Stalemate

Lorelai wasn't thinking clearly when she reached home. The door wouldn't open—she couldn't get the door open. After a few moments of struggling, she realized it hadn't been locked and her fussing with the key had locked her out. She fell into her entryway and yanked the phone out of the wall. She discarded her coat, her skirt, her top, her underwear and bra as she tripped up the stairs to the bathroom. She wrenched the hot water tap on in the shower and stood under the spray, shivering. When she looked down, she realized her feet were bleeding. She began to cry.

After a moment, she gathered herself together, turned off the tap, and wrapped herself in a towel. She sat on the edge of the tub and examined the soles of her feet—there were too many tears and cuts to count, but nothing deep. She reached for a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and cried out as she poured it over her skin, watching the liquid foam over her wounds.

In all her life, Lorelai could never remember feeling more torn open, more exposed than she had in the moment Jason delivered his speech in the town hall. She sat, naked, in the bathroom, staring at the tile on the wall opposite her and tried not to think about what he had said, that she had run away, that she was sitting where she was, that she was soaking wet and freezing. She pulled herself to her feet and walked gingerly down the stairs.

Her cell phone had slid out of her purse and across the floor when she dropped it. She located it after a few moments of searching and opened it, dialed.

Rory answered on the fourth ring, just before the voice mail would turn on. "Mom?"

"Hey, babe. How's Rome?"

"Rome is beautiful. Grandma and I are having such a good time." She paused. "Mom, not that I'm not glad to talk to you, but is everything okay? You sound upset, and it's like one in the morning, here."

Lorelai put her hand to her forehead and drew a shaky breath. Her throat was closed with tears. She held the phone away from her as she swallowed so Rory wouldn't hear. "I totally forgot about the time difference, babe, I'm so sorry. Go back to sleep."

"Are you okay?"

"Fine, fine, sweetie. Go to sleep."

"But—"

"Hey, we'll talk later. Call me before you leave for Florence, huh?"

"Mom—"

"Night, babe."

She clicked the phone shut and turned it off. "That was a mistake," she said aloud. Dear Rory, she thought, My brain has entirely vacated my body. Nice talking to you. Love, Your Idiot Mom.

She allowed herself a moment of deep, shuddering breaths, feeling her whole body rocked as she attempted to draw air into her lungs. She then picked herself up and squared her shoulders before returning to the bathroom, taping up her feet as best she could, tying her hair back, and washing her face in ice cold water. When she looked in the mirror, she could see her veins through her skin.

She dressed in soft cotton pajamas and waited on the couch with the curtains drawn. She heard Morey and Babette arrive home, chattering loudly, Babette wanting to check up on her, the mumble of Morey's low voice, incomprehensible from where she sat. She heard three cars pass, saw the headlights arc across the wall in front of her. She sat in the dark, Indian style, a pillow hugged to her chest. He came just when she knew he would.

Luke didn't turn on the lights or sit beside her. He stood awkwardly by the arm of the couch.

"Your dad's at my apartment," he said.

She nodded. "Thank you. How is he?"

"He's shook up, but he's fine." Luke paused. "I gave him some whiskey. He's out like a light."

"Good."

"Taylor had the guy arrested. He's being held overnight."

"What's the charge?" she asked.

"Fraud."

Lorelai snorted slightly. "Right," she said.

"Are you okay?"

She blinked. She hadn't looked at him yet. There was a spot on the wall opposite her that was raised slightly, a hitch in the sheetrock, a bubble in the paint. "I'm fine."

"Lorelai," he said. "Tell me what you need."

She lifted her eyes to him. "I need you to go away. I need to be left alone awhile."

Even in the dark, she could see the hurt. "What?"

"I want to be alone."

"Lorelai—"

"Luke. I want to be alone. I need you to turn around, and I need you to go."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "For how long?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"Don't do this, Lorelai," he said. "I know you're upset, but don't do this."

"Don't do what?" she asked.

"Don't shut me out. I'm here to help," he told her.

In her laugh was all the bitterness her kisses had lacked. "Oh, honey," she said, "what is there to help? It's already been said. It's already out there."

He swallowed thickly. "You're upset. I get that. Just tell me what I can do."

"I already did. I need to be alone," she said.

"Okay, you're starting to piss me off now," he told her. "You do this, you tell me to leave, and he gets what he wants—he hurts you, he hurts us. You think I care about anything he said up there? You think I believe any of it's true?"

Lorelai unfolded herself and rose, padded over to the window on her taped-up and bleeding feet. "What did he say that wasn't true? That I was using him? That I was ashamed of myself? That a good fuck every now and again is all I really want from a man?"

"Lorelai—"

She put her hands to her face. "God, Luke, I beg you, please stop saying my name like that."

"None of that is true," he said.

"But it is. I don't know that I would have chosen those particular words or phrased it exactly the way he did, but he didn't say anything that wasn't true. He didn't lie. Maybe I didn't realize it at the time—doesn't make it less true, does it? I said it myself: I don't care about him, I didn't care about him. I was sleeping with him, and I didn't care. I meant it: it wasn't a relationship, it was a game," she said. "God, I'm like—I can't even think of some slutty celebrity of the top of my head, sleeping with the nearest warm body for fun, but I'm sure there's one out there, and I'm just like her." She looked at him. "Hell, if I didn't realize I was using him for sex, what does that say about us?"

He took a step forward and stopped when she raised her hand. "That doesn't say anything about us," he told her. "We're completely different. You know that."

"I don't know that, apparently. Weren't you listening? How do you know I'm not using you?" she asked.

"Because you're not. I know you're not."

"How do you know?"

"What do you mean, how do I know? I know because I know, that's how I know! I know because I love you and you love me, and that's not just physical and it's not just about fucking, it's about something bigger than the both of us and you know it just as well as I do!" he cried.

"Do I?"

"I think you do. You told me, you told me you needed me, you told me not to go anywhere, you made me promise—Lorelai, what the hell are you doing? What's really going on here?"

The pleading edge to his voice turned her stomach over. She put her hand to her mouth, afraid she would be sick. After a moment, she spoke.

"Tell me why you love me," she said.

"What?"

"Why? Why do you love me?"

"Are you serious?"

"No, I'm Jerry Seinfeld," she said. "Tell me."

He paced a moment, shifting his weight, searching for the words. "I don't know, because I do. Because you are who you are and you can't help that, and you can't help who you love. I know that, I tried, I tried to let it go, it didn't work—"

"Those aren't reasons, Luke," she said softly.

"Yes, they are, damn it all! They are!"

"No."

He got down then in a squat, put the heels of his hands to his forehead, concentrated hard for a moment. Looking at the floorboards of her living room, he spoke. "Because without you in it, my life is hollow—because there's nothing else without you. Because I need you." He looked up at her. "God, Lorelai. I just—I just love you."

Her eyes filled. "Is that enough? Is it enough forever? I mean, what if you—what if you wake up one day and that's gone? What then? What if you build your life around that and then you wake up one day and that thing in the center's not there anymore, what do you do? How do you start over after that?" Again, when he started towards her, she stepped back. "Those things that he said back there, those were terrible, terrible things. But they were true. I don't know how to give myself to someone. The one time I tried—"

"I'm not going anywhere, Lorelai, I told you that," Luke said.

"Don't you see this isn't just about you? I've got to be good enough, I've got to be strong enough, I've got to be able to be bigger than I am, and I don't know how," she told him. She bit her lip. "You know what else is true? I love you." She shrugged, and Luke saw a tear fall into the corner of her mouth as she did. "I love you. That's true. I love you, and I need you. But I don't—I don't—I can't be—"

He cleared his throat. "I'm not going anywhere. I promised. I'm not going anywhere even if you want me to." He took off his hat and tossed it on the sofa. He took of his coat, folded it, and placed it beside the hat. He put his hands in his pockets. "You said you were in. I said I wasn't going anywhere. This is where we are now, Lorelai. This is it, and you're not getting rid of me just because you're scared."

"What am I scared of? Tell me, because I'd really like someone to verbalize it. I'd really like you to tell me exactly what I'm feeling at this moment, and also, what you think I'm going to dream about when I eventually go to sleep again, and what I'll want for dinner on January 14, 2023, and whether or not I'm going to enjoy Kill Bill Vol. 2—"

"Stop," he said gently.

Lorelai watched him a moment. He was so at ease, standing there in her living room, bareheaded, rocking back on his heels. She watched him take all of her in, her rounded back, her tangled hair, her swollen eyes, her torn feet. He was the only person who had ever seen her at her complete worst. He was the only one she could imagine looking at her at this moment with anything close to affection and understanding. She had gotten used to the tightening in her chest when she saw him, the way she felt as though she couldn't hold herself in anymore, but now she ached.

"I am the person he said I was," she told him.

"I don't believe it," he said.

"But I do."

She was still skittish as he approached. He didn't touch her, didn't reach out, but he stood before her, holding her gaze. "I don't care," he said.

She closed her eyes. "I just want to be alone," she sighed. "I need to be by myself. I mean it. By myself, alone. Alone, by myself."

"I understand the concept," Luke told her.

"You're not going away, are you?" she asked wearily.

"I think we covered that."

She rubbed her eyes and hugged herself, trapping what warmth she could to her body. "Why are you doing this?"

"Christ, Lorelai," he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What, you're mad?" she asked, incredulous. "How do you get to be mad?"

He gestured forcefully with his hands as he spoke, every muscle in his body tense. "I get to be mad because I've waited for this—to be with you—longer than I've ever waited for anything in my life, and I'm a pretty patient guy when it comes to what I want, I think that's fair to say. And at the first hitch, the first bump, the first little doubt—"

"This is not a little doubt, Luke. This is the Godzilla of doubts. It's ravaged downtown Tokyo and is about to cross the ocean for the West Coast—the residents of LA are already shivering in the shadow of this doubt, that's how not little this doubt is," she told him.

He glared at her. "You know, you're right, Lorelai, this isn't just about me—but it's not just about you, either. This is about the both of us—you pull out on me because some jackass with a wounded ego says some nasty things about you at a town meeting, because you think you're not big enough, whatever the hell that means, and—"

"And what? I have time to think about if I'm ready for this?"

"Would you stop interrupting me?" he bellowed. "Look, Lorelai, I get that you're afraid, that this thing, this relationship, you and me, is different because there's no going back, everything is different now—I know, okay? Because it scares the shit out of me. But if you—if you pull out, if you say you need time, you only make it worse, you only start to think about it on your own, you start to think of all the reasons why it isn't going to work, and that's just bullshit. We have to do this together, damn it." He stopped and looked at her. She saw how close to tears he was. "Lorelai, the only way this is going to work is if we do it together. It's not about if you're strong enough or good enough or big enough, this is about us."

Lorelai covered her mouth with her hand and turned her face away. "Luke, I really think I just need to be alone right now. I need you to respect that. I need you to turn around and go."

"Tough shit."

"Excuse me?"

He sat on the couch, stretched his arms out along the back, and crossed his feet out in front of him. "I said, tough shit. You gotta believe me. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not letting you," he said, pointing at her, "push me out. I'm sticking around. And so are you."

"You're crazy," she said. "Would you just go?"

"You are the most infuriating person in the world, you know that? I'm not leaving," he said.

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'm going to bed. I'll see you," she said.

"Yep. You will."

She waved her hand dismissively as she made her way up the stairs. "Whatever." She paused in the door to her bedroom and turned around. "There are blankets in the hall closet," she said.

"Good to know."

"If I ask you one more time—"

Luke looked up at her. "Not gonna work."

She shut the bedroom door behind her and curled herself around a pillow. It still smelled like Luke. She buried her face in the linen and indulged herself in a moment of sinking self-pity. Dear Rory… she sighed. There was nothing to say.