Previously on Gilmore Girls: The plot and tension thickens. Not gonna lie, this story might be mine, but it is not bouncin and behaving as I would've predicted. Jess had a bad week which culminated on Finn's Tarantino-party, that must have been a bummer seeing Logan and Rory kiss like that. But it knocked something loose, at least, and he and Rory had it out in the parking lot, in more than one way. Are they still friends, having gotten so friendly? Hey, all I know is that our heroes are in kind of a weird place right now. Let's see how they're holding up.
Rory
She wasn't lying about the early start, but she was planning on ignoring it, maybe. When she wakes from her alarm though, any wiggle room is blissfully out the window, and she hurries to her lecture. She listens attentively, senses heightened. She joins the study group for a couple of hours afterwards, usually doesn't since she thinks she gets more work done when she's on her own. But now she participates and helps out and even winds up going for a late lunch with the group. After that she stops by the newsroom to hand over a couple of pieces to Doyle, and finds herself strangely receptive to criticism from him that she usually would have shot down. Now she nods and smiles like some kind of receptionist and hears herself agreeing to do all the revisions he wants.
The day runs long and she gets back to her dorm and would you look at the time? She still sits with her phone for a few minutes, just staring at it, wishing it would come alive and do something, so she won't have to.
Finally she thinks of something she actually has to do, and calls Lorelai.
"I need you to come to Friday Night Dinner with me."
"What? No way!"
"Mom! You should have seen them last Friday when you didn't show,"
"I wish I could've!" Lorelai hoots.
"Grandma tried to fix it! She talked to Luke-"
"Talked at him is more like it." Lorelai huffs. "And why is never a simple apology the first thing they try? Some verbal remorse might actually change things. Instead it's more puppetmaster bullshit." She briefly pauses and when she speaks again her smile is audible. "Why don't you just bring your fake boyfriend along? That'll keep Emily sated."
"I can't." Rory pushes the words out as fast as she can just to have them out there.
Then there's another pause.
"What happened?" Lorelai asks.
"Nothing! I can't-" Rory sighs. "I don't have time to cover it right now, let's just say that I've exhausted that option."
"Rory-" Lorelai goes, slightly sharper.
"I know." Rory tries to sound bitter. "You don't have to say I told you so."
"Not looking to. But I would appreciate you telling me what happened 'cause I'm pretty sure Luke is gonna give me a hard time about it."
Rory goes cold, she was anticipating humiliation, but not being the cause of another obstacle for Luke and her mom.
"What? Why?"
"He'll just give me that look and I'll-"
"You haven't done anything wrong." She does her best to sound calm, rational. "This is all me."
"He'll say I should have taken him more seriously when he was worried."
"Just tell him it's all back to normal." She can hear the increased desperation in her own voice. "We're not doing it anymore."
There's a sound on the other end, a weird little laugh, followed by a baffled pause.
"He wasn't worried about it seeming weird." Lorelai slowly objects. "He was worried about Jess!"
Rory falls quiet, and just hugs the phone.
"It's never about appearances with Luke, you should know that by now." Lorelai goes on, and Rory swallows. "It's about the people he cares about and he says-" She suddenly stops talking.
"What?" Rory asks, meekly.
"Well, he's always implied, that he thinks, that maybe-" The words fall from Lorelai in a weird rhythm, like they're getting heavier while she's trying to make them seem lighter.
"Mom!" Rory blurts.
"That Jess was in love with you." Lorelai says.
The words just lay there between them and seem too dangerous to touch. The love part, the past tense part, the part where it's Lorelai telling her this, the part where Luke was worried and rightly so. Rory suddenly feels like dropping the entire thing and reconciling herself to going to Friday Night Dinner alone, to admit to Emily that she and Jess are no longer a thing, and submit herself to be set up with as many sweatervest wearing heirs as her grandmother deems suitable.
"Well, this is awkward." Lorelai mumbles.
"Yup."
Lorelai sighs.
"I'll come to Friday Night Dinner."
"Thank you." Rory says and hangs up.
She stares at her phone again. She should call him, right? To apologise if nothing else. But is she ready for anything else? It takes two to have a conversation. Is she ready for anything he'll have to say? Does she know for certain that she won't blurt out something stupid? He always picks up when she calls, but what if he doesn't this time? What if he pushes her call through to voicemail? What does that tell her? She's not prepared to handle any version of a call, she decides, and goes to bed instead.
She repeats the maneuver on Friday: staying busy and then driving directly to Hartford for dinner. She finds Lorelai pacing outside the house, and hooks her arm in hers leading her up to the door.
"You owe me." Lorelai mutters as the doorbell chimes.
"Get in line." Rory mumbles.
The plan works as anticipated though: The presence of Lorelai means Rory is off the hook. Not one question about her personal life for the entire evening, and Lorelai gets away with playing hardball more than under usual circumstances. Rory follows her back to Stars Hollow after dinner and they watch a movie.
"I have to admit," Lorelai says, "that was cathartic."
"I bet." Rory smiles. "Particularly that bit about Mussolini."
"I'm just glad to have it out of my system. I got that interview coming up, you know, that magazine's based in Hartford, chances are they'd ask me about my family."
"Good thinking."
"It was your idea." Lorelai smiles.
Rory spends the night, but wakes up early. She walks into the kitchen in her robe and almost straight into Luke, who's cleaning out the coffeemaker. She stops abruptly trying to get it together. She realises she doesn't know what he knows.
"Hey Rory!" He says, cheerily putting an arm around her shoulder.
Obviously he knows nothing. No way she changes that.
"Hi Luke." She smiles, and tries to enjoy the relief that stems from him and Lorelai being back together and happy again.
"I'll make you some coffee in a minute, I just gotta get these grounds outta this crack. " He squints at a particularly ingrained crevice in the machine.
"That's okay." She says, sitting down at the table, and watches him.
He and Lorelai got together after she'd already moved out, everytime she sees him in their house he's fixing something. He's always doing stuff, never blandly talking or making casual promises, he's all in. That's what kind of person he is. She smiles a little to herself, and then feels bad over the possibility that she might have made him disappointed, Jess has described the feeling of obligation to him on multiple occasions, and sighed over his uncle's special power of invoking it.
But Luke clearly doesn't know about her and Jess falling out, Jess hasn't told him. Maybe it's not so bad, maybe Luke was wrong in his assumption about Jess's feelings. She tells herself that's the case several times, despite a quiet, dry, but persistent voice deep inside saying that Jess hasn't told Luke because Jess rarely tells anyone anything private without being explicitly asked.
Luke finishes his project and loads the coffee maker.
"You're off to work?" Rory asks.
"Yep." He answers. "There's a soccer game going on over by the school, should be a busy day."
Rory nods.
"Any plans for tomorrow?" She asks.
"Just more work." Luke says. "Jess is apparently training some new recruit at the bookstore and was needed there." He squints at her. "Didn't he tell you?"
"Uhm, yes, he did." She lies. "I just forgot, habit."
Luke smiles.
"I can relate." He grabs his coat. "I'm heading out."
"Okay." She says, and he heads for the door. " Hey, Luke-"
He turns.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for the coffee."
Luke leaves. She sits, listening to the hissing of the coffee machine. No Sunday at the Diner. Jess's excuse seems valid enough, but he definitely would have called her to let her know if everything was as usual. They're not okay. Her throat stings but she pours herself some coffee and downs it, along with the pain. She packs up her stuff, goes back to Yale and dives into the new piece she's writing for the paper.
She and Paris start Sunday off on the couch watching reruns of Beverly Hills discussing the characters vividly, but Doyle drops by around noon which makes it impossible to stay there. Even the loudest volume on the TV won't cover up what she knows is going on behind Paris's door. So she turns it off completely and heads out.
She half expects Lane to call and is worried that she might ask why she's not in Stars Hollow, but then she remembers that it's Caesar's Sunday anyway. Right when she's gotten comfortable under her tree her phone does ring and she picks it up looking at the screen, it's Logan, for the first time since the party. He might have been pissed that she brushed him off, or he might have just been busy with other things, both options are equally possible. She's still considering if she should answer when it stops ringing. Oh well.
She thinks about last Sunday, Jess's tired face and blank stares, and she thinks about the one before that; 'I love you, Jess'. It was a relief to say it, but now it feels like she cheated, pouring everything she feels for him into this one aspect of their relationship. The rest of their Sundays line up behind the last one like a string of pearls. Her vision goes blurry and she gets to her feet walking fast to shake it.
She faces the week head on, and aims to be excellent at everything for seven straight days, No half measures, take no prisoners. On Monday she has to call Logan to maintain the status quo, but she really isn't ready to talk to him. Instead he picks up her phone and dials his number in the middle of the one lecture she knows he tries to keep attendance in to get Mitchum off his back. She naturally gets his machine, and leaves a message saying that she saw he called and she's really busy and could they maybe talk next week?
She keeps productivity up well into Tuesday and her plan is working until she arrives back at the dorm after her afternoon lecture and finds her father outside her door. She freezes, and he straightens his back when he sees her.
"Your roommate wouldn't let me wait inside," he says, smiling apologetically, "something about me being a stranger."
She doesn't return the smile but retrieves her keys from her bag and walks past him, up to the door.
"Good woman, that Paris." She mumbles.
"I don't blame you, kiddo."
"Good to know." She opens the door.
"Please." He says, and she almost starts crying right there and then. "I am so sorry."
She bites down around her actual feelings and laughs coldly, but feels halfway through her exhale that it was a dangerous move, she turns her face away to hide the tears welling up in her eyes.
"Sorry for what, exactly?" She manages. "It's such a long list."
"It is." He says. "And I was hoping we could get dinner together, I could read you the specification."
She's not in the mindset of forgiveness, or vulnerability, but maybe that means it's actually a good time for this. She's not sure he deserves to be forgiven again, she's already done that, given him that, so many times. Maybe this is the time she finally doesn't. Maybe he'll learn something from it.
"Okay." She says.
She insists on going off campus, on driving her own car, making it clear she relies on him for nothing. She makes way to the restaurant Graham took her to almost a year ago, even if she couldn't say why. It was crowded and loud then, it might be the same way now, no need to make it easy for him. Or maybe she'll feel like she did when she was last here; righteously guarded.
They get a table and Christopher makes small talk. He's good at this stuff, the awkward pre-conversational pieces, he always keeps himself together so well for it and she wonders how many hours of his life has been wasted in spaces like these, the in-betweens. While he chats about the menu she thinks about what it was like to grow up as Christopher Hayden; an only child in a rich home, raised to be well-behaved above everything else, to manage appearances. And she thinks about her mother, who was raised the same way but turned out completely different. Why? Is it all Lorelai? Or is it the fact that when you get right down to it Emily and Richard aren't really pleasant people, but rather troublemakers? Or is it that fact that they genuinely love each other, unlike Straub and Francine? For the first time in months she experiences a fierce kind of pride over her grandparents, in spite of everything. And she thinks about Logan, suddenly, painfully.
"So, let's hear it." She says as soon as they've gotten their drinks.
Christopher smiles, and she crosses her arms.
"Okay." He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. "I'm sorry I meddled in your mother's life after you specifically told me not to."
"I thought you had an actual list." She turns her drink a few angles.
"Give me some credit." Christopher tilts his head. "I do have enough of a moral compass to be able to account for the things I did wrong without a checklist."
"Fine." She says. "You're sorry for messing with mom. Now, what's your plan to make sure you don't do that ever again?"
"Rory." He says softly, and she hates him a little, a lot, right then. "You know I'll never stop loving your mom."
Rory bites the inside of her cheek.
"And she loves me too," Christopher goes on, "we'll never be completely out of each other's lives, and when you're in someone's life sometimes lines get blurred."
Rory nods with increasing fervor as he speaks.
"I know she loves you," she says, sharp enough so he'll know not to interrupt her, "but I'm starting to question if you really love her. Like, love her, when she isn't the last thing you reach for mid-crisis."
He looks pale.
"I suppose that's fair," he mumbles.
"You should think about that. If you love someone, you're meant to make their life better too." She sips her drink to project calm, and ignores how the little girl inside her chest wants so desperately to please him and ease his pain, to be his child and not his school teacher. "What's the next thing on the docket?" She asks.
He blinks, perhaps surprised that she still has her eyes on that darn list.
"I am," he starts, slower this time, "sorry I got so drunk. I shouldn't have done that to… anyone at that party really."
She stares at him, tapping her fingers on the rim of her glass, until he speaks again.
"And I vow to not drink like that in your presence ever again."
She presses her lips together.
"Okay. I would prefer at all but I'll settle for any function involving me, mom, or my grandparents."
He nods, completely serious by now, searching her face for more. She doesn't give anything away, but keeps her voice even as she speaks again.
"And?"
"I am sorry I insulted Luke, and your date." He says. "I did it out of jealousy, nothing else. And I hope the not-drinking-thing is gonna help me not lose it like that again."
"I hope so too." She says.
Their food arrives, and they eat, mostly in silence, it's easy in a place like this, where they're surrounded by loud college crowds and music playing over the entire thing. Christopher tries initiating lighter conversational topics a few times but she firmly resists it, even if a big part of her is starting to object to carrying the weight of the moment. He pays the bill and they leave. He walks her to her car.
"For what it's worth, your boyfriend seems like a good guy." He tries, with a small smile.
Everything about the statement hurts to hear, the reference to Jess, Christopher's cheap assessment of him, based off of a drunken evening over a month ago. She clenches her jaw.
"He's not my boyfriend." She says, tightly.
There's a sound of a chuckle and she looks up at Christopher, ready for a fight.
"You sure about that?" He jokes.
She glares at him, and picks up her pace. He hurries to keep up. She reaches her car.
"Rory, I'm-" He starts, stops, starts again. "I need to know that we're okay."
"We're not." Her answer is immediate.
He looks at her, lost, desperate, and she takes a breath before going on, softer.
"I don't trust you, dad, I hope you understand why."
He soberly nods.
"But I'm gonna act like I do." She goes on. "What we did tonight, it's a verbal contract, and you're required to uphold your end of it before we can try to get back to normal. I hope you do, that's the extent of the investment I'm willing to put into our relationship at the moment."
His eyes go shiny, and she feels her throat sting too, and hurries to open her car door. And then, right when she's about to get into her seat, she fixes her eyes on the streetlight next to him and speaks, even if her voice trembles.
"I'll always hope though, even when I've given up. I can't get away from that." She manages to get the last words out before her voice breaks and she gets into the car and drives off without looking at him, certain his face will stop her. She cries herself to sleep over Christopher, for the first time in years.
When she wakes up she actually feels a bit better, even if her pace has slowed some from yesterday. She still makes her list to stay productive. She has an afternoon lecture and a date with the studygroup before that. She packs up her books, and notepads, and heads out. The sun shines and she squints at the light as she exits the building. When her eyes adjust she sees Logan standing on the grass in front of her. She stops, and stares. He smiles, naturally. She catches up with herself and smiles too.
"Logan, hi!" She takes a few steps up to him so that they're facing each other.
"Hello, Rory." He says, and her eyes narrow slightly at the rare greeting.
She gestures in the direction she's going.
"I'm on my way to-"
"I'll walk you." He says.
She smiles at him again and starts walking, he places himself on her right side, and she slows her pace to be polite, like they're going for a stroll. They're quiet, and it makes her wildly uncomfortable.
"Was there anything in particular you-" She starts, but he interrupts her.
"Actually, yes."
"Oh." She says, with another smile, curious and nervous at the same time. "What?"
"Do you love me?"
She stops from the sheer shock, and turns to him. He's smiling, sunnily, maybe a bit softer than he usually does.
"Logan-" She starts.
"Yes, Rory?"
"I-" She can't finish, her mouth is just on autocruise while she's out of gas.
"The reason I'm asking," he says, patiently, "- and I'm surprised I didn't think of it sooner than a week ago, but- You know, I partly blame my ego, it's a few sizes too big, I'll be the first person to admit that, and it didn't occur to me that you might- or that I wasn't-" He stops, eyes narrowing as his smile broadens again, then he sighs. "Why didn't you ask me to help you out with your grandmother?"
She just gapes, has no idea on how to approach his question.
"It would have been my pleasure to escort you to any function, and I'm great with grandparents, and also I- I like you."
"But-" She tries. "You said you didn't-"
"I know, I know." He nods his head from side to side. "The no-dating-clause is more like a general disclaimer, and most girls ignore it anyway, it's a vicious cycle really, but my point is-" He weighs between his feet and leans closer to her, raising his eyebrows. "You'd be surprised how many girls I've helped out in similar situations, and I would've done it for you too, but you didn't even ask me."
He leans back on his heels, and puts his hands in his pockets. She's been quiet for too long, she has to speak, so she goes with his name again, without being able to produce more than that. He looks up at her with his blue eyes, and it's so strange, how they've fooled around for weeks, months really, they've flirted, kissed, slept together, and never once has he looked so tenderly at her as he does right now, in the too bright sunshine. She feels like crying again. And he leans in and pecks her mouth, openly, in broad daylight, she hears at least one pair of voices close to them go hushed; this could have been the start of something. His lips tighten against hers when he smiles again, and when he backs away he looks exactly as he did the first time she met him. He raises his hand at her.
"See ya later, Ace."
She never did ask Logan. Why didn't she ask him? And just like that it's clear; Because she knew what it would lead to. Her wanting to please her grandparents is going to kill her; Even a whiff of Huntzberger around her and that would be it for them. She would be stuck forever and that wasn't what she wanted. He's not what she wants. She never did ask him. She asked Jess. Asked her best friend to pretend, in some blue-eyed notion that if they said it wasn't real it would be safe, she would stay safe and keep him safe. But it never was. The brain can't tell the difference.
Jess
He's in love with Rory Gilmore. He has denied it, stepped on it, run from it, come back to it, given up on it, and lived with it so long he's gotten used to it. He figured that was okay, he could drag it around, without having to think about it, or put it into words. Now those words won't stop ringing in his head. He's in love with her. He loves her.
He tries blocking it out with the fact that they're friends, best friends, that she's taken, that she's basically extended family - like he ever had any sort of relationship with that concept to begin with. And he thinks about that night she left for Europe. He plays it on repeat, he adds bits from the renewal, Emily's comments, Christopher's, and some stuff from the Chinese restaurant. 'I didn't realise shopkeeping was so attractive.' 'She can't just grab whoever's available.' 'High end!'
She likes him, and he has pretty definitive proof that she's attracted to him, she even goes so far as to say she loves him and he'll take it even if she meant more along the lines of some platonic, cosmic variety of that feeling. If it was just the two of them- his idiotic brain tries, but doesn't get far. Because even when he thinks of her, just her, it's clear; She's attending Yale, she'll have a big life. Even under optimal circumstances he'll be stuck on a few very limited patches of land all his life, landlocked, no matter what coast he's on.
Logan is right for her. He's thought so a hundred times. No actually, just once or twice. It's been enough. Now he forces himself to look at it, really look at what it is he imagines; Logan is easy to picture, at the renewal, a restaurant or club, even a lecture hall at Yale, he looks just as good everywhere, fits in, his surroundings bend around the shape of him, his presence. Rory, however... She takes form before his eyes. She looks exactly like she did that night she left for Europe, those exact clothes, posed next to Logan, matching him, like the rest of his surroundings, frozen, unchanging. He tries to see her happy there.
What is she like when she's happy? Her eyes glittering, her smile, her cheeks pink from laughter, but he doesn't have to picture it, because he remembers it, and now he can add her scent to it, her taste, the sound of her breath, her nervous laughter. He can't control what he imagines because of it anymore, he knows too much. She's happy when they're together, there's no denying that. And he wants to make her happy, in every way possible, wants to make her his, to have the simple selfish pleasure of being the one who gets to give her that.
Logan may be right for her but Jess can't imagine them together without feeling sick. Before this whole thing it was an abstract, vague idea he could conceptualise and not think about, but now he's seen what they look like together, not only in the presence of other people, but when they're alone, when they kiss. Logan may be right for her, but Jess can't stand the thought, because he wants her for himself, and more importantly, is already hers, even if she doesn't even know it.
And despite his defeat he's not spared from another set of thoughts; What has he been doing with his life? That's what that phrase about his window meant, not that he should've made a move on her like some chump, but that he should have made use of his time, tried somehow to keep up with her. Instead he's been too scared to move, and rightly so. He feels himself tipping inside, and knows what it means. Not an inspirational montage with him signing into community college or some shit like that, unfortunately. But something along the lines of a bender, or getting into a fight, or making just the worst decisions available for himself. The wheel of misfortune is spinning, where will it stop?
He clings to his work like it's a lifeline, to the customers, goes above and beyond, works as late as Clyde will let him, even without overtime. He goes to bed and ignores his fingers that want to dial her number and his need to hear her voice. He doesn't dare. Calling her could go wrong in a thousand different ways, each one hurrying up the process of him falling over the edge. Or he could repeat his hit from two years ago, calling her and not speaking, that'll go over well. All the while a softer, smaller voice inside urges him to call Luke, to ask for help, or not ask, but let him offer it anyway, and to take it, no matter what shape it comes in.
And meanwhile she doesn't call, and it hurts, then he's glad she hasn't, but he wants her to, so he gets the chance to not pick up.
All this whirrs in his head for days as he works, works, works, calls Luke and lies. It's easy the first time because it's not a straight lie. Clyde hired the kid and he needed to learn the ropes. Now it's Friday and Jess will have to call and lie again, it'll be more difficult this time. He pushes the call ahead of himself until the end of his shift, then decides against making it at all. He can do it tomorrow.
He doesn't get coffee, it'll keep him up. Instead he goes home, has a beer and picks out his notebook. But he can't stand his own writing tonight, the scribbled words stare back at him in all their inadequacy. He reads a few chapters from Just Kids. It's a time honored distraction for him, he's read himself through the worst parts of his life, and it's helped him survive, but he's too smart not to acknowledge that it has caused him some problems too.
So, after an hour he deliberately puts the book down and picks up his phone. He straightens in his chair and browses through the numbers until he reaches Chris's. Then he just sits there. It's after eleven on a Friday night. Chris will be out, he probably won't hear the phone, and then he'll just have a missed call from Jess on it when he goes home from the club. How pathetic. Or worse; he'll pick up and won't be out, but busy readying a space for the company, maybe he'll be painting, plastering, all tired and excited. Jess swallows, lowers the phone and looks out at the night lit street, and tries to get past his fuzzy reflection in the window.
The phone buzzes in his hand and he twitches where he sits. It's a message from an unidentified number, and he opens it: 'Desperate yet? ;)' There's a surge in his belly and his heartbeat picks up. The wheel spins. He turns the phone off, without deleting the message.
He gets ready to go to bed, but freezes in the corridor staring at the mirror, at Rory's postcard stuck in its frame. After a minute he loosens it from its place and turns it over.
It didn't arrive in November like she predicted but that's about when it reached him. She had sent it to Luke's, where it had wound up in a never ending pile of brochures, papers and catalogues which Luke hadn't gotten around to sorting through until well into fall. By then him and Lorelai were an item, Jess was working the diner on Sundays and Rory had started joining him. Luke left the postcard among Jess's behind the counter books and that's where he found it, with a postage stamp from sometime in late July.
Ponte Vecchio looked like something from a fairy tale, bathed in golden light and he knew the place from movies. On the back she had written: "Dear Jess," the words were bold, like she had filled them in a few times, then a new line, in slightly more fluent handwriting, "people always say how postcards don't do its places justice, but I kind of feel like this one does." Then a new line, in different ink: "I don't know what to write, it's funny how I've been wanting to send this the entire trip but can't figure out what to say." A new line, and finally: "I miss you. Yours, Rory." He saw her there before his inner eye. A moment frozen in time, sent his way, just months back but so long ago, and either way too late.
He never mentioned it finally arriving to her. It had become irrelevant, he told himself. That and other things: She was busy with school and had gotten involved with The Life and Death Brigade and this unreal, rich guy. Things were falling into place, fitting neatly to the memory of her getting into that car, the chauffeur taking the suitcase off her hands, opening the door to her, the tinted windows, there, but not there, she was a dream, just a dream, and he had to get real.
After work the next day he goes out for beers with Clyde and the kid who as it turns out just turned twenty-one, at least according to his only slightly weird-looking ID. Nobody cares anyway, Clyde picks the place, which is a crappy bar with darts and a pool table, half empty save a handful of trusted patrons. Clyde and the kid discuss the music while Jess stays a beer ahead of them.
Four ill-informed drinks into the evening he starts fiddling with his phone, opens Shane's message, and stares at it until he can't anymore.
"Excuse me." He gets out of his seat and heads out into the alley for privacy while screwing himself over.
He opens the message again and its number. His thumb hovers the call button, his head spins, and then his phone rings, right there in his hand. The screen lights up and Luke's name appears on it. Jess exhales sharply and pushes the call through.
"Yeah?"
"Is that really how people answer their phones?"
"Hi, uncle Luke."
"Knowing you that's hardly better, a simple hello would be fine."
Jess sighs.
"May I help you?"
Luke clears his throat and when he speaks again he sounds slightly less grumpy.
"That's what I'm calling to see. I could use your help here next week. Do you get time off?"
Jess stifles another sigh.
"Rarely." He decides to seize the moment. "Actually, about that, tomorrow-"
"I know what happened, you can cut the bullshit." Luke says tightly.
"Oh."
"Yeah, Lorelai tells me stuff, eventually." He mutters. "And Rory knows you bolted last Sunday too, pretty sure she can take a hint, going to Yale and all."
"I-"
"Anyway, I didn't call to give you an earful, I called to see about this week." Luke goes on, matter-of-factly.
"I don't know, Luke-"
"It's kind of an all hands on deck situation."
Jess groans.
"Well, in that case, can't TJ help out with whatever it is?"
"Oh! You're hilarious." Luke exclaims and Jess has to smile, the first one for what feels like weeks. "But, Jess, I wouldn't ask if I didn't really need you around."
Jess's vision goes blurry. It's sudden and he blames the drinks. Call Luke, ask for help, or don't, but let him offer it, take it, no matter what shape it comes in.
"Fine. When do you need me there?"
"Preferably tomorrow to help out with the diner, but Monday to start on the actual project."
"Aren't you gonna tell me-?"
"Nope."
Jess rolls his eyes.
"Oki-doki. Be there in a flash."
"Thanks." Luke hangs up.
Jess stands in the alley for a minute to let himself feel the ground under his feet again. Then he heads back inside to talk to Clyde while he's still a happy drunk. It's quick. It helps that the kid is overly confident, saying he can handle several weeks on his own should it come to that. and Jess encourages his nonsense before excusing himself for the evening.
He wakes up slightly later than usual the next morning, and his head hurts. He still feels better than he has for the last week and a half, and he gets out of bed almost immediately, tossing some clothes into a duffel bag, locking up the apartment and driving to Stars Hollow. March has turned to April and you can tell when you leave the city, something about the light and colors.
He's late to the diner and Lane is already there, but Luke doesn't give him lip about it. He just smiles, pats Jess's shoulder and is out the door within minutes of him arriving, too fast for him to get a chance to ask about the broken window between the diner and the Soda Shoppe.
"Where were you last week?" Lane asks him as he ties an apron around himself. "I came by for lunch and you weren't here."
"Had to work."
"Oh, and this is your hobby?" She quips.
He chuckles.
"What did I miss?"
"Boatloads!" Lane says. "Turns out Sophie Bloom is the Sophie Bloom from my album, old man Twickham died-"
"No way." Jess pours coffee for the two of them.
"Yeah, he's been dying so many times eventually you stop believing in it."
"Right."
"So, anyway they're turning his place into some kind of museum."
"Wow."
"And, I saved the best for last," Lane goes tapping her fingers against the counter in a drumroll, eyes glimmering, "Luke threw a frying pan at Taylor!"
"What?"
"It was great! And that's what happened to the window."
"Can't believe I missed it." Jess grouches.
"Yeah, what's up with that? You haven't missed a Sunday in what- six months? And where is Rory?"
Apparently valid observations, to which Jess has no answer that he feels right about offering. He doesn't want to lie to Lane, and he doesn't want to tell her the truth since she's first and foremost Rory's friend. So, he just grabs the coffee pot and heads out among the tables to serve the guests while ignoring Lane's quizzical look after him. But yeah, for more than a moment he feels bad about dodging her question, and not only for her sake.
Notes: "Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why." - Kurt Vonnegut