Disclaimer: At the moment everything I own is packed up in dozens of packing cases and as much as I'd wish for it, there's nothing even remotely connected to GG sticking out of any of them. Sorry.
A/N: Thank you for all the kind reviews, whenever I discovered a new one, it made my day!
Not Meant To Be – Chapter 8
Completely absorbed in thought, she runs her fingers over the rim of the wooden crib set up in the center of the nursery. The wood feels cool and smooth beneath her fingertips and it comes to her mind that this is how the whole room feels to her. Cool, despite the sunlight streaming in through the windows. Light blue curtains shine in an almost unearthly way, every now and then moved by a gentle breeze. It's already May after all.
Her gaze then wanders away from the light to the point that seems to be the darkest in the room. The crib is empty except for fluffy white baby-sized bedclothes and a colorful, in parts even furry, musical clock tied to the bars at the top end.
That musical clock – they gave it to the expectant parents for Christmas last year. Reluctantly she permits a smile to take over her face – it certainly is an unfamiliar sensation after so many days – at the fond memory of the gleam visible in Lorelai's eyes after they listened to the clock's lullaby for the first time. She remembers the inner triumph she felt. Finally she had given Lorelai something that would not only be useful to her in the future, but that also seemed to be to her liking.
That gleam and the embrace she and her daughter shared afterwards... The most fabulous Christmas in years, she thinks and her smile widens until it gets painful. Then the corners of her mouth drop again.
In an unconscious because long since automated gesture her hands smooth the fabric of her expensive dress while her eyes stay fixed on the musical clock. Whenever the rings on her fingers come in touch with one of the shiny buttons the front of her dress is adorned with, a clicking sound can be heard. So that is what wealth sounds like.
The realization hits her that she would be infinitely glad to do without her membership in numerous exclusive clubs and societies, without maids and without all their money from now on if only it brought them their grandson back! If only she'd be able to reach into the crib right now, pull the string and listen to the musical clock playing its lullaby for Julian.
Before she gets the chance to actually give in to temptation and reach down into the crib, she hears car doors being slammed. The well-manicured hand that – much to her own surprise – already hangs in mid-air is quickly retracted and Emily moves over to the window. Parting the curtains she gains sight of the driveway.
There they are, her daughter and son-in-law, slowly making their way to the porch steps, holding each others' hands. She watches them until they disappear under the canopy. Seconds later the front door is opened and shut again.
Lorelai.
Having closed the door of the nursery behind her as quietly as possible, she hurries over to the stairs. After the first few steps she can see four pairs of feet standing in the hallway by the door.
There are Richard's black leather shoes on the left, then Luke's feet clad in his usual brown workman's boots close to a pair of worn-out blue sneakers – these must be Lorelai's - and finally two feet in purple socks standing on tiptoe right next to them. Mother and daughter are obviously hugging each other.
Not a single word is spoken. Suddenly the heels of her shoes hitting the stairs seem to cause an awful lot of noise as she finishes her way down the stairs and finally joins them in the corridor, once again straightening out her clothes with both hands. Relief washes over her when Richard clears his throat rather loudly, thus bringing about a wince from Luke and confused glances from his daughter and granddaughter.
Her eyes meet those of her daughter.
"Mom", Lorelai finally says, completely disengaging from Rory's embrace. Somehow there's an undertone to her voice that Emily can't identify yet. So she decides to do what seems safest right now and simply greets her daughter.
"Lorelai", her hand gently rests on Lorelai's forearm, "it's good to see you."
"What were you doing up there?" That undertone in her daughter's voice can now be described. It's furious. Emily's hand slides off Lorelai's arm. Of everything, she certainly wasn't expecting to be barked at like that.
"Lorelai, dear, what –"
"I saw you standing at the window", her daughter explains, looking at her sternly. Once again there's a gleam in Lorelai's eyes, but this time it seems to be brought on by anger rather than joy. Oh, dear.
"I just wanted to –"
"I don't care what you wanted! It was supposed to be his room and it's none of your damn business!"
Staring into Lorelai's pale angry face, Emily realizes that there are a million things she could say in response to this and they would all be wrong. She can only back off now. They are all hurt and emotionally drained, she reminds herself. Not the time to start a battle of words.
"I'm sorry, Lorelai. I never intended to -" Inwardly she prays that the apologetic look her face has hopefully adopted by now is firm enough not to let any of the indignity that she is feeling shine through.
"You better be!" her now teary-eyed daughter shoots back. Then Lorelai blinks repeatedly, obviously trying to hold her tears at bay.
Emily opens her mouth in order to say something, but the more she thinks about it, the surer she gets that she really doesn't know what on earth she could say to console and appease Lorelai.
Is it possible to die of both shame and heartache because yet again one has miraculously managed to do and say the wrong thing at the wrong time?
"Come on, let's sit down for a while." Luke's voice somehow breaks the tension. With an apologetic look of his own at the innocent bystanders, namely her husband and granddaughter, and an exasperated one at her, Luke leads his wife into the living room. Who would have thought that Lorelai Gilmore would ever wordlessly comply with any of her husband's suggestions and not even resist playfully?
"Grandma, you wanna help me get something to drink from the kitchen?" Rory looks at her with questioning eyes, obviously offering to help her escape from the awkwardness of the situation.
"Of course, dear." As she thankfully follows Rory into the kitchen, the weakness in her own voice somehow doesn't surprise Emily.
"I shouldn't have snapped at them like that", she snivels, "I don't know what to do!" She's been like this for more than an hour now and he still doesn't know what kind of advice to give her.
All he can do is tell her that they understand. That they are not mad at her. That they really don't expect her to apologize. That they went home not because they couldn't stand her behavior any more, but because they felt she would be better without them there.
He guesses that that's probably true. After all Lorelai unlocked the bathroom door as soon as everybody except for the two of them was out of the house. And didn't the hiccupping and uncontrollable crying also subside only then?
He runs his hand through the tangled masses of hair that lie in his lap and over her cheek. It feels hot and if his hands weren't bearing weals from renovating what was to become the baby's room, he is sure he would be able to trace the salty tracks of her tears with his palms.
"I don't know what it is with me", she states and sighs bitterly, "I mean, look at me. I'm a complete wreck. The minute I'm back home I turn into this madwoman. First I snap at my Mom, then I accuse Rory of giving me some kind of weird, pitiful look and finally I –" she swallows, "and then I crack up because of Dad's stupid question!"
Luke painfully remembers Richard's admittedly somewhat thoughtless question regarding the 'arrangements' that still need to be made for their son's funeral.
"It feels like I'm suddenly unable to communicate what little variety of different feelings is left in me, you know?"
"You need to give yourself some time, Lorelai." He hates himself for being unable to say something that might actually be helpful in the frustrated state she is in.
"I don't even know how I'm supposed to apologize", she cries, "before this there was always the funny way out, you know? Crack a joke, provoke a smile and everything's alright again. Just like that."
"Hmm."
"And now I don't even remember how to make a joke. I'm sure I couldn't even spell 'witty'. Not if my life depended on it, Goddamnit!"
What has established itself as Lorelai's favorite way of communicating with other people really doesn't seem to work any more these days.
The death of their child has smothered the sometimes more, sometimes less playful banter that used to thrive so well between Lorelai and everyone else.
The part of Lorelai that called him "Duke" and "Butch", that demanded coffee 24/7, that made him bid on her basket all these years ago, that seriously suggested they name their baby Lorelai, even if it turned out to be a boy – that part is gone. For now. Or for good?
Leaning down to kiss her on the cheek, Luke tastes the salty remainders of her tears and then gives his best trying to ignore the burning sensation behind his eyeballs.