Made of Glass

Rory knew from the moment they arrived at their hotel that she could add Venice to the list of cities that Emily hated. Her mouth was tied up in a prim line and her tone with the bell boy was on the nasty side of sharp. Rory couldn't quite blame her grandmother—it was sweltering hot and somehow stuffy even outside. She sank onto her bed in the hotel room, breathing in the manufactured smell of the air conditioning, grateful for the opportunity to stretch out after having been on the train for so many hours at a time. They would stay the night, the next two days, and leave on the eve of the second day.

Emily made an attempt to seem interested in Rory's agenda for the following day, nodding her head as she sipped her water at dinner, a strained smile on her face. Rory suggested the Patty Guggenheim collection, the Accademia de Bella Arte, the Duchal Palace and St. Mark's Square, but she trailed off when she realized it was an enormous amount to do in a short time and her grandmother was less than enthusiastic.

"Or, you know, we could just go to St. Mark's and walk around, go to some clunky little shops, hang over the Ponte Rialto—maybe go out to Murano, look at the glass stores? What do you think?" Rory asked.

Emily nodded. "Whatever you would like to do, Rory. I have no plans."

"Okay, Grandma," Rory said, her voice quiet.

Dear Mom, Rory wrote that night, it's like things are going backwards. When we left, Grandma was the one taking care of me—even when she was having a hard time, like in London, she was still worried about me and how I was doing. But now? I'm the one who's trying to get her to eat just another bite and asking how she's sleeping every morning. I know it's a big request, but when we get back and I go to Yale again, you're going to have to check up on her. I'm just worried for her.

I keep thinking about what's going to be different when I get back. I keep coming back to the same thing: nothing will be different, but everything will be different. Nothing's changed, I know that—Stars Hollow is still Stars Hollow, and there's Lane and Miss Patty and Sookie and Jackson and Morey and Babette and you and Luke, and even Paris and Tana and Chester Fleet back at Yale. And it'll all be the same, mostly, but it also won't be the same—it can't be. I can't let it, because that's how this whole thing started. I just know it will be different because it has to be. It just does.

They spent the first day walking around the Duchal Palace and St. Mark's Square, peeking into the small shops that lined the square. They went to the Ponte Rialto and then wandered the tiny back streets of the city, looking at cheap glass beaded necklaces. After lunch, Emily asked if Rory would be upset if she just went back to the hotel to rest. Rory went by herself to the Accademia and took the self-guided tour with the audio headphones, giggling at some of the commentary. She took a water bus to the hotel as the sun set, hugging herself. The skyline of the city was beautiful, and even the murky water, reflecting the falling dusk, took on a mysterious sheen. Rory was selfishly glad, as she leaned out over her seat and peered at the buildings she passed, she had the moment all to herself: the breeze on her neck, the chatter of her fellow tourists, the smell of heat and water and oil, all of it was a moment she wanted to bottle and store on a shelf so that she might open it and relive it again whenever she chose.

Late the next morning, they took a water taxi to the island of Murano, one of the glassworks centers of Venice. The shops there had better wares than those in the main part of the city, and Rory found Emily brightening up as she examined plates, clocks, necklaces, and figurines with genuine interest. It was in one of the last shops that Rory found what she was looking for.

"Grandma, look," she said, waving Emily over. She pointed to a small chess set made of clear and colored glass. "This is the nicest one I've seen all day. It's perfect."

"What for?" Emily asked. "Your grandfather?"

"No, actually, I want to get it for Luke," Rory replied. "The last time we—I mean, when Mom and I went to Europe, we looked everywhere for a present for Luke, but we never found anything that we liked enough for him." She leaned in close to the display case, examining the set more as best she could. "I thought of this a while ago—it just seems like something he'd like, even if he never used it. And this one is just the right size, and the colors are right—it's perfect," she said again.

"You think so?" Emily asked, leaning in as well. "It is quite detailed. I do like the color—a nice deep blue, almost purple. It's not quite manly, though, is it?"

Rory grinned. "It's navy! It's very Luke. I'm going to have them wrap it up for me," she said.

As she did, Emily perused the display cases some more. When Rory returned, a box clutched tightly to her chest, she found Emily staring at a figurine of a man seated in an armchair, smoking a pipe, reading a newspaper. Rory grinned.

"It's Grandpa," she said quietly. "It's really neat."

Emily looked up, tears in her eyes. "I agree," she said. "I also like this one," she said, pointing to another. It was smaller, a girl in a long flowing dress, with the glass blown so exactly it seemed to move with her as she twirled, her arms in a perfect fifth position over her head, curved gracefully. Her hair whirled out behind her, an inky black. "It reminds me of your mother," Emily said. "What do you think? Shall I take them?"

Rory nodded and waited by the door as Emily had her purchases wrapped and boxed. As they walked back towards the docking area where they would catch their taxi back, Rory struggled with the question she wanted to ask. After several moments of internal debating, she spoke.

"Grandma? The present for Grandpa—does that mean that you're—I don't know, that you're thinking about going back?" Rory asked, her voice hopeful.

"I don't know, Rory," Emily said, after some hesitation. "It just seemed so natural to want to get something for him, something that he would appreciate. There's a lot to consider, to think about. Your grandfather and I—we have such a long history." She sighed heavily.

"Grandma, can I tell you something?" Rory asked tentatively.

"Of course—you know you never need to ask," Emily replied.

Rory took a deep breath. "You remember the night that my other grandparents—Dad's parents—the Haydens—came over to your house? I do—I was so excited and nervous, and I wanted to know them, I wanted to get to know them. Having you and Grandpa in my life has been so, so wonderful, and it was exciting to think about having this whole other family to be a part of. And it was—after I met them? I knew they didn't want me as part of their family, and I knew they didn't care about me, and they probably even blamed me, a little, for Dad not going to college and a lot of other things. I felt sorry for them, after a while, because it seemed like they didn't know how to be a family, you know? They didn't know how to talk to each other or be around each other, and—I mean, I know we're not perfect, and a lot of the time there's one or another of us that's not getting along with another, but—but we always come back. We always come back." She paused. "Grandma, I've been thinking a lot on this trip about who I am and who I want to be, and I just keep coming back to the same thought: I'm Rory Gilmore. That's who I am. I'm my mother's daughter, and I'm a Gilmore, and I'm me." She slid her hand in Emily's and squeezed. "I've always been really glad that I wasn't Rory Hayden, or even Rory Gilmore-Hayden, or Rory Hayden-Gilmore, and not just because I share my name with Mom and that's really special, even though it is, but because I'm a Gilmore. We're a family, we are, not just a name or reputation or a facade. I'm a part of this family, and I'm really proud of that. And I know you are, too, no matter what." The two women stopped and looked out over the canal as they waited for the taxi to arrive. "I just wanted you to know that."

Emily released Rory's hand and patted her hair, reassuring herself that it was in place, as it should be. She held the box with the glass figurines in front of her with both hands, staring out over the water, her face pale, her eyes watery. "Thank you, Rory," she said, her voice close to breaking. "Thank you."

"Sure, Grandma," Rory said, standing close at Emily's elbow. She put her arm around her grandmother's waist and rested her head on Emily's shoulder, a gesture that was becoming more and more frequent during the trip.

The train ride back to Rome was another silent one, but Rory watched Emily: her face was quiet, contemplative, and—as Lorelai would say, Rory, thought, Emily was still Emily—composed.