A/N: Oi. My apologies. Thanks for all of the very kind reviews. This is for Becka, because I heart her and I'm proud of her. Congrats, Becka!
Chapter Four
It happened during the in-between of summer, sometime in July. At that point, the awkwardness had faded to a nonexistent degree and the doubt that she felt about the whole situation was no longer blatantly obvious in her actions. May had seemed like such a distant memory then, an unfortunate dream one of them had had that made no difference now, because look how they had turned out. August, while steadily approaching as time permits nothing else, appeared too far in the future for there to be worry. It was like a thought that could be postponed, along with any anxieties or decisions that came with that month.
Every day had felt the same: a long stretch of sun and heat, and anticipation for the cooler nights out on in the city or on the roof. Specific dates had been lost as each week passed, but it hadn't mattered then, not when it felt like both of them were riding forever, stuck in these half melted moments of summer. The past and future had been ridiculous notions to worry about when the present was so perfect and enjoyable. That was why it had been so easy for Jess to begin to believe it all himself.
He could disregard the pacing he heard, the scraps of paper he found, listing all the reasons why this was a bad, bad choice. When her outward appearance screamed happiness, and his own internal structure throbbed with contentment, it was not a problem believing in all the positive answers he had been feeding her for the past couple of months. Yes, this will work. Yes, this will only get better.
Yes, she will stay.
Now, with the beginning of Yale fast approaching, and actual conversation between them turned into an improbable myth, he wondered how he could have been so foolish. What an inane pipe dream. She was always going back, he realized. She had never fully eased into this. Her secret calling of Lorelai was proof of that, or else she would have mentioned they were talking. She knew he would have been happy that the relationship was being rebuilt; he would have been relieved.
But she didn't trust him enough (or maybe he still didn't trust her), and things right now had returned to how they had been before, early on. As he recapped the toothpaste, he listened to the shower run, but said nothing. They could be talking right now, he remembered. Instead there was only the anger and the hurt from the night before setting up invisible barriers that made interaction near impossible.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her form through the frosted glass of the shower door. She had her forehead against the wall, her palms flat against the tiles beneath. The water continued to rain down on her, slipping across her skin, and he had to suppress the urge to climb inside with her. The feeling passed as he returned to the mirror, getting out the shaving cream and his razor.
The shower was suddenly shut off, and he paused in his actions, waiting for her to move. The door opened and a wave of thick heat hit him, warming the right side of his body. Stepping out, she wrapped a towel around herself, but did not leave. She stood quietly behind him while he tried to refocus on his task of shaving. He had yet to even shake the can when he felt her hand on his back, tracing damp figure eights on his shoulder blades. Instinctively, he put the shaving cream down, resting his hands on either side of the sink. She leaned closer.
Pressing her lips against the base of his spine, she continued to gently dance across his skin, her fingertips tripping over the small drops of water that fell from her eyelashes onto him. She was careful, yet bold, wanting the uneasiness of the night before to be washed away; she wanted them to be okay.
He turned and pulled her into him, kissing her hard. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed against him, knowing it would drive him crazy. Only a thin towel separated her from him, and sooner or later, the force that was holding it up would diminish and let it slip.
Spinning them around, he practically rammed her into the sink, shaking the contents that balanced on top of it. Her right hand shot back to grab the white porcelain, fearing a fall, and in the process, she hit his razor, sending it skidding into the sink. Seconds later, he pulled away, touching his lips to her cheek, neck, and shoulder as he turned off the faucet. Leaning close to her face, he muttered something about conserving water, and she smiled, giving him another soft kiss.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, leaving damp fingerprints along his jaw. "I was afraid to tell you about calling my mom. I just… I was trying to keep her and us separate."
"You should have told me. You can't keep things from me."
"Like you've never kept anything from me?" she asked with an icy edge.
He let go of her, stepping back until he hit the opposite wall. They were still close.
Fixing her towel so it was more secure around her body, she concentrated on staring down at the blue fabric. The new tension was now a solid part of her movements, but still, she did not try to meet his eyes.
"I think you have this idea in your head that I'm going to all of a sudden leave you. I wouldn't do that," she said, not looking up at him until the end of her statement.
Once again, there was an underlying meaning, a faint accusation in her words. He said nothing about it, instead accepting what she had said at face value. She wouldn't just up and leave without a word, without notice. But that didn't mean she wouldn't go.
Walking forward, she gave him a quick kiss, feeling a flicker of a response before breaking contact. Uneasy with his lack of a verbal reply to what she had said, she changed the subject.
"You have work this morning?"
"Yeah, half day at the bookstore then over to the restaurant."
"Oh," she nodded. "Will you have breakfast with me before you leave?" She gave him a pleading look, wanting to know that she was forgiven and he would willingly stay with her a bit longer.
"Yeah," he answered, even though he knew he would have to race through the rest of his morning routine in order to be punctual.
He pushed a wet lock of hair off her shoulder, and gave her what he first thought to be a quick kiss. But then she latched onto him, and he gave in, letting the minutes of their precious time tick by. He found the edge of her towel, and ran a hand across her bare back, eliciting a shiver from her.
Breakfast was skipped, and he was late for work.
----
Eventually, she became restless, unable to find a single thing to do. The apartment was already clean, not needing too much time spent on it as she always kept it organized. There were no dishes, and her planned laundromat visit was for tomorrow. Perhaps she would go out, shop for food or wander around a tourist attraction. Maybe she could even visit Jess at work. Right now, she didn't like being away from him. She was afraid the anger would come back.
Running a hand across the edge of the bookshelf, she cocked her head to the side, studying the titles. Just as she was about to make a final selection, something she could put in her purse and bring out with her, she heard a knock at the front door. She hurried to answer it, confused; they rarely ever received visitors.
In her mind, she saw a cartoonish version of herself, her eyes bulging and her jaw dropping to the ground. Reality, however, only provided for a less exaggerated reaction, although she was certain her mother clearly saw the shock written on her face.
"Hi, Mom," she managed to stutter out.
"Hey, kid." Lorelai smiled, although the corners of her mouth barely lifted. "I wasn't sure I had the right building."
"You do," Rory nodded dumbly.
"Can I come in?"
"Yeah." Rory took a step back, allowing her mother entry before closing the door behind her.
The tour was quick, and Lorelai's expression stayed, for the most part, the same – grim. When they returned to the center of the kitchen, Rory wrung her hands together nervously, waiting for the most important person in her life to give her a verdict on what had suddenly become the most important place to her – her new home.
"It's nice," Lorelai remarked. "It's better than I expected. There are no giant, one eyed rats roaming about."
"No rats," Rory echoed.
"I imagined mutant creatures poking you while you slept."
"No, I sleep well."
"I saw that there was only one bed in the bedroom."
"Well, yeah. You… knew about that."
"Yes, I, uh, I do. It's just to see it in real life in vivid colors…" Lorelai paused, blinking rapidly. "Where's Jess?"
"Work."
"Oh. Right. Restaurant?"
"Bookstore," Rory corrected. "And then he'll head over to the restaurant."
"How much does he make?"
Startled by the question, all Rory could get out was: "Enough to pay the bills."
"How are you able to afford this apartment? How were you able to buy this furniture?"
The two questions were fired at her rapidly, the subject change so sudden that it made Rory's head spin. "Most of the furniture was already here. Jess had some money saved up."
"And…" Lorelai prompted.
Rory sighed. "And maybe I helped out a little bit too."
"Rory, you don't have a job. You have never worked before. The only cash you have is money that we put aside for when you graduated from college. It's not a lot, but it was something. And now you're going to stand there and tell me you've been spending it on all of this?"
"I bought the chairs and some dishes! Sometimes, I help with the rent. Jess works two jobs to pay for everything. I had to help. It wouldn't be fair if I didn't!"
"So what, he works two jobs and you stay home all day?"
"I clean up, do the laundry. Then, I go out, hang around the city. You'd be surprised at the amount of different activities New York has to offer," Rory said, a sarcastic edge to her tone.
"So is this it now? Jess working odd jobs, and you roaming the city, getting home in time to cook for him?"
"Don't belittle this," Rory warned. "You're just angry because I'm living with a guy, a guy you don't like, and I did it without consulting you. I'm making it, and being an adult, and you can't stand it."
"An adult? You think running away in the middle of the night with some boy makes you an adult?"
"We found this apartment together. We're living together and supporting ourselves, and…"
"And what? This is what I mean, Rory. What then? Is this the rest of your life? What about Yale? What about the plans you made?"
"I – I don't know. I can go to school here, I can make it here…" She bit back a wave of emotion, and turned away from her mother, covering her face. Taking a deep breath, she felt herself calming, and spun back around to face her.
"Alright, no more fighting or yelling," Lorelai said. "But we need to talk about this."
"Fine," Rory conceded, heading for the refrigerator. She would cook, another sign that she was perfectly independent. "We can talk over lunch."
----
Standing behind the cash register at the bookstore was exactly what Jess hadn't needed. It was idle work, and it allowed his mind to wander, stuck on the night before. This morning may have been some semblance of a make-up, but kissing her hadn't rid him of the remembrance of her words. How she had said that she was always making the wrong choice in regards to him. He was always the mistake.
It brought the anger back, although he did his best to repress it. Luckily, he had enough time to head back to the apartment before going to his next job. He could grab a small bite to eat and talk to Rory in the time he had, and then he would see that his anger was misplaced. She had spoken too rashly last night; she hadn't meant it.
The door swung open, but he froze in its frame, shocked at the picture in front of him. Lorelai and Rory sat at the kitchen table, eating and chatting; he knew that at some point, he had been the subject. It made his bones feel oddly heavy, dragging him down.
"Hey," Rory greeted, standing up to meet him. She went straight for him, giving him a peck on the cheek. He stared over her shoulder at Lorelai, who on the contrary, did not look happy to see him.
"Hi, Jess," she said.
"Lorelai," he answered. Looking down at Rory, he choked back his anger and distrust, trying to get his mind on something else. "I just came home to grab something."
He went into the bedroom, and shut the door, leaning against it. The kitchen was silent; only the scrape of the chair against the floor was heard. Rory had sat back down. Looking over at their bookcase, Jess had the fleeting thought that he would have to separate those. He would have to remember which were his, and which were Rory's, so she could take them back home with her.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he opened the door, pretending to have gotten what he needed.
"Jess, can't you stay and have lunch with us? Please?" Rory asked.
"I thought I had more time," he stated. "I don't. I'll see you later," he finished before leaving, closing the door quietly behind him.
----
It was late when he arrived home. He felt dead on his feet, and hoped Rory would already be in bed, so he could drift right to sleep. Unfortunately, as soon as he came in, he found her on the couch, waiting up for him.
"How could you leave like that?" she asked immediately, standing up.
"I had work."
"You just left! I spent a half-hour explaining to my mother how different you are, and how much you've changed, only to have you walk out without so much as a word to her?"
"You didn't mention you were having her over."
"She just showed up! Don't go down that route again," she warned. "I tried to call you and tell you that she was here. I wanted to ask you to come home for lunch, but our phone is dead. My mom got a kick out of that."
"I'm sure she did. I bet she loves hearing how I have trouble paying for the apartment. Did you explain to her about that? Do you even get that yourself?"
"Excuse me?"
"You're playing house, Rory. You ran away with me knowing you had a back-up plan. You could always go back to Stars Hollow. This was all just some sort of experiment for you."
"Shut up," she snapped. "You have no idea what this was for me."
"I work two jobs. I have to worry about how we're going to pay for rent each month. I have to worry about how we're going to buy food. I have to worry if you're even going to be here for it!"
"I'm here, Jess! I'm always here. I was always here! But you never once took advantage of that."
Then everything was clear. Crystal clear complete with the jarring realization as she paused to catch her breath. This summer couldn't succeed, not with the unresolved issues that they both brought to this apartment, tangled up in her clothes, packed away in his books.
"Is this about now, or is this about last year?"
"I don't know anymore," she muttered. "You know what? You're right. This wasn't supposed to work. This was never supposed to work. I thought I'd come out here, and you'd try, and you'd fail and then I'd go home. Then I wouldn't have to wonder anymore."
He stared at her for a second, letting her words sink in. She came into this with only one expectation: failure. This was her messed up method of moving on from him; proving to herself that he would not, could not change.
"This summer was a fucking joke," he spit out, stripping them of all the intimate encounters they had shared, and the easy late night conversation that now seemed absurd. Every meaningful moment was declared null and void with his statement, and instead of trying to fight him on it, she stormed into their bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
She slipped into bed, and pulled the sheet over her body, doing her best to hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill since that morning.