Chapter Four: Lorelai
Rory was playing music with her door shut again. She had the phone, too. I'm not used to my baby acting like the teenager she is. While the Emily Gilmore in me wants to (s)mother her, the Lorelai Gilmore lets me give Rory her space. She'll let me in again when she's ready.
I could use some time alone with my rambly thoughts, too, which is why I'm sitting on the front porch in the dark.
And yet, the sight of Luke trudging up the walk was, I realized then, exactly what I'd been waiting for.
He sat beside me on the glider without saying a word. This is what I love about my friendship with Luke. With Sookie -- though I love her dearly -- we always have to chat. And chatting's good. World class, award-winning chatter here, two-years running. But with Luke, I can sulk. I can sit here quietly (for once), and he understands.
He was in flannel, of course. If I was ever on a cruise ship, and got kidnapped by pirates, and they told me I had to draw the pattern of all of Luke's flannel shirts -- supplying the art materials, of course -- or walk the plank, I could do it.
I scooted a little closer and linked our elbows. He took my hand and covered it with both of his. Tense muscles I hadn't been aware of unknotted in my neck and shoulders. I had spent all day hugging people who needed it, keeping the food stocked, and taking care of everyone else's emotions. Someone providing my requisite need for affection was exactly what I'd pined for all day. And yet, in that utterly content moment, I felt the faintest tug of loneliness.
"Was the diner busy tonight?" I asked.
I felt his shrug against my shoulder. "Usual. Closed early." He looked at me. "How are you?"
I almost selected one of the many polite answers I'd been issuing the past few days before I realized that Luke actually wanted to know. "Exhausted. Emotionally wrecked. I feel like a Stretch Armstrong doll that's been pulled in a million directions until my arms popped open and all my goo dribbled out."
"How . . . graphic."
"But I'm a little better now that it's over. All that waiting in the hospital. . . . It's a 'this is done' tired, and I think that's good. Things can be normal now. I mean, not that they will . . ."
"You're in the 'normal-again' stage," he said.
"Huh?" I asked.
"Y'kno, the stages. When someone dies, there's stages. First, there's the initial, ykno, event."
I nodded; 'event' was a more accurate euphemism than 'pass away,' which sounded gentle and soothing and nothing like the ordeal that it was.
"Then, everyone's surrounding you and trying to help," he said. "And then people go away, and things are supposed to be normal, or whatever the new normal is going to be."
"Well, right now I feel sad and lost, and about twelve years old."
"You do?" He sounded surprised. "You seemed so . . . together."
"Oh, ha ha, fooled you. The Lorelai on display today was Mature Responsible Lorelai. She was covering for Grieving Childish Lorelai, who was busy crying in a corner."
"Which Lorelai is here now?"
"This Lorelai feels something like Little Red Ridinghood . . . except no one dies in that story . . . and they never mention Red's father. I wonder why."
"I have no idea."
If I was confusing him, or boring him, I knew he didn't really mind. I curled up on the glider and rested my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, slowly tracing patterns on my arm with his thumb. It felt so nice -- relaxing -- that I ignored the alarm bells going off in the back of my mind.
"Rory up there?" He indicated the source of the music.
"Just her, Sarah McLachlan, and the phone."
"Not taking it well?"
"I think she is. Relatively. She's just acting like a teenager," I said with irritation.
"How dare she act her age."
"Really! How weird is that? We never did that."
"We were obedient and respectful and never gave our parents anything to worry about."
I'd missed his droll, mocking voice all day.
"I think she's mad at me," I admitted.
"Why?"
"For not getting along with her grandparents. For keeping her away from them, for – " For the first time that day, I let loose the tears that I'd been holding back since I woke up this morning.
Luke let me soak his collar. The flannel was soft against my cheek and his arms felt strong and permanent. I felt ridiculous for being thirty-plus years old and basking in a guy's protection. I'd taken care of myself since I was sixteen. But that was just it: I had been a kid one day and a mom the next. I supposed it was okay if I sometimes needed a moment like this.
"I feel like I missed out on something incredibly important," I said into Luke's neck. "And I did. When I was little, my dad used to take me horseback riding. But then I got older, and moodier, and he was always working and I was hiding in my room and I hardly saw him anymore. I always thought that someday, after he retired, or after things settled down, or in some distant mythical time when the stuff in our past wasn't important anymore, he'd let me be close to him again. But the past just kept coming up. We'd store up stuff to argue about like little squirrels with nuts.
"But then I realize that Rory loves him. She's their golden child. And I still pulled away from them. I thought it would only be my life if I lived it alone, cuz knowing me, I have to be all, 'it's me against the world.' I feel so alone, Luke."
"C'mon, in this town? Everyone loves you and Rory. You've got friends and neighbors and . . . lots of friends. Rory doesn't blame you for anything. You did what you had to do, she knows that."
I sat back out of his embrace. "I know. I know she understands." I physically shook off my maudlin mood like a puppy shaking off water. "Ughh! I just . . . tonight I'm in a mood to blame myself. Sanity will come in the morning, I promise."
"I hope so." His hand was creating a patch of warmth on my arm. Pure concern was written on his face. We were so close.
"Thanks for letting me freak you out with all of that." I leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
"You didn't freak me out."
The moment hovered; I knew he was searching my face. I dropped my gaze. My mind was utterly blank. This awful day and his gentle voice and concerned expression had drained my inhibition. I leaned forward. I kissed him.
Later I would say that I meant it as a friendly peck. But the kiss dwindled. Any desire to salvage the moment died when he began to kiss me back. Luke is a good kisser, I learned.
We parted. I've seen that look before.
Reality slapped me upside the head with a hearty thwap! Luke! I just kissed Luke! Regret was instant and palpable; but like the first second of a burn, I knew the true, searing agony was only to come.
"I'm sorry!" I gasped. My face was hot. "Luke – I – I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."
"It's okay," he said stonily. He stood to leave.
"This day has been so awful and you've been the best shoulder to cry on, and I know that doesn't mean 'please attack me' but you're here and male and stuff -- which you already know. And I haven't had sex since Chr-anyway, that's not important." Any other day, I would have been proud of eliciting a shocked expression on Luke's unflappable face.
"Lorelai," he held his hands in front of him, palms towards me. "It's okay. Don't worry about it."
"I'm really sorry."
"I know."
We stood there in that eternally horrific moment.
"Um--" "Well--"
"You said you were tired, so -- " he said.
"Yeah. Tired. Really tired. Straight to bed with me."
"Yeah, well . . . good night."
"Goodnight!" I wished that hadn't come out so fake.
I retreated inside. The door against my back felt like a shield. I stood
there in the most pure, unfiltered embarrassment I'd felt since I'd spent
an hour at my parents' 1980 Christmas banquet with the back of my dress
tucked into my pantyhose. I would have given up coffee and ice cream and
coffee ice cream and whipped cream and anything else from the sugar family
for a Delorian and Michael J. Fox. I couldn't begin to explain my behavior,
and I didn't want to try.
At least the night wasn't a total loss. Sometime in the night, Rory climbed into my bed.
"'Night, Mom." She whispered.
Without opening my eyes, I asked, "Are you okay?"
"I'm better. Sorry for being snippy."
"You were just using your 'One Free Day of Snippiness when you Buy a Night of Moodiness' coupon. 'Night, baby."
www.gurlpages.com/ofnone