You've Got Mail

I hate that hope still consumes me every time I collect my mail. If she emailed, I'd see it immediately 'cause I'm always working on the computer. If she called, I'd hear it 'cause I practically live at the office. But if she wrote? It could be sat in my mailbox for months and I'd never know 'cause Matt and Chris aren't exactly the most reliable when it comes to checking the mail.

I quickly sift through the countless bills and there it is. Neat looping handwriting. Jess Mariano, Truncheon Books. This is it. It must be. I rip open the envelope desperately but its contents aren't what I was expecting.

Inside, there's an invitation. The fancy card gleams iridescently in the weak light of my foyer, its ostentatious gold lettering proudly inviting me to attend the wedding of Gwen Jones and Owen Thorne. I don't remember ever meeting this couple and I check the address to clarify. Nope, definitely for me. Huh.

There's a note attached to the corner in the same handwriting as the envelope. It simply reads…

Jess,

You probably don't remember but I never forgot.

Please come. I can't promise alcohol on the scale of our last meeting but it will certainly be worth your while if that photograph is still sitting on your fridge.

Gwennie

Huh. Realisation dawns. I guess I do know this couple after all…or at least, I know one of them…in the biblical sense. Surely she must know that there are certain rules to be adhered to when getting married and one of those oh-so-important rules is that you don't invite your one-night stand to join the party.

Oh hell, why not? Balls to the rules. No point in being equated to being a James Dean wannabe if you're not ready to be a little bit rebellious every so often, is there?

…

What I didn't realise when I RSVPd to this practical joke of a wedding was that it's actually being held in my own personal hell; Stars Hollow. If you look really closely, you can see the faint chalk outline of a dead body outside Doose's Market. I dawdle for a few minutes, admiring my handiwork. I think there's still a couple of Wanted posters up in Doose's offering a $10 reward for me. Taylor always was a cheap git, doesn't look like much has changed.

My bridge certainly hasn't.

The wooden slats are cool against my legs as I sit down and study the calming movements of the water contemplatively. It's then that the angel and devil on my shoulders make their persuasive arguments…

Maybe she'll be at home this weekend. She'll be working. She likes to spend time with her mother, maybe she'll be tired and take a break from work. Then she'll be with Lorelai. She could be sitting in the diner with a coffee cup right now. Luke will look after her, she doesn't need to see me. She misses you, you know she does, just like you miss her. I've done enough damage already. Then who's a little bit more gonna hurt? Rory. It'll hurt her.

My decision is made and my demons relent. I pick myself up and dust myself off. I can hear the music starting up, drifting on the breeze. It's time to make an appearance at this ridiculous wedding.

…

"Bride or groom?"

"Um…bride, I guess."

As I'm ushered to my seat, I spot Babette, Miss Patty and East Side Tilly. I sit down as quickly as I dare and slide down on the uncomfortable chair, hiding my face in the programme. But I'm too late, they've spotted me and the whispering begins. There's no way I could be anywhere else.

But then the whispering stops.

"Bride or groom?"

They're fascinated by something…or someone.

"Um…groom, I guess."

I turn at the last minute. I'm convinced that I know that voice all too well. As it happens, all I see is a glimpse of long red-brown hair and a knee-length blue dress but there's a smell that lingers in the air around me. It cuts deep inside my heart because it's the smell of the perfume that I spent every free second inhaling when I lived in this tiny town. Her perfume. Rory.

I shake myself free of the thought. Not here. Not now. I'm imagining things. I must be.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…"