Hello guys, i know it's been pretty much a year but i've just entered college and it's both amazing and a mess at the same time, but i've had this plot bunny for a month now and well, i know it's not the usual dialogue filled chapters i tend to write but grief isn't easy, both in life and paper, i hope you enjoy and please review, for the love of God! i'm desperate for some feedback and also suggestions for the next chapter. x

Loss

Fall 2040

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die? Is it love we just hold on to, never easy, but we try?

The quasi nasal tingle of Céline Dion's melodic voice fills my ears as I take the hottest shower of my life. Even though supposed to be cleansing, I can't help to feel sweaty and suffocated, but the need to breathe properly is the only thing grounding me to my sanity at the moment. I've always enjoyed the feeling of being encased in a vapor bubble, and this precise bathroom, the one in the Huntzberger palace – I refuse to call it anything less grand – 90% covered in mirrors, creates the effect of my own personal chamber of Hell, or basically a sauna. My lungs, previously obstructed with the feeling of despair, feel lighter and thus I inhale deeply, trying to calm my senses and think logically. First, let's round up the current facts.

My name is Charlotte Huntzberger, and I'm 23 years old.

Today is September 23rd, the Fall Equinox.

I'm showering at the Palace, my home for the past four months.

It's been a year since I graduated from Yale.

I should be downstairs with my family, but I can't face them.

I was supposed to be married today.

I was supposed to be happy, but I'm not.

I'M NOT FINE.

And the source of it all: Grandpa Mitchum is dying.

It's funny really, how the universe conspired against me to make Mitchum Huntzberger the dearest person in my life. Even though my siblings and I spent half of our childhood at Stars Hollow under Lorelai II's care, the happiest moments that always come to mind are coming to the Palace to see Grandpa; we'd spend most our time together in his study, reading, "working", or just chatting about my life and my well-being. To most, Mitchum was the devil incarnated. To me, he was the one who loved me the most. And now he's dying, with a terrible prognosis and even more terrible odds of lasting through the weekend. You'd think he'd be suffering a terrible, nondescript incurable disease, but like most of the world's sick population, his life is being taken away by plain old cancer in the blood. Leukemia. It's moments like this when I wish I'd gone to medical school, as I can't help to feel impotent, and, ignorant, and restless about my inability to make him better. The water turns cold at last and I turn it off, letting the steam disperse for some seconds before exiting the shower. The mirrors are fully blurred, except for the one closest to the window, where I can see my unrecognizable reflection. Ever since I moved in to become Grandpa's official care taker, my mood as well as my appearance have gloomed. The bags under my eyes are deep and purple, my blonde hair is unkept and tangled most of the time, I've lost at least 5 pounds, and my eyes don't shine anymore. That's what happens when you see how a loved one deteriorates before your own stupid eyes. Celine blares across the room, and I replay the track over and over again – Grandpa first introduced me to the old live-action of Beauty and the Beast, the one where UN Chairwoman Watson stars in - while I get ready to face, unironically, the music. I understand the need to reinforce family ties before an upending tragedy, but I mean, even grandmother Gilmore is here, and she hates Mitchum, and I for once, hate hypocrisy. And there's also another elephant in the room, my estranged fiancé Adam, whom I haven't seen since I postponed the wedding plans until further notice and ran out of our apartment in Manhattan to stay here. My engagement ring is still on my finger of course, and the wedding is still a done deal, but my mind has been about saving Grandpa I haven't even responded to the entirety of his texts. I hope he understands. Almost ready, I open my jewelry closet and wonder what to wear today. Grandpa's noticeable favoritism towards me mostly came in the form of expensive and exotic jewelry, always giving me the rarest and precious pieces money could buy. At first I didn't wear them at all – probably my prude of a mother's influence – but now I flaunt around the house dressed in almost rags, but adorned with millions of dollars. A strange sensation in my heart urges me to pick Grandpa's favorite pieces – a pair of 4 carat radiant-cut South African diamond earrings commissioned for my debutante ball, an 18th century Imperial Japanese pearl necklace acquired at an auction in Tokyo, said to be worn by the wife of the Emperor, and my signature accessory and by far, the most ostentatious, ridicule, and sentimental piece of my collection, a record breaking 22 carat Colombian emerald solitaire ring commissioned for my 18th birthday, which according to aunt Odette is valued in about 10 million. The jewelry contrasts with my lack of makeup and simple white t-shirt and black slacks, and I can feel the envious stares of Shira, and my cousins, and the disapproving eyes of my mother, and the concerned ones of my father and fiancé, and the complying smirks of my siblings and I smile, because I'm a fucking heiress and I'm having an emotional crisis and honestly, I don't give a damn of what anyone thinks right now.

The Palace's salon reeks of tobacco and scented vapor as I open the mahogany doors and make my grand entrance, and as expected, all eyes are on me. My father immediately stands up and gives me a bear sized hug; at first it feels awkward as I have tended to elude human contact for the past few months, but his cologne is the same one Grandpa wears for special occasions, and I take in the scent and melt into his arms, feeling seven again.

"How's my caramel-covered apple doing today," Daddy mutters to my ear, and I have a genuine laugh for the first time in days. I look up to see his face and notice the wrinkles around his eyes, and his 3-day beard, and the white coming out of his roots, and for the first time it occurs to me that my parents are getting old too, and that time is a bitch and escapes nobody. Dammit, my eyes are starting to water.

"Well, I slept more than 5 hours today, which is an improvement from the past week," I respond, getting out of his embrace to go sit next to Dylan, my favorite brother. He's turning 13 this year, and is almost as tall as my mother now. He takes my hand without uttering a word and I'm thankful for the lack of questioning on his side. Richard, as usual, is nowhere to be seen, probably running around with Emeraude in Stars Hollow or at the Gilmore estate in Hartford. He's the unofficial heir to the Gilmore's, as both Emily and Lorelai adore him to death; maybe that's why he dislikes the Huntzbergers so much, maybe grandmother and great-grandmother transmitted their own feelings onto him. Mentioning the Wicked Witch of the West, she's stationed next to my mother, and predictably, her eyes widen an judge my jewelry.

"Going somewhere so pampered, sweet cheeks?" she asks, her voice laced with fake sweetness towards me.

"Nowhere special Lorelai," I answer swiftly, and I can see my mother twitch at my lack of emotion towards her mother, "Just felt like looking sparkly today."

"Now I see why Ror's keeps using the same old earrings I got her years ago, you surely raided her jewelry box," she comments and the sarcasm is palpable. I smirk.

"How ironic, grandmother, given the fact that you live vicariously off my parents' money as your little hostel barely scrapes by every…"

"That's enough Charlotte," my mother speaks and we cross looks, blue and brown clashing defiantly, "Apologize to your grandma, you have no right to be that rude no matter your current emotional circumstances, and yes, why are you wearing all that?"

My hands run over my necklace, and my voice comes out in an almost whisper.

"These are Grandpa's favorites," I explain, eyeing her carefully, "And I don't know if there'll be another chance for me to wear them for him, so I choose to wear them now."

Grandmother Shira speaks to me for the first time in a week. She was sitting next to Honor, her husband, and my cousins Michael and Nicholas, chatting in a hushed tone when she stands up and starts walking towards me.

"Those pearls were supposed to be mine, I was the one who told Mitchum about the Tokyo event, but I admit they suit you perfectly," her frail finger run across my cheek in an attempt to caress me, and I appreciate the gesture, even though she's never cared a lot for me – auntie Honor's boys stole her heart when they were born – she's proud enough to stand up for me in my feud with Lorelai, "You, the ultimate Huntzberger princess."

"Thanks Grandma, how is he today?" I ask, haven't been to his room all day.

"Dr. Vikram is with him right now, performing his weekly analysis," auntie Honor chimes in and I smile profoundly at her, "Hopefully, he'll come any minute now with some good news."

"I wish I could provide with what you want," a voice comes from the salon's entrance, and the entire family turns to the newly arrived Dr. Vikram, the Huntzberger longtime personal physician. He's got plastic globes on his hands protecting a platinum Patek Phillipe I personally bought for him as a thank you for all his services, and he takes them off as he enters the room, "Unfortunately, I'm the bearer of grave news."

I can feel the tension in the room turning to dread.

"How's my father Vik? Please, be honest," Daddy takes my mother's hands and she strokes them gently, trying to offer him some comfort.

"Logan, Mrs. Shira, Honor, you know how much I've enjoyed working for you after all this time, and I wish I had something else in my power to help Mitchum, but his cancer is far too advanced at this point, and given his age, the fact he refused chemo and the lack of effect alternative medicine had on him … I'm so sorry to say that there's nothing else to do, but say your goodbyes."

They say shock numbs your senses, but I think it amplifies mine.

I can hear the choked sobs in Shira's throats escaping.

I listen to auntie Honor's gasps and silent tears.

Daddy doesn't say a thing, but I know there's disbelief in his eyes and sorrow in his heart.

And I, Lorelai Charlotte Huntzberger, can feel the heat of the room, the tears on my cheeks, my mother's stare, my brother's hug, my lungs on fire, and the world crashing down on my fucking human body. This is it. It is goodbye.

…Sometimes our happiness is captured, somehow, our time and place stand still…

The adults decide to hold personal encounters with Mitchum; Dr. Vikram said he won't last through tomorrow, and to seize the day for everyone to come. Daddy calls the HPG lawyers, Honor calls our extended relatives, Mother tracks down Finn, Colin, their families and my brother, and as the hours pass by, people come and go, and I accept empty condolences for something that hasn't happened, and that I'm still in denial off.

Richard arrives with Emeraude and her family, and it's noticeable how much our relationship has deteriorated for the past year when he instantly goes to grandmother Lorelai's side, and seems nonchalant and even bored about Mitchum's upcoming death. My blood boils. Emeraude runs to my side, and though I utter no words, she holds my hand and caresses my hair just I used to do when we were little and our age difference was palpable, when I was more of an older sister than a best friend, and she longed for comfort she couldn't get from her ever-travelling parents. Uncle Finn and Uncle Colin stand by Daddy as he takes endless phonecalls, and appear available to get him everything he needs. I decide to finally swallow my shame and call my fiancé when I see him rush through the Palace's main doors, and both of our families stand still for my unpredictable reaction. I gather his appearance, his dishelmed, just woke up hair, his beautiful brown eyes, his boyish features, and I run into his embrace, and it doesn't matter that we haven't spoken in months, or that I feel undeserving of his forgiveness, I embrace the fact that he's here for me, that he loves me, and that he feels my pain, because what is his is mine, and viceversa.

One by one, the salon empties.

First goes my grandma, who takes her time to go upstairs, and requests Honor to be with her as she prepares to part from her life partner. She never comes back down. I guess she locks herself in her private rooms to smoke and cry. Then goes auntie Honor, whose sobs I can listen even when she leaves the palace, anguished and in pain. My cousins just take a few minutes, and they rush out of the estate in their sports cars, probably going to rent the priciest suit money can afford for the funeral. Some business associates close to my grandpa go up and down in a blink, and then it's time for my siblings. Dylan's teary eyed and faintly crying when he comes back down, and Richard, surprisingly, has red eyes and I sad face on. My mother and father go in together, but I catch the sight of my mother waiting outside the door, while father and son cross words one last time. An hour goes by, then another. When Daddy comes back, the sun is setting and the house is pretty much empty, excepting grandma, my family and the doctor. When Daddy comes back, he doesn't go to my mother's arms, but instead engulfs me in a crushing hug, and I feel his hot tears on my shoulder, and I wonder what God gains from making a child console her own father. My parents decide to take Dylan to Stars Hollow for him to rest, and Richard goes with them. Daddy shares a look with my fiancé, and Adam turns around and kisses the heavens out of me, and then my family leaves me alone, and it's time for me up the stairs.

…How does a moment last forever? How does our happiness endure?...

The room is packed with the ultimate machinery, and when I open the door, I can listen my grandfather breathe through life support. He's lying on the left side of his king-sized swan feather mattress, and he's got a book between his weak hands, and as I approach him, I see that it isn't a novel that has got him so enterteained, but a photo album, my childhood photo album. He notices another presence in the room, and when he takes a look at me, his whole face lightens up, like a child on Christmas morning. I'm gonna fucking cry.

"My dearest Char," he says, and his voice is so soft I can barely hear him, "Come with my baby."

I can't talk, but I cross the room as quickly as my legs allow me and carefully kneel beside his bed.

"Hi Grandpa, how are you feeling?" I ask him and hold his hand, so cold yet so warm to my touch.

"Oh, you know I've been better child," his laugh turns into a cough and he puts his life support on again for a few minutes, when he's stabilized again, he speaks again, "But now that you're here with me I feel the best I can."

I can't hold my tears anymore, and I cry shamelessly against his chest, feeling so small and helpless at the sight of my once strong grandfather in his deathbed.

"Do not cry for me my love, tears ain't worth it."

I raise my eyes furiously, and blink as I rant.

"Don't you know by now that you're always fucking worthy Grandpa? I haven't given a damn my entire life about what anyone else thinks of you, and I'm not going to start now that you're leaving me."

There it is, the abandonment that has crept through my senses since I found out about him being sick. He's leaving me alone, and alive, and I can't stand a world without my grandpa.

"Please don't leave me," I plead him, and the Mitchum Huntzberger cries, not bawling like I am, but tears stream down his face in an unprecedent amount, "I don't think I can live in a world where you're not there to pick me up when I fall down."

My grandpa takes the photo album and opens it in what I think is his favorite picture.

It's 2025, I'm suddenly 8 and it's my birthday party at the palace, a beauty and the beast themed party. All my friends are there; mommy and daddy are chasing Ricky around for a picture, and I've got cake in my face for stuffing my mouth with it, and my yellow dress is dirty of soil and grass and food and candy but still, when grandpa arrives after work, I run towards him and mess up his pristine suit, but he doesn't care and neither do I, and in his increasing old age he still picks me up and carries me around the party, showing off to all the guest that I, his precious granddaughter, I'm all grown up and beautiful and his favorite person on earth. I kiss him on the cheek, and we're laughing and dancing to Ariana Grande and John Legend, and then my mother snaps a picture.

It's 2025 and I'm the happiest little girl.

It's 2040 and I'm the saddest woman alive.

"Remember how happy you were when I took you to Disneyland specially to buy your dress? You wore it for days straight afterwards and only took it off when I bought the blue peasant one too," he reminisces, and I laugh through the tears, and we start talking about all of our moments together, good, bad, sad, happy, special, and trivial. He compliments my jewelry, and lingers on my engagement ring, a sad look across his face.

"You're going to be the most radiant bride on the planet, and your wedding will be the event of the century," he states, and kisses the palm of my hand.

"You won't be with me when I walk down the aisle."

"I'll always be with you baby girl, as long as you remember me I'll always be with you."

He's silent for a few minutes, and then asks me to sing him our song. How does a moment last forever by Céline Dion. My voice is shaky and off-key and plain awful, but he starts to hum to the lyrics as I sing, and I swear to God, I'll never forget his expression, his love for me, the way he held my hand so tightly it hurt, and then, the moment he loosened his grip forever.

The moment he let go of my hand.

The moment his breathing stopped.

Minutes turn to hours, days to years then gone

But when all else has been forgotten

Still our song lives on…

Later that night, my parents find me in the same kneeling position I've had for the past four hours, when I acknowledged my grandfather had died in my arms and our time together was over, and I called the doctor and I refused to talk to him and I went downstairs and hid in the broom closet, the exact same place I used to hid when Mitchum and I played hide-and-seek every Wednesday afternoon. Daddy touches my legs waiting for me to respond, but I don't feel like moving, I don't want to move, I can't move. I just murmur and murmur and murmur, and wonder, how does a moment last forever, and how can someone so special die, and how am I gonna get through this, but I can't think of any great solution for what's happening now, and for a moment I stop being Charlotte Huntzberger, Queen of Manhattan, the Huntzberger princess, the ever-powerful, the perfect girl, and become just Charlotte, whose grandfather just died, who dumped her fiancé, who's estranged from her mother, and feels lost in life.

I don't know what else to do.

So I just cry.