Lorelai strolled into the Dragonfly's kitchen – and stopped dead in her tracks. "What is wrong with this picture?"
"I don't – what?" Sookie looked around.
"What's wrong with this picture?" Lorelai repeated, making a beeline for the coffee maker. "Does anything seem a little strange to you? Like, anything a little weird in here?"
Sookie looked around again. "Nope. Sweetie, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." Lorelai waved her hand as she sipped her coffee. "It's just that we have an inn full of guests and you know, some of them might want to eat. And I'm looking around and wondering where our entire kitchen staff is. And now, judging by the overwhelming odour – fancy cologne, right? – that Michel was in here for longer than the allowed two minutes."
"Oh, yeah…" the chef's voice trailed off as a look of disgust overcame her face, leaving Lorelai in no doubt over the outcome of that conversation.
"Sookie!" Lorelai put down her coffee cup. "Remember why we instated the rule that Michel only be allowed in the kitchen for two minutes at a time?"
"Because the last time he was in here, mocking us, supper exploded and Derek got his hand caught in the mixer." Sookie winced. "That was a disaster."
"That's right." Lorelai brushed back a strand of hair. "And they all hate him."
"Are we the only people who like Michel?" Sookie mused.
"Sure."
"What's wrong with us, then?"
Lorelai shrugged. "I have no idea."
"In your case, too much coffee." Sookie giggled.
"There's no such thing as too much coffee, Sook," Lorelai tossed out.
"Hey," Sookie murmured gently. "Are you okay?"
Lorelai shot her a dismissive look.
"Lorelai." Sookie walked around the counter. "You're doing better than you were? About Rory?"
"I'm…better." She studied the rim of her mug. "It gets easier. I guess. I still miss her, a lot. It's just…"
"Just what?" Sookie prodded.
"It's just weird to realize that she won't ever really live at home again, you know?" Lorelai frowned, looking at Sookie directly. "I walked in the front door yesterday, and it hit me. Like a brick wall. Or Wile E. Coyote hitting the ground after he falls off a cliff. It sounds stupid, doesn't it?"
"No, it doesn't, sweetie."
"Good." Lorelai patted Sookie's arm. "How's little whatsit?"
Sookie laughed. "Little whatsit?"
"Well, come up with a name, woman!" Lorelai threw up her hands. "Then it will no longer be an it."
"I'll tell you when I find out what it is."
"And when is that?"
"When little 'whatsit' comes out."
"Sookie!"
"Well, I want to be surprised," Sookie argued. "Plus, Jackson and I will get to a whole new level of the name debate that's just unhealthy."
"Alright, hon," Lorelai laughed as she downed the last of her coffee.
"Lorelai." Michel stood in the doorway. "There is an irate guest on the phone who does not wish to talk to me, who is undoubtedly more qualified than you, whom he wishes to talk to."
"Fine, Michel, I'm coming." Lorelai gave him an exaggerated sigh before starting for the door.
Sookie caught her arm. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Michel made an unidentifiable noise with the back of his throat. "What are you two talking about?"
Lorelai rolled her eyes. "You. Sookie said you weren't fit to live with pigs, but I said you were."
He stared at her. Finally, Michel said, "Your immaturity makes me ill."
Sookie laughed. "See you later."
"Yeah." Lorelai twirled out if the kitchen, but not before giving the pair a smile. Her patented sarcastic smile.
The alarm clock beeped. Loudly. Again and again. Rory groaned, snuggling down into the hotel bed. She was jet-lagged and hungry, yet she didn't feel like moving so she could alleviate the hunger pains.
She had to get up. She had to have breakfast, and had to go to that – what was it, again? For a moment, Rory couldn't remember where she had put the day's itinerary. This hotel room was strange. Like everything else. She wasn't sure if calling Lorelai had made her more or less homesick.
She was going to take a gander and say yes, she was more homesick now.
After the forty-seventh head-splitting beep from the alarm clock, Rory threw off the duvet. "I'm going to be a popsicle," she announced to her cell phone. "Where is that stupid temperature thing?" She padded across the carpet and tried to change the thermostat. "Stupid!" she snapped. "Stupid, stupid, stupid -" she had just taken note of the time for the breakfast meeting she had with Mr. Young. She had less than half an hour left. "Oh. No."
Rory ran for the bathroom. There was no time for a shower. "Tomorrow," she said to the mirror Rory, who was busy trying to clip back her dark curls, "I am setting my alarm clock earlier." Mascara now. "I'm going to have all my stuff ready the night before." Rory held up her favourite lipstick, debating on whether or not to wear it. Why not? She went for it. "And it's just so typical to be late on your first official day. What is it with Gilmores and time?" She started rummaging through her suitcase for wrinkle-free clothing. "I think I got that gene from Mom."
Rory finally pulled on a white blouse, underneath her navy blue blazer and matching skirt. She twirled around in front of the full length mirror, making sure nothing embarrassing would happen in regards to her clothing. No skirts tucked into pantyhose – better not; she'd torn two pairs just in her haste to get ready. Rory smoothed the lapels of her blazer, picked up her cell phone in the pouch on her bag, and walked calmly to the door.
She snuck a peek at the day's itinerary. It was pretty low-key, for a start. Tomorrow, though, would be the big day: it would be her first press conference. With Barrack Obama, front and centre. This was major stuff.
Rory stuck the itinerary back into her briefcase. Up ahead, she could see a woman stepping into the elevator. She started to walk faster, hoping to arrive before the doors closed. She saw movement in the elevator as the woman held the door open for her.
"Thank you so much," Rory breathed, managing to get herself in the elevator. She checked her watch. Ten minutes before her meeting. She was swimming in time. Rory heaved a sigh.
"No problem," the woman replied cheerfully. "Are you with the Barrack Obama campaign?"
"I'm a reporter on the campaign," Rory replied. She straightened up slightly, feeling the importance of that single statement. She felt pride flow through her body, a testimony to the fact she still couldn't really believe this. "Rory Gilmore."
The woman shook her hand. "Tallulah Bell," she said. 'I'm on the campaign as well – with the New York Times."
"Oh, wow," Rory murmured. It was one thing to read the New York Times and dream about working there; it was another thing entirely to meet someone who worked for the Times and find out you're working on the same thing. Rory tried to breathe, "I'm with an online magazine."
The older woman nodded. "Just starting out?"
"I graduated from Yale, like last week," Rory admitted.
"Good school." She grinned. "Are you nervous to start working?"
"A little."
"Don't worry. Trust me, there's no time to worry. Besides, I'm sure you'll do great. You were editor of the Yale Daily News, right? And you wrote the Features beat before that?"
Rory nodded. Tallulah smiled. "I came across some old copies of the Daily News in the office. You're talented."
The elevator dinged, signalling that they were on the main floor. "I'll see you later, Rory," Tallulah said. "Good luck."
Rory followed her out of the elevator, feeling more confident than she had in days.
She had been hoping to make it into the diner without too much fanfare – no such luck. Miss Patty and Babette stopped her before she could cross the street. "Lorelai! You mystery woman!" Miss Patty called. "We haven't seen you in days!"
"Yeah, how are ya, sugar?" Babette added.
Lorelai plastered her insta-smile on. "I'm…well, you know – work, parents…I'm fine."
"You sure? We were all so damn worried about you!" Babette exclaimed.
"It's getting easier." She inched to the right, hoping they would get the message and let her leave.
"Have you heard from Rory?" Miss Patty pressed. "That girl's such a sweetheart, it must be such a shock to her to be out there."
"She's adjusting. She'll be fine."
"Good to hear, doll." Babette patted her arm. "Tell Rory we said hi."
"I will." Lorelai inched further away. "See you two later."
"Take care of yourself, Lorelai." Miss Patty waved as Lorelai smiled genially and walked away.
"What do you think?" Babette muttered.
"She's definitely back with Luke. Call Taylor. We're even more right than we thought."
Babette clapped her hands. "Weddings are just so damn beautiful!"
Lorelai pushed open the door of the diner. "Lorelai." Kirk was looking – no, staring – at her.
"Hi, Kirk. What can I do for you?" she asked.
"I've started another business," he began, "and as one of our always preferred customers, I was wondering when you'd like a free trial."
"Of what?"
"Hemp blankets. All-natural, hand-woven, very stylish, and Al Gore won't hate me for selling them."
"That's a great idea, Kirk." Lorelai sat down at the counter. "But you know who's going to hate you for soliciting in his diner?"
Kirk paled. "Luke. I knew I should've set up somewhere else."
"Have a nice day, Kirk." Lorelai spun around to face the kitchen. "Hey, Luke!"
"Hey," He called back. "How are you?"
"Ten."
"What?"
"Wow, I'm making a killing on this one. You're the tenth person to ask me that. I'm fine." She smiled at him. "Hi."
"Hi." Luke reached for the coffeepot. "I assume…?"
"Correctly." She took a giant gulp of coffee. "You know I have dreams about this coffee, right?"
"You're crazy." Luke pulled out his notepad. "Do you want anything else?"
"Cheeseburger with everything. And a really huge plate of fries." She lowered her voice. "Oh, yeah, I have dreams about your coffee all the time. Sometimes, it even talks to me."
"After you've had too much to drink?"
Lorelai glared at him. "It talks in your voice. Very sexy, by the way."
Luke rolled his eyes. "When you put it like that, Lorelai…"
"I knew you'd be happy." She put down the coffee mug and folded her hands. "Are you gracing my house with your presence tonight?"
"If you stop talking about talking coffee, I'll be there."
"Good."
Her cell phone started to ring; her ringtone trilling cheerfully to the tune of "How bizarre."
"What the hell is that?" Luke growled at her.
"My phone."
"Good Lord." He sucked in his breath. "Outside. Now."
"Luke…please?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Fine." She started searching for the phone anyway, ignoring his glares. She found the cell phone and pulled it out, letting a few other items fall onto the counter.
She had forgotten where she had put her wedding ring. As it clattered out onto the counter, she remembered. Lorelai glanced at the caller ID. Emily and Richard Gilmore. That could wait. She picked up the ring and the phone, chucking them back into her purse. Not before the significance of the band had registered in Luke's eyes. She saw the flash of pain. She knew it was reflected in her eyes. Lorelai swallowed now, feeling a dryness in her throat. "Luke, I didn't know – I never…I didn't even put it…" she stopped.
Luke bowed his head, speaking so quietly that she had to lean forward to hear him. "I think we're due for that heavy talk, Lorelai," he murmured.
She nodded, staring into the dark coffee depths. "Yeah. I guess we are."
He stood straight again, wiping the counter. Watching her. Lorelai tried to force some oxygen into her lungs. It wasn't working.
As she fumbled with some money to pay, Luke put his hand on hers. "Don't. You don't pay here."
Lorelai fled.
