"Is not the decisive difference between comedy and tragedy that tragedy denies us another chance?" — John Updike

"I've marked all the best antique shops on this map," Lorelai told the couple at the front desk, pointing to them with her pen. "That one is currently closed but these others are excellent. Happy hunting!" She smiled cheerily as they thanked her and headed for the door.

"Lorelai?" Michel was suddenly standing next to her.

She jumped and put her hand over her heart. "Where did you come from?"

"I had to sneak up on you like a cat because you've been avoiding me all day. I don't even like cats," he said disdainfully.

"I know you want me to sign off on the skincare line you chose. I just — my mom cancelled again but I'm trying to reschedule for next week." She walked into the library, Michel following.

"You've been trying to reschedule for a month. I don't understand why you want her advice so badly. She has good taste but she's getting old," he said, whispering the word "old" like it was profanity. "She will want everything to smell like gardenias."

Lorelai just grunted exasperatedly, busying herself with a messy stack of books that needed to go back on the shelf.

"This has nothing to do with our spa products, does it? Nothing to do with the vision that I am working so hard to bring into fruition. This is all about you and your mother and the never-ending cycle of resentment I've had to hear about for the last two decades of my life."

Lorelai glared at him. "Michel, we're not finalizing the product list until I say so, got it? I don't know why this is so hard for you to understand. Just deal with it," she said sharply.

He looked at her like a parent waiting for a child to finish crying out a temper tantrum.

"I'm sorry," she said, cringing. "That was too much. I just — today's a hard day. Chuck Berry died, and I was feeling really crappy and my mother didn't pick up the phone, again."

"What does Chuck Berry have to do with anything?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Forget it."

He looked like he wanted nothing more than to forget it and walk away, but a sense of guilt and duty prevailed, and he sat down. "The dynamic between you and your mother has certainly changed recently. Usually you're the one running away from her."

Lorelai finished straightening the books and moved on to the magazines, rearranging them in a fan shape. "That's how it's supposed to be. But she left, and after decades of breathing down my neck and obsessing over the minutiae of my life, she doesn't seem to give a damn anymore. She wants a week at Christmas and two weeks in the summer and that's it."

"I would have thought you'd find that ideal."

"But she's not supposed to find that ideal." Lorelai knew it sounded selfish. "She got rid of all the St. John and that was fine. She left all the oriental rugs in Hartford and filled her new house with sea grass and that was fine. She quit the DAR, which was possibly the proudest moment of my life as a daughter, and now she volunteers at a museum and goes for walks on the beach with her new friends, and that's all fine. I know it's good for her, it's healthy. But it's like she got rid of everything that made her my mother and now she has no use for me."

She took a deep breath and went on. "Maybe it's stupid, but even after I lost my dad, I never thought about what life will be like once my mom is gone. She's supposed to live forever. She's far too stubborn to die. There's not a single mortician in the world she'd trust to do her makeup properly. But when I saw her with her arm in the sling at Christmas, she looked — frail. She looked mortal."

She trailed off as a group of guests clambered down the stairs, struggling with their bags.

"Michel can help you with those," she said, hurrying into the foyer as one of the suitcases popped open.

"Do we not employ a bellboy specifically for this purpose?" he grumbled under his breath, standing. "Where is Austin, anyway? Flirting with Madison by the stables again, I bet."

"You know way too much about our teenage employees' love lives," Lorelai commented primly. She paused. "But wait, I thought Madison was with Caleb?"

Michel scoffed, shaking his head at Lorelai's outdated gossip, and then pasted on a smile as he approached the guests and their overstuffed luggage.

Rory fiddled with a binder clip, flicking the metal parts up and down, up and down. She looked back at Jess' notes. He was right about her dad. She'd written him flat, an accessory, a plot hurdle, not a character. "I didn't understand why Lorelai was drawn to Christopher at all," Jess had written. She needed to flesh him out. She'd tried, at least she thought she had. But she hadn't wanted the book to be about him. There were enough books in the world about fathers who disappoint their families. She was writing something else. But maybe she'd overcompensated.

She looked at the clock. The town meeting started in twenty minutes and she needed to cover it for the Gazette. She was at the office, but she wanted to swing by the house to drop her bag off beforehand. She'd deal with the Christopher problem later.

She hurried down the street, trying to avoid the few patches of snow still lingering in the end-of-winter cold. As she passed Kim's Antiques she noticed the new sign. The new owner had been renovating for a few weeks, and she'd just started getting used to seeing the place without the old, familiar sign. It still felt strange, knowing that the rooms that used to be crowded with old treasures were empty, there wasn't a single Bible left in the building, and the formidable Mrs. Kim herself was halfway around the world.

"Bell's Antique and Vintage Furniture," said the new sign. The same but different. At least it wasn't a Chipotle.

She hadn't seen Lane in a couple of weeks and felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that Lane was going through a period of adjustment. She decided to change her plan. Instead of heading home, she'd stop by Lane's house to see if she wanted to go to the meeting. She could just lug her bag around with her.

"I'd love to," Lane said instantly, grabbing her purse and calling out to Zack and the boys that she'd be back in an hour. "I haven't left the house all day."

"I saw the new sign," Rory said. "How weird is it for you?" They began walking toward Miss Patty's.

"Super weird. It's just starting to feel like it's irreversible, now that the place sold. Even when she comes back from Korea in a couple months things won't be the same."

"How are you feeling without her here?"

"This might sound crazy but… I have too much free time now. I'm not helping out at the antique shop, I'm not getting dragged to church activities, we found a better baby-sitter for the nights when the band plays. I actually don't know what to do with myself when the boys are at school. I'm really freaking bored. I'll probably look for a job, but I have no idea what kind."

They weaved through the crowd clustered around the entrance and found a pair of empty seats. "It's kind of cool," Rory mused. "An opportunity to reinvent yourself. At least for eight hours a day."

"Yeah," Lane said, nodding and furrowing her brow as she thought about it. "Nico reinvented herself. She went from unsuccessful pop star to the Velvet Underground."

"Arnold Schwarzenegger started as a bodybuilder and he became the governor of California," Rory offered.

"Posh Spice transformed herself into a very successful fashion designer," Lane said.

Babette poked her head in between them from the row behind them. "Clooney went from playboy to married father, all after he turned fifty. It's never too late for a change! Right, Patty?"

"Oh, yes. Ladies, at your age I was only on my second marriage. I had so many men left to experience." She wiggled her eyebrows.

They were spared the details as Taylor called the meeting to order.

The meeting was a long one. The post office collection box was being moved and there would be room for a new flower bed. They had the option of planting dahlia or begonia bulbs. The debate was heated; sides were taken, loyalties tested. Andrew and his girlfriend broke up over it, but only briefly. Someone brought up tulips and the crowd went wild.

"Those need to be planted in the fall," Taylor said, exasperated.

"The Dutch tulip bubble bursts again," Rory remarked.

Mercifully, a treaty was reached: they'd plant lilies instead. Rory took copious notes, flexing her aching wrist once the matter was settled. She took out her phone to check the news quickly. She hadn't had time all day.

Lorelai snuck in as Taylor turned to the next matter. "What did I miss?" she whispered, sliding into the empty seat next to Rory.

"War," Lane said.

"And peace," Rory added. She looked down at her phone, frowning.

"Our next item of business is this year's Easter egg hunt. Now, every year since — well, as long as I can remember — Doose's Market has donated the eggs for the hunt. Large, white, Grade A eggs."

Lorelai wriggled out of her coat and settled in. Rory leaned over and held out her phone, the New York Times homepage open on the screen. "Chuck Berry died."

"I heard." Lorelai replied. They exchanged a look. Lorelai squeezed Rory's hand.

"Did Grandma call?"

"Nope." Lorelai's mouth was a thin line.

"This year, Mrs. Tucker has offered to donate eggs produced by the chickens she keeps in her yard." He gestured at the elderly woman in the front row. "A very kind offer," he said flatly.

"I'm supposed to go visit her in six weeks. I hope she doesn't forget," Rory said. Grandma was different now. It was probably healthy, the act of remaking yourself when your whole world goes sideways. But in a way they'd lost her just like they'd lost Grandpa.

"Well, she'd be too busy if it were me, but maybe she can squeeze you in," Lorelai replied drily.

"These are brown eggs, of varying sizes, that have not been graded by the United States Department of Agriculture. They could be C's, for all we know." Taylor's voice dripped with disdain.

"Could they be D's, Taylor?" Lorelai called out.

"Quite possibly," he said.

"What about double D's?" Gypsy chimed in. People snickered.

"We'd have to test them to be sure."

"I think they can do that at Victoria's Secret, Taylor," Babette yelled out.

Taylor finally realized that no one but him was taking the issue seriously. "This is no laughing matter, people. Can you even dye a brown egg?"

Rory's phone buzzed and she glanced down to see who it was. "Be right back," she said, climbing out of their row and leaving her notepad behind. "Take notes for me." She slipped out the door as the conversation turned to Michael Pollan and the merits of hunting locally grown eggs.

"Hey," she said quietly, answering the phone as she stepped away from the building.

"You busy?" Jess said.

"Just left a town meeting."

"Let me guess. Voting on how to christen the new bike rack?"

"A debate about Easter eggs, actually." She considered sitting down on a bench, but she'd left her coat inside and the night had turned cold. She shuffled back and forth along the sidewalk instead.

"Real versus plastic?"

"Close. Big Ag versus locally laid."

"Ah. Should've guessed."

Rory switched her phone to her left hand and shoved her right hand in the pocket of her cardigan to try to warm it up. "So, what's up?"

"We had our meeting with the Blue Fern guys today."

"Oh, yeah!" He'd mentioned it a few days before but it had slipped her mind. "How was it?"

"It went well. I asked about that old lawsuit. Their explanation pretty much matched what I heard when I asked around."

"Good. I knew it was probably nothing."

"But I'm glad we knew about it. The guys really appreciated everything you sent. We all did, I mean. You're known as Harriet the Spy around here."

"Well, I'm not one for tomato sandwiches, but I'll take that as a compliment. Anyway, it's the least I could do after all your help." She shivered and bounced up and down on the balls of her feet to try to generate some warmth. "So are you going to do it, then? Sell?"

He paused. "The guys are leaning yes. I'm still… I don't know. We haven't made a final decision. I just keep thinking — what happens if we do it, and they want to change everything, or publish books we don't believe in, or fire us. And then it's ten years of work down the drain. I wouldn't even know... I've never done anything else."

"It's too bad you can't team up with them without giving up control," Rory pondered, thinking about the benefits they'd be giving up if they turned the offer down.

"Yeah," Jess said vacantly. "Anyway, how are the rewrites coming?" He'd reached his quota of talking about himself, as usual.

"I've been working on my dad," she said. "I have some ideas I was planning to email you about later."

"Sounds good," he said. He was silent on the other end of the line for a moment. She balled up her hand into a fist and blew warm air into it.

"Wait — we need to find a way to team up with them without giving them control," Jess said, repeating her words like he was hearing them for the first time. "Thanks, Rory. I have to go."

She had no idea why he was thanking her but he was clearly having an epiphany, and she didn't want to interrupt to ask for clarification. "Sure. I better get back to the meeting anyway. I can hear Taylor ranting about why the eggs need to be white."

"Jeez. I know Stars Hollow isn't exactly a hotbed of diversity, but I think he's taking it a little far."

A few days later Rory sat at her desk, bored with the article she had to write about the Easter egg debate. She did a little online shopping (well, online window shopping, thanks to her bank account balance) and perused the New York Times website for awhile. There was a great in-depth article about the healthcare bill. It must be a fascinating time to be a political journalist, she thought. She felt a pang of regret as she imagined what it must be like in the newsroom at the Times or the Washington Post these days. To be right in the thick of things, breaking stories that mattered.

You don't want that anymore, she reminded herself. Don't idealize it just because you're at a distance now. The grass isn't greener at Politico just because there are good stories out there.

But there were so many important stories out there. Journalism really mattered in this climate, didn't it? She thought about the Stars Hollow High senior English class and how little they knew about the history of the profession. Were they paying attention to what was happening now? They really should.

She picked up the phone and called the high school. "Rory Gilmore for Principal Merton," she said. She scrolled through the rest of the headlines as she waited.

"Principal Merton," she said when he picked up. "I understand that Mrs. Peterson hasn't come back to twelfth-grade English yet. Is that right?"

"Yes," he said hesitantly. "Are you writing an article about this? Because I assure you we're still meeting all the state curriculum requirements despite her absence." The Gazette was engaged in more hard-hitting journalism on her watch, and some people in town were apprehensive about it.

"No," she said dismissively. "But I thought — if you're still looking for ways to occupy the kids' time — you can send them over here again. There are some interesting things happening in the media. I'd be happy to talk to them."

"Well, off the record, we are running out of movie adaptions of books from the reading list," he sighed. "They've already watched three different versions of Pride and Prejudice. But you must be busy at the Gazette?"

She looked around the office. Charlie was snoring at his desk, head tilted back and mouth open like a gawping fish. Esther had gone to Florida for two weeks without even telling her first; Rory had only found out when she'd tracked down Esther's granddaughter in a panic, wondering if she was dead. The website was running smoothly and the latest issue would be ready for the printer once she finished the Easter egg piece.

"I'm very busy," she said. "It's a twenty-four hour news cycle, you know. But I'm a big proponent of a good education and I think this is important."

"Well, okay, then. I'll have my assistant reach out to set up a time."

Before she hung up the phone, she was already scribbling feverishly on a fresh sheet of paper. There would be a lot of ground to cover with the class, and she needed a solid outline.

Next week: Luke and Lorelai have a heart-to-heart about their not-so-empty nest; Rory and Jess bond when one helps the other in an emergency.