Disclaimer: This is an original story based upon the spoilers for the upcoming Gilmore Girl episodes. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit will be made from this story
Author's Note: Thank you to all who read chapter 1 and those who took the time to tell me what you thought. I really appreciate it! Please let me know what you think of this next part!
History Repeats—chapter 2
He turns around and looks at me—surprise, anger, all of these things are written on this face.
"Mrs. Gilmore," he nods curtly. There is one man sitting at the counter—Kurt, or something.
"Kirk, why don't you give us a minute," Luke says, and the man stands up and then goes and gives Luke a slap of the back,
"I'm right outside if you need me Buddy," he says and then walks past me—flaunting a blue bow in my face.
"Would you like something?" he asks. I shake my head, "No—thank you. Actually, I was wondering if we could talk." His eyes become even more colder. "Okay…now you want to talk to me?" He smirked, "You want to talk to me? To Luke Danes the diner owner?"
"Oh for Heaven's sake," I begin, and as I say it, I curse myself for speaking before I think. He turns away,
"Goodnight Mrs. Gilmore," and switches off the light.
"Luke wait…please!" I call after him, and he slowly turns around. "Please?" I ask, and after what seems like an eternity, he motions for me to sit down.
"Luke…" I begin, and then look away—my foolish pride again. He smirks,
"Okay, how bout I talk and you listen. Who do you think you are? I mean who do you think you are? I'm not Christopher, I know that. I run a diner, that's what I've always done. I don't belong in your world, and you know what—that is just fine by me. And you know what? She doesn't belong there either. She never has and she never will. No matter what you do—no matter how many times you manipulate her, or demean her, she will never belong in your world. She doesn't need you. She doesn't need anybody."
No—Lorelai doesn't need me. I don't know if she ever has. Luke looks at me as if he is waiting for my rebuttal—for me to "breathe fire" as Lorelai used to call it. I don't know what to say—my speech is gone, my control of the situation is gone. There was a part of me that felt that I would be able to play matchmaker again—except this time with Luke—that I would tell him to go back to Lorelai, he would, they'd have each other and I'd have my girls back. Now I don't know what to think, what to say.
"Where do Lorelai and Rory sit?" I ask quietly scanning over the diner. He nods at a table near a window. "Over there—that was there usual spot." I find myself getting up and walking over to the table and smoothing my hand over it, imagining how many real family dinners the two of them had had here.
"You know something…" I laugh a little, amazed that I am about to admit this to him. "I've always been jealous of this place." I turn back around to face him, and smile at the look of surprise on his face. "It's true."
"I had Lorelai in my home for sixteen years—the three of us had dinner together every night. Richard would always be in his paper, Lorelai would have her walkman on, and I couldn't stop criticizing both of them—always telling Lorelai to turn down the music or sit up straight, and telling Richard to put down the paper. That's me…always criticizing. And when Lorelai left, I would always look back at those dinners and think if we could have had one, just one normal family dinner like everybody else. Where we would all talk and really enjoy each other's company…Anyway, I promised myself that if Lorelai and Rory ever came back into our lives—that was what we would have. Real family dinners. But you know what? They don't have real family dinners at my house…they have them here. In some ways, this diner is more Lorelai's home than our house ever was." He was looking at me warily and I could tell what he was thinking—I'm manipulating him, playing the martyr. Okay, enough with the sentimentality—or as Lorelai would say, "Oy with the poodles already"
I cross over to him and pull out the chair to sit down. "Are you in love with my daughter or aren't you?" I ask him. He stares at me for a minute, and then to my surprise, he starts to blink back tears, "Yeah, I am" I lean in closer, "Then what the Hell is the matter with you?" He sits up, slightly bristling at my words. He starts to speak but I cut him off,
"Luke…do you have any children?" He shakes his head, "No," I take a deep breath and go on, "Then you don't know what it is like to feel the terrible fear of a parent—when you wonder every single day if you are measuring up, if you're doing right by them. You don't know what it's like to worry about their well-being, or their happiness day in and day out. And you don't know what it is like when they leave you…" My voice catches in my throat and I curse under my breath—I didn't want to cry. "Luke, you don't know what it's like to want so badly to be a part of your child's life that you will do anything it takes to get back in. To want so badly to have the relationship you see other parent's having with their children." I pause for a moment, and Luke gets a look in his eyes an almost parental look and I wonder if he could be thinking of his nephew.
"Maybe I do," he says quietly.
"Luke what I'm trying is, I was wrong. I was wrong to go to Christopher and tell him he had a chance. I was wrong to go behind her back. It had nothing to do with you running a diner Luke, it never did. Lorelai is in love with you, she wants to marry you. She is complete with you. You said she doesn't need anyone—you are wrong. She needs you. That was what I was afraid of. I didn't want her to go away again. I didn't want to not be needed. Now I've lost them both—and it's all my own fault." I stand up to leave.
"You belong together. Go back to her, or not, it's your choice. I just wanted you to know…I'm sorry."
I get up and walk out the door. It's getting late and Richard will be wondering where I am. But first…there is something I have to do. She doesn't know how many times I have done this over the years—I have never been able to tell her about it. Why? Why can't I just tell her what's in my heart? I pull up across the street from her house and turn out my lights. The light in her bedroom is the only one that's on in the whole house. Its ten o'clock and I know she has an early shift at the inn tomorrow. I start to hum, the old lullaby my mother used to sing to me and the one I used to sing to her, when she was hurt or scared or when I would creep into her bedroom at night after the nanny had put her to sleep. I doubt she even remembers it—along with mashed banana's on toast, it has probably disappeared out of her memory, to some deep dark hole in herself where she is keeping all of her childhood.
I watch through the window as she walks over and turns out the light,
"Good night Baby" I whisper, then silently start the car and drive off.