Sixty-five percent off! Now that, my friend, bears repeating; Sixty-frickin'-five percent off! What clearer sign does one need of divine intervention than that?
Absolutely none. So the final die was really cast right there in the Barneys Ready to Wear department on the third floor. Beause we all know that it's all about the dress, baby! Or, in this case really, the coat and the skirt. And when she had perfectly beautiful Choo boots (only forty percent off at Bluefly dot com, but so not their fault) with adorable kitten heels at home, all alone, just waiting to be partnered with something this incredibly gorgeous...
Well, was divine intervention mentioned earlier? A match made in heaven? Kismet?
Simply meant to be.
But before this shopping epiphany came the fight. Because we all know life is like that.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The first Federal Express package (sent overnight) had arrived no later than the Wednesday mid-morning after the Monday night 'Here is your engagement ring, it's Official now' Love Fest. And really, it was Luke's fault because he made Lorelai call and tell her parents the next day, which she didn't want to do. He was insistent, however, that they be above board, and no he-sure-as-hell wouldn't ask for her hand from Richard, something for which she was grateful. She had brought herself to this point in her life, after all. And Luke respected that, which was part of the reason why she loved him. But she still didn't want to tell her parents.
"How can we not tell your parents that we're getting married?" he asked.
"You have the broadest shoulders, I think I've ever seen," she flirted.
"Lorelai, they'll see the ring," he sighed.
"Because it's so enormous, just like..." she cooed.
"Lorelai! This is not going to work."
"It totally would have worked," she insisted.
He glared at her.
"I blame my failure on a wardrobe malfunction," she decided.
"A wardrobe malfunction?" How did she always drag him back into her craziness?
"If I were wearing something a little more lacy, something less... well, denim, it would have worked. I would have mesmerized you into forgetting the whole idea of calling my parents."
"There is no way in hell you could 'mesmerize' me into not telling your parents we're getting married," he told her.
She just rolled her eyes at this incredibly uninformed opinion. But in the end, of course, called Emily.
And so, on Wednesday, the Federal Express package arrived.
Kirk should have delivered it to the house even though Luke and Lorelai were both at work. The house was the address on the package, after all. But being a good friend, and more than slightly nosey, and despite the address, he took it helpfully to the diner instead and left it with Luke.
"It looked important," he said by way of explanation, which Luke was sure was only meant to irritate him. The box was huge and heavy and in the middle of the counter now, and the lunch rush was starting. So he moved it to the floor where Lane promptly tripped over it before he shoved it into the storage room to get it the-hell-out-of-the-way.
And when he had lugged it home later that night and he and Lorelai had opened it, she looked up at him and said 'I told you so'. Well, she didn't actually say it, because that really wasn't in her nature. She really only looked at him in such way that clearly meant, 'This is what I was trying to tell you...' Lorelai has a very expressive face.
He sighed.
"You're not backing out on me are you?" she asked, only joking in part.
By way of reply, Luke put his hand into Emily's thirty pound treasure trove of pamphlets, brochures, albums, menus, and swatches, and pulled out an especially elaborate paper confection.
"The Plaza?" he read, "She wants us to get married at The Plaza?"
Lorelai selected another, this a tri-fold brochure, "Ah yes," she nodded, "Here is a photographic selection of marzipan place cards the nuns at this secluded Swiss convent can customize for your wedding. A minimum order of two-hundred is required. At, if the rate of currency exchange is still what it was when Rory and I went, roughly twenty-five dollars a piece.
"Twenty-five dollars for a place card?!"
"Oh but Luke, it's edible," Lorelai replied and then frowned, "If anyone could really call marzipan edible."
"Damn."
"Yep."
"I know your parents don't know me very well, but they do know you, don't they?"
"Is that a rhetorical question?" asked Lorelai as she dug further into the box, "Oh, here are three samples of authentic Chantilly lace, and here's your alternative to The Plaza, honey, it's a yacht. We can sail around The Sound in an antique schooner, and then they will release doves... Oh, and here are orchestra choices—Do you think a thirty-piece dance orchestra is large enough? Oh! Oh, here it is, ladies and gentlemen! A maker of fine Scottish velvet capes—'For both the Bride and Groom for the Winter Wedding of their Dreams'," she read this last with a barely withheld glee.
Luke blanched, "Capes?"
Lorelai put her hands on her hips and leveled a look at him, "Capes, Luke," she assured him. "This box represents the millions of decadently over-indulgent ideas my mother has for our wedding. And she is only just getting fired up, my friend."
"Decadently over-indulgent? Isn't that redundant?"
"And repetitive."
"What?"
"Nevermind. Luke, suffice it to say you're in Emily World now," she sighed as if this should explain it all.
And as Thursday turned into Friday morning, and after the many messages left at the house, ("I have a line on Mr. Stephan–the socialite wedding planner!"); At The Inn, ("Gardenias, gardenias, gardenias!–Call me!"); On Lorelai's cell, ("Truffles?"); And even at the diner, ("Luke, I need your measurements right away, I'm faxing Saville Row!"); And the arrival of a second Fed-Exed package containing pictures of the latest Wedgwood, Limoge and Bacarat place-settings, Luke was cursing his formerly earnest desire to be 'up front' with his future in-laws.
"I feel so close to you right now," consoled Lorelai.
And later that evening, as they drove to Hartford....
"But, it's our wedding," he insisted.
"Now see, that is what a sane person would think," said Lorelai simply and took a comforting sip from her to-go cup.
"And, you're nearly forty!..." he went on in disbelief.
"Tread lightly there, amigo," she warned.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Who is to say what can be endured for those we love? What test to prove our devotion? Luke and Lorelai tried to cling to the comfort of their familiar banter, Lorelai especially adept at humor both as a defensive and offensive tactic, but when it came down to the wire, they had to spend the evening with Richard, Emily and Mr. Stephan the socialite wedding planner. Which all might someday evolve into a very funny story, with impressions, but on this Friday evening was far from being so.
They began their ride back to Stars' Hollow in silence. Actually, they usually did that, trying to regain equilibrium after their evening. And poor Luke was still a neophyte in this area. But this evening it was especially hard. Lorelai, exhausted from parrying and volleying and deflecting any number of ridiculous ideas (truckloads of snow on standby in case the weather wasn't suitably picturesque), could only wait for the Luke-rant that was sure to come. He had remained silent through most of the onslaught itself. He had demurred. He had endured and sucked it up, but Lorelai was not naive. She well knew that this was only a reflexive self defense mechanism on his part and that Defcon Rant Four was imminent.
"Lorelai," it began sneakily, "there's only a quarter of a tank of gas left."
"Luke, we're fine. I'll fill it up in the morning."
"You shouldn't let the tank get that low. What if you had to go someplace early? Besides it isn't good for the jeep."
"Noted," she said irritably.
Which all seems innocuous enough, but that's how these things often begin. The fight starts as a little thing. But is really a much bigger thing. In disguise.
And in a moment Volcano Luke was erupting. Ranting. Were the Gilmores out of their ever-loving minds? Where do you even order a truck load of snow?! And there was no fucking way anyone was going to make him eat French food... And so on.
Eventually, when Lorelai could bear the high road no longer, she barked at him. But good. If all this bothered him so much, why didn't he say something to her parents? Why didn't he blow Mr. Stephan out of the water? Why didn't he just say 'No'? ...
Which brought him to the logical conclusion that she must really want this kind of wedding after all. He'd never thought she was the materialistic sort...
Which offended her... causing her to say any number of things out of anger... including something snide about his social skills...
Which pissed him off and got him defensive and spurred a long rant and rail against the privileges of wealth... and what they did to people.
None of it bears repeating or detailing any further, because we all know that it won't be long until it is all over and its substance forgotten, but for now it was far too real and painful...
And wrong. Lorelai knew that Luke had held his tongue in an effort to keep peace, and Luke knew that Lorelai loved hamburgers, wanted Stars' Hollow, and had worked for what she had in life. They both knew all of this and more. Lorelai, that Luke needed his rant. Luke, that Lorelai was caught in familial hell.
And yet, they both went to bed that night in silence and sighs, backs turned to one another with three miles of bed between them.
It wasn't until four forty-five the following morning, still dark outside, that Luke quietly descended the stairs, boots in hand. Fight or no, this is what he did on his early days so as not to wake Lorelai. And this morning, he sighed, he knew all too well that neither had gotten much sleep.
This is what he was thinking this when he broke his big toe.
Like an idiot, he walked into the dark kitchen and stubbed said toe with King Kong velocity right into the larger and heavier of the Fed-Ex boxes they'd left in the middle of the floor. Shit! Of course he yelped right away. Manly or not, it fucking hurts to break your big toe.
And in a moment Lorelai was seated next to him on the kitchen floor trying to coax him into letting her put a bag of frozen peas on it.
And later, bleary eyed after returning home from an embarrassing trip to the Emergency room and pharmacy (they'd also had to stop for gas---Luke had the grace to not comment), they sat silently in the living room, Luke's foot elevated over the arm of the sofa. Until finally they looked up at one another and had to admit how sorry and wrong they both were.
They were sheepish and too old for all this and 'let's just put it behind us' and somehow Lorelai ended up kneeling next to the couch with her cheek on his stomach, looking up at him through sleepy moist eyes. And he, feeling the pain killers acutely, simply slid his fingers repeatedly though her silky hair and said,
"Jesus, Lorelai, why don't we just elope?" before he drifted off to sleep.
So Lorelai mulled this all morning and when he woke up and didn't remember having said it (or so claimed), they talked about it. Really talked about it. And liked the idea more and more.
And so the Super Bowl Wedding Weekend Plan was hatched, which meant that Lorelai didn't have much time at all to shop. Because, elopement or not, a girl has to look good when she gets married.
Which brings us right back to Barneys and a certain simple, elegant, and gloriously on-sale ivory cashmere coat and skirt ensemble, which had clearly been blessed by the angels. The tailoring, the fit, the smooth watery hand of the fabric... all this spoke its benediction of their plan...
Now, if she could only have this much luck in menswear... A perfect blue shirt for Luke... and a tie... that was all she needed now... Oh! and rings... they'd have to sneak over and buy rings.... and a new purse, perhaps? Just something to better go with the boots... And... and something lacy for the night of, if you know what I mean... that would be all she really needed...
Simple.
