Tea Time with Winky

When Lorelai arrived at the Dragonfly, Sookie and Jackson were in the kitchen there, entrenched in a heated battle over zucchini blossoms that ended with Sookie brandishing a handful of the flowers and bellowing at her retreating husband that détentes were for suckers. Lorelai smiled.

"You two with the flirting," she said. "Hussy."

Sookie shrugged, grinning. "We do get carried away sometimes."

"Although, I must say I think the comment about having seen better blossoms on the town drunk's cheeks was pushing it a little," Lorelai said.

Sookie poured a cup of coffee and pushed it towards Lorelai. "So, how are you today?"

Lorelai spooned sugar into her cup. "I'm standing. On my feet, which is a great achievement in and of itself. And I'm thinking sequential thoughts. They're coming in rows now instead of newspaper jumbles. So that's good. Mostly. They're not always good thoughts, but they're at least distinct from each other," she said.

"And you talked to Luke?"

Lorelai shook her head. "Not yet."

"Lorelai, I'm sorry, but you're being totally ridiculous," Sookie said.

"Again, with the hostility," Lorelai replied. "I don't know what I have to say yet."

"Yes, you do," Sookie told her. "Just talk to him. You'll feel better."

"Wanna make a bet?" she said, speaking into her cup. "You talk to Winky yesterday?"

"You're going to have tea with her at eleven," Sookie said. She pointed at Lorelai. "I have to go get herbs for the salad. Talk to Luke."

"Sookie," Lorelai whined.

"Talk to him!"

Lorelai carried her coffee to her office and stared at the phone on her desk for a long moment. She took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialed.

"Richard Gilmore."

"Dad, hi. This is your daughter," she said.

"Lorelai?"

"That's me," she said. "How are you, Dad? I've been meaning to call—I was going to call yesterday, but I just—I got caught up in some things and before I knew it…" She trailed off. "I'm calling now, though. I wanted to see how you're doing."

For a moment, she thought the line had gone dead. "Well, I suppose I'm just fine, Lorelai, thank you for inquiring," Richard said. "And yourself?"

"Alive and kicking," she replied. She took a sip of coffee, preparing. "I'm sorry you had to hear all that," she said. "I'm sorry for the whole mess."

Richard heaved an audible sigh. "It was hardly your fault, I must say, Lorelai."

"Thank you for saying that, Dad." She sat up straighter in her chair, sure there would be more.

"Perhaps we could discuss this at another time," Richard said. "I am at work, you know."

"Oh, I'm sorry—I didn't mean to disturb you," she said.

"It's no disruption at all," he replied. "I am only here to gather the rest of my things and to distribute the remainder of my workload."

"What do you mean?"

"I am retiring, Lorelai."

"Oh, my God, Dad. That's—that's huge. That's—I don't know what to say—congratulations? I'm sorry?" She rose from her chair as she spoke and smacked her forehead with the flat of her hand.

"That's all very fine," he said vaguely, as though he hadn't been listening. "Will you be free for dinner on Sunday?"

"Of course. Would you like to come here, or—"

"Why don't you come to the house? Feel free to bring your friend," Richard said.

"My—?"

"Your friend, Luke."

"Oh. Well, then. Okay. Sure. Right. Okay. Nice talking to you, Dad."

"Good-bye, Lorelai."

Dear Rory, she thought, every day some bizarre, vaguely unpleasant occurrence causes me to wonder if my life is not some psychological-sociological experience like The Truman Show. What next? What, I ask you? Tomorrow, I suspect my hair will begin to grow in green at the roots and my eyelashes will be purple. That might not be so bad, though—I could work with that.

Lorelai sat down to tea—or coffee disguised in a thin china tea cup—with Winky Bedermeir exactly at eleven. The elderly woman leaned heavily on a thick, gnarled wooden cane, hunched with age. She wore three long sleeved tee shirts of various colors over a white oxford shirt with a long denim skirt of uncertain vintage. Peeking out beneath the hem of her skirt were Red Converse high tops. Lorelai hoped that when she was eighty-nine, she would have this woman's hair—thick and silver, roped in braids about her head like a crown. Winky settled herself in her chair and watched Lorelai pour her tea.

She waited until Lorelai was seated herself to speak. "So. Ms. Gilmore. Tell me about your life," she said, her voice even and mellow.

"Excuse me?"

"Your life, your life, I want to know about your life," Winky said, sipping her tea. "I'm a biographer. Lives interest me."

"Ah, well," Lorelai said, fidgeting a moment, "I've lived in Stars Hollow for oh, over eighteen years now, I guess? God, that's a long time," she sighed. "I have a daughter—"

Winky waved her hand at Lorelai. "No, no, that's not what I want. I want to hear what people would say about you if you weren't in the room."

Lorelai started. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Bedermeir—"

"Please, call me Winky."

"Winky, then. I'm just curious as to why you're so curious—reciprocity of curiosity. Be a good name for an album," Lorelai said.

Winky stared at Lorelai thoughtfully a moment. Her eyes were bright behind the thick glasses she wore. "I've got a plan for you, Ms. Lorelai," she said, "but I'd like to hear about you first." Lorelai returned her stare, her brow furrowed and her mouth pursed in worry. Winky gave her an easy, friendly smile. "I assure you it's an evil plan," she said.

Lorelai couldn't help but smile. "My favorite kind," she said. "All right. Here we go: I am the wayward progeny of a corporate couple from Hartford. I got knocked up at sixteen, I dropped out of school, had my kid and moved out on my own. I need to have everything on my own terms, I'm stubborn and a loud-mouth and I always find a way to get what I want. I don't like being told what to do and I probably won't do it. I have a pretty good heart, but I don't take a whole lot seriously unless it comes to my kid and again, what I want, like this inn. I drink too much coffee and eat too much sugar and fat, but that's mainly why I'm interesting." She took a breath. "I don't do relationships properly but I'm a pretty good friend and I'm handy in a crisis. Nobody is half as amused by my wit as I am, and my mouth can get me in trouble because I don't always know when to stop. Is that what you want to hear?"

Winky stuffed a jam cookie in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "It'll do. You finish your schooling?"

"I completed my GED and I have a degree in business, so yes," Lorelai said. She absently stirred her coffee in her cup. "Mrs.—Winky—um, not that I'm not flattered by the attention, or anything, you know, because I am nothing if not fascinated by myself, but what are these questions heading to?"

The older woman waved her hand again. "I'll get to it. How long did it take you to get this inn up and running?"

"After we purchased the property? We broke ground in October and we opened in May. Seems longer, though," Lorelai said. "I think I aged about fifteen years in the last seven or eight months." She paused. "You're a biographer?"

"I was," Winky said. "Before. I was never published, you understand. I did local biography for the historical society in my hometown until I married my Harry. I did undertake some rather large projects in my time, but I never finished them."

"How come?"

"I often found that when I knew enough about a person to write about him, I no longer wanted to spend the time with him that it would take to write his life. I am a fickle biographer," Winky said. "It is an odd way to spend a life, studying others. Harry thought it most amusing."

"Harry is your husband?"

"Was. He passed, oh, five years ago in the fall," Winky said, helping herself to another cookie.

"I'm so sorry," Lorelai said. "Did you have children?"

Winky shook her head. "We never could, my dear. But I have not sat down with you today to talk about me." She stopped. "Or rather, I have, but not directly."

"I'm sorry?"

"My friends and I, Ms. Lorelai, have lived in the same community for ten years or more. This year, we have toured New England quite extensively searching for a town such as this one. We have decided that this is the place for us," Winky said.

"The place for…?" Lorelai asked. She raised her cup and took a sip of coffee.

"To wait. You see, my dear, we are all terminal."

Lorelai coughed, choking on her coffee. She put her hand to her throat and stared. "Terminal? You mean—you mean—oh, my God. Mrs.—Winky—I am so sorry. That is terrible." She sat a moment, opening and closing her mouth, attempting to find an appropriate phrase, to ask the right question, to compose herself. Dear Rory, she thought, see? This is what I'm talking about!

Winky shrugged. "Oh, my dear. We have had quite some time to come to terms with it. We all of us have our problems—I have a growth on my kidney that's been getting larger for years, Ms. Caliope has the emphysema, Martin and David have their tumors too, and Ms. Charlotte, well, she has so many problems we don't narrow it down to just one anymore."

"And you've all decided to come to Stars Hollow to—" Lorelai stopped, unable to complete the idea, let alone the sentence.

"We want to die in our own time, on our own terms, not in a home. We've decided. We put a bid in on a house here, and when the sale is complete and the necessary renovations finished, we will come here to live with a nurse or two," Winky said. "This town seems a perfect place—small, tidy, with enough to keep us amused, and people that won't mind us hanging about."

"Stars Hollow is nothing if not amusing," Lorelai conceded. "I just—I'm sorry, I'm having a hard time with this. You're just all going to sit here—"

"My dear, nothing so morbid. We're not anxious to go, we just would like to do it with dignity, in our own ways. I know I speak for all of us. I myself have had a lovely, happy life," Winky said, smiling. "I want to live my last joyfully—as joyfully as I can without my Harry. This is the place to do it. Here I can wait to see him again quite happily, I believe."

Lorelai's throat tightened as she saw the light on the elderly woman's face, the wistful expression as she turned her face up, closing her eyes. She reached across the table and placed her hand over Winky's. Winky blinked and looked at Lorelai a long moment, as though surprised to see her.

"What was Harry like?" Lorelai asked.

Winky withdrew her hand and sipped her tea, gathering herself together. "Oh, Harry was a writer—poetry, essays, the like—and he could be very moody. He would walk the house for hours when he was struggling with a line or an idea, all wrapped up in his words, staring at the floor. You couldn't speak to him then for fear of your life. But he was the wittiest man in the world, as well, and he saw the beauty in everything." Her hands shook as she set her cup on its plate. "Harry dreamed greatly. I thought his visions were the world. He filled my life," she said.

"That's beautiful," Lorelai said. "Everyone should have that."

"Harry and I would have been terrible with other people," Winky said. "Harry could be forbidding, and I do tend to be fussy. But we fit together quite well. We took care of each other. Everything was easy."

"Easy," Lorelai repeated.

"How else could it be? Even when it was hard, it was easy." She tapped her fingers against the table, nodding sagely. "That's the way it was. I don't know that I could explain it better, but Harry would have understood."

Lorelai sat back in her chair and began to fidget with the chinaware again, pouring more tea, refreshing her coffee. "So, Winky, how do I fit into this?"

"Ah, yes. Well. My friends and I will return to our retirement community shortly and we will need a proxy in Stars Hollow to oversee the details of the renovations to our new home. We have heard about your efforts with this beautiful building, and we hoped we might persuade you to act in our staid," Winky said. "You will, of course, be compensated. We do not ask that you have a daily hand in things as you did here—we understand that to be unreasonable. We would just like you to be in charge of properly delegating, hiring the right people, you understand—"

Lorelai nodded. "Delegation is something I understand completely," she said. "Winky, that's—very unexpected. Shouldn't you have a lawyer for something like that?" Lorelai asked.

"Most likely," the older woman conceded. "But we like the look of you better."

"I would love to help you out, Professor Winky. You're quite a something," Lorelai said.

"I hear the same about you," Winky told her. "That's one of the reasons I waited to talk to you, dearie. You and I are a lot alike, I think."

"How's that?"

Winky pulled herself out of her chair and headed back to the Inn. "I've always been a pisser, too," she called over her shoulder.

Lorelai grinned.

She stayed at the inn until after the dinner hour, and walked to town in the falling dusk suddenly aware that summer had arrived and she'd never noticed. She was warm and flushed when she reached the diner. She plopped herself down on a stool at the counter. She leaned forward on her elbows as Luke approached. He wiped his hands on a rag as he walked towards her, working it between his fingers and over his nails. He didn't look up or try to meet her eye.

"An eighty-nine year old woman called me a pisser today," Lorelai said. "That's a good thing, right?"

"Beats me," Luke replied. "You eating?"

She looked at him a moment. His expression was flat. She took her purse under her arm and stood. "Maybe later," she said. "Can I get a coffee to go, please?"

He handed her a to go cup that was almost too hot to carry. "I'll be by later," he said.

"Sure," she replied. She waved on her way out, nearly walking into Miss Patty and scalding them both with her coffee. "Patty, I'm so sorry—"

"Don't you worry about it, honey. How are you, dear? Holding up okay? Of course you are," she continued. "Balls of steel, I always said. You do yourself a favor, forget it ever happened and live your life."

"Oh, thanks, Miss Patty," Lorelai said, shifting her weight on her feet.

"You listen to me, Lorelai, I have been around the block more than once—"

"Thanks, Patty, I really have to—"

"Of course, darling," Patty said. She squeezed Lorelai's elbow and gave her a sympathetic smile. "We're all behind you."

Lorelai nodded, glancing around quickly. She leaned forward and dropped a kiss on Patty's cheek. "Thank you, Miss Patty."

She fell into bed the first thing when she got back to the house, slept dreamlessly awhile, still dressed in her work clothes. When she woke, her feet were throbbing. She toed off her shoes and changed into an old pair of jeans and a tank top, pulled her hair back and tied a bandana over it. As she padded down the stairs in her bare feet, she could smell cooking-smells in the kitchen. She hung back in the entryway, watching. Luke stood over the stove, brandishing a wooden spoon over a large skillet. Lorelai tipped her head to one side, listening to the twanging music coming from a boom box in the corner, studying this man in her kitchen.

She sidled up beside him and peered at the food sizzling in the pan. "Hi," she said, tilting her chin toward him.

Luke regarded her out of the corner of his eye. "Hi," he said.

Lorelai hoisted herself up onto the counter. "What'cha cooking?" she asked.

"Chicken."

She cocked an eyebrow at him, saying "oh, really?"

He looked at her and rolled his eyes. "Chicken strips with onion, green pepper, snow peas, and a glaze."

"What kind of glaze?"

Luke turned the flame off under the skillet and walked away from the stove to set the table. "Orange juice, brown sugar, soy sauce, and fresh ginger," he said. "You hungry?"

Lorelai slid off the counter and opened the fridge. "I'm assuming that's a rhetorical question," she said. "Beer? And what are you listening to?" she asked, cocking her head to one side, trying to catch the lyrics as she opened two bottles of beer.

"All of this time, you told me you wished you could figure yourself out. You say you're still a mystery, but no, not really, not to me, 'cause somebody knows you now."

"A CD," Luke replied.

"What are you, eight?" Lorelai shot back, handing him a beer. "Who made it?"

He shrugged. "It's just a CD."

Lorelai took a pull on her bottle and hugged herself, shivering. "It's depressing," she said. "It's country."

Luke avoided her eye. "I like country."

She began to smile a little. "Since when? I mean, I know you're a Buffet fan, but I had no idea your taste was quite so… whimsical." He didn't answer. "Who's this?"

"Brad Paisley," he answered.

"Baby, all your mystery, like you and me, is history. Somebody knows you now."

Lorelai sat at her table, drinking her beer, listening to the next song, a one-sided conversation between a country store clerk and a movie star. If one could get past the fact that it was country, it was almost funny. She continued to watch Luke as he arranged food on the plates and set it on the table, eyeing him with new curiosity.

"What else do you listen to?" she asked him. "Other country singers?"

He pointed his fork at her plate. "It's going to get cold."

"I'm serious," she said. "I want to know."

"I don't really want to talk about it," he said, pushing food around on his plate. "I've got a lot to do."

Lorelai sat still, playing with her fork. Luke ate his meal without looking up. "Luke," she said. "Look at me."

He raised his eyes, his chin still tucked down.

"Please, talk to me. I miss you," she told him.

"I'm right here."

Lorelai laid down her fork and stared at him. "I don't know what's going on with you," she said after a moment. "You make me dinner, but you don't want to talk to me?"

Luke gripped his own fork in a tight fist; Lorelai could see the tenseness in every muscle of his face and for a moment she was spitefully glad. "And I don't know what the hell kind of games you're playing, Lorelai," he said.

"Excuse me? Games?" she asked, horrified.

He looked at her. "You think you don't know what's going on with me? You say you need time alone, but then you want me to hold you. You say you're not sure if you're ready, that you need time, but then you come in here and talk like nothing's changed, when really, everything's changed! And you think you don't know what's going on with me?" he asked.

Lorelai chewed on her lip, her eyes wide. She pushed herself back from the table and brought her plate to the sink. She stared out the window a long moment before turning around. Luke sat with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

"I would never intentionally play games with you, Luke, and you know that," she said firmly. "That was just hurtful."

His head snapped up. "Talk to me about hurtful," he said.

Lorelai crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. "I don't want to fight with you," she said. "I don't want to hurt you—I didn't mean to hurt you. I would never—" She stopped. "I'm confused. I'm sorry if that seems to you like playing games. I asked you for time, that's all! And having you around, I just—I don't know, I—I forget. And then I remember that I forgot and…" She trailed off, putting her hand to her forehead. "I don't mean to play games. I don't want to be the Vanna White of Stars Hollow. If you'd just give me—"

"What? Time? I told you—"

"Why do you keep saying that like it's a bad thing? If you're not going anywhere, then time shouldn't—"

Luke stood so quickly his chair fell over. "We're not having this conversation again, Lorelai—we just keep going around and around and around," he said, gesturing with his hand. "And it keeps coming back to the same thing—you not wanting to be with me," he said. "I can't keep having this conversation with you," he said again. "I can't."

Her mouth fell open. "That's not—you're not hearing me," she said. "You think I don't want to be with you?"

Luke looked at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "That's what I'm hearing you say, Lorelai. It's all I'm hearing you say when you talk about needing time, figuring things out."

"Oh, Luke," she sighed.

Luke dropped his hands and looked around the kitchen. "I'm going to go," he said. "I've got—the headboard," he said. "Designs. At the diner. I'll see you."

He went out the back door. Lorelai followed him out. "Luke," she called, but he only waved. She sat heavily on the porch stairs and watched him go. She banged her head on the railing. "Stupid," she whispered.

Babette was out on the lawn before Luke rounded the corner to town. "Lorelai! Sugar! It's so good to see you, doll! How you doing, huh? Really, how you doing?"

Lorelai lifted her head. "Hey, Babette," she said. "Come sit?" She patted the stair beside her. When Babette had settled herself beside Lorelai and again asked how she was doing, Lorelai put her hand on her friend's knee and squeezed. "I'm doing all right," she said. "I'm hanging in. I wanted to thank you, for talking to my mother."

"Oh, sugar, no need to thank me for that. You know me and Morey would do anything for you crazy girls," Babette said. "Your ma was so worried, I could just tell! Thought she and Rory'd be home by now! What sad business it all is—that guy's no good, Lorelai, and I hope you get yourself down to that police station 'fore the end of tomorrow and get yourself a restraining order!"

"Oh, Babette, that's not really necessary," Lorelai said. She paused. "Is it?"

"Coming to the town meeting like that, saying those things in front of the whole town! I tell you, honey, no one believes that bull-hockey for a second, not a second—can't trust a man with eyes like that far as you can throw him. Less!" Babette cried. "Sure, honey, he's probably capable of much worse. Oh, the thought that anything might-a happened to you all this time! Thank heaven you've had Luke around," she said, nudging Lorelai with her elbow. "Someone to take care of you, watch out for you."

"Thank heaven," she repeated, her voice faint.

"Good for him, too, get out a-that diner," Babette said. "I tell you, you never know how people are gonna be, do you, doll? That Jason, surprised us all—no-good, low-down—"

Lorelai rubbed Babette's knee and rose, helping the other woman to her feet. "You never do know," she said. "People keep surprising you." She pointed over her shoulder. "I'm going inside—I'm redecorating Rory's room for a surprise while she's gone."

"I can't wait to see it when it's all done, doll—you've got such an eye! I should be getting in too, Morey's puttin' dessert on the table! Chocolate cake and the man bakes like nothing else," Babette said. "Oh, I tell you, nothing else!"

Lorelai grinned and watched Babette back to her own door before turning inside and surveying the mess in the kitchen.

"Is it raining at your house like it's raining at mine? Does it thunder and lightening even when the sun shines? Is it raining at your house like it's raining at mine?"

Lorelai slapped the off button on the boom box and frowned. "Oh, you shut up," she said.