Rory was able to flag down a cab quickly, a major feat in New York City. After giving the driver her address in Soho, she settled back into the seat. As hard as she tried to stop them, the tears slowly fell down her face. She couldn't believe Tristan's nerve. She'd loved him and had tried showing him how much, but her love hadn't been enough for him. The scenes outside the cab's windows were a blur. But neither the car's speed nor her tears could totally block out the young mothers pushing their children in strollers or the couples holding hands. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on her. The happy scenes taking place outside contrasted considerably with the emotional meltdown she was experiencing inside the cab. Those people's lives were just beginning while she felt as if hers had already ended.

Hopping out of the cab, Rory quickly ran up the townhouse's front stairs and let herself in. Claire would be dropping off the kids soon and she didn't want her or the kids seeing her looking like this. She quickly threw off her clothes, put on a bathrobe, poured herself a glass of wine, and drew herself a bath. As the steam filled the bathroom, Rory could feel herself relaxing.

Suddenly the doorbell rang. "Coming," she said as she ran down the stairs. She could see Alex's and Hannah's silhouettes through the frosted glass door. "Hey you two," she said as she threw open the door. She caught her breath when she saw Tristan standing at the door as well. "Tristan," she said breathlessly.

"Hey," he said softly, shyly.

"Mom, are we really going to go live in a hat?" five-year-old Hannah asked as she stomped past Rory into the foyer.

"What?"

"Dad said we're going to go packing in Fez and Alex said fez is a hat. How can all of us fit inside of a hat? Where will we go to the bathroom?" Hannah asked raising and dropping her hands in exasperation.

"Fez is a city in Morocco. What is this about Fez?" Rory asked turning to face Tristan.

"May I come in first?"

"Sure," Rory said moving aside then closing the door behind him. "So what is this about Fez?"

"I was thinking maybe we could go to Fez this summer. I remember you told me once that you'd planned to visit with your mom. Granted I'm no Lorelai Gilmore but I was hoping you'd go with me."

"Tristan please."

"Please what? Please don't talk about this? I won't. Love you? I can't. You were right about me taking over DuGrey Incorporated because of my father. I realize my mistake, and I'm trying to rectify it."

"Really?"

"Really. I'm prepared to go into work tomorrow and give the Board my resignation."

"I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll come with me."

"Tristan."

"Not only that, I'm willing to move anyplace in the world you want to live. Don't give me your answer now unless it's 'yes.' Promise me you'll think about it. Okay?"

"Okay."

"I'll call you tomorrow."

"Bye."

"Bye," Tristan said then opened the door, stepped outside, and closed the door behind him.

Rory ran upstairs to climb into the hot bath. Tristan resigning. Morocco. Living anywhere in the world, her choice. This was too much to process. Lying back in the tub, the hot, soapy water covering her body, she smiled as she thought of Tristan on their wedding day, the day they'd moved into that apartment in the Village, the days Alex and Hannah were born. He'd been so loving and protective of her and the children in the beginning as if he were afraid something would happen to them. Maybe Lane was right, maybe she was still in love with him. No one could rile her, make her react like he could. Even when things were at their worst between them, she'd still wanted the best for him. Yet, was her love strong enough to risk possibly getting her heart broken again?

Rory climbed out of the tub and dried herself off. After wrapping herself in her bathrobe, she padded downstairs to her home office. Sitting at her computer, she logged onto the internet to check her email. As she scrolled through the messages, she came across a message from Lane with the subject heading "Risks." She clicked on it and there was this poem, author unknown:

To laugh is to risk appearing the fool/To weep is risk appearing sentimental/To reach out to another is to risk involvement/To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self/To place your ideas, your dreams, before a crowd is to risk their loss/To risk love is to risk being loved in return/To live is to risk dying/To hope is to risk despair/To try is to risk failure/But risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing/They may avoid suffering and sorrow but they cannot learn, feel, change, grow, love, or live/Chained by their attitudes, they are slaves/They have forfeited their freedom/Only a person who risks is free.

Sitting at her desk the next morning, her bagel untouched, her coffee turning cold, Rory tapped her pen against the mahogany surface of the desk. Waiting for Tristan to call was torture. Of course being a modern woman she could just call him. She hesitated then slowly picked up the phone and dialed his office. On the second ring, his secretary Margaret answered.

"Mr. DuGrey's office, Margaret speaking. How my I help you?"

"Hello Margaret. This is Rory Gilmore. Is Tristan there?"

"Rory Gilmore?"

"Tristan's ex-wife."

"Hello Mrs. DuGrey. Yes, he's in. I'll connect you, please hold."

"Thanks." It was funny how Tristan's older employees insisted upon calling her Mrs. DuGrey. The state of New York, her mom, and Tristan's parents may have recognized their divorce, but not the older employees.

"Rory?" Tristan picked up the line a few seconds later.

"Tristan, I was wondering if we could meet for lunch. Maybe grab a hotdog in Central Park?"

"Sure. How does 1:00 sound? I have a few things to attend to this morning but I'll be free this afternoon."

"That sounds great. Meet me at the north end of the Pool."

"Sure."

"Bye."