Wayward Intentions
Lorelai was wearing roller skates, balancing carefully on a tall stack of magazines as she painted the ceiling of Rory's room. The mural had to be perfect, of this she was sure, but she couldn't figure out what would be the best color for the tattoo on Dean's forehead—the puce or the periwinkle. She had just decided on the puce and raised her brush to begin when the phone began to ring, jarring the tower on which she stood. She was aware she was falling and dropped the paintbrush, cursing. Her hand shot out and grasped the telephone receiver.
Her head was already off the pillow when she realized she was awake and holding the phone. She raised it to her ear. "Hello?" she said, her voice still thick with sleep and confusion.
"I need you to get down here, right now!"
Lorelai knuckled her eyes and struggled to sit up. "Luke?"
"She's been here since five thirty and she won't leave. She just keeps ordering and ordering and ordering—"
"Luke, it's—" she paused and grabbed the clock on her bedside table, bringing it right up to her nose. "—six forty-five. On Sunday morning," Lorelai said. "I was sleeping! You ruined the mural!"
"What?"
She sighed and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Who's ordering?" she asked wearily.
"Crazy Carrie," Luke said. He sounded slightly hysterical. "She's been away and now she's back and I guess she heard we're together because she's here and she won't go away and I don't know what to do and I need you here, right now."
"What the hell do you need me for?" she asked, shuffling around the room, wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear as she stripped off her pjs and pulled on jeans. "Just have Lane or Caesar wait on her. Go upstairs."
"I would, but they're not here yet," Luke said.
"Gee, I wonder why," she replied. "It couldn't be that it's quarter to seven on a Sunday morning and no one in the known world gets up this early when they don't have to?"
"Would you just come down here?"
"What will you do?" Lorelai asked.
"Whattaya mean?"
"I mean, what do I get?"
"Are you serious?"
She slumped back onto the bed. "You want me to come down there or not?"
"Whatever you want," he said. "Name it."
"Good. I'll be there in ten minutes."
"Hurry," he said.
When she stumbled into the diner a short time later, she had yet to really open her eyes. She wore a bandana over her hair and a shirt she found on the floor by her dresser, a powder blue baby tee that Rory had given her as a joke two years ago with the words "cheeky monkey" across the chest and "bum looker" on the back. She opened her mouth to demand coffee and found herself swept into a tight embrace, Luke's arms around her. She collapsed against him, speaking into his shoulder.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"Creating an embarrassing display of public affection," he told her, whispering into her hair.
"Well, cut it out," she said. "I'm too tired."
He moved to let her go but she remained leaning against him, his chest supporting her whole weight. "If you want me to let you go, you've got to get off me," he said.
"I can't," she whined. "I'm too tired," she said again. "Someone woke me up from a really complicated dream."
Luke put his arm around her waist and hoisted her to an upright position, helping her to a chair. She folded her arms on the table top and let her head fall forward, groaning, as Luke told her he'd get her coffee. When he set the cup before her, he drew a chair up beside her and put his hand at the base of her neck.
"Come on," he said. "Drink up."
She clasped the cup in both hands and took a long sip, staring at him as she did. "I hate you," she told him after a moment.
"It's not that early," he said.
She put the cup down. "I went to bed at four in the morning, Luke. It's that early."
He rubbed her neck a moment and rose. "I'll make you some breakfast."
As he walked away, Lorelai felt her head beginning to clear. The diner was strangely empty, with only a few people scattered about. Carrie sat at a table near the window at the back of the diner, pretending not to watch Lorelai over the top of her newspaper. Kirk sat at the table directly beside Lorelai's not bothering to pretend he wasn't watching her.
"Morning, Kirk," she greeted him.
He nodded and busied himself with his oatmeal, still watching her as he ate. She narrowed her eyes at him and rested her chin in her hand, staring vacantly out the window and draining her coffee cup until Luke returned with a plate of pancakes, bacon, sausage, and eggs. He turned a chair around and straddled it, folding his arms across the back. Mechanically, she began to eat.
"Why were you up until four in the morning?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I couldn't sleep, so I was working in Rory's room."
"Why couldn't you sleep?"
"Because you're annoying," she told him, spearing a sausage link with her fork and waving it at him. She nodded in Carrie's direction. "She looks pretty quiet to me," she said. "That's what you called me down here for?"
Luke glowered as he spoke. "She sat down when she saw you coming. You should have been here before."
"She try and suffocate you with her boobs?" Lorelai asked, giggling suddenly.
"What?"
She laughed again and leaned forward, resting her forehead on Luke's elbow. "Inside joke. You had to be there." She raised her head. "What was she doing?"
"Flirting," he said darkly.
"Care to elaborate?" Lorelai asked. He shook his head, his expression pained. She reached past him for the maple syrup and snickered again, gesturing at him with it. "Syrup," she said. "Good times."
This caused him to grin. "Good times," he repeated. He pointed over his shoulder to the kitchen. "I gotta get things going. It's gonna get busy."
Lorelai nodded silently and poured syrup over her breakfast. She ventured a few glances at Carrie as she ate, smiling when she happened to catch the other woman's eye. Carrie could only purse her lips in response. When her plate was mostly cleared, Lorelai sat back in her seat and sighed. She turned to face Kirk.
"What's up, Kirk?" she asked.
He shook his head mutely.
"Come on," she said. "You've been looking at me all morning. What's going on?" Still, he said nothing. "Cat got your tongue?"
He opened his mouth, as though to prove this was not the case, and closed it again. He did this several times before he cleared his throat and spoke. "I'm afraid I might say something to you that could be deemed inappropriate," he said. "Because of the meeting the other night," he added.
Lorelai nodded, closing her eyes. "Well, don't worry about it, Kirk. I'm sure you won't say anything even nearing the vicinity of inappropriate. Let's just forget it even happened, okay?"
"Well," he said. "Okay." He pointed at her. "Want to give me some sugar?" he asked.
She opened her eyes and stared at him a moment before realizing he indicated at something on her table. She pushed the sugar dispenser towards him. "That sugar," she said.
"Thanks, Lorelai. I would also like to apologize for telling Taylor that I suspected you and Luke were dating. I had to protect my interests," he said.
"Your interests?"
"The betting pool is pretty high—twelve hundred dollars in all—and my odds of winning were greatly increased because it appeared that you were keeping the relationship under wraps—"
"The betting pool?"
Kirk poured a generous spoonful of sugar into a coffee cup as he spoke, stirring vigorously, watching his hand as he did. "We have a pool about you and Luke, the town, like they do during Super Bowl season. It's been in place for quite some time. I've elected to re-up in favor of the marriage pool, but—"
Lorelai raised her hands, shaking her head. "Please, Kirk, I beg you to stop."
"Please don't tell Luke," he asked her. "I feel we've established a rapport, and I'm really afraid he'd beat me up."
"Afraid who would beat you up?" Luke asked, coming to refill Lorelai's coffee cup.
Kirk took an enormous sip of coffee in lieu of response, turned red, and began to cough. Luke looked questioningly at Lorelai, but she rolled her eyes, saying, "trust me, you don't want to know." She tipped her chin towards the back where Carrie sat. "She keeps staring at me. I feel like she's that kid in The Shining and she's about to crook her finger at me and make it talk: redrum, redrum!" she said. "Or like I should mark my territory—give you a big old tongue kissing or let you take me right here on the table."
Luke leaned down, putting his lips to her ear. His cheek just touched hers and Lorelai could feel the heat rising in her face. "I assure you, in that particular fantasy," he whispered, his voice low and husky, "it's always been just you and just me."
He pulled back slightly and raised one eyebrow. She put her hand flat on his chest and pushed him away. "Tease," she murmured.
Lorelai dawdled over coffee for the next half hour as Lane and Caesar arrived and the diner began to fill. She watched Luke navigate around tables and customers, take orders, bring plates. Lane made sure to keep her cup topped off at all times.
"Cute shirt," she told Lorelai.
Lorelai looked down and pulled at the front to read what it said. "Oh, God. I love this shirt—the first time I wore it, three people made a comment about my ass," she said. "You should wear it to your next gig."
"Thanks, Lorelai," Lane said. "You heard from Rory at all?"
"She's in Florence right now," Lorelai said. "I think she's doing all right. And how are you?"
"Oh, everything's the same—well, I am having dinner with my mother this week. At the house," she added. "That's a step forward. I feel like I'm being reinstated, or something."
"Oh, honey, that's great," Lorelai said, putting her hand on Lane's wrist and giving it a squeeze. "Do you mind if I ask you a huge favor?" she asked.
They chatted for a few moments more, until Lane was summoned to another table for an order and a coffee refill. Lorelai took one final chug of coffee and rose, peering towards the back corner of the diner, where Luke stood trying not to make eye contact with Carrie as he cleared her table. Lorelai shoved a few bills under her coffee cup and strode purposefully to him.
"Hey, Carrie," she purred, slipping her arm about Luke's waist. She leaned up and whispered in his ear, turning her face away from the other woman: "relax." She smiled a broad, plastic smile at Carrie and leaned into Luke. "How are you? Enjoying summer break so far?"
Carrie shuffled her paper and averted her eyes. "Yep. Uh-huh."
"Oh, well that's just great," Lorelai enthused, cuddling closer to Luke's side. "Got any big plans?"
"Nope," Carrie said.
"Well, have fun," Lorelai said, easing Luke away from the table. "I'm just going to steal the man here for a sec, okay?" She grabbed his hand and led him towards the door and out to the sidewalk. She stepped back and put her hands in her pockets. "Enough with the pawing in public," she said.
"You started it," Luke retorted.
"No, you did," she returned, pouting, "with the whole embarrassing display of public affection thing. Against the rules," she said.
"So there are rules now?" he asked.
"Unwritten rules."
Luke passed his hand over his face, clearly irritated. "Do me a favor," he said. "Write them down."
"Just—stay away from Carrie, okay? She doesn't need a whole lot for encouragement," she told him. "Listen, I found this amazing, enormous armoire for Rory's room at Kim's store yesterday, but it's in rough shape. I thought we could gut it—"
"We?"
"Well, you, then," she conceded. "It just needs a little fixing up. And picking up. I was wondering if you could go by, take a look at it? I told Mrs. Kim that if you approve, she can just charge it to my account and make arrangements with you to pick it up whenever's convenient. Is that okay?"
"Sure. You going to be home today?"
Lorelai nodded. "It is Sunday," she said. "I'm going to finish up the painting in Rory's room."
"Good. I'll be by later—I'm going to head out of here early, get to work on some of those shelves," he said. "I'll see you then."
"Wait, I believe we have to discuss the repayment of a favor," Lorelai said.
He gave her a hard look. "The armoire isn't repayment of a favor?"
She shook her head emphatically. "No—that's an extension of a favor in progress, which would be helping me with Rory's room. This is something else."
Luke put his hands on his hips and glowered, waiting. "What?"
Lorelai tucked her hair behind her ears and took a breath. "How does dinner in Hartford tonight with me and my dad sound?"
"Ah, geez, Lorelai," he groaned, grabbing his hat with both hands. "You serious?"
"You said you'd do anything!" she cried. "And he asked for you, specifically!"
"When?" he demanded.
Lorelai tilted her chin down and looked at her toes. "The other day when I talked to him about it," she said.
"And you're asking—"
"Today, so you can't back out," she told him. "Please, Luke? Please, please, please? It'll be the first time I'll have seen him since the town meeting and he asked for you to come and I would really like it if you could be there."
"Why?" he asked.
"Honestly? I don't want to face my dad by myself," she said. "Please? He asked for you. And I'd be really appreciative," she added.
He rolled his eyes and worked his jaw a moment, considering. "Ah, geez," he said again. "Fine."
She dropped a light kiss on his cheek. "Thank you," she said. "I'll see you back at the house."
Lorelai had not gone five steps before Luke called to her. He was grinning; she looked at him expectantly.
"Dinner with your dad," he said. "Don't you think that's, I don't know, rushing things?"
She turned on her heel and stalked in the direction of home, giving him the finger over her shoulder as she went. She could hear him laughing as he returned to his diner.
Lorelai hugged herself as she walked home, thinking over the past few weeks. Dear Rory, she thought. Would I do anything differently? When I think of what I would change—sending Jason home at the Inn that night, not sending you home that night, locking Kirk up securely in his room, tied to the bed (despite the disturbing imagery that presents), exiling Dean to Siberia to be a criminal day-laborer—I think of things that maybe had to happen. I've gone over all these things a million times, from the moment my parents came for the test run—before that, even, to the dance at Liz's wedding—to just the other day when I took Luke upstairs and we fell asleep together and since then…
I don't know what since then. Since then he hasn't stayed over, but we've spent time together, we've had meals and conversations and we've worked on your room, him in the garage, me in the house, and it's been normal and awkward and kind of like that first date we had in Hartford. But I digress—I've gone over all these things and I don't think things could have happened any other way.
If they had—say I sent Jason home and kept you with me, Luke wouldn't have kissed me and I wouldn't have kissed him back, not the same way—maybe we would have gone out on Sunday and it would have been uncomfortable and strange and everything would have gone wrong and I would have told him he was too good a friend to lose and then he would be lost to me anyway. You and Dean wouldn't have slept together, and you wouldn't have gone away, and Dad would never have begun to figure out how he's messed up, what he needs to do, and I never would have begun to think of it either, and we'd all go on being angry forever, maybe. And Jason would have come back one way or another, and who knows—without Luke, maybe I'd go back to the way it was with him…
But if we're talking in maybes like that, maybe if someone had sat down with Marky Mark and explained to him that no, he's not Cary Grant, then we could have escaped the whole The Truth About Charlie debacle. Or, to go back farther, maybe if someone had said that no one really wanted Harrison Ford to try and out-Bogie Bogart we would have had one less really bad Julia Ormond film on record and the whole remaking of Audrey Hepburn movies could have been put to an end. Because at this rate, we're getting Jennifer Love Hewitt in the biopic and Mandy Moore trying to do her own Roman Holiday, and in the end it's all tragedy and grim spectacle. Maybe we'd be living in a universe where nothing ever changed except Christina Aguilera's hair color. It would be a time of innocence and naiveté, a time when people believed the whole Kabbalah thing was really just a fad for Madonna, knowing that at the end of the summer she'd be on the Revirginized Tour.
But Rory, babe, it's not possible. It's not even a good idea. And though it would be nice for Madonna to be like a virgin again, without Britney and Christina, and for Marky Mark to shut up and just model the underwear, and for people to let Audrey be Audrey and be done with it, everything else—things needed to change, for both of us. We needed to change. Even if some of it sucked, for both of us and the viewing public at large. In the long run, I really think, and I have to believe it anyway, that it's all for good.
Plus—I am the worst mother in the world for this, babe, but my, God, I'm only human—I don't know that I would trade that first kiss with Luke for anything. Both of those first kisses.
Lorelai nearly walked into her mailbox, thinking of the way he drew her in the first time and then backed away, how he let her breathe, waiting during the beat that there was distance between them; she could remember thinking only, Luke, and wanting to close the distance, and then kissing him again, needing to hold onto him and, when she remembered to breathe again, thinking, oh, God; Luke. She stubbed her toe and looked about her, collecting herself.
No, Rory—the past few weeks may have been too much in a lot of ways, but I wouldn't take it back. And I know you're too smart to want that, too. Hope you're having fun and the weather is gorgeous. Love you, Mom.
It wasn't until she had the front door open and she was nearly in the house that she saw Dean on the porch swing, sitting silently, his head in his hands. She stopped and for a brief moment considered going inside without speaking to him. She cleared her throat.
"Dean?"
He looked up. "Lorelai," he said, as though he were surprised to see her.
"What are you doing here?" she asked. It was harsher than she meant it to be.
"I wanted to talk to you," he said, getting to his feet. "Can I talk to you?"
She shook her head. "You don't want to talk to me, Dean. You want to talk to Rory. I'm certainly not her and I'm not going to be your way to her, either," she said.
Dean rocked back on his heels, his hands in his pockets. "I just thought—"
"Did you? Did you think? Because if you did, Dean, you probably wouldn't have ended up here. And I'm not just talking about today," Lorelai said. She bit her lip. "It's not my business, not you and Lindsay. Rory is my business. But I won't play messenger for you, Dean. If I had my way—" she began.
"If you had your way she never would have gotten on my motorcycle in the first place," he said.
Lorelai nodded. "Metaphorically speaking. I told you that the first time you came here. You broke a trust with this family, Dean, and I'm not sure you can fix it. I'm positive I'm not going to help you."
She watched him as he slumped, ran his hand through his hair, and she saw with a touch of sympathy he was still sixteen years old. "I don't know what to do," he said.
"I can't tell you that," she said flatly. "And honestly, Dean, I don't really care what you do. I care what Rory does. I care how this affects Rory. Maybe that means I'll have to care what happens to you and what you do next at some point, but at the moment? Rory's not here, and you're not the one I have to worry about." She sighed. "Do what you have to do, Dean, whatever that is." She opened her front door and went to step inside.
"Lorelai," he said. "I—"
She raised her hand. "Whatever you're about to say to me, Dean, is something you should probably say to Rory, so I don't want to hear it." She looked at him. "I'm not the one you need to talk to."
"I care about Lindsay," he said. "I do."
Lorelai closed her eyes. "And she loves you. But, again, Dean, I don't need to hear it. If you're looking for a pal, you're knocking on the wrong door." She pulled her screen door shut behind her. "Go home, Dean. Go to church. Go to work. Go wherever you were going when you ended up here. This isn't where you need to be right now."
He hesitated. "Will you tell Rory—"
"No," she said firmly. "I won't. I'm going to turn around now, and I'm going to close the door. You should go."
"I never wanted any of this," Dean said desperately.
Lorelai looked at him around her door as she eased it shut. "But this is what you got, Dean," she said. "Go."
When Luke arrived later that afternoon, he found Lorelai sitting atop the ladder in Rory's room, surveying her work and thoughtfully tapping a paintbrush against her left temple. He stood at the bottom of the ladder and looked up at her.
"It looks good," he said.
She smiled sadly. "I like it," she replied.
She used a cornflower blue for the walls and a soft, lemony yellow for accents. Though Luke had eschewed anything like stenciling years ago when she mentioned it for the diner, he had to admit the curlicue, loopy doodling Lorelai had been freehanding at the top of each wall, creating a ring around the room just by the ceiling, was quite pretty. It vaguely matched the curving design of the headboard he'd made for the bed. The room was going to come together nicely, he thought, with the yellow curtains and duvet cover, the shelving he'd planned for the walls. Rory would finally have enough space for her entire library.
Luke helped Lorelai down from the ladder and they stood in the room together, silent. After a moment, he placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.
"She's going to like it," he told her.
Lorelai crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her chin up, trying to focus on what was before her. "I hope so," she said.
"Everything okay?" Luke asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
She nodded and went into the kitchen, taking a bottle of water from the fridge. "Dean was here when I got back from the diner this morning," she said.
"What did he want?"
She shrugged. "To talk to someone. I sent him away."
"That's probably best," Luke said, his tone cautious.
"I didn't know what else to do. It's not my problem to fix, you know? Anyway," she said, sighing, "I did go over and ask Babette if she'd heard any scuttlebutt—"
"Scuttlebutt?"
"—around town about Dean and Lindsay, and she said all she's heard is that they squabble sometimes and they're scraping to get by, but other than that, nothing. Typical first year of young marriage, she said. I just don't know why he'd come by today, you know, and not three weeks ago," she said.
"Maybe they had a fight," Luke suggested.
"Maybe," she replied. He watched her shake herself. She smiled too brightly at him. "Doesn't matter. I just want to get this room done. To my sewing machine, I am away," she said.
He followed her through the house as she made her way upstairs. "Lorelai," he called. She stopped at the top of the stairs and looked at him. "Whatever happens, Rory's going to deal with it. She's going to be fine."
Lorelai put her hands on her hips, stared at her feet a beat, breathing. "I know. I just—I feel like since she's been gone, I've—I've forgotten to worry about her. I mean, I haven't, because I think of her, and everything, and I wonder what she's doing and how she's doing and what new and interesting way my mother's torturing her, but—I don't know, maybe I've been too wrapped up in my own stuff to think about what it's going to be like for her when she gets back."
"That's okay, you know," Luke said. "You have to have your own life."
She tucked her hair behind her ears and moved to go to her room. "Sure," she said. "I'll be up here."
At quarter to six, Luke returned to the house from the garage and found Lorelai passed out on her bed, wrapped in Rory's new duvet and surrounded by the new pillow shams she'd made, her arms tucked up under head, her feet hanging off the bed. He grinned and grabbed her ankle, wiggling her foot.
She rolled over, groaning. "Are you ever going to let me sleep?" she whined.
He dropped the bag he'd brought in with him by the bed and took off his flannel shirt, threw it at her. "We're going to have to leave soon," he said.
Lorelai sat up, tossing the shirt back at him. Her face was creased with sleep and her lids were heavy. She looked over at Luke as he pulled his tee shirt over his head. He picked up his duffle and put it on the bed, searched for something inside. She stared at his bare shoulders, his arms, his chest. For the second time that day, she felt her cheeks flush. "What are you doing?" she asked faintly.
He looked up. "I have to take a shower before we go," he said. "That okay?"
She nodded. "Yeah, fine," she said. "You've got good arms," she told him.
He tried not to smile. "What?"
"Arms," she said, pointing. "Good."
"Thanks," he said. "Grew them myself."
"Not to say that the torso's substandard, either," she said, kneeling and crawling across the bed. "'Cause it's not. It's all good. With the skin and the muscles and everything." She paused in front of him and gave him a once-over with her eyes. "When do you have time to work out and be so in shape, Mr. I'm-At-Work-All-the-Time?"
"Am I in shape?" he asked, looking down as though to figure out what she was talking about.
Lorelai rolled her eyes. "You're cocky, is what you are," she told him. She rose from the bed and walked to her closet, shaking her hair out of its bandana. She stood in front of her clothes, rifling through her wardrobe, muttering. "No reason to walk around with a shirt on at all," she said to herself.
"Right back at you," Luke said.
She turned to give him a dirty look only to see that he'd lost his jeans as well and was on his way to the bathroom in only his boxers. He stretched as he walked, faking a yawn, showing off, she thought.
"Mean!" she called after him. "Go flaunt yourself in someone else's house!"
He stuck his head around the door. "I do not flaunt," he said. "You're the one turning an innocent situation into something it isn't."
"You're so transparent," Lorelai shot back, but she was grinning, now, too. She pointed at him. "You're just trying to break me."
"No such thing," he said, calling to her as he walked to the bathroom.
"I am not that easy, buster!" she hollered. She leaned forward and buried her face in an old sweater. "God, I'm totally that easy," she said. "Stupid slowing down."
They moved gingerly around each other as each got ready for the dinner, giving themselves a wide berth when they had to cross paths. Luke didn't meet her eyes for fear he'd laugh, and Lorelai seemed afraid to get close enough for accidental contact. She ultimately banished him to the living room when he had dressed.
"You're making me all nervous, watching me," she said, standing in front of the mirror in her bathrobe, brandishing her eyelash curler. "This is a delicate process."
He rose from the bed, where he had been seated to put on his shoes, and walked to where she stood before her dresser. Deliberately, he put his arm around her waist and drew her close. She turned her face away, giving him access only to her cheek. He kissed her, then, on the tender place just behind her ear, and held her tightly to him. She closed her eyes, feeling the familiar flutter behind her ribcage that his kisses never failed to produce. She gave in for a moment, arching her back slightly. She heard herself make a soft, pleading noise in the back of her throat, and suddenly remembered that this was not the way things were supposed to go. She gave him a hard shove and put her hands out in front of her, clacking the eyelash curler she still held in her hand.
"Stop it!" she cried. "Bad! Bad, bad, Luke! You're not supposed to do that! And stop smiling, you big jerk!" She stamped her foot. "Bad!"
"Well," he smirked, "depending on how you look at it."
Lorelai drew herself up to her full height and pointed towards the door again. "Out. I have to get ready. To have dinner with my father. Just remember that while you're coming up with new ways to violate me, we're going to sit down and eat with the man from whose loins I am sprung." She stopped and put her hand over her mouth. "And now, I will never have sex again. Ever. Or eat. Or possibly leave the house and engage in regular social interaction. You see what you've done? You've turned me into a hermit! An anorexic, unsatisfied hermit. Are you happy now?"
He was already on his way out the door, waving his hand at her. "You don't scare me," he said.
"No, but Richard Gilmore sure will!"
They left only slightly later than planned, Luke behind the wheel of his truck. Lorelai couldn't help but remember their first date in Hartford, how nervous they both were. She caught herself fidgeting again, unable to keep her hands still. She looked over at Luke. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
"You look pale," she told him.
"I do not look pale," he said, immediately, harshly.
"Fine," she said. "You're not pale." She paused. "You don't have to be nervous. I was joking before. Mostly," she added.
He cleared his throat. "I am not nervous," he said, at length.
"Okay."
Luke looked at her side-long. "Stop staring at me, Lorelai."
She turned to face the road in front of them. "Not staring," she said, giggling. "You are so nervous," she told him.
"I am not nervous," he said again.
"Luke? What did you guys talk about, you know, after the meeting?" she asked.
He shifted in his seat. "What are you talking about?"
"You know, after Jason called me a commitment-phobic whore in front of the entire town, I took off, you were in charge of my dad—what did you talk about?"
"Nothing," he said quickly.
"Liar," she said. "Come on, Luke. You exchange tips on how to tie the best bow tie? On the proper way to execute a left hook? On the best fly fishing steams in Connecticut? Did you talk about the latest Charlie Rose interview? Or, or, better yet," she said, sitting forward in her seat, "you talked about strategies to use when applying to the Colonial House—"
Luke put up a hand. "We didn't talk about anything!" he said.
Lorelai sat back, folded her hands in her lap. "Dad would be a pretty good governor," she said after a moment, somewhat petulantly. "They'd probably make you be a freeman, though, and—"
"Would you stop it with the talking already?" Luke barked. "Geez."
"That bad, huh?" she asked.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "It was—let's just say it was uncomfortable."
She was silent a moment. "Okay, so, what? I'm all—you can't just stop there. That's like—like, I don't know, like having a dirty movie on cable that you can hear but you can't see, and you don't really want to watch it, but all you can think about is all the stuff you're hearing, and—"
"Could you not liken the conversation I had with your dad to garbled sex films on Cinemax?" he asked.
She giggled. "Luke knows where to listen to the dirty movies," she said. "Interesting."
He sighed heavily. "He just—he defended you. He called that guy—"
"Jason," Lorelai said slowly.
"—a rat bastard," he continued, "and said some other stuff."
"About Jason?"
"About Jason," Luke said, defeated. "Your dad—he basically said you'd never defended your life to anyone before and you wouldn't start doing it now, not for Jason or anyone. That you shouldn't, or something. I don't know. This is very—"
"Uncomfortable, I know," Lorelai said, rolling her eyes. "What else?"
Luke shrugged. "He just—he said some stuff about secrets and paying attention and people leaving and—I don't know," he said lamely.
"You do," Lorelai said.
They were at a stop light, and Luke turned to face her. "Yeah. But he was pretty much talking to himself, Lorelai. It wasn't for anyone to hear. I shouldn't even be telling you this." He shifted gears and moved with the traffic. "He—he was just worried people would judge you."
"Of course he was," she said flatly. Lorelai leaned her forehead against the window. "Same old," she whispered.
"Lorelai?"
"Never mind," she said. "Good thing you're driving, though."
"Why's that?"
She looked at him. "One sure way to survive a Gilmore dinner? Mass consumption of alcohol, my friend. Oh, yes. The libations will be flowing this evening."
"Turn here?" he asked, ignoring this.
"Yeah. Just don't look the three-headed dog in the eye—eyes—it gets him angry," she said. "And when you're entering hell, the last thing you need is a pissed off, three-headed dog."
They parked in the drive and Lorelai walked Luke to the door. He raised his hand to ring the bell and she reached out, putting her hand on his wrist. She took both his hands in hers and looked him earnestly in the eye.
"Okay, remember," she began. "You love me. I'm amazing. I'm fantastic. I'm—I'm the shiznit. I'm all that and a bag of chips. I'm—I'm—I'm like Renee Zellweger to your Tom Cruise, but without the whole squinty thing. I'm—"
Luke squeezed her hands. "Relax," he said. "It's going to be fine."
"Famous last words," she said. She took a long look around her. "Just in case," she said, and leaned forward, drawing his arms around her waist, kissing him fiercely.
He disentangled himself and swept a hand through his hair. "We're at your parents' house," he hissed.
Lorelai rolled her eyes and pressed the doorbell. "Believe me, it's seen racier stuff than that," she drawled. "Prepare yourself."
A maid Lorelai didn't recognize let them in and led them to the parlor where they always waited for dinner. Lorelai strode immediately to the bar and began to help herself. She poured a few martinis and gestured for Luke to sit, dropping beside him and slurping her drink. They were silent, waiting, inching away from each other. After a moment, Richard entered, folding a newspaper under his arm.
"Ah, Lorelai," he said. "Luke. Good to see you again." He extended a hand to Luke as the other man rose to greet him.
"Sir," Luke said.
"Hi, Dad," Lorelai said. "Drinks are already poured."
He looked at her where she sat. "I see you've a head start," he remarked, walking to the bar and retrieving the glass she'd set out for him.
"I'm a whole lap ahead of you," she said, rising and heading for another. "How's things, Dad?"
He grimaced, sipping his drink. "Lorelai, who in the world taught you to make a martini?" he asked.
Lorelai paused, holding the vodka bottle. "Moe of Moe's Tavern," she said. Off her father's blank look, she put the bottle down. "Christopher."
Richard took Luke's drink from him and stood beside Lorelai. "Terrible," he said. "Let me show you."
She watched him pour the liquor, her eyes fixed to his face rather than the bottles and shaker. He handed her a fresh drink with a broad smile. Her own was pained, but she accepted the glass with thanks and lifted it towards Luke before quickly downing it.
"Nice, Dad," she said, gasping. She put her glass down and crossed her arms over her chest, taking a seat. "So. Retirement."
Richard waved his hands dismissively. "I'm only semi-retired now, Lorelai. Floyd and his partners have me on retainer as a consultant," he said. "I've taken a similar position with another firm as well. It's all very above-board, very dignified, involving a vast number of very dull telephone calls, though no traveling, and no having to go to the office."
Lorelai raised her brows. "Sounds fantastic," she said.
Luke nodded, silent.
"I don't know about fantastic, Lorelai, but it will do for now," Richard said. He turned to Luke. "So, Luke. How is that diner of yours?"
Luke tilted his head in a so-it-goes gesture. "You know—people come, they order, they eat, they block their arteries."
"Delightful," Richard said.
"I think so," Lorelai said brightly. "I know mine are nearly gridlocked." Her father blinked. "Dinner?"
Richard checked his watch. "Another ten minutes or so." He turned to Luke again. "Would you like a tour of the house?" he asked.
Lorelai jumped out of her chair. "Oh, Dad, that's not—"
"You don't have to," Luke agreed, rising.
Richard got to his feet as well, brushing the lapels of his jacket. "Nonsense. I've some things to speak to the cook about. I can take care of that, and Lorelai can show you around," he said. "I'll send someone for you when dinner is ready."
"Sure, Dad," Lorelai said. "You'll send someone." She put out her hand to Luke. "Come on. I'll take you to the dungeon first."
She led him by the hand up the stairs and down the hall to her old room, closing the door behind them. She leaned against it, taking a breath, her eyes closed. She put a hand to her forehead, peeking at Luke through her fingers.
"That was—" he began.
"Awful? Painful? Like red-hot pins under your nails? Like Red Hots, the candy, eight thousand of them, burning a hole in your tongue?" she supplied.
"I was going to say interesting," he said.
Lorelai threw herself on the bed, groaning. "Not the first word that comes to mind," she said.
"It's not that bad," he told her.
"Luke, burnt toast is not that bad. This? This is like a cup of coffee with salt instead of sugar," she said.
"You're overreacting."
She sat up. "It's what I do," she said.
Luke was studying the doll's house, peering into the windows. In the pink and ruffles of her childhood bedroom, he was the only thing that belonged to her life. He stooped to examine the detailing of the house's exterior, his hands in his pockets. He had on the brown sweater she recognized from the test run at the Dragonfly. She bit her lip. He's beautiful, she thought.
"So, I'm guessing this is your old room," he said.
"It is that." She pushed herself to her feet and stood in the middle of the room. "This is where I waited for Rory," she said, making a sweeping motion with her arm. She took his hand and pulled him towards the balcony, throwing the window open and stepping outside. "This is where I spent most of my time, though."
He nodded, taking in his surroundings. "Huh," he said.
"What's 'huh' mean?"
"Huh means—nothing. I just—this is where you grew up," he said. "I'm just looking."
"I did that, too," she told him. She leaned back towards the window. "Quick, inside. My dad's calling." She shivered. "Déjà vu."
The dinner might not have been up to Emily's standards, Lorelai thought, though she didn't say so, but it was still good. The wine, as always, was excellent. She and Luke sat opposite each other—Dear Rory, she thought, it is extremely weird to have Luke in your chair, and I don't want to think about it any more than that.—with Richard at the head of the table, serving. He took charge of the conversation, asking about the progress Lorelai was making at the inn. She explained to him her arrangement with Winky Bedermeier, of which he did not wholly approve.
"There should be contracts for these sorts of things," he told Lorelai. "There should be lawyers involved. There are regulations to follow."
She shrugged. "This is the way they want it, Dad. They're moving out of a nursing home. They want the place to feel like theirs. I'm just helping out."
Richard speared a piece of meat and waved it at Luke. "Have you met this Winky-woman?" he asked.
Luke shook his head. "But I've heard a lot about her. She sounds like a real… interesting person," he said.
Lorelai smiled archly. "A pisser, one might say."
"Really, Lorelai," Richard said. He sighed. "Well. If there's any way I can assist—"
"I'll let you know," she said. "Thanks, Dad."
They chatted a bit about the summer season and Lorelai's plans for the fall, the event planning service she was advertising in her brochures. Richard often called on Luke to offer his opinion on the matter. Luke kept his answers short and his eyes fixed to the spot on the tablecloth just above his plate, his jaw tense. Lorelai wished she could tell him this wasn't a test; she both wanted to thank her father for attempting to include Luke and to gag him with his bow tie to put an end to it. She was grateful when the cook came to clear the dinner plates and brought out a small chocolate cake.
"See, they should just do this first," she said. "The other stuff should be optional."
"It is in your world," Luke replied immediately, giving her a dark look.
She grinned. "My world is a beautiful place."
Richard cleared his throat and lifted his dessert fork. "Lorelai," he began, "you should know that Jason Stiles has left the state."
Her mouth fell open. "Dad, I—that is, I—is this really—"
"I thought it important information that you should have at your disposal," he said. "That is all. No charges were filed, as he did indeed fully refund Mr. Doose for the speaking fee. And that is all that need be said of the matter."
"Dad," Lorelai sighed. "Maybe—"
Richard swallowed a mouthful of cake. "That is all that need be said," he said, his voice firm, but kind. "The man is gone."
Lorelai smoothed the napkin in her lap. "Thank you, Daddy," she said. She looked at him. "I am sorry for what happened. We should—"
"Very well, very well," he said, cutting another slice of cake. "How do you find the cake, Luke?"
"It's, ah, it's good," Luke stuttered. "Good."
"Good," Richard repeated. "Perhaps we can adjourn to the other room for coffee," he said.
"That's what I like to hear," Lorelai said, sliding another slice onto her plate and rising. "You don't mind if I take this in there, do you, Dad?" she asked, already on her way to the other room.
"Well, I suppose," he said, slightly bewildered as he rose.
"It's the coffee," Luke told him. "She's like a pig with truffles."
"Heard that!" she called.
Once again, they found themselves seated in the parlor, sipping from dainty cups, eyeing each other uncomfortably. After several moments, Richard cleared his throat.
"Lorelai, I wonder if you might give me a moment with Luke," he said.
"What for?"
He regarded her sternly as he spoke. "For a private matter," he told her.
"What kind of private matter?" she asked.
"The nature of the matter is private, Lorelai, and therefore not something I can disclose. Because it is private."
Lorelai looked at Luke, who shrugged. She furrowed her brow. "But—I'm sorry, Dad, but what can you have to talk about with Luke that I can't hear? What's private?"
"Do not be tiring, Lorelai," Richard said, a sigh in his voice.
Luke indicated with his head towards the door. "It's fine," he said, his voice low.
"Fine for you," she said. "You're not the one who has to leave."
"Lorelai," Richard said again.
She rose. "Whatever," she said.
Rory, where are you when I need you to spy? she thought. It's just not right. It's not—I can't even form the words beyond 'it's not right,' that's how not right it is. What are they talking about what are they talking about what are they talking about? I'll tell you what they're talking about, they're talking about Lorelai. Talking about Lorelai. And here's Lorelai, out in the hallway, having an imaginary conversation with her daughter and talking about herself in the third person. It's official, I've lost my mind.
She sat on the stairs, her elbows on her knees, waiting. She tapped her feet, humming. "She left the suds in the bucket and the clothes hanging out on the line," she sang to herself, slapping herself on the forehead with the flat of her palm. "Stupid country music," she muttered. "Stupid, stupid, stupid—"
She rose, seeing Luke leave the parlor and come towards her. "Okay, now you really do look pale," she said. "Are you sick?"
"No," he said. "It's fine. Your dad's getting our coats."
"What's going on?" she asked. "Did he say something to you? What did you talk about? Was it bad? Luke?"
He shook his head. "It's fine. I'm just—I'm—I'm full," he said.
"Yeah, you're full all right," she told him, heat rising in her face. "God," she breathed. "I knew this was such a bad idea—"
"It's fine," Luke said. "Calm down."
"Me calm down? You calm down! You're the one about to boot all over the hallway," she said. "What did he say to you?"
"Nothing, he didn't say anything, it's fine," Luke said. "Now shut up, he's back."
Richard smiled broadly as he brought them their coats. Lorelai pursed her mouth tightly and regarded him with a sullen look as he said they should do this again. Luke was nodding slightly when Lorelai spoke.
"Luke, could I have a moment alone with my father, please?"
"Lorelai—"
"I'll meet you outside," she said tersely. "Please," she added.
Luke looked from Lorelai to Richard and back before excusing himself, thanking Richard for the dinner, shaking his hand. Lorelai waited until the door had shut behind him before speaking again.
"What did you say to him?" she demanded.
"I beg your pardon," Richard said.
"Obviously, you said something that upset him, and I want to know what it is. Dad," she said, her voice edging on a warning.
"It was a private—"
"I know, I know, a private matter. I don't care. I don't give a hoot in hell what was so private, Dad. If it has to do with me, or with me and Luke, or with me and Jason, it's not so private, and I have every right to know," she said.
Richard stood tall, looking down his nose at her. "Not everything is for you to know, my dear girl."
"It is when it concerns you saying something to upset someone I bring here, at your request, as a guest, who also happens to be the man I—my—the person I'm seeing," she finished, stumbling over her words.
"I am merely looking into what is in your best interest, Lorelai," Richard said.
"That's not something I need from you, Dad," she said, feeling her chest tighten and her breath quicken. "I am perfectly capable—"
"Believe me, Lorelai, I am well-versed in what you believe yourself to be capable of," her father said, turning away.
"Dad, what did you say to him?" she asked, her voice desperate. "What?"
Richard stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Suddenly, he seemed weary and small. "I asked his intentions toward you, Lorelai. I should have been doing so all—"
"You asked him what?" she cried, balling her hands into fists.
"It is my right, as your father—"
"You have no right!" she told him. "No right at all!"
He put his hand out on the banister, as though to steady himself. "I have every right, Lorelai Gilmore—I have the right simply by being your father. I have the right to protect my family."
"Oh, God, Dad, you're not trying to protect your family," Lorelai said, shaking her head, disgusted. "You're trying to protect me from myself. So I don't end up with another Jason Stiles Town Meeting Confrontation." She waved her hands at him as she walked to the door. "Don't worry, Dad. It seems I've learned my lesson on that one," she said bitterly. "Stay out of my relationship with Luke."
"Stop right there, Lorelai." She stopped but did not turn. She knew he remained where he stood, as well. "I have every right," he said again. "I may not have always—but the fact remains that you are my daughter and your interests are my interests. What wouldn't you do to keep Rory from harm?"
She lifted her chin and wheeled around to face him. "That's not the same—"
"It's exactly the same," Richard said levelly. "Good night, Lorelai."
"I mean it, Dad. Stay out of my—"
"Good night, Lorelai."
Lorelai slammed both the front door of the house and the passenger side door of Luke's truck behind her to give vent to her feelings. She was vicious with the seat belt and threw herself back against the seat several times, stamping her feet.
"Stop abusing my truck," Luke said, as he pulled into traffic. "I guess he told you—"
"He told me he was interfering, which he didn't have any right to do, no matter what he says," Lorelai shot back. She rubbed her eyes. "God. Your intentions? I don't even—what do you even say to that? What did you say?" She paused. "It doesn't matter. It's not his business. It's no one's business. It's—he doesn't—you can't just ignore something for years and years and suddenly just—" She stopped, bit her lip as she realized how this might be misunderstood. "It's not his business," she said flatly.
Luke was silent a few moments. "I don't—I was unsettled by his asking, I was uncomfortable, I—I should have taken a few moments—"
"Don't," Lorelai said. "Don't make this your fault, because it's not your fault, it was completely inappropriate, and I apologize for it. It's understandable that you'd be upset—"
"I'm not upset," he said. "I was embarrassed. It was embarrassing."
"You're not upset?" she asked, her voice rising.
"No. I don't blame the guy. I can see where he's coming from."
"You can see where he's coming from?" she squeaked.
Luke looked at her from the corner of his eye. "That's what I said."
"How can you—I mean, what—how—I'm just—I don't even know what to say to that," she said.
He shrugged. "And I don't understand what the big deal is. I mean, I understand, but I don't think it has to be a big deal. He's just—he's worried for you, and he's trying—"
"He's trying to butt into my life after not bothering to do it for the last twenty years, and it's offensive and ridiculous and completely unnecessary!" she said. "I've been taking care of myself—"
"It's not about whether or not you can take care of yourself," Luke said. "It's about looking out for—"
"And I don't need anyone to look out for me that way," Lorelai said.
"You've been pretty clear on what you don't need," he replied dryly.
She closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands. "Unbelievable. I can't believe you're turning this into—I can't believe you're taking his side."
"I'm not taking his side," Luke began.
"No? Then you're doing an incredibly good—"
He reached out and put his hand on her knee. "Lorelai. Let it go."
She jerked away from his touch. "I don't want to let it go. You don't know what's really going on here—you don't understand this man, my relationship with him—my relationship with my dad is nothing like—" She stopped. "Forget it. Just take me home." She stared out the window, hugging herself. "I can't believe you're taking his side," she said again, the words tumbling out too quickly.
Luke said nothing but Lorelai could feel the tension in his body from where she sat. He leaned over the steering wheel, as though willing the car forward until they reached her house. She slid out and held the door open a moment.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said.
He slouched and looked at her sadly. "Are you really going to be mad about this?"
"I just can't—I'm tired. I'm going to bed," she said, her voice flat. "Good night, Luke."
"Lorelai," he called after her. He got out of the truck. "Lorelai!"
She stopped at the top of the porch stairs. "Seriously? I don't want to talk about this with you right now. I don't—I want to go to bed. I want to go to bed and I want to sleep for many, many hours. I don't want to hear you defend him—"
"I'm not defending him," Luke said. "Do you always have to jump to the most extreme conclusion?"
"Good night, Luke."
"Ah, come on, Lorelai, don't be like this!"
She fluttered her hand at him over her shoulder and closed the door behind her.