She heard the door close behind Tristan and she stood in her spot, the shimmering rage inside her body rocking her outlines into a fine tremble. Her nose registered the burning smell of popcorn as the microwave finished its task with a signaling chime.
She stared at Jess, who was still as a statue at the end of the hallway.
"I can't believe he did this" she murmured, the words not addressed to anyone in particular and she closed her eyes knowing there was no way to not address the man standing in front of her, no way to go back to the easy unweirdness of a movie night that she immersed herself in just until a couple of minutes ago.
"He had good intentions" she heard Jess' voice and she opened her eyes to stare at him in shock.
His words seemed genuine, uncomfortable, but genuine and she wondered for a second, in sheer panic, what these two talked about during the course of the last day.
The panic rose inside her as she stared at Jess, still standing in his coat and shoes.
It had been almost a year since she'd last seen him, ten months to be precise, and the memory of that meeting left a sour taste of regret and guilt in her mouth.
"What did you..." she started to ask, feeling no shame as she registered her panic fully translating into her voice.
"He came to see me with your book" he stopped her question in haste, and she could see a trace of disgust appear and disappear on his face.
"He thought it was a waste, not to publish it and he brought it to me so it would be" he went on.
"He doesn't know?" she asked, her voice sounding pathetically fragile.
"Not from me" he replied, his face calm.
There was a moment of silence and as the intense panic faded into a quiet sting in her body, she felt the rage come back with a vengeance.
"I can't fucking believe this" she huffed as she turned around and walked into the kitchen, stomping up to the microwave and opening the front to find a gush of smoke rise from within.
She sighed and picked at the edge of the bag, tossing it into the trash bin. She walked to the window on the far side of the kitchen opening it with a violent jerk to let some cool air in.
"He is right about the book" she heard his voice and she turned around startled, to see him standing in the doorway of the kitchen.
She stared at him for a second, taking in his appearance.
He had discarded his coat, now dressed in a gray button down shirt and black pants with a black velvet jacket on top. His clothes looked a bit disheveled and she couldn't tell if it was from the plane ride or from his lack of interest in it. He looked thinner, paler than last summer and a wave of worry washed through her. His eyes looked weary, tired and it looked as though he'd missed a couple of nights of sleep in the near past.
"I read it" he went on, breaking her observation "I read it three times... Rory, this is incredible."
She felt her cheeks blush as she leaned her back against the counter, a wave of nausea rising in her at the thought of Jess reading her words, her novel.
"It's..." she started, closing her eyes as she tried to steady her body despite the incredible weirdness of the situation.
"It's incredible" he repeated and she looked up at him with a scolding look.
"Jess" she said his name, a hint of annoyance in her voice.
"No, Rory. This isn't Jess talking. This is a writer, publisher, editor telling you what he thinks. This is business" he cut her off and she took a deep breath, her arms crossing in front of her chest.
He waited for a second before going on.
"I want this book. It has nothing to do with what we had or what happened last year" he shook his head, his speech sounding confident, unwavering.
She felt the blush return to her face, listening to him mention last year, the panic inside once again stirring.
"I want to publish it" he said, with quiet conviction.
"I didn't need your help" she said, her body going rigid with the anger seeping through her parts.
"I am not offering you help" he shook his head.
"I was going to do this on my own" she replied.
"I realize that" he agreed.
"And I wasn't going to take the easy way" she went on.
"I know" he said, closing his eyes with slight frustration.
"And if others didn't want it..." she said, pointing towards nowhere in particular.
"I want it" he said.
"You are Jess!" she huffed in frustration.
"I told you, that's not the reason" he shook his head.
"How can it not be? I am Rory, you are Jess. What were you going to say to him? That you wouldn't publish it?" she shot, incredulous.
"Yes" he replied, perfectly calm.
"If I hadn't liked it, I would have told him that and you would have never found out" he explained with a shrug.
She looked at him, perplexed.
She took a deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily.
"You really think that it's good?" she asked, her voice small, uncertain.
Jess smiled, for the first time during the course of their conversation and she realized how infectious that smile seamed, scarce as it was.
"Yeah" he said, nodding "Although I do wish you could have given me a more stellar end than freezing to death on a street" he chuckled.
She groaned, burying her face in her hands.
"It's not you!" she protested.
"Sure" he chuckled again.
She let her hands drop, staring at him again, the mood palpably less tense and she sighed, thankful to be able to look at him without remorse for the first time in the evening.
His eyes scanned over her body, but she didn't feel self conscious or shy, the brownness of his eyes caressing her like an old friend.
He moved suddenly, and she realized he was holding the manuscript in his hand.
He walked up to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and sitting in it, as he placed the stack of paper on the top.
She watched as his fingers skimmed over the front page, delicately, lovingly, her heart racing as she realized the paper looked worn, as if it had been read and rearead over and over again.
"Has she read it?" he asked, looking up at her from under his lashes.
She looked at him baffled.
"Mom?" she asked.
A slight nod was his only answer.
She shrugged as she stepped closer to a chair on the opposite side of the table.
"No, I haven't shown it to her yet" she said.
"Hmm" he mused, a small smile playing on his lips.
"I don't know if she'll..." she sighed, suddenly self conscious.
"She'll love it" he said, with a certainty that made her thankful.
His eyes fell back onto the front page and she narrowed her eyes as she studied his figure.
There was a moment of silence and a small smile spread on her face.
"You want me to change things" she wondered out loud.
He chuckled.
"I just think there's some progress to be made still" he raised his hands in defense.
She hummed in acceptance.
"Let's take the scene when she talks to the alcoholic" Jess said, his voice gentle, careful, opening the manuscript to a page that seemed worn.
"It's not you" she said, rolling her eyes.
"Okay..." he chuckled, his mouth twisting into a lopsided smirk.
"It's when things get shifted into perspective for her" he said, his words reflecting a sort of fascination, that made her feel warm inside.
"A different perspective" she corrected him.
"Right. One that allows her to accept some of the things she's done" Jess replied, his voice sounding energetic and enthusiastic.
She blushed again, feeling that enthusiasm radiate off of him.
"I thought that was hard to write. Because part of me thinks that it's still not justifiable, you know?" she murmured unsurely.
"So you think that it's justifiable for him to beg, steal and hurt...?" he chuckled.
"He's doing it in order to stay alive" she cut him off "But what's her excuse?"
He considered her question for a second, looking down onto the piece of paper again "Okay... let's take this part..." he said, his eyes scanning the script in front of him.
He started reading, his voice strong, but quiet, reassuring.
"Everybody has a story to justify them. All their wrong deeds, all their crimes. I've got a thousand, look at me. I could pick one, I could make you feel sorry for me, bring tears to your eyes, make you want to feel ashamed for taking the things you have for granted" he says, slightly slurring the words even though I know the shot I bought him could not have yet inebriated him.
"So why don't you?" I ask, my words sounding indifferent.
"What would be the point of that? To justify my mistakes? To even the score? To explain, why I let the ones who ever dared to love me to rot in disappointment? Do you think it would lessen the guilt?" he ponders, looking at me with those strangely vacant eyes that seem to refill with life as his emotions rise. I wonder for a second if there really are people out there suffering because they've invested love in this person, love gone to waste.
"What does then?" I ask, to stir him on.
"Nothing does" he smiles, as if sharing a secret. For a second he seems human and I scold myself for having doubts about people having loved him.
"But some things make it bearable..." he goes own, his eyes sparkling again " have to find your own reasons. Your own causes. Your own search" he says, taking another shot of his drink.
For some reasons the words reach me, just as his drink reaches his insides, because I feel the sting of them, like he must feel the sting of the alcohol.
"I feel like I have none" I hear my voice and it's foreign, small, broken "I feel like I have never been hurt. I feel like my mistakes are justified by other people's hurt."
"You've lost your mother. Isn't that hurt enough?" he smirks looking at me and my heart seems to stop suddenly. It takes me a minute to remember he knows my past.
"I didn't know my mother" I murmur.
"Not through your own eyes, no. But does that lessen the loss?" he asks, almost as if he were musing.
"Does that justify all I've done to other people?" I ask, my voice sour.
"You're so hard on yourself" he chuckles, finishing off his drink.
He finished reading the passage, and Rory realized she had been holding her breath the whole time, his voice speaking her words casting a spell on her.
"Why doesn't he convince her?" Jess suddenly asked, looking up at her and she gasped, startled.
"Maybe it's not time for her to be convinced yet" she shrugged, confused.
"She realizes the truth behind his words later" he agreed.
"Yeah, but I think she has to realize it for herself" Rory said, suddenly self conscious.
"You see, for me, it's obvious. For the reader it's obvious" he said with a wide smile, his voice once again energetic as his eyes darted across the kitchen.
"For her it's not yet" she pointed out, her words more quiet.
"Why?" he asked, looking at her suddenly.
"I guess she is too immersed to see clearly yet" she shrugged again, shifting her weight uncomfortably in her chair.
"She has all these second hand memories of her mother and she doesn't feel them her own, so she still can't relate to her mother. When she finally sees that those pieces of information make up a person, a person she's lost before she could even understand the importance of, she realizes that it justifies everything in her life. Her search, her failures, her lack of a drive" Jess said, his eyes shining with a kind of devotion that sent shivers to her spine.
"I think you should reflect on this conversation then" he said, getting even more excited, as he stressed the word.
"At the end?" Rory asked, slightly confused.
"Yeah, it gives meaning to this conversation, if she realizes it's meaning then" he said.
"You don't think that's obvious and cheesy?" she scoffed, with a small smile on her face.
"It doesn't have to be Rory" he laughed in return.
"You don't have to refer to it word by word. God, what do you think I meant, a fucking flashback? Have a little respect, youngling" he nudged her gently and she couldn't help but laugh, realizing the weirdness of the situation.
"Then how?" she asked, her voice curious.
"I don't know" he shrugged "Capture the atmosphere. Recycle the mood, reflect on the thoughts. You can do it without mentioning the alcoholic."
She sighed, realizing he had a point. A valid one.
It left her feeling stirred.
She finished the book, wrote the last page and since then, hadn't thought to change anything. To her, it seemed like she wrote all she could.
His words now, his views, made her see things in a different light. She wanted to explore his suggestions, but wanted to leave it be at the same time.
"You just want your grand exit at the end" she murmured, annoyed.
"Hah, I knew it was me" he chuckled.
She looked at him, seeing that careless easiness in his demeanor, that sparkle in his eyes and she felt incredibly light, understood. As though all these thoughts and words bottled up inside her finally found an outlet, found a way out.
She studied his face for a second, his lines becoming quickly familiar again. He noted the dark circles, the emerging creases.
"What?" he asked with a smirk and she glanced away self consciously, shaking her head.
"You look good" she murmured, hoping he wouldn't catch her lie.
He smirked, dropping his gaze to the floor.
"I doubt it" he replied with another chuckle "but it's good to see you too, Rory."
She sighed annoyed, hating that he could still read her after all this time.
"You look good" he said, with a flash of hurt in his eyes "much better than last year" he added, looking down once again as his voice died to a murmur.
"Jess, I never..." she started to apologize, the guilt once again taking over the lead in the clash of emotions inside her.
"It's fine, Rory" he stopped her.
"No it's not. I was horrible... again... and you should hate me..." she struggled.
"I could never hate you, Rory" he cut her off again.
She stared at him perplexed.
"I'm sure you had your reasons" he said, his brows furrowed and his voice thick with emotions "and I should take responsibility for whatever I let happen..."
"Jess" she called his name again trying to get his attention "I was in a really horrible place and I didn't know what I wanted and..." she tried to explain herself.
"And I was there and willing" he finished for her.
She let out the breath that was stuck inside her lungs as she stared at his face. It showed bitterness, but no trace of anger.
"I have no right to go and hurt people, I realize that and I have been working hard to amend for things... I just didn't quite get to you yet" she said, her voice shaking as self loathing managed to rise from its grave deep within her.
"You have" he stopped her and she looked up, baffled.
His face was calm, serene.
"I told you: I read the book. You made amends" he said.
She felt an intense wave of emotion just then, the incredible connection that she felt tying her to this man, no matter what, no matter how. She knew that after all this time, after all the hurt and pain they managed to cause each other, he still could understand like no one else, see her through her words like no one else. She shivered, watching as he sat across from her in the kitchen, a small smile playing on his lips.
"I am going back to Philadelphia" he said, his voice being back to business as he rose from his seat.
"I want you to come down for a meeting and we can sign the contract, pick an editor for you" he said turning around to walk back out the kitchen and towards the hallway.
She rose from the chair, partly baffled, then followed him, without saying a word.
"Why can't you be the editor?" she asked, and she scolded herself for sounding so small, so lost.
He froze in his track, his whole body tensing as he registered the question.
He turned around slowly, the darkness of the hallway casting calm shadows on his face. He suddenly looked older, more weary than he really was.
"I don't think that would be a good idea, Rory" he said, his voice extremely quiet, careful.
She nodded, swallowing back the taste of guilt in her mouth.
They stared at each other in the silent hallway and she wondered if things really did work like that, making amends. Maybe some things were never able to be fixed, never able to be forgiven, never able to fade. Maybe some things are left behind, like painful reminders of how easily things could go wrong, of how permanent and fragile every ripple could be in a human life.
"The third chapter also needs work and I am not crazy about the title" he said, his voice breaking the silence as if it were a truce, a treaty.
"What?" she asked chuckling, playing along with the scene they both knew was only a distraction.
"The Unexpected, it just sounds off" he explained as he took his coat form the wall, shrugging it on.
"I am not changing anything" she said with a chuckle.
"We'll see" he replied with a smile, turning to look at her.
They stared at each other, the moment of silence enveloping them again.
"You don't have to go. It's really late" she said, her voice soft.
He looked around with a wry smile.
"I'd rather not stay, if you don't mind" he replied.
She nodded, realizing the insanity of the prospect.
"Don't be too hard on him, okay?" he said and her heart froze in her chest, hearing Jess refer to him.
She nodded, not able to look him in the eye.
"He really loves you" he said, choking out the words that seemed to leave a foul taste in his mouth, judging by the sour expression he wore.
He looked at her, as if expecting an answer.
"I know" she mouthed the words, not having enough strength to say them out loud.
He nodded, turning around to walk out of the apartment.
She stood frozen to her spot as she remained alone in the hallway.
xxxxxxxxxxx
She stared at the empty coffee shop, Tristan sitting by their regular table, his fingers tapping nervously on the table.
This is the first place she came to, guessing he would be at the office and seeing him through the glass window of the coffee shop on the ground floor of the building.
She was halfway relieved to see him there, hating to walk the deserted floors of the office building this late in the evening.
She shook her hands slightly, reminding herself that relief wasn't the emotion she was aiming for at this point.
She had to be angry, she had to be scolding, she had to be infuriated.
It was hard to channel all that, when the only emotion she felt was guilt.
She felt the awful insecurity of having just dodged a bullet, of having the panic subside and knowing there was no right way to solve the situation.
There were things plaguing her, there were things that she had been making amends for during the last couple of months, but there was a line to draw. She couldn't apologize for the rest of her life and she had accepted that. So had he. He wanted no more apologies and he made that clear, so she had to see it that way: she was guilt free, from the minute they got back together. No bringing up old stuff, no explaining anymore. This was the only way it would work.
Her mind was aware of this, accepted this, was all for this. Her heart however ached steadily in her chest.
Her heart wished that he had known everything, every last stinging detail, every aspect of her horrid nature, of her selfish self. Her heart wished he knew everything and still wanted her, despite all her faults and mistakes and acts of betrayal. She wished every part of her that she hated, felt ashamed of, would have been burned at the point that they had managed to start over from, so there would be no ghosts to haunt her anymore.
It was a futile wish.
She sighed, opening the door to the coffee shop. The place was deserted and she walked freely to his table, pulling out the chair to sit across from him.
Her heart sank at seeing the miserable expression on his face, guilt running unabashed across it.
He didn't look up, his fingers tearing a pack of sugar to small, irreparable shreds.
She leaned back in her chair, studying him.
"Can I get you anything?" she heard the waiter ask and she shook her head, not having the strength to talk.
The waiter walked away, leaving the two in silence.
"I'm not sorry" he slowly said and his words were careful, quiet.
She registered them, and the quiet determination behind them, the anger in her stirring considerately.
She didn't reply.
"You have every right to be mad, but I'm not sorry" he repeated himself.
"What if I didn't want him to publish it?" she asked, her voice trembling, despite her control.
"I know you didn't" he said, looking up with an expression that made the statement seem obvious.
"Rory, you sent that manuscript out to every publishing house in the continental United States, you think it didn't register with me that you left Truncheon out?" he asked, a wry smile on his lips.
The panic stirred inside her, her mind at once calculating what that question meant, what he knew.
"I knew you didn't want to show it to him because of some reason I guess you think is obvious" he said.
The panic inside her settled a bit.
"I didn't want his pity" she said, and she shuddered at the true honesty of that sentence.
"He isn't the type of guy to act on pity, Rory, even I know that" he replied and she let her gaze fall, knowing he was right.
"You don't find it odd that he was the only person that managed to like this book?" she asked him, her voice once again thick with anger.
"He was the only person that knew what he could expect from you, the only person to give the book a chance" he corrected her.
She leaned back again, hating the fact he argued with such conviction, such reasonable logic.
"You should have asked me" she said, realizing that her sentence only reflected hurt, rather than logic.
"You would have said no" he pointed out.
"You would have argued it" she shot back.
"I didn't want to" he said exhausted.
"So you stole the book and flew cross country to convince my ex-boyfriend to publish it? Because it was the easier way?" she asked, her voice shooting up.
He swallowed, his brows furrowing slightly.
"Yes, I suppose" he replied.
"Why are you doing this? What good will this do?" she asked, leaning forward to bury her face in her hands.
"I'm hoping it will show you that this is a viable way" she heard him say, as she felt his fingers on her hands, pulling them away from her face.
She sighed closing her eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted.
"Rory" he called her name and she opened her eyes to look at him as he pulled her hands into his.
"Please don't fight this. You wanted this, and you were so sure about this, so let it work itself out. You don't have to control everything" he pleaded slowly.
"I was fine, Tristan, I was okay with it. I don't have to have some deranged conviction that I am a great writer if I'm not" she groaned.
"It's not a deranged conviction, Rory" he shook his head "Just give yourself a chance to see that."
She sighed knowing there wasn't any reason to argue.
"I'm sorry if I've made you mad" Tristan spoke quietly.
She sighed annoyed.
"You aren't."
"I'm not sorry I did it, but I am sorry it made you mad" he repeated his words.
"There isn't a difference" she said, but there was no fight left in her voice as there was no anger left inside of her either.
It was hard to be mad and feel guilty and lost and insecure at the same time. She felt so undecided, so incapable of trying to find an adequate way to react that she gave up altogether, letting her body sink into the seat and her mind give up trying to reason. She suddenly thought the best choice was just to let the emotions even themselves out, the little waves quenching each other to form one totted vector.
When she opened her eyes again, it was with calmness, and the vector pointed in one direction. Towards him.
She climbed out of the chair, walking around to him, ignoring his astonished look as she climbed into his lap. She let her head rest against his chest and she felt him sigh, in relief, his arms going around her torso to rock her gently.
"I love you" he whispered "please know that."
"I know" she smiled into his hold.
"I just want you to be happy" he struggled and she hushed him.
"I know, shhh."
She felt him relax with another long exhale, his arms holding her tight as he rocked her on. She felt safe, at peace, but her mind was reeling still.
The totted sum, was a totted sum.
But the little parts make up the incalculable complexity of life.