4: The Variations in the Narrative Inevitability
If a relationship is to evolve, it must go through a series of endings.
-Lisa Moriyama
Some things just stayed the same; some good, some bad, and some that meant nothing either way, like the tediousness of his job at the grocery. He was used to this out of pure necessity, and that made the work both easier and mildly threatening. Little mundane things of life that were hauled at people, at first incredibly unbearable, gradually settled into an alarmingly comfortable pattern, an unbreakable routine of character and life. Wake up next day, and you'd be all the things you never wanted to be. Dean had wondered from time to time if he'd wake up one day and find that his life had gone on without a beginning or an end, if little trivial things that he never truly cared for in his heart would become permanent, inevitable parts of his life.
But now, when everyone talked of summer and their plans, he was grateful for this tedious job. Mundane tasks actually kept him going. When he was cashing lettuce and eggplants, toothpastes and dish soaps, he could tell himself that the feverish time of the spring past had swept by, and he had survived.
If anything, he had gotten into a better shape after a week of midnight running. That was something, at least.
He checked the clock briefly; he was off in half an hour. When he was occupying himself with counting the rolls of pennies, a slender hand pushed over a piece of paper with numbers across the desk. He looked up.
"It's not my number if that's what you were guessing." Amanda stood across from him with a reserved smile, looking immaculate from head to toe as usual.
"What is it?" he asked, reluctantly fingering the paper.
Amanda looked vaguely embarrassed, which was strange, because she was always a picture of fine confidence. "Call this number. There is this summer job, an internship opportunity at some big name engine-designing place or something to do with auto design...or something. It's a forty-minute drive, but I think it'd be worth it. Of course, that is, if you're not too attached to this"--she looked around the store, trying not to make a face at it--"job."
Dean was dumbfounded. "How did you know I was--"
"--interested in cars? In case you didn't notice, I pay attention."
He looked down at the paper, looked up at her, and looked down again. What was he supposed to say to her? "Aman--"
"I like you," she said abruptly.
Dean's mind immediately went blank. What was he supposed to say to her now? Thanks?
Was this his fault? Had he unwittingly dropped hints that Amanda took as "You Shall Proceed" signals? Even Dean, the perpetual slow learner in the world of female psyche, had noticed that Amanda had persistently shown interest in him even after the particularly painful event after the last dance. The sad thing was, he wasn't.
Amanda smiled, reading his expression. She actually looked more relaxed now. "You don't have to look like that. I'm not asking you to marry me or anything. I'm not blind. I know you and your ex, and... I know." Her voice was soft now. "I'm just saying I can wait."
I don't want to do this, Dean thought in despair. He knew what it was like, to rake your emotions outside to show to one person and ask him/her to reciprocate such feelings, knowing they were most likely not to be returned. He knew how this felt on the rejected end; he didn't want to be the one doing the rejecting. "It's not fair to you."
Amanda wasn't to be deterred. "Of course not. Since I want this more than you do, it can't possibly be fair. So what? I'd like to be your friend."
She was proud, unflinching, but even through her confident smile Dean felt her desperation that seemed indeed too familiar. "Why? You don't even know me."
"When I saw you the first time, you were trying to stop a fight. You just put yourself there, and the other guy took a swing at you, but you just...kept your cool and dealt with it. I thought, wow, I have to get to know this guy."
They were the echoes of his own words to Rory. The fight was when he'd tried to stop Jess, the one where Jess had taken a swing at him. Amanda had seen him then.
This irony wasn't lost on Dean.
Amanda continued softly, "This doesn't happen to me often, you know, a serious case of crush. But I don't want it to stop at the crush level. So first, friend. Maybe more, but for now, I'll settle for a friend spot." She pushed the paper over the desk. "Give them a call when you're ready. And call me, if you'd like."
Before he could say anything, she turned toward to the exit.
"Amanda! I--" What to say now? What? There was nothing he could say that wouldn't hurt her less. He said lamely, "Thanks."
She turned to him, breaking into laughter. "Boy, so not what I wanted to hear." She shook her head. "Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. Guess I'll have to settle for your 'thanks'."
In a second, she was out of the door, gone, like a mirage. He was left with a shadow of her wistful smile, his guilt, and a glare from Taylor.
Back home, with exhausted mind and body. But there were more reminders of Rory, Amanda, and things he weren't ready for, than the piece of paper he had put into his pocket after hesitation.
"I want you to like Amanda," Clara declared at dinner.
Dean put down his fork, because there was no stopping her when his sister got this annoying, and because he lost all appetite. "You actually like Amanda?" What, was Amanda bribing his sister? Clara couldn't be taking after Amanda already? At least if Clara tried to take after Rory, he wouldn't have to worry about his sister spending more times at the Mall than the school.
Clara stuck out her tongue. "I like her. She's nicer than Rory. Why can't you love Amanda?"
He was silent, because she struck the core. Why couldn't he? Amanda, who was head over heels with him. Amanda, who paid all of her attention to him, someone who seemed to know more about what he needed in a couple of weeks than Rory ever had, someone who was definitely easy on the eye. Why not? Clearly, if men could walk on the Moon, Dean could like someone other than Rory. A man was supposed to be able to conquer anything if he put his mind to it.
Why not, dammit?
Dean attacked the mashed potatoes without answering his sister, and Mom answered for him, her tone slightly admonishing, "It doesn't work that way, Clara. There shouldn't be a reason why you love somebody. You just do, even with so many flaws, even though you might get hurt. You just embrace everything about this person, because you just do."
"Of course, of course," Dad agreed, because he agreed to almost everything what Mom said at the dinner table. That was the smart man's tactic, he had once told Dean. "That's how we were anyway."
It was never a good idea to talk about love with probably the only happily married couple he knew. More so if they happened to be your parents. Anyway, his version of romance like his parents' was already out of the picture, his illusion broken. He felt mean. "That's way too romanticized, isn't it?" Dean commented curtly, "Some people might chalk off love as hormones at work, not some fate at work. You think too much of that love thing."
"Now, now, don't be grumpy, Dean," Mom was, irritatingly enough, all smile, "We all know you just broke up with a girl."
He waved his fork instead of answering.
Mom asked, quieter, "So why did you love Rory?"
That stopped him dead. Why?
Because of the way her eyebrows furrow when she concentrates, because her hand fits perfectly into his, because of the way her face breaks into a radiant, live, smile, because of her nonstop babbles that bring tingles into his chest, because of the way she looks at him with her head tilted that brings flutters to his heart, because of the way her soft hair feels between his fingers, because of her touch that burns into his skin even through the thick fabric of his jacket, because her voice has enigmatic magic that turns a boring narrative into passionately woven tales, because he's never wanted big things in life but wants everything for her, because he can just tell she's going to be something great in life with or without him and he desperately wants along for the ride, because she makes him feel big and so small at the same time, because he is not the jealous type but is to a ferocious degree when it comes to her, because with one glance for him, she can bring out all these rush of emotions, and because with one glance meant for someone else, she can take them all away from him.
Because she can make him give up all these for her. For her happiness.
Because it never was about 'did'. Because it was always about 'do'.
So why did he love her?
Because not one of the reasons was sufficient.
"I don't remember," he lied.
Mom looked at him, her eyes searching. "You must've really loved her, then."
The understanding in her gentle voice hurt him more than it should have. Everyone on the table shared a meaningful silence. Everyone, except Clara who was at the moment only concerned with corns on her plate.
Dad cleared the throat and suggested in an opportune time that Dean should help him with unpacking new car stereos tomorrow. Dean wondered whether to tell them about the job offer and decided against it. He wasn't even decided whether to take it anyway. No point in appearing as if their careless, ambitionless son was suddenly interested in future plans.
When he passed Mom's side to get to the sink, dirty plates in his hand, she kissed his cheek.
"Let it pass," she told him gently, "It will pass."
That night, when he ran again and his lungs were filled with cold air that cut like blade, he noticed he was always coming back to the bus bench, Rory's bench. He couldn't laugh, but only hope his mother was right. When hoping became too much, he took out the piece of paper from his pocket and stared at the numbers he couldn't read because of the dark.
It suggested a future with a narrative inevitability of a fairy tale told too many times. Only this future, he would be the villain, with Amanda as the hurt protagonist. Rory would be there as a foil. She would always be there, even in other future scenarios.
Dean desperately wanted to write a new story. Taking chances, letting people in. Letting it go.
The problem was, even after two weeks, he didn't know how.
/I gave her my heart, and she gave me a pen./
Dean was currently watching a young version of John Cusack having a fit on the TV screen. John Cusack, screaming at the phone, and with not just a little amount of agony.
"Huh." After a moment of consideration, Dean took over the remote and stopped the video. He then turned to the protesting companions, "So, is there like a reason you chose to watch this movie with me? A romantic comedy about the most intelligent girl in town and a guy with no ambition falling in love with her? What's the moral here?"
Lorelai, her hand full of popcorns, scoffed, "You're completely paranoid. It's sacrilegious that you haven't seen 'Say Anything' before you hit fifteen."
Lane, comfortably seated between Dean and Lorelai, snatched some of those popcorns herself, "Agreed. Sacrilegious and against all the laws of nature and civilization."
Dean huh-ed again, resumed the video, and retraced the steps just how on earth he had ended up here, at Lorelai's -- at Rory's -- on a beautiful Friday night. Well, it had started with a phone call from Lorelai again, although it hadn't begun with the usual, desperate "Have you seen Rory?" question. The following conversation had taken place instead:
"Rory's not home, Dean, so you might as well come over and entertain me."
"...Why?"
"'Cause I'm bored?"
"Right. Uh, no thanks, I'll pass."
"C'mon, why not? She made it clear she wasn't gonna be home like, until tomorrow morning. Again. And I'm bored."
"What happened to the Friday night dinner at your parents'?"
"Rory dismissed it."
"Rory dismissed it?" Dean hadn't known that was actually possible.
"Rory dismissed it on account of her fabulous nighting tonight which I haven't been properly informed of."
So this was another of Lorelai's "Have you seen Rory?" call, just in a different form. Dean hadn't been sure whether the hurt he felt was for Lorelai, or for himself. "Call Luke, then."
An exaggerated gasp. "Don't tell me that you haven't heard the rumor yet?"
"What rumor?"
"That Luke had divorced any kind of friendship with Lorelai Gilmore after a particularly upsetting fight which by now everyone has heard in this town."
Over Jess, of course. Apparently they were still not on speaking terms yet. Oh well. "What about Lane?"
"Cheerleading practice. Or was it the band?"
"Sookie?"
"She's getting some hot monkey sex with Jackson right about now."
"You're really in tuned with this too much information thing, aren't you?"
"And you realized that now? How slow are you?"
"Why do you want me to come over? Did it ever occur to you that I might have something tonight?"
"Well, do you?"
"...No, but that's not the point."
"Then what is?"
One thing about Lorelai, she was bossy. Another thing, her bossiness always seemed to work. There had been a thousand reasons for not coming, and a blind deaf-mute could see that this could never end well, but he'd come anyway. Lorelai, too, was his friend, and it didn't feel right to leave a friend who seemed so...lonely. He understood what it was like.
When he had gingerly come over an hour later, he expected traps. And sure enough, he almost tripped over half a dozen of romantic comedy videos strewn all over the living room.
"Hey Dean," Lorelai, at the moment stretched all over the couch, had waved casually at him.
"Lorelai."
"Yes, Dean."
"Can there be any kind of reasoning with you on this?"
"No." A sweet, sweet smile. "Popcorn?"
The living room was messy beyond reason. Dean gave up making a room for himself and sat on the floor beside the couch. Looking at the empty bowls of popcorn and chocolate and a lot of stuff that he couldn't dare to guess, he asked, "Lorelai, are you going through a mid-life crisis?"
"Wow, resentment forming. Mid-life? Have I not worked hard enough to propagate that I haven't even reached my early-life?"
"Then, what, a preemptive strike? Seriously, I think calling Lane and forming a support group on why-am-I-left-out-from-Rory's-life-again might be a better idea than calling her ex-boyfriend to come over and watch the 80's finest romantic comedies."
Which was exactly what she proceeded to do the next moment. "Lane should be finished with practice by now," Lorelai explained. "Of course, you can't leave now. Ya gotta be the secretary to my president."
So they were all here now, three of them gathered in a jungle of a living room and throwing popcorns everywhere. Two years in this town, and Dean was yet to discover anything more compounding than Lorelai's taste in movies.
"Dean?" Lorelai called out while Dougray Scott was proposing to Drew Barrymore, which surprised Dean because she and Lane had been waiting for this moment for the entire duration of 'Ever After', even discussing the merits of supposedly French prince speaking English with vague British accent that somehow sounded like French accent.
"Yeah?"
"How's school?"
Was this a trick question? With Lorelai, he was never sure. "Made a bomb in chem, shot a few fellow students in gym, blew up the principal's office at recess, the usual."
"Covering only the basics, tsk, tsk. Young kids these days, never venture."
Gilmore girls had a bad habit of talking about extremely irrelevant materials when they actually wished to discuss something else entirely. Dean glared, "Lorelai."
"What, what?"
"What do you want to tell me?"
"What could you possibly mean?" Lorelai gave him a completely innocent look.
Geez, a time like this called for a drastic measure. "Lorelai, I'm keeping this remote control hostage until you say fully what's on your mind."
"You," Lorelai sat up in feigned horror and threw popcorns at him, "are getting way better at this than I'm comfortable with."
"I've known you way too long." Dean allowed a small grin. "So?"
"Nothing!" Lorelai avoided his glare. "Really. It's just this little thing that keeps bugging me, this little issue of you having the will of steel to resist the charm of that new Ashley girl, which of course is none of my business and you can totally tell me to butt out, but I'm only humbly wondering if that's the reason you're wallowing in angst today...like many other days."
It was a hint that things were going verrry screwy if your ex-girlfriend's mom began to worry about your love life, or lack there of. It was a good time to start panicking. "Where did you hear--" Dean stopped and glared at Lane.
The Asian girl in question quickly withdrew her interested look and turned away, helping herself with more popcorn. "I'm not here, people."
Lorelai had enough grace to look sheepish. "I'm reestablishing the disclaimer: you can totally tell me to butt out, and I've no intention to play shrink, but I'm--"
"--just worried, I know." Of course she was. Dean tried to hide irritation. She was just concerned about his well-being. Just concerned, that was all. No reason for annoyance.
Lorelai gave him a slight relieved grin and fully turned to him, the movie and the glass shoe bit completely ignored. "So? Are we getting any juicy details? 'Fess up. I need my vicarious fix."
"Isn't that what these movies are for? Besides," Dean said, half-turning, feeling rather malicious, "You're not worried about me. You're more worried about easing Rory's guilty conscience."
The movie was still on, its background music filling the living room with loud, pseudo-Celtic music, but somehow, it sounded hollow, as if no one in the room was watching. It was probably because they weren't, because both Lorelai and Lane stared at him instead of the screen, the first with hurt and the latter with surprise.
Crap. Dean briefly closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. That was really low of me."
Lorelai, suddenly with a rueful smile, shook her head. "No, you're right. I was out of line. And maybe I did think about Rory and how she feels. But I thought of you just the same."
"I know you did. I'm sorry. And I am fine. I mean, I've gone through all the stages, denial, anger, don't-want-to-hear-her-name's. All that. And I haven't slit my wrist yet, so--I'm fine."
Lane and Lorelai both pulled their distinct I-don't-believe-you faces and Dean added, sighingly, knowing exactly what would make them believe him, "And it's not Ashley. Her name is Amanda, and it's not like that. We're just," he tried to find a word, and failed, "friends." Were they even? He wasn't sure, because if they were, he would have called her already, got the job without the guilt problem, and possibly opened the door for something more.
So what if he was lying. It was a small lie. And it might not be a lie, given some time.
Lorelai, making him wonder just how many kinds of smile that she could possibly possess, gave him a broad, mischievous smile. "That, my friend, is how the history is made." Her eyes met his, and she patted his shoulder. "I'm happy for you, Dean," she lost the mischief in her voice this time, but none of the warmth.
Dean looked down, because he couldn't meet her eyes, because him getting all weepy wouldn't be a particularly attractive picture. He swallowed hard, thinking it was a good time to change the topic. "Um, more popcorn? And if anyone noticed, the movie's ended."
Lorelai right away handed him an empty plastic bowl for popcorn, probably taking a pity on him. "Hmm, in the honor of Dean's decreasing chance of becoming a monastic monk permanently, I call on Dean to choose the next film."
"Hear, hear!" Lane chimed in.
He retreated to the kitchen, still wondering like hell what in the god's name he was doing here, and came back from the kitchen trying to figure out the movie that everyone would hate.
"Here's something that'd be slightly less offensive to my mental health," he said, triumphantly holding 'The Mummy Returns' and the popcorn container, "This should be enough punishment for you, except for that buff guy, who would be--"
No one answered him, no single expected "Horror! Horror!" from Lorelai. He looked up and saw Lane and Lorelai were singularly staring at the doorway.
Which was where Dean found an astonished Rory and a very unhappy Jess standing uncomfortably.
Silence.
Dean suddenly had an incredible and inexplicable feeling that he should never have come.
They collectively looked at anywhere but each other, except for Lorelai, who was looking directly at her daughter.
"Wow, back so early?" Lorelai spoke, slowly standing up, arms crossed. Dean thought he could see this hard steely something building in her. "No overnight I-don't-even-call-my-worried-mom adventure? No I-won't-be-coming-home-tonight-and-don't-give-a-damn-whether-you-like-it-or-not -'cause-I-know-everything declaration to follow up? Surprise, surprise."
Rory, seemingly jolted out from seeing what must've been a scene from her nightmare, collected herself and answered with amazingly calm voice, "We just came to apologize. Jess thought we should."
Lane and Dean exchanged glances and backpedaled as far away as possible from the ground zero, walking slowly to go unnoticed. Jess stood a little behind Rory. Even with his standard devil-may-care expression, it was clear as day that Jess didn't want to be anywhere near here at the moment.
"Really?" Lorelai turned to Jess, her voice flat, "You got a lot of balls coming in here, buddy, with the last stunt you pulled."
"Mom!" Rory jumped in, her face pale even when her eyes were full of anger, "He didn't pull anything, as I've explained a thousand times. It was my idea. Jess comes in trying nothing but to civil and you do this to him. You always do this to him. And you invited Lane over while I was gone? Not just Lane! You called--" she stopped, trailing off, her eyes downcast. Her lips quivered, and all the people in the room knew whose name she'd been about to utter. Dean looked away.
But Lorelai was merciless, "Oh, I'm sorry, how ignorant of me not knowing I wasn't allowed to do things on my own consent under this roof which I worked and paid for. Of course I need a permission for such a harmless little thing like calling Lane and Dean over when I'm bored out of my skull, and clearly, you don't need a permission for a single thing in life!"
Wow. Dean was apparently witnessing a making of history. Lorelai and Rory Gilmore, in a full-grown fight? Not something he was prepared to fully witness, more so if he was being discussed here. He handed the video to Lane and ignoring the 'Traitor!' look Lane was giving him, took a step toward the door. "Uh, I should go, Lorelai," he spoke quietly, hoping it would be under the hearing threshold.
No luck. Lorelai turned to him, "You're staying."
"Mom!"
"Don't you dare move a step out from my house, Dean. I order you to stay, or you'll never be coming here again."
'Is that a promise?' Dean almost said, but bit it back. The appropriate response was to say, "Um, Okay," and back out slowly to their bystander side. Lane looked at him sympathetically.
"What is this, Mom? I mean, a passive aggressive strike to show your discontent with my decision to actually have fun in life? All right," Rory went, her arms waving the air, "I'm gonna call Max and hang out with him!"
"First of all, ewww. Second, like you're gonna have a horrid affair with a teacher in the manner of the Graduate? Third, fine, do whatever, since when do you ask for my opinion? But you don't get a say in who I invite over or who I don't, and Dean's staying."
"What is it with you? If Dean's so great, why don't you marry him!"
"Maybe I will! He's half my age and still underage, but so what? It's been proven Gilmore girls could do obviously worse in so many ways!"
God, were they not aware of him standing right here? Since obviously he didn't get any say in who to marry, he ventured tentatively, "Uh, can I go before you both decide to marry me off to Miss Patty?"
Lorelai and Rory both turned to him, eyes blazing. "No!"
Some things never changed, Dean sighed.
Lorelai turned serious, grew quiet, "Rory, I'm not telling you who to like. And conversely, you can't tell me who to like either. I just don't know how I'm supposed to respect someone and trust my daughter with him when he gives me no reason to do so. Can you honestly tell me, Rory, I didn't try hard enough to give him a fair chance?"
Rory didn't answer; neither did Jess. Dean was actually surprised that Jess was taking in Lorelai's tantrum like this, didn't just scoff and walk out.
Which meant Jess really did care about Rory. Possibly felt the same toward her.
The sky wasn't broken, there was no earthquake. For Dean, it just hurt a lot. It was okay, though, because the pain had not disappeared anyway. It was still as acute as ever, the hole still empty. But his heart might have been hardened. Dulled. So, yes, it was okay.
It was.
Lorelai turned to Jess bitterly, "Was it really you idea to come over tonight and apologize for your behavior the last time? All right, then. Let's hear it. Do apologize, mister."
Before Jess could say anything damaging, Rory said, almost inaudible, "Mom, you supposed to try. Even though you don't like him, you're supposed to try to like him."
"Well, why the hell should I? And for once, I'm asking a very legitimate question."
"For me, Mom. Because I ask you to do this for me!"
The room suddenly grew silent.
The tableau was this. Rory, still a vision even with tears staining her face, shaking at the doorway; Lorelai, frozen, confusion and guilt and realization and hurt and maternal instinct all rolled into one expression; Jess, hovering over Rory almost protectively, going against all of his cool guy image; Lane, standing away as a spectator, a witness to something she couldn't quite handle, a witness to confirm that maybe she wasn't as close to her friend as she used to be; and Dean.
And Dean. He, the only moving member of this tableau, guessed it was his time to go.
He walked out, passing Rory through the small doorway, his shoulder almost touching her hair. Almost, but not. It broke his heart.
What was left of it, anyway.
He walked down Rory's porch, hands sliding into his pockets. The night air was cooling. Not enough for him, but cooling.
It was destined to end this way. Yep, the narrative inevitability of a fairy tale told once too many. A boy meets a girl. A boy is blissfully happy. The boy loses the girl. The END.
"Dean!"
Lorelai stood on the porch. The light from the window only partially lit her face, but he could read one big emotion on her expression: guilt. "I wasn't using you for my passive aggressive attempt at anti-Jess fest. Truly. I...didn't know she was going to be home. I'm really sorry this happened."
He stared at his feet.
Lorelai let out a frustrated yelp. "Say something, Dean. Yell at me, scream at me, and stop with the silent Josh Hartnett in Pearl Harbor thing, 'cause it's creeping me out, although probably not as much as the movie, and yes, I have seen the movie and for that, I must die."
There was no period or even coma to be found in her speech. Dean shook his head, half amused despite himself. "I'm not articulate, Lorelai."
"Surprisingly, that didn't escape my notice."
"Lorelai, I'm not like you or Rory. Words just don't stream out from my mouth like you, can't argue like you, can't express feelings like you two do. And when I try, I come up sounding like a total jerk. Sounds so angry and jealous and stupid." As proven by the past incidents. Dean sighed. "Lorelai, you didn't put up with me for the last couple of years only because of Rory, did you?"
"What? No--"
"Likewise I didn't come here today just because you're Rory's mom. Actually, I shouldn't have come preciously because you're Rory's mom, but I'm here. I'm glad you called me. You call me whenever, and I'll be here. But now, you gotta be on Rory's side. Rory is your kid, and I'm not. She needs you more, and I get that. I have to be, because despite everything, I had fun with you and Lane, and I want to see you two again. With, or without Rory."
Lorelai stayed silent, the bird sang the night away, and he looked down, shuffling his foot.
When she spoke again, she had walked down the stairs and stood before him. She was smiling, for him.
"When I first met you, Dean, before I knew you, I thought you were like Christopher, Rory's dad, all charm and no responsibility." She took his hand and squeezed once gently. "I've never been more glad to have been wrong."
Probably the best compliment he could ever get from Lorelai. Another weepy moment. Dean swallowed a lump and forced a smile. "Go. Rory's waiting."
Dean watched as Lorelai walked back into the house, and his smile, for all his effort, turned weary. Narrative inevitability again. He was to stand here, outside, left alone. And watch. The only thing that was allowed.
He was tired.
"You were great," a voice broke the silence, and Lane appeared.
The weary smile now took over his face. "You know, I should've kicked his ass right there."
Lane pushed up her glasses that dangled on her nose, shaking her head. "You wouldn't."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're nice."
So what if he was? That wasn't something Rory was looking for, and he had only his totally shattered heart to show for. "Fat a lot of good that did."
Lane took one look at him, smiled. "Well, niceness at least gets you free ice cream. Let's go."
Dean dropped his mouth, amazed. "Haven't we honestly had enough for today?"
"I don't know what guys do to feel better, but this is what we do. And since you made Lorelai feel much, much better, you deserve some ice cream."
Here he saw Lane, not Rory's friend, but his. Like Lorelai. He thought he had to endure this period of life, let it pass, let it flow until everything was better again. But maybe, there was another way.
He smiled, but it wasn't weary any more. "Hmm. So this is one of those things I should follow without questions?"
"You're catching up fast."
Dean made a grand gesture with his arm. "Lead the way."
And amazingly enough, after three scoops of ice cream and several laughs with Lane, it did feel better.
A variation in the narrative inevitability.
He didn't run that night.
TBC.
(Hmmm, getting longer and longer and longer... But, it is leading somewhere! ;))