I Miss You
Chapter 18: (whether) Far or Soon
She flies into her mother's arms. They embrace tightly, tears trickling silently from their matching eyes. Her long anticipated homecoming is a solemn event, a far cry from the joyous fanfare and celebration that Lorelai had wanted it to be. But today there is no cause for celebration. Dean had been laid to rest the previous day. She had been unable to make it back in time.
She is finally beginning to accept that he is, indeed, dead. Her last memories of him are still their chance encounter in Rome. She cannot begin to understand how what she knows to be cold hard fact can conflict so cruelly with her crystal clear recollection. She can picture every gesture, every inflection in his voice of every word he spoke to her that day. It couldn't have been a lie. It couldn't have been.
Her mother gently takes her arm and leads her toward the exit. She is anxious to talk to her daughter about her befuddling reaction to the tragic news. She could chalk it up to drowsiness, or maybe even the infamous Gilmore flights of fancy, but she needs to hear the reason. For her own peace of mind. She can't explain why her daughter had so lucidly informed her that Dean was not dead and that she had seen him that same day. She has theories, of course. If there's one thing Lorelai Gilmore always has, it's a reason for everything.
They pull up to the front of the house. It has remained the same, despite the passage of time. Those old feelings of warmth and love sweep over Rory as she drinks in the sight of her home. It's good to know there are some things a girl can always count on, she muses silently. Christmas lights are delicately woven through the wood railing of the porch. Icicle lights dangle from the roof. A life-size plastic Santa greets her from the porch swing, his mouth perpetually open in a good natured laugh and his eyes twinkling in merriment. She is shocked to realize that Christmas is just around the corner. It has never even occurred to her that the holidays are almost upon them.
Her mother wastes no time. "Let's talk."
They haven't even gotten out of the car yet. They choose to have the conversation in the car, encased in the rapidly cooling air and surrounding darkness.
"I don't know what to say. I could have sworn..." She leaves her sentence unfinished.
"Honey, just tell me. You know that I won't think you're crazy."
They share a brief smile over that one.
"Mom," she says slowly. "Do you believe that it's possible for us to talk to the dead?"
"As in the Haley Joel Osment 'I see dead people' sort of way?"
"Well, yeah, actually."
"You're serious? This from the girl who refuses to bow down to the power of the almighty Ouija board?"
"You were always the one moving the pointer thingy, trying to spell out Brad Pitt's name whenever we asked it who you were going to marry!"
"Lies. All lies. He was always too blond for me anyway."
Silence.
"Is this what you think happened to you?"
"I don't know how else to explain it. He was there, Mom. I know he was. But if he was there, then he couldn't have died in New York. But he did."
"Theoretically speaking, let's say that Dean's ghost did appear to you post-mortem. Why? Why you? Why not his family or fiancée?"
Rory ponders. Good questions.
"What did he talk to you about?"
"Love. Relationships. Tristin."
"No way!"
"Rory, that's just too good to be true! Think about it in a Hollywood sort of way." Lorelai is already off and running. "Your first love appears from beyond the grave to encourage you to go for it with your one true love, who stole you away from him in the first place! This is perfect!"
"You're forgetting one thing. This is real life mom! I don't believe in ghosts or witches or things that go bump in the night. The only thing I know is that he was there. I'm sure of it." Her eyes begin to fill with tears as she realizes that she will never reach a satisfying conclusion.
"Honey, I think you're focusing too much on the obvious here. Go with me on this." Her brow scrunches in deep concentration. "Okay, explanation one. Dean comes back from the dead to tell you to go for it with Tristin. Or, explanation two, you dreamed the whole thing, and your subconscious told you to go for it with Tristin."
"Either way, you think I should go for it with Tristin."
"There's my brainiac daughter."
Rory sighs.
"Ror, I don't mean to take this lightly or be insensitive. But either way, what is your heart telling you?"
"I've debated and pondered and analyzed and overanalyzed. I don't know anymore. I just don't know."
"Can I just say one more thing and then I'll shut up?"
"Speak."
"You know how everyone used to know that Luke and I belonged together except for me?"
"Point taken."
"I think it runs in the family," she finishes wickedly.
The next morning she takes a small bouquet of flowers to his grave. She doesn't know what kind of flowers bloom in the winter or where the satiny blossoms she carries came from, but it doesn't matter. She traces the name carved in the cold stone with her eyes. So here it is, she thinks. The proof that I'm either clairvoyant or insane. Talk about splitting hairs...
She shakes her head. Maybe her mother is right. Does it matter whether he was there or not? She has been agonizing so much over whether she is right or wrong that she has lost sight of the fact that she has lost a friend. She props the bouquet against the headstone, away from the pile of flowers heaped over the loose soil. She remembers every moment they spent together and how each affected her. She allows herself to grieve. And when she finally dries her eyes and returns to her car, she knows what she has to do.
He pulls around the circular driveway to the front of the mansion. His car is almost overflowing with gifts and purchases. He grabs as much as he can carry and staggers to the front door. He almost trips over her.
Her voice stops him cold as he drops everything on the expensive marble. "Hi."
That's it. Just a simple 'hi.' He feels he shouldn't be surprised. He says the only thing he can think of. "Hey Ror."
18/21
Chapter 18: (whether) Far or Soon
She flies into her mother's arms. They embrace tightly, tears trickling silently from their matching eyes. Her long anticipated homecoming is a solemn event, a far cry from the joyous fanfare and celebration that Lorelai had wanted it to be. But today there is no cause for celebration. Dean had been laid to rest the previous day. She had been unable to make it back in time.
She is finally beginning to accept that he is, indeed, dead. Her last memories of him are still their chance encounter in Rome. She cannot begin to understand how what she knows to be cold hard fact can conflict so cruelly with her crystal clear recollection. She can picture every gesture, every inflection in his voice of every word he spoke to her that day. It couldn't have been a lie. It couldn't have been.
Her mother gently takes her arm and leads her toward the exit. She is anxious to talk to her daughter about her befuddling reaction to the tragic news. She could chalk it up to drowsiness, or maybe even the infamous Gilmore flights of fancy, but she needs to hear the reason. For her own peace of mind. She can't explain why her daughter had so lucidly informed her that Dean was not dead and that she had seen him that same day. She has theories, of course. If there's one thing Lorelai Gilmore always has, it's a reason for everything.
They pull up to the front of the house. It has remained the same, despite the passage of time. Those old feelings of warmth and love sweep over Rory as she drinks in the sight of her home. It's good to know there are some things a girl can always count on, she muses silently. Christmas lights are delicately woven through the wood railing of the porch. Icicle lights dangle from the roof. A life-size plastic Santa greets her from the porch swing, his mouth perpetually open in a good natured laugh and his eyes twinkling in merriment. She is shocked to realize that Christmas is just around the corner. It has never even occurred to her that the holidays are almost upon them.
Her mother wastes no time. "Let's talk."
They haven't even gotten out of the car yet. They choose to have the conversation in the car, encased in the rapidly cooling air and surrounding darkness.
"I don't know what to say. I could have sworn..." She leaves her sentence unfinished.
"Honey, just tell me. You know that I won't think you're crazy."
They share a brief smile over that one.
"Mom," she says slowly. "Do you believe that it's possible for us to talk to the dead?"
"As in the Haley Joel Osment 'I see dead people' sort of way?"
"Well, yeah, actually."
"You're serious? This from the girl who refuses to bow down to the power of the almighty Ouija board?"
"You were always the one moving the pointer thingy, trying to spell out Brad Pitt's name whenever we asked it who you were going to marry!"
"Lies. All lies. He was always too blond for me anyway."
Silence.
"Is this what you think happened to you?"
"I don't know how else to explain it. He was there, Mom. I know he was. But if he was there, then he couldn't have died in New York. But he did."
"Theoretically speaking, let's say that Dean's ghost did appear to you post-mortem. Why? Why you? Why not his family or fiancée?"
Rory ponders. Good questions.
"What did he talk to you about?"
"Love. Relationships. Tristin."
"No way!"
"Rory, that's just too good to be true! Think about it in a Hollywood sort of way." Lorelai is already off and running. "Your first love appears from beyond the grave to encourage you to go for it with your one true love, who stole you away from him in the first place! This is perfect!"
"You're forgetting one thing. This is real life mom! I don't believe in ghosts or witches or things that go bump in the night. The only thing I know is that he was there. I'm sure of it." Her eyes begin to fill with tears as she realizes that she will never reach a satisfying conclusion.
"Honey, I think you're focusing too much on the obvious here. Go with me on this." Her brow scrunches in deep concentration. "Okay, explanation one. Dean comes back from the dead to tell you to go for it with Tristin. Or, explanation two, you dreamed the whole thing, and your subconscious told you to go for it with Tristin."
"Either way, you think I should go for it with Tristin."
"There's my brainiac daughter."
Rory sighs.
"Ror, I don't mean to take this lightly or be insensitive. But either way, what is your heart telling you?"
"I've debated and pondered and analyzed and overanalyzed. I don't know anymore. I just don't know."
"Can I just say one more thing and then I'll shut up?"
"Speak."
"You know how everyone used to know that Luke and I belonged together except for me?"
"Point taken."
"I think it runs in the family," she finishes wickedly.
The next morning she takes a small bouquet of flowers to his grave. She doesn't know what kind of flowers bloom in the winter or where the satiny blossoms she carries came from, but it doesn't matter. She traces the name carved in the cold stone with her eyes. So here it is, she thinks. The proof that I'm either clairvoyant or insane. Talk about splitting hairs...
She shakes her head. Maybe her mother is right. Does it matter whether he was there or not? She has been agonizing so much over whether she is right or wrong that she has lost sight of the fact that she has lost a friend. She props the bouquet against the headstone, away from the pile of flowers heaped over the loose soil. She remembers every moment they spent together and how each affected her. She allows herself to grieve. And when she finally dries her eyes and returns to her car, she knows what she has to do.
He pulls around the circular driveway to the front of the mansion. His car is almost overflowing with gifts and purchases. He grabs as much as he can carry and staggers to the front door. He almost trips over her.
Her voice stops him cold as he drops everything on the expensive marble. "Hi."
That's it. Just a simple 'hi.' He feels he shouldn't be surprised. He says the only thing he can think of. "Hey Ror."
18/21