Title: Longing with a Cherry Tomato on Top | Chapter Twenty-Eight, Part Two | World Upside Down
Author:
Nate
Pairing: Paris/Rory, all Paris POV here
Spoilers: Nothing to be spoiled show-wise, as we're well into my alternate universe here.
Rating: PG-13 (basic romance, profanity, and over-enthusiasm for the New England Patriots)
Disclaimer: 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 mentions of real-life places are merely to bring flavor to the story, and no malice is intended towards them.
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: After Paris's revelation of her birthday also being her 'dark day', Rory learns how the past of Harold Gellar brought Paris towards being the young woman she is today.
Author's Notes: I'm going to keep this author's note short, as my intention through this week is to put out three parts of this chapter to keep things flowing into Christmas and build to the latest climax. This part is mainly devoted to filling in the blanks on Paris's past involving her father before she was born, and why she never celebrated her birthday (outside of A-SP not wanting to celebrate it in-series). It also further explains my head-canon of Paris's father in my world and how before A-SP took the Gellar family off the rails in S6, I felt he was Paris's greatest advocate even if he was away for so much time during her life. We will resume regular Gellmore shenanigans in the next chapter, but this is mostly a backstory chapter for sure.

This time, the title is not a Sarah McLachlan song, but from "Layla" by Derek and the Dominos to go with the time period detailed within this part; note I certainly don't endorse Eric Clapton's social views, but "Layla" is an amazing song despite the terrible artist behind it.


Paris's POV

To look forward, you must look back.

That quote like something that came from a Hallmark card or some book out of a Parable bookstore filled with bibles and Christian music. It's not something flowery I would usually use, because I half-expect it to end with 'Now here's a Mariah Carey song I picked at random that has little to do with your call about a dumbass of a ten-year boyfriend who should just propose already. You're listening to Delilah, on Lite 100.5!'.

But on this day? My mind isn't exactly running on full power. Or even half power. It just wants to get through the day. I just want to see 3:29 p.m., followed by 12:01 a.m. on December 26th, so my father's heart doesn't become further loaded with grief. I'm even more careful on the roads than usual, looking at everything that could cause me danger and averting away from it. It's nerve-wracking trying to get through this day every single year, and it probably will be for many years after.

I had hoped against hope that Rory would stay in the car and leave me alone. That I could mourn without her over my shoulder and that she would understand. When she said she would be coming with me into the cemetery, I just didn't want her to look, or intrude.

In a cemetery though, you don't ever want to disrespect the dead, or get into a fight there. It's one of the reasons that my father walked out of Night of the Living Dead when Sharon tried to fool him into seeing a re-release of it, and when Madeline suggested it for a movie night once, he was unusually strident in making sure we didn't see it. For both him and I, a cemetery is sacred. Your relatives don't care how many problems are going on in your personal life there. They're in eternal rest, and by being angry, you disturb that peace.

So Rory came with me. She saw the rituals I do every time I visit and grieve, the confessional moment I partake in with my Nana to show she is still a part of my life. The prayers that usually are done in the presence of a minyan of ten men. But that doesn't need to be done. I can mourn and pray, alone, and say Kaddish in honor of my family, traditions be damned. At first, it felt intrusive for Rory to be there.

But as I kneeled upon that ground, her presence seemed to soothe as time went on. I didn't feel alone, like I usually did. Or shamed. I expected her to mock my religious practices completely and ask twelve 'why do you do that?' questions. But she was completely quiet, behind me, taking in everything that I had to say and understanding all I was doing to honor my Nana.

Then came the part I dreaded, however. I knew she would glance at the left monument eventually, and that I would pay my respects to those contained. I could only hope she might just take in the names and think 'she's just mourning her full family here'.

Anyone can see the dates, though. They stand out. Especially today, they're neon in the mind's eye. And she knew. As I went through my prayers and offerings to the two, it felt deeply crushing, knowing that they had never known of my existence. And of how they died, that has driven me in my life.

It hurts like hell. Knowing what could have been, how my life may have ensued. Instead, this is what has happened, and now I'm living the way I am, even though I would have rather had things a much different way. I was sharing that now with my girlfriend, in a way only a few people in my life knew.

We eventually made our way back to the SUV in silence, taking the long way through the cemetery. I didn't know what to say, and I'm sure Rory was pretty much of the same mind as me, not mentioning anything. The hug in front of their plot was needed, and I was taking this visit harder than I had many of the previous visits. Unconsciously she saw how my hand shook and took the keys from me, asserting that she would make the drive. Even with her fears of driving an SUV, I gently reminded her that she drove her mother's Jeep regularly, so she had no problem adjusting.

Breaking the silence wasn't an easy thing. We drove into Windsor and towards the home of Headmaster Charleston as I merely guided her onto the roads and towards his residence overlooking the Farmington River. I was relived to be delivering this note to declare my official emancipation and got out of the vehicle in his driveway, where he was expecting me and came out of his home almost immediately, in a sweater vest in the forest green of Christmas, along with dark red zig-zag stripes.

"Miss Gellar. Punctual as always." I had placed the form in an envelope with my name upon it and handed it to him, then kept my arm stretched out for a handshake. "And with this, you can consider yourself the mistress of your own destiny from this point forward. Use this responsibility wisely." He took my hand, and I ensconced it into a firm and confident grip for four lifts up and down before I released the shake and placed my left hand neutrally at my side.

"Thank you, sir." He smiled, looking in the vehicle further.

"Miss Gilmore. Are you enjoying your winter break?"

She nodded. "I am. Thank you, sir." Bitty came out and I quickly averted an offer to come in for tea (and probably gossip for the country club set) and wished her and her husband a merry Christmas. I was thankful that she knew what had occurred on this day as the headmaster told her to go back in the house kindly. He bid me goodbye, along with one more thing.

"Give my regards to Harry when you see him next," he said. "Enjoy the remainder of your break." I smiled wanly, told him I would, and with that, we were back onto the road.

But I knew we still had time to burn before the drive north, along with a conversation that must be had. We were both still quiet as I guided her back east onto Route 91, looking out at the frosted homes, forestry and the riverside. I knew exactly where we needed to go, and with Rory knowing 'TIC was probably inappropriate after where we were, I was able to listen to the calming classical station that I needed in that moment. If she found it odd or ironic that we were taking Route 190 through the small town of Hazardville, she showed no concern one way or another. Then it was another couple of miles into Scitico, before I urged her to take a left into the parking lot of Theodoro's Family Restaurant, which thankfully was run by a kind Greek Orthodox family who still had a couple weeks until their Christmas Day happened (they're part of a more traditional church that didn't adopt the Gregorian Christmas of today), so they were open for anyone who didn't care for the holiday, didn't celebrate it, or needed a sane moment away from their relatives.

We entered the restaurant and a friendly host at the front greeted us to a moderate amount of activity.

""What will it be, ladies?" With that, I grabbed a ready $50 from my pocket.

"Two non-smoking, a quiet booth, and a meeting with Ulysses?" I slipped her the note and she nodded in understanding.

"General Grant already says thank you!" She guided us to a quiet corner booth of the restaurant away from most of the family hustle and bustle, along with the counter as Rory shot me a look.

"Paris, you didn't have to-"

"I did. I have money, and I'm going to throw it around." I smiled and the both of us sat across from each other as a friendly brunette waitress named Ella greeted us with waters and silverware.

"Anything to drink, ladies?" I knew exactly what Rory wanted, so I went for it.

"One Diet Coke and a coffee. Tall cup, please, and she will need refills."

"You got it." She handed us menus and left to get our drinks as Rory took it into her hands to read it.

"Are you okay?" she asked, looking through the specials page. "I...I didn't know."

I wanted to say 'you didn't', but I wanted to be careful with my words. I didn't want to lose her. I took in a deep breath, sighing before going on. "I...I didn't mean to spring so much on you. But this morning you were tired, cold, and both of us were kind of cranky."

"We were. I...I just never knew that there was more to this than some curse you avoided. I'm surprised Madeline never said anything about today to me."

"She wouldn't," I said, firmly. "Everyone who knows my father and I knows this is a day they shouldn't mess with either of us." I winced as I recalled what happened two years ago. "One of the only times I ever heard 'fuck you' from his mouth was when Sharon told him he wasn't allowed to go to the cemetery two years ago today, because he had been there the week before for Nana's funeral."

"God. She's so heinous." Rory didn't give any thought to her reaction. "So...this was something I had to experience for myself."

"It was." Ella came to the table with my drink, a mug, and a pot of coffee, pouring it in front of Rory.

"Sugar and creamer on the side. I'll be back in five minutes." She smiled, leaving us alone as the both of us looked over the menu.

"I wasn't prepared at all, to be honest." She glanced at me, then the breakfast menu. "So if I'm going by dates and everything, Felicia isn't a departed aunt you never knew."

"She isn't, no." It was coming out in the open, like It or not.

"And Roman...going just by the pattern of your first name, that means you are an only child in the sense of being Sharon's only child, but your father's second." She shook her head. "You...you never knew your brother."

I nodded. "I never did." I looked around the restaurant.

"He...this would have been his twenty-third birthday today. Basically the first year out of college," she noted, as the grim anniversary was noted with its number.

It reminded me that my father has re-lived this day for nearly a quarter of a century. It never seemed real as those years rolled by on the calendar.

"I didn't really know how to tell you at any time. Not exactly hot dating discussion material meant for the index cards."

"Definitely not." We looked over the menu and chose what we wanted; not surprisingly Rory went right for the chocolate chip french toast with whipped cream, a small order of house fries, and three over-easy eggs with sausage, while I went with a Denver omelet with an English muffin and turkey bacon, along with a shared order of regular fries. Ella told us it would be fifteen minutes, leaving plenty of time to begin to bare my soul of what Rory had learned this morning at the cemetery.

"So..." I didn't know where to start. "You know my dad. Not exactly a lady's man by any means. He's always been a solitary man and barely even dated in Chilton. Like me, he hated dating. Just so badly. He would rather have read and studied through his entire high school career. Prom was him volunteering to take tickets and monitor the punch bowl rather than trying to find a date. So he gets to Harvard, freshman year in the dorms is thankfully lonely for him and he refused to pledge, but his roommate? A nightmare. I'm talking late night sex, walking into him...giving himself pleasure in front of him, and just all sorts of horrible things." The one mention of the roommate made Rory blanch, as she let out an anguished 'Ewwww!'. "And then when said roommate got involved in the on-campus anti-war movement, it just got worse. He couldn't do another year in on-campus housing, so Nana and Uncle Herschel pooled their resources together, and found him a nice off-campus place on Trowbridge Street."

I smiled as I recalled my father's younger years. "The only issue; it was a co-ed building with women at Radcliffe. My dad didn't want co-ed, or anyone else. He wanted to be alone. But his parents desperately wanted him to socialize and told him he'd have to look on his own otherwise, and his options that didn't involve roommates with love-ins or constant incense burnings were very limited. So thus, he moves in there in 1969, and it can't be any worse to be a student on any college campus. Classes would get cancelled because of bomb threats, blockades from other students, Boston is insufferably heated because of how they dealt with racism at the time and such, and the freeway revolts are in full swing. Not a fun time to go to college. So he gets in, and he thankfully has a room to himself. But...he has a floormate next door who isn't exactly keeping to herself."

I began to describe the force of nature that was Felicia Eustace Quisinberry, a Buffalo native who was the daughter of an two-term mayor of Lackawanna and then-current ten-term congressman who was deeply revered in Western New York, and may have been a strong gubernatorial candidate if not for the pricks in Albany preferring all of their governors to originate from south of the Bear Mountain Bridge since the turn of the century. She was a full poli-sci major with a communications minor, the valedictorian of one of those unique schools along Lake Chautauqua. And now she had a wall she shared with my dear father.

"Daddy was into standards and jazz, while Felicia enjoyed progressive rock, meditation and playing records all night, even through all of his protestations. At first there was plenty of conflict; there was even a yell once through the wall where Harold told her to 'turn that damned sitar crap down!'." Rory laughed out loud, finding that out of character for my father, and rightfully so. "He has a virulent hatred for Jefferson Airplane/Starship, the Doors, and CCR, and it only increased that. So they barely got along at all. She not only went to class, but was a part of WBCN when it was just starting up. She loved radio, the reach it had and would just play her favorite music and share her views. Not to mention she loved debating, just in so many ways. She would practice her oratory skills and try to hit points right where they were strongest. Plenty of open mic nights, and...she just loved going to town with someone about their political views if they clashed with hers. Lo and behold, my father was a traditional Roosevelt Democrat, while Felicia? She was a Kennedy Democrat, dyed in the blood. She was an intense woman, and her roommate was gone within a month."

Rory seemed fully entranced as I went on about their arguments and rare moments of working together. Of a Thanksgiving snowstorm that kept them marooned in Boston and how they had to pool together and make the best of their situations with a thrown-together dinner, and the day after when Felicia asked him for help on a paper. How that holiday week began to allow my father to open himself up to Felicia's circle of friends and those in his own classes, and how her strident views helped open him up to other viewpoints in the world.

"She was also a stunner. Blonde, brown-eyed, a height of nearly 5½'. She wished to get into Harvard, get on the airstaff for WHRB so she could have her own time rather than bumming for weekend shifts at 'BCN and public affairs time. It wasn't to be, not with Harvard not starting their merger with Radcliffe for eight years. But she was far and away one of the strongest students in her class. They both made each other better; my dad was still quite a shy joker, but she helped him realize that his empathy and kind heart, along with his calm demeanor, was a help, rather than a hinderance. In a way, she helped him become a hippie, if only in heart."

Ella soon brought out the food, and I continued to go on about the upcoming summer of 1969, Rory's eyes widening at french toast that made Luke's look like mere cereal pieces in comparison, and copious amounts of syrup. How she could enjoy chocolate chip bread dipped in egg, I will never know. "My father didn't want to do the traditional summer we've always had on Block Island, and Felicia wasn't too keen on her father's tradition of an isolated lake with a cabin on Roman Lake in northern Ontario, much closer to Duluth than Toronto. So, after a spring where they had pretty much come to a truce about things, a couple of their other new friends asked for rides home to Columbus and Peoria, and my father had the Estate Wagon. He and Felicia decided on a trip out west, taking the slow way out to California and a month and a half of trying to learn to live with each other within the confines of a station wagon. They also decided on interstates only when they had to, just so they could see all of the country they cold."

"That's the one you talked about with Grandpa," Rory said, talking with her mouth full.

"Yes, that one. And manners, my dear." I laughed, continuing on. "He started in Hartford with those two guys and they picked up Felicia in Buffalo, heading out west on Route 20, then south from Erie to Pittsburgh before heading west on America's main street, US 40 towards Columbus. The other guys drove the car through the part of the trip, then the first guy got off, and it was a long drive to Indianapolis, through Lafayette, then down US 24 to Peoria. And after that...they were all alone, bickering about the best way to get to Los Angeles. Harold wanted to be practical and go south towards St. Louis and Route 66 and stubbornly west on that route. But Felicia was insistent on a longer route through Iowa and Nebraska towards Denver, a little more languid, but a lot less rushed."

Rory smirked, taking a slow sip of her coffee. "Longer route, hmm?"

"I thought the same thing when Daddy told me the story. I think he didn't realize it at the time though, and he dutifully grabbed Route 34 at Galesburg and the long drive began. It's pretty much a rural road, far away from Des Moines or Omaha, so until they got to 138 east of Denver, civilization really didn't exist for them. Quiet moments, plenty of games, so many stories of their childhoods and their families. Whatever heated conflicts they had back in Cambridge, they began to disappear as the Estate Wagon bit into the road and rambled its way through God knows how many miles of cornfields, with grain elevators and refineries the tallest things around."

Now I was getting lost, loving to tell this part of the story. "But after around 1,700 miles, the heat of the Great Plains got to the car. It broke down just outside Grand Island, Nebraska and they had to get a tow to a garage in town, and it needed plenty of work; some engine work, and a change of all four tires, nearly bald. Meanwhile, there was a Stars Hollow-like festival of some kind near the fairgrounds, so they could only get a motel just out of town."

I lit up, describing their situation without good radios and televisions which could barely pull in much of anything, leaving them to their own devices for entertainment, nothing much to do outside of looking like sore thumbs if they went into Grand Island to do anything fun. So they both got some needed things from the grocery store, camped in that small hotel room, and opened up to each other. That soon lead to Felicia admitting to things in her past, such as her high school sweetheart back home whom she would have chased down to Florida State, a direct rebellion against her father.

"But life had other plans, and she found herself walking in on him...and her best friend."

"No!" Rory slammed the table. "She didn't!"

"She did! No point in heading to Tallahassee after that betrayal, much less sticking around Buffalo. My father though..." I shook my head. "Papa Gellar had all kinds of things to pin on him to attain and just put so much pressure on my poor father. He didn't care for relationships, and Nana had to evade the many attempts my father made with his colleagues to arrange him with their daughters. He was smitten with the leader of student government back then, but never could muster the courage to ask her out. Same with a longtime classmate he had known from second grade, though that was for the best; she turned out to be a heavy in the Reagan and first Bush White Houses." A smile. "It's hereditary. Him, I, Nana...we all wanted love for keeps. Dating was an awful process. We needed that spark to hit immediately for us to fall in love. And he goes on and on about his life, doubts and fears. Felicia shares hers too. Pressure to be the next generation in her family. Take her father's congressional seat. Hopefully, it leads to 1600 Penn, no matter how much she might have to give up."

"And those two days, that's their turning point?"

"It is. And it kind of had to be; they were stuck in a queen bed together." I chuckled at the remembrance of my father hating that 'cursed bed' which was lumpy. "They cleared the air of what annoyances they felt for each other in Boston. How they both wanted individual housing, but their parents held firm. But they both came to the same conclusion. They were glad each of their parents did it and were finding friendship together. And yes, they did end up having a night out at the fairgrounds with deep fried things you'd never expect to be deep fried."

I told Rory they wouldn't share a bed again on that trip; it was the only time. But with my father's wealth and Felicia's wanderlust, it gave him that travel bug he never held in his younger years, and they used the entire summer to explore the west, all the usual places. Denver, the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, Los Angeles and up to San Francisco, and on the way home, the Twin Cities, Chicago and so many other places. They both managed to put 10,000 miles on the vehicle alone that summer, the freedom from their studies and their parents being all they needed to find that common ground with each other.

After that, those two were basically inseparable, but continued to dance around their feelings. My father fell deep into his studies, while Felicia came back and found a relationship with one of the on-air personalities on WBCN once they started their junior years. It all was going well until one night in November when the Rolling Stones were at Boston Garden. Felicia had been there to get some audio from the concert and was doing a live phone-in report about how it was all going. Daddy didn't usually bother listening to WBCN at all but decided to do so on this one night.

I lowered my gaze, my delicious omelet almost finished as I played with the turkey bacon unconsciously. "She was having problems with the phone link to the studio and kept cutting out, through no fault of her own. She tried to file another report, but again, the phone line went dead. I mean, there was nothing she could do; the Garden was always a barely-functioning relic with the wiring of a bird's nest. So after she loses the phone link again, the guy she's dating decides to comment on the air about it. On a major Boston radio station." I lifted my fork. "Without a thought at all about how frustrated she might feel, he says on the radio, 'well, never send a dumb woman to do a man's job. That's Felicia Q, trying to report on the Stones concert at the Garden, but failing. Last time that bitch'll do that.'"

Rory's mouth dropped. "On the radio."

"On the radio. And there's my father, tuned in on his Zenith console unit, excited for his friend, until that word is dropped. By her so-called boyfriend. I'm sure she didn't know what was being said on the other end of the line at all. But imagine my father. Angered by the b-word being dropped towards one of their best friends for no reason."

"I'd be mad as hell," Rory said without hesitation.

"And you'd be right. Something snapped in him. He held back the urge to haul off to the studio and push that asshole into an audio rack. But he wouldn't ever do that, so instead he called into the studio with the intent of requesting a song. He gets on the phone, greets the guy, and says, 'I'd like to dedicate Van Morrison's "Brown Eyed Girl" to a friend I know. Initials of 'F.Q.' Because you might not want to treat her with respect, but I will.' The DJ began to try to goad him into an argument, but again, he repeated his request. He didn't engage. And eventually...the idiot said something that George Carlin has advised you don't say on the public airwaves, if two years before he began the routine."

Rory was at full attention now. "Oooh, can I make a game of this quick? I'm going to say...the fifth of the seven dirty words."

"And you'd be right, the ol' C word involving a rooster and a Tootsie Roll Pop, prefixed with 'shut up, you...'. The on-air producer immediately took the microphone, pushed the idiot out of the studio and apologized to my father. And he nicely played his request. Smoothly he segued back to Felicia, whose connection was better. She was jarred by the different voice at the end of the line, and the producer said 'we had to escort that fella out of the studio. He called you the b-word and then insulted someone who defended your honor, a Harry in Cambridge?' 'Harry...in Cambridge?', she responded. He then stated the request he played along with the edited version of what would invalidate an FCC broadcasting license."

Felicia had been thrown off by all that was going on, but the producer said he had it all on tape and she'd hear it back in the studio. And with that, after she finished a trouble-free report, she completed her time by saying, 'and Harry in Cambridge...don't you think I'm not gonna talk with you about this later!' And indeed after she got back from her shift, her first stop was my father's apartment, where he was all kinds of flustered, talking about how he was offended that she was called that on the radio by her so-called boyfriend, that he wasn't thinking and he was sorry if she took offense because she's a feminist and she doesn't need anyone defending her honor, it was archaic and-...But she stopped him before he went further and simply told him with a finger to his lips, 'thank you very much, Harry. Friends do the right thing for each other. Even if that right thing was heard by half of New England.' And he relaxed. She relaxed. The guy who called her a bitch never did Boston radio again, and Daddy still follows his shambles of a career; right now he spins Amy Grant and Celine Dion for the at-work crowd on 106.1 The Mix in Chadron, Nebraska."

"A fitting punishment for that bastard." Despite my earlier protestation, she still talked with a full mouth. "We are going to have to come out here a lot more. This french toast, the powdered sugar and wherever they got their syrup...I gotta tell Luke he's got some competition here." A smile. "Poor guy won't take it too well."

"Oh, I have a feeling he'll survive." I glanced around the dining room. "And actually, this place kind of connects to my father and Felicia. For the 1970 winter break the Quinsinberrys were planning a vacation to Hawaii, but Felicia didn't really want to be a part of it. So, my father suggested instead of a lonely Western New York trip home or staying in Boston, to come with him back to Hartford for the break. He promised to allow her to explore, do what she wanted and even have a couple of days in New York for New Year's Eve. The New Year's Eve mention clinched it for her; she had never been to Times Square."

That year Hanukkah began at sunset on the 22nd, so Felicia got to experience the full Gellar holiday experience with my father. All of the relatives, celebrations, menorah lighting, those eight crazy nights, all there in front of her to soon realize that 'these Gellars are crazy and I erred knowing Harry'. However, she actually enjoyed everything about it, from the latkes, gelt and sufganiyot, to the other traditions of the Gellar family, including an annual berth on channel 8 for a Jewish federation telethon that our family helped coordinate until the new ownership ended it in the late 80's.

"Plus, there was the meeting of my grandparents. That...that was fun." I laughed. "My Nana immediately took to Felicia, talking to her about western New York, wineries, the arts and culture she experienced at Lake Chautauqua...though the one thing they never agreed on was my Nana's fervent Red Sox fandom; Felicia was a dyed-in-the-red fan of the Cleveland Indians. She even went to Ten Cent Beer Night."

"Huh?"

"You would have to have my dad recall it. It was a baseball game in Cleveland, 1974, with incredibly low-cost alcohol. Tim Russert was there. The beer was cheap. And in bottles. You can work it out from there." I let out a deep laugh. "My poor father! He ran into the upper reaches of the lower deck of Cleveland Stadium having to tell her 'don't go down there!' as all mayhem broke loose and baseball equipment got tossed all around the Mistake on the Lake. It's a miracle they didn't get injured. But I'm off my chronology." I went back to 1970. "So instead of the awkward silence of the past with my Aunt Beth and young Uncle Joel jealous of their classmates that got to Florida, Felicia just was chatty, open, happy to take in these new traditions with these people she never met. Passionate debate about baseball and yes, even in their pitiful states back then, the Pats and the Bills." Just like Ian and Devon, I thought. "And her and Nana lit up right away. It wasn't like before where girls were just quiet and polite to satisfy the dads pawning them off to my dad. Embarrassing pictures shared, time in the pool and going through the library. She loved the library."

I sighed as I threw the wrench in the works. "But the only wet blanket was Papa."

"Because she wasn't acceptable. And...Gentile?" Rory sipped her coffee before Ella came back to top off her cup, judging my wince at that word to be confirmation. "It was a problem back then."

"A big one. My father spent several hours trying to deny his intentions for her up in Papa's study, insistent he knew they couldn't date. Even as every touch of her hand on his, a smile in his direction, that knowing glint in those deep browns...he was so far gone and in denial, the idiot. And Papa was insistent 'my proud son will never date a Gentile woman!'. He was insufferable about it back then."

"Just...a nervous aside. You don't have to answer." She felt anxious stating what she wanted to ask. "Vietnam? Did he-"

I was glad to answer. "He would have gone if asked or drafted, despite his objections. But he broke his left hand and wrist falling off the library ladder four shelves high when he was six and the healing process fucked it up to the point he got 4-F'ed nearly immediately due to the pain from trying to complete the physical. Holding a baseball in that hand gives him horrible pain, and his right knee screams unless his car cabin is large; that's why he prefers station wagons, utes and motortrikes so it doesn't hurt as badly on a long road trip. It got even worse after Sharon tossed him down the stairs and he broke his forearm. Probably why it's in my genetics to burrow my wrist and protect it and I clutch that thing for damned dear life."

"I had to ask. You know-"

"I know. Trust me, I've heard Lorelai use incredible language unbefitting a certain president multiple times." That urged a giggle from Rory, and I continued.

"The holiday, it just made things easier. Learning about Judaism, why my father was the way he was, and all of that...but before they got to Hartford for all of that, they stopped here for a breakfast before getting to Hartford. And before that, a funny argument about why my father insisted on the Mass Pike to 91 rather than the Pike to 84 direct to Hartford; he argued that he felt he had a duty to pay tolls for his time in the Commonwealth, but I'm digressing. They found this place and had an amazing, large and filling breakfast at a reasonable cost, and they made it a tradition after that to come here at least once a year. He passed down the tradition to me, and we come here whenever we get a chance."

"So...by being here, you're starting a new tradition." She smiled widely. "And sharing this all is giving me clarity into why you're the way you are."

"It is. And your acceptance of this place is a big sigh of relief to me. Honestly, if you hadn't I would have been massively disappointed." Just then, Ella came back to the table to clean up our empty plates and cups.

"Anything else today, ladies? Jonas clued me in that you're Harry's daughter. Glad to connect a face to the name, Paris."

"Likewise." I still loved that long after Theodoro's retirement, his son Jonas still recognized me and my father. "Me and my friend aren't done talking, so for me, an apple slice, and Rory..." a glance towards her. "Pie à la Mode?"

I knew her too well, as she brightly responded with her choice in pastry. "Cherry, please. And tell the chef that french toast melted in my mouth. I'm going to be insufferable for weeks talking about it!"

"That I will!" She finished with the cleanup and stacked our dishes on the tray neatly and departed with our pie orders, with Rory ready to hear more.

"So...New York. Times Square. More please!"

"Absolutely." It was time to recall a New Year's Eve before the gloom of the later years of the 70s kicked in and Ford told the Big Apple to effectively 'drop dead'. "He was able to get a double room at a hotel close to Times Square, so they got down there on the 30th and did all the usual things you do as a tourist in New York like the Empire State Building, Central Park and Rockefeller Center. Then came the big night. They went out around 9 o'clock and it was already bedlam. Eventually they found a place with a great view of the ball and just stayed there, talking with others, talking with each other. A lot of time to burn. But it was New York in 1970, of course, so you can just imagine there's a few guys out there that don't care about propriety and such."

"A guy was eyeing up Felicia, wasn't he?"

"Very much so, some Long Island punk. At first he was easy to ignore, about thirty feet away, but he just neared closer and closer to the two of them as midnight moved in. My father wasn't grasping her hand to show possessiveness, so the man was judging both Felicia as unattached and Daddy as less of a threat." I described him as he moved further, until it was 11:55 p.m. and he was within arms' length.

"He then went for it. Said 'hey sweetie, why hang out with him? I could make ya feel nice!' Felicia visibly recoiled and moved away while my father didn't want to engage. Another sexist ask-out came her way; same reaction. Finally, he made a reach. 'C'mon, I'll take you uptown and go downtown on 'ya!' That's when she said 'get away from me' and he tried to make a move, but then my father broke in. 'Dear, is this fellow bothering you? You'd think he'd know we were a couple already but that we're just not into public displays of affection.' He lightly grasped her hand to fake the relationship."

"Oooh!" Rory lit up. "Your dad is protective and daring."

"Very. The man wanted to get in his face. Asked him to prove he wasn't there just to be an escort. He answers back with 'you'll see at midnight'. Felicia can't really do much more than count the minutes as he kept this his handhold, looking up at One Times Square awaiting the fall of the ball. Time ticks by, the guy is still thinking it's a farce. And meanwhile, there's my dad talking to Felicia about politics and such, while at the same time as nervous as he was taking his SAT's. This was him having to face something he had not considered happening, in the Crossroads of the World, of all places."

It was now 11:59 p.m., December 31, 1970. Basically, now or never for him, and I felt the tension ratchet up in my voice. "The louse continued to try to move in, even closer. Felicia ended up pushing closer to my father. The countdown began, loud and clear as everyone went with the loudspeaker. Then they were at thirty seconds and Felicia whispers up in his ear. 'Make it convincing or this dick is gonna try to move in during the bedlam. Two words Harry; V-J Day, but less possessive.'"

"V-J Day. As in, the sailor?"

"That, indeed. So he gulps down, wondering how he's going to try to make a kiss with this girl he's become close to believable, but not too believable. Fifteen seconds. The guy says 'get ready to come home with me, baby'. Harold's courage is wavering, and he's seeing this wonderful girl in front of him, in a dorky New Year's Eve cone hat, smiling at him. He's doing the same, but scared to show his hand. Ten seconds, they were looking at each other, and there was just something about the moment that got to the both of them. He thought about his father, how he would disapprove and all that. Five seconds, he considered the consequences and how awkward it would be if she decided to break up. 5...4...3...2...1..."

At that moment, Ella came back with our pies, and the very reasonable bill folded down, allowing me to build the drama as I could tell Rory was whispering 'goddammit!' under her breath at the interruption. Ella's sharp hearing caught it.

"I'm sorry, did I do anything?" She looked at both of us, worried she did something wrong. Rory's eyes widened upon realizing it.

"Oh crap! No! Paris was telling me a story and...it just timed out to you coming!" She held up her hands. "You're great, awesome!" She reached into her purse. "Oh God, how much you want? A $10? Paris already gave you-"

"I apologize for intruding on your story time." Ella laughed, giving a glance at my girlfriend. "I thought it was me. I'm glad to know it wasn't." Ella directed a reassuring glance my way as Rory quickly offered up the mug for more coffee as Ella poured from the pot. "Trust me, I'm being well-compensated for working today, both tip and salary-wise, and your annoyance about me breaking up Paris's tale is downright light."

"Good money?"

"For this area and the type of job? Definitely." The two chattered for a bit before she apologized that she had to attend to the dining room and retreated.

"So before we were interrupted..."

"I was about to tell you what happened." I laughed. "Thankfully my father's anguish didn't get interrupted by pie. Would have been odd in Times Square in the first place." I resumed. "The ball lit up with '1971' and Felicia allowed my father to pull her in and...well, it was a storybook, magical moment, indeed. He laid a good kiss on her and just fell right into it. At first, it was just for show, but then there was this tug on his neck he wasn't expecting. Felicia pulled him in."

"Hmmm, what are you saying?"

"It went for a full minute before my dad had to catch air. He took a backwards look towards the Suffolk fucker. He had his hands up like, 'okay, okay, you win. Bye!' and retreated into the crowd before he faced back towards his friend. She had this little smirk on her face and shook her head. And then..." This was the part I loved most telling the story in the times I told it to the other girls. "She said, 'Man, I would've lost the bet for sure. I thought you'd make my knees quake by the 27th, but you took it to the limit, Harry.'"

"Oh my God!" Rory lit up. "That...she didn't, she knew about his simmering crush, didn't she?"

"She went full-pursuit with it when Nana confided in her that my father wanted to pursue something with her, but he was too shy, and Papa's disapproval turned him off. But since he survived the summer with her, then played the protective friend on 'BCN, she was definitely smitten with him. And there was cause to get to New York in the first place; her grandfather was trying to arrange something with a local boy who she would just happen to 'bump into' in Hawaii. So she had to decide fast and go with her gut."

"It worked out good?"

"It did. And God...my father is such a sap." As we ate our pie I went over their first couple years together, that they dated in secret while maintaining a front of each of them being single. Their friends circle grew deeply, and eventually Felicia ended up really getting along with my father's friends. Their love began to slowly grow deeper, and before they both knew it, they were graduating from Harvard and Radcliffe, with full honors.

But they had an obstacle; their fathers. Mr. Quisenberry wanted Felicia to spend a couple of years back in Buffalo to learn how to be an effective politician despite her broadcasting interest, with my father learning the family business from Papa. They weren't happy with it, but it was 1973. Roles were defined, and they didn't have the freedom we take for granted as far as dating and ridiculous loveless marriages.

Which led to Felicia ending up with some stuck-up guy from East Aurora, a total blowhard. Felicia had to break up with my father against her will for a dip of a guy.

"And she hated him. Just didn't like him. He regularly belittled her in public and even though she made it clear she didn't want to go out with this guy, she was basically forced to." I watched Rory finishing her ice cream. "And my father couldn't do one thing about it; my grandfather's zeal for a proper Jewish bride had become even more pronounced even as him and Nana helped him keep contact with Felicia. He tried to go out with dates with proper women from Hartford, New Haven and Boston. He even deigned that he would move closer to the main part of the family biz, which he moved to New Jersey in the 50s due to a lower cost of business. Even through all that though...he never lost the flame for Felicia.

"Now came the romance and the solidification of the two. It's December 1973, and he's stuck in an awful meeting in an office park in North Jersey, listening to some older man drone on about topical medications, with the only levity being the loosening of the dress code temporarily, to allow him to wear a sillier necktie than usual, which happened to be a gift Felicia sent him, timed to the first night of Hanukkah. Two days before Christmas. He had just had a girl on the Upper West Side basically boast about her sexual abilities the night before and try to get him in bed, and he wanted nothing of it. He kept hearing Felicia's voice in his head, and it was just...the worst date ever. But he also felt this something on the back of his neck...like a premonition."

"Two days before Christmas."

"Yes. So he's about to fall asleep in this meeting, when he decides to book it. My father asks to grab a new cup of coffee and escapes the meeting room, and goes to the phone, deciding to call Felicia in Buffalo. He thinks it'll just be a neutral conversation, but then...her mother picks up."

I pause to build the tension. "She answers. Like Nana, she was receptive to them together, but the father was stubborn; not horribly so, just wanting to keep good graces in the region. So, she picks up the phone, relieved he had called. Felicia had been at a Christmas party for her partner's family, and said family had been using a badly-reviewed catering service. They didn't take the proper food safety precautions and she woke up a couple days earlier not feeling right. She wanted to walk into a clinic, but the guy refused and said she'd feel better after a day of housework."

"What?"

"The guy was a sexist ass. He didn't try to raise a hand to her, thank goodness, but she was expected to be the one cleaning around the house. A few hours later, she was found by one of the guy's maids slumped over the toilet with her esophagus burning and heart racing at a dangerous pulse, and rushed to Sisters of Charity in an ambulance. She was the first of seventeen people at said party diagnosed with virulent listeria, and Mrs. Quisinberry told my father...she didn't know if she would survive the night.

"He decided right then and there to get up to Buffalo...but one of the guys in the meeting stopped him. The old ass started a lecture about how he wasn't living up to his father's legacy and he needed to be in that room listening to an awful sales pitch, and grabbed his hand to pull him back in, despite Harold pleading with them to go. The grasp on his hand...it became incredibly painful."

Rory nodded. "The hand injury from when he was younger."

"It flared up. And the man tried to yank him and at that point, he began to run on adrenalin. This man tells him 'your father will be massively disappointed when I tell him his son doesn't care about his business.' With that and in horrible pain, he threw the man against a wall and let the dick have it. He told him that he had no business interfering in his life, to fuck off, and that he would never forgive himself if the love of his life died before he got to Buffalo. With that he grabbed his keys, ran out of the building, and made the nine-hour drive up the Southern Tier to get to Felicia."

I could see Rory hanging on every word as my father got to Sisters of Charity in a rumpled shirt, his only stop since Basking Ridge somewhere near Horseheads for a restroom break. "He ran into the hospital and immediately asked where Felicia was, only to have a tap on the shoulder. The guy she was dating was there, looking like he was massively inconvenienced by her food poisoning, but not enough to stop him in his tracks. 'Oh look, it's the Jew ex,' he spat out. 'You can go home, she's fine.' My father is taken aback. It makes no sense to have someone attack him the moment he got into the hospital. He asks if he's supposed to know the guy, and he shoots back that he's her boyfriend, and no more questions will be asked. Quickly Felicia's sister Gretchen runs interference, just as Daddy manages to catch the whiff of whiskey on his breath. She tells the guy to back off, and he tries to shove around her. It's thankfully useless, and Gretchen shot a look at him to go in with her permission."

He entered the room, to see the woman he loved resting, a bunch of machines around her and some holiday comedy special blaring from the TV. There's a cacophony of arguing and swearing from outside the room, so he decided to shut the door to give her some respite. "He sits down in the chair next to her bed and looks at her...and she looks like she's been through better times in her life. He can't believe that she's in this state, and at that point...he just starts crying, without any prompting. It took down his defenses, and he felt all the anguish of their fathers keeping them apart. He didn't really know what else to do, and he knew that soon, he wouldn't have her in his life. Either by death, or through Papa and Congressman Quisenberry's hands. He stayed with her for two hours, not moving from the seat, just watching her, wondering how it ended up he was seeing her in this manner. He knew he would have to leave when visiting hours kicked in and during that last minute, prepared to leave the room. When suddenly, he hears the smallest of voices, with the lightest of grasps. His hand was at the rail of the bed, and he felt the slightest of pressure against it. It was in the way Felicia and I have always done it; going in very slowly, never getting near the wrist. He was startled as he brought his gaze from the door, and back to her."

There was Felicia, through very dim brown eyes, staring back at him, pleading for him not to go. Telling him she had known he was there since he came into the room, that she was relieved that there was someone who loved her deeply in that room with her. Harold tells her that he has to go since visiting hours are over, but she shakes her head. "I'm the congressman's daughter. I think they'll let you stay."

Rory then asked the question that puzzled her the most. "What happened to the guy, though?"

"While Daddy was in the room, the sudden argument that had occurred in the hallway? Not about him coming up from New Jersey. No...Harold was completely uninvolved, and a welcome distraction for the Quisenberry women to know that she was in good hands. It seems the 'Jew' remark had pissed off the family matriarch, but they just heard new news about the family's cheap caterers. It involved a certain team Ian used to root for."

Quirking her eyebrow, she knew what was coming. "They got the Bills sick."

"And it also involved a kickback scheme defrauding the town of Amherst. It was now very much a mess that not only involved a daughter near death for Congressman Quisenberry, but a whole mess of things that meant he had to become an advocate for food safety in his last years; his legacy was a bunch of items involving the first case of Legionnaire's Disease, along with the FDA and CDC. The guy and his family were very rich not through their good works, but an incredible amount of embezzlement and a few connections to Buffalo's mob, but in a way they weren't going to protect them. It ended up being lucky for the Bills that they didn't make the playoffs that year because the Dolphins ran away with the season, so they didn't have to field a sick playoff team; Ralph Wilson's lawsuits against in them alone emptied their pockets before they ended up in prison. I once heard Daddy darkly joke that the outbreak and subsequent illness eventually lead a certain infamous running back down a path that ended with a freeway chase in a Ford Bronco."

Shaking her head, Rory couldn't believe how many twists this story was taking. "For a simple 'boy meets girl' story, the meeting seems very intermittent."

"Thankfully, this is where it becomes steady," I reassured. "She was still weak for at least two weeks and had to stay in the hospital, so my father set up camp at a hotel downtown, visiting when he could. He had plenty of time now to finally bond with her family, and the congressman saw that maybe this Jewish kid from Connecticut kinda treated his daughter right. The women of the family pretty much took to my father very quickly. He visited, but just enough to give Felicia plenty of good recovery time, and eventually the two men had a frank discussion. The father gave him all the expected warnings and ribbed him a bit. Especially for his choice in a football team he rooted for." I rolled my eyes at the next little piece of information. "That rumpled shirt he wore came with a tie given to him by Felicia festooned with Patriot Pats, and the stubbornness about their teams...it never really went away."

I shook my head, closing my eyes and groaning as I said it. "He still wears that tie. To this day."

"But it worked, though." Rory knew what was going on. "She eventually married him so her father must have put plenty of things aside."

"Including his own prejudices. He had not thought my father worthy, especially considering his religion and how he lived his life. But Daddy wasn't going to let anything stop him from the goal, and he said he'd do anything for Felicia. But he wasn't giving up how he lived his life. Even though they butted heads at times, he found a way to get through to the old man and prove himself worthy. And that really helped when he came back to Hartford and Papa Gellar told him his job with the family company was done."

"He had an emergency-"

"He didn't care." I shook my head. "I...I know last week I said that he was a good man in the sense that he wasn't as awful as Straub Hayden. But he..." This was tough to get through. "When my dad got back to New York, he was told he had no job, and that fucking asshole he walked out on in the office exaggerated that my father was violent towards him. He lost his job for a few days, at least until the secretary looked in the window of the breakroom by chance, decided to screw her job security, and speak up that there was an emergency in Buffalo, and she saw the man refuse to let him out of the building. Papa Gellar refused to hire him back, saying he was slacking in his duties, and he didn't have any faith in his son to follow in his footsteps. It took the board of directors, testimony by my father, and anger in a telephone call from Felicia's father that Papa would be so cruel to my father, during a damned holiday break too. He also made it clear that he would see it he would be able to acquire a job for Daddy in either Buffalo or Washington...or that he could drop a bit of a recommendation to his personal friend, Woody Johnson, that he could put him in the executive suite at Johnson & Johnson. A direct competitor to his company."

Rory caught on. "The next Monday he's back in his office in Basking Ridge and that asshole is gone, isn't he?"

"He got a demotion that effectively made his time at Gellar Pharmaceuticals short. Gone by April. And soon after that, Daddy moved his operations home to Hartford. And that secretary who saved his bacon? Still in his office as his long-time 'personal assistant to the president', to this very day; he had no mind for a bullshit 'secretary' title. Melinda Hillman is as loyal to my father as Francisca has been to me."

I went on a bit further, back to Buffalo, where Felicia had two months to recover from her illness. She stayed there another few months to deal with the legal fallout from the holiday party and make sure the catering company and her ex's family both were cleaned out and had their new living arrangements in Collins Correctional Facility taken care of, courtesy of the state of New York. And after that (and a constant phone use that caught the attention of New York Telephone and SNET), she was off to Hartford, and finally, on the Thanksgiving weekend of 1974, they were again an official couple. She quickly found a great job, teaching her favorite craft at the Connecticut School of Broadcasting, and did weekend and weekday shifts, along with features for WRCQ. They began to establish themselves in Hartford society, but not taking it to the DAR/DCW extremes.

Still, my grandfather frowned on everything involving Felicia and my father, and tried his best to force Felicia from both her jobs, saying she wasn't being a proper woman. Thankfully, those organizations shrugged off his letters and eventually, my father asked for a blessing to propose marriage. Where my grandmother's first words to him were 'when and where?' excitedly...that wasn't Aaron Gellar's reaction, at all.

"He brought it up on Thanksgiving, a plan to propose on the eighth night of Hanukah 1975, marriage on the Fourth of July. He flatly refused and said 'that shiksa will be your wife over my dead body'." I smiled, describing what happened next.

"My father, being the glib man he is, responded to him, saying 'I'm marrying a shiksa? Last time I checked, Fel is coming with me to service Saturday morning.' Papa asked what he meant, and with just a shrug, Daddy said, 'She had her tevilah last weekend. Mom's been helping her with the conversion since she came to town, along with the other women in the synagogue. Her father gave the blessing to do so before she left Buffalo, and I got his blessing a couple weeks ago to propose. Rabbi Volkner said it's all legit in his eyes.'"

Rory took in this part of the story in awe. "Holy crap! He got one over on his father!"

"He didn't get the blessing, and Papa Gellar said he would never get one. But the last thing he had to stop the marriage, the entire 'he's marrying a Gentlie' excuse? It was gone, and Daddy's rabbi had no objections left to bringing them together. My father proposed to her at sunset, December 6, 1975, in New Orleans in the French Quarter, just before seeing Fleetwood Mac that same evening. No blessing, no problem." I was getting into the happy part of the story now, moving through the wedding arrangements, how it was just a race to July 4. That they decided to ditch the entire regular society wedding, and had a simple ceremony with fifty of their closest friends and family, well away from the Courant's society staff. They married beneath the Enchanted Oak at Stanley Park in Westfield, Massachusetts, with the same chuppa my Nana had brought into our family when she married Papa. It was a quiet, and very reverent ceremony, Felicia's friends and family and my father's friends and family attesting to their love and respect for each other, and my grandmother, along with Felicia's parents, having deep and heartfelt words for their new son-in-law. It was a very happy day, finished off with the entire party bussing east on the Pike to Boston to watch the Pops and the fireworks on the Esplanade. It was, as he will proudly note often, the only time my father used his connections with the owner of the Patriots to get optimum seating for anything in the Boston area.

Rory sighed, amazed by the early part of the story. But I could tell by her reactions, that she dreaded hearing about when the happily ever after would end. She asked for a second helping of pie to keep us in the restaurant and allow me to finish the story.

It always filled me with darkness to recount this part of my father's life. The second helping was delivered to the table just as I finished describing their honeymoon, time well spent on a cruise from Vancouver to Anchorage. Everything about their romance was storybook, from the time they spent together, to the times Felicia would delight in 'here's what my husband did to annoy me this time/his newest horrid pun but God I still love him' stories she spun on the radio and to her students, to when she would come by the office and cheer up my father on dreary days when business stuff like quarterly earnings and bad analyst reports would inevitably have Papa Gellar breathing down everyone's necks. She would always make up a sizable batch of cupcakes and deliver them by hand to the office, cheering everyone in my father's department up and just generally being a ray of sunshine. Everyone in my family loved her, Papa being pretty much the only exception.

"However, there was one issue," I said, moving onto to where the complications began. "They stopped using protection, deciding to have a family a year after they married. There were some complications. Both of them, and not to be overly detailed, but she had fewer eggs than a woman her age usually did, while his...count was also lower." I averted from further terminology. "So it took longer for everything to happen. She did get pregnant at the start of 1978, but it only went four months. A miscarriage."

"Harry must have taken it hard."

"He did. And it didn't help that his father was chiding him for what he saw as 'masculine failures'. It was hurtful to hear him being shamed in that way, and Papa made sure to rub it in to Felicia that he was right all along; she didn't have the strength to be a Gellar. The words were meant to hurt. But they just slid off Felicia, and she just told him that she was devastated and hurting now, but that she had already been at death's door. That she was not going to give up on giving him a grandson. She told him, 'I know you hate my very existence, that you consider me some kind of vile Lilith keeping your son away from who you consider his personal Eve. That I'm a demon denying your legacy.'" I laughed, recalling the memory from my father. "She might not have taken up Judaism until before marrying my father, but she knew her stuff. She said, 'I hold your legacy in my hands, Aaron. Maybe my body wasn't ready this time for the rigors. But it'll build my character, and soon you're going to have a grandson or daughter that you're going to have to acknowledge. God willing, you better be the best damned grandfather in history, because you're a pretty shitty father-in-law so far.' She left, and my father and Nana were listening behind the door, along with Uncle Joel. They knew then; she was scorned, and she fought back. Her and my grandfather's yelling matches were legendary for how much she could reduce that man to a shrinking violet just on a glare alone, and though my grandfather tried to fight her, she was my father's number one defender. The one who stood by him, and wouldn't let anyone take him down."

I primed myself, knowing this would be the worst part of the story; the ending to come. "I need to get this out right," I told Rory. "Don't stop me from here on out. No interjections. If you need to react, do it only visually. It...it never gets easier saying what happened."

Rory finished off a bite of pie and took a sip of coffee, before sliding her left hand in my direction. She opened it up to me.

"Take your time, Par." Her words were soft. "I...I'm ready to take this in. And I'm here for you." A few moments of silence, and I closed my own left hand around hers. In a way, it was exactly the kind of help I needed in that moment, as I brushed my thumb against her palm.

"Right around Easter of 1979, they took a trip up to the Quisenberry cabin in northern Ontario, when nobody else was around. Passover was right the same time. The both of them desperately needed a break from Hartford, from their jobs, and their families, and it was perfect timing to do so, as getting the cabin for two weeks was a rarity. They spent plenty of time cuddled by the fire, reading, just...well, you know." I averted my eyes, not wanting to mention what they were doing. "They came back, completely happy and relaxed, ready to resume their lives. Felicia went back to CSB and the station, Daddy to his work. They were in that stage in their relationship where routine was just starting to set in, but they were also finding those nice moments of spontaneity.

"One night in June, Felicia felt out of sorts. She kept having to go to the bathroom, multiple times. And she couldn't keep anything down, which was completely odd to her; she never threw up, and her bladder hadn't given her too many issues. She also kept waking up at odd times, and even with her stomach issues, felt the urge to eat at the weirdest times. She wouldn't be hungry at seven when Daddy had supper done, but around 11:30pm, hankered for anything. She thought there was something wrong, not even wanting to consider pregnancy. And then there was an odd outburst she made one night when my father put on "Rumours" while he was working. She yelled at him to turn it down, out of nowhere. Felicia had a splitting headache, and my father didn't understand why she was asking him, of all things, to turn down an album from Fleetwood Mac, her favorite band. It just seemed so unlike her. He turned it down and after another night of constant disturbance from bathroom trips and some more post-midnight snack upchucking, he was worried.

"He thought she might have gotten food poisoning, and thought it might be that. Felicia tried to convince him he was fine and went about her new day...well, at least until she heaved her lunchtime sandwich and chips into the wastebasket just before going into a commercial break; she thankfully had a good finger on the dump button before Hartford heard her vomit. She decided to get checked out to make sure she was okay, and had her doctor check her vitals and the usual samples to make sure; she was paranoid about catching another thing from bad food, and rightfully so. She rested for three days while everything was tested, not feeling any better. Then, came the call."

The call also went out to my father, who was a little flummoxed about why he was being called in with Felicia. He picked her up at the radio studio and they made their way to the clinic, where the then-junior partner Dr. Merton met them and led them into Dr. Reiss's examination room. They hoped it wasn't listeria, again.

"After five minutes going over the results, that's when Dr. Reiss delivered the news. 'Harold? Felicia?' They asked what was going on. 'No food poisoning this time, thank goodness. But the reason for your illness is actually a pretty good thing. Mr. and Mrs. Gellar...I must offer congratulations...but a bit of disappointment because the missus here won't be drinking over the holidays.' Daddy asked for further elaboration, and that's when the news was delivered. 'You're having a child, Felicia and Harry,' the doc said. It was a complete surprise; they had been amorous up in Ontario, but didn't give a thought to cycles or anything of the sort. They were excited about the pregnancy, and my father was completely protective and loving of her from then on. That's when he hired Henrico, for instance, that way Felicia had more protection than she would if she drove alone."

The pie on Rory's plate became smaller and smaller as I went through the next few months. The worst date of my father's life was approaching, and we were both filled with dread as my voice began to portend what would ensue on October 15, 1979. The pregnancy had been completely uncomplicated until that day, when Felicia and my father went in for an ultrasound to make sure that everything was going well towards the seventh month, though she had also told the doctors she had noticed a few issues that she was concerned with, including an overabundance of urination, an odd loss of her appetite, and unusual pain. Her OBGYN was in the room, along with Dr. Merton to report back to Dr. Reiss, mainly as an observer. Everything seemed to go well at first...

"But as Dr. Calkner was scanning around her stomach, Dr. Merton saw something that concerned her. She didn't want to startle anybody, so she just asked the other doctor to look a little lower to make sure the amniotic sac was well intact. Then she asked Dr. Calkner if she could examine digitally around the area she was concerned with, and Felicia obliged to allow the pelvic, being very careful about the pregnancy. Dr. Merton...she had saw something that she knew, it wasn't normal. She brought Dr. Calkner aside, and broached what she wanted done, but in a way that assured my father and Felicia that if it all went well, would be just a thankfully false alarm. Dr. Merton's specialty was as a general practitioner, but she also had several years of gynecology. Even without the advances we had now, something nagged her. She told Dr. Calkner if her fears were justified, to have a blood draw done before coming back in the room. My father left the room, thinking it was all routine private business. The blood draw was indeed done, under the hope it wouldn't show anything and they could move on."

Rory held her breath, dropping her fork. "The results came back a few days later. Dr. Calkner shared her results with Dr. Reiss and Dr. Merton and confirmed the worst of what Merton had feared. When she heard the news, Dr. Merton fled to an empty room, to cry. Her gut feeling...it was true. It had manifested in the worst way possible. And even though Dr. Reiss assured her following her gut was the right instinct, she was beyond shattered. All three doctors, along with their pediatrician, Dr. Samuels, were broken. What they had found in Felicia was...was...it was something very rare. It was not good. And on October 25, Felicia and Harold received a call to come into the clinic, 9 a.m. sharp. Both of them just thought it would be a routine exam. They went into the lobby, checked in, and were guided to a conference room on the fourth floor."

The conversations from my father, they never get easy to tell. My voice was soft, the hurt deepened by the pain of what he had to go through. "All four doctors met him and Felicia in that room. But then, the other three departed...by mutual decision, Dr. Merton had decided to deliver the diagnosis. She said she was the youngest one, so she should take the heat. It was left to her to tell them what she had found, and confirmed."

"'Felicia,' she said. 'You know the blood we drew?' Felicia nodded. 'And that we examined your pelvis?' Another nod. 'I...I saw something that concerned me. I hoped that it would be a fluke of these new machines, that what I was seeing was a visual anomaly. I did not want to startle you, in case everything turned out to be false and it was nothing. But...in that exam, Dr. Calkner felt something that was abnormal during a pregnancy. The blood test we sent...it is an experimental test that looks at that abnormality, which we compared against a traditional test.'"

She began to cry as she saw the couple tightening the grip around their hands. 'I am apologetic about the news I must deliver. Felicia...we have good cause to believe that you may have a malignant tumor upon your ovary. We compared the test results several times with other doctors at this clinic, and the symptoms you mentioned and presented before the exam, though seeming normal, they did not end up being so.' Felicia was in shock, and asked for more information. 'I remember the July appointment and everything was normal...you cannot tell me this developed that fast.' And Dr. Merton had no words. 'I don't know how it developed in the way it did, but..this just went from a very normal pregnancy, to...' Dr. Merton pounded the table. '...this is something that will end up in a medical journal. It is that rare. And I, excuse my language, fucking hate it. Harry-'"

His response wasn't of anger, or hate towards anyone. Nor was Felicia's. The first words from his mouth were, 'how much am I clearing from my bank? And how high-risk are we talking?' Dr. Merton laid out the odds then and there; they would have to look at the tumor, see its spread within her system. 'But if I'm playing the percentages, Harry...that tumor is the house, and with the pregnancy, it has more of an advantage than usual, because we have to think about the baby too. We can't do as much as we can. We will try every fucking thing we have in our arsenal, and rest assured, your baby is developing fine. But we need to see the tumor. Examine it. We won't know what the number is until we have an idea of how it is.' And you can just imagine, all of this is devastating to those two. They came in just wanting a kid. But now...Felicia is fighting for her life.

The two of them decide on a surgery as soon as possible, after a conference with Felicia's doctors, in addition to doctors at St. Francis experienced in oncological gynecology. Our young couple has gone from thinking about decorating for their new arrival, to hoping that the arrival would actually happen. Before they can fathom it, Felicia is being wheeled in for a very sensitive surgery to examine the building tumor, and see how they could stop it.

"But...right now, ovarian cancer? You get five more years only under half the time," I informed Rory. "In 1979 I'd say that was a quarter, charitably. She went under the knife, the Gellars and Quisenberry families worrying holes into the hospital floor. Felicia's sisters relay to my father and the doctors the fact the disease has run in their family for generations. My grandmother is worried sick about her daughter-in-law, along with Uncle Joel and everyone else. Joel has to take his brother out, just to eat something and not worry himself to death. The congressman is stoic and silent, but within his eyes, you see the worry, the pain within them. He feels the pain his daughter does, that despite everything he could do, he was unable to protect her. He takes out nothing on my father; the young man and his deep love for his daughter was more than proven. They all hope for the best, and a couple of hours later, the surgeon comes out."

My voice gets softer. "He tries to be completely normal, that this is routine. But my father sees the worries being held by his other doctors. They look ashen, like they were stricken by something. He states the results. 'Mr. Gellar and Mr. and Mrs. Quisenberry. We have found that it's likely the cancer may have spread.' That was the worst news, but what made it worse is no chemotherapy could be done. It was still overly dangerous to do so. And they may have been on week 28, but there was no medical reason yet to induce labor. Felicia was fine otherwise, and nobody in that room felt the need to induce so early, because it was too dangerous at that time. Better to let the child gestate further and try to treat around the cancer. So they did."

Felicia was able to go home, but it almost became a daily ritual to go to St. Francis. The Quisenberries and my father had their own table at the cafeteria going into November as the plan was developed. Trying to figure out how to work around it so the pregnancy wouldn't end. My grandmother was worried, my father a wreck. He went on leave from the company. All the while, my grandfather isn't showing any signs of actually caring about the circumstances. I take Rory through the next few weeks. Soon, Felicia is in the hospital until she gives birth, and a bit after that, and they hope the tumors do not metastasize into her vital organs. They've done all they can through November, and into December.

"Through it all," I said, "Felicia refused to give birth early. She wanted her kid to have a fighting chance. All of these people are around her, encouraging her to get a C-section and get the cancer out. But...I think she knew." I nodded. "It's a motherly instinct. Even in the womb, you know what is best for your child. Their life is in your hands. And you cannot shove them out without all the help they can get. My father trusted her instinct, and so did her family, and my Nana."

The cancer began its spread, as predicted. I only gave Rory spare details, because what it does, and where it is, ovarian cancer is a bastard of a disease. It spreads from there, towards the lower part of the digestive system, and further up. She was soon on a catheter, and without being able to go in, all the doctors could do is hope the experimental cocktail of drugs she was given to ward off the invasion ended up working somehow. Several surgeries, all careful to not disturb the baby and the sac it was contained in. It was merely delaying the inevitable.

That's when the dark turn came.

"The 23nd, one of the doctors at St. Francis finishes their examination. The news is delivered; it's only a matter of days that it spreads into the liver. And there's only the smallest of resistance that it may end up in the lungs. It's...getting close. They have one more regiment of drugs. She knows there will certainly not be a vaginal birth, but in whatever case, the child is healthy enough. They'll be fine. It's now my father, at the hospital, all day, all night. Felicia weakens by the hour. She's still speaking, still aware, but that light in her eyes that my father first saw that decade ago, he can see it flickering out. She was certainly in the end stage."

I was pausing to keep my composure towards the end, my heart feeling constricted, knowing that my father went through. "She remained stubborn that she would see through the pregnancy as long as possible, and she had a quick relapse on the 24th, feeling just healthy enough. But by then, the tumors were too out of control. Stopping them was not going to happen. I think my father began to know at that point; he had broken down so many times since November, and knew once the baby was delivered, it was a race to try to get to the cancer, and he just knew by the research and the probabilities, that it wouldn't be that much longer."

I was going on auto-pilot, Rory's had the only thing keeping me from breaking down in front of her. "There was a turn for the worst the next morning. It had gone unnoticed that the cancer had already spread into Felicia's liver even before the 23rd, and also into her spleen, so she woke up ill, pressing the call button. My father was eating breakfast with his in-laws and my mother when the call came in. By the time they got up the stairs, Dr. Calkner and Dr. Reiss met them at the nurse's desk. They told them that the turn they dreaded had come, and that they would have to deliver. Her vitals were drifting southward, and they were operating under the assumption that she would be gone before the end of Christmas."

The graveness of the situation only became heavier. "The four of them decided...this was the time for final goodbyes. Just in case it all didn't work out. Nana went first, and then my father. He sat next to her in bed, quiet, praying for her as Felicia weakened with every minute in front of him. She assured him with the last bit of her voice that everything would be OK. That he would be an amazing father. 'I will be in your heart, always,' were her last words towards him. They sat for fifteen minutes, as my father began to prepare for life as a widower, and a young single father. Her parents had fifteen minutes with her, the nurse watching her vitals for any sign of deterioration. She was then brought into maternity, with my father determined to watch the delivery and cut the cord despite the insistence of the doctors that it would not be the best of scenes for him to witness."

I took a minute to compose myself, Rory remaining silent as I tried to find the words and the emotions to describe the next hour. "The doctors went in, expecting a normal C-section. That the baby would be healthy, no issues. But they had not given Felicia an ultrasound in several days. He would be premature, but he would be away from any trouble outside the womb. But what they discovered..." I took in slow and steady breaths, trying to get through it. "The baby moved into a breech position. Because of that...the umbilical cord had become compressed around his throat because of how it was positioned within the sac. The moment the neonatal surgeon saw how he looked...it became grave. They tried to start his breaths in the normal manner, by removing debris within his mouth and nose. The obstructions were cleared, and nothing. My father was shielded from view, not knowing what was going on. Time passed. One minute...then two minutes. They unwound the cord and decided to cut it, hopeful that this was just something unusual, that he would breathe."

With my voice a whisper, the next few minutes were the worst of my father's life. "As they began to prepare to close Felicia's cut from the C-section...she coded. Her vitals suddenly, without warning, dropped to nothing, and my father could hear it. A desperate call for all hands was made over the intercom, and suddenly, the delivery room, usually a quiet place, was filled with the best physicians in the Northeast, trying to save both a mother and their child. But it was becoming clear what was happening. The ovarian cancer was finishing its march, moving into her vital organs. She was dying, and barring a miracle, that was it. And now, there was an innocent child involved, who would never take a breath. Once the other doctors moved in, that's when my father asked what was going on. He was told, and said to do all they could to save either of them."

I started to let the tears flow freely, the end coming soon for this story. "Dr. Merton was the junior doctor in the room. She decided to take charge, and tell him what happened. She kept an eye to the other side of the room, where life-saving measures were being tried to save the baby. Sadly, nothing would work, and after five more minutes, Felicia's heartbeat had not returned, and no pulse was with the baby. She came back at that point. 'I have no words,' she said, feeling personal defeat that neither could be saved. The time of death was called, for both; 3:48 p.m., December 25, 1979. Felicia was only 32. And my father was in a daze in that room for a few minutes. He rended his shirt, twice, looking at the fading face of his wife, and then the never-opened eyes of his newborn child, just wondering what he could do...but there was nothing outside a couple of distractions to forever remind him of this day. He went out into the waiting room with Dr. Reiss and Dr. Merton. Just by their eyes, all three parents in the room knew...but they were utterly shattered upon learning that Roman had never taken a breath."

The Quisenberries were undone by the lost of both their daughter and grandson in one cruel moment. They laid no blame with my father, none at all. But those two months had also caused formerly under-control health issues with the congressman to spiral out of control. The loss of his beloved daughter and a stillborn grandson would be too much for him to bear. Shortly after the memorial service in Buffalo after the start of the new year and decade, he was found in his sleep, passing away overnight, an utter shockwave to Buffalo politics. The coroner of Erie County suspected heart failure for his death, but my father knew emotionally, he suffered the most damaging of broken hearts. His wife could not handle so many tragedies in such a short time, and a stroke on St. Patrick's Day took her own life. Within the balance of six months, my father, his family and his in-laws went from having a thriving and building family, to nothing at all. He declared immediately to the other side of his family he would make no claims to the Quisenberry estate, and would not contest anything. The doctors at St. Francis had truly done all they could, and he held no ill will at them and our personal physicians.

But losing his wife and son, it took him into a dark place. He was scared of drugs, and of alcohol. After burying the love of his life and his in-laws, he stayed in contact with the other side of his family. But he soon buried himself in his work, and the sight of the unused nursery made him physically ill; he donated all of the furnishings to a women's shelter, and has never re-entered that room in the Manor, which was redone a couple months after into a space completely different and redone down to the bare walls, now used as a guest room, mainly for Sharon's family where he had no mind to ever check in on the room to see if they were comfortable.

My Papa reveled in this sudden change in his son's life. Where my grandfather fought him every step of the way with Felicia and dreaded having to deal with her the rest of his life, he took cruel joy in knowing that he now had a second chance to mold his son into the image he wanted. My father avoided the vices of alcoholism and drug abuse, but could not avoid the fate of going beyond the normalcy of being a breadwinner.

"This is for another day," I told Rory. "But although I said my grandfather wouldn't do what your paternals did...he is certainly not a kind man. He preyed on my father's need for acceptance, for a new family, to be loved. Papa pushed my father into becoming a workaholic, and since the moment Felicia died, has taken pride in every one of his chess moves. And I will tell you...for all his talk of hating that Felicia was a Gentile before she converted? You will know one day what a goddamned hypocrite he is, along with my mother. This is why I am protective of my father. Because I know what he has gone through. That he has carried a shattered heart since that cold December day only glued back together somewhat by my existence and his relatives, and that my father's kind nature is taken advantage of in horrifying ways."

Rory raised her voice at that moment. "Does...does he love your mom then? Is that true? You tell me all this about her past, and I have to wonder if he resents Sharon."

I nodded, understanding her viewpoint. "He loves her. He came into their relationship thinking it was a deep and true love. But like my grandfather, her and her family only saw advancement in social status. He made room for her in his wrecked heart. But it's only grown more broken, and I can never forgive my mother and grandfather for causing that anguish."

Ella came in with the check at that moment, along with a requested time check. "It's around 1:40 p.m."

"OK, thanks." I handed her over my debit card. "Just add 75% to the bill for yourself for your patience. Thank you, Ella."

"I-I couldn't." She was shaken by my considerable gratuity, but I wasn't having it.

"It's tradition," I reminded her. "My father and I always tip the same. He'd want me to pay it forward, for sure."

"He would," Rory interjected.

"Then, I thank you for your kindness." She smiled at both of us. "I'll be right back with your card." She departed the table for the register, and I finished up the conversation.

"So..." Rory was shaken, using a napkin to wipe away lingering tears. "God. Ovarian cancer. I...I couldn't imagine my mother with that."

"I never want to either," I affirmed. "Lorelai having cancer is something I never want to imagine, much less visualize in real life. Felicia is why I aim to be a cancer researcher, along with Madeline's biological mother. She went through all of that herself a year before, and her dad came here from Seattle to settle with his new wife, and no child should ever carry those memories as part of their youth. That she has so much positivity... I can never understand how that weighs upon her every single day of her life. Like your zeal for journalism, I wish to be able to take away that anguish, hurt and pain from those who suffer, and those who love them and must go on with their lives. What my father went through, I wish it didn't have to happen to anyone. It's why I'm so devoted to my studies, why for so long my focus has been singularly on Harvard, and hopefully one of the foremost cancer centers in the world, be it Farber up in Boston, Anderson in Houston, or Mayo in Rochester."

"I just have a question. Does...does your family? Do they have history?"

"Thankfully nothing involving the BRCA gene mutations. It's a relief, so far. I've had some cancer in my family tree, but most of the time it was environmental like lung, melanoma and liver. But a few were influenced by genetics." I trembled, describing this to her. "Cancer...it's been a driving force for my father since Felicia died. His company has been aggressive in trying to cure reproductive cancers since it happened, and they've made some small steps. But they know there's so much to do, and there's other issues they have to deal with."

I was blunt with Rory, stating the weaknesses of the pharmaceutical industry head-on. "My father has already accepted that I won't be joining the company after college, that I want to be on the front lines. He loathes the companies that market on 'cancer maintenance', merely trying to reduce the pain rather than take it away, and deal with insanely expensive blockbuster drugs they don't give a flying fuck about any longer the moment the first day of year seventeen kicks in. He's killed so many mergers, against his father's wishes, because he'd rather keep the company focused on research and development than sucking up all the airtime on CBS with whatever malady like under-knee fungus the companies have come up with to market some needless medication. And he keeps his drug pricing low, on purpose, because he doesn't want his legacy to be profits above people. My heart and my soul...my being has been built on making cancer a worry of the past. My father passed that to me in his DNA. And you know my zeal, right?"

"I...do." Rory's eyes were straight upon me. "All of that detail, this is something important for you, that you feel a debt to your father for your existence." Her hand had still not left mine, still solidly enveloped in my grasp. "I hate to make an analogy like this, considering your religion, but it's your personal cross to bear."

I nodded. "I take no offense at all. I know I come off how I do, that I'm a bitch, and it took us both so long to find a common ground. It's only because, I put my ardor into things besides love."

"And you're still trying to figure out that mix," she said, understanding completely. "Know that I will never stand in your way. And if I ever came off as trying to do so, I apologize for that."

She took one last sip from her coffee cup, savoring it before returning her focus to me. "I know that you're not a normal girl. Not...at all. That you have an intenseness that can wear down anyone normal. And to know where that fire, that sense of curiosity came from...it helps, to know how you were raised. What happened before you came to be, that it wasn't in a vacuum of time that had no effect on anything before this day in 1984."

Closing her eyes, she tightened the grasp of her hand within mine. "I don't have much of a religion to guide me; Mom always bristled against it, and I can't handle the fundamental elements that are too extreme. But I do know I believe in some things; that we're put on this earth to do good, that every person leaves a mark upon it to guide those living in the future. And in some ways, some people are taken too soon and must return in some way to finish their work, be it in a new form. And I'd like to think, genetics and medical science be damned, that you have Felicia's spirit within you. You may not have her nature, and I certainly cannot picture you liking that 'damned sitar crap'..." I let out a small laugh at Rory trying to imitate my father's tone, "...but she is within you. And she is guiding you towards some greater purpose. And in some way, I've gravitated towards that purpose, towards you, and into your life." I nodded, as she opened her eyes, those stunning blues staring right into mine. "I...I may be unbelievably presumptuous in saying this...but you will definitely live more as Felicia's spitting image than you ever will Sharon's. That you may not share one sequence of Quisenberry DNA, but that connection her and your father forged, it became steel within his genes, and it went into your conception."

Gently, she stretched across the table, kissing my forehead, as my emotions warred, taking every word she said into my mind. "You are her daughter, Paris. I have only known you two years, and I am sure you hold plenty of secrets I have yet to know. But your father, no matter what he did after her death, he kept the lessons from that marriage. He made sure that your mother would never dilute them. Your abrasiveness hides a soft layer that is beginning to build up and overwhelm it. I am not letting the surface that you show be the only thing I love about you. I love you all, Paris. And I am heartened to be one of the few to be trusted with your father's story. It will affect me and how I live my life from today, on."

I took in everything she had to say. The monologue itself giving some clarity that she certainly didn't just live as if she was in a Disney movie and outside factors never affected her. I was struck by the strength in her words, that she strung them together, knowing exactly what would stir and remain in my soul, forever. The story was treasured, along with the lessons learned. The only interjections, to learn more and clarify, never being offended with how Daddy lived his life, nor more anger at my mother.

"Love you, Paris." She whispered my name, slipping on the letter jacket from behind her back. She put it on in a way that strongly jingled the honors medals upon it on purpose, then pressed her hand against the white block "C" contained against her left breast, just above her heart. The motion struck me in the right manner.

"Love you too, Rory." I gasped her name, as Ella came back to return my card with a smile. I opened up my purse to put the card and receipt in, and the both of us looked around the diner, beginning to quiet down as the lunch crowd dispersed to their later activities.

"You ladies have a wonderful day," she said. "And Paris...Theo will hear about this." She looked around to make sure no one else was around. "He might be an old man, but he's a sucker for a good love story."

"We're...that obvious?" I laughed nervously.

"Too much. Jonas remembered when your dad would have to get multiple pie slices when him and Felicia were looking for an excuse to stay in their booth. Also, you've never been here on the 25th before with a guy." A small wink, as I caught Rory blushing. "Y'all stay together now. We need to keep this tradition strong."

"I don't expect it'll melt away anytime soon," Rory said. "Though I think that French toast'll be a permanent part of my dental work." We all laughed, and Ella said her goodbyes, as we finished gathering our things and headed out. Rory spun the fob for the SUV on her finger around the ring, ready to drive us up to West Springfield. We settled into our seats with the ignition started, as I felt a little lighter for finally sharing this all with her.

"Thank you, for today," she said, her hand on the gearshift. "It helped me understand more of where you came from. And you're certainly not an ice queen, as they would say. Just very protective of your family, and your heart."

"Very much so." I slid on my seatbelt, taking a calming breath. "So...now that we have that out of the way, you ready for a movie?"

"So much." She pulled the car out of the lot, and as we saw the town sign thanking us for our visit to Somers and welcoming us to Enfield, I felt an immense sense of relief. Rory didn't see my family situation as fucked up, nor something to laugh at. Instead, she saw something else, that my legacy was defined by those before me, not those who tried to define it in their own image.

That she said in some way, I inherited Felicia's drive, attitude and her wish to be a pioneer? I can never forget that. It has only strengthened my resolve to put all I have in this relationship.

I have something to fight for, and to know I have a girlfriend like Rory in my corner, who knows where I came from and instead of just concluding it was a sad story, that it brought my father and I to where we are today, it's deeply heartening...

"Make my wish come truuuuee! Because all I want for Christmas...is yooooooooouuuu! Bayyyy-beee!"

What is not is that Rory's musical talent, or lack thereof, was inherited from Lorelai as we're stopped at the last Route 190 traffic light before 91. But still, I'm blushing beet red as she sings along to Mariah Carey and a song I used to hate.

I laugh, and think wistfully as my father recalled Felicia singing "Layla" to him down the PCH in Santa Monica, the both of them on an after-graduation road trip west in the Estate Wagon. Complete with a very inspired 'air guitar' section. It was one of his happiest memories of her.

Our parallel lives, somehow, are coming into sync. And I can say with certainty, even as I'm nervous about the next few hours, that my worried mind is certainly at ease this afternoon...


To be continued...