Defending Bjork
Chapter 13: Three's Company, Four's a Party
Disclaimer: As always, ASP, et al. created the show and the characters. I just play around with them now and then. This chapter contains some borrowed dialogue. All credit for that goes to the brilliant people. All hatred for the rest goes to me.
A/N: Chapter 13 for your reading pleasure… I hope. Also, some of you might not know that I started another fic, 'Road Map.' I'd love it if you gave it a read. Thanks to my sister for her kind help and to all of you who encourage me. Lastly, this chapter is dedicated to those of you who continue to keep the Lit love alive. You know who you are. Hey, look. A brief author's note! Go figure. Review if the spirit moves you. ~Becka
"I feel feverish. Do I look feverish?" Lorelai asked, looking to Rory for sympathy as they walked home from Luke's.
"No, you don't look feverish," Rory replied matter-of-factly without even glancing at her mother.
"Yes, I do. My face is flushed. My forehead is practically on fire. Here, feel," she urged, grabbing Rory's hand and holding it to her forehead.
"You're lukewarm," Rory assured her before pulling her hand away.
"Lukewarm? What is that a symptom of? Spotted Mountain Rocky Fever?"
"Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever," Rory corrected. "And it's a fever, so no."
"Bursitis?"
"Bursitis is an inflammation around tendons and bone, like in your knee. It has nothing to do with feeling lukewarm."
"Fine, but now that you mention it, my knee is a little achy," Lorelai said, adopting an exaggerated limp.
Rory smiled. "You look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame when you do that."
"I cannot believe you're picking on your bursitis-ridden mother."
"People are staring at you."
"Let them stare!" Lorelai declared dramatically.
"Now they're pointing and laughing."
Lorelai glanced around, momentarily distracted from her limp. "They are not."
"A-ha! But suddenly you're walking normally. Who'd have guessed the cure for bursitis is exactly the same as the cure for hiccups?"
"My throat hurts," Lorelai complained, rubbing her neck.
"Your throat does not hurt."
"I'm looking it up in the medical guide when I get home."
"Fine, but no matter how hard you look, you'll never find anything convincing."
"Spa-itis," Lorelai firmly stated.
"Excuse me?"
"Lethargy, queasy stomach, pounding headache, nervous tremors, suicidal tendencies, and the urge to yell out Tourettes-like obscenities at any and all moments," Lorelai explained.
"You really think Grandma is gonna fall for that?"
"I wouldn't even be acting."
"Mom…"
"Let's go back to the diner. Maybe, if I position myself just right, I can be standing under the ceiling when it completely collapses."
"Or maybe you'll have a good time," Rory suggested.
"Two days… with my mother… at a spa? Highly unlikely."
"Fruity drinks; meditation music; cute guys with nice, firm hands giving you massages…"
"What do you know about that?" Lorelai teased, eyeing her suspiciously.
"I'm trying to be helpful here," Rory reminded her.
"Fruity drinks, which my mother will declare either too fruity or not drinky enough; meditation music that will be drowned out by her incessant chatter; cute guys with nice, firm hands who will hate me because my mother will order them around mercilessly… or even worse, she'll take a fancy to one and set me up in an arranged marriage."
"You're going, and you will have a good time!" Rory ordered.
"Easy for you to say."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, let's see… while I'm having Friday morning breakfast with my mother, Friday afternoon lunch with my mother, Friday night dinner with my mother, Saturday morning breakfast with…"
"Not getting any younger," Rory prodded.
"I will have to eat no less than five meals with my mother while you get a Friday night dinner-free weekend."
"So?"
"So, of course you want me to go! You don't even care about your mother's well-being. Her delicate feelings. Her mental stability. All you care about is your impending freedom."
"Fine. I'll support your story of spa-itis. Happy?"
"Ah," Lorelai dismissed. "You're right; she'll never fall for it."
"Nope."
"So what are you gonna do with your night of freedom while your loving mother suffers through the human equivalent of the rack? Make me jealous; I know you want to."
"I haven't decided yet. I'm thinking either laundry or homework. Or maybe I'll mix things up and do both."
"Wow! Don't make yourself dizzy," Lorelai teased. "Hey, did you know you have ceiling in your hair?"
"No," Rory muttered, shaking her head and running her hands through her hair. "Two seconds without the umbrella…"
"Ooh, hey, that gives me an idea. What if I just sprinkle ceiling dust all over my head and tell my mother I got hit by debris? That way, I can get out of the weekend without actually giving myself a concussion."
"She'd still make you go."
"She would, wouldn't she?" Lorelai sighed. "Hey, isn't that Lane?" she asked, gesturing towards the figure darting between trees around the Kim residence.
Rory squinted. "It could be Lane."
"I'm pretty sure that's Lane."
"I'm gonna go see what's going on," Rory said, turning down Lane's street. "I'll meet you at home."
"Lane?" Rory stage-whispered as she walked down the street towards the house.
"Shhh…" Lane reprimanded from her hunched position beside a fence.
Rory hurried over and ducked down as well. "What's going on?" she whispered.
"I'm addicted."
"To love?" Rory asked, confused.
"No. Well, maybe, but not at the moment."
"Coffee?"
"No, that's you."
"Vicodin?"
"Very funny."
"Should I keep guessing?"
"Cookies," Lane hissed.
"Huh?"
"Cookies. Luke's cookies. I'm addicted to Luke's cookies. Oh my God," she exclaimed as quietly as possible, her eyes wide. "Maybe he laces them with cocaine. Do you think Luke spikes his cookies?"
"Luke doesn't spike his cookies. Chocolate can be addictive though."
"But I get the oatmeal raisin ones."
"Then maybe he does spike them," Rory teased.
"This is awful," Lane said despondently.
"I don't think you're really addicted to Luke's cookies," Rory assured her.
"So sneaking around the neighborhood and crouching nervously outside my parents' house doesn't make me look like a cookie junkie?"
"Okay, it's a little weird… why are we crouching again?"
"Because I have to wait for the right moment to sneak back into the house."
"Oh. Okay. How long does that usually take?"
"Well, I've been dashing from window to window and hiding behind bushes for about forty-five minutes now. At this point, I'm guessing it should be no more than fifteen minutes," Lane assured her.
"I think I need to stage an intervention."
"You'd do that?" Lane asked, looking at her hopefully.
"What are you doing tomorrow night?"
"Are you serious?"
Rory smiled. "Not about the intervention, but my mom's going to be out of town, and it's been a long time since you and I hung out without it involving plotting or lying of some kind."
"That's true. But don't you have plans with Dean or something?"
"Nope."
"But I know you like your alone time, and it's not often your mom is out of town."
"How are you at folding laundry?"
"Thanks to Martha Stewart, I've even mastered the fitted sheet," Lane said proudly.
"So you'll come over then?"
"Yeah, definitely," Lane agreed, grinning from ear-to-ear. "That is, assuming my addiction doesn't lead to house arrest."
"You really think you're addicted to Luke's cookies?" Rory asked.
"Actually, I think it's probably more about the thrill of the escape," Lane conceded. "But the cookies don't hurt. Ooh, I think I see an opening!"
"Better hurry. I'll see you tomorrow," Rory said quickly.
Lane smiled and hurried towards the front door, soundlessly opening it and slipping inside.
"Purple dress or red dress?" Rory asked as she packed Lorelai's bag the next morning.
"Neither. If I'm remembering correctly, the formal spa dress code involves strait jackets and only strait jackets."
"Fine. Purple strait jacket or red strait jacket?"
"Purple," Lorelai chose, cradling the phone receiver between her ear and shoulder.
"Now was that so hard?"
"Yes."
"I see your maturity level is rising above last night's."
"You know, I have it on good authority that the thermometer over a hot light bulb trick actually works."
"No, it doesn't," Rory disagreed.
"How do you know?"
"I tried it in second grade."
"What? How did I not know this?"
"Because I figured out that it wasn't going to work before I claimed to be sick," Rory explained. "I stood up and got dressed for school, and you never knew the difference."
"You were going to pretend to be sick to get out of school, and I missed it?"
"Yep."
"My one opportunity to encourage your delinquency, and you didn't even give me the chance? Why were you gonna skip?"
"Nothing important was going on that day, so I figured I'd give it a try."
"Okay, honey, see, the rule is you're supposed to skip school because you have a test."
"Rules shmules," Rory dismissed, tossing another blouse into the suitcase. "Are you still on hold?"
"No, I've just been ignoring the nice man on the other line, so I could talk to you instead," Lorelai said sarcastically.
"I appreciate that."
"You always come first, babe. Oh, hello?" Lorelai said, repositioning the phone. "Yes, I'm still here. Right. Right. So then we're all confirmed. Uh, great. Thanks so much for your help. Okay, bye." Lorelai hung up the phone. "Yeeessss!"
"That was an evil yes."
"Not an evil yes. It's a 'yes, I'm pretty, but hello, I'm smart' kind of yes," Lorelai clarified.
"Oh, my mistake."
"So here's the deal – I go into my facial just as my mother is finishing her salt glow, which will end ten minutes after I've hit my scalp treatment which puts me in the watsu massage pool at least six minutes into her back facial. Uh, in fact, the day is so well-planned, I won't see her until dinner which will be cut tragically short by the food poisoning I plan to contract."
"You are twelve and disgusting."
"I am trapped and desperate."
"You really think you can avoid Grandma the entire weekend?"
"Must I remind you that you're the one who refused to let me come down with spa-itis?"
"A fictional disease."
"Fictional but brilliant. So Lane's coming over tonight?"
"Yes, she is," Rory said happily.
"I think it's really great that you two are gonna hang out. It's been too long since you guys had a sleepover."
"I have missed watching Lane overcompensate on the sugar consumption and go into hyper drive," Rory agreed. "Remember how you used to make her run around the house to burn off the energy?"
"How could I forget? Man, she was fast. Like a Flash Gordon blur, that one. Try to get a picture of that this time, okay?"
"I'll do my best," Rory said, giggling.
"So what time do the male strippers arrive?"
"It's a slumber party not a wild bachelorette bash," Rory reminded her.
"Pish-posh! There's always room for strippers."
"Just like Jello."
"Ooh, or strippers in jello."
"Okay, bad image."
"I always take that extra step into the vulgar, don't I?"
"It's a gift," Rory stated. "You're all packed."
"Okay, so, no strippers. But there will be kegs and smashed windows and table-dancing, correct?"
"Depends on how much candy Lane has."
"Stuff her silly. I'm gonna need some serious entertainment after this weekend."
The sound of a car honking drifted in through the window.
"Speaking of which, I think Grandma's here."
"What's she honking for?" Lorelai asked, walking to the window. "She hates honking. She calls it a mechanical bodily function. Ugh, geez."
Rory hurried over and looked out the window at the limousine waiting below. "Oh, cool!"
"I just know I'm going to regret this," Lorelai muttered, picking up her suitcase and heading out the door.
Rory smiled and followed her downstairs.
"So, surprise, surprise, Madeline and Louise have dates tonight," Paris abruptly informed Rory, startling her from her chemistry assignment.
"And?" Rory asked.
"And I suppose that you have big Friday night plans also?"
"Well, kind of," Rory admitted.
"Perfect!" Paris exclaimed. "And the fact that I'm seeing my entire Harvard career slip away apparently is of no interest to anyone."
"What are you talking about?"
"I got an A-minus, okay?"
"So?"
"What do you mean, so? I got an A-minus. I have never gotten an A-minus," Paris explained, upset. "I just can't focus lately. Things are so weird at my house. My dad finally figured out exactly how much it was gonna cost him to divorce my mom, so now he's back, and it's bad enough that I wasted all that time crunching the numbers with him, but now that he's back, they're fighting and redecorating. The place is a mess. I need help."
"Oh."
"I offer a desperate plea for help, and all you can say is 'oh'?"
"Oh boy?" Rory cheekily offered.
"Can you study tonight or not?" Paris asked, clearly unamused.
Rory hesitated, prepared to say no. However, her mouth seemed to have its own ideas. "I guess," she found herself offering. "For a little while. Maybe."
"Your enthusiasm is moving," Paris said flatly.
"It's just that I'm sort of having a slumber party tonight."
"Like a seven year old? That kind of slumber party? So you're gonna eat cupcakes and make balloon animals while my future floats away with the helium? How many people are going to be at this preadolescent blowout?"
Rory sighed. "Just my friend Lane and I."
"You're claiming to have plans when you can't even muster up a full-fledged slumber party? What? Mary-Kate and Ashley were busy?"
"For someone who wants my help, you sure don't seem like it."
A conflicted look came over Paris's face as she debated the benefits of ridicule over those of groveling. "Look, I'm sorry. Like I said, everything's a mess."
"It's okay," Rory said unconvincingly.
Paris sighed. "And I shouldn't make fun of your slumber party. It's not like I know anything about them."
"You've never been to a slumber party?" Rory asked in disbelief.
"Well, I only got invited to one. When I was eight and a half. It was Sunshine Rhoades' birthday, and her dad was a business acquaintance of my dad, so she was pretty much obligated to invite me. They were going to go roller-skating, but I didn't know how. When Sunshine found out, she knew her mom would make her change the party plans, so she uninvited me. Of course, that didn't stop her from telling everyone about my skating inadequacies. After that, I was blackballed from the social circuit. By the time I made it back in, the days of slumber parties were over. But, you know, whatever. Who cares about slumber parties anyway, right?"
Rory hesitated again, not quite believing what she was about to say. The words practically burned her tongue as they left her mouth. "Paris, do you want to come over to my house and hang out with me and Lane tonight? I'll help you with chemistry for a while, and…"
"Really?" Paris interrupted. "You don't mind?"
Rory sighed. "Bring a sleeping bag."
Paris smiled briefly, but then regained her composure. "What time should I be there?"
"Five-thirty?"
"Sounds good," Paris agreed, battling with the smile. "I'll see you then." She walked away, and Rory turned back to her chemistry assignment, a small smile flickering across her own face as well.
"Wow, your lung capacity certainly has improved," Rory remarked as she pulled away from kissing Dean, her arms still slung loosely around his neck.
"Well, I've been playing a lot more basketball lately," Dean explained.
"Yet another reason to continue the fight to keep physical education in schools."
Dean smiled and drew her into another kiss. "So, tonight," he mumbled against her lips.
"Yes?"
"I was thinking," he continued, kissing her again.
"Yes?"
"Since your mother's gonna be gone."
"Mm-hmm," Rory muttered, only half-listening to what he was saying.
"Maybe I'd come over," Dean finished.
"Oh," Rory said abruptly, pulling away.
"What?"
"I can't tonight," she explained.
"Why not?"
"Lane's coming over."
"So we'll hang out with Lane," Dean compromised, fairly confident that Lane would duck out as soon as she realized she was a third wheel.
"But Paris is coming too."
"Paris?" Dean repeated.
"Yeah."
"Paris, as in Chilton Paris."
"Uh-huh."
"The Paris you don't like?"
"I never said I didn't like Paris."
"Yeah, you did," Dean stated.
"Okay, at one point, in the past, a long time ago, I may have disliked Paris, but it turns out she's not so bad. Sure, she can be abrasive. And condescending. And she has little to no regard for people's feelings. But if you look closely, on a good day, deep down, she can be a nice person."
Dean gave his girlfriend a skeptical look.
"She was lonely, and she needs help with her chemistry," Rory explained.
"You're too nice, you know that?" Dean said, disappointed.
"Are you mad?"
"How can I be mad at you for being nice? It's who you are."
"Well, no matter what, tomorrow, the whole day is about you," Rory assured him. "From morning 'til night."
"Do you mean that?"
"Of course I mean it."
"Even if it means watching basketball?" Dean said cautiously.
"On TV?" Rory asked, trying to hide her disappointment.
"Nope, live and in person."
"You want to go to a basketball game?"
"No, I want you to come to my basketball game."
"Oh," Rory said flatly.
"You don't wanna come," Dean frowned, removing his hands from her waist.
"No, no, I want to come," Rory reassured him. To prove her point, she gently took his hands and placed them back on her hips. But when she let go, he immediately let them drop back to his sides.
"If you don't want to, it's fine," Dean said sullenly. "I just figured since you've never been to one…"
"They're usually on Fridays," Rory reminded him. "I have Friday night dinner on Fridays."
"But this game is on a Saturday."
"So now I can go," Rory stated.
"I'm starting as center."
"You're what?" Rory asked, confused.
"Starting as center," Dean repeated. "I'll be in the game. As center."
Rory still looked confused.
"The guy in the middle who's in charge of getting the ball for the team when the referee drops it?"
"Oh!" Rory exclaimed. "You're gonna be that guy?"
"Yeah."
"Wow! That's… that's… congratulations."
"So you'll go?"
"Of course," Rory promised.
"Good," Dean smiled, placing his hands back on her waist. Pulling her close, he leaned in for a kiss.
"What time is it?" Rory interrupted, moving away before his lips reached hers.
Dean shifted and checked his watch. "Five."
"Lane's supposed to be at my house at five. I better go."
"She can't wait?"
Rory smiled and placed a quick kiss on his lips. "I'll see you tomorrow," she promised again before turning to hurry to her house.
"Yeah, tomorrow," Dean mumbled, watching her go.
"Vanilla ice cream?" Lane read from the list she held in her hand.
Rory pulled open the freezer and peered inside. "Check."
"Chocolate ice cream?"
"Check."
"Whipped cream?"
Rory shut the freezer and opened the fridge. "Check."
"Chocolate sauce?"
"Check."
"Butterscotch?"
"Check."
"Hot fudge which, contrary to popular belief, is very different than chocolate sauce?"
"Check, and amen, sistah."
"Maraschino cherries?"
"Check."
"Pean—"
A knock on the door cut Lane off. Lane exchanged a look with Rory and looked down at the list again.
"Oops, I misread. Nutcase."
"Check," Rory grinned, heading to the door to let Paris in.
A few minutes later, Rory re-entered the kitchen with Paris close behind her.
"Paris, I don't think you two have been formally introduced. This is my best friend, Lane Kim," Rory introduced. "Lane, this is Paris Gellar."
"Nice to meet you," Paris greeted, reaching out and shaking Lane's hand firmly as if they were about to go into business together.
"Yeah, you too," Lane smiled.
Paris gestured to the piece of paper in Lane's hand. "Is that the agenda?"
"The agenda?" Lane repeated, confused.
"For tonight. The party plans."
"Oh, no," Lane explained. "This is the sundae list."
"You made a list for Sunday? That's two days away. And people say I'm Type A."
"No… the sundae list." Lane looked at the list and began reading. "Vanilla ice cream. Chocolate ice cream. Whipped cream. Chocolate sauce."
"We're having sundaes?" Paris asked, sounding hopeful.
"And pretty much every other item on the list of the Top Ten Things You Should Never Eat If You Plan on Living to be Old and Grey."
"Like what?" Paris asked.
"Butter with popcorn," Lane began.
"Don't you mean popcorn with butter?"
"No," Lane stated firmly.
"You'll understand later," Rory chimed in.
"What else?"
"Well, then there are the usual sleepover staples," Lane continued as she and Paris walked side-by-side into the living room. "Pizza, soda, cheese puffs, pixie sticks."
"Pixie sticks?" Paris repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion.
Lane's eyes grew wide. "You've never had a pixie stick?"
"That makes me a freak, doesn't it?"
"It's nothing that can't be fixed," Lane assured her, smiling back at Rory who was trailing behind them.
Inside the diner, Jess stood beside a counter in the kitchen, shutting the tops of the full take-out containers in front of him. His eyes scanned the array of food, making sure he had everything. Bacon cheeseburgers. Onion rings. Cheese fries. French fries. Macaroni and cheese. BLT on wheat. Cookies. And on and on. Finally satisfied he hadn't left out any of her favorites, he began arranging them in a box. It was about half full before he heard the sound of the swinging door open and close.
"What are you doing?" Luke asked, eyeing his nephew suspiciously.
Jess glanced up. "I'm putting these packages," he began, holding one up for emphasis, "in this box."
"I can see that."
"Kind of redundant to ask then, huh?" Jess remarked.
Luke ignored him. "What's in the containers?"
"Well, this one," Jess said, holding up a smallish bag, "is LSD for little Timmy Smith down the street. I tried to convince him to start small… a cigarette, maybe a joint or two. But there's no talking the kid down when he's set his mind on something."
"Jess," Luke warned.
"And this one," Jess continued, lifting up another package, "is some crystal meth for…"
"It looks like French fries," Luke pointed out.
"Huh. So it does," Jess agreed, shoving the plastic container into the box. "I guess you haven't lost your eyesight after all."
"Do you ever give anyone a straight answer?"
Jess chuckled and shook his head. "You're the one asking me what's in a transparent container like you can't see for yourself."
"Who's the food for?"
"The elderly and disabled," Jess replied, smirking.
"Like Meals on Wheels?"
"The helpless deserve to eat, Uncle Luke," Jess answered, adopting a serious tone.
"Fine. Who's getting a delivery?" Luke played along.
"Mrs. Wilson on Peach. Mr. Comee on Plum," Jess listed. "The Harper Sisters."
"You know I'm not buying this."
"Maybe not. But, if I remember right, you trust me," Jess reminded him, looking up at his uncle. "Unless that was just a line."
Luke looked conflicted for a moment. Then, accepting defeat, he sighed. "I meant what I said, but if I find out…"
"It's going to a good cause," Jess assured him, smirking again.
"I can only imagine," Luke mumbled.
"So, to make a long story short, I will never eat Chinese again," Paris finished, bending her head back to pour the purple pixie stick sugar down her throat.
"Okay. Chinese is out," Rory accepted, crossing it off the list. "Sandeep's?" she offered.
"No way!" Lane exclaimed.
"What's Sandeep's?" Paris asked.
Lane's face scrunched up in distaste. "Indian food. Potentially lethal Indian food."
"Hey, Sandeep's is good!" Rory disagreed.
"Rory is their only customer," Lane explained. "Lucky for them, she's a big eater."
"Miss Patty loves Sandeep's."
"Correction: Miss Patty loves Sandeep," Lane reminded her. "The man, not the food."
"Fine. Sandeep's is off the list," Rory accepted, drawing a line through it. "So that leaves pizza."
"What kind of pizza?" Paris asked.
"It took us a half hour to get this far," Lane complained. "I'm starving."
"Make another list," Paris ordered. Rory sighed and poised the pen over the sheet of paper. She was just about to scribble down the list of potential ingredients when the phone rang. Breathing a sigh of relief, she handed the paper and pen to Lane and leapt up to get it. "I'll eat anything. You two work it out," she ordered.
As Paris started barking out toppings, Rory shook her head and picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"Is he a fireman or a police officer?"
"There are no strippers," Rory stated, grinning despite herself.
"C'mon, Rory," Lorelai whined. "I'm trapped at the spa from hell with my mother. Indulge me."
"Fine, he's a fireman."
"Is he hot?" Lorelai chuckled. "Get it. Hot! 'Cuz he's a fireman."
"Indulgence over. How's the spa?"
"They put cucumbers in the water."
"Refreshing."
"Revolting," Lorelai clarified. "And they have no coffee."
"Uh-oh."
"You don't even know the half of it. Oh, and you know all of those things I said my mother would do."
"Complain, talk incessantly, arrange marriages," Rory listed.
"I underestimated her. It's like she doesn't even need to breathe… ever. And his name is Juan. You were right about the firm hands; it's just too bad they aren't covering his face."
"Awww… poor Juan," Rory cooed. "The only unattractive male masseuse on the face of the earth. At least he has you."
"Funny. So are you partying like it's 1999?"
"Paris is here."
"The whole city? I think I underestimated your ability to get down and boogie."
"Not Paris, France. Paris Gellar."
"So, at last, the wild carousing can begin," Lorelai quipped. "Why's Paris there?"
"She needed help with her chemistry."
"You're studying at a slumber party?"
"Actually, I think I managed to distract her from the studying. She's currently downing pixie sticks."
"That can't be good."
"A hyper Paris is a Paris to be feared," Rory agreed. "But she and Lane seem to be getting along."
"So you're having fun?"
"Definitely."
"I hate you," Lorelai joked.
"Give Grandma a chance."
"I need coffee."
"It'll be waiting for you when you get home."
The sound of the doorbell ringing drifted into the conversation. "Ooh, is that the stripper?" Lorelai asked. "I knew you wouldn't let me down."
"No strippers! I gotta go. Say 'hi' to Juan for me," Rory teased as she headed to the door.
"Put a five in the fireman's g-string and tell him it's from Wanda. He'll know what you mean."
"Bye Mom," Rory chuckled.
"Have fun."
Rory clicked off the phone and glanced at Lane and Paris. They were still sitting on the couch, arguing about pineapple's merits as if they hadn't even heard the doorbell. Smiling, she reached the door and pulled it open.
"Delivery," Jess smirked, a Luke's Diner box in his arms.
"What are you doing here?" Rory asked, confused.
"Well, Luke figured since you're alone tonight that maybe you wouldn't have any food in the house, so he sent over a care package."
"Oh," Rory said, shifting uncomfortably. The sudden smell of the food only confirmed how hungry she was. Her stomach growled loudly.
Hearing it, Jess smiled. "Where should I put this?" he asked, walking past her into the house.
"Well…" Rory began.
"Kitchen?" he said, already heading that direction.
"Um… sure," Rory agreed. She followed him down the side hallway into the kitchen, completely forgetting that Lane and Paris were still in the living room.
Jess walked to a table, set the box down, and began removing the containers.
"God, how much food is in there?" Rory asked. She watched as item after item was pulled from the box. "This could feed twelve."
"Excuse me, I've seen you eat," Jess said, smiling to himself as he remembered her victory at the pizza place.
"Fine, six," Rory accepted as she fought off a smile of her own.
"Yeah, well, he wanted you taken care of. He wasn't sure how long your mom was gonna be gone for."
"Just tonight."
"Oh, he didn't know that," Jess said casually.
"Well, now you can tell him."
"I will."
"So how come Caesar didn't bring this over?" Rory asked, growing suspicious. Things had been okay between her and Jess in the couple of weeks since the bracelet incident, but he'd still seemed distant, only rarely initiating conversation.
"I volunteered," Jess said, not immediately picking up on what she was implying.
"Why?"
"Just wanted to get out of the construction zone," Jess explained, his story already planned out and at the ready. "There's nothing but banging and yelling. That place gives me a headache."
"Oh," Rory accepted, trying not to sound disappointed.
Jess noticed her tone and smirked. "Why?" he asked, amused. "Did you think I wanted to come over here and see you?"
"No," Rory said quickly.
"Just needed some quiet," Jess clarified.
"Fine."
"That is all," he continued.
"Got it."
"Clear my head."
"I understand," Rory nodded.
"Aren't you gonna eat?" Jess asked, looking down at the food.
"Eventually."
"I've heard your stomach make those noises before. I'd suggest appeasing it before glass shatters."
"I think I'm a better judge of when I need to eat than you are," Rory said defensively. She didn't know why, but it suddenly made her mad that he knew her so well. Maybe because she usually had no clue what he was thinking or what any of his actions meant.
"It gets cold fast," Jess warned.
"I can heat it up."
"Reheated French fries really suck."
"Hm, they do suck," Rory agreed, hating to see them go to waste.
"Yeah, so, eat."
"Okay, I will." Rory paused and waited for him to go. The longer he stood there, the more uncomfortable it made her. He barely talked to her for two weeks, and now suddenly, he acted like nothing was weird between them. "You're still standing there," she said when he didn't move.
"I know. You didn't give me a tip."
"You want money?"
"No, I'll take a fry though," Jess compromised.
"Okay, yeah, have as much as you want," Rory said, just wanting to get rid of him.
"Okay, great." Jess moved to a nearby chair and began to remove his coat.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting ready to eat."
"You're staying?" Rory croaked. Looking at him, she silently cursed the sudden re-emergence of those stupid stomach butterflies and their routine fluttering. She was mad at him. Mad at him. She repeated the mantra in her head.
"Didn't you just invite me?" Jess said innocently.
"No, I—"
"No, you told me to have all I wanted. That sounded invitation-like."
"You wanna stay here and eat?"
"Beats being at Luke's."
"But–"
"Rory, is it or is it not true that fennel seed can cause sudden convulsions?" Paris interrupted, walking into the kitchen. She paused. "Do I smell foo—" Noticing Jess at the table, she cut herself off. "Where did he come from?"
"I rang the doorbell," Jess said, clearly annoyed. He looked at Rory. "Too much food, huh?"
"I didn-" Rory began, her face flushing as she realized she'd completely forgotten about the slumber party.
"Jess?" Lane exclaimed, walking up behind Paris, her eyes wide. "Did you call him?" she directed at Rory.
"No, I didn't call him," Rory said quickly. "He just showed up."
"The mother ship just beamed him down?" Paris asked.
"I rang the doorbell," Jess repeated.
Paris shot Rory a suspicious look. "Do you always have co-ed slumber parties?"
"He isn't here for the party."
"You're having a slumber party?" Jess asked.
Lane walked over and sniffed the food. "Oh my God, this smells good!"
"Is he staying?" Paris asked, ignoring Lane.
"No!" Rory said forcefully at the exact same moment that Jess said 'yes'.
"You're not staying."
"You invited me," Jess reminded her.
"I didn't invite you. You just showed up like you always do."
"Yeah?" Jess said angrily. "I can just take the food and go then."
"Fine," Rory agreed, folding her arms over her chest.
"Rory, I'm starving," Lane reminded her.
"Did he just bring this food? For you?" Paris asked, trying to figure out what was going on.
"It's from Luke," Jess said quickly.
Paris looked at him in confusion. "Who's Luke?"
"From the diner," Lane explained.
"You're Luke?" Paris asked Jess.
"No, he's Jess."
Paris nodded absently, distracted by the container Lane was holding up. "Is that mac and cheese?"
"Looks like it," Lane said, opening the container.
"The food stays," Paris firmly declared.
Jess shook his head. "If I go, the food goes."
"Then he stays too," Paris accepted.
"What? He is not staying," Rory disagreed.
Paris turned to the other guest. "Lane?"
Caught in the middle, Lane glanced between Rory, Jess, Paris, and the food. Coming to a decision, she sighed and focused on her best friend. "Rory, I'm starving," she said apologetically. "And he brought cookies. Luke's cookies."
"Fine. If he wants to stay, he can stay," Rory reluctantly gave in.
"Thank god!" Lane cheered, grabbing a container and sitting down.
"Pass the mac and cheese," Paris ordered, taking a seat beside Lane.
Still annoyed, Jess glanced at Rory and sat down.
Rory frowned and looked at the only open seat. She hesitated briefly, then, sighing, she pulled out the chair and sat down between Lane and Jess.
They ate in uncomfortable silence. Or, at least, Rory and Jess ate in uncomfortable silence. The other two teenagers were ferociously devouring the food, seemingly oblivious to the tension. Occasionally, when she would reach out to grab something, Rory would steal a glance at Jess, but his eyes remained fixed on his food. Even so, the firm set of his mouth was all she needed to see to surmise that he was upset.
"So you're the town delivery boy?" Paris asked abruptly, breaking the silence.
Jess looked up at her but didn't say anything.
Lane noticed and offered an explanation. "He works at the diner, but he isn't a delivery boy. Actually, Luke's doesn't usually offer delivery."
"It's a new Wheels on Meals program," Jess smirked. "We assist those who aren't able to cook for themselves." He gave Rory a knowing look before turning back to his food.
Rory narrowed her eyes at him.
Paris picked up on the exchange and grinned. "Rory can't cook?"
"Yes, I can cook," Rory interrupted.
"Right," Jess scoffed, shaking his head in amusement.
"I can!" Rory protested.
"So Rory can't cook," Paris stated. "That's actually kind of a relief."
"How so?" Jess asked, looking at Paris.
"I'm no longer competing with perfection, which means I still have a chance at beating her at her own game."
"Cooking and academics have nothing in common," Rory protested.
"For every imperfection on the surface, several more lurk below. Like pimples," Paris explained.
"Lane, a little help here," Rory begged.
"Uh, she makes a mean bag of microwave popcorn," Lane offered.
"Gee, thanks," Rory moped.
Jess smirked.
"So did you grow up here?" Paris questioned, turning her attention to Jess.
"New York."
"SoHo?"
"East Village," Jess clarified.
"Really?" Paris asked skeptically.
"Would I lie about living in East Village?"
"I guess not. So, East Village," Paris mulled. "That's a neighbor to Greenwich Village, home of the Beat Movement and literature's downward spiral into the doldrums of banality."
"Are you serious?" Jess asked in disbelief.
"You've read the Beats? My sympathies. A tragic waste of paper."
"I can't believe you just said that."
"Well, it's true, the Beats writing was completely self-indulgent. I have one word for Kerouac – edit."
"It was not self-indulgent," Jess disagreed, getting riled up. "The Beats believed in shocking people, stirring things up."
"They believed in drugs, booze, and petty crime."
"Their writing was much deeper than that," Jess argued.
"Also planning on nominating Danielle Steele for the next Pulitzer?"
"You're cracked," Jess dismissed.
"Typical guy response. Worship Kerouac and Bukowski. God forbid you'd pick up anything by Jane Austen."
"Hey, I've read Jane Austen."
"You have?" Paris asked.
"Yeah, and I think she would've liked Bukowski."
"Oh, this I've gotta hear," Paris declared, dropping her French fry and focusing her full attention on Jess.
"It's simple really. The problem is that your Chilton education is only teaching you to look at the surface of things," Jess explained. "You probably read a Jane Austen novel and thought it was a nice story. Well-written. After all, she dotted all her I's and crossed all her T's. Most of her stories have an adequate plot and fairly interesting characters. To you, that makes her a classic. And you probably read Charles Bukowski, and you saw sex and violence wrapped up in crude language and arbitrary line breaks."
"One of his best known works is titled 'To the whore who took my poems'," Paris reminded him.
"Exactly. You see that, and you immediately presuppose that this guy has nothing in common with Jane Austen. You're lucky to find a chaste kiss in one of her novels. But that's all superficial analysis, which is ironic, considering that's exactly what they have in common."
"Which is?" Paris prodded.
"The exposure of superficiality and conformity in the world around them. Both Austen and Bukowski see the world as a place where people have become passive about their own existence. Everyone just moves mechanically through day-to-day living. No one feels anything. No one actually lives. They may be coming at it from different eras, approaching it in different styles, but the basic truth is still there: people are blind and unfeeling, incapable of experiencing life as a series of important choices meant to be made by the individual and not by the expectations of society. Everyone's too quick to meet the status quo."
"So you're saying both Jane Austen and Charles Bukowski are satirical?" Rory asked, considering the idea.
"That's exactly what I'm saying. Austen approaches it by focusing on the prim and properness of society, the excess of false emotion. In her novels, the biggest worry of the characters is which man to marry, but it isn't about which man they want to marry; it's about who they're expected to marry. The idea of falling in love, actually physically and mentally experiencing the emotions they claim to feel so strongly, falls by the wayside. The satire is subtle, but it's there, especially in Pride and Prejudice. Even the title reflects what she's trying to say. Everyone in the novel makes snap judgments about those around them, and then, finally, at the end, Elizabeth goes against the grain by marrying Mr. Darcy. She's Austen's idea of progress. Unlike a character like Mrs. Bennet, who can't have a conversation that strays from the facts of the given social situation. She just repeats the same ideas over and over again. It's Austen's way of parodying how robotic people at that time had become."
"And Bukowski?" Paris asked, intrigued.
"Well, he's straightforward. That's why Austen would've liked him. Even as much as she espoused the virtues of independent thought, Austen was tied up in the necessities of the time. She had to conform to the style and expectations of the reading public. Bukowski and the other Beat poets created their own style. Almost an anti-poetry. But Bukowski's words express the same idea Austen hid under pretense. 'I see people in department stores and supermarkets'," Jess quoted. "'walking down aisles, buying things, and I see by the way their clothing fits them and by the way they walk and by their faces and their eyes that they care for nothing and that nothing cares for them. I can see a hundred people a day who have given up entirely'. When you look below the surface, they're saying the same thing."
"I thought you didn't like Jane Austen," Rory remarked.
"I don't. And I don't think Bukowski would like her either. She may have a point, but the process of uncovering it is boring as hell."
Rory smiled and glanced at Paris, who seemed to be taking a moment to process what Jess had said. "It's an interesting theory," she said after a while.
"I think I just learned more in five minutes than I have in my entire English career," Lane commented.
Jess shrugged. "School is like Jane Austen. They insist on making it so boring that it's impossible to pay attention."
Paris looked around. "Are all sleepovers this exciting?"
Lane and Jess chuckled. Rory, meanwhile, stole a shy, unnoticed glance up at Jess and smiled.
"So, what next?" Paris asked a little while later as they polished off the last of the desserts that Jess had brought.
"Movies?" Lane offered.
"Movies require popcorn, and I could not eat any popcorn right now," Rory replied.
Lane nodded. "Good point. We'll need at least 2-3 hours to recover from dinner."
"What about a game?" Rory offered. "Pictionary?"
"No way!" Lane objected. "Last time we played, you thought my giraffe was an anteater."
"That was an honest mistake!"
"What about Monopoly?"
"Ooh, yeah, Monopoly," Rory agreed with her best friend. "I'm up for a little competition."
Paris's eyes lit up. "Count me in. Are the rules complicated?"
"Oh boy," Rory said, glancing at Lane for assistance.
"I'm all over it. I'll fill her in and set up the board."
Rory nodded, and Lane and Paris headed towards the living room.
After they left, Rory stood up and began cleaning up the empty containers. Not sure what he was supposed to do, Jess rose and began to help. After a moment, they fell into a rhythm: Jess grabbing empty boxes from the table and handing them to Rory, who then stuffed them into the garbage bag.
"So you impressed Paris," Rory said, glancing up at him.
"It was just a theory. Didn't take much thought."
"Not much, huh?" Rory repeated, smirking as she remembered one of her first conversations with Jess.
"Yeah, not much," Jess smiled.
He barely ever smiled like that, Rory thought. It looked good on him. "That theory would make for an impressive honor's thesis. I bet no one's ever tried to compare Austen and Bukowski before."
"In that case, feel free to borrow it," Jess quipped.
They continued to work in silence, and soon the table was cleared. Jess handed her the last box, but Rory paused before she took it completely, forcing their hands to hold it steady on either side. "Why did you come here tonight?" she asked quietly without moving her eyes from the container between them.
"So you wouldn't starve to death," Jess reminded her.
Rory looked up at him. "You and I both know Caesar could've delivered the care package."
"Look, I'm sorry I interrupted your slumber party, but if you're looking for some hidden agenda, you aren't gonna find one," Jess said. "Luke made a care package. I delivered it."
"Okay," Rory accepted.
Jess nodded, and Rory turned to put the box in the trash bag. Meanwhile, Jess walked over and picked up his coat.
"Where are you going?" Rory asked, watching him closely.
"Home. You ate. Mission accomplished."
"You should stay."
Jess stopped his actions and looked at her. "Why?"
"Well, for one thing, Lane and I suck at Monopoly, so you're the only chance we have of taking down Paris."
"Okay," Jess accepted, waiting for her to finish. "And?"
Rory looked down at her feet, weighing her words. Then, turning back to him, she said cautiously, "And because I want you to."
"Take down Paris in Monopoly?" Jess asked, pretending not to understand.
"Stay," Rory finished.
Jess nodded and set his coat back on the chair. "Okay."
"You did not just roll a five!" Lane complained, watching as Jess situated his game piece on Park Place.
Paris frowned. "This game isn't even about strategy. It's the luck of the die."
"I didn't hear you complaining earlier when you took half of my money," Rory reminded her.
"This is war, Gilmore," Paris stated. "There's no place for friendly exceptions."
"Remember that when I own half the board!"
"Yeah, right," Paris scoffed.
"Just becau—," Rory began to protest, but she was quickly interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing.
"Rory?" Lorelai called from the doorway as she hung up her coat and dropped her overnight bag on the floor.
"In here!" Rory yelled back, confused.
Lorelai rounded the corner and entered the living room. "Hey, babe! Hey Lane," she greeted, her eyes scanning the room. "Hey Paris. And… Jess?" she finished, glancing at Rory for an explanation.
"Jess stopped by with some food from Luke," Rory explained.
"And now he's playing Monopoly. Well, that makes sense."
"I was just leaving," Jess interjected, standing up.
"Don't let me run you off. Finish your game."
"I'm supposed to close the diner," Jess said. He glanced at the three teenage girls. "Thanks for the game." Before anyone had time to respond, he was headed for the kitchen, and, moments later, they heard the back door close behind him.
"Sorry 'bout that," Lorelai apologized. "Should I take his place?"
"It's all yours," Rory agreed, trying not to seem disappointed that Jess had left. "What are you doing here?"
"Apparently, I nearly drove my mother to cheat on your grandfather. But that's another tale for another time. Am I winning?" she asked, glancing down at all of the money and property Jess had accumulated.
"Yes," Paris and Lane groaned.
"Did I just land on Park Place?"
"Yes," they sighed.
"You ladies are going down!" Lorelai cheered.
"I love this part," Lorelai whispered quietly from her position on the floor beside Rory, the image of Rob Lowe lighting a hairspray-induced flame for Demi Moore flashing across the television.
"They fell asleep," Rory said, motioning to Lane and Paris.
"I've always heard watching four movies in a row was humanly impossible."
"But we're superhuman," Rory reminded her, smiling.
"That we are," Lorelai agreed, snuggling closer. "So, tonight was good."
"Yeah, tonight was good," Rory agreed.
"I won Monopoly."
Rory grinned. "I saw."
Lorelai smiled happily.
After watching the movie in silence for a while, she glanced at her daughter out of the corner of her eye.
"Truth or Dare?" she whispered.
"What?"
"You can't have a sleepover without playing 'Truth or Dare', so Truth or Dare?"
Familiar with Lorelai's past dares, Rory knew she had no choice. "Truth," she whispered.
Lorelai focused her eyes on the screen. "What was Jess doing here tonight?"
Rory paused, caught off-guard. "He brought the care package from Luke."
"And?"
"And the construction at the diner is crazy, so he ate here."
"That's all?"
"That's all," Rory assured her.
Lorelai nodded and turned back to the movie, but she was no longer paying attention to it. After about five minutes of internal debate, she made a decision and said quietly, "It's okay if that's not all."
Rory didn't respond.
Lorelai waited a moment, giving her time. Then, she looked down at her daughter. She was fast asleep. Lorelai sighed and hunkered further into the sleeping bag, promising herself that she'd tell Rory tomorrow.
