Homecoming

Rory should have arrived in Stars Hollow just after midnight. The driver, however, encountered a roadblock on the highway, and following the signs, wound up on a rural back road that came to a dead end. Apologizing profusely, he backtracked the forty-five minutes he had wandered and took an alternate route, adding another half hour to the trip. By the time Rory closed the car door behind her and looked up at the house she had lived in for nearly half her life, it was close to two in the morning. She sighed, both exhausted and relieved, and began fishing for her house keys in her purse.

She dropped her bag by the hall table and kicked off her shoes, padding across the living room and towards the stairs. Slowly, skipping the fifth step that squeaked, she made her way up the stairs and around the corner to her mother's room. The room was lit only by the thin beams of moonlight falling beneath the drawn curtains. Rory hung back in the doorway, allowing her eyes to adjust to the new darkness.

Lorelai lie on her side, her face turned in Rory's direction. Her hair fanned out behind her, dark against the pillow. Her face was soft and relaxed, content, Rory thought. She could make out Luke's silhouette as he slept beside her mother. He faced Lorelai, one hand resting on her hip. Lorelai held the other to her chest, cradled between her own. Luke coughed slightly in his sleep; Lorelai sighed and pushed her face deeper into the pillow, throwing one leg over Luke's as she did. Rory stepped back, hugging herself, a slight, warm pain in her chest.

She descended the stairs again, cringing at each slight creak she made, tiptoeing through the living room, down the hall to her bedroom. She paused before she flipped the light switch by the door, running her hand through her hair, preparing herself for the crush of memories that would come when the lights came on. She shook herself, turned on the light, and felt her breath catch in her chest, her mouth fall open. She staggered back, overcome, one hand over her mouth. Again, she found herself standing in the doorway, faced with an entirely new circumstance in the most familiar of places.

Gingerly, Rory stepped over the threshold and looked about her, unsure where to start. The bed was made, piled high with round throw pillows the color of sunshine and milk, the old duvet replaced with a lemony cotton that felt already worn soft to the touch. Her eyes traveled up towards the headboard, a light wood curved to a slight arch in the center, etched with a border of scallops and swirls. Rory walked closer, running her fingers over the grooves of the design, along the smooth sweep of the curved wood. She bit her lip and her eyes filled as she turned and stood before her desk, an enormous affair, long and wide and perfect for spreading out papers and books and computers and cups of coffee. She knelt before it, in the absence of a chair, resting her arms along the edge. It was bracketed to the wall, supported at the front by two thick, solid legs. At the back, someone had bored a small circle out to push electrical wires through for her computer or stereo. In the corner by the wall stood a stack of organizational trays, and beside it, a blue coffee mug filled with black ballpoint pens, the clear ones she relied on when writing by hand, and several sharpened number twos for early drafts, just the way she liked. She laughed aloud through her tears, pulling herself to her feet.

She looked up and studied the shelves, counting, marveling at the neatness and the symmetry and design. She placed her hand flat on the shelf closest to where she stood and closed her eyes, drawing a shaky breath. After a moment, she wet her lips, tucked her hair behind her ears, and moved to the armoire, recognizing it as a Kim product immediately, throwing open the doors to discover a system of side shelves, three drawers at the bottom, and a hanging bar with hooks in the back behind it. She touched the clothes hanging there, bending down and opening the second drawer to find clean pajamas right where they should be. She reached to the back of the cabinet and loosed her bathrobe, hugging it all to her chest a moment. As she closed the doors, she noticed the picture frame hanging just to the left of the armoire. She tossed the pjs and robe onto the bed and stepped closer.

In a thin silver frame, perfectly matted, was a photograph of Rory and Lorelai, their arms about each other, their mouths open with laughter, standing in front of the gazebo in the town square. Above it, a photo of Rory and Lane, turned away from the camera, their heads together over a magazine, grinning. Below, Rory and Lorelai sitting on the curb in front of an Irish pub, shoulder to shoulder, smiling wearily as they waited for Bono. Rory walked to the next wall. Rory and Paris at their graduation from Chilton… Rory and her grandparents at Christmas, by the tree… Rory and Lorelai blowing kisses to a statue of Winston Churchill… Sookie and a ten-year-old Rory, leaning over a mixing bowl in the old Independence kitchen… Rory and Lane in their pilgrim wear at the Horn of Plenty… Rory, Paris, Madeline, and Louise on spring break… Rory, Lorelai, and Lane dressed for the Rocky Horror Picture Show… Rory and Christopher outside the house, his arm around her shoulders… Four blank frames hung in different places around the room, a Post-It note on one: "to be determined."

She found the last picture on the shelf above her new desk, a black and white she had never seen before of nineteen-year-old Lorelai, standing on the wooden footbridge by the lake, Rory in her arms. They looked each other in the eyes, smiling. Rory held her mother's face in her pudgy, three-year-old hands, her eyes both serious and delighted. Lorelai held Rory tightly against her hip, looking at her with wide, adoring eyes. Rory reached out for it and held it in her hands a long while, her eyes welling over as she studied the picture, the way they both seemed lit from within. She carried it with her to the bed and placed it on top of the duvet. She slipped out of her traveling clothes and into her pajamas, settling herself among the pillows on her bed, the picture beside her. She looked around the room one final time and turned her cheek to the pillow, whispering, "thank you, Mom."

Rory dozed lightly, a sleep like the ones she remembered from childhood Christmas Eves, one that was just on the edge of waking, waiting. She didn't know how long she had slept when she heard water running in the kitchen and her eyes fluttered open. The light behind the new curtains was weak and dim. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, feeling the strain of travel in every inch of skin and muscle and bone. She pushed herself off the bed.

"Mom?" she called, closing the small distance between kitchen and bed.

"Oh, Jesus Christ!"

Luke stood at the sink in his jeans and bare feet, the coffee carafe full of water in his hand. At Rory's voice he started and turned, his jaw falling slack and his eyes widening. The color drained from his face. His hand fell to his side and water poured over the floor. "Ah, shit," he barked, putting the empty carafe on the counter and reaching for a roll of paper towels.

Rory immediately rushed to his side, grabbing a kitchen towel that hung over the back of one of the chairs at the table. She knelt, dropping the towel into the puddle.

"Hi, Luke," she said sheepishly, averting her eyes.

He squatted near the floor, balancing his weight on the balls of his toes. "Hi, Rory," he said, his jaw tense. "You startled me."

"Likewise," she said, smiling slightly.

Luke looked over her shoulder towards her room, realization dawning. "Wait, you're home," he said. "You're early."

"I couldn't wait," she said. "What time is it?"

"About seven thirty," he said. "Kinda late, but—"

"Luke, please tell me that you're making coffee. And, please?"

Rory rose at the sound of her mother's voice, tossing the kitchen towel in the sink.

"The next time you feel the urge to be kind and get out of bed slowly so you don't wake me up? Just roll me all the way over, don't be nice about it, because your way just wakes me up so I can't go back to sleep again," Lorelai finished, trudging down the hallway, knuckling her eyes.

She stopped dead at the end of the hall, her eyes wide. "Rory?" she said, her voice breaking. Her arms hung loosely at her sides for a fraction of a second before she threw them open and took two great, sweeping strides towards her daughter, wrapping her in a fierce embrace. Rory put her arms around Lorelai, squeezing her tightly. They rocked each other for a moment, silent. Lorelai pulled back and put a hand to Rory's face.

"You're home," she said softly. Her eyes were bright. "Aw, babe, you have no idea how glad I am to see you."

"No," Rory said, feeling tearful again, "I think I do."

"You're home!" Lorelai cried, grinning. She held Rory loosely in her arms and they began to jump up and down together, laughing and crying, as Lorelai chanted "you're home, you're home, you're home, you're home."

After a moment, she stopped, put her hands on Rory's shoulders, and made her step back. "Okay, Mommy needs to catch her breath a second here, and take a look at you." She took Rory's hands and held her at arm's length. "You look good, babe. You've got some color, and you're all svelte and European and gorgeous," she said. "You look good, Rory," she said again, softly. "How are you doing, sweets?"

Rory swung her hands in her mother's, smiling shyly. She looked Lorelai in the eye as she spoke. "I'm better," she said.

Lorelai's brow creased and she bit her lips together, holding in another flood of happy tears. "Really?"

"Really."

"Really, really?"

"Really, really," Rory said.

"Really, really, really?" Lorelai asked.

Rory rolled her eyes and put her arm around Lorelai's waist, slouching slightly and resting her head on her mother's shoulder. "Oh, Mom," she said.

Lorelai smoothed Rory's hair back with her hand and sighed. "I missed you, babe. It feels like you were gone forever."

Luke had turned away slightly as they greeted each other, trying to give them a marginal moment of privacy. As the Lorelais stood side by side in the kitchen, arms around each other, he finished mopping up the water and making the coffee. Lorelai watched him, a look of happiness on her face that caused his throat to tighten when he caught it.

She turned to Rory suddenly. "Hey, you're early," she said. "When did you get here?"

"Around two?"

"Why didn't you wake me? Why didn't you call me?" Lorelai asked.

"I tried, but your cell was off and the machine picked up here," Rory said. "Where were you?"

"The machine picked up?" Lorelai asked, looking at Luke. "We were here. Why would the machine pick up?"

He cleared his throat. "Probably because you turned the ringer off after your dad called for the third time," he said. He pointed towards the upstairs bedroom. "Yeah, I'm going to go put a shirt on?"

Lorelai watched him go, feeling Rory's eyes on her. When he was safely around the corner, they turned to each other and began giggling. Rory shook her head at Lorelai, amused. Lorelai only narrowed her eyes in response, then smirked and shrugged, giving in. She sighed.

"Oh, Rory, honey, I'm sorry there was no one here to greet you when you came home. I'm sorry I didn't call yesterday—we were working on some things—"

"I saw," Rory said, smiling. "I love it."

"You do? Oh, babe, I'm so glad. But we must have just lost track of time, and then I thought you'd be sleeping, and I didn't want to disturb you, and my cell's been missing for three days and I'm going insane without it—"

"Just now?" Rory teased.

Lorelai shrugged. "I like to do it over every once in a while, keep the experience fresh. But seriously, I feel terrible. I'm Paul Dooley in Sixteen Candles—but with better hair and obviously, without the gut."

"Obviously," Rory said. "Don't feel terrible. It was sort of nice to sneak in and wake up to surprise you."

"Well," Lorelai said, putting her arm around her daughter and walking her to a chair at the table, "I was surprised." She pointed at the ceiling. "He's giving us a moment." She studied Rory a moment. "You do look better," she said, tilting her head to one side, "and dare I say it? Older?"

"No!" Rory intoned. "No way!"

"Older as in mature," Lorelai said, her voice wheedling. "Sophisticated."

"Mom. I'm wearing Hello! Kitty pajamas."

"Sophisticated with a sense of the whimsical," Lorelai said.

Rory smiled. "I missed you," she said. "My crazy mom."

They heard Luke's step on the stairs, purposely heavy. He entered the kitchen in full Luke regalia, his hat firmly on his head. He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels. "So," he said. He pointed over his shoulder to the front door. "I gotta go to work. I'm late."

"Wait," Rory said, rising. "Stay there a sec."

"Like mother, like daughter," Lorelai drawled.

Rory disappeared in her room a moment. Lorelai stayed seated, yawning. She closed her eyes and puckered her lips in Luke's direction, making loud kissing noises.

"Ah, geez, would you cut that out?" he groaned.

Rory appeared with a flat package wrapped in brown paper in her hands. She thrust it at Luke. "I got this for you," she said. "To make up for last time, and—I just, I wanted to get you something."

Luke looked at the package a moment, his expression surprised and touched. He lifted one hand to tear the wrapping, but Rory stopped him. "Wait, don't open it now—open it when you go back to the diner."

He nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Rory," he said, careful to keep his voice level.

She gestured towards her bedroom. "I know you must have done most of that," she said. "It's beautiful."

"Yeah, well, huh," Luke said, looking everywhere but in Rory's direction. Lorelai could see the beginnings of tears in his eyes. "Good."

"Thank you, Luke," she said. "Really."

Lorelai sat watching them delightedly, covering her mouth with her hands.

Luke cleared his throat again, worked his jaw. "All right," he said, his chin tucked to his chest. "I have to go, so I will see you both later." He ventured a look at Rory, then Lorelai. "You coming for breakfast?"

"Abso-tootin'-lutely," Lorelai said, rising. "And we expect the works."

"I wouldn't have anything less," Luke said. "Okay. I'm going."

"Hey," Lorelai said, shuffling over to him. Rory stepped aside, ducking into her room and peeking around the doorjamb. Lorelai leaned up on her toes and kissed Luke lightly. "See you," she said.

He turned to go and paused, stepping back a moment. "It's good to have you home, Rory."

She smiled. "I'm glad to be back."

When Luke had gone, Lorelai rose and joined Rory in the door of her room, pausing only an instant before throwing herself on the bed. Rory climbed on beside her and they settled themselves among the pillows, Rory holding onto Lorelai's arm, her chin on her mother's shoulder.

"Do you really like it?" Lorelai asked.

"It's perfect," Rory told her. "I love it."

Lorelai closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. "Good. I was afraid—I didn't know, maybe the change would be too much?"

Rory shook her head. "It's exactly right. And everything is—it's just perfect," she said again, "the pens, the desk, the shelves, the duvet, the colors, the pictures, Mom, it's just—this is amazing." She wiggled a little and reached for the picture she had found hours earlier. "Who took this?"

Lorelai held the picture in her hands carefully, as though it would break. "I love this picture. This was—oh, it was October, maybe? Just before or just after your birthday, I can't remember. There was a fair going on in town—"

"Shocking!"

"—and there was this old man, this teeny little man with this ancient camera, and he walked around all day just taking pictures. He took my name and my address and that February, he sent me a copy of the picture with a thank you letter. He'd won some sort of contest with it. He said he'd been entering the contest every year since he was thirty and he'd never won before. He said our faces were a blessing."

Rory squeezed Lorelai's arm. "That's a good story."

"It is. Hey," she said, "where's your grandmother?"

"New York, still. She's coming down today."

"How is she?"

Rory looked down, shook her head. "She's—I don't know. She's not herself."

"Oh, man," Lorelai said. "Have you ever seen those really annoying commercials with the women sitting next to these really decrepit looking elderly people on couches, talking about how they're afraid their parents are going to fall down stairs or forget to take their medication or just shrivel up and die if they are exposed to sunlight or water?"

Rory giggled. "And the women are always wearing turtlenecks and fuscia lipstick?"

"Those are the ones," Lorelai said. "And then at some point in the commercial, someone says that 'there's a time for parents to take care of children and a time for children to take care of their parents.' Not that I ever let my parents take care of me, or anything, but is that where I'm at in my life? Am I that old?"

"Sophisticated," Rory told her.

"With a sense of the whimsical," she said. "You must be exhausted, babe. You want to get some sleep, go get breakfast later?"

"No, I'm actually not that tired anymore," Rory said. "Just achy."

"I hear hot showers and lots of coffee are good for aches," Lorelai told her.

"Coffee, huh? Who would have thought it?"

"Who, indeed?" Lorelai asked, sitting up and crawling off the bed. She looked at Rory. "I think this trip was good for you, babe. I can just tell. You look—you look whole again."

Rory curled up in the center of the bed. "I feel it," she said. "I mean, there are still things—there's still a lot—I don't know quite how to say it."

"I understand. We don't have to talk about it now, if you don't want," Lorelai said. "There's time, plenty of it."

Rory nodded. "Thanks, Mom. For everything."

"You never need to thank me. Adoring praise is all I ask for," Lorelai replied.

Rory closed her eyes as Lorelai went to the kitchen and prepared a cup of coffee for them both. She smiled to herself, hearing Lorelai mutter, "sweet holy mother of mercy, this is good coffee." She stretched out and rose, picking up the picture and walking to replace it on the shelf where she found it. She looked around the room one last time before joining her mother in the kitchen.

Rory Gilmore was home.