Disclaimer: All Gilmore Girls content belongs to Amy Sherman-Palladino.

Chapter Twenty-One: California's Living Dead

The key zipped back and forth across the chain of Ella's necklace, clutched in her shaky hands. Cloudy afternoon light shone down on her, gray and gloomy. Cool, humid breezes blew past her, and she knew a thunderstorm was coming. As she trudged into the diner, she made a pointed effort to stare down at her converse. A Sunday afternoon lull left the place less crowded than it would have been were she scheduled for the morning. Instead, she had woken up with a headache and an urge to call Luke's, but decided against it. She knew Jess wouldn't be able to hide the cut on his cheek or the bruising on his jaw from his uncle. If anyone picked up, it was bound to be in the middle of an argument, and she didn't need any more reason to bite her nails until they bled.

Slipping behind the counter, she noticed the way Luke's eyes widened at the sight of her. As though he hadn't been expecting her to show up. Salty air hung around them as Caesar fried up some burgers in the back, a sizzling hiss in everyones' ears. Tying her apron around her hips, she frowned at him and furrowed her brows.

"Something wrong?" she asked flatly.

"Did you know about Jess?" Luke crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head at her.

Ella shrugged, unsure of whether the cat had yet been fully let out of the bag. "What about him?"

Sighing heavily, Luke brushed past her and gestured for her to follow him into the stock room. Rolling her eyes at his dramatics, she went with him. Apparently it couldn't just be another day at the office. She wondered in the back of her mind where Jess was, but knew it was more than likely he was off somewhere with his nose back in Dead Souls, or escaping with another shift at Walmart. Biding time before he had to let Luke know what happened.

"I'm not stupid, Ella," Luke said.

Nodding slowly, Ella bit the inside of her cheek and cast her eyes back down to her shoes. "I know. I know you're not. Look, I didn't know about school. He only told me last night, alright?"

"And did he tell you where he was planning on going?"

Immediately, she turned her head up to face him again. "What do you mean?"

"This morning, I got a call from Kyle's parents, about Jess and Dean tearing up their place-"

"Dean sucker-punched him," Ella interjected.

Luke rolled his eyes. "Nice excuse. I had to write the kid's father a check! And Jess didn't even apologize. Instead, he let me know he's not graduating, and he's not going back! And we had an agreement!"

Again, she nodded slowly, fiddling with her necklace. "I know. So...you kicked him out?"

"Not exactly. We hadn't really talked it out all the way. I went out to get some stock, and an hour later, I come back and he's just gone!" Luke exclaimed, exasperated.

"What do you mean gone?"

"All his stuff, I mean everything he could fit in that nasty duffel of his, he took it. No message, nothing!" Luke watched Ella's expression fall and the color drain from her cheeks, and he immediately regretted letting all the information slip out in an angry rant the way he had.

Searching the room to focus on anything but Luke's face, she shook her head to herself, attempting to conceal the way her stomach began doing anxious flips. No message, nothing. Overnight. Gone. "Well...did you know his dad was here? Would he try to go after him?"

Luke sighed again. "Yeah. I told him not to go near Jess, but-"

"You knew before Jess? You didn't tell him his dad was here?" Ella interrupted, her voice growing tense.

"Look, Ella, it's more complicated than that. I saw him here last Wednesday. I found his hotel, told him it'd be better to stay away. The guy's a nobody-"

"Yeah, well, he's a nobody Jess has been waiting to meet his whole life!" In all her time knowing Luke, Ella had never yelled at him. Not that he was a stranger to her temper. He'd seen it directed at rude customers, mainly Taylor, many times. But never had he faced the fire in her eyes, or the crestfallen look she had. She swallowed thickly. "Jesus. I mean...last night he seemed upset, but not enough to think his father was worth going after. Fuck!"

Soon, she was mostly speaking to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose. Luke softened his gaze and ran his nervous palms over his flannel. He brought a hand to Ella's shoulder so she would meet his eyes again.

"Ella, Jess is an adult. He has to make his own choices. I know it's frustrating-"

She scoffed bitterly. "That's one word for it."

"But there's nothing we can do. We have to just...let him go."

Teeth clenching down on the inside of her cheek so hard she could taste coppery blood, Ella shook her head again. "Serves me right."

"Wait here," Luke said tiredly, disappearing back into the main room.

Confusion painted Ella's features for more reasons than one. A cold stone of sadness sat heavily in her stomach. It was a fight. A fight she thought they would apologize to each other for eventually, and then get past. She'd truly thought Luke would find a way to let Jess stay, or at least to look after him while he floated around in his new high school dropout reality. Instead, Jess had taken it into his own hands. Cut and run. But she had to give him credit; it was the most decisive move she'd ever seen him make. Worry flooded her mind. Jess was tough, but tough enough to brave the world alone? With a father he knew nothing about? How bad was the guy anyway? Leaving his son when an infant certainly didn't inspire a lot of confidence in his character. Tears stung in her eyes, but she shook them off as Luke returned.

"He, uh…" Luke began, holding a worn book and a CD out to her, "This had a little sticky note on it. Just said 'Ella.' I'm gonna assume they're yours, I know you guys share...everything."

As soon as she took them in her hands, Luke left the room, figuring she would need a moment. With the look she had on her face, he doubted she would be back to work for the rest of the day. Her heart skipped when she saw the CD: Turn on the Bright Lights by Interpol. She tried to stop the way her jaw tensed with anger, and her stomach swirled with nostalgia. The book was hers. The last one she had loaned him. She still had one of his Faulkners sitting on her nightstand, halfway finished. Apparently, he wasn't eager to have it back. Flipping through her beloved copy of To the Lighthouse (she knew it was cliché, but she always considered it Woolf's best work), she noticed how his notes stopped with only twenty pages left. She was about ready to throw the book across the room, seeing the inconsequential comments and questions he'd written, when she saw a block of his spiky handwriting on the last page:

Eleanor,

I won't get a chance to finish, but I really liked this. I remember once you told me it was your favorite book of all time, and I have to admit I didn't think it would live up to the hype. But it did. Lily Briscoe reminds me of you. A badass artist who doesn't need anyone. I figured you would want this back, since you love it so much.

-Jess

Blowing out a furious breath, Ella blinked back tears for a second time and focused on the anger brewing within her. It was easier than the sadness. She refused to have her heart broken over him. Love didn't exist. Why be surprised when the universe proves it again and again? Ignoring Luke's questioning looks, she went out and shoved the CD and book into her bag by the door. The rest of her shift, she spoke in clipped tones and tugged in annoyance at the loose strands of her hair. And Luke decided it was better. They could both be miserable, silently, together.

. . .

A late June morning found Ella back behind the counter, filling coffee cups and twirling around on her sore feet once again. Over the summer, she worked doubles whenever was humanly possible and spent her off nights sketching in the corner table. She tried to keep Jess from her mind, and though it was difficult while spending so much time at Luke's, a stubbornness in her refused to let her relent. Though Jess was related to Luke by blood, Ella had worked there and been there for so much longer than Jess ever had. Him leaving wasn't going to destroy her home away from home. She simply wouldn't let it.

Lorelai and Rory were off on their European backpacking trip, and Lane was toiling away at Bible camp. Pathetic as it was, Ella simply didn't have anyone to hang out with. She'd always only had a few close friends. Had Jess still been there, she could only imagine what they would spend their time doing. Curled together on his twin bed reading, or arguing about what they were reading, playing cards in her room with Jeff Buckley on the record player, making out to Interpol albums, lunches at the lake, shifts together day in and day out. There had been plans. But she shook them from her brain and got back to work, blowing loose locks away from her face and yelling orders back to Caesar as they came in. Luke was on register, trademark scowl on full display. Soon, he would be away on a cruise with Nicole. Ella hoped it would lift his mood at least a little.

Though, it was a hypocritical thought. She certainly hadn't been a ray of sunshine the past few weeks, even on her best days, even at graduation. For her speech, she'd read an Anne Sexton poem and connected it to life. She'd looked out at the crowd to see Lane, but not Rory. And not Jess. Her father had cried a little in pride, which surprised her, made her remember the man he had once been. Fiona had cheered and brought her flowers. Adam had smiled and given her a big hug afterwards. But, as much as she tried to revel in the relief and the happiness which surrounded her, there were pieces missing. Big pieces nothing could make up for. Not Jess, even. Her mother. The anniversary of her death had come and gone, and Ella couldn't believe how long it had been. Time seemed so warped by death. Some days, she felt like she had seen her mother just yesterday. Other days, she thought it odd she had ever had a mother at all. Even Luke and Lorelai had come to watch her speech and cheer her on, but her own mother simply wasn't there. She'd done her best the whole day to maintain a plastic smile, but that night, she sobbed quietly to Billie Holliday and sketched skeletons.

For just a moment, she took a breath. All the coffees were refilled, the orders were taken. She had no compulsory small talk left to make. She put the pot in the machine and began making a new batch. Leaning against the back counter, she crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. Across the street in the town square, they were setting up for some new, random festival. She could imagine Jess at her side, complaining about all the expensive, meaningless fanfare. A grinch who had been absent at prom, where she stood as a third wheel to Lane and Dave. The phone broke her out of her thoughts, and she went to answer it, but Luke beat her to the receiver.

"Luke's," he said flatly. But Ella watched his weary eyes widen in surprise. "Jess? Where are you?"

Instantly, Ella's heart felt as though it would leap right out of her chest. She went over to stand near Luke, expression questioning. "Is that really Jess?" she asked in a whisper.

He glanced up at her but didn't answer. "Really? Is he making you pay rent?...Well, be sure to never tell Liz that…"

Ella watched in excruciating anticipation, hearing snippets of the conversation, fragments she couldn't exactly string together in a narrative. Was it really him? Over a month without a call, and she was beginning to think she would never hear his voice again.

Suddenly, Luke threw another glance Ella's way, this time anxious. "Yeah, she did…"

"Give me the phone," Ella said, holding her hand out.

"One second," Luke muttered, then put his hand over the mouthpiece. "I don't know if he-"

"I don't care." She hadn't expected grabbing the phone from Luke to be so easy, but perhaps he was too surprised at her sudden movement to resist. Ella paid no mind to the curious eyes of onlookers as she began speaking in hushed, angry tones. "Jess?"

There was a beat of silence.

"I know it's you, jackass. Where the hell are you?" she demanded.

Jess sighed heavily over the line. "Venice. I'm staying with my dad."

"Really?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "That guy who walked right out of your life, twice now, without a second thought?"

"Look, Eleanor, it's-"

"Don't 'Eleanor' me," she warned, shaking her head. "Actually, y'know what? I don't care. I don't give a fuck where you are. All I need you to do is let me know you're alive. I don't care how you are, who you're with, anything. You just need to let me know, every once in a while, that you didn't starve or end up lying in a ditch somewhere. Be a decent fucking human being, and let the girl with the dead mom know you're alive."

"Okay, I-"

"Glad we could sort that out," she bit out, her tone absolutely venomous. Before he could say anything more, she shoved the phone back into Luke's hands, and retreated into the stock room. For the rest of the day, Luke let her tear open the cardboard box shipments with an Exacto knife, her face with an ever-present flush as she worked.

. . .

Sat up in bed, Ella sketched the same rose over and over. She was reminded of Georgia O'Keefe, painting her door time and again. Mid-August breeze blew in for her open window, and her back leaned against the purple mural of a goddess she'd taken nearly two months to complete. Her eyes were heavier than they usually would be for eleven o'clock on a Friday. She'd finally completed her first week of classes. And it seemed about as tiring as high school had been. All her classes were interesting, and the radio played some pretty-sounding oldies during her drive back and forth from Hartford, but she was already dreading four more years of drudgery. What was the point of working so hard in high school just to have to go through the whole ordeal again?

Existentialist train of thought aside, she tried to let it fade from her mind, focusing only on her drawing. And the Stevies Nicks record playing. Without realizing it, she sang along with the words in hushed tones under her breath. Her damp waves fell over her shoulder, a comforting smell from her lavender shampoo. She'd wanted to shower in the morning, bright and early before she had to drive to math class. But it was also Adam's first week of high school, and he'd taken much longer than necessary. Most of the time, they got along pretty well, bonding over a shared inclination towards campy '80s movies. But the mornings were an exception to the rule they could always count on. Admittedly, it was often Ella's own fault. She had the tendency to morph into a grouchy monster right after waking.

She breathed a slow sigh as the phone began to ring, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands. Tossing her sketchbook to the side, she picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hey, Eleanor." Jess's voice sounded much the same. It was odd to imagine him all the way across the country, a leather jacket city boy on a hot California beach.

"Still alive, I take it?" she asked.

"No, it's Night of the Living Dead on the West Coast. Haven't you seen it on the news?" he quipped.

Rolling her eyes, she let out another small sigh. "Goodbye."

"Wait, Elle, I know you're mad-"

She hung up before he could finish the sentence.

. . .

Eighteen years old. She was a legal adult but she didn't quite believe it. Fiddling with her necklace, she laid on her huge mattress and stared up at the ceiling. There was a yellowed water stain on the popcorned white surface. Once in a blue moon, it would leak. The day brought torrential thunderstorms, perfect for a birthday, and she thought she may have felt a few droplets on her already-wet cheeks.

Fiona was trying; she really was. She always did. She'd made a cake and they'd sung her the song. But it simply wouldn't be enjoyable until she got out of the house. Celebrating with her family just made her feel like she was in an episode of The Twilight Zone where they'd recast her mother. She was still attempting to make peace with Fiona, though. And if it made her stepmother happy, she was willing to endure an awkward hour of dinner.

She hadn't allowed herself to start crying until she got in her room, saw the picture of her grandmother holding her mother as a baby in the old frame on her desk. So many dead women. And here she was, always getting older. Pearl Jam spun on the record player, but it did little to lift her spirits. She was examining the set of faux-ruby earrings Fiona and her father had given her, still in their small cardboard box, thinking about how red really wasn't her color, when the phone ran. Sniffing harshly, she wiped at her cheeks though no one over the receiver would see her.

"Hello?"

"Happy eighteen, Stevens," Jess's voice spoke, making her immediately grimace. Almost exactly one year since they'd first kissed. "You go out to legally buy your porn and cigarettes yet?"

"Fuck off, Jess," she murmured tiredly, shaking her head.

"Look, I just wanted to make sure you were okay, since-"

"Goodbye," she deadpanned, slamming the phone down and flopping back heavily against her pillows.

. . .

Her history textbook was still open on her desk, and moonlight streamed into her small room. A long evening of studying had seen her call it quits right in the middle of a chapter. She'd collapsed in bed dressed in her jeans and thick sweater, chilled even inside from the October draught. A throb pulsed behind her eyes for what felt like forever before she finally drifted off to sleep. Her eyes were hot inside her skull, achy and dry, when the phone's ring split through the silence of the night. Clearing her throat, she rolled over in the darkness.

"Hello?" she said groggily.

"Jeez, I thought you laid off the smokes."

She rolled her eyes at the sound of Jess's voice, she cleared her throat again and sat up against the mural. "Shut up, jackass, you woke me up."

"Sorry about that."

"Still alive?" she asked.

"Seems that way," he said. It pained her to hear the smirk on his face.

"Well, that's the goal," she snarked in a clipped tone before hanging up. As she tried to drift back into dreams, she fiddled with her necklace, tossed and turned.

. . .

She chewed on her eraser, brows furrowed as she read over the same sentence in Paradise Lost for what felt like the millionth time. Mostly, she'd been having fun in her English class. But biblical themes had never been her forté, and a poem which spent so much time recounting the story of Adam and Eve made her want to do nothing but roll her eyes. Her mother had been Christian, though they never went to Church. And she'd heard her father occasionally refer to God or say her mother was in Heaven. But if Ella wasn't going to believe in luck or love, she certainly wasn't going to believe in any higher power. None of the religions she'd ever encountered or read about struck her fancy even a little.

The phone rang, and it was almost a welcome break, despite such a sudden interruption. Blinking the dryness from her eyes, she got up from her desk and tucked her hair, falling into her field of vision as she read, behind her ears. She sat cross-legged in the center of her mattress as she picked up, wrapping the phone cord around her fingers absently as she answered.

"Hello?"

"Hi," Jess answered simply.

She furrowed her brows, glanced over at her small bedside clock. Only four in the afternoon. As much as she wanted to snap angrily and immediately hang up as she had for the past five months, the change in pattern piqued her curiosity too much. And there was something in his voice which felt off to her. "Little early for you, isn't it, Mariano? It should barely be afternoon there."

"Oh, we're talking now?" he asked pointedly.

"Gotta keep you on your toes, jackass," she said, rolling her eyes. "But, fuck it. I'll go. Leave you to your new dazzling West Coast existence."

He sighed heavily. "Fine. Sorry. I'm just sick. I thought about going to work but then my Exorcist reenactment got in the way. Something I ate."

"Hm. California food not exactly up to Connecticut health codes?" she asked.

Jess scoffed. "Like Connecticut can talk. Al's Pancake World much?"

Ella snorted a chuckle. "Fair enough." Then, after a moment: "Well, just make sure to drink water. You never drink enough water when you're sick. Rookie mistake."

"You're not exactly one to talk," he countered.

"What does that mean?" she asked in mock offense.

His tone was joking, but almost nostalgic. "Do you not remember the time you had laryngitis? You tried to come to work! Luke made me drag you upstairs the minute he saw you."

"I still could've been on dish pit or something," she said defensively. "Besides, that day I finally got you to watch Silence of the Lambs. Not exactly a waste of time."

"That was a good movie."

"Good book, too. But the movie was better."

"Blasphemy!" Jess gasped.

Ella laughed quietly, but was suddenly acutely aware of the distance between them. He wasn't a two-minute walk away. And she wouldn't see him on her shift the following day. She cleared her throat awkwardly. "Well, I should go. Gotta finish this section of Paradise Lost."

"You don't sound too happy about it," Jess quipped. She'd said the title in an agitated mutter.

"It's excruciating."

"Huh. Thought you'd go crazy for college poetry, even seventeenth-century religious stuff."

Ella scoffed doubtfully. "Milton couldn't hold a candle to Dickinson."

"Strong words," he said.

"Well, that's the best kind," she smirked, then bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself. "Anyway...feel better, Jess."

"Thanks."

. . .

Lights of red, green, and yellow flashed outside her window, hanging from the gutters of the small blue house. Icy, crunchy snow caked the Connecticut roads, new flurries coming down in sheets. Joni Mitchell's "River" crooned from the record player, and Ella was warm beneath her blankets. Pencil in her hand, she underlined and boxed in phrases from her new copy of Adrienne Rich poems. She and Rory, back from Yale, had been to the bookstore the day after Christmas, when everything was marked down to clearance. She missed those lazy days together with her old friends.

Breathing the lavender scent of her candles, she felt content but dreaded the end of the holiday break. Rory would leave again, and Ella would have to go back to the monotony of college life. At least, now, Lane had quit her Christian college upon her mother's discovery of her secret life. She was looking for a place to live with her band, and Ella was glad she'd have her friend still near her, living on her own terms. Ella didn't hate Mrs. Kim, but knew Lane would never be truly happy unless she was out from under her mother's thumb.

The phone sounded over the music, and Ella knew who it would be before she picked it up. Jess had been calling more often lately, ever since he'd gotten over his food poisoning. He told her he'd never eat another piece of sushi again. She didn't exactly know the reason for the increase. Perhaps he finally got a cell phone, could call her wherever he was. If he had, she could only imagine the struggle it must have been for him. He was definitely on Luke's side of the handheld phone debate. Somehow, a shift had occurred. Small. But it had happened. Though their conversations weren't exactly substantive, she felt a little less upset each time they spoke, anger slowly cooling after all their time apart. The pleasant memories were coming back to her more easily, as soon as she let him get a few words in. She still couldn't help feeling betrayed, but at least he kept up his end of the deal. He barely went more than two weeks anymore without letting her know he was still on the face of the Earth.

She sighed softly. "Hello?"

"Hey, Eleanor," he said. "Has all the noise, noise, noise finally ceased?"

She shook her head. "Mostly. Luke was in an even worse mood than he usually is on Christmas. The divorce and all."

Jess snorted a laugh. "My god, I'm glad that whole bizarro thing is over."

"You haven't been here. You don't know the half of it," she smirked, thinking back to Luke's odd marriage to his lawyer. The back and forth, to divorce or not to divorce, made everyone who was watching dizzy. She heard Jess inhale sharply, familiar to ear. "Are you smoking?"

"Who are you? Nancy Drew?" he shot back.

"I asked you first."

"Depends. Have you been biting your nails?"

Ella scoffed self-consciously. "Those two habits are not comparable at all. But touché." She cast a glance out the window when the branches of the oak tree scraped up against the pane. "Jesus. It won't stop snowing here."

"Yeah. Here, too," he said off-handedly.

Brows furrowing, Ella let a confused chuckle escape her lips. "In Venice Beach? Climate change is hitting pretty hard out there, huh?"

A pause sounded over the receiver, a slight crackling in between them.

"Actually...I'm in New York."

She hesitated, blinking twice to process the information before she spoke again. "Oh."

"Yeah. Things uh...things didn't work out with Jimmy," he admitted sheepishly.

Blowing out a long breath, she bit the inside of her cheek. "Jesus, Jess, I'm sorry."

"You can say it."

"Excuse me?"

"You told me so."

Shaking her head to herself again, Ella rolled the phone cord in her fingertips. "I'm not gonna say that. I just...I want you to have what you want. I don't...I don't want other people to fuck things up for you."

He chuckled bitterly. "Yeah, well, I think I do a pretty good job of fucking things up on my own."

"Jess-"

"Look, I gotta go. Work and stuff. So, yeah, still alive," he said hastily.

"Okay. Just...be safe. Don't get mugged or kidnapped or anything."

Jess laughed again softly, more genuine this time. "I'll try, Stevens. Don't worry."

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Eennio: Yay! I'm so glad you enjoyed!

jadenina17: I seriously considered having Ella leave for California with Jess, but I think as a character she just wouldn't be ready to take that step, despite how much she wishes she could be somewhere else. I wanted to make sure I made her family situation a little more realistic and subtle, and complicated, considering the many factors, like her little brother, she has to take into account. And I think Jess had a lot of growing to do out on his own as well. Glad you're enjoying so far! (Also sorry for the long message. I like both writing and writing about writing :))