Disclaimer: The characters of Gilmore Girls do not belong to me; they are the property of ASP and other affiliates.
A.N.: This story has been neglected far too long. Plus, I'm in my spring break, so I have plenty of time.
READ THIS: Most of the time I put author's note just for the insane pleasure I get out of my ramblings, but no, not this time. This actually is important. There were a few questions addressed to me after the last chapter, and I'm willing to explain them.
1. The question that has been asked so many times: Who is Michael?
Well, my dears, you just want me to spoil the whole thing, don't you? You'll just have to wait and see, but what I can say is that Michael is NOT Tristan's twin brother (::rolls eyes:: Really now, people.) For those of you who know how to use common sense, I'm sure you'll figure out easily. If you still don't by reading the response to my second question, there is no hope for you. :P
2. Why don't Paris and Rory recognize the DuGrey name?
Umm, well, for one the world does not revolve around Tristan DuGrey, no matter how much I want it to. Secondly, this isn't going to be one of those stories where Tristan and Rory spend all they're life pining for each other. Another thing, Rory isn't that clueless; she eventually will figure it out. As for Paris, she will remember soon, too. Her brain is probably a little fuzzy on her high school crushes. I mean, after all, she has YummyJess to much on!
All will unravel in time, my curious friends, but I think I just gave away a lot. Heh.
Shout-outs: To Jamie because she urged me to write this chapter. To Nate because he rocks, and he inspired me to write the whole pig-tails scene. To Roxy 'cause she's my Double L. To Elise, my lovely muse. And Iris, get working after your fun-filled exams or you're not getting that anatomically correct HA statue. It will be all mine! Bwah. Oh, and I stole the "bitch-brunch" line from Will and Grace.
Priya
* * *
::Too Much Drama::
The two girls sat comfortably in a booth right next to a window, which was the perfect spot. Cascading through the window, the light hit them in the just the right angle, making their faces glow, and giving an extra boost to Lane's natural hair drying method. Right now Mr. Sun was on the top Lane's favorite list. Not only was it giving off the right amount of UVA rays, but also it made the day seem much pleasanter, which made everyone more happier—always a good thing in Boston, especially when it came to traffic.
"Really, Lane," Rory uncrossed her legs, "use a hair-dryer. It's not so bad."
The raven-haired girl twisted a chunky portion of her hair around middle and index fingers, carefully wringing the water droplets on the table. They had been at this topic for ten minutes now. She stared at the little puddles that she had created, and answered, mimicking her friend's tone, "Really, Rory, give up. It's not so bad."
She laughed. "Fine, fine. But when you have ratty-tatty hair, and all the people point, and ask if it's a raccoon on your head, don't complain."
"A raccoon?"
"Hey," she held her hands up defensively, "it could happen."
"Um, unless you're Daniel Boone—no," a familiar voice quipped from behind.
Rory's eyes darted up only to meet another pair of dancing bright eyes. A smile lit up her face, as she jumped out of the booth, and into her mother's arms. "Mom!" It was nice to be in the arms of her mother once more. No matter how old she would get, she would always retreat to the safe cocoon—warm, familiar, comforting—that her mother harbored.
"Hey there, babe," she whispered, hugging her tight, "How you doing?"
"Not well," she replied. With one last squeeze, Rory pulled away.
"Well, I'm sure I could probably fix you up." Lorelai slid into the booth with ease, placing her bag on the tiled floor. "Hiya, Lane!" She embraced the other girl warmly. "And, how are you?"
Now working untangling her hair—why did Rory always have to be right, she thought to herself? "Great, but in desperate need for a blow," she replied rather sadly. "This natural hair-drying method just wasn't working." She peered through the window, and was disheartened by the sight of the clouds enveloping the sun—plaguing the pleasant day, and her hair goals into darkness. "Damn you, Mr. Sun!"
Lorelai's eyebrow rose. "A blow?"
"Dryer," she quickly corrected, embarrassed at the slip of her tongue. "In desperate need of a blow dryer."
Lorelai winked. "Just making sure."
"Lane read her horoscope in a magazine and it said if she didn't do something naturally, the most obtrusive person in her live would pay her visit her."
"Oh," Lorelai nodded her head slowly, indicating she understood, "meaning none other than Mamma Kim herself." She stopped to think. "Now, tell me, Lane, from which magazine did you get this helpful advice?"
The Korean girl bit her cheek, a childhood habit she picked up; she did this whenever she became angry since talking back really wasn't an option the Kim household, unless she wanted to be decapitated. But now, she was concentrating—no anger involved, unless she didn't want to think for the day—medical school just might have sucked her brain dry. "I think it was something like Pineapple or Kumquat. Oh—it was! It was Kumquat."
Lorelai tilted her head, almost spewing out her latté. "You're listening to advice from a magazine called Kumquat. "And, you're going along with that?" The other girl nodded her head slowly. "Sweetie, we so need to cut weed out of your diet."
Rory found this the perfect time to chime in. "I've been telling her for a year now."
Grabbing a napkin, Lorelai patted her mouth dry; she couldn't entirely prevent herself from spewing after Lane's comment. Her gaze drifted along the table, noticing an empty seat. "I see we're still missing a person."
Rory scanned the room. "Paris should be here soon."
As if one cue, Lorelai saw the petite blonde scurrying across the room. "Ah, speak of the devil."
As she drew near, the girls could tell there would be a lot of talking—not coming from them. Paris approached the table, panting. "Good grief. Is it really that hard to find a parking in Boston? Well, it shouldn't be. I mean, really, it's totally unnecessary to park like a hundred blocks away, and then run all the way here. I probably lost a few calories that way, which, isn't a total loss. Before that I had to run to the office, and Sam wouldn't let me get in because I had forgotten the damn key. So I had to call the really big security guard, you know the fat one who eats all of those Little Debbi Cakes? Yeah, he let me in. Does a grown woman need to go through that much pain in a day?" She slid into the booth, glancing at her watch. "Hey, look at the time. It's only ten." She stopped mid- ramble, when she saw all three girls suppressing their laughter. "What?"
"I don't know," Lorelai said between chortles, "Although, I do know that a grown woman so should not be wearing pig-tails."
Rory's hand flew to one of Paris' braids, and she tugged on it, playfully. "What happened to the hair, Pippy?"
Her head already spinning, Paris did not need anything else that would set her off. In her little rant before she forgot to mention the feud with Jess earlier that morning. "I wasn't aware that I had been invited to the bitch brunch," she snapped, dryly. As she had hoped, the table quieted down. They stared at her with blank faces for about a minute, until Lane broke the silence. Apparently, they had found that comment funny because they were laughing harder than before.
"Someone isn't 'pipping' this morning," Lorelai quipped, flailing her arms.
She rolled her eyes, relenting. "Besides, I ran out of conditioner, thanks to Jess and his 'crazy' hair. It was either this or a turban."
"Turban!" they yelled simultaneously, without missing a beat.
Lane chuckled. "Woo. Paris, you made my day. Now when I need a laugh, I won't have to think about my own hair."
Paris huffed. "Well, when I went to the office Nate said it looked cute."
"Nate also has a knee fetish," Rory countered. "Is he still your hair adviser?"
Lane popped her head in the conversation. "Wait, who's Nate?"
"He works at the paper and worships Paris."
"Oh, he does not," she denied.
Rory laughed out loud. "Paris, the guy's built you shrine. If you'd let him, he'd bring you your slippers in the morning."
"I don't have slippers."
"Besides the point."
"Which is?" Paris asked, crossing her arms across her chest.
Lorelai spoke out. "The moral to this pointless discussion, kids, is that," she reached out and tugged one of Paris' braids like Rory had done earlier, "this little piggy should've stayed home."
Paris groaned and the whole table erupted into laughter once again.
* * *
They had launched into a discussion about Michael. As much as Rory enjoyed talking about the mysterious man, she was getting fed up with it all. She needed solitude. "What if he snores? What then?"
"Um, I'll live with it," Rory responded to another one of Lane's inane questions.
"Live with it?" Lorelai snorted. "You know, sometimes I wonder," she mumbled to herself, "if they switched you at the hospital with some other nice kid." She stared intently at the four empty cups of coffee resting in front of Rory. "And then, you do something like that," she motioned to Rory, who was already chugging her fifth cup, "to prove me wrong." She then threw her arms around Rory, in a swooping gesture. "You really are my baby!"
Paris rolled her eyes. "Someone hand her a tissue."
"No," Rory corrected, scrunching up her face, "someone extract her!"
Huffing Lorelai pulled away. "Hmph. I can't even hug my daughter now. So is that it?"
A plate of cranberry crumble cake was pushed Lorelai's direction; a tactic that had always worked to hush her up.
The girls busied themselves in catching up with Lane and Dave's relationship, Lorelai and Luke's, and when Paris' turn came, she didn't say anything. Apparently, "there was nothing left to say about Jess anymore." They dropped that topic immediately, and the girls pounced once again on Rory and her decision on whether or no to go.
"I'm still not sure," Rory picked at her pastry. Her plan was to avoid eye contact, and be too pestered.
"How many times have we been through this, Rory? There's nothing to lose," the blonde assured soothingly.
"But—"
"No 'buts'," the elder Gilmore protested. "All 'buts' are bad, unless it's a "butt" and Colin Farrell's. But that's another story." All talking ceased and everyone looked at Lorelai, even Rory. "What's wrong with admiring the asses of other men?" she asked incredulously.
"I'm sure Luke would beg to differ," Paris smirked.
"Evil, Pippy child," she cried out, "you wouldn't dare."
"Oh, wouldn't I?" she smiled sweetly.
"Damn," Lorelai cursed. "Okay, fine, how much do you want?" She started digging through her purse.
"Uh, guys," Lane cut through, "sorry to interrupt but we should be convincing Rory to go."
"Oh…right," they nodded.
Rory sighed, her annoyance building up by the minute. "Look, guys, I know you're trying to be helpful and all, but I don't want to discuss this right now." She hopped out of her seat, and started heading towards the door. "I have some work to do. I'll see you later."
Lorelai swiftly stood up. "Chicken!" she accused loudly with much gusto. Rory's head turned, along with everyone else's in the café, however; her mother's outburst did not hamper her plan of floating through the door. Grumbling at being deserted, Lorelai sat back down, only to realize that all eyes present in the café were still staring at her. She laughed uncomfortably, and explained: "She needed a seven letter word for poultry."
Before standing up again to pursue her daughter, her gaze drifted to Paris where seven large cups, once brimmed with coffee rested. She mused out loud, "Maybe Paris is my daughter." Then waving to the girls, she left.
* * *
Rory stuck the key in the hole, turning it slowly. On the count of three she would gently give it a little nudge. One, two—Damn. The door creaked as it open. Why didn't she oil the hinges before? There went her sneak-in-the-house-without-making-a-peep-plan. Sighing she stepped in, being greeted by Lorelai lying on the couch reading a magazine.
"Welcome back, rude hostess," Lorelai muttered.
"What?" She slipped out of her clogs, and began peeling socks off.
Flinging the magazine onto the table, she sat up cross-legged. "Me," she pointed at herself, "guest. You," she then pointed at Rory, "hostess."
"Thank you for that translation, Oog."
"Me no Oog!" Lorelai corrected. "Me Tarzan."
"Except for the facts, that A, you are not male; B, you do not pick bugs out of your hair and eat them; and C, you so should not be seen wearing a loin cloth," lettered off Rory, making a face at the last point.
"Thank you for that lovely visual," she grimaced. "So, what have you been up to?"
Rory held up a shopping bag. "I went to Barnes and Nobles."
"Wow," the elder Gilmore commented, "I think that's a record—Rory Gilmore leaving a book store under three hours, unless there was some other place you went to." Rory shook her head.
Taking a quick peek into the fridge, in search for food, Rory asked, "Is there any more Chinese food left?" asked
"No," replied Lorelai automatically. "I had two bites from the chow-mien, when found a strand hair in it. I called the restaurant guy, whom by the way, so has a mullet, and told him that I had found hair in my precious chow-mien. He asked me how the hair tasted like, and when I said 'oily,' he only stated that wasn't his hair because he already knew how his hair tasted like. That wasn't the response I was hoping for, and of course, like any sane person, I dumped the food in the trash." Lorelai smiled, happy with her explanation.
"You ate it all, didn't you?"
"Yes," she blurted out guiltily, "and now I feel like a bloated cow."
"Cows aren't bloated, Mom."
"Clearly, you haven't seen the Ben and Jerry's cow shirts."
"So," Lorelai started off, "ready to chat a bit?"
"No." As Lorelai waited, Rory took three cleansing breaths.
"Now?"
She nodded.
"Let's start off with this morning. We were all happy and cheerful mocking Paris—a wonderful start to the day. You had sufficient caffeine, and delectable pastries. Work is going pretty well for you, I hear. And you're used to our nagging. So what I'm curious about is why you stormed off?"
"I don't know." She sighed, frustrated. "I—I just don't want to mess things up. I mean, really, doesn't it sound crazy to you that a girl should just run off after a mysterious man, whom she's never met before? For all I know, or don't for this matter, he could be a wheel-barrow mechanic."
"Aw, honey, come here," Lorelai beckoned her. She extended her arm outward, grabbing a pillow and placing it in her lap. Instinctively, Rory lied down, resting her head on the pillow, and as her head began to sink into the plush support, she felt sixteen again—the same emotions, except with more intensity. And, of course, her mother was there to help her deal.
"Want to hear my opinion?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Some where in the state of Boston—yes."
Even though she knew the answer, she asked, anyway. "And in Rory's apartment?"
"No."
Rory closed her eyes, her mother's soothing motions lulling her into serenity. "Go on."
"Okay, kid," she warned, "it's time for a sappy moment, so buckle up." She stroked Rroy's head lightly. "First of all, I love you loads."
"I love you too, Mommy."
"And since I'm not dead, I need to give you advice." She was silent for a few seconds, thinking of what to say. "Look, I'm your mother; it's my responsibility to look after you. I need to make sure that you're okay…and that Sookie's head isn't getting stuck anywhere."
"It's amazing how she still manages to do that," Rory commented, eyes still sealed.
"Thank god for Spam…But anyway," her mother continued, "You are in a really wonderful situation. There's no downside for you, so don't blow this out of proportion. If you want to go, go. If you don't, don't. It's as simple as that. But if you choose not to, don't torture yourself on what could've been. If you want something, you go make it happen. Don't just watch from the side lines because you won't be getting anything from there."
"You make it seem so simple."
" 'Cause it is!"
Rory rolled over on her stomach, so she could see her mother's reassuring smile. "Fine, Mom. I'll go." She watched as the smile widened.
Two days later Rory jumped into the deep seas of the unknown, unafraid of drowning, with just a bag of clothes and three letters that might not mean anything at all. Cinderella was off to see her Prince Charming.
* * *
To Be Continued…
Don't be anxious, my friends, because in the next chapter Rory will be meeting her mysterious man. And if I don't update by next week, I give you permission to slap me.
Priya