She sits in the silence of her mother's empty house for what seems like an eternity. Tears drip down her chin onto her flannel pajama top as she sits Indian style on the attic floor of her childhood home. She has yet to muster up enough strength to close the lid of the box. The letter with bold blue script stares up at her. Tears blur her vision. She exhales, and wipes the tears away on the sleeve of her shirt. She swallows hard, and reaches for the letter. She apprehensively separates the flap of the envelope from its back. She reaches inside the envelope, and removes the contents. The pages are neatly folded into thirds. She unfolds the pages, and begins to read the brief, professionally written letter typed in blue script.
Dear Miss Lorelai Gilmore,
This is a formal inquiry regarding case number 10986.
She stops reading, abruptly. Five numbers that should have no point of reference for her. Five simple numbers that should bear no meaning in her life. She shouldn't have the numbers burned into her brain. There should be no case number at all, she reminds herself. She regrets opening the letter, or the box. It is her own personal version of Pandora's box. The whirl of emotions continues for quite some time. She feels as if her soul is being crushed as she sits there, staring at a box full of secrets. She sits there for over an hour by herself, reflecting on the past. She gathers the letter, and the box, and unites them. She locks the box, and grabs it by the handle, as she leaves the attic.
She descends several flights of stairs, until she reaches the kitchen. She searches the cabinets until she finds a chipped teacup, and a bottle of scotch. She pours until the cup is full to the brim. She texts her husband, and explains that she is going to stay overnight. She mills about the house until she reaches her old room. She pushes the door open, and flips on the light. She finds that her bed is still present, with linens intact. It is the only room in the house that appears untouched. She crosses the room, and flips on the light. She crawls into the bed with her bottle of scotch. She has since lost her teacup. At this point she is simply drinking from the bottle. The firebox sits on the bedside stand. She drinks until she passes out.
She awakens with a splitting headache, and the strange sensation of someone lying next to her. She faces the door. She tries to acclimate herself to her surroundings. The clock on the wall tells her that it is the wee hours of the morning, just after three o'clock. She hears the clock ticking on the wall, as well as her own breathing, as she lies atop the covers. She listens closely, and hears the rhythmic sound of someone sleeping next to her. She can feel a foot against her leg. She carefully rolls over, and finds that she is clearly not alone. The lamp still dimly illuminates the room. She finds her mother lying with her in the bed, with her back to her. She gently nudges her. Emily awakens, and carefully repositions herself. They both sit on the bed in silence, for some time.
"Mom, what are you doing here?"
Lorelai finds that her mother is wearing a cardigan, and a pair of khakis. Emily shrugs.
"I could ask you the same, couldn't I? You don't live here."
"Neither do you," Lorelai points out.
"I was concerned someone might drink all the good scotch," Emily responds.
"You're too late. That ship has sailed."
"Lorelai it is the middle of the night. You should be at home."
"Did you drive all the way from Nantucket to tell me that?"
"I drove all the way from Nantucket because you needed me."
Lorelai deflects, "The rest of the house is packed up, for the most part. Why did you leave this room?"
"Probably for the same reason that you are hanging onto that box."
"You didn't have to come," Lorelai insists.
"You left home, in your pajamas before seven o'clock. You came here to retrieve a box from the attic. Somehow you managed to drink yourself into oblivion, and decided to stay in your old room. Pardon me, if I am a bit concerned."
"I'm fine."
"Don't lie to me."
"You should be at home," Lorelai argues.
"That is true for the both of us. I am here because you need me, even though it would kill you to admit that. I know that I am the last person that you would ever open up to, but how long are you going to carry the weight of the contents of that box around with you?"
Lorelai avoids eye contact at all costs. She remains silent too tired, and too inebriated to deflect, or even argue.
"Seriously, Lorelai? How long are you going to let all of this lie on your shoulders? How long are you going to pretend that it is a meaningless box? You have spent a good portion of your adult life avoiding the truth."
"You have no idea what you're talking about," she answers through tears.
Emily hands her a box of tissues, from her bedside stand.
"Four years ago I was doing some spring cleaning. I accidentally knocked your CD off the shelf onto the floor. When I picked it up, I realized that it seemed too light. I was livid, when I thought that you were storing an empty CD case in the attic for all these years. I opened it, and found the key. I couldn't resist the temptation. I am sorry. I never should have betrayed your trust, and opened the box."
Lorelai shakes her head, "You opened this box?"
"Yes."
"You went through my private stuff?"
"Yes," Emily confirms, "Lorelai, I am so sorry. I never should have done that."
"You're right. Wait, you went through this box four years ago?!"
"I already confirmed that," Emily points out.
"And you never said anything?"
"It was obvious that it was tucked away on a shelf to be forgotten about for a reason. Why all of a sudden did you have the need to come retrieve it now?"
