The stairway door stood open as Rory was just changing Leigh's diaper and onsie, after a messy incident in the second changing table they had in the hallway bathroom. She'd left the doors open intentionally, hoping to catch G before she left for school that morning. Rory, the kids and the nannies had gotten back late that last, having just texted G that they were back and gotten in return a reply that she was cramming for a test she had the next morning, so Rory hadn't gone upstairs to talk to her. But perhaps it was good she didn't, because she really didn't know at that point how to go about it - what more was she supposed to say to her than assure that G could always talk to her? Saying that wouldn't necessarily ensure that she did.
But then Logan had called her last night and let her know about Catherine which had left her heartbroken. Catherine had been good to her, and she truly felt for Owen, and it really hadn't surprised her that Logan had already made a plan to attend the funeral. Catherine and Owen had been on her mind through the night. Logan had told her that he'd also called Mitchum, which she could also understand. Though frankly she wasn't sure what response Logan truly had expected from him.
Leigh stretched herself, her back arching to one side. Her muscles were getting stronger too though their pediatrician had prescribed some massages for Leigh saying her muscles were tense if she was doing that, likely inhibiting her ability to actually turn around like Emma had mastered just a few days before Logan had left for London.
"You're not making this easy are you?" Rory spoke to Leigh smilingly, as she attempted to put on the upper part of her onesie while Leigh's feet kept kicking the lower part further down.
She was just about to zip the yellow white-daisy-patterned onesie up, when she heard G's footsteps heading down the stairs.
"Gigi," she called out, slipping with the name for a sec, hoping she wouldn't mind too terribly.
"Yeah?" G asked, as she came to a halt, on the third floor landing.
"Any hope you'll have breakfast with me," Rory asked, pleadingly.
"I only have like ten minutes," G said. She usually just grabbed a banana or a granola bar, taking her coffee to go in a small thermos.
"Hallam should be bringing Cathy over shortly, he can drop you off," Rory replied, knowing this would buy G at least another ten minutes.
"Okay, sure," she said, relaxing visibly. She liked her subway rides, but since Rory had asked - clearly something was on Rory's mind. Besides the weather outside was pouring and the prospect of a warm and cosy carride didn't seem half bad right then.
"I'll be down in a sec," Rory replied, zipping Leigh up and raising the baby to her chest. Emma was in the care of Maya for the moment so she brought Leigh downstairs with her. Handling just one of them at the time she could easily handle.
G was making herself a coffee to go, usually preferring to drink it after the first period, especially if it was Biology, where the teacher could go so into that world, speaking enthusiastically, but on occasion forgetting that half the class wasn't really keeping up. Attempting to keep up often left her drained, the coffee being like a vital lifeline after it.
"I didn't expect you guys back so soon," G noted, casually, as Rory arrived, having been rather surprised by their return so soon. She twisted the coffee thermos shut and shoving it into her pink Fjällräven backpack, she wore on most days, wanting to blend in more.
Rory strapped Leigh into the Nomi highchair that she'd positioned into half recline, and attached a few toys that hung by plastic chains from the chair for her to play with. Leigh was usually pretty content like that, having already been changed and with a full stomach.
"I figured it was time," Rory replied, adding, "besides, Maya was getting a little grumpy," in a whisper. Maya didn't complain much out loud, but it was true that the woman was more used to having her own space and more privacy with her own quarters here in Manhattan. Besides, it had already been two weeks. And while Rory would miss Celeste, they'd promised to make it a point to keep in touch better this time - at least Stars Hollow no longer seemed like an impossible distance away.
Rory moved around the kitchen, her Lululemon high waisted leggings and her long cosy sweater having become her daily uniform around the house, beginning to make herself a few poptarts, pressing the button on the coffee maker as an automated move she could do in her sleep.
"And I didn't like the idea of you here all by yourself," Rory added, deciding not to lie.
"I've been pretty busy really, we're having our test week this week, to get everything out of the way before Thanksgiving," G explained. Her dad was coming home for Thanksgiving, a trip to Boston looming in the plans for her the following week.
"I can help if you want," Rory offered. Surely there was something she still knew about the high school programme.
G was growing a little suspicious - the eagerness of her wanting to spend time with her seeming a little too sudden.
"You talked to Celeste about me, didn't you?" she asked, already beginning to regret trusting Celeste with her personal business. They'd talked about a lot of things - G's family dynamics, school, friends, exes and of course Finn.
"She was just concerned, worried," Rory replied, having swallowed a sip of coffee, that she now rested on the table next to her.
G didn't know whether Celeste has in fact revealed the connection to Finn or not, but somehow the look on Rory's face was not the one that was judging her or assuming her issues were ridiculous or childish - it was genuine concern, and that was something she actually missed, even if she couldn't quite put into so many words.
Rory expected her to say that she was fine or to be upset at them for discussing her behind her back, but what G actually did left her speechless.
G hugged her then, as if wanting to hide herself into her arms. It was the way a child hugged a mother, looking for comfort. Rory held her, without comment for a while, feeling both surprised and relieved for that response.
"You okay?" Rory asked after a while, hearing her let out a weak whimper, and holding her for a few moments.
"I'm sorry," G apologized, not wanting to turn into a sobbing mess. It wasn't anymore just about a broken heart, it was indeed the loneliness that the time spent alone had emphasized those emotions combined with the stress of the test week.
"No need to be sorry," Rory stroked her back. "I'm sorry - I will try to be around more. Even if I'm busy with the kids, you can always come to me, okay?" Rory said. "And I don't even want you to think of it like asking for help, I just want you to feel free to just hang out with me - have dinner with me or breakfast - talk about what you have going on. I don't care if it's about tests or your school friends. I want to get to know you, to really understand you. Maybe I'm too old to be your friend, but I'm your sister, that'll never change," she assured.
G looked up, almost feeling like chuckling at her last sentence - the age really wasn't an issue, clearly. Shse pulled apart, heading for the sink to run cool water over her eyes gently to not look all puffy before class. She dried her face off with a paper towel, then glanced at her phone for time - she only had five minutes left.
"Okay," she sighed, realizing that Rory perhaps really did have a point. She needed a support system, and in a way she thought that perhaps Rory needed one too, especially now that Logan was in London.
"So what test do you have today?" Rory asked, handing G her other poptart, realizing the time herself and having gotten a message from Hallam that he was downstairs and ready to go when G was.
"Forensics," G replied, rolling her eyes along with it. It really wasn't her thing. She bit into the poptart as she headed downstairs.
"Good luck", Rory called after her.
The step was tiny but in the right direction.
Celeste was expectantly sitting in Dr. Tyler's office, the angry looking ocean waves visible from it's windows, waiting for her to walk in any second. The wind outside had felt like tiny ice needles against the skin coming in, and now the cosy room with the familiar couch seat and the blue-patterned pillow she usually liked to hold in her lap, felt particularly comforting, her cheeks now feeling pink and warm.
She'd come that day with high hopes, almost hoping that her therapist was going to give her the answer, take her side, tell her that she had a right to be upset, but little by little the feeling was creeping into her that it wasn't going to be that easy.
She'd spoken to Jess a few times since finishing reading the book, but it had mostly been about the practicalities or Evie, as she'd skillfully avoided the subject, even fibbing a few times by saying that Evie needed something or other and she needed to go. She wasn't proud of it, but she just didn't know what to say.
"Celeste, good to see you," Dr. Tyler greeted her as she entered, her firm high-heeled step clinking against the hardwood floor, and took a seat in her blue-patterned armchair that matched the pillow Celeste had in her lap. She was no doubt the best therapist she'd ever seen, having helped her through one of roughest times of her life, and the hourly price tag was in accordance with it, and those two things certainly added to the expectations she had for that hour.
"Hi," Celeste replied.
"So, how have you been since last week?" she asked, taking out her notepad and pen.
"It's varied. I had a good friend visiting, who's really important to me and it was good to catch up," she began. "But there was actually something else I wanted to discuss today, if that's okay," she said, impatiently.
"It's your hour," Dr. Tyler replied, gesturing for her to go on.
"My husband is a writer as you know," she began, telling her the general outline of the issue and what had been her initial reactions and thought process since then. She spent a good 15-20 minutes explaining it, her therapist asking a few specifying questions in between.
"So what you're saying is that he wrote a book that largely depicted his experiences which cast some light into what it's like to see what you're going through from his point of view," Dr. Tyler reflected as she'd finally finished.
Celeste nodded.
"As you've pointed out - you're feeling among other emotions guilt. Guilt is a very normal feeling associated with depression and I believe I recall we've discussed this before, during our earlier sessions," Dr. Tyler said. "And I will never tire of bringing out this analogy that if you'd had any other disease you might feel bad too, for being a burden, but the difference is that no other disease will let that guilt spiral," she explained.
Celeste knew well where that could lead, in her case the idea of not wanting Jess to have to stand by her when she was a mess, like she was holding him back and making him unhappy, had led to her nearly sabotaging their marriage.
"Yes, I remember that. But seeing him want to share that story with the world, even if not with the exact details, it's like he's amplifying those feelings in me. He's telling the world how my disease and my actions made him feel - and while I know that it contains some positive messages too, I don't want people to know that I made him feel like that. I don't want something that is so private to become public knowledge. And sure he's not telling that it's me - but they all know he takes inspiration from life so they can take a fair guess. Every one of our friends, relatives and colleagues will know how much I've hurt him, how much I've put him through," Celeste added, already getting a little emotional.
"What is public and what is private is naturally up to you. But have you considered that perhaps your friends and family already know more about this than you think? Even if they don't know the intimate details, they might have just assumed or guessed it. While you were here - he was likely looking for their support, even if it was just to help out with your child," Dr. Tyler explained.
"Em..," Celeste pondered. Of course she knew that they knew - some more than others, naturally. "I guess you're right," she added.
"So what would that coming public really change? Would people look at you differently on the street? Would it change your working relationships? Friendships?" Dr. Tyler asked.
"It's a small town we live in - it might. Most of them don't know I'm dealing with this," Celeste replied, trying to justify herself. But she had to admit that the close relationships weren't really going to be affected by any of this.
"And what emotion do you think they'd feel and express if they found out? Would it be hate, pity, blame or perhaps instead compassion, understanding and support?" she discussed.
She was right of course - even if any one of them were to blame her for being a horrible wife or mother, which none of them was likely going to do to her face, it wasn't like the town was a huge fan of Jess to really react that strongly in his favor. But those who didn't know and would find out, if they read it - maybe Sarah, Michel, Hattie, maybe some of the people she volunteered with, they really were more likely to express one of the latter.
"You don't need to reply, but just think about it. Think who might actually read it and what might they feel and how they might react. Try to think of specific people. Try to differentiate your fears from what is actually realistic," she advised. "And as for the second thing," she began, wanting to explain another point. "As we've discussed before, you've agreed that the year has been rough on Jess too. How did it seem to you - did he seem heavy with worry, hopeless or angry at you when he wrote this book?" she added.
"It wasn't angry, if anything… I guess it was at times there was hopelessness, in the beginning - like nothing seemed to work. But he didn't express any anger or frustration. He wrote about how he… I don't know…admired me… maybe, I'm not sure - I only read it once. Like how I am able to keep my head straight, ask help if I need it - but I don't really see it myself. That almost seemed like wishful thinking - something I can never live up to," Celeste explained.
"Well, it's a work of fiction as I've understood, so we really cannot claim that he's depicting the objective truth on the matter. But this is something you need to ask him yourself, whether that essentially is a compliment to you and it is something you yourself should learn how to accept. I know it's not easy. But it's the same with people who have issues with their body image - they don't hear when people say they are beautiful, thinking they are just lying. And with depression, when people compliment one's resilience or positivity, it is not heard just the same," Dr. Tyler explained.
"I guess, I can see that parallel," Celeste sighed.
"But above all, I also think you should sit down with him and talk about these feelings. Ask why he wanted to write this story. Is it because he wants to do this for the money? Or is it fame? Is it just about keeping his life interesting? Or something else?" she continued.
Jess never did anything for just the money, let alone fame - that was part of what she truly loved about him. He was an artist in that sense, his outlet being his words on paper or a screen. But she doubted he knew why he needed to do it. At least she knew he hadn't probably explained it in words. Publishing those words was just the part that followed the former, enabling him to support them better, but also to express what he felt to a wider audience - why did any artist want to have exhibitions or a songwriter wanted his songs to be heard?
"From there on you can discuss why is it vital for him to publish this and publish this now? But you shouldn't forget your side of this - admitting to this publicly what you are going through and that he too has paid a price for this disease, can also be a part of the recovery if you allow it to be," Dr. Tyler added.
Dr. Tyler normally let her speak most of the time but this time it was what she had needed to hear, her discussion at that moment being more with herself, with Dr. Tyler's voice humming in her brain. It hadn't been what she'd expected - she'd expected sympathy from her, but what she got a reasoning to that all she really was feeling was still her depression.
Jess had stared at that comma Celeste had added days ago at the end of his document, hoping she would add something more. The book was done, her dot finishing it off with a certain added sentiment even. But he could sense things were off - the way she'd seemed distant, avoiding the mention of it altogether, making excuses - oh, he could tell - she wasn't fine.
Over the phone he couldn't really make her talk. He could go through a list of possibilities in his head - she was angry with him, she was disappointed in him for not telling her sooner, she simply didn't like it, she felt that it wasn't his story to tell, she might feel guilt - or she might even be off her meds again, as he really wasn't around to make sure she took them in the morning. He trusted her, but she didn't always trust herself with that. Maybe that was all just too much? Maybe leaving her alone for such a long time - it had been three weeks now - was just too much? She had a lot to deal with - maybe the book was just too much? Clearly he'd indulge in his literary world that he himself was the center of for too long - appreciating the praise and interest in him and this new book. Maybe that was not the man she loved?
Whatever it was - that silence from her, that distancing - it wasn't worth it. He needed it to end.
As Jess' Uber came to halt in front of the firehouse late that Wednesday evening, he felt relieved to see a weak glow upstairs in their bedroom. She was still awake at least. But was he even welcome there? - he couldn't help but to wonder. He hadn't called ahead that he was coming.
Not wanting to cause unnecessary racket, he opened the side gate and made his way to the back of the house, up the deck. And there she was - in her bamboo wrap dress, she often used instead of robes around the house, hair damp from the shower, cleaning up the kitchen, washing the coffee machine and placing dishes into the washer.
Jess swallowed hard, and pushed the door open.
"Oh my god, you scared me," she said, as she saw him, his entrance jolting her out of thoughts. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in D.C.," she stated, continuing doing what she'd been doing, not even glancing at him again. Her body language was apprehensive, avoidant - just as her eyes. There was no warm greeting, like there normally was whenever he had been away - she'd wrap her arms around him, her cheek kisses would turn into the real thing. God, how he would've done anything right now just to slip back into that past scenario.
"I just needed to come, I'll fly back in the morning," Jess explained, having made an impromptu flight to come back just for the night, his own car waiting for him at Dulle's. He put down his leather satchel, dropping his woolen coat on top of it not bothering with hanging it up.
He just needed to see her, explain, plead for forgiveness - he needed her to look at him.
But she didn't, keeping her gaze directed out the kitchen window or what she was doing, the coffee machine getting the most thorough cleaning of its lifetime in her hands.
"Este, please," Jess said as he approached her, gently touching her shoulder from behind. He almost expected her to winche, but she only froze for a second, the touch always having that effect on her. "Please talk to me. Be angry at me if that's what it is? I just couldn't stand the silence - whatever this is, I need you to talk to me," he explained.
She then turned, one hand on her hip, the other leaning against the counter, fighting her tears.
He hated seeing her like this. Knowing that he'd caused that reaction was even worse.
"It isn't worth it, you know - not with this price," Jess said, as his palm wrapped around her neck and he rested his forehead on hers, her own body still defensive against him. If it came to it - he'd gladly shove the book to the bottom of her drawer like he'd done many times before. It would sting, but it wasn't worth losing them.
She whimpered, her breathing shallow and withheld. Everything her therapist had told her had made sense, and she knew she needed to just talk to him. But she struggled to overcome the anger, hurt and guilt that this had brought to the surface.
"Tell me, please," he insisted, trying to understand what this was. "Be angry at me, hit me if you need to," he added.
But she just couldn't fight it, kissing him then, hungrily, then pulling apart and hitting his shoulder with her fist with a hiss and turned her back to him again, the major fight going on within her. She didn't even know what she was feeling anymore. Her therapy had opened so many layers to this, but she just couldn't shake the anger - he'd kept this from her! She hadn't been the first to know. The very fact that he was now asking her for her permission while he should've started with that to begin with. He'd kept her in the dark.
"I told you - it isn't worth it. I was never going to do it against your will - maybe I didn't make myself clear," Jess explained, turning her around again, from her elbow.
"But you didn't tell me first!" she huffed, through her tears. "I'm the horrible person now if I say 'no'," she added.
"I'm sorry. I just needed to write it. And now it is - whatever else - it doesn't matter. You are the only audience I need," he said. He wasn't sure the latter was entirely true - but for now it would just have to do.
"This brought up so much crap - you made me feel so horrible. All the anger, betrayal, guilt, shame, regret…," Celeste listed just a few, blaming him, shaking her head through her tears. She knew it wasn't all his fault, it was her brain's fault - but in that moment she just needed to blame someone else.
Jess hadn't truly accounted for the book to have that effect on her. Sure he'd expected her to be disappointed for not being first to know, but he had at least hoped that she'd feel some of what he saw in her - empowerment, braveness, determinedness, okay - sure - some guilt probably.
She smacked his shoulder once more, digging her nails into his other arm - she'd never felt her anger in such a physical way before. But she didn't fight his hold on her, but allowed him to pull her closer.
Then she kissed him again - it was a hard, angry, kiss. The kiss tasted salty and a little dry at the same time, almost feverish.
His crotch was pressed against her, leaving very little for the imagination on how badly he needed her. He was sick of phone sex, he really just wanted to be back home and her body simply had that effect on him, needing very little to ignite.
As the kiss broke, he didn't wait around to see what came next, but kissed her again - even harder, more demandingly, this time. Her mouth had no choice but to let his tongue in. It was like a sword-fight of tongues, when his body pressed her against the counter, squeezing out all the air between them, enabling him to move one hand into her dress towards her braless breast, squeezing the hard nipple that had protruded through her dress from the moment he'd seen her.
She bit his lower lip as if replaying him for his boldness, but it were her hips that were still grinding against him, making it very clear that she wasn't fighting the act itself - she was just fighting him in the midst of all this.
The shirt that Jess was wearing over his t-shirt was removed by her, angrily, nearly ripping it.
"This is how it's going to be, eh?" Jess responded, the hint of a smirk in his serious face, his palm gripping her ass firmly, possessively, in return.
As she landed another fierce and intense kiss on his lips, his hands were already lifting up her hem, the fact that he found no underwear underneath only made him let out an exhale of relief. Despite everything - his fingers discovered she was hot and soaking as they sunk between there thighs.
Her nails gripped at his arms, then hastily lifted his t-shirt over his head, followed by a bite into his shoulder, making him groan. Needing for the distracting pain, which actually had felt pretty damn good, to stop, he released his hold on her, leaving her momentarily speechless, almost beginning to beg for the contact to return. But just as she wasn't expecting it, he turned her around, lifting up her dress while his other hand hastily unbuckled his pants.
He plunged into her without warning, a moan escaping her lips, as she was bent over the counter, Jess still wearing most of his pants. Jess held her waist and pounded her like there was no tomorrow, feeling her curve her ass as if pressing more forefully against him, her feet raising to her toes, allowing better access. The room filled with slapping noises, grunting and the scent of sweat and sex. He kept thrusing - almost violently, and that was all that she wanted, numbing her brain.
Jess felt her clench together tightly, as if attempting to strangle him, milk him dry. She moaned, louder than she probably planned, her lower body shuddering, her tip-toe position stumblind down. Jess simply bent his knees a little more and kept thrusting, burying himself deep within her, taking the tightness for all it was worth. Then he came, feeling all of her heat as he continued to throb inside of her.
She eventually turned, burying her head into his chest, allowing his arms to hold her. They stayed like that for a while, a silent mediation of some sort. She was just so tired of the guilt and anger, having needed just this. Their discussions weren't through, but this had enabled the initial anger to disperse, putting it into alternative use.