Chapter 3: An Affair to Forget
After coffee and peach pie, Emily declared it time to leave, and they said their goodbyes and thank yous.
"Let me walk you out, Mom," Lorelai said, following her outside. The humidity pressed on them like a physical force, despite the sun having dipped behind the trees.
"This weather is just oppressive," Emily said. "I can't wait to take a dip in that lake – it's supplied by mountain streams."
"Yeah, about that, Mom. Um, how many bedrooms does this house have?"
"Three. Why?"
"Huh. So, four people, three rooms?"
"Is that a problem?" Emily said in that tone she used when digging for far more information than the question posed at face value. "They all have queen-sized beds; you and Rory could double up."
"Well, sure, we could," Lorelai said, "but Rory will be working on her fact checking thing for the paper."
"Well, you and Luke," Emily said nonchalantly, "could –"
"No, no," Lorelai said with faux assurance. "That won't work either."
"Please, Lorelai, don't change your routine on my account. If I thought you had been waiting for marriage all these years, I'd pour you into a pair of hotpants and drop you off by the docks," she said, mostly for effect.
Lorelai was determined not to give her mother the satisfaction of becoming stunned and hostile. "That's nice, Mom. But – well, no, you're right. Rory and I can double up. It's no problem. She won't be working all the time."
"So you'll really come?" Emily said, genuinely delighted.
"Sure, Mom. It sounds fun."
"Splendid," Emily said. "I'm glad to hear it. I'll see you next week."
Lorelai watched the car's taillights illuminate the bushes in red and thought, Great. A pseudo-romantic getaway with Luke that we're totally not ready for, plus quality time with Rory, who lately is as cuddly as one those California cactuses that you don't see until it stabs you through your shoe.