A/N: Just a couple things I wanted to mention. . . I upped the rating to
PG-13 because in this chapter. I write from Jess' POV and his head is a PG-
13 kind of place. Actually, Jess' mind is R rated (is there any doubt of
that?) but I have toned it down for you for now. Depending on where this
story takes me, I'll readdress the rating issue later.
Second, I'm sorry if anyone was confused in Chapter One about the source of the poetry quotes. They are both from Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, by Pablo Neruda.
Third, I wanted to send shout outs to:
Pretty Words Like Blades - That was officially my longest and most specific feedback ever. Your comments were incredibly helpful and I'd love to hear from you again. Thanks!
Someone - You are my most faithful reviewer. You rock!
Everyone else who reviewed, THANK YOU! You honor me by taking the time to share your opinions with me. It helps me tremendously to both continue writing and to strive to create believable characters and situations.
Fourth, I do not own the Gilmore Girls. I always forget to say that.
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . .
Rory and Lorelei walk together down the street in Stars Hollow heading for home. After Lorelei's exuberance in the diner, she is strangely quiet now. In truth, both women are subdued, lost in their own thoughts. The two walk together, drinking their coffee, not speaking.
"Are you going to make me ask?" Lorelei questions, breaking their silence.
"What?" Rory responds, feigning innocence.
"Well, we could start with what happened to your head or we could talk about what was going on back there with Jess. Your choice."
"I hit it and nothing."
"Rory. . ."
Rory sighs. Looking at a sight unseen in the distance she begins, "Let's start with my head. That's the easier of the two to explain."
"OK, your head it is," Lorelei states appraising her daughter out of the corner of her eye.
"What do you want to hear first?" Rory asks, stopping to face her mother. "The truth or the lie I'm going to make up about it?"
"Start with the lie," Lorelei says, draping a comforting arm around her daughter's shoulders as the two resume walking. "It's probably more interesting."
Rory looks up at Lorelei and the two share a smile. The conversation between mother and daughter begins as they walk side-by-side.
THE NEXT DAY
Rory wakes to find her room awash in golden hues like the inside of a jack- o-lantern, as the sun leaks in around the edges of her drawn curtains. Rolling over, she rubs her eyes, searching the cluttered nightstand for her alarm clock. Finding it, she picks it up to read the electronic display. It is 8:55 on Saturday morning and the house is quiet. 'Quieter that it should be,' Rory muses.
Yawning, she sits up. She reaches onto the floor for the sweatshirt she discarded the previous night. Padding into the kitchen, Rory pulls the sweatshirt over her head as she searches for her mother. Instead of Lorelei, she finds a note.
Mary Ann, Gone to work early. National Insulation Contractors thing, (btw - remind me to check the attic for radon and asbestos.) Don't forget about Michel's car. Love, Ginger
Groaning, Rory picks up the phone.
"Independence Inn," Lorelei answers.
"I thought you were kidding about Michel's car," Rory whines.
"Why would you think that? I never kid."
"Mom. . ."
"Honey, I really need your help today. I know, I know. . . I suck, but I promise I will make it up to you somehow. We'll go shoe shopping, or you can get a tattoo, or have a keg party and invite all your hard-drinking friends over for a night of wilding. . . Whatever you want!"
"I don't have any hard-drinking friends."
"I know!" Lorelei exclaims. "That's why I can offer stuff like that."
"I can't believe I'm even considering doing this for you on my precious Saturday," Rory concedes.
"Have I mentioned yet today how much I love you?"
"Actually, you haven't."
"Sweetie, I love you. So does Dean who, by the way, would surely do this for you if you asked," Lorelei asserts. "Use your feminine wiles on him."
"I am pretty irresistible."
"As are all Gilmore women."
"You will definitely owe me so big," scowls Rory. A vision of Saturday escaping away flashes through her mind.
"Agreed, but now I've gotta run. I've already left Michel alone for too long with those insulation guys. They were talking about wrapping him in fiberglass. Apparently, he is lacking in Gilmore charm. Bye, baby."
"Hmpf," Rory grunts, hanging up the phone. She shuffles into the bathroom for a quick shower before venturing to the diner.
When she finally makes it to Lukes, the diner is Saturday morning crowded. Automatically, she heads to the counter and sits on a vacant stool.
"Hey Rory," Luke smiles at her. "Coffee?"
"Please," she smiles back.
"What else can I get you?"
"Feels like a pancake day," Rory answers, scanning the diner.
"Pancakes coming up."
She's still searching the diner when Jess comes out of the kitchen. Turning around, she finds herself face to face with him. Slightly startled, she jumps.
"Oh, hi," she says, recovering.
"Hey Gorbachev," he answers as his eyes wander over the purplish bruise on her forehead.
"Funny," Rory says sarcastically. She had examined her injured forehead in the mirror after showering. It wasn't swollen. The ice had been a good idea. Unfortunately, it was bruised.
Smirking, Jess walks to a table where two older women are waiting for their orders to be taken. Rory watches him pull out his pad and begin to write.
Rory POV
I like to watch him work, I always have. I was better at ignoring him before our conversation yesterday. I could will myself to pretend like he wasn't in the room, the same way a kid who shuts her eyes believes she's invisible. Now, it's started again and I can't help it. . . something about the way he moves commands my attention, calls my name. When I feel him focus in my direction, I keep my gaze to myself or steal looks out of the corner of my eye. One of my best tricks is to appear interested in other diner activities so I can spy on him using my peripheral vision. I'm probably rusty at it now, clumsy from lack of practice. When his back is turned, my glance is steadier, more directly appraising.
I just like the way he moves. It's. . . I don't know, maybe 'sexy' is the right word. He's quiet. If it weren't for the clatter of the dishes he carries, he'd make no sound at all. I guess that's learned, a survival skill. I can imagine him walking through the streets of New York, by his own choice completely unnoticed, standing on the edge of activity, unseen, observing.
I've studied his body from every angle. I know the way his muscles move underneath his clothes, the length of his stride, the way he holds a pen. His jaw line is as familiar to me as my own. I can tell which side of his body he slept on by the way his hair lies. I swear, I've earned a PhD in 'Jess Watching' and yet, I still can't read him. It's interesting in a way, frustrating too. He's hiding and I'm not sure why. I take comfort in the fact that at least I know it's a façade, which is more than anyone else in this town realizes. They think the Jess they see is the Jess that's real. I know the truth is far more complicated. He's a mystery, an enigma.
There's a book in his back pocket, one that I don't recognize. Yes, I know most of his books by their covers! Jess Watching is my hobby and trust me, I'm good at it. At least I was before I forced myself to stop after I came back from Washington. When he gets closer, I'll find out what book that is. Every piece of information I gather is another clue I add to my collection of Jess facts that I'm storing, cataloging. Eventually, I'll have what I need to put this puzzle together and break through this false projection of Jess, his public self. I feel mildly guilty, like a thief stealing from him. That's just another thing for me to get over because I don't honestly care if this is wrong. Like I said before, being right is overrated.
Jess POV
She's watching me. It's been a long time since she watched me move around the diner. I wonder if this means she's done being mad at me. Frankly, I'm not sure how I feel about that. When she was angry, she mostly ignored me which made ignoring her easier. It also made being with Shane less complicated, less conflicting. Shane. I can't say that she's a substitute for Rory because she's not even close, but she is a distraction. Like all the girls I knew in New York, I can escape in Shane's body and forget. Forget that I'm stuck in this town, forget what I've lost, mostly just forget Rory.
Rory's anger over Shane highlights her inexperience, her naivety. Shane is only in my life because Rory cut me out of hers. She made her choice when she left without saying goodbye, when she stayed with Dean, when she ignored me for months. What did she think I would do? Sit around and pine for her? What really irritates me though, is that I hate having hurt her. It genuinely pisses me off that I feel guilty when I haven't done anything wrong. It's so fucking stupid.
So, she's back to this spying thing she does. She thinks I don't know that she's studying me but I'm street-raised. I can take the pulse of any room in less than two minutes. Rory is in the minor leagues of surveillance compared to me. It used to unnerve me but I got used to it. It feels familiar now. If I were to be totally honest, I'd have to admit that I like it when she watches me. I must because I've never called her on it. I just. . . let her. I've missed it, this weird unspoken connection we have.
The bigger truth is that she needs to watch me. She's so trapped. Perfection is a tyrannical master, offering no margin for error, no opportunity to be human. She's stayed on the course they've set for her and lived up to all their expectations. Now, she's tied up tight and lost. She's sitting there on that stool dying by inches and the only one who sees it is me. I'm not just the guy she wants, I'm the guy she needs. I see it in her eyes, I sense it in her body. She looks at me like I could save her and the truth is, I could. I know it like I know my name. I'd help her if she'd let me. Sadly, I doubt she will.
Rory and Jess
Rory eats her pancakes and drinks her coffee while she continues her quiet study of Jess. She takes the opportunity provided by Jess' delivery of the tab to the older women's table to fulfill her quest. Her view of the book in his jeans pocket is unobstructed except for a slight glare on the paperback's cover, which she compensates for by leaning back. This is when Jess catches her. She is so engrossed in her task that she doesn't notice him staring directly at her, wearing his trademark smirk. He is still for too long. Realization dawns on her and she knows she's been caught. She looks up to meet his gaze.
"See something back there you like?" he asks her.
"A Prayer for Owen Meany," she answers grinning triumphantly.
Smiling, he pulls the book from his pocket and walks over to her. "Read it?" he questions.
"Yeah. I loved it," she informs him. "Owen Meany is one of the most original characters ever created."
"I'll give you that. It's not everyday you read about an immaculately conceived dwarf-like boy with a strange voice who accidentally kills his best friend's mom with a baseball."
"And believes that he is an instrument of God," Rory finishes for him.
"It's interesting the way that Irving paired up Owen who was convinced that he was born to be a martyr with John who battles mediocrity his entire life."
"Maybe the contrast is meant to illustrate the extremes, bring them to light."
"Maybe," Jess agrees. "I really couldn't identify with John very much."
"You're not a Joseph?"
"Nope. I don't have much in common with a 40-year old virgin."
Coloring slightly, Rory asks, "So you identify more with Owen?"
"Hester."
"You would."
Jess grins.
"I'm guessing you also liked the references to Dicken's A Christmas Carol," Rory speculates.
"Yup. Using the staging of the play as the catalyst for Owen's vision of his own tombstone was cool. Talk about a visit by the ghost of Christmas Future."
"Gives me the SHIVERS," she laughs.
"I'm not sure how I feel about all the predestination stuff, though."
"Well, Owen believed he was born to be a hero and he was right."
"But he couldn't possibly have known that."
"And yet, he did."
"But that's impossible."
"And yet, it was true."
Jess shakes his head, thinking. "Read anything else by John Irving?"
"Just Cider House Rules."
"Ah. Your run of the mill book about an ether addict abortionist who operates an apple orchard and an orphanage at the same time, and lets his nurses give the babies born there names like 'Fluffy'."
"Yeah, it's the same old plot you read time and time again."
They share a smile.
"Irving has an amazing sense of his characters," Rory observes.
"They're victims of tragedy, violence, and injustice but they remain noble and free-spirited."
"Like real people," Rory states.
"The lucky ones," Jess corrects, looking away.
He turns back to find Rory studying him thoughtfully. He makes eye contact with her and Rory meets his gaze smiling slightly, warmly. He feels a thin shiver of need cut through his barely healed scars.
"Jess," Luke interrupts, walking up to the pair carrying several plates laden with food. Handing them to Jess he points to a window booth, "Take these over there to that family with the twins."
Jess takes the plates and walks away.
"Where's your mom?" Luke asks Rory.
"She's working at that thing at the Inn," Rory answers.
"Ah," Luke nods, slightly disappointed to learn that Lorelei wouldn't be bustling through the Diner doors anytime soon. Doing a double take he leans slightly closer to Rory, "What the hell happened to your head?"
Reflexively moving her hand to touch her injury, Rory sighs, "It's a long story."
"What's a long story?" asks a voice at her elbow. She looks at the voice's owner and finds Dean standing next to her.
"How she got that nasty bruise on her forehead," Luke responds for her.
"What?" Dean questions, his face concerned, his eyes worried. It is his turn to study her bruise. "Oh my God, what happened to you?"
"Oh," Rory responds. "I didn't realize mom had started storing her boots in the kitchen cabinet above the coffee maker. I opened it to get a coffee filter and one of her platform Roberto Cavalli suede boots fell out and hit me on the forehead."
"Your mother is officially a lunatic," Luke observes before walking back into the kitchen.
Dean chuckles, "Ouch. That must have hurt."
"It did but I put ice on it and the swelling went down. It actually looks worse than it is," she lies.
Dean leans forward, kisses her bruise and asks, "What are you doing today? Do you want to hang?"
"I can't,' says Rory. "I promised mom I'd help her at the Inn."
"Do you need an extra set of hands? I actually have the day off from the market."
"No," Rory replies. She hears her mother's voice in the back of her mind saying 'Dean would surely do this for you if you asked' but she pushes it down shaking her head. "It's just something she needs me to do for her."
"OK. Can I see you later?"
"Well. . ." she hesitates. Feeling guilty and unable to think of an excuse to avoid seeing him she relents, "Sure."
"Great! I'll pick up a movie and come over. Say, 7:30?"
"Fine."
"See you tonight," Dean says as he leans forward to kiss her goodbye. Rory allows him a tiny peck on her lips before turning her head.
"Bye," Dean says as he leaves the diner.
"Yeah, bye," Rory's voice trails after him as she watches his departing back. She picks up her coffee mug and takes a drink. It had been right there, the perfect moment to ask for Dean's help with Michel's car. Rory had seen the opportunity arrive, take shape and dissipate, like a dandelion she plucked and blew on to watch the white fluffs of cotton float away on her breath. The question was why. Why didn't she want his help? Frowning, she sets her coffee down, closes her eyes and massages the bridge of her nose just between her eyes.
"So much for a relationship based on trust and honesty."
Rory opens her eyes and sees Jess next to her. His mouth is set in a hard line, his eyes are stormy, angry.
"What are you talking about?" she responds.
"You just lied to your boyfriend about how you got that bruise. Where I come from, that's not exactly a sign of a healthy relationship."
"I didn't lie to Dean. I handled him."
"You 'handled' him?" Jess deadpans, knitting his brows together.
"Yep, that was a classic example of handling, taken straight out of the textbook," Rory asserts. "You've obviously never taken 'Jealous Boyfriend 101'."
"Nope. I must have been in 'Grow a Backbone 202' during that one."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," Jess shrugs. "I thought we were comparing academic histories."
"Do you really want to compare academic records with me?"
"I'm actually a little worried about that big fancy school of yours. If they haven't covered the basics like the difference between the truth and a lie, I wonder what else they've missed. You do know the earth revolves around the sun, don't you?"
"No way!" she retorts sarcastically. "I thought the sun was pulled across the sky each day by a giant chariot. Wait. . . the sun is that big round glowing thing, right?"
Jess is just about to answer her when Shane, who has entered the diner unnoticed by both Rory and Jess, grabs him from behind, spins him around, and plants her version of a mind blowing kiss on him. His instinct is to push her away but remembering the earlier scene between Rory and Dean, he doesn't. Instead, he responds passionately, his arms wrapping around Shane, his hands traveling down her body until they land directly on her butt.
Rolling her eyes, Rory tosses money on the counter and grabs her coat. "I need to leave before I lose my breakfast," she tells no one in particular. She wastes no time in walking out of the diner.
When he hears the bell ring and the diner door close, Jess releases Shane.
"Yum," Shane purrs, believing that she elicited the intense response from Jess. "I missed you too, baby."
"Whatever," Jess scowls as he watches Rory disappear from view through the front window of the diner.
Only when Rory is safely out of sight does she let her emotions surface. Her face falls and her shoulders sag as she makes her way to the Inn.
. . . . . . . . . .
A/N: Please read and review. Honestly, I am so addicted to feedback I may need therapy.
Second, I'm sorry if anyone was confused in Chapter One about the source of the poetry quotes. They are both from Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, by Pablo Neruda.
Third, I wanted to send shout outs to:
Pretty Words Like Blades - That was officially my longest and most specific feedback ever. Your comments were incredibly helpful and I'd love to hear from you again. Thanks!
Someone - You are my most faithful reviewer. You rock!
Everyone else who reviewed, THANK YOU! You honor me by taking the time to share your opinions with me. It helps me tremendously to both continue writing and to strive to create believable characters and situations.
Fourth, I do not own the Gilmore Girls. I always forget to say that.
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . .
Rory and Lorelei walk together down the street in Stars Hollow heading for home. After Lorelei's exuberance in the diner, she is strangely quiet now. In truth, both women are subdued, lost in their own thoughts. The two walk together, drinking their coffee, not speaking.
"Are you going to make me ask?" Lorelei questions, breaking their silence.
"What?" Rory responds, feigning innocence.
"Well, we could start with what happened to your head or we could talk about what was going on back there with Jess. Your choice."
"I hit it and nothing."
"Rory. . ."
Rory sighs. Looking at a sight unseen in the distance she begins, "Let's start with my head. That's the easier of the two to explain."
"OK, your head it is," Lorelei states appraising her daughter out of the corner of her eye.
"What do you want to hear first?" Rory asks, stopping to face her mother. "The truth or the lie I'm going to make up about it?"
"Start with the lie," Lorelei says, draping a comforting arm around her daughter's shoulders as the two resume walking. "It's probably more interesting."
Rory looks up at Lorelei and the two share a smile. The conversation between mother and daughter begins as they walk side-by-side.
THE NEXT DAY
Rory wakes to find her room awash in golden hues like the inside of a jack- o-lantern, as the sun leaks in around the edges of her drawn curtains. Rolling over, she rubs her eyes, searching the cluttered nightstand for her alarm clock. Finding it, she picks it up to read the electronic display. It is 8:55 on Saturday morning and the house is quiet. 'Quieter that it should be,' Rory muses.
Yawning, she sits up. She reaches onto the floor for the sweatshirt she discarded the previous night. Padding into the kitchen, Rory pulls the sweatshirt over her head as she searches for her mother. Instead of Lorelei, she finds a note.
Mary Ann, Gone to work early. National Insulation Contractors thing, (btw - remind me to check the attic for radon and asbestos.) Don't forget about Michel's car. Love, Ginger
Groaning, Rory picks up the phone.
"Independence Inn," Lorelei answers.
"I thought you were kidding about Michel's car," Rory whines.
"Why would you think that? I never kid."
"Mom. . ."
"Honey, I really need your help today. I know, I know. . . I suck, but I promise I will make it up to you somehow. We'll go shoe shopping, or you can get a tattoo, or have a keg party and invite all your hard-drinking friends over for a night of wilding. . . Whatever you want!"
"I don't have any hard-drinking friends."
"I know!" Lorelei exclaims. "That's why I can offer stuff like that."
"I can't believe I'm even considering doing this for you on my precious Saturday," Rory concedes.
"Have I mentioned yet today how much I love you?"
"Actually, you haven't."
"Sweetie, I love you. So does Dean who, by the way, would surely do this for you if you asked," Lorelei asserts. "Use your feminine wiles on him."
"I am pretty irresistible."
"As are all Gilmore women."
"You will definitely owe me so big," scowls Rory. A vision of Saturday escaping away flashes through her mind.
"Agreed, but now I've gotta run. I've already left Michel alone for too long with those insulation guys. They were talking about wrapping him in fiberglass. Apparently, he is lacking in Gilmore charm. Bye, baby."
"Hmpf," Rory grunts, hanging up the phone. She shuffles into the bathroom for a quick shower before venturing to the diner.
When she finally makes it to Lukes, the diner is Saturday morning crowded. Automatically, she heads to the counter and sits on a vacant stool.
"Hey Rory," Luke smiles at her. "Coffee?"
"Please," she smiles back.
"What else can I get you?"
"Feels like a pancake day," Rory answers, scanning the diner.
"Pancakes coming up."
She's still searching the diner when Jess comes out of the kitchen. Turning around, she finds herself face to face with him. Slightly startled, she jumps.
"Oh, hi," she says, recovering.
"Hey Gorbachev," he answers as his eyes wander over the purplish bruise on her forehead.
"Funny," Rory says sarcastically. She had examined her injured forehead in the mirror after showering. It wasn't swollen. The ice had been a good idea. Unfortunately, it was bruised.
Smirking, Jess walks to a table where two older women are waiting for their orders to be taken. Rory watches him pull out his pad and begin to write.
Rory POV
I like to watch him work, I always have. I was better at ignoring him before our conversation yesterday. I could will myself to pretend like he wasn't in the room, the same way a kid who shuts her eyes believes she's invisible. Now, it's started again and I can't help it. . . something about the way he moves commands my attention, calls my name. When I feel him focus in my direction, I keep my gaze to myself or steal looks out of the corner of my eye. One of my best tricks is to appear interested in other diner activities so I can spy on him using my peripheral vision. I'm probably rusty at it now, clumsy from lack of practice. When his back is turned, my glance is steadier, more directly appraising.
I just like the way he moves. It's. . . I don't know, maybe 'sexy' is the right word. He's quiet. If it weren't for the clatter of the dishes he carries, he'd make no sound at all. I guess that's learned, a survival skill. I can imagine him walking through the streets of New York, by his own choice completely unnoticed, standing on the edge of activity, unseen, observing.
I've studied his body from every angle. I know the way his muscles move underneath his clothes, the length of his stride, the way he holds a pen. His jaw line is as familiar to me as my own. I can tell which side of his body he slept on by the way his hair lies. I swear, I've earned a PhD in 'Jess Watching' and yet, I still can't read him. It's interesting in a way, frustrating too. He's hiding and I'm not sure why. I take comfort in the fact that at least I know it's a façade, which is more than anyone else in this town realizes. They think the Jess they see is the Jess that's real. I know the truth is far more complicated. He's a mystery, an enigma.
There's a book in his back pocket, one that I don't recognize. Yes, I know most of his books by their covers! Jess Watching is my hobby and trust me, I'm good at it. At least I was before I forced myself to stop after I came back from Washington. When he gets closer, I'll find out what book that is. Every piece of information I gather is another clue I add to my collection of Jess facts that I'm storing, cataloging. Eventually, I'll have what I need to put this puzzle together and break through this false projection of Jess, his public self. I feel mildly guilty, like a thief stealing from him. That's just another thing for me to get over because I don't honestly care if this is wrong. Like I said before, being right is overrated.
Jess POV
She's watching me. It's been a long time since she watched me move around the diner. I wonder if this means she's done being mad at me. Frankly, I'm not sure how I feel about that. When she was angry, she mostly ignored me which made ignoring her easier. It also made being with Shane less complicated, less conflicting. Shane. I can't say that she's a substitute for Rory because she's not even close, but she is a distraction. Like all the girls I knew in New York, I can escape in Shane's body and forget. Forget that I'm stuck in this town, forget what I've lost, mostly just forget Rory.
Rory's anger over Shane highlights her inexperience, her naivety. Shane is only in my life because Rory cut me out of hers. She made her choice when she left without saying goodbye, when she stayed with Dean, when she ignored me for months. What did she think I would do? Sit around and pine for her? What really irritates me though, is that I hate having hurt her. It genuinely pisses me off that I feel guilty when I haven't done anything wrong. It's so fucking stupid.
So, she's back to this spying thing she does. She thinks I don't know that she's studying me but I'm street-raised. I can take the pulse of any room in less than two minutes. Rory is in the minor leagues of surveillance compared to me. It used to unnerve me but I got used to it. It feels familiar now. If I were to be totally honest, I'd have to admit that I like it when she watches me. I must because I've never called her on it. I just. . . let her. I've missed it, this weird unspoken connection we have.
The bigger truth is that she needs to watch me. She's so trapped. Perfection is a tyrannical master, offering no margin for error, no opportunity to be human. She's stayed on the course they've set for her and lived up to all their expectations. Now, she's tied up tight and lost. She's sitting there on that stool dying by inches and the only one who sees it is me. I'm not just the guy she wants, I'm the guy she needs. I see it in her eyes, I sense it in her body. She looks at me like I could save her and the truth is, I could. I know it like I know my name. I'd help her if she'd let me. Sadly, I doubt she will.
Rory and Jess
Rory eats her pancakes and drinks her coffee while she continues her quiet study of Jess. She takes the opportunity provided by Jess' delivery of the tab to the older women's table to fulfill her quest. Her view of the book in his jeans pocket is unobstructed except for a slight glare on the paperback's cover, which she compensates for by leaning back. This is when Jess catches her. She is so engrossed in her task that she doesn't notice him staring directly at her, wearing his trademark smirk. He is still for too long. Realization dawns on her and she knows she's been caught. She looks up to meet his gaze.
"See something back there you like?" he asks her.
"A Prayer for Owen Meany," she answers grinning triumphantly.
Smiling, he pulls the book from his pocket and walks over to her. "Read it?" he questions.
"Yeah. I loved it," she informs him. "Owen Meany is one of the most original characters ever created."
"I'll give you that. It's not everyday you read about an immaculately conceived dwarf-like boy with a strange voice who accidentally kills his best friend's mom with a baseball."
"And believes that he is an instrument of God," Rory finishes for him.
"It's interesting the way that Irving paired up Owen who was convinced that he was born to be a martyr with John who battles mediocrity his entire life."
"Maybe the contrast is meant to illustrate the extremes, bring them to light."
"Maybe," Jess agrees. "I really couldn't identify with John very much."
"You're not a Joseph?"
"Nope. I don't have much in common with a 40-year old virgin."
Coloring slightly, Rory asks, "So you identify more with Owen?"
"Hester."
"You would."
Jess grins.
"I'm guessing you also liked the references to Dicken's A Christmas Carol," Rory speculates.
"Yup. Using the staging of the play as the catalyst for Owen's vision of his own tombstone was cool. Talk about a visit by the ghost of Christmas Future."
"Gives me the SHIVERS," she laughs.
"I'm not sure how I feel about all the predestination stuff, though."
"Well, Owen believed he was born to be a hero and he was right."
"But he couldn't possibly have known that."
"And yet, he did."
"But that's impossible."
"And yet, it was true."
Jess shakes his head, thinking. "Read anything else by John Irving?"
"Just Cider House Rules."
"Ah. Your run of the mill book about an ether addict abortionist who operates an apple orchard and an orphanage at the same time, and lets his nurses give the babies born there names like 'Fluffy'."
"Yeah, it's the same old plot you read time and time again."
They share a smile.
"Irving has an amazing sense of his characters," Rory observes.
"They're victims of tragedy, violence, and injustice but they remain noble and free-spirited."
"Like real people," Rory states.
"The lucky ones," Jess corrects, looking away.
He turns back to find Rory studying him thoughtfully. He makes eye contact with her and Rory meets his gaze smiling slightly, warmly. He feels a thin shiver of need cut through his barely healed scars.
"Jess," Luke interrupts, walking up to the pair carrying several plates laden with food. Handing them to Jess he points to a window booth, "Take these over there to that family with the twins."
Jess takes the plates and walks away.
"Where's your mom?" Luke asks Rory.
"She's working at that thing at the Inn," Rory answers.
"Ah," Luke nods, slightly disappointed to learn that Lorelei wouldn't be bustling through the Diner doors anytime soon. Doing a double take he leans slightly closer to Rory, "What the hell happened to your head?"
Reflexively moving her hand to touch her injury, Rory sighs, "It's a long story."
"What's a long story?" asks a voice at her elbow. She looks at the voice's owner and finds Dean standing next to her.
"How she got that nasty bruise on her forehead," Luke responds for her.
"What?" Dean questions, his face concerned, his eyes worried. It is his turn to study her bruise. "Oh my God, what happened to you?"
"Oh," Rory responds. "I didn't realize mom had started storing her boots in the kitchen cabinet above the coffee maker. I opened it to get a coffee filter and one of her platform Roberto Cavalli suede boots fell out and hit me on the forehead."
"Your mother is officially a lunatic," Luke observes before walking back into the kitchen.
Dean chuckles, "Ouch. That must have hurt."
"It did but I put ice on it and the swelling went down. It actually looks worse than it is," she lies.
Dean leans forward, kisses her bruise and asks, "What are you doing today? Do you want to hang?"
"I can't,' says Rory. "I promised mom I'd help her at the Inn."
"Do you need an extra set of hands? I actually have the day off from the market."
"No," Rory replies. She hears her mother's voice in the back of her mind saying 'Dean would surely do this for you if you asked' but she pushes it down shaking her head. "It's just something she needs me to do for her."
"OK. Can I see you later?"
"Well. . ." she hesitates. Feeling guilty and unable to think of an excuse to avoid seeing him she relents, "Sure."
"Great! I'll pick up a movie and come over. Say, 7:30?"
"Fine."
"See you tonight," Dean says as he leans forward to kiss her goodbye. Rory allows him a tiny peck on her lips before turning her head.
"Bye," Dean says as he leaves the diner.
"Yeah, bye," Rory's voice trails after him as she watches his departing back. She picks up her coffee mug and takes a drink. It had been right there, the perfect moment to ask for Dean's help with Michel's car. Rory had seen the opportunity arrive, take shape and dissipate, like a dandelion she plucked and blew on to watch the white fluffs of cotton float away on her breath. The question was why. Why didn't she want his help? Frowning, she sets her coffee down, closes her eyes and massages the bridge of her nose just between her eyes.
"So much for a relationship based on trust and honesty."
Rory opens her eyes and sees Jess next to her. His mouth is set in a hard line, his eyes are stormy, angry.
"What are you talking about?" she responds.
"You just lied to your boyfriend about how you got that bruise. Where I come from, that's not exactly a sign of a healthy relationship."
"I didn't lie to Dean. I handled him."
"You 'handled' him?" Jess deadpans, knitting his brows together.
"Yep, that was a classic example of handling, taken straight out of the textbook," Rory asserts. "You've obviously never taken 'Jealous Boyfriend 101'."
"Nope. I must have been in 'Grow a Backbone 202' during that one."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," Jess shrugs. "I thought we were comparing academic histories."
"Do you really want to compare academic records with me?"
"I'm actually a little worried about that big fancy school of yours. If they haven't covered the basics like the difference between the truth and a lie, I wonder what else they've missed. You do know the earth revolves around the sun, don't you?"
"No way!" she retorts sarcastically. "I thought the sun was pulled across the sky each day by a giant chariot. Wait. . . the sun is that big round glowing thing, right?"
Jess is just about to answer her when Shane, who has entered the diner unnoticed by both Rory and Jess, grabs him from behind, spins him around, and plants her version of a mind blowing kiss on him. His instinct is to push her away but remembering the earlier scene between Rory and Dean, he doesn't. Instead, he responds passionately, his arms wrapping around Shane, his hands traveling down her body until they land directly on her butt.
Rolling her eyes, Rory tosses money on the counter and grabs her coat. "I need to leave before I lose my breakfast," she tells no one in particular. She wastes no time in walking out of the diner.
When he hears the bell ring and the diner door close, Jess releases Shane.
"Yum," Shane purrs, believing that she elicited the intense response from Jess. "I missed you too, baby."
"Whatever," Jess scowls as he watches Rory disappear from view through the front window of the diner.
Only when Rory is safely out of sight does she let her emotions surface. Her face falls and her shoulders sag as she makes her way to the Inn.
. . . . . . . . . .
A/N: Please read and review. Honestly, I am so addicted to feedback I may need therapy.