Title: Longing with a Cherry Tomato on Top | Chapter Twenty-Eight, Part One | Innocent & Unknowing
Author:
Nate
Pairing: Paris/Rory, varying POVs
Spoilers: Nothing to be spoiled show-wise, as we're well into my alternate universe here.
Rating: R (sexual situations, allusions and recalls about past mental and physical abuse of a minor)
Disclaimer: Despite all of us wishing she didn't at this point, Amy Sherman-Palladino still owns the Gilmore Girls, along with Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund-Polone, and whatever entity in the AT&T Deathstar now owns Warner Bros. Television (currently WarnerMedia). All other products mentioned within are the property and trademarks of their respective owners, and no disrespect is meant or implied. And yes, the mention of the setting in the end of this part was exhaustively researched and is completely true to where it is in Hartford.
Archiving: AO3, RalSt, FF-net and aff-net. Since I have had so many issues with other sites shutting down after posting my work, from now on you must explicitly contact me to archive this story and promise to maintain your posting venue for more than a year. If you intend me to help start a Prory/Gellmore site, you need to commit to it for the sake of our fandom.
Summary: It's the first Christmas Day for Paris and Rory together, and the Gilmore girl begins to understand why December 25th has never been easy for her upper-class girlfriend beyond not observing it due to her religion.
Author's Notes: I'm posting this 2 ½ years after I promised a new chapter, and I do apologize for that, whole-heartedly. But I don't think any of us expected that 2020 would be spent since March inside most of the time, wearing a mask outside in public (including going to college), and that we wouldn't have struggles with unemployment and trying to find things to do. I hate to admit...my muse died for this story for about a year because I didn't feel well mentally. Coronavirus (and everything going on with it politically and our 'president') has not helped either. I'm getting help so hopefully in the future I can focus on this story (along with improving my life overall in general) and get it out to you faster. But as it is...I'm just one person, and I hope you do understand what goes into the process of writing it. During this time I also got a new MacBook Pro...so I'm learning how to work with MacOS. As someone who has been all-Windows since 3.11, this is a change I'm getting used to for sure (but it's so much easier to work with text!).

Also...the reviews of certain people who think I am a 'man-hater' (LOL!) also got me down and made me feel maybe I was too hard on Dean in the last chapter. But being in my friend circle, I think I got him right, and I reject those types of reviews out of hand in the future. You are reading a fic about Paris and Rory as a couple. Do you really think I'm going to be neutral on how awful and possessive Dean was? I've warned you multiple times before where I'm coming from. I'm going to say this now; if you're a fan of Dean or Christopher, please don't bother me any further. I'm not going to change my views that they're horrid men, and I won't waver on that going forward. Thus, I take back my early statement in a past AN that 'I mean no harm to Dean'...a statement I made in the mid-2000s before I wised up and found my current friend circle. And I stand 100% behind how he was in the last chapter.

And as for chapters...going by my word count, we're going to end up with this 'chapter' being around 130,000 (!) words, so I've decided over the next month, up to Thanksgiving, I'll be releasing it over about four-six parts rather than in one chunk, so you can pace yourself. That way...you have something to look forward to, and I can hopefully look forward to your feedback and criticism, which I will take, in any form.

For this chapter, I'd like to thank everyone who has stuck by me for the decade and a half plus reading this story loyally, and even those who are still discovering the show just now and have only strengthened the flame for Gellmore. One of them is anxiouspunk on AO3 (or on Tumblr, paris-geller-was-straightwashed), who has posted a lot of amazing fic with our favorite duo in all the eras of the show (outside S6/7), including with their children. They are an amazing writer, and I'm glad to know them. Through our shared fandom, I've also gotten to know Lena (lanafannabanana on Tumblr) over the last couple years, and I would recommend their Good Girls stories and if you just love obsessing over Rachel Weisz and Christina Hendricks. As always, Danielle and Taylor are always my rock, and I thank them for being here for me as all this has gone on. Also dollsome on Tumblr for being the one cranking out so many Gellmore gifsets (and some great fic herself)...thank you for your service!

The biggest reason I agonize over this chapter...is it establishes my overall headcanon for Paris and her most special of days, along with more of her family background beyond ASP's 'she has a mean mom'. I read too many stories where Mitchum is Worst Father Ever to Logan, and Paris always spoke with love about her dad (despite the S6 tax mess which just felt like ASP wanting to write another character and dragging Liza with her). Over the last two decades, this is how I imagine how she came into the world, and how despite it all, she does have a support system with her family. I wanted to post something for not only the 20th anniversary of Gilmore Girls, such a special show to be, but for the day Liza Weil first came onto our screens as Paris Gellar. Though I did not actually watch on October 12, 2000 (my first episode was Rory's Dance two months later, thus I had to back-track and be thankful the WB aired reruns...in January...on VHS...remember those?! Video on demand and stacking rights are a lifesaver!), I still hold Paris close to my heart, and telling this story as a love letter to her character and what might have been with Rory is what I hope to leave behind in this world proudly one day.

To end this novel of an author's note (last paragraph, I promise!), yes, I'm going to please say vote safely and carefully on November 3 if you're in the United States, or before then if you can. Mail your vote (or put it in a government-endorsed safe dropbox), and please don't waste it on a rapper or former pageant owner who is disrespectful to those sacrificing their lives to keep everyone safe, despite his own suffering he learned nothing from. I (and everyone I know) would like to wake up looking forward to January 20 at noon, knowing our country's future is bright, rather than four more years of...this. And so much bigotry. I usually tease about this...but if you're a bigot, please click out of this story and move on to anything else. You are not welcome here.

That said, on with the story. Title inspiration from "Fear" by Sarah McLachlan.


Paris's POV

It was finally here. The day I have been somewhat excited for, but also fearful of. I always know it's coming, like Groundhog Day. Or the IRS audit Sharon fears is right around the corner because she seems to believe the advice of some fly-by-night loon who advertises his tax services daily between court shows on UPN 59 over that of accountants who have handled our affairs for so long, they got the Gellars through 1929 relatively unscathed.

It's a day I always look forward to, but I also find plenty of reasons to dread. So much good happened on this day, but there was also plenty of darkness to come with it. I feel overly superstitious about it, in general. I can't even mention the name it has. It is a holiday that my people don't really celebrate, but my mother tried to make us embrace against my father's will, and which is forever grafted onto my birth certificate, passport, and driver's license by association.

Yes, I could change my name to Calcutta Lily-of-the-Valley Humungous Gellar if I had the inclination to. My gender could also change rather easily, if I wanted to commit myself to the lengthy process.

But one line on that birth certificate isn't changing. As much as I could cite instead that the date was the 1st of Tevet in the Jewish year of 5745, most people will give me a quizzical stare and have no idea what I was talking about.

Thus, I was born on...

...born on...

...I feel like...arrrgh, fine!

December 25, 1984 was the date of my birth! I was born at 3:29 p.m. Eastern Standard Time in the maternity ward of Newington Children's Hospital, at five pounds and two ounces, and 13¼". My actual birth date was spitballed in and around January 17, 1985, but my mother had talked some people-pleasing resident obstetrician there into inducing labor early, fully against the wishes of my father and Dr. Merton, who reminded her as she delivered me that if anything happened, it was all on her head. She hoped it was the sign Daddy needed to give up the Jewish faith and go with her barely-practiced Roman Catholicism as our religion.

That has not proven the case. And yet, here I am, a Jewish woman with a Christmas birthday, on of all things, the eighth night of that year's Hanukkah. So much has already gone on before today; there was Sunday with Beth and finally having the heart-to-heart conversation alone we had missed having for seven years. We just curled up in her room at the inn, threw on The Power of Myth in the background on the television, and...it was like not one minute had passed. We talked about the Gellars and Willkes, about how she feels like her dreams are within reach. There was catharsis, being able to talk about my mother with a week distant from everything last Saturday, and how I was thankful that Daddy wasn't pushing anything aside anymore and being completely in my corner.

We talked about my Aunt Beth (yes, Beth, was of course named for her. Uncle Joel just really liked the name and honoring him and my father's sister in such a way), and that she was still taking everything around my father's divorce so awful, having gone through a horrid one herself with an abusive husband. But most of the focus was on Sharon and knocking down the walls I put up to protect my family.

"You got through this. Never forget that," she reminded me. "You never raised a fist, never swore at her, and never gave her any opportunity to make you look like you were above her. Sharon did all of this, and eventually, she is going to look back on her life and hold deep regrets about how she treated you."

I shook my head, knowing it would never happen. "But she wants me dead, in retrospect. She wanted to abort me or add more speed before the crash. I have more than accommodated her-"

"And I know. Paris, believe me, I know she isn't anywhere close to a good mother. But in the end, no matter what happens, you pass down her legacy. And soon, her and the rest of the Martinez-DeBartolos must know that their genes are still with you and you won't give one thought to them at all once the next generation is here. They'll be but a leaf in the family tree if Sharon and the rest of them just keep acting like this, nothing but a footnote in some genealogy project with your great-great-great grandchild in 2145."

"Just..." I raised my hands in the air. "I would take a 'whatever, do what you want' at this point from her, honestly. I don't need her acceptance by any means. I just don't want my life to be ruined because of this. Do it over my grades or my awful social skills. Just...not because I love some girl." I plopped onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling. "And that's all she cared about. Lou is from the same type of rich family and still got threatened with death from Sharon because of it. What does it matter who I choose to love?"

"It shouldn't," she affirmed. "It's life. You found yourself wanting someone that's unexpected, completely who you never thought would find attractive. And you went for an equal with Rory in intelligence. That she sees beyond your family situation and how you introduced yourself to her, that's a testament to her loyalty to you. And I wish Sharon could see that, but sadly...this is what we deal with." She took my hand. "You're doing what you must. Rory is with her family, too."

"She's probably at home ruminating her response to her paternal grandparents." I sighed. "How could anyone ever do that?"

"I don't know. Same question I have about Dean." I glanced towards her, dreading revealing this at all since I know Rory intended to keep it a secret. But now that Beth is pro-us, I supposed it was okay.

"Rory...she told me once that after the...well, you heard it described Friday night." I wasn't going to say the word or describe the action. "He apparently slept-talk after he fell asleep with her that first time, and imagined you doing that." Her eyes immediately widened.

"He...thought I got him to third base?!" Her pitch was incredulous. "In front of Rory...his girlfriend?!"

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger!"

"Literally, in his dreams!" she decried. "He tried to crawl into bed with me one time and felt up my ass. He learned the hard way when I tossed him hard onto the floor that it's my body, my terms! I will tell Rory that sadly, she was the first to...um, know him in that way." A pause, with a pained grimace. "On second thought...maybe not."

"The question now is doing he maybe...err..."

"Not that either. Mom always required the door to be open, so our romantic options were limited, especially self-gratification. Which I now thank her for, profusely." Beth smiled and snorted. "Really isn't that hard to respect your partner, or their parents."

"Not at all. Though my first heavy make-out session with Rory at her house ended with her mom and a wayward shirt that decided to let my breast come out to play." I blushed violently as she got in a laugh rightly at my expense. "That's one way to come out."

"Don't tell that to the kids when you get older." She looked at the screen and propped herself higher on the bed. "I love this town by the way. Lots of interesting people. Though I went into that diner Rory suggested for breakfast and when Dad called to check on me, the owner pointed at a sign and had me take the call outside. A little rude, since it was really chilly to boot."

I smiled, shaking my head. "It's Luke. He doesn't like modern technology and doesn't like cell phones. Trust me, it's as bad as he gets, and he makes a great cup of wintergreen tea."

"Yeah, he was lucky his coffee, danish and french toast were awesome and that Lorelai talked him down. Once she said 'oh, that's Dean's ex from Chicago, emphasis on ex', he was chill and let me take the call inside. Oh, and I met the illustrious Kirk."

That got me to laugh. "Let me guess, you found him odd."

"Odd?" I turned to see her eyes light up. "He wanted to know if I knew any film people in Chicago and asked if I had connections to Roger Ebert. Something about a movie he did?"

"Rory has described it. It was...interesting." I shook my head. "You realize Rory and I beat him in a dance marathon, right?"

"Yeah, when I told him I was your cousin, he actually asked if I caught the dancing gene in the family. Sadly, I had to disappoint him. But he's an interesting guy."

Oh, if Lorelai and Rory hear that, they will mock you mercilessly! I thought to myself, choosing to refrain from saying anything about his eccentricities for now. "Interesting is the perfect word for him." The chatter went on for several hours, and I felt relaxed and cathartic. It was calming to talk to someone in my family who had no interest in mocking or shaming me. Beth meanwhile had blocked Dean's numbers so he'd never call again, but also planned to see Deborah and Clara sometime later in the week to talk things out, hopeful that nothing was ruined between them.

"I...I also want to see if...because of all that Clara's gone through. We have an extra guest bedroom unused in the house and...P, do you think asking Mrs. Forester if Clara could move back to Chicago is too much?"

"Because of her friends, right?"

"I know she hasn't made easy friends in this town at all. She's still deep and close to everyone on the North Shore and..." I glanced at her. "It's a bad idea, isn't it?"

I hadn't intended on making her feel uncomfortable with the idea. "It's worth a shot. If she thrives away from Dean and Mr. Forester, it's better for everyone. Plus, you go to college, and Aunt Hannah might be happy to have someone else to dote on besides Ally and Ozzie and the house won't feel as empty. But make sure it's okay though."

"Of course." We went back to talking about other things, and it was a relaxing day the both of us needed (except for Beth's profane tirade about the coach of the Bears, Dick Jauron, after a scoreboard check saw them bludgeoned awfully in Carolina, and an irrational annoyance Lorelai's boss didn't pay for NFL Sunday Ticket for the Inn). Monday was spent with Rory giving Beth a more comprehensive tour of the town, while also officially getting my Selective Service registration in the mail so it got to Palatine in Illinois the first moment it could get there Thursday morning (I hoped). Yesterday was quiet, time to get in some projects and writing assignments for the break, so I had more than enough free time for the rest of it. Lorelai and Rory busied themselves with final Christmas preparations, including decorations and presents, leaving me a rare moment of peace within the Gilmore home. It was so odd to be in a place where I could count on hearing either woman talk or yell in the house at any time, and there they were at Westfarms, tackling the last crowds and getting in their last gifts, while mocking me in a good-natured way that I had finished my shopping three weeks before.

It was peaceful, I'll say. But I ended up still missing Rory and was relieved when her and Lorelai came into the house with several bags, including what I could only assume were certain gifts for a certain day I didn't want mentioned around my person. I was surprised by how quiet and knowing Rory was about my superstitions about the day, knowing I hadn't taken well to her few mentions of it last year and my brush-off of her good wishes.

Soon though, I would have to face up to the said day, and this time I had no excuses to avert. Two years ago, my Nana's death cast a pall upon it that still affects me. Last year, there was an unwelcome trip to Florida because Sharon won the custody coin that time and my seventeenth was barely acknowledged beyond a brushed-off 'whatever', Aunt Cassie annoyed she had to make what was a pitiful birthday cake, and Grandpa DeBartolo arguing that my décolletage came from their side of the family.

In cruder terms, of course. And laughing, rather than Sharon warding off that gross slander.

Now, I was in Stars Hollow. For the first time, Rory could acknowledge the so-called blessed day. I could only hope that there was just a quick singing of that certain song Warner/Chappell will charge me $15 grand for merely mentioning, Stop & Shop cupcakes, and that was it.

Of course, it is Christmas Day in Stars Hollow, so I should know better...


Rory's POV

I woke up at 6:25 a.m. out of a very pleasantly deep sleep and an incredible accompanying dream, my bladder trying to alert me to my usual morning routine, though I was also tempted by my hormones with another interesting way to start this Christmas morning. I threw off my blankets...

And quickly grabbed right back for them. "Holy crap!" I exclaimed, as I felt an unexpected chill on my sternum, accentuated at a treble down below. Thankfully, I had worn a tank top and pajama pants to bed and kept them on despite an earlier urge to undress, but it was of literal cold comfort. I focused my eyes to read the bedside alarm clock...

...to somehow find that I could see my breath. I turned to my other side, looking down below, hopeful to see that my girlfriend was still warm and ensconced in her airbed.

Said bed was empty. Oh God, I thought, as I began to curl up in the blankets hurriedly and fumble with my bare feet to find the fuzzy bear slippers at bedside, which were also very cold, but at that point, better than nothing. I wrapped the blankets tighter around myself, poked my hands out from them and waddled to the door, where I opened the knob and headed out to the kitchen. I also said a prayer that the effect the cold has on my damned nipples wouldn't decide to make a Farrah Fawcett poster look chaste in comparison.

Paris and Mom were already out there. Mom nursed her thickest Thermos driving tumbler, undoubtedly full of coffee, in her puffy jacket and rainbow mittens, with Paris in her trench and brown leather driving gloves with my pink cake pajamas poking out at the top and bottom, both in their eyeglasses, mussed-up hair, and no makeup, suggesting a further lack of hot water. They both glanced at me, in complete surprise that I had lasted in my bed for so long, going by how cold it was in that moment in the kitchen.

Despite how Paris looked though? I still got a quick wind of body heat from the blush up my cheeks and lower down from seeing her unkempt, and in glasses. Somehow, she still looked adorable, despite being in complete exasperation. She let out a deep sigh and let me know what was going on.

"You went longer than either of us," she slid out, wearily. "I got up to use the bathroom at 4:30 a.m., and there was Lorelai out here complaining about the boiler in explicit terms about how it could go sexually violate itself. Didn't take me long to start shivering."

"Oh, crap!" My eyes widened. "It went?!"

"It did." Mom shook her head. "There was a power surge some time after midnight, and it knocked out the power for a couple seconds. Just enough time to knock out the boiler igniter and the water heater igniter permanently, and it domino effect'ed a number of other issues that I didn't know about until I woke up at four with chattering teeth and cold boobs. Luke delivered the bad news to me an hour ago."

"Oh no!" I sat down at the table within my blanket, looking downward and thankful at a to-go cup of coffee for myself, taking a couple of sips for warmth, trying to blank out Mom's extended wake-up commentary about her cold flesh. "So, we don't have heat?"

"For now. Paris was kind enough to call in some favors with her maintenance people at the Manor and who they use for the HVAC stuff they can't do themselves, so they're rushing people here to get it all fixed ASAP. Thank God she was here; I was about to have a panic attack."

"It's not your fault the old owners didn't change anything out since Carter was in office and said 'oh these've been maintain solidly and get you to 2010 no problem'...while lying through their teeth," she off-sided, "but we called Luke out of a sound sleep and had him look at things before we called out to my guys and Standard HVAC. Maintenance was good, but you can only maintain so much before things must get fixed, and the porch work last year exacerbated some things in the system. The water heater is a damned relic that needed replacement when color TV was a new thing. I get the feeling the boiler though will be OK."

"Plus I got a speech from Luke about the cheap fuel I used last year and this year," Mom noted. "You shouldn't trust anyone who advertises on WB 20 at 4 in the morning. In this case...well, Paris looked up Waterbury Boiler's BBB rating with a quick check of your iBook in the living room, and let's just say we've been using awful fuel that's about as effective as convenience store lighter fluid." She shook her head. "Translation of this all; we have boiler and water heater work going on all day and this house is going to stay cold until it's fixed. I'm going to work today so I can stay warm and let Paris and Luke's guys do what they need to."

"And for the two of us?" I pointed at Paris and I. Then looked out at the tree in the living room. "And presents?" I pouted.

"You totally know how to light a fire, right, kid?" A little knowing smirk.

"Absolutely not!" I sighed. "So we can't stay here today?"

Paris shook her head. "Unfortunately, there's no Tauntaun hide we can burrow into for the day. Thus..." She threw her hands into the air. "The good thing is, Babette's letting us use her house to prep and change into fresh clothes and get our contacts in, along with a quick breakfast." I wondered what she had up her sleeve considering the number of things closed on a day like this. "We are not wanting of things to do. Trust me on this, Rory."

"But..." I looked around the house. "Shouldn't there be someone...I mean, there has to be someone 18 or older, like when Comcast is over, right?"

Mom answered my question quickly. "Luke's going to check in on and off through the day and he'll be the one to meet the HVAC guys, so that's covered. They just don't want anyone here in case there's a carbon monoxide issue that might spring up. It's for the best, honestly." I was just about to ask something else, but Paris broke in, seeming to connect somehow with what was on my mind.

"We're getting the work done; priority number one, no matter what. Daddy and I are covering it and Lorelai and I commiserated; whatever we need to do for payment at this point, that's down the road. A house with heat and hot water is more important than putting the work off any longer. My father already approved everything, so there's nothing to worry about."

I sighed, knowing they both were right. We could all stay here and deal with the heat in other ways, but it would be kicking things down the road. And after a scary incident where a guest plugged in a faulty space heater in their room and almost caught the Inn on fire, Mom was zealously against any use of those cursed devices.

It needed to be fixed, and there was no way around it, especially with how cold it has been the last week. I shrugged.

"It needs fixing. It's needed it for a long time." I glanced at my girlfriend, who smiled right back at me. "You're sure we have things to do?"

"Plenty of time to burn. We still have those free passes from our first date thanks to the movie screw-up in West Springfield. Plus there's a couple of other things I have to do up in Hartford today, and we can get lunch somewhere between off 91."

"Yeah." I was thankful she remembered the passes; I hadn't even remembered them. "We could do that. It's just we have all these Christmas traditions, and I'm worried we won't get to them."

"That will all happen," Mom assured with a smile. "It'll just be later tonight, that's all."

"Yeah." I took another sip of coffee, looking at Paris. "Not a good way to start-"

With precision and speed I didn't know she even had, she held up her gloved finger. "Today. It's today!"

"I was going to say Christmas again," I argued lightly. "Scout's honor!"

"Mm-hmm. You couldn't even pull off being a fake Girl Scout to Clara, so nice try, Gilmore." She came over my way and shook her head, but with a smile. She pecked my cheek. "We have a day ahead of us and..." She wrinkled her nose. "...goodness, the deodorant bird didn't stop by this morning. Better get ready soon!"

"Hey!" I should have never bit into the 'birds dress me in the morning' thing, and I glared at Mom as she laughed at Paris's aside. "That bird is...also on winter break?"

"Get in a shower, Gilmore. The sooner we're on the road, the better."

I stuck out my tongue at her. "Mean!"

"But right."

"Surrrre." Quickly we began to prepare for the day ahead of us, a sudden day outside of Stars Hollow that had me off-kilter. I wondered what would happen, and where Paris would take me besides the theater up north in West Springfield. I was thrown off by the heat being out, but now this was all happening. Whatever it was.

I didn't know what to expect, but with Paris, I knew there wouldn't be a quiet or dull moment...


Paris's POV

I had never done this before, ever. Usually, this day was spent being pensive, or collecting the few gifts from those who were stubborn that Christmas was the day to gift-give rather than the eight nights of Hanukkah. Not that it mattered either way, but this day, it's always been odd. And now, my balance was completely thrown for a loop.

The plan had been to do what I did in Hartford alone or with my father, as I usually have done in the past when I could. Under my original thoughts, it would have worked.

But the Gilmore's boiler and water heater had to fritz out. That I couldn't have predicted. Waking up in a cold chill and walking out to see Lorelai chattering her teeth, that wasn't fun. And yes, I tried to rouse Rory awake, but she just brought the blankets closer to herself and said something in deep REM that I probably shouldn't mention around virgin ears; she wasn't getting up with my help at all, and as long as she felt warm enough, both Lorelai and I resolved that she should stay in bed until nature took its course. Thankfully, things went fast. I called Daddy to make sure to iron out all of what we needed with our HVAC folks, while Lorelai called Luke and he rushed over ready to help her out in any way possible.

And yes, I mean in the way where he thought a call at 4:45 a.m. in the morning was some kind of code. Lorelai actually had to go to the thermostat, show him that it was at 59° and declining, and that yes, the boiler wasn't working and nothing but cold water was coming from the water taps. They had a bickering little argument for five minutes laced with blatant innuendo about his toolbox, Luke playing Santa Claus, and then to close things out, a swoon that he was Lorelai's hero.

Not that I was going to interfere. I just sat there and observed like my cousin Jacob did, these two fools completely denying that they were in want of each other, content to wait until fate bit them in the ass. I certainly wasn't going to tell anyone, and certainly not Rory. They wanted to stay in their status quo of an innkeeper and gruff owner of an eatery dancing around their feelings like a Canadian pairs figure skating duo, so be it. I just wanted to be warm again and I was intent on getting cleaned up, dressed as fast as possible and taking Babette's thankful hospitality in this emergency moment, deciding to forgo the shower so that Rory might be able to warm up as much as possible, since I would have one soon enough.

After a weather check told us the high would be around 18° for the day (please don't mention the irony), that brought me into a dark red sweater paired with a corduroy skirt and black hose with comfortable shoes. I had to look nice for this errand and told Rory to dress the same way, not revealing why I chose that certain kind of clothing. Still, she complied, going with a blue sweater, with some nice dark slim jeans and some hi-tops. Lorelai bid us adieu for the day, and since Luke really wasn't open for business that day (even with the coffee and tea he brought with him), I had to be content with an orange for my breakfast, while Rory had a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. A bizarre breakfast for Christmas morning, but thus, with not much open, we had to create a breakfast where we could.

With that, we were on the road by around 8 a.m., as I knew the stops in Hartford would be painful at first, but I would be relieved when we were done. Rory stared at the traffic on the way out of town before I headed the long way into Hartford via 91 to burn some time.

"So, what do we have to do in Hartford? Everything is closed." She glanced at me, curious, before I explained the first thing, taking in a deep breath as I made the turn onto Route 68 east towards the expressway.

"Technically, as of this moment? I am now the owner of Gellar Manor." I shook my head, feeling a bit of a burden released. "My Nana owned the mansion, and between her death and today, it was owned by a trust of my father and our lawyers. But she deemed that it would pass on to me when I reached the proper age. And that day is today so...technically as of now, I'm my own mother's landlord."

"You mean...you're throwing her out?" She was surprised. "Can you do that?"

"She's not in town, if that's what you're worried about. The grapevine passed along that her and Mohegan Man cleared out for two weeks in Vegas on Sunday." I laughed. "But I'm not throwing her out. As much as I'd like to, that would just give Hampton and her an excuse to sue me and waste a whole lot of time." I explained what I was going to do. "With her clear, I'm going to get this car swapped out with the LX I have so I can have traction on the roads and seat room, and I'm grabbing a few more things from my bedroom I didn't have a chance to last Saturday. Just a few things. Plus the stop at the Headmaster's house to drop off the emancipation form and make it official. It's in the glovebox."

"I forgot about that." Rory was relieved about that aspect of the day. "Can you get her evicted?"

"Actually, she's already been confined to the garden house in the back; Daddy and I were afraid she was going to break into my room and smash it up, along with the rest of the Manor, so on that Saturday night they changed the locks while she was jailed so she couldn't get back in. The state marshal made her get somebody else to move what she needed from the main house to the garden house."

She quirked her eyebrow. "So, what you're saying is that you could've technically moved back in Sunday evening?"

"I could have. But she was on the same property and...honestly, going in that house now?" I grimaced. "There's still a bit of trauma going on, and that's why I'm thankful you're with me. I was going to go alone, but fate was kind somehow this morning."

"I would have come with you. Heat or no heat." Her hand brushed lightly against my thigh. "And yeah, you're alone. But not like I'd be in my house. That place probably gets isolating even with all you have, I'm sure."

"It does. Lots of echoing and being in that bedroom most of the evening. After awhile, you feel stir crazy to move. There have been times I'll just head to the Wendy's drive-thru late at night for a burger, a Frosty and a baked potato just for want of something to do. Sometimes I even screw up the order on purpose and re-order while keeping the other food to elongate the time I spend out. It's kind of sad, I know."

A snort. "Hey, not sad! Kinda cute, actually. Though I'm sure the Frosty is a definite vice."

"A vicious habit. I even buy the yearly charitable keytag for free small Frostys." I went back to the subject. "And honestly? I feel better in the Hollow for now. It's quieter. I don't need a guard or be scared for my life. Plus, I enjoy the company." I turned my head for a slight moment to glance at her, and I saw her blush. "What? I do."

"Geeze, Par, you softy!" She laughed softly. "I'm glad you're not at the Manor either. Friday would have been a lot different regarding Beth when we eventually met."

"And the horrid dreams...I don't know how I could have dealt with that," I shared. Rory tuned the radio to 'TIC and their holiday 'somehow these new pop bands strangling livestock made Christmas music out of their death rattles' playlist of songs as we headed into Hartford and the Albany Avenue exit through town. An assurance check with the guards to make sure Sharon indeed wasn't at the Manor, and we were in the house around 8:30 a.m. Nobody was working inside, so Rory and I had the run of the place. In the garage, her eyes landed on the sleek black LX that I would be utilizing for the next few weeks instead of the familiar Jag.

"Hmm, nice." She opened the door, looking at the front seat in soft and comfortable leather. "I honestly don't know if I could drive this."

"Really no big bother; you'll feel at home once you get your groove in the seat. It's actually pretty easy once you get used to the higher seat position and the controls." I approached her at the side and raked my fingers along it at the hem of her sweater. "It's just safer. Not that the Jag isn't safe, but this is more secure to me. Plus I need to get some winter driving in on it. I can't leave a vehicle undriven for too long. I become complacent and my defenses fall if I don't rotate out."

"Understandable." She looked around the garage. "Hey, where is your bike anyways? I've never seen it."

Sighing, I felt horrid I couldn't show her. "We rent secured storage up near Bradley to keep the summer vehicles in a temperature-controlled environment. We had a short-lived employee here...a dumbass white boy...who decided that our vehicles were his personal playground to show off to the ladies. Daddy wasn't impressed when his '67 Shelby Mustang ended up inside the Big Y a mile east of here, right in front of the lottery desk and flower department. We were able to rescue it, but it cost tens of thousands to fix back up, so from then on, we've kept what we don't utilize off-site. A shame, really." I shook my head, smiling. "I mean, I have my riding outfit and helmet, but there's nothing to show it off with."

"Then don't wear it...yet." She glanced down at me, a heated look in her blue eyes. "I'm not ready to take all that in without the complete package."

"You wrapping your thighs against mine, pressing your body right alongside of mine?" I whispered, knowing it would spark her.

"My fingers jusssst above your waistline as you take me into a 80 MPH curve? The vibration of the bike just below us and making us think very untoward things about each other?" I was heated as she brought me in for a needy kiss. I hadn't even intended for this to be charged, but it definitely was. Her tongue, playing against my lips. I felt weakened by her words.

"You wear bike gloves, right?" I nodded shakily. "See, then I can't wait to have them against my bare skin." I flushed deeply, definitely not wanting a sexual moment to take place in the garage.

"Down there, lovely." I chuckled. "It's a good thing to think about, but we have a lot to do here today."

"I know. Just my thoughts wandering off." She spun around on the garage floor after closing the door. "Let's get upstairs. Hopefully it's not a shambles from your mother." The thought unsettled me, remembering how I left the house before, but it had to be done as we climbed the flight of steps from the garage up to the kitchen. I entered, hopeful I wasn't entering a minefield of broken glass or tossed-about things.

Thankfully I did know that Daddy had made sure a cleanup crew had come with the locksmiths, so everything was perfectly in its place as we went through the immaculate kitchen. Nothing was thrown askew, nothing spilled. It was almost as if I was in another home, where various alcohol glasses were regularly by the sink. I ran my fingers against the granite countertop island as Rory glanced around, on edge for Sharon just in case she somehow hid and sent a decoy with Mohegan Man. Thankfully, she had not, and we were all alone, though the Manor was a bit chilled from being unoccupied.

"How does it feel coming home?" She asked. I looked around the kitchen, quietly pondering.

"It won't hit me until we're in the living and dining rooms," I said honestly, the swinging door suddenly seemingly like a gate to another world to me. Nearing the door, I felt a sudden twinge, like my stomach was dropping and a pang in my heart. Rory didn't even hesitate to notice and come to my aid.

"No, no, stop!" She grabbed my hand. "I...I can go in there first. Just to make sure it doesn't look like a mess. I know-"

"I'm not scared!" I tried to argue, knowing that my panic suggested that I was petrified. "It's just a room. Just...that's it!"

"More than that to you though." We slid down to the floor next to the door. "You can be strong, but you will forever associate that room with what happened that morning. I know it, and I'm not mad." I took in slow and controlled breaths, feeling things close in. "Par, it's okay. You can be weak for me and I understand."

"I...I almost died in there." I stared at the swinging door. "I just want it to be a living room again. That's all. Cozy and inviting."

"It will be, one day. I promise." She held her hand in mine. "Now I'll go in there, make sure any mess is cleaned up. If it's still haphazard, we'll just use the side stairs in here and go up to your room that way. That's good, right?"

"Yeah...the side stairs. Side stairs are good." I saw the door leading to them on the other side. But I still wanted to face up to this. I had to. "You're sure?"

"I'll shout a clear if it is. Promise." Rory smiled and brought my hand to her mouth for a kiss. "It won't be long." She uneasily got up, keeping her eyes on me as she stood up and then used her right hand to back it into the swinging oak door, her eye contact staying steady until she got into the room and the door closed. I looked at her, then the door, hopeful the horror had been cleaned up in there. I still remember when I got down there, tossed and broken vases, a shattered rum bottle and alcohol all over the place. A sofa pushed over.

Thankfully, there had been no Gellar heirlooms among them; Nana had learned that lesson the hard way when she tossed a crystal duck at a mirror twelve years before which had been in the family dating back to before our immigration from Spain and France in the 1820s. It was all hideous new-age or stuff you associate with cheap interior designers, so nothing of value in that living room outside of furnishings would be lost. But it was still a nightmare of a room where I would forever remember being shattered by my revelation.

The time passed slowly before I heard Rory's voice call for me.

"Paris. They cleaned everything up well. It's fine...sort of bare. You can come in. Nothing really here."

My breath caught. They had cleared the room. I was never more thankful for the Manor staff than I was now. I slowly pushed myself up the wall, then inched in small steps towards the exit from the kitchen. I opened the door, slowly, hoping that Rory wasn't lying to make me face my fears. I kept my eyes closed until I was outside of the swing radius of the door, finally letting it go at the last moment I could.

I then opened my eyes. Rory stood on the other side, near the dining room table. And I took in my surroundings.

Rory was right, along with what I remembered Fran and Daddy saying. They had promised me over the weekend that they were going to reverse most of my mother's changes, including the drywalling over the heritage oak and mahogany of the first floor of the house she had done when the divorce was final into a hideous modern design. They were glad to see the carpets ripped out by her honestly, as they had unearthed hardwood floors of a quality I associate more with old school buildings.

So I entered the room. Most of the effects and furniture had indeed been removed from the living room, though a few chairs and the large console for entertaining guests remained. I looked around the room, then towards the landing where I was thrown down onto. It was spartan, clean, and there was no struggle of what had ensued that morning.

It had been almost like it had never been lived in. The awful pictures and framed art which had eradicated what was a wall of Gellar family photos were completely gone. So was a large-leafed plant which felt more at home in a mall food court than the small mansion it was actually a part of. I walked around the living room, arms crossed over, the pain and panic dissipating as I moved towards Rory. The dining room had remained unchanged from how it always was because of the intervention of building codes which made most modifications in that room de facto impossible. I felt open, free. Still shaky, but Sharon wasn't there...

For the most part. But I approached Rory in the dining room, where she stood in front of the dining room's two large sliding doors, thankful I had gotten through the living room without much issue.

However, there was another challenge I could see right on the table. And Rory's gaze concerned me. I looked at her, then the table. Papers spread throughout.

But instead of the fear or anger I expected from those papers, there was mirth in the form of a small smile. And a blush.

A kind of...deep blush.

"You were right, y'know." She glanced down at the table. "I'm surprised your father didn't burn these. But...in an odd and kind of backwards way, they are cute."

I looked up at the ceiling, then back towards her. "I think my reaction was the only reason he didn't, nor did he sue the guy to kingdom come. Again, he stayed off private property and seemed to do the minimum possible to appease the assignment."

Rory and I stood next to each other, resting our hands on the table, looking at the infamous pictures from the private eye where we were caught en flagrante in the school lot, Stars Hollow and at the Gilmore estate in Hartford. Again, our privacy was invaded horribly. The pictures weren't welcome and awfully invasive.

But still, they were cute. I especially had a soft side for the kiss in the Gilmore driveway, while Rory had a smile for one of us meeting in the gazebo. And thankfully the envelope still contained all the negatives, allowing us to cherry-pick out the terrible ones and keep the pics that were flattering.

"I told you they got my good side," I crowed, as Rory laughed.

"I hate that he took your mom's money, but at least he admitted that he only did it for that and he felt uncomfortable following us around. Plus when your father told him what she did when the pictures were presented...he refunded everything back to him out of incredible guilt and said he felt like garbage for outing a kid, since his son is also gay; he was led to believe by Sharon that he was merely tracking your whereabouts and thought you were out to her."

"That was the surprising part. When I learned that talking to him on Saturday..." Both of us nodded. "I get the feeling in the future he's going to refuse these assignments."

"Definitely." We looked at the photographs, putting them back into the envelope. We were keeping them for sure as mementos. Whatever Sharon intended these would do to Rory and I, it only strengthened our bond and completely backfired on her. That was the just desserts I wanted out of all of this. And thankfully both Fran and Daddy had decided it was clearly my decision what I wanted done with the pictures, because despite what their intended use was for, I wanted them. Not only because they were so candid and caught the both of us in a moment where we were lost to the world, but it reminds me what I'm fighting for. What I need to do. And that Sharon will have no say in how I live my life from this day forward.

The both of us then went upstairs to my bedroom and spent some good time in there, as I tidied it up from the panic of that morning and put things that ended up thrown astray back where they belonged. It was nice to be back in my refuge, if only for a little bit as I was able to grab the external hard drive from my Mac I forgot in order to retain my music and document files and bring them back to Stars Hollow with me. I also decided to bring back a jewelry box with earrings and rings that had been in my family for generations, just so I had the security that they were with me. That, and some more clothes.

Oh, and one more important, and probably selfish thing. Yes, I wanted a nice long shower in my missed private bathroom, which Rory completely understood. Not that the Gilmore shower was awful by any means, but I just wanted to feel those massage jets beating against my back again and that scalding hot water calming my nerves. I resisted the full temptation to invite Rory in somehow, and for the first time since that awful Saturday, had a shower unencumbered by a bag over my left foot, fully able to enjoy one of the smaller luxuries of my life. I had Rory pack up what I picked and chose into a piece of luggage while I was in the bathroom as I let the time melt away, a relaxing half-hour of peace and quiet, along with contemplation. Every moment of the shower was wonderful, and letting the grime of the past slide down the drain as I turned off the jets and hand-toweled my hair gave me a visual moment I sincerely needed in order to begin to let the trauma of my mother's reaction recede.

It will not fade completely. I know that too well. But it will not define me. I re-dressed, feeling a renewal of my spirit as I opened the door to find Rory sitting on my bed, that bag I needed packed...

And somehow she had found something I hadn't expected her to wear. She sat there, giving me a sensual smirk, as I found her in the blue and grey letter jacket I hardly wore at all because it made me feel like some outdated Archie Comics character headed to the malt shop in a poodle skirt. The medals on the right side jingled slightly, as my attention directed towards the grey block "C" on the other side.

"Madeline told me you had one!" she exclaimed, feeling triumphant. "I couldn't help it; I was in your closet and there it was, and it seems like it's never been worn." She got up, burying her hands in the deep pockets. "You like it on me?"

I huffed, thinking the entire tradition of a varsity letter and the accompanying jacket being completely silly. "If it wasn't for Daddy paying the $400 for it straight off, I wouldn't have even bought it. 'You need memories of your time in school, dear' he says, as if my memory wasn't already eidetic." I rolled my eyes. "I'm accomplished. I know this. Why should I proclaim this on some thing I won't give a second look to after I'm at Harvard?"

"Because you get to show off your knowledge. I mean...all these medals. National Honors Society, AP, Quill and Scroll, debate, National Forensics League...your tennis season." A smile as she approached me. "I'm keeping this."

"You are not," I said, trying to dissuade her. "It has my name on the back in the font of a softball jersey!" She knew my font annoyance, but still pushed through.

Still, Rory pouted. "But it's comfy." She looked up at me. "And, it goes with my eyes. Don't you think?" I glanced up, comparing the darker coloring to the shade of Rory's cerulean irises with that little bit of reflection within them.

Yeah, she does have a point, I thought inward, as outward I melted with a deep sigh. "You're really sure about this?" I wanted to dissuade her, but her laying on my bed in the jacket and giving me that innocent little smile where she knows she's playing me like a Stradivarius had the intended effect.

"Kind of a breaking barriers thing, but showing that yes, you still do the things high school couples do, including this. And I'll take incredible care of this jacket. I promise you." She plead with me further. "Please?"

As much as I just wanted to keep it in the closet, never to be worn, Rory did make the jacket look nice. It fit her just as well as it did me, if even a little better due to my stature meaning it came down to my upper thighs no matter the alterations; on her it rested at waist level.

That, and the wool coat she had always worn had been mended to death. I had noticed that Lorelai had let out a bit of a seam in the back so Rory could continue to wear it as time went on, along with the sleeves being higher on her arms than they had been when she first came into Chilton. As much as she could wear that jacket forever, time had proven that would sadly not be the case, and she'd eventually have to move up in the world of coats.

I smiled. "OK, Betty Cooper. All yours. Take good care of it, that's all I ask."

She let out a squeal, happy to have won the small little argument. "Aww, does that make you Archie Andrews?"

I shook my head. "I have money, attitude and a dad who spoils me rotten. Better the hell be a blonde Veronica Lodge. I don't even know how that kid gets a tic-tac-toe grid in his red hair."

"Love the sound of that." I sat down on the bed, crossing my legs together as I took in the surroundings, along with Rory in the jacket. It felt much more comfortable and less harried than the morning she needed to borrow my shirt. And it certainly was less stressful than the night I returned from the Space Coast. I glanced at her, blushing as she seemed to feel like she breached another wall within me and got to me in this way.

It was a moment, and our natural magnetism drew us closer. I took in a breath as I slid on the bed next to her, looking at the room.

My bedroom. Something I should feel is mine and has a warmth about it that makes me feel comfortable. Only, it didn't now. My bulletin board, shelves with accomplishments, awards, ribbons and trophies. A sense of some of the average disorder of the common American teenager. But outside the bathroom, my bed and the computer, it didn't really feel like my bedroom. For a long time, it felt like some fucked-up studio apartment situation where I had this bedroom of my own with my own small fridge and beck and call food service and all the creature comforts I usually had downstairs.

Suddenly, I didn't know why. I didn't want to feel this way. I wanted to ravish Rory on my bed and burn some time. Instead, I was flashing through the last few years since that day where Sharon found out my secret and almost killed Louise. Along with that, the bee. I sat there, feeling flashbacks in my mind that instead of the calm I felt around Rory, I was back in the space of the darkness I had worn off.

The space that nearly kept me confined to my bedroom. Of having to hear my father take more abuse from his spouse, both mentally and physically. We have not mentioned it to each other, Daddy and I, because he internalizes his pain so deeply. I still remember coming home one night in my freshman year to Fran thankful I was there and that we had to get to St. Francis because in a drunken stupor, Sharon had shoved him down the stairs. His left forearm fractured and broke, and the reason she did so?

Because he merely forgot to call at lunch from work. That's it. He went into their bedroom to get ready for a night out and suddenly had an unhinged number of curse words and infidelity accusations slung at him, along with a couple of shoes. He was soon backed up onto the staircase and pushed down by her. Despite all he went through, he didn't want to press charges or talk about it all that much. It was overwhelming to him that he could be a victim of abuse like I was.

I just wanted to stop and forget. I was here with my girlfriend, merely picking up some things. Instead, I was feeling that tingle of dizziness, and then I began to intake and outtake several respirations of air. I clutched the bedpost as I recalled all she had done. I looked at the door, remembering another moment pushed into the forefront of my brain that I wanted to forget. Another flash.

Another public embarrassment, this time at a dance recital. Good ol' Swan Lake just after I turned seven, a bit of a rushed production since we were all kids, but it still met the bare definition of Swan Lake. I had done what I thought was a pretty darned good Odile and we were getting to the final scene. My full concentration was on hitting every mark I could and I was fully in the game. I had done perfect...

...Until Sharon decided to harangue me in detail in the car. My father had a business trip, so instead of ice cream for doing everything right, I was told several things about myself.

That I was a 'miserable failure'. My 'balance was like if Red Skelton had sniffed some coke before his show started'. Finally, that I had all the 'artistic ambition of Milli Vanilli'. A few other things, several not appropriate for family publication.

It was demoralizing, even more so when she told me that I would never rise to the level of a Broadway company. Mind you, I was still very young. At that point I didn't know anything about the industry. All of her insults hurt, even with my teacher saying I was the highlight of the show and my father watching the recital tape and proclaiming I was amazing, and truly a 'miracle baby', considering four years before I was near death.

Every word my mother throws at me continues to be haunting. To come back at the worst times. She throws them at the perfect time that way to make me doubt myself and think that I'm a failure.

And on that bed, the next moment I remembered was Rory clutching me in a hug upon a shoulder dampened with my tears, her hand tightly ensconced atop of mine, and my lungs hurting and in pain.

"Paris, fight it. Fight it off," she whispered, trying to encourage me. "Just work through it. She's not here, it's okay." I didn't know if I sounded out the story at all. I had completely forgotten what seemed to be three minutes where I blacked out whatever was happening in that room and reminding myself of my past.

"Rory," I said hoarsely. "It hurts."

"I know it does. I know. Slow, steady breaths. Slow...steady. Keep calm. Don't wind up. Hands relaxed, keep those fists loose." Her other hand was on my back. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm here."

"What happened?" I asked.

"You were staring at the door and began to hyperventilate." I heard her voice through muffling into my own shoulder. "Then you shrieked like you did that night and you almost got up, but you stumbled and I caught you before you fell to the floor."

"So...cold." I blinked back tears as Rory grabbed my trench at the side and wrapped it around me. "Oh fuck, I...I had a flash. About my mom...Swan Lake...she said I sucked."

She nodded. "Another blackout filled in."

"Yeah." My voice was small. "I...I'm sorry...just where I am."

"Don't need to explain at all. It's obvious from where you are." She ran slow fingers through my hair. "I'm here, all here. Helping you through this." I felt a soft peck at the side of my cheek. "Just settle. She isn't here. Nowhere near here."

"It feels like she is." I held her other hand tightly, not wanting to lose that bond. "I know she isn't. Not at all, but it still makes me feel fear." We sat there, held in that clench, her continuing to help my breathing with her words, and calm down my hammering heart. "I just want this to be over and clean."

"You know it isn't that easy. Sadly." She brought the thumb of the hand she held me with to my pulse point. "Scars are going to be there forever, no matter how much you want them to go away. All we can do is salve them by being supportive and kind to each other." I described what happened a little more than I had in that short bit, along with how the room made me feel now. It was strange to admit my own bedroom felt lonely and isolating.

But it had to be said. I still have so much going on today that Rory will find out before we hit that Route 5 exit onto Riverdale Street in West Springfield. Slowly and surely, I have to be open to her.

"So my room, in all of its cluttered glory? It feels more like home than this?" I nodded. "And our house, even without functioning hot water?"

"Even without functioning hot water. This place is great when I have Fran and the rest of my staff here. When I'm all alone though, quite different." I had her listen to the silence in the room for a couple minutes to see how it felt.

It was quiet, like a vacuum. Outside of the occasional brush of a tree branch against my windows, the fridge humming, and the computer's monitor...nothing.

"And you lived like this since the divorce finished up."

"I...did." Grimacing, I felt calm as we broke apart. "Avoiding Sharon the best I could, too many dinners up here. If not for being able to talk to staff, especially Nanny, I'd be all alone. And Madeline only comes if project work for school is required."

"Never Louise?"

"She tried, once, when Sharon was gone. Took one step into the foyer, then another, and then she couldn't go further. It was too much for her. I don't blame her."

"The trauma of all that would scare anyone, even Louise." Rory felt sympathy for the situation, and soon I had regathered and steadied, gathering more things to go back to Stars Hollow with me. A few more of my comfortable pillows, and a few more of my heirloom books. One, I had specifically requested come with my laundry pickup on Saturday, was already in the Hollow, and I was waiting eagerly for Rory to find out was her Christmas present from me.

After packing the Lexus we went back upstairs to take a little longer of a tour I had never been able to give her in full. We wandered the halls and looked around at all the portraits and art hanging through the parts of the Manor Sharon wasn't able to influence. Then we spent some time in the pool room, jokes about forgetting bikinis flying easily as we took in the smooth and clear water of the pool, undisturbed and probably remaining so until Daddy would move back in with the covenants from the torn-up divorce agreements no longer in legal effect. Some time in the entertainment room, Rory in awe as she took in my father's film collection.

"He...he honestly bought every film on Laserdisc he could find." She had pulled out a copy of her beloved Willie Wonka on the record-sized format, just in awe running her fingers across the spine, unopened. I let off an easy smile, averting my gaze. "So...where does he keep his copy of Oz?"

"Locked in the wine cellar." She laughed, but I stared daggers in response. "My fear of that film is completely serious."

"My mom was scared of the Tic Tac Dough dragon in the late 70s," she admitted. "Now she laughs at it. We will help you get over your fear of that film one day. I guarantee it." She slid it back in, looking at the DVD/VHS wall. "I'm going to tease Mom with this 'till the end of time. You basically have Turner Classic Movies in this entire room ready to go."

"That we do. My father loves his films. Eventually he wants to turn the recreation room off the kitchen into a true home theater, seats and all. I swear he's watched those episodes of Hometime and Home Savvy where they build one out hundreds of times, taking meticulous notes about what he should do to make it look incredible, and he's constantly annoying the engineers at Channels 3, 8 and 61 about when they're going full-power with their high-definition signals, along with the NFL making their games all-HD. I swear, he's unnaturally excited about rumors of the folks at 3 buying a TBN station up in Springfield to turn into a CBS affiliate for the PV so he never has to deal with the Jets pre-empting the Pats again. This room is nice, but he wants the true experience."

"Just like the library?" She smiled. "I'm sure the insurance on all of this must be through the roof to keep safe."

"Worth every penny; we have a lot and we treasure it." I remembered her wandering through the library once, salivating at the sight of all those books. "I think I'd have to keep them all too anyways. I didn't think the aroma of pulp would actually arouse you, Gilmore."

"I told you, I love the smell of old books. And in there you have a freakin' equivalent to a Filene's perfume counter for me. So many books to smell!" I shot off an odd look and she shrugged. "What? You showed me the library once and ever since I...I um..." She blushed deeply. "Oh God, you're going to think I'm a pervert!"

"Why would I think that?" I cried. "It's a library. About the worse that can happen there is a ravishing in front of the books!"

She shook her head, looking down at the ground. "Oh, I've thought that. Too many times. But there's also the fact you have floor-to-ceiling shelves. A ceiling about twenty feet high. And that requires a ladder."

I know how personal libraries work, Rory, I thought to myself, feeling superior to her. "We can't exactly climb the shelves to get books. That would be dangerous." She continued to elaborate.

"Well, it was just you showed it to me during the project with Grandpa and we were alone. And it had been just after the debate?" I nodded. "And you had this one old rare book about marketing from the 1910s you wanted to show him, so you climbed up the ladder?"

"Still not seeing where this is going."

"You...were still in your uniform." She bit down on her bottom lip and licked around the top one with her tongue. "And that book was on a high shelf where you didn't have arm's reach, so you called for me to wheel it over with you on it?"

"Yeah?" I clicked my tongue, going along with her aloud train of thought.

"Your...uniform. Consisting of a skirt. Me growing wanting of you." She raised an eyebrow. "You're on a ladder."

"Yes, I'm on a ladder!" I stretched my hands out. "What are you trying to say?!"

"I...I..." She whispered, seemingly in shame. "I looked up your skirt, OK?"

"So what? I mean..."

My eyes widened at that point.

"You...looked up my skirt. On the...library ladder."

"I did."

"We were alone in the room, right?"

Oh, that got her into full flustered mode. "Well I wouldn't be looking with everyone else and Grandpa in there, would I? You were going on and on about this incredible book you wanted to show him, how it was a bible of industrial marketing or whatever, and we were still somewhat coming off the debate fiasco and I certainly wasn't handling it." She still wasn't looking at me. "And there you were up there, your sexy 'I'm passionate' voice echoing in the room and hitting my ears in a pleasant manner, along with the additional visual stimuli of your ass waving to and fro twelve feet above me. And I'm hating that not only do you really hate hose, but you decided on a...'ahem'...secure pair of underwear to keep things reined in since we were bouncing from the Manor to Chilton to my grandparent's mansion all day and-" She finally spared a look at me, frowning that I wasn't saying a word and interpreting my reaction as disgusted shock. "Oh God, I knew it. I'm a perv-"

"You are not," I tried to assure. "I'm just trying to wrap my mind around you, the pious Mary, getting a good once-over of my undercarriage. And now I understand the enthusiasm at Hecht's when you said the date dress needed flirty underwear to go with it."

"I... plead the Fifth?" I approached her, making a move into her personal space.

"I do not represent the United States government, so the plea is rejected." I let out a small titter. "It's natural curiosity anyways. We'd been flirting around our feelings the last year and a half. And you've seen me in my underwear in the locker room before. No big deal."

"True. But I hadn't seen the...accentuation of your...frontal lips before, as it were, defined. Or how your butt really does look cute. Locker room, wasn't really keeping my eyes still. In that moment though..." Now I was blushing. "I'm sorry if I couldn't help it. Just we were so close together, you were in full competition mode with your raging pheromones and I'm in that room with your lovely smelling old books and you talking about obscure marketing history. Who wouldn't get wound up about that?"

I couldn't help it; this girl still got a glance at the goods and respected my boundaries even with a look up my skirt in the library. I just shook my head and smiled. "You mean..." I brought myself in and dared to nip at her lip, "...who wouldn't get wet about that?" Another small kiss. "I noticed the day after, you were extra chipper towards me. Someone got in a good, long and pleasurable self-fingering when they got home, didn't they?"

Rory blanched, but I knew I had her right where I wanted her. "Mean!"

"True, though?"

She wrapped her arms around me at the waist. "I imagined us dirty talking, you getting the book, but my taking it, setting it aside and then having you turn around and...can I be coarse?"

"You asked for fingers inside of you last week."

She moved close to my mouth, nipped my lip, and husked what she wanted. "I wanted to just climb up and eat you out on that ladder. And even with that very satisfying come at home before bed, I still had stiffened nipples well into lunch period; I almost had to take care of myself in a stall third period. I had to think of Mr. Howland naked to murder my sex drive. Still wasn't enough, and when I got home, I was really thankful Mom wasn't home until eight." I began the fight the urge to make the fantasy a reality at that exact moment, but still felt a magnetic pull to tease her a little.

"Well, perhaps that book had been easily accessible before that day on the first shelf in reach." Another kiss as I backed her towards a wall. "Maybe I had decided a couple nights before to re-shelve it twelve feet up." I gave her ass a squeeze as I felt into the moment. "And the night before I had known that you'd be over. Thus, I found a pretty well-accentuating pair of underwear I know you'd never associate me with and even though they felt way too tight, I was glad you glanced."

"You...didn't." She was warmed up. "You planned out that interlude?"

"Including the ass shake." I felt open finally revealing this small bit of intentional flirting. "The monologue though? Right off the top of my head. I had no idea then you fucked yourself to the sound of my voice, Gilmore."

"I had no idea you were such an exhibitionist, Gellar." It was then I knew...the tether was beginning to pull away. Her hand wasn't where it usually was, at the middle, or the top of my back.

The fingers of her right hand were at my side. Not still. Right below the hem of my skirt. And they seemed to be making a circle above the hose I was in.

She began to speak, but her voice was back at that timbre she knew made me weak. That little quiver, suggesting she felt a little wariness about the direction she was going, but still very sensual.

"I know you have deep superstitions about...today." The fingers began to slide up. "You don't like it, but it exists."

"I do not," I reminded her.

"But what if we...made it special?" A hum, as she glanced me up and down. "You know that awful stupid tradition of...spankings? On this day? How they're done and there's a big one at the end to grow on?" I nodded; a couple of relatives on Sharon's side tried that once when I was six. They never did again once Beth told Uncle Joel and he told them 'you lay one finger on my niece I'll lay a fist in your face'.

"How about...I give you something else? Something more memorable? A bit more sensual?" And there it was, the hand drifting higher.

She wouldn't.

Would she?

I winced as I realized what she might do to me. I wanted it. I truly, really, wanted it.

But it couldn't happen. Not with what was coming up, or in many realities. I moved to take her hand, the agony of her unable to hitch up my skirt undeniable. But continuing the windup, nonetheless.

"You...you don't mean..." I struggled with words. "I mean, I can orgasm. Just fine. Multiples, good at that, you know this. B-b-bbb-bb-but...eighteen of them?!"

I about took her breath away as she realized how I construed her statement. I mean, we could have tried it. Her voice was high-pitched as she reacted.

"Oh God!" She shook her head. "No, no, no! As much as I'd love to try that...um, we are still, uh, human and my tongue and fingers would be paralyzed for weeks! In the middle of debate season?! Ms. Peters would have cause for a justifiable homicide!" She blushed. "I meant kisses! Eighteen birthday kisses! Not orgasms." A pause. "Unless you'd like to split them 9-9-"

"Nope, kisses are good. Settled. Scalable. I can handle eighteen birthday kisses just fine!" I spread out my hands, deeply blushing. "Kissing is perfectly compatible with my body chemistry. Oh my...I really thought you wanted to make me come eighteen times in 24 hours." Talking myself through the miscommunication was a bit cuter than it had been in the past. "Not that I don't mind orgasms, I can walk again and apply pressure to my body, you can do whatever you want now. But I think even if I was Supergirl, eighteen orgasms...I mean come on. Six is pushing it. You go beyond ten orgasms and-"

And then she shut me up with an open-mouth kiss perfectly placed before I could rant my way out of her heart.

Thank God. I wouldn't have been able to stop myself. I fell into it and just let her take away from whatever gobstopping nonsense I was about to emanate. It went on for a couple minutes before I broke the kiss, a little sadly, but for what we were about to do next, definitely not how I wanted to lead into it. We took deep breaths, with lovelorn staring after we released.

"We...we can count that as number one, right?" I said, hoping that she wouldn't hold all of the other kisses against me for the day.

"Number one. I still owe you seventeen. So we have to use them appropriately, lest we run out." A laugh.

"So if we go over eighteen, I have to wait until 12:01 a.m. tomorrow to kiss you again?"

"Yup." She touched my nose, and I pouted at her. "I'm holding you completely to that. It's a legal verbal agreement."

"Legal?" Oh, she was after my own heart. "So if this backfires and we have to argue it 'Gilmore v. Gellar', it's official?"

"It is." Rory smiled at me. "Also, I got you to say 'orgasm' multiple times. I'm considering that a victory in and of itself."

"You did. Please never tell anyone."

"My lips are sealed." I was thankful that things were light again, and though I regretted having to stop Rory from her fantasy for now with my sudden digression, there were appropriate reasons to do so. As we finished upstairs in my bedroom, I prepared myself for what I was about to do.

This was another part of opening my soul to her that was about to take place. Letting her even deeper into my life. I didn't know how she would react to what I had to do, but I'm sure one day I'll be doing the same when it comes to her.

I have to open up, for her, to make her see how important my family is, even if I haven't really showed it just front-facing in school. We were slowly opening our walls and finding even more understanding in the space of a month and a half.

If there's anything about this relationship I'm thankful for besides Rory's love and companionship, it is that...


Rory's POV

After we pulled out of the Manor and onto the road, I started to wonder where Paris was taking me. I was still a bit thrown off from her stopping me as I talked about the library incident, but I didn't question why. I just thought she wanted to wait until the end of the day.

I'm kind of glad I didn't now, though, because of the reason why.

"So, where's our next stop?" I asked cheerfully as Paris pulled onto Simsbury Road to go into Hartford. "Ice cream? Chinese food? You changed your mind and we are serving Christmas dinner at the mission downtown?"

"None of those." Her voice was quiet as she concentrated on the road. "You know how I grabbed those larger stones from the driveway today?"

I had remembered, thinking nothing of it. I figured she wanted a Stars Hollow reminder in her car, and to bring with her to the house. "Yeah."

"We...we're going to go see Nana." She averted her eyes downward for a moment. "I had wanted to go on that Saturday after my stop at the Yale library but...you know what happened."

"Oh God." Now I felt guilty. "That was the anniversary?"

"It was." I closed my eyes, feeling extremely guilty. "And in my condition, I wasn't going to be able to make it. I've felt since then I haven't paid proper tzedakah to her. Last weekend would have worked if not for Beth coming in, so today seemed to be the proper day to do it."

Nodding, I understood. "You wanted to go alone originally?"

"I did. But the heat situation kind of pushed you into it. I can drop you somewhere if you don't want to come with me. It's fine, you might be afraid-"

"I..I'm not." I broke right in. "If you need peace I can stay in the car and listen to music while you visit her grave. Whatever you want me to do." I let out a long breath. "I guess that's why you had to stop me."

Paris nodded. "It's a little jarring to go from making out in the entertainment room to kneeling at your grandmother's grave. Sorry I had to do that."

"Nope, completely okay. Just completely fine." I looked out the window at the quiet traffic. "Paris...why did you never mention her death while the divorce stuff was going on? Everyone would have understood and backed the hell off from you."

"I don't know. Adding to that...it felt like I was trying to wring grief and sorrow out of people if I did that. Plus, I didn't need a parade of pithy 'sorry for your loss' statements to come with me into winter break. It was sad. It happened. And two weeks after the Formal I was still mad at you for no real reason. I didn't want pity."

"I wouldn't have-"

"No, I know that now. I do." She bit down on her lip. "That entire December was a complete abyss for me. Of pain, hurt, grief and all other sorts of feelings. I had to process it in my own way, even if it included isolating everyone away and delaying sitting shiva until winter break started. I...I just felt like if I didn't say a word, that was best for everyone."

"And that's why you were quiet after the Formal. It all took a bad turn and..." I wanted to cry, but I knew it was in the past. "And that's why you just tried to push me away. Because you know I'd care."

"I did. When I saw your mom and Medina in that classroom, it was all a blur to blab about it until you confronted me in the dining hall and told me to back off." She started straight at the road, scared to even spare one glance my way. "I wasn't thinking. It was all 'my father is being screwed over by not only my mother, but God.' He lost his mother. He can never talk to her again. And my mother made me feel ashamed for even grieving over her in any way, and when she was able to convince my father not to take guests or family for shiva, it just brought me to a darker place than I had known even after Louise and I had been caught, or the accident. I spent it all in my room, quiet, just mourning thinking about Nana. Her flower garden at the Manor. Her amazing philanthropy, all those children's reading days at the Hartford Public Library, her love of As The World Turns and how she wanted to convince me to be an actress so I could go on it one day. She was an amazing woman, and I just thought about that through that entire week. I wanted to celebrate her life and be open about it, do good works. Instead...this is how I had to mourn. And it sucked."

I heard what she said, and it did, undeniably, suck. I wish I could have been there for her at that time, and that she had to go through that all alone with only her father? No wonder Beth was as salty about Sharon as she was Dean. I remembered something in that moment that I hadn't thought to recall then.

"I...I remember that Grandpa mentioned her death on the dinner just after New Year's, when he was recovered enough. He said he was an amazingly stern, but kind woman. He said he knew you'd follow in her legacy. By the time we came back to school sharing my sympathies seemed a little tardy, so I didn't." I hadn't remembered the quote exactly, but Paris nodded.

"During the business project we did talk about her. He himself donated a good amount to her memorial charity, told me Emily thought it was extravagant. He justified it by saying she had done so many works in the community and that he was proud Daddy had followed in the kind legacy of her mother. And one day, I hope to have that outlook. Of being firm and feminist in my beliefs, just like Nana had been.

"Honestly..." She glanced my way. "You two would have got along like gangbusters. I remember when I first told her about you after the moat, when I went on and on and on about how pissed off I was you had broken the project. I'm red in the face, just flushed, and when I finally took a breath, Nana just smiles at me, gives me this glance and says, 'Lorelai's kid got into your school? I'm proud of her; maybe she'll become a good friend to you.' Just after I said all that. She saw through everything." I laughed, wishing I could know this woman.

"What about the Formal? That was just before she died."

"One of the last conversations we ever had. I talked about how I was forced to take out Jacob and then how I ended up confessing everything in front of you." She smiled as she recalled what her grandmother said. "And she didn't have a filter at all about it. I thought she'd look at it as I did, one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. Instead, she just said 'That girl was looking out for you, young dear. One day you two will be friends, and this will be but water under the bridge.' Which seemed ridiculous, so I asked her if the Alzheimer's was setting in. She complimented my humor and responded by saying 'the way you go on about that young Gilmore woman, it isn't the usual way where you want to obliterate her. You seem to be intent on competing with her, but also keeping her close. In a way...there's something there that isn't exactly platonic friendship if you talk about her like you do.'"

I let in a whistling and nervous breath at her saying that. I would have never known, and I wondered what Paris would say about that.

"I kind of laughed it off like, 'Nana! You know I like Tristan!' and tried to sway her away from it. But she was insistent we had some kind of undercurrent to her dying breath. It stuck out to me, that in those last few days, she saw more in never meeting you than I had in two years. And she may have been right."

I had to bring it up. "You...you said that nobody really knew about what happened. With Louise." I averted my gaze, ready for her to yell at me as a response. "Did...did she know?"

She pulled into the left-turn lane from Albany Avenue to Blue Hills Avenue, pensive.

"I never talked to her. But I've reflected on it, and there's just a sense. She never pressured me about my crush on Tristan to 'seal the deal', and she completely loathed the meet market scene, refusing to host any at the Manor. If she knew my sexuality, she kept her lips sealed beyond disapproving of all my mother's dating schemes for me." A sigh. "She even tried setting me up with a boy after the accident in the pediatric ward. I think that's the one time in my life my Nana's voice was louder than Mother's. She thought no kid should ever be wanting of a relationship at four, even playing pretend."

"I...I can't blame you there at all." I could not imagine Sharon trying to pair off Paris that early, but it wasn't a shock. There are weird people out there who try to pair their kids together at birth, and it's always creeped me out.

I kept thinking about what I would say at her grandmother's graveside as she made the turn by St. Francis Hospital onto Tower Avenue, and then the last mile to the cemetery. I had never expected her to be so open with me, but it was something that helped me understand who she was. I had to know her family, and her Nana was likely one of the most important women in her life. Probably the most important one. She talked more about the woman's last days and how she still grieves for the woman every day of her life, along with so many regrets.

Pulling onto Garden Street, she parked the SUV next to a tree, taking in a couple breaths and then glancing at me as she shut off the engine.

"You don't have to come with me, Gilmore," she assured me one more time. "If you don't feel comfortable."

I glanced to my right, looking at the rows and rows of neat and tidy tombstones, a touch of snow upon each of their tops and light snow on the ground. It was the city's north side Jewish burial ground, as I remembered there were about ten or twelve cemeteries separated by fences, maintained by a Jewish association which took care of each of them as several synagogues and congregations merged with others or fell out of existence. It was surrounded by a park, relatively flat land in an out of the way part of Harford which seemed peaceful and pensive.

I made a move to grasp her hand, and interlaced my fingers with hers, rested upon the console.

"Death is uncomfortable," I said, grimacing. "It's better to deal with it with someone you love. You're not going to be alone this year, Par. And I'm sorry your outing interfered with this tradition. I am honored to meet your grandmother." I made full eye contact with her, determined to show that I was committed to this.

"Thank you." Her voice was barely audible, but I heard it well enough. She smiled and after breaking the handhold, the both of us got out of the vehicle before we met behind it. My eyes glanced my surroundings before I met hers, understanding that I was treading into a private space I had to fully respect.

"We have to go through the gate on Tower. Just can't park on that road." I nodded in understanding, taking slow steps in the snow with her as we walked what was usually a busy street in the middle of a neighborhood broken apart by the hospital campus, Keney Park, and a Hispanic-American enclave. It wasn't too far until we were beneath a dark iron gate buttressed with brick pillars and a Jewish star atop of it, the arch reading 'Wolkowysker Society, Inc.'

"My temple has a beautiful new cemetery in Avon which is in a wooded grove and such. But my family has maintained their plot here for generations. They don't want to leave Hartford because they helped to build it, no matter how beat up and kicked down this city might be at times." She shoved her hands in her pockets, beckoning me to follow her. "It's a very quiet place, out of the way. And the association that maintains the Jewish cemeteries does their best to ward off overgrowth and vandalism." I was silent, nodding as I took in everything around me as I was able to see the neat rows and rows of monuments.

They were beautiful, haunting. Jewish stars upon them, so many respected and beautiful names, rendered both in regular English and in Hebrew in different shades of brown, grey, black and white. Some had quotes and poems upon them, while others were just simple declarations of the last name and who was buried, along with their birth and death dates, and quite a few had new to weathered American flags rested either in the ground or within staked monuments, declaring the service the deceased provided to their nation; some had those simpler white stones that were a common sight in the national cemeteries. The walk was long, the SUV seeming to disappear behind us and a number of monuments, along with several rows.

After about seven minutes, Paris stopped in front of a plot of near-similar gravestones, all in a perfectly-measured row with the same thickness of stone to each of them.

"This is it." She took in a steadying breath, looking around and seeing nobody around us, leaving us the only living beings in the cemetery at that moment. She glanced down at the central monument, where she pointed towards her grandmother's final resting place. I read the English inscription contained upon it, below the Hebrew that repeated it.

Esther Paulina Gellar (née Kaplan)
April 18, 1916 - December 14, 2000
Beloved Daughter, Wife, Mother, Grandmother
Generous & Devoted to Her Community
Forever Cherished, Forever Missed

There was a small stone bench set back from the graveside, and she sat upon it, and began to say a prayer, seemingly known by heart, towards the grave. On the right side, the name of Paris's grandfather, Aaron Benjamin Gellar, was etched within the stone, with his death date and epitaph unfilled, as he was still alive. I listened to my girlfriend give this quiet prayer and sat in silent contemplation as she went through the traditions that were unfamiliar to me, in awe of her beautiful and heartfelt Hebrew with not one mistake in her recitation made. She completed her prayer with the words Oseh Shalom. She then handed me a stone from her coat pocket.

"Place it atop the stone with me," she said, and we did, at the same time, each placing our stones from the Hollow upon the center of the headstone, joining so many others that I assumed built up throughout 2002. She bowed her head and held my hand, glancing down at the stone and urging me to say a certain distance away from the grave so I would not disturb where Nana Gellar rested below us. She drew back a couple of steps, and I did the same.

"Nana." She spoke softly. "I apologize to you for not coming to you on the anniversary. I wanted to, but there were other factors that kept me away, which you probably know from up there." She knelt at the graveside as I sat back down on the bench. "I know you'd probably say 'as long as you visited me some time, I don't care', but you know me, heh. Punctual and respectful."

A couple of breaths. "We last talked here before school started, just after I got back from Washington. An amazing summer, one I'll never forget, especially the networking and connections I made. Even if Senator Boxer thought I was a little brusque with her. But I had also talked to you about my friend. You remember her, you talked about her only a few days before you were taken away from us?" She looked up at me. "And we went through the summer, all of these signs. I spent some time just talking to you about her. How I felt, and was unsure about soooo many things. That after the debate, how I didn't think she cared about me, but somehow I convinced her to go with this crazy plan I had to make her my VP and save my school presidential campaign."

Oh my God. I didn't even realize what she was doing at all until that point. "And it worked out. We've succeeded together, beyond our wildest dreams, despite ourselves. She's been a wonderful ally, a woman with a strength all her own, and through a bunch of amazing contrivances and a pro-con list...can you believe it? A pro-con list, along with a stewing respect for me...I didn't think it was possible." Her voice took on a still-soft pitch that also suggested excitement.

"That girl who you told me I should befriend and let into my life? She's here." Paris glanced at me. "And I...I don't know what you would say about us. Probably something like 'little P, you know how to find a spirit like you'. Something like that." She faced back towards the grave.

"Nana...this is Rory." A pause. "My girlfriend."

I was caught, and both of us realized, this was a moment where emotion couldn't be hidden. I was crying, along with Paris. She again took my hand, helping me up from the bench. After getting me to my feet, she continued.

"I'm sure from above you've seen what Sharon has done. Tried to knock me down, hope that like she did to you, breaking your son's heart, that I would just give up and let her control me, forevermore. And I did that all because...I'm in love with her. Rory."

She paused, trying to compose herself as she began to kneel anew. "I...I wish you two could have met. In more than slur-filled anecdotes by others in Hartford about her mother and how she lived her life. I know you always hated how Lorelai was given no support when she had Rory. She's a kind young woman with a strength I know you would complement and respect, and she has been deeply supportive of me through the last few months as I've found my way. So yes...we do get along. To the point I'm living with her so I'm not struggling and alone because of how Sharon forced me out from the closet."

With emotion, she began to finish her thoughts. "I hope that I am not a disappointment to you, Nana. That I live up to the standards that you set for me and told me to never waver from, to be independent, free-thinking and always ready to defend myself and this family. Your death was unexpected and knocked the lives out of me and Daddy, but with your grace and your strength within me, I know that I will make you proud. Ani ohevet otach." She stayed on her knees, her head bowed as she was quiet in contemplation for a minute, before giving another prayer in Hebrew which suggested the guidance of her soul towards good works, as I heard the word mitzvah within what she said.

In that time beginning to sit again upon the edge of the bench, I was able to look at the graves to each side of those of Paris's grandparents. The right side held much older monuments to older Gellar family members, with dates in the early 1900s and late 1800s, and a few other family graves farther from there. To the left though, there seemed to be a modern monument, with a sculpture of what seemed to form the trunks of two trees rising from its top. One sculpture rose up a foot before its cut line but wasn't old-growth thick; it was more like one of the trees Taylor had planted on the first Earth Day downtown 32 years ago. The one to the right was formed to be both very thin, and abruptly cut short after only a couple of inches. As Paris was in prayer, I focused towards reading what was on that monument in curiosity. Two names, and two entries were contained on that stone, and in quiet contemplation, I took them both in.

Felicia Eustace Gellar (née Quisinberry)
May 8, 1949 – December 25, 1979
Daughter, Wife, & Mother
Taken Too Soon, And Forever Loved

The date, and the middle name of the deceased, immediately caught my eye as I sucked in a breath and felt a pang of hurt. And then, my eyes went to the right of the stone.

That pang, along with the sight of the thin 'cut short' right trunk, became paralyzing as it now became clear why Paris never mentioned this day, despite it being when she came into the world eighteen years ago.

Roman Herschel Gellar
December 25, 1979 – December 25, 1979
A Son Never Known, But Forever in Our Hearts
And Forever with His Mother

Before I had noticed, she had turned to face that grave and offer her prayers to those within that second grave. She had placed the stones of remembrance upon the top and rather than the open sharing and prayer she had with her grandmother, this was completely quiet and much more mournful. Paris's whispers of prayer were barely heard above the din of the wind around us. She stretched out her fingers as I felt myself trembling on that bench, rubbing her fingers along each of the names. The echoes of 'December 25' through my mind, the realization that there was more than superstition to the reason Paris never liked to talk about her birthday.

The tears came without urging, and I kept my sobs quiet as to not disturb her. I would have to ask her exactly how Felicia and Roman connected together in her life, but there was no doubt now that beyond her true birth day, this had never been a day to celebrate. Why she was always so quiet about it.

And now I knew there was just more reason that I had never officially been invited to a birthday party for her than just the standard holiday excuse of 'everyone was out of town'. She sat in silent prayer and reverence for her departed relatives as I could only watch and process what I now knew silently.

There was so much I had never known about Paris, and there were reasons for that. I looked around, the both of us alone in that cemetery. Slowly, she rose, taking her time in reverence to those who had died.

Turning to face me, she probably had no idea what to expect. But my tears wouldn't stop coming. She had said not a word about these departed people, at all, and I didn't even need to her to explain yet. The time she spent with them said it all.

And most of all, that December 25 wasn't only Sharon wanting her to have a Christmas birthday.

It was a clear stab, at the heart of Paris's beloved father. Her inducement into the world was literally used to try to make him forget the most painful of pasts. A past that will never heal.

Paris's features were deeply wounded, the hurt in her eyes deep. She knew I had read the stone and connected the dots.

"Rory." Barely any volume was contained within her voice. "I-"

There was no hesitation at all. I rose from the bench and took her right into my arms, and she slumped within them. A long prayer to those who came before had finished, and here she was, grieving for two other family members who preceded her in death exactly five years before. I gave her a hug of dear life and a couple of pecks upon her cheeks, now openly sobbing and giving her apologies.

Now I knew why she had asked me several times if I wanted to stay in the SUV, and there was good reason for her apprehension of bringing me anywhere to begin with. Her wails of emotion were against my shoulder, and I clutched her, wordless. She had nothing she had to say. We both shook, trembling. My hand was upon her back, assuring her that I wasn't going anywhere at all.

Suddenly, the letter jacket I was wearing hardly felt as silly as it did this morning when I put it on. It now felt like an umbilical bond. It was heavy and very warm, but it was something she shrugged off, content to keep in her closet because she was sure nobody would ever want to take on the demons contained within that she has inched her way out of. It now felt like a responsibility to care for it, and for her.

We slumped down onto the small wooden bench, still hugging, just sitting there. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said. I would hope to understand what happened, eventually. Be it today, tomorrow, or years and decades from now. But this was enough. To know how this day affected her, and how it was something she had to overcome, every single year of her life.

Usually, I would be ready to rant and raise hell with Sharon. She was lucky she was across the country right now, because even without much besides dates to connect Paris's darkness to, I knew well enough to have burning anger at her.

But it would be for later. I continued to hold Paris. We both continued to cry, the wintery peace of the Wolkowysker Society cemetery and the grief of mourning those who came before Paris bonding us together in a way that made me understand that outside of how she came off to others, she was a deeply private person who had revexrence for those who cared for her. Winter birds, creaks of the old rusting gates surrounding the yard, and the quiet flaps of the flags upon the graves of veterans of wars past were all that could be heard.

Paris had shown me that she cared deeply for the closest people in her family, even if they never knew her. My heart, like it or not, was now connected forever to Esther, Felicia, and Roman like hers, even if our paths never crossed.

I wouldn't have it any other way...


To be continued...