The fourth day passed, the fifth. Rory had had some vague notion that time would make this easier, but she still had no idea what she was going to do. She had a sneaking suspicion that she'd dump Jess right before the deadline, as out of the blue as if she'd done it in the first hour.
She was surprisingly relieved that she was no longer concealing anything from her mother. She'd known it was a weight, but she hadn't been aware of just how heavy it was. On the downside, she was going to avoid her grandmother until doomsday. Scheduled for Friday night, as usual.
Even on the sixth day, that seemed aeons away as they lingered over coffee in Hartford. Well, everybody else lingered; Rory was on her third cup.
She'd wanted to spend time with Tristan, hadn't wanted to wait, but it was stranger than it had ever been, and they'd always had their moments. She could feel the potential waiting to explode; she sometimes felt like they were sitting on a bomb, but she just wanted to speed up the clock.
And her mother was right: It was wonderful to have time to kill when you had something so enjoyable to not do. It was only excitement that was spurring Rory on. Things could be even more enjoyable, and patience had never been one of her primary virtues.
She got distracted watching Tristan stir sugar into his coffee. He obviously had no intention of drinking it; he didn't take sugar. Rory was mildly offended that he hadn't offered it to her, even if she hadn't yet made a start on her own. Mostly, though, she was pleased to look at him when he was so involved with something. Usually, he'd be staring right back, eyebrow raised, challenging her. It was nice just to be able to look.
She didn't look away until he reached for a second packet, and she thought she might have looked a little too long. Tristan wasn't asking questions with his eyes, but Henry was, his knowing smile growing as she blushed. Thank God Lane was at the counter. Although if Henry had figured it out, she must have too. That was a conversation for Day Eight.
Lane returned with an espresso, which didn't prolong their stay. Everybody was waiting for her to finish, and she soon gave in, rising, and snagging Tristan's chocolate as well as her own.
With nothing to do, they ended up trailing back to Stars Hollow. It was a shorter trip than usual, but even in the middle of a weekday afternoon it surprised Rory how many cars there were in the world. She supposed it shouldn't have: their group had two. Lane went with Henry, Rory with Tristan. They both seemed to think it an equitable division of the spoils.
Tristan drove much faster than Henry, but it didn't set off any alarm bells. Rory was reluctant to get out of the car when they pulled up at the Diner; she'd been perfectly content buckled into her little bubble. The transition from comfort to Tristan and Jess sharing airspace would be particularly unwelcome. But she crawled onto the pavement anyway, leading Tristan inside too slowly.
Luke caught her eye as they claimed a window table, shifting uncomfortably. She probably shouldn't have brought Tristan here, but she hadn't wanted to explain it to Lane. She suddenly realised that she hadn't told Luke that she was going to break up with Jess; she'd been too involved in attempting to implement the decision. Maybe Lorelai had told him; if not, Rory would remember to do it later. Before she left. She didn't want him losing patience, and Jess learning the whole truth at the last minute.
Lane and Henry could have been anywhere, but Rory decided to order them coffee anyway. She'd drink it all with delight if they took too long. As part of her entirely inefficient build-up to breaking up with him, she went to Luke instead of Jess. Two pairs of eyes tracked her path across the room. When she'd accepted a scowl and a tray, she carefully made her way back to the table, glancing from the floor, to the cups, to Tristan. The cups got most of her attention. The cups were treacherous, just waiting for an excuse to jump off the tray and plummet to their doom, taking their precious contents with them, and it felt horrible looking at Tristan while she knew Jess was looking at her.
As she distributed the coffee, the door swung open, and footsteps stopped abruptly behind her. "Hey, I got you—" Crystal. Rory choked, floundered helplessly. She had no idea what to do, what Crystal was doing here, she was supposed to be gone, this was supposed to be over. "Tristan—"
He was frozen, staring at Crystal. Her eyes were flickering between Tristan and Rory, burning and frantic. "Where is he?" Her head swung around, settling on Luke.
"Who?"
"Your boyfriend."
"My—no. Tristan, no." His eyes slid to her, but he didn't move. Crystal glanced around again, hesitating over Jess. She didn't know, she wasn't sure. "Crystal, don't. Do something, Tristan. Make her stop."
His cup shook in his grasp, hot liquid spilling over the sides, and he carefully put it down, flattening his hands on the tabletop. He didn't look at her.
"Tristan—" He wasn't going to do anything, he wasn't going to help her, and she couldn't even make herself argue with him. She didn't even feel like she was looking at him, not really, and she couldn't tear her eyes away even when she felt Crystal brush past her. She knew she'd been wrong, she knew she'd betrayed him, but she couldn't believe he'd do this to her.
He looked up then, past her, and she turned to watch, needing to know, not able to stop herself, needing to see the words hit. Hoping, somehow, that they wouldn't. Knowing the hope was unfounded, but not able to let it go.
Jess was watching Crystal approach, already tense, but Rory could see him mentally pulling inside himself, knew he was doing it, and none of this was fair.
She stopped directly in front of him, and he nodded briefly. Storms of nothing while Crystal spoke, his face unchanged, worse than pain, and could he have guessed? A short question, another, and suddenly he was looking at Rory, and she realised that she'd never seen him angry. Never.
He was coming towards her, and everybody was looking, Luke and Tristan and all the customers. Crystal sweeping by, throwing a triumphant smile at Rory on her way to the door; Lane trying to get somebody's attention, clueless but thoroughly alarmed; and Jess' hand was fisting around her arm and Tristan was staring and not doing anything at all.
Rory wanted to protest, as he dragged her through the endless tables of gaping spectators, wanted to get away, tell him he was hurting her, tell him she didn't want to do this, but somehow, she didn't think any of that was a good idea.