CHAPTER EIGHT- Brad Pitt's Boxers and Lolita
She hovered.
She perched on the edge of the counter, leaned over shoulders, flitted from space to space in the already busy kitchen like an insect unsure of where to light.
"Okay," Sookie breathed out, patting her hands palm-down in the air as though settling something imaginary. "While you know I love to have your input—"
"No, you don't," Lorelai put in, grabbing a blueberry and popping it into her mouth, hopping up on a counter and swinging her legs like an ornery five-year-old.
"And I love your company—"
"Yes, you do."
"I can't have you back here," Sookie finished. "Especially sitting on the counters and eating things I already had measured." Here, Sookie smacked Lorelai's hands and then grabbed them, looking at her best friend imploringly.
She'd have to have been blind or stupid not to realize all the things that Lorelai was going through. Rory's departure had been three times what Lorelai could reasonably handle without missing a stride, and Sookie would eat her wooden spoon if there wasn't something else going on.
Lorelai seemed to be doing her little getaway dance, but there was no one to get away from. No one Sookie knew of, at least.
"Honey, come on. Tell me what's wrong." Sookie drew Lorelai down off the counter and into the main lobby, where the midday had brought about a lull, and the only person nearby was Michel, talking incessantly on his tiny cell phone in one corner of the inn, occasionally making loud comments about how horrible reception was in small towns.
"What do you mean, wrong? Nothing's wrong," Lorelai answered, laughing a little. "I'm here, and I'm awake, and we have customers. Paying customers! What more could be right?"
"I don't know!" Sookie exclaimed. "Why don't you tell me?"
Lorelai drummed her finger on the front desk. "Oh, oh!" she said, jumping up and down. "I got it! Brad Pitt could be… waiting in my house with a bubble bath drawn, wearing a pair of red silk boxers and holding a rose in his teeth." She beamed at Sookie for a moment, the sparring match only slightly taking her mind off Luke's near-miss only moments before. "Should I go check? Did you arrange that for me? You'll be my best friend forever."
Rather than taking the bait, Sookie stroked a hand down Lorelai's arm, the friend part of her brain now warring with the chef part of her brain, which was worrying incessantly about the other kitchen staff and how they were faring without her. There were a thousand things she wanted to say, a thousand and one. She just couldn't pick which one to actually say.
It turned out she didn't have to choose; Michel finally ended his phone call. "Oh, look, how nice of you to join us. This was left for you while you two were in the back, laughing and living it up while some of us were doing hard work and earning the money which we are paid to do our job. Anonymously speaking, of course." He handed Lorelai an envelope, stuck his nose even farther in the air, and sniffed. "I am not, if you did not notice, a mail service."
"I notice you're not a lot of things," Lorelai said, snatching the envelope away from him. She held it in her hands for a moment, thinking nonsensically it might be from Rory, though she'd talked to her daughter early that morning. Then she wondered about Jason, and a frown creased her brow as she wondered what on earth he'd sent her. Her parents crossed her mind, and with a disgusted noise, Lorelai tore it open with the hopes that it was jury summons or anything more pleasant than a letter from Digger or Emily.
But there was no jury summons, no letter, only a photograph and one more tattered piece of notepaper that read You didn't pay for your coffee.
Lorelai ran her finger over the photograph, shocked that she'd forgotten about it after all this time, surprised that Luke had kept it, or made a copy of it. They sat together at the Starlight Festival, bodies turned toward one another, heads tilted slightly in and down as though they were preparing to share a secret. And perhaps they had been; who knew? But they looked comfortable, and though she was reluctant to admit it, they looked good.
"Damn it, Luke," Lorelai whispered, unmindful of Sookie and Michel. "When did you get so good at this?"
And though Michel, for once in his life, decided to exhibit some tact, smirking in a way that was uniquely his, Sookie's eyes popped wide and she began to squeal.
"Ohmygodlorelai!" she spouted in one breath. "Luke?"
And in that moment, between best friends, there was no need for long explanations, rambles and references. Lorelai felt herself needing to be honest, both with herself and Sookie, and so she simply smiled and said, "Luke."
She threw herself into work, uncertain of what else to do. She didn't feel she was being fair to Luke, to herself, but she didn't feel starting up a relationship at this crucial time in her daughter's life would be particularly fair to anyone, either.
She needed to be three people—mother, friend, and woman—and she could only be just herself, Lorelai, and she was afraid she'd have to pick and choose rather than trying to be all three.
But choosing or no, she found herself with money in hand to go pay for her coffee, and she'd stuck that damned picture on the refrigerator.
"Next I'll doodle his name on my Trapper Keeper!" she crooned mockingly to herself, grabbing her purse and heading for the door.
The phone stopped her in her tracks, and she squeaked "Rory!", leaping over the couch and snagging the phone off the floor, where it was lying beneath a three-year-old magazine.
"Hello? Hi?"
"She slept with a married man. No, no, no, let me be more specific. She had sex with a married man. Hell, she had sex, Lor!" The miles of phone cables didn't matter; Lorelai could hear the shock, dismay, and anger in Christopher's voice clearly enough.
"She told you?" She fought off disappointment; Rory hadn't even told her, and God only knew if she'd been planning to in the first place. If Rory had ever needed united parents in her life, this was the time.
"Your daughter—our daughter—is the most honest person the face of the planet. Of course she told me. She made it nearly twelve whole hours under the pretense of just being here to visit, then she cracked like a stock broker under the pressure of constant country music." On his end of the phone, Christopher raked a hand through his hair, paused, raked it through his hair again, and blew out a breath. He'd never felt so helpless in his entire life, and never so guilty. "I'm coming out there, and I'm going to kill this guy," he decided, but he didn't sound too convinced.
Was that was he was supposed to say? He felt like he'd lost his script somewhere.
Lorelai smiled sadly on her end, hearing clearly the conflict in his voice. "I'm sorry, Chris. She wanted to come out there."
"I want her out here," he said firmly. "God! I just… I want to spank her," he burst out spontaneously, naming the first punishment he could think of.
It certainly didn't sound effective when Lorelai began laughing at him, glad for the chance to lighten things up. "Hold on there, Humbert Humbert," she snickered. "Maybe you want to rephrase that, as our daughter passed spanking age a great long while ago, and because she's better behaved than her mother, she never got spankings."
"I recall you getting some sp—"
"Can it, Christopher. What were you saying before you started chastising Lolita?"
"I just… feel I ought to punish her. I mean, dammit, Lorelai. Can't we… lock her in a room or something while we take care of this guy?" He felt sick, and altogether unready for this type of crisis. His daughter, for God's sake, hadn't ever needed this guidance. Hell, she'd always been more mature than he had.
"Since when were you Mr. Morality?" Lorelai said defensively. "It's not like you can just throw on the Daddy-pants now, Christopher. She made a mistake, all right, she doesn't need punishment, she needs support. She probably needed support a long time ago, and a few phone calls a week offer about as much support as a training bra."
The silence that confronted her was rare from Christopher, and she knew she'd stung him. For a long, tense moment, she wished she could just let him be stung and not say a word. But it was too unlike her.
"I'm sorry," she said, rubbing her eyes and knowing full well she wouldn't be able to go pay for her coffee tonight. She'd thought she would have to choose, and her choice came right here.
Once more, Christopher was taking precedence over Luke, and this time, Lorelai wasn't sure she liked it a single damned bit.
"I just… it's been hard for me. I'm her primary guardian," she said carefully, "And I feel like I failed."
And when Christopher began to go on about what he should do, Lorelai sank to the couch and thought with a great deal of regret how sad it was her daughter had ended up with two parents who had the innate ability to make everything about themselves.