You're the one, you're all I ever wanted, I think I'll regret this.
Your Best American Girl, Mitski
July 2016
"Who was that?" He asks as she hangs up.
"Mom. Just keeping me updated on the latest." Her answer is breezy enough, but she sits down next to him in their green couch where he's stationed himself with his laptop, working. He feels her gaze and glances at her, she's chewing on her lip, cogs clearly turning.
"Something I should know about?"
"They're closing the Gazette."
"The town paper?"
"Yup."
"Good riddance." He looks back to his screen, but naturally not for long.
"What? No!"
"Oh, come on! I lived there for almost two years; They recycled articles in almost every issue, except when Taylor had some new project, they published the same poem for each season, not to mention Kirk's gossip column! Who cares what Babette had for breakfast?"
"You know, mocking is a defense mechanism." She pats him on the head.
"I was stating facts, what's that a mechanism for?"
"You know... We could help out with this." She twirls a strand of his hair around her finger, uh oh.
"Oh, no."
"Oh, yes! This is work we could do in our sleep."
"No!" He angles his head away from her grasp. "That saying should only apply when you're actually able to sleep through it!"
She obviously ignores his verbal and physical objections and scoots closer to him until they're side to side.
"We could spend a few weeks terrorizing Taylor 'til he gives in, you'd be good for that. I could create some new content, and you could edit, or the other way around. But you know, preferably the first alternative since editing involves the least amount of social interaction. And we could spend some time with Luke and mom and Doula."
"Rory. I'll gladly visit for a few days. But weeks? Why don't you do it? You wouldn't mind doing it while conscious."
"Please?"
"You don't need me."
"No. But I want you." He has no choice.
The premises holding The Gazette is placed in one of Stars Hollow's oldest buildings. Nice for a history lesson, terrible for any kind of actual activity. He's convinced that Esther and Charlie have survived all their years in this place by developing near lizard-like behavior; The lethargy is the only way for the human body to deal with the summer-heat. It makes work in there painful, warm to the point of them having to keep blowing fans on the desk and in the corner but not even close to how many they would've needed. The electricity in the building is adapted to the standard from fifty years ago making it incompatible with a lot of electrical devices, and with no hope of an upgrade since the building is apparently listed. Can't mess with historical heritage. It's probably freezing during winter time. He imagines their so-called colleagues in their set positions but in winter wear indoors.
All in all, it's just as bad as he knew it would be. This is not his idea of a vacation. He glares at Rory from across the desk. She's typing away at her computer, seemingly enjoying herself. He shakes his head. The things you do for love.
They've been here for almost two weeks. Taylor was very accommodating when he learned that they considered it charity work, a summer project. But Jess still catches him staring suspiciously at him daily, he definitely would have preferred just Rory on this. And as their work has progressed it's become clear that their so-called employer intends to prey shamelessly on her civic duty, even after they finish the issue. And she seems susceptible to the obvious manipulation. That and the heat makes his blood boil. This is not a viable alternative to her previous career, this isn't how it's supposed to go. Rory fucking Gilmore working for scraps in her hometown.
But hey, if she finds it fulfilling and could make it her own, maybe. Except she won't. Because nobody likes change around here. Not really. He already knew that too so it's no surprise when she comes back after lunch with Taylor at her heels; she's looking decimated and he's going on and on in his mincing manner about tradition, and how if they changed the poem civilization as it's known would end.
"Fine," Rory says. "We'll keep the poem, but what about the other changes?"
"Young lady-" He starts, and she mumbles something about not really being that young. "If we went around and changed every little thing for change itself, we wouldn't have a leg to stand on."
She's losing her considerable patience, he can tell.
"I'm merely suggesting we don't publish the annual program for town events again, from what I can tell it's been in the last two issues."
"People are expecting it! Old issues are already in the waste-bin."
Jess stares at Taylor from his place at the desk, tapping his fingers on the wood.
"But what do you expect us to do with the paper, Taylor?" She asks, voice bordering on desperate.
Taylor seems to think about it for a few moments, then:
"New bylines?"
He can't shut up anymore, concentrates his gaze on the desk to not lose it completely.
"This is insane, Taylor! You have two highly qualified editors and no salary to even cover one. The work entails no creative freedom, no nothing except maintaining the status quo, you might as well send the same pdf to the printers for every issue."
"Young man, seems to me you could use the experience of upholding the status quo for once in your troublesome life."
The urge to resort to name-calling - something along the lines of 'old man' seems appropriate for good measure - is too strong. He opens his mouth but Rory sneaks between them, once more deflecting disaster.
"Alright, Taylor. We'll discuss it and get back to you."
Taylor seems appeased by this, and possibly a little relieved at Rory shielding him, and leaves the Gazette.
•••
They're on a bench by the Gazebo, a paper cup of coffee each despite it being too late for it. The air cools off distinctly in the evening, but it's still warm. It's dark outside, the only light being supplied by the street lights and Miss Patty's studio where Taylor is heading some inexplicable exercise for the cast of the musical they're putting on. The actors are jogging, walking, dancing around the square in increasingly bizarre ways, chanting something partly resembling a marching song and what seems to be bits and pieces of the shows original, and questionable, material. Distracting to say the least, but no worse than Taylor, standing on the steps of the studio, keeping the pace with random shouts and sirens wailing off of his megaphone.
Rory's frowning, and staring at her coffee, trying to think her way out of the bear trap that is the situation at the Gazette. She's in the midst of it, when Jess' voice breaks through the fog in her head.
"I gotta go back home."
She straightens in her seat.
"No!"
He sighs, expression on his face equal parts apology and irritation.
"Last fall we were swamped and totally unprepared, I wanna get ahead of the curve this time."
"But what about lifeguard-duty?" She tries. "You're signed up for another turn next week."
"Uh-uh! I am not doing that again. Not unless Patty and Babette start keeping their thoughts to themselves, and you know that'll be when hell freezes over. Doula was right there!"
"But we're not done with the issue yet!"
"Sure we are. And the few things left you can handle on your own."
He's right, but the disappointment she feels is real, just the same.
"I thought you were seeing this through with me."
"I'd like to, but-"
He's interrupted by a wail from the megaphone. She shoots him a look, which he returns with another sigh.
"Fine, I don't, but that's not the point. Gotta prioritize my real work."
"Real, schmeal! That's not all you do!" Rory objects, feeling her frustration grow. "What about your own writing?"
"Stop projecting." He sing-songs, and it makes her lose it.
"Hey, for your information I'm not lacking in creative projects. You don't know everything I'm up to; I wrote something."
He blinks at her.
"Really?"
She hesitates.
"Yeah, I- I wrote a first chapter of something autobiographical."
"What? About your life?" A smile spreads across his face.
"That's what autobiographical means," she quips, "but, it doesn't really matter. It was a bust anyways."
He flinches and frowns as another shout from the siren cuts through the night.
"Like hell it doesn't matter! Tell me." His tone is sharp, and she raises her voice to match it.
"I didn't think it through, alright? I didn't consider who it'd effect."
"What happened?" He's stares at her intently by now.
"I told my mom, and she wasn't thrilled over the prospect of being in a potential book." Her volume and speed decreases distinctly as she speaks the words.
He gapes at her.
"And you're backing down."
"You don't get it, if it hurts her-"
He grabs her hands, and speaks deliberately, parries her evasive eyes with his, everywhere she looks.
"It won't hurt her. You love each other. We covered this subject a long time ago. I'm the one who can't write about my mom, no amount of flowery meta-phrasing will be enough, remember? But you and Lorelai, no matter what you write you'll put the rest of us to shame."
"She said no,"
"So? She doesn't own the rights to your life." He shakes his head, eyes dark. "Shit, Rory, you've been in a rut for over a year, and when you finally find something... " He presses his lips together for a brief pause. "This place. It's a swamp."
Sure, he's talking about a place, but she knows it implies the people there too. Anger floods her. He goes on.
"Don't settle for this. Just 'cause you dropped the idea of Condé Nast doesn't mean you have to retreat. Run some run-down paper in your hometown. You don't need to be a big fish in a small pond, or krill in the Atlantic Ocean. You could just do your own thing."
"And what exactly is that?" She pulls her hands away from under his.
He sighs, rather sharply, impatiently, angry. And Taylor's voice chants rhythmically out the megaphone.
"I don't know! It's not my decision! That's my point. You have options, Rory! They're fucking infinite. Go back to school; Get into teaching; Write a book; Start editing... You name it. It's not unreasonable asking what you want. What do you want?"
She panics.
"What about you?"
"Geez!" He drags his hand across his face.
"What!? You have your own writing to do, I've seen it. When are you gonna make time for that? Is it always gonna take a backseat to Truncheon?"
This time it's feedback blaring through the megaphone, echoing between the buildings.
"Leave that alone, Rory. What I'm doing; That's it for me. So, if you had higher hopes for me then abandon them, right now!" He takes a breath, his eyes turning to the dark sky for a second. "I know I don't have a lot to offer, but there are some things; like; you could come work with us. We'd be happy to have you, and I know, you know, you'd be good at it."
He leans towards her as if meaning to continue, but Taylors voice cuts him off once more, and he jumps to his feet turning to the source of the noise.
"Dammit! Will you put that thing away on your own or do I have to come over there and take it away from you myself?"
Taylor puts his hands in the air.
"Well, well. You can take the hoodlum out of the hood, but-"
"But apparently there's no taking the Town Square out of the town square!"
"I have every right to be here. Town bylaws, paragraph-"
"It's nine pm! Now knock it off!"
Taylor waves dismissively at him.
"Remember the garden gnome!?" Jess shouts and Taylor pales. "Yeah!"
"Hey, this career advising-session stopped being about me a while ago." Rory says loudly, and Jess all but growls while turning back to her. "All you ever do is work on other people's stuff. Have you considered that Matt's gonna be a dad soon, and that that might mean more work for you? Are you willing to put that in? Maybe I'm not the only one who needs to review my life-choices."
"You're just saying that for company. Misery loves it." He glares at her, unflinching. "My job is enough for me. I'm not on some status-hunt. I don't need to label myself a writer to feel good about myself. I don't care what people think of me."
"And I do?"
"You know you do."
"And that's pathetic."
"That's not what I said..."
"Yeah, no need for that."
She gets up too, bitterness stinging in her throat, and walks past him, in the direction of her old home.
She's in the couch, staring blankly at the muted TV about an hour later, when Lorelai comes home having worked late.
"Hey, hun." Lorelai leans over the side of the couch kissing her forehead.
"Hi mom."
Lorelai sits down next to her.
"What's up?"
"Me and Jess got in a fight."
"Yeah, figured as much since you're here, not attached at the hip with him. What was the fight about?"
"I don't know. Our lives."
"Wow, profound. I gather you didn't land on any grand solutions."
"Nope. He said he had to go back home, and the issue isn't done yet, so I-" She pauses, thinks about it. It seemed dramatic at the time, but now it just seems petty. "He wants me to set out some new kind of course for myself, I haven't been happy with work lately."
It's the first time she puts this into words so explicitly to her mother, and she holds her breath in wait for a response, vaguely puzzled that she didn't pick this end to start with, when telling her about her autobiography. Lorelai looks at her for a few moments, and then just seems to dismiss it, even with a little crooked smile.
"So, naturally, you defended yourself."
Rory sighs.
"By all means necessary."
"That's my girl."
"I might have some actual issues with goodbyes. Particularly when he's the one leaving." She shakes her head. "So ridiculous."
"But not inexplicable." Lorelai mumbles, putting an arm around her.
"He was pissed, went on some rant about him at least not being obsessed with other people's opinions-"
"Ouch."
"-And he yelled at Taylor."
"Well, I like that."
They're silent.
"But, basically, you're fighting over who of you has to press 'send' to the printers?" Lorelai asks.
"Well..." Rory tries to find another angle, but is too tired to see it. "It is very embarrassing."
Lorelai chuckles. The front door opens and Luke walks into the house, stops by the couch and points to where he came from.
"Jess is out there. Sitting on the porch like some tomcat."
Her heart skips a beat.
"Yeah. Sorry about that." She gets up. "I'll take care of it." She straightens her clothes, hesitates for a few seconds, then: "I have to keep writing, mom."
Lorelai's amused façade drops.
"We'll talk about it later." Rory says, and walks out onto the porch closing the door behind her.
He is sitting at the top step. She walks up to him, observing his shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. Finds herself no longer angry, but rather longing for him. She sits down next to him, the decreased physical distance both comforting and upsetting her.
"I love you, you know that, right?" He starts after a few beats, stares at the ground.
"Yes." She whispers.
"You're the kindest person I know. It may not seem it, but I love that part of you. And the thing is, you can't be kind without caring about other people."
She looks at him and he looks back.
"I respect you. I admire you." He speaks slowly, like he's concentrating. "And I should tell you more often. I'm pretty bad at this."
She softens as she considers that that is his opinion of himself. Warmth spreads in her chest.
"You're not bad at this, Jess." She hooks her arm around his and tangles their fingers together. "I have a bit more experience in this department, and I can tell you, that you are actually really good at it for the most part. You're patient, and supportive, and you may not always tell me with words, but you show me how you feel. I just need to hear it, occasionally. It's how I am."
"We're different. I mostly just know what I want. You think, weigh, figure it out, and that takes more time. I'll try to take that into account from now on."
"Hey. This wasn't even about you." She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose with her free hand. "I'm all over the place in a fight."
"You're okay." He admits, some grim amusement in his voice. "You landed a few shots."
"So, the goal is to do damage?" She says, helpless smile on her lips.
"Sun Zi seems to think so."
"Silly."
"Yeah."
They're silent for a minute, before she asks.
"You're going?"
"I'm staying."
"Silly."
He shrugs.
"I don't mind."