The Wurlitzer Prize
Part Six: A Book Nobody Will Read
Author's Note: Thank you to all of you who review. I really enjoy reading them and I hope you enjoy reading this story.
Dedications: First of all, to emrie, without whom this story would be nowhere. Also to Kate, Marissa, Chris, Elise and Hadar. Thank you ladies.
It's still fairly early when Rory wakes up the next morning, sprawled comfortably on Jess. Her leg is flung over his, her hand flat on his chest, her hair all over his shoulder. Trying not to move too suddenly, Rory tilts her head to get a better angle. His eyes are shut and his mouth is open slightly as he snores lightly. A pale feeling pillows in Rory's stomach as she recalls mornings in this same position from a long time ago.
As if sensing her activity, Jess wakes up. He looks a little disoriented when he first sees her there. "Rory," he murmurs, his voice thick and hoarse with sleep.
"Hi," Rory breathes, admiring him in the green-filtered sunlight.
Jess stretches and makes a noise. Rory rolls off of him a little, making sure the sheet is drawn around her. Everything looks uglier in the morning light, especially women. Last night, Jess couldn't see all of Rory; she was protected. But now, he's free to look at every aspect of her, and that makes her uneasy for some reason. He quits stretching and looks at her. They have nothing to say to each other.
"I should go," Rory whispers, wanting to cry. She's gotten herself into a terrible mess. He's taken another one of her precious splinters.
Jess says nothing, just reaches out and touches her cheek with his finger. Knowing this can't last, Rory turns her face away. Why get used to something she'll never have?
"Rory?"
"I'm sorry," Rory says, sliding out from under the sheets as quickly as possible. Her underwear is nowhere to be found, but everything's harder to see through tears. She finally locates them by the chair leg and puts them on. Not bothering with her bra, she yanks her dress over her head and jams her feet into her shoes.
Jess intercepts her by the door. "Hit and run?" he asks.
"Kind of," Rory admits. There aren't any secrets now. "This was stupid."
"Yeah," Jess agrees. They stare at each other. "I miss you," he confesses very quietly. Rory knows from experience that anything relating to emotion is tough for Jess.
"Jess, don't make me feel guilty."
"I'm not."
"You are. This was dumb and I just want to leave and forget it. I did not come to my mother's wedding to sleep with my ex-boyfriend."
"And you think I did?"
"You don't have too many ex-boyfriends," Rory says immaturely.
"Rory."
"Don't." Rory crosses her arms. "No matter how nice you are this morning, it's just one morning. A relationship is more than one morning, Jess."
"I know."
"You do? Because I don't think you really do."
"I've—"
"Changed?"
"Well, yeah."
"The last time I saw you, it didn't seem like you'd changed much."
"I was surprised."
"So every time you're surprised, you turn into a jerk?" Rory asks, looking in his face.
"Look, I wasn't expecting you to just drop by. I mean, come on, no phone call, no postcard, nothing for God knows how long and then you show up on my doorstep? How would you react?"
"Well, I'd be more polite."
"You say that now," Jess says.
"This isn't helping," Rory sighs, tired.
"Fine."
They stand there, awkwardly positioned by the door at an impasse. Neither wants to start the next branch of conversation, but neither wants to leave.
"This won't work, Jess."
"Why?"
"I—we're—remember what happened the last time we tried this?"
"Things are different, Rory."
"I live in Boston. I have a life, a job. You live in New York. That's kind of a problem."
Jess says nothing, just stares past her head at the door. "Right," he says, sounding deflated.
At the disappointment in his voice, Rory softens a little, like a mother might toward her little boy. "I'm sorry I dragged us into this, Jess."
"Yeah, well, it took both of us."
"Yes, but I initiated it."
"Look, Rory, you don't have to try to make me feel better, all right?" Like a glint of light on metal, Jess' tone has changed again. It's full of bitterness now, a torrential downpour of pain and harshness. "Last night doesn't matter. It's always the same. You're the Harvard graduate with a reputation to keep up and I'm just the underachieving bum."
"Jess, that's not true."
A harsh laugh peters out through his lips. "Sure, Rory. You're going to walk out the door and worry about whether or not people saw you. You never change."
Tears sting Rory's eyes. "This is what I'm talking about. You're not surprised now."
"I thought maybe you had changed."
"I didn't come to my mother's wedding to sleep with you."
"Why do you keep saying that? What the hell does that mean?"
"It means—it means—" Rory struggles to find a word, a phrase that might free her from the burning gaze. The truth is, Rory has no idea why she said it. She supposes she said it just to let Jess know that this wasn't how she envisioned their reconciliation. "It means exactly what I said," Rory finally mutters.
"Fine," Jess says again.
"I didn't even know you were going to be here," Rory continues.
"Dean isn't behind you."
"What?"
"You don't need to justify yourself to me. I get it."
Rory takes a deep breath. They don't need to argue right now. Rory doesn't want to walk away from here knowing that she and Jess ended on a bad note. "Can we just talk?" she asks quietly.
A long pause. Out of the corner of her eye, Rory can see Jess considering. "Fine," he relents and they sit on the edge of the bed.
The clock ticks loudly as Rory considers what to say. "Are you, um, with…anyone?" she asks, the first question that pops into her head.
"No."
"I thought you said—in New York—"
"We broke up."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"Okay."
"How about you?" he asks, his eyes diligently not focused on her.
"No. No," Rory repeats, wanting to laugh.
This is certainly the strangest conversation Rory has ever taken part in. It makes her sad, these two people who used to be so intimate, now almost incapable of exchanging ten normal words.
"You, uh, heading back today?"
"I think so," Rory replies. "You?"
"Yeah."
"I was in love with you," Rory blurts out. She has wanted to tell him this for the longest time, to let him know how much he hurt her. "I wanted to marry you," Rory almost whispers.
"Rory…"
"And I was so stupid. I thought you were going to ask me, but you broke my heart instead."
"Don't," Jess says, looking away, down at the floor with his clothes strewn about.
"I never got to tell you this." Jess says nothing. Rory knows it's his defense mechanism to get silent when he might get hurt. "But," she sighs, "I guess you were never really the type to get married."
"I wasn't good enough," Jess murmurs, so low Rory almost doesn't catch it.
"All you had to do was ask." Rory looks around them. It's almost funny; not so long ago, she was set on them getting married and now—now they've having a one-night stand in her mother's inn. "I think…I think that's why I'm not married."
"Me."
"Well, yeah. I mean, the idea of you. I thought I would never be like Luke, pining for someone, but…"
"Turned out all right for Luke."
Rory looks at him. He is turned partially to her, a small glint in his eye. She smiles, relieved that he's broken the tension. "Yeah, I guess it did." He turns to her in profile and Rory remembers how beautiful he is. Jess is almost too beautiful for a man. Her hand wanders and bumps tenderly down his sharp cheekbone and the slant of his jaw. She can see the expansion of his chest and back as he takes a deep breath. "Why didn't you ask me, Jess?"
"Rory, come on."
"I want to know." She cradles his chin in her palm and lifts his face toward herself.
Jess takes her wrist and sets her hand back in her lap. It's easier to say these things without the dim satin of her touch on him. "Do you remember when we first started dating?"
"Of course."
"Your mother told me that I didn't deserve you."
Rory waits for him to expound, but he doesn't. "That's it? My mom said something ten years ago and…and you just…just let it…" She can't even finish her sentence; the words are captive behind a thick, dense net.
"She was right."
She knows that reassuring him will serve no good. Instead, she fixates on the ground, her iridescent nail polish, the posh carpeting. Memories from a long time ago are besetting her, and no matter how Rory tries to crouch behind the protection of her willpower, her subconscious ultimately triumphs.
Most people hate the snow, but Rory loves it. She loves the way it falls in opaque veils, slowing people down, ensuring a quiet day at home. Snow means donuts and silent strolls and a day with her book. Snow means bad TV to mock and long hot showers and wool socks. Snow means a whole day with Jess in their cozy apartment.
Unearthing herself from the blankets on the couch, Rory shuffles into the kitchen. As usual, their heat has gone out at the most inconvenient time and it's freezing in their tiny abode. Jess is standing at the stove, stirring soup for lunch and Rory pauses at the doorway to look at him.
"Yes?" he asks after some time.
Rory never understands how he knows she's there. She supposes it's like her mother and the snow; there's no explanation. "What kind are you making?"
"Chicken noodle," Jess answers, dropping some bread in the toaster.
"Gourmet," Rory teases, entering the kitchen.
Jess smiles at her and Rory crosses the cheap linoleum flooring to stand next to him.
"What do I do?" Rory asks, poised and ready to cook.
"Nothing. I still want an apartment when we're done," Jess says.
"Hey, it's just soup."
"That's what you said about the Hamburger Helper."
"They should have put a warning about the milk on the back."
"And the Rice-A-Roni."
"How was I supposed to know?"
"And the instant potatoes."
"Anyone could have made that mistake."
"Or the refried beans."
"No one told me not to seal it."
"You're a smart girl. I was cleaning refried beans out of our microwave for an hour," Jess says, although his voice is affectionate.
"Fine. I'll butter toast."
"Think you can handle it? I mean, you'll be using a knife."
Rory glares at him and grabs a knife out of the drawer. "I'd be careful if I were you," Rory says, swinging her hips as she walks the three steps to the toaster.
"I'll keep an eye open," Jess says dryly, gently agitating the soup.
"I can be very sneaky," Rory warns as she slathers the butter onto the bread generously.
"Don't I know it."
Rory grins to herself and drop the toast onto a plate. They have a small two-person table by the window and Rory leans her elbows on it as she watches the snow fall. It's breathtaking, the encompassing white. She hears Jess come out of the kitchen. He reaches around one side and puts and bowl down, then the other. He stands directly behind her and wraps his arms around her hips, resting his head on her shoulder.
"It's beautiful," Rory breathes.
Jess' voice tickles her neck when he talks. "It's a catastrophe. There are cars crashing and power lines down—"
"Shut up," Rory reprimands. "It's beautiful."
Jess makes a sound and kisses her neck. These are the kinds of moments Rory loves: just her and Jess, the quiet, the privacy and solitude that comes with the snow. She slowly rotates in his arms to face him and touches her lips to his.
After a long while, he breaks away. "The soup," he tells and sits.
She takes her seat across from him and they eat in silence, daydreaming, musing, knowing what comes next in their snowy sonnet.
They leave the dishes on the table. Rory hates leaving dishes on the table; anything left out makes their apartment look shabby. But right now, in the torrid heat of the moment, in their frigid apartment, it doesn't matter.
Jess leans in leisurely to kiss her and Rory responds warmly, her poodle-scattered pajamas feeling feverishly hot. She isn't sure what it is about Jess that ignites such an immediate, fervent response in her. For some strange reason, "Dirty Dancing" pops into her head and Rory smiles against Jess' mouth.
"What?" he whispers, moving on to her ear.
"Well, here I am honey, come on, come on, and cry to me," Rory warbles in a poor imitation of Solomon Burke.
Jess chuckles into her eardrum and Rory shivers. "When you're all alone," Jess murmurs, "in your lonely room…"
Deliberately, Rory drags her leg up Jess'. He catches her knee and she dips backward against his other arm. They spin around and Rory giggles. Jess smiles at her and raises her arms above her head to take her pajama top off.
Rory's winter-wan skin almost glows in the fading gray light of the evening and Jess drags his lips along her collarbone. Trembling, Rory wraps her arms around him and clings, for his warmth. "Jess," she whispers, tugging at his shirt. He lets her take it off and tosses it on the couch. Very softly, he pulls her in until their hips are flush. Understanding, Rory parts her legs and lets one of his slide between. They languidly sway to the mutually sensed music.
Some time later, wrapped up in the familiar blankets of their bed, Rory rolls over and faces Jess in the saffron light from their small lamp. Tilting her head, she props herself up on her elbows, drawing them into her breasts to support herself.
Jess looks back at her, his bedroom eyes darker than usual in the dusky light. Looking at him, Rory slowly shifts and rearranges until she's on top of him, straddling him. He twines their hands together, letting her lean on him.
"The soup was good," Rory finally says to break the silence.
Jess smirks. "Obviously."
She hits him gently on the shoulder. He laughs and she enjoys the sonorous sound, the way he bounces her slightly. Taking one hand out of his grip, she traces the sinew in his arms, hardened from manual labor. When she looks into his eyes, he knows what she's thinking and he gingerly brings his arms down so she lays on him. Chest to chest, skin to skin, cold to cold, they breathe.
Snapping out of her long, sweet reminiscence, Rory's gaze roams to Jess' face. She knows he's caught in a memory too. Very quietly, Rory rises and kisses his head. "I'm sorry, Jess," she says.
"Yeah," he says, "me too."
"I'll…I'll see you around." Lame though it is, it's all Rory can think of. She leaves, careful not to make too much noise. Outside the door, she turns and leans against it. An errant tear puddles on her cheek and is soon followed.
Inside, Jess puts his head in his hands, looking at the floor, at his clothes scattered all over. He notices a wrapper on the floor and sighs, tossing it in the garbage can along with the used product. Parting the curtains just a bit, he looks outside. There's no snow.