"Thoreau Had Company"
Chapter 1: Solicitation
Ring ring.
"Lorelai."
"Mom. Hi." Lorelai cradled the phone on her chin as she handed two Dragonfly guests their keys, smiling apologetically. "What's up?"
"Your father has decided to use the house Friday night for a business event, even though I specifically requested it for our Friday night dinner." Emily's voice could, as usual, cut glass. "It's no business of mine if he wants to ignore his daughter and granddaughter," she ranted. "I swear that man's selfishness grows with each passing week. Have I told you the lengths he's going to for the Wedgwood vase in the sitting room? The one my mother gave me –"
"Mom," Lorelai said, sharply but not unkindly, to head off the newest report from the front in the War of the Gilmores. Checkout had started half an hour ago, while check in had started five minutes ago, and Lorelai didn't have time for a family crisis. "So in two hundred words or less, you're saying that dinner this Friday is canceled?"
"Yes."
"Well, okay," Lorelai said absently as she clicked through the day's reservations on the computer. "We'll just move it to next week."
"Next week is your father's week for the house, even though he stole mine –"
"The week after?"
"I'll be away on vacation for a month starting that week."
"How about our house?" Lorelai clapped her hand over her mouth. Michel, filing things nearby, eyed her with amusement.
"Your house?" Emily asked.
Lorelai stammered, "Uh, well, if you want. I know it's a long drive and –"
"It's twenty minutes."
"Uh, right. So." Lorelai took a breath; if she'd had a shot of courage handy, she'd have downed that, too. "Mother, would you like to come to dinner on Friday night at my house?"
Emily was silent for a minute, and when she spoke again, Lorelai imagined the smugly grinning shark on the cover of her Finding Nemo soundtrack. "I'd love to."
The women finished pleasantries and hung up, and Lorelai's true panic began.
"Oh god oh god oh god," she muttered as she quickly dialed.
"If you are going to have a heart attack," Michel drawled, "please do not expect me to perform CPR, as my suit is Italian and I do not wish to have dirt stains on the knees."
"Then you'd better stop conducting business in the park," Lorelai said. "C'mon, c'mon, pick up," she said to the phone.
"Luke's," said the voice on the other end.
"Yes! Luke! I did a very stupid thing."
"Invaded a country without UN support?"
"I invited my mother to my house for Friday night dinner. What the hell was I thinking?"
"That you haven't seen your mom in a couple of weeks, and you miss her?"
"Gah! Such blasphemy will get you two hours watching that new Olsen twins movie with your eyelids propped open with toothpicks!"
"You say so," Luke said, unconvinced. He had listened to Lorelai complain about her mother for years, and noted in recent months that the complaints had dwindled to nearly nil.
"What the hell was I thinking?" Lorelai asked again. "I can't cook! What am I going to do, serve ketchup and Pez?"
Impatiently, Luke replied, "Look, hon, I sympathize with your cause, but it's twelve-thirty and I've got a diner full of very hungry, very impatient people, and we both know that you called for one reason."
"To ask you what you're wearing?"
"An apron," he said, 'forgetting' to mention anything else.
"Liking the visual," Lorelai said decadently, her lips twisting into a naughty smile.
The sex-banter – knowing, not just suspecting, that she was attracted to him -- was one change to their relationship that Luke got a particular kick out of.
"You called," Luke said, "because you know that I can cook, and you'd like to make use of my services."
"Dirty," Lorelai said.
Luke cradled the phone on his shoulder and refilled Andrew's raspberry iced tea. "And you didn't just come out and ask me, because -- even though we've been going out for a month, have been friends for years, and not to mention that I've met your mother several times -- you thought I wouldn't want to go to a Gilmore Friday night dinner."
"I didn't say that!"
"Uh huh," Luke said, not letting her spin anything. This was the biggest change in their relationship since they had started dating: Luke no longer had to construct elaborate excuses to spend time with her. "I assume you are going to extend an invitation; I'm not just going to be your hired kitchen boy?"
"We were going to let you dance in a cage, too."
"Lorelai, did I mention that I'm busy?"
"In a gold lamé g-string."
"Lorelai."
"Luke, would you like to come to dinner on Friday?"
Luke smiled. "I'd love to."
"I really, really like you."
Luke turned away from the counter and said, "I really, really like you, too. Talk to you later?"
"When the coffee addiction calls, you know who I'll run to."
"Yeah, I do. Bye."
When he turned around, Patty and Babette fixed him with twin smiles and cocked heads; Babette looked a little teary.
"What?" he said.
"We're really happy for you, sugar," Babette said.
"We've wanted this for a really long time," Patty added.
"Okay, that's –" Luke tried to interrupt.
"Oh! My god! Your kids are gonna be adarable," Babette gushed.
Luke turned on his heel to find a less nosy customer.