*****
Rory stared critically at herself in the mirror, smoothing her skirt over her hips. She knew she was taking more care with her appearance than was usual, but was unsure if it was for Tristan's sake, or his parents'.
She didn't think they would take enough of a dislike to her to refuse to allow Tristan to escort her at this late stage, but she was still nervous about meeting them. What if they did hate her? What if Lorelai hated Tristan?
Sighing gloomily, she pulled on another top, but immediately wrenched it off in disgust. She burrowed into the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, searching for her original selection.
Rory was actually excited about the next day; she just had to get past this hurdle. She wished the dinner were taking place next week, not while she and Tristan were still untried. If they had already been successful - if Rory hadn't tripped over Tristan's feet, if he hadn't started macking on some random debutante in the middle of the dance floor - everyone would be far more relaxed, Rory included.
But nothing could lessen her enthusiasm. They had been practicing with Miss Patty all week, Rory secretly taking extra lessons in an attempt not to fall shamefully behind Tristan, and she was cautiously optimistic about her chances of not humiliating them both. Her grandmother would be delighted. Tristan would too; he had shown a tendency to tease, but had encouraged her to do all she could, and would be pleased it was so much.
She was nervous about seeing Tristan tonight. She hadn't seen much of him outside of the dance lessons, preferring to delay dealing with her developing emotions. Every time she saw him, she felt more, and she didn't know what to do with that. She couldn't ignore it forever, but she would try to postpone it until all this was over. She wasn't sure what she wanted from Tristan yet, and she had no clue what he wanted from her. If she knew that, his would all be a lot easier. He hadn't given any indication of wanting - anything - from her. If he had-- But he hadn't. So, she would wait, avoiding the awkwardness that would ensue if she were to speak now, and try to decide what she would say when the time came.
She was late. She tugged the lilac top free of the tangled ball of clothing, and ran down the stairs, pulling it over her head, attempting to shove her arms through the right holes.
"Mom?"
"Are you ready? Oh, here." Lorelai dragged the top down until Rory's head popped out, plucking at the cloth until it settled into place. "You're done, let's go!"
Watching the trees speed by, Rory concentrated on calming herself. She was going, she was on her way, there was nothing she could do now. She just had to be polite, and not spill anything, and everything would be fine.
She caught Lorelai glancing at her curiously, and turned to her in annoyance. "What?"
"You're very quiet."
Damn. "So are you. No complaints tonight?"
"I had a good day. Michel called in sick. All the extra work was worth the break."
Rory knew that she shouldn't ask, and she already knew what the answer would be, but she couldn't help it. "Not trying to get out of the dinner? I'm pretty sure Grandma wouldn't hunt you down and drag you there by your hair while the guests looked on."
"Dinner theatre is only for family parties. It's not worth the hassle. Besides, I want to see this kid. I'm curious."
"Why? I told you what he's like." Why wasn't she taking the opportunity to say good things about Tristan, try to change her mother's opinion of him?
"I know. But I still wanna see." They pulled into the driveway. Lorelai gazed at the house gloomily. "Maybe it is worth the hassle..." Rory briefly hoped that Lorelai would turn the car around, and save her from this. It would be all right, if she could blame it on her mother. Lorelai pulled the keys from the ignition, leaning over to open Rory's door. "Come on, inside."
**********
Tristan squeezed the toothpaste out of the bottom of the tube, swishing his brush under the running water.
The dinner had gone well, he thought. His father hadn't been nearly as offensive as he could have been, restrained by Richard Gilmore's presence. Inexplicably, he wouldn't insult children to their parents' faces. He had no problem trashing parents to their children. Parents were the ones who should have to deal with that stuff, not children. Still, Tristan didn't think that his father would have found anything to fault in Lorelai, even if he had had a free hand. Nor Rory, that went without saying.
His mother had been perfect, as usual. Charming, gracious, sweet. Rory had taken her fancy, and he believed the reverse was true.
He hadn't been able to tell what Lorelai's opinion of them was. She had covered all her thoughts with a coat of mildly disdainful humor just thick enough that he couldn't see what lay beneath it. Rory had seemed pleased, at least.
Rory. She had been beautiful. She had looked just as she always did, but she had held herself differently, with confident elegance. There had been one moment - one moment when she had faltered.
Mr. Gilmore wasn't a fan of his wife's new hobby, or the time it consumed. He had made some scathing remarks that had rolled right off her back and onto Rory's. She had shrugged them off, but Tristan could tell she had been upset. She hadn't let it affect her.
After dinner, they were ordered to entertain each other. Her room had been a revelation. It suited her in an odd sort of way; her grandmother had decorated it, so that made sense. Not a bad approximation of her personality, and a nice thought. There had been books, and posters, and a couple of CDs that Rory actually listened to.
She had wandered about, shyly pointing things out to him while he sat on her bed, watching her. Her skirt was loose, but its constant swaying had worked up static, and it was clinging to her. Her perfume tickled his nose, and he wondered what she would smell like without it.
Eventually she had bounced down on the bed, swinging her bare feet, licking her lips nervously. Her nails and toenails had been painted purple to match her clothes. She had pulled her hair from behind her ear, hiding her eyes from him, but he had still been able to see her wet mouth, moving, forming and discarding words.
Scenes had flashed behind his eyes in rapid succession, too real for comfort. Stopping her mouth with his; tracing her curves, teasing her, her body arching under his hands; sliding her top up over her breasts, pulling her bra cups down; shoving her skirt up over her hips; tugging at -
He had jumped off the bed, made noises about getting back down, and fairly bolted from the room. He hadn't been able to handle it, had been afraid of what he would try to do.
He couldn't do this to her. And he wouldn't do it to himself. It wasn't worth it, and it wasn't fair. He had been playing nice, and she was happy with that. He wouldn't try for anything more. It wasn't his fault he couldn't stop imagining it, but he could control his actions.
He dropped the toothbrush back into the cup, and left the room, slamming the door on his thoughts.
Rory stared critically at herself in the mirror, smoothing her skirt over her hips. She knew she was taking more care with her appearance than was usual, but was unsure if it was for Tristan's sake, or his parents'.
She didn't think they would take enough of a dislike to her to refuse to allow Tristan to escort her at this late stage, but she was still nervous about meeting them. What if they did hate her? What if Lorelai hated Tristan?
Sighing gloomily, she pulled on another top, but immediately wrenched it off in disgust. She burrowed into the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, searching for her original selection.
Rory was actually excited about the next day; she just had to get past this hurdle. She wished the dinner were taking place next week, not while she and Tristan were still untried. If they had already been successful - if Rory hadn't tripped over Tristan's feet, if he hadn't started macking on some random debutante in the middle of the dance floor - everyone would be far more relaxed, Rory included.
But nothing could lessen her enthusiasm. They had been practicing with Miss Patty all week, Rory secretly taking extra lessons in an attempt not to fall shamefully behind Tristan, and she was cautiously optimistic about her chances of not humiliating them both. Her grandmother would be delighted. Tristan would too; he had shown a tendency to tease, but had encouraged her to do all she could, and would be pleased it was so much.
She was nervous about seeing Tristan tonight. She hadn't seen much of him outside of the dance lessons, preferring to delay dealing with her developing emotions. Every time she saw him, she felt more, and she didn't know what to do with that. She couldn't ignore it forever, but she would try to postpone it until all this was over. She wasn't sure what she wanted from Tristan yet, and she had no clue what he wanted from her. If she knew that, his would all be a lot easier. He hadn't given any indication of wanting - anything - from her. If he had-- But he hadn't. So, she would wait, avoiding the awkwardness that would ensue if she were to speak now, and try to decide what she would say when the time came.
She was late. She tugged the lilac top free of the tangled ball of clothing, and ran down the stairs, pulling it over her head, attempting to shove her arms through the right holes.
"Mom?"
"Are you ready? Oh, here." Lorelai dragged the top down until Rory's head popped out, plucking at the cloth until it settled into place. "You're done, let's go!"
Watching the trees speed by, Rory concentrated on calming herself. She was going, she was on her way, there was nothing she could do now. She just had to be polite, and not spill anything, and everything would be fine.
She caught Lorelai glancing at her curiously, and turned to her in annoyance. "What?"
"You're very quiet."
Damn. "So are you. No complaints tonight?"
"I had a good day. Michel called in sick. All the extra work was worth the break."
Rory knew that she shouldn't ask, and she already knew what the answer would be, but she couldn't help it. "Not trying to get out of the dinner? I'm pretty sure Grandma wouldn't hunt you down and drag you there by your hair while the guests looked on."
"Dinner theatre is only for family parties. It's not worth the hassle. Besides, I want to see this kid. I'm curious."
"Why? I told you what he's like." Why wasn't she taking the opportunity to say good things about Tristan, try to change her mother's opinion of him?
"I know. But I still wanna see." They pulled into the driveway. Lorelai gazed at the house gloomily. "Maybe it is worth the hassle..." Rory briefly hoped that Lorelai would turn the car around, and save her from this. It would be all right, if she could blame it on her mother. Lorelai pulled the keys from the ignition, leaning over to open Rory's door. "Come on, inside."
**********
Tristan squeezed the toothpaste out of the bottom of the tube, swishing his brush under the running water.
The dinner had gone well, he thought. His father hadn't been nearly as offensive as he could have been, restrained by Richard Gilmore's presence. Inexplicably, he wouldn't insult children to their parents' faces. He had no problem trashing parents to their children. Parents were the ones who should have to deal with that stuff, not children. Still, Tristan didn't think that his father would have found anything to fault in Lorelai, even if he had had a free hand. Nor Rory, that went without saying.
His mother had been perfect, as usual. Charming, gracious, sweet. Rory had taken her fancy, and he believed the reverse was true.
He hadn't been able to tell what Lorelai's opinion of them was. She had covered all her thoughts with a coat of mildly disdainful humor just thick enough that he couldn't see what lay beneath it. Rory had seemed pleased, at least.
Rory. She had been beautiful. She had looked just as she always did, but she had held herself differently, with confident elegance. There had been one moment - one moment when she had faltered.
Mr. Gilmore wasn't a fan of his wife's new hobby, or the time it consumed. He had made some scathing remarks that had rolled right off her back and onto Rory's. She had shrugged them off, but Tristan could tell she had been upset. She hadn't let it affect her.
After dinner, they were ordered to entertain each other. Her room had been a revelation. It suited her in an odd sort of way; her grandmother had decorated it, so that made sense. Not a bad approximation of her personality, and a nice thought. There had been books, and posters, and a couple of CDs that Rory actually listened to.
She had wandered about, shyly pointing things out to him while he sat on her bed, watching her. Her skirt was loose, but its constant swaying had worked up static, and it was clinging to her. Her perfume tickled his nose, and he wondered what she would smell like without it.
Eventually she had bounced down on the bed, swinging her bare feet, licking her lips nervously. Her nails and toenails had been painted purple to match her clothes. She had pulled her hair from behind her ear, hiding her eyes from him, but he had still been able to see her wet mouth, moving, forming and discarding words.
Scenes had flashed behind his eyes in rapid succession, too real for comfort. Stopping her mouth with his; tracing her curves, teasing her, her body arching under his hands; sliding her top up over her breasts, pulling her bra cups down; shoving her skirt up over her hips; tugging at -
He had jumped off the bed, made noises about getting back down, and fairly bolted from the room. He hadn't been able to handle it, had been afraid of what he would try to do.
He couldn't do this to her. And he wouldn't do it to himself. It wasn't worth it, and it wasn't fair. He had been playing nice, and she was happy with that. He wouldn't try for anything more. It wasn't his fault he couldn't stop imagining it, but he could control his actions.
He dropped the toothbrush back into the cup, and left the room, slamming the door on his thoughts.