions of everyone in the picture at the exact same time. Lorelai and Christopher stood flanked by Richard and Emily on one side and Straub and Francine on the other. Richard and Straub, the deal-brokers, stood solemn and resolved, reining in the rest of the group. Emily and Francine wore identical smiles of cheerful determination, making the best out of the situation, as they had been trained to their whole lives. In the center stood sixteen-year-old Lorelai and Chris, their eyes wide with the realization that This Was It. It was a hell of a departure from the Russian Winter theme Lorelai knew Emily had always envisioned for her only daughter's wedding.

At first, things had been okay–after all, they'd been friends from the time they'd started elementary school. They'd instinctively understood each other's quirky sense of humor, but more importantly they'd shared the desperate need to both escape from and to win the approval of the world they'd been born into. At fifteen, they'd talked about everything from calculus homework (Chris usually took the tutor role, since Lorelai had always been better at English) to the relative merits of Metallica versus the Offspring (Lorelai insisted then–as she still did–that Metallica was way more substantial) to which parent was the biggest pain in the ass (it was usually a tie between Straub and Emily). That friendship, combined with their desire to Do the Right Thing for Rory, had carried them for a long time after they got married. It had even been fun, early on–like playing house. But now Rory was getting older, and the less she seemed to need them to present a united front as Mommy and Daddy, the less their adolescent bond of pop-culture obsession and teen angst seemed able to sustain them in a grown-up, day-to-day marriage.

Lorelai flopped back down on the couch, propped her feet up on the Dilapidated Coffee Table of Shame, and closed her eyes. It hadn't been that bad, though. They'd done what was expected of them, they'd given their daughter a nice home with a mother and a father, and they'd even managed to have some good times.

She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, willing the tension out of her body.

It hadn't been that bad. It wasn't that bad.

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She didn't realize she'd dozed off until she heard the front door slam a little while later and Rory call to her from the front hall.

"Mom?"

"In here."

Rory trudged into the living room, dropped her overloaded bookbag on the floor, and sank down on the couch with a dramatic sigh.

"Rough day at the office, dear?"

"God, you have no idea," Rory groaned. "Let me just say that Paris? Is in serious need of prescription psychotropics."

Lorelai laughed. "Oh, I've been saying that ever since she tried to evoke Roberts's Rules of Order at your eighth birthday party."

"Yeah, well, today she had the dial on the schizometer turned all the way to eleven. She actually thinks that the Franklin should have a Sunday supplement section. Like the New York Times.

"The Franklin doesn't even come out on Sundays."

"And your point would be?" Rory leaned her head back on the couch and closed her eyes, just as Lorelai had a short while earlier. "Of course, Louise and Madeline are so far out in the ozone that they were no help. And Brad? All he can talk about is call-backs for Rent."

Lorelai studied her daughter's face, noticing–not for the first time–how pale she was, and how dark the circles were becoming under her eyes. "Are you sure you're not working too hard, hon?"

Rory opened her eyes. "No, it's okay," she replied with a faint smile. "This is just all stuff I need to do if I'm gonna get into an Ivy."

"Well, promise me you'll tell me if stuff starts getting to you, okay? I don't want to get a phone call one day that you're holed up in the Chilton bell tower with an assault rifle."

"Chilton doesn't even have a bell tower."

"You know what I mean."

"I know, and I promise. Oh, hey! How was your day with The Grandmas?"

Lorelai let out a small groan of her own. "Not unlike being stuck in a traveling dinner-theater version of The Women."

"Who was Joan Crawford and who was Rosalind Russell?"

"Let's just say they were both auditioning brilliantly for either part."

"And you were Virginia Weidler, the little girl stuck in the middle?"

"Exactly."

They sat in silence for a moment, then Lorelai swatted Rory's knee. "Okay, I think we need a round of One Good Thing."

Rory smiled. Ever since Rory had started kindergarten, the two of them had a pact that if one of them came home complaining about her day, the complainer would be made to tell one positive thing that had happened, in order to "clear the negativity, evil spirits, and any other wrinkle-inducing agents floating around in the cosmos."

"You first," smiled Lorelai.

"No, you first. Who ever suggests it starts it, remember?"

"Fine, fine. Throw my own rules back in my face." Lorelai thought back over the day, trying to come up with one thing that didn't make her want to down a bottle of Xanax.

"Oh! Oh! I know! I had what is possibly the best coffee on the face of the planet today."

At the mention of coffee, Rory immediately perked up. "Really? Where?"

"This diner in this little town called Stars Hollow. I'm telling ya, kid, it was like drinking God's own elixir straight from the Holy Grail."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah." Lorelai frowned, remembering the grouch who had produced such a miraculous substance. "But of course it is, like any good holy grail, protected by a dragon. They guy who runs this place? Picture a much younger Vic Tayback in flannel and a baseball cap instead of a t-shirt and sailor hat."

"Yikes!"

"I know. Real Unabomber material. But it's totally worth going through him to get to his coffee. I'll have to take you there sometime." She nudged Rory in the arm. "Okay, your turn."

Rory gave her mother genuine smile for the first time since she'd gotten home. "Well, Mr. Medina really liked my paper on The House of Mirth. He said he was impressed by the way I placed my Marxist-feminist textual analysis within the context of the novel's socio-historical moment."

"Aw, now you're just making up big words to impress Mommy."

"No, seriously. He wants me to submit it to this journal that publishes literary criticism by students. He thinks I have real Ivy League potential."

"Like we needed him to tell us that," Lorelai scoffed. She looked at Rory more closely. "And have you given an more thought as to which Ivy League institution is going to have the privilege of nurturing your brilliant talent and stunning intellect?"

"Well, I know Grandpa Richard would really like it if I went to Yale."

"A vast understatement."

"But . . ." Rory's voice faltered and she fingered the pleats in her skirt. "Grandpa Straub says all the Haydens go to Princeton."

Lorelai had to fight down the urge to strangle her father-in-law. She knew that one of the only reasons Rory was considering Princeton because she was still trying to win the old coot's approval. Richard doted on Rory, but ever since she could talk, Rory had to fight for her other grandfather's affection. Straub, it seemed, wanted almost nothing to do with his only grandchild. At best he treated her like a distant relation whose name he barely remembered, and at worst he ignored her altogether. Lorelai knew she should have stopped being surprised a long time ago that Straub could be so cold to his own flesh and blood–especially to someone as sweet and wonderful as Rory–but every slight to her daughter still burned.

"Hey." She put her finger under Rory's chin and turned her to face her. "The only person you need to please in this whole college thing is you. You know that, right?"

Rory nodded, but without much conviction. "I know." She glanced down at her watch, then jumped off the couch with a yelp. "Oh, crap! I was supposed to meet Tristan at Starbucks ten minutes ago!"

"Tristan, huh?"

Rory rolled her eyes in disgust. "Give me a break. We're just working on our history project. Besides, I'm not even thinking about getting involved with boys right now. I don't want to do anything to--" She snapped her mouth shut as a blush rose in her cheeks.

"To what, hon?"

"Nothing."

"No, tell me. You don't want to do anything to . . ."

Rory couldn't meet her mother's eye. "To mess everything up." Like you and dad did , she might as well have added.

"Oh, Rory . . ."

But Rory had already picked up her backpack and was headed out of the room. "I gotta go," she called over her shoulder. "I'll be home by eleven."

Lorelai felt a lump rising in her throat as she watched her daughter go. She guessed every mother wanted to keep her kid safe and happy, but seriously? How many mothers had kids as special as Rory?

She heaved herself up off the couch once more and reached for the phone, readying herself for another evening of pizza and Law and Order reruns.

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She wasn't entirely asleep when Chris got home, although she'd been in bed since The Daily Show had ended half an hour earlier. She sat up when she heard him come into the room, and she turned on the light, startling him.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay. I wasn't asleep yet, anyway."

They both tried to ignore how many times they'd had this same conversation.

"You look exhausted."

It was true. His eyes were heavy and red-rimmed, and his shoulders sagged in his custom-made shirt. He placed his bulging briefcase on a chair in the corner and tossed his jacket over it. "Yeah, well, my dad really wants everything ready for this new account by Monday, so I thought I'd hang out and get as much done as I could. I really didn't mean to be so late."

"It's okay," she said again. They both knew it wasn't.

"Rory in bed?"

"Yeah. She got home about an hour ago. Oh, hey–her English teacher thinks she should try to get her last paper published."

"No kidding?"

"Yeah. He practically made her sound like a grad student already."

Chris smiled proudly as he loosened his tie. "That's my girl. She'll be knocking Princeton on its ass in no time."

Lorelai flinched at the Princeton reference but nodded at idea that Rory would take any Ivy by storm. "I know. She's getting so grown and so busy. It's like she doesn't need me any more."

"Oh, she'll always need you, Lor," Chris replied as he unbuttoned his shirt and slipped off his pants.

"I know, but not like she used to. When she was little, my whole day was organized around doing what she needed and being with her. Now I don't have that anymore. I don't have anybody who needs me or any place I have to be. I miss it."

"Well," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed to untie his shoes, "maybe you could have that again."

"Huh. Unless you're talking about tying Rory down and home-schooling her for the next fifty years–an option I have considered, mind you–I don't see how."

"I wasn't really talking about Rory." Chris drew a deep breath and looked at her hesitantly. "Actually, I've been thinking that we should have another baby."

Lorelai's mouth dropped open, and she stared at him in shock. "Give me some clue," she said slowly and carefully, "as to whether or not you're joking."

"Just think about it, Lor. We're still young–hell, most people don't even have their first kid until they're our age."

"Oh, my god. You're not joking." She ran a shaky hand through her hair. "Chris, we can't have another baby."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Did he really need her to tell him all the reasons why not? Did he really need her to say that they were in no position to deliberately bring a child in to their family? Did he really need her to remind him of just how long it had been since they'd even come close to doing anything that would result in making a baby?

"Chris . . ."

"Just hear me out, okay? This could be a really good thing. I mean, the Old Man would be so jazzed to have a grandson--"

"I am not having a baby just to please your father!"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. But come on, you just said yourself that you miss what it was like when Rory was little."

"I meant I missed having something to do with my time. I wasn't talking about having another kid. I was talking about getting a job."

They'd had this discussion before, and as he always did when she mentioned going to work, Christopher rolled his eyes. "Lorelai, you don't need to work. We're fine."

"I know we don't need me to work. I need me to work." Lorelai jumped out of the bed and started pacing around it. "I need something to do with my days besides making cookies for the sophomore class bake sale and avoiding my mother's phone calls."

"That's why I think we should have a baby. Besides," he said, coming to stand beside her, his eyes pleading, "I think having another kid could be good for us."

Lorelai took a deep breath, suddenly feeling like she was caught in Space Mountain and the ride wouldn't stop. "Chris, a baby is not like Bones McCoy's tricorder, okay? You don't just have a kid and suddenly–poof!–everything's better."

Christopher's shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand across the back of his neck. "Look, it's late, and we're both tired. Let's just talk about this when we've both had some sleep, okay?" He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Lorelai knew a passive-aggressive maneuver when she saw one, but at the moment she didn't have the energy to fight it. She turned off the light and got back into bed, curling herself tightly around a pillow on her side. She lay breathing deeply, trying to calm herself, unable for once to escape the reality of the situation. No matter how often she told herself that everything it was fine, it wasn't. She was in a relationship that was based more and more on shared guilt and responsibility than it was on whatever passion–or at least affection–had been there at the beginning. Her daughter was carrying the weight of a situation she hadn't created on her slim shoulders. She couldn't blame it on going through the angst most people went through when they hit thirty or had been married for a long time. She couldn't even blame it on all the work Chris had been putting in since Straub and Richard had invited him to join them in their firm five years earlier ("Gilmore, Hayden and Hayden has such a nice, dynastic ring to it," Francine had beamed). Deep down, she knew the problems had started years earlier.

She knew that everything had started to fall apart that day they sat on the landing of her parents' front staircase–the day Christopher had looked at her, his eyes full of uncertainty and guilt, and said, "I guess we should get married, huh?"

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