Chapter Eight: When I sneak to your bed to pour salt in your wounds
She competes with the phone for attention. For the past half-hour, he has paced around his apartment, phone in hand. She can tell when someone else comes on the line, because his entire demeanor changes. With Jimmy, he is short and almost gruff, but Rory picks up on the good natured flavor; this is simply how he is with his father. With Sasha, Jess talks more, much more. He is forced to give detail after detail, and Rory is grateful, because she loves the sound of his voice. He is almost polite too, his tone more careful and patient as he speaks to his almost stepmother.
Then comes the girl who is as of yet unclassified, although Rory long ago dubbed her Jess's sister. Lily hogs the phone the longest, telling him about school and the abysmal reading material they have assigned her. She tells him what she's read, and he tells her what else she should be reading. Their conversation tends to stretch for a while, and it is here where Rory gets antsy. For the past few minutes, she has been following Jess's trek through the apartment, jumping in front of him at every chance. He merely glares and sidesteps her.
When he finally lands on the couch, phone still glued to his ear, she goes as far as to sit on his lap, trying to get him to hang up. They are supposed to see a movie today, and at this rate, they'll never make it.
Jess scowls, putting his hand over the mouthpiece to remind her in a harsh whisper that she has a boyfriend that is dying for an excuse to kick his ass, so could she, please, get the hell off. Frustrated, she flops over to the adjacent cushion, and shoulder to shoulder with him, she waits.
The movie time has blown past by the time he hangs up, and she's just pissed enough to point out what she really shouldn't. In a confused tone that barely masks the spiteful intent, she asks him why he is so buddy buddy with the father that left him high and dry as a baby, while he almost never speaks to the mother that raised him. He couldn't even fly up for the wedding that Rory, herself, attended.
This question elicits a dry laugh from Jess, who raises an eyebrow at her choice of words. Me, he asks, you're asking me why I have a poor relationship with my mother? He reminds her in a not so pleasant tone that she cut her own mother out of her life. The comment stings her, turning her to stone. A full moment passes before she insists in a quiet, detached voice that she did not, did not, cut her mother out of her life.
It just happened.
She has not been to her childhood home in months, although her room still exists as she left it, bed and bureau, bookcase full of books. It seems frozen in time, a screen capture of how she used to live here with her mother, and how they used to get along. It's an eternal reminder to Lorelai who always keeps the door closed.
Lorelai's first instinct when she sees her daughter, her crying daughter, is to take her in her arms, and let her get it out. They would talk after, pig out on comfort food, and Rory would tell the whole story. Lorelai then would have the perfect solution, most likely speaking from experience, and all would be well. A movie would be watched, laughter would break the sadness that still clung to the room, and they'd fall asleep on the couch, together.
"Can I come in?" Rory asks after her impromptu appearance and apology. She's nervous that her own mother might turn her away even though there is no single deciding moment from the past couple of years that says they cannot get along. It was everything, building one on top of another, suffocating them both. Eventually, they just allowed it to… drift.
Lorelai, forgetting that it is her turn to speak, simply nods and allows her estranged daughter to enter the threshold. Rory pauses, however, in the front hall, as if afraid to step further inside.
Finally, both head to the couch and take a seat, the awkwardness following behind, close on both of their heels. This type, however, is more painful than uncomfortable. It is lined with claws, and sharp teeth, an actual monster taking a seat on the nearby chair, making sure to keep mother and daughter at arm's length.
Rory wants to speak, can feel herself brimming with the unsaid words; they taste stale after months of being locked away. Instead of letting them come, however, she lets out another sob, and buries her face in her hands, and cries harder, hunching over into her lap.
Lorelai, still quiet, lets her hand hang above her daughter's back, hovering only an inch away. Then, it drops, and it's easy, and simple, and she remembers what to do. It feels like rust being cleared off, and now everything suddenly works again, clean and new and familiar. Rory, at the comforting touch, turns and cries against her mother, and there is perfect silence in the house.
"I'm sorry," Rory says again, choking.
"Oh, honey, it's okay," Lorelai assures her, wondering if it can be this easy. Months of silence, a couple of years of stiff uneasiness all suddenly undone by Rory's desperate need for her mother.
Forgiven and forgotten; it can be this simple.
Eventually, Rory regains some measure of composure and sits back at the opposite end of the couch. She faces Lorelai, and they both hold their breath, waiting to fully fix this.
"You don't come to Friday night dinners anymore," Rory says.
"You know your grandmother and I aren't on the best of terms."
"I missed you."
"Oh sweetie, I missed you too." And Lorelai feels it, the ache in her belly, the constant twist that now slowly unravels. "You just… your grandmother…"
"Don't blame Grandma."
"I didn't say I was blaming Grandma."
"She's not such a horrible woman," Rory insists.
"I'm not calling her one! But you know she's the reason we've been… distant."
"She is not."
"Then what, Rory? You want to explain to me what seems to be our problem? Before my mother got so involved in your personal life, we were fine."
"You can't blame her. It's not as if she barred you from dinner or parties. It's not as if she forbade me from coming home."
"Then why haven't you been home? Last summer, you spent two weeks here before leaving," Lorelai points out, a desperate tone in her voice. "You played musical houses. You stayed with your grandparents, and Paris, and Blake… god, you even spent a couple of weeks with Jess!"
"Jess is one of my best friends."
"Since when?"
"Since we got past the California issue, and he moved to New Haven," Rory answers. "He's different now. He has his own apartment, and works as a bartender, and makes real good tips. He…"
"Best friends with Jess? That's fantastic."
"Are we going to fight about Jess?" Rory asks.
"No. I was just reliving the good times." Lorelai smiles, and when Rory returns it, the air pressure in the room seems to lessen just a bit.
"Your grandparents pay for your education, Rory, but that does not mean they have to dictate your life," Lorelai says, after the comfortable moment passes. She's back on task now.
"I'm just trying to make her happy."
"I tried to make her happy, and I swear to you, it's just not physically possible! The woman is never satisfied! I failed her as a daughter because I had you. And now she's taking you and making you…"
"Into what she wanted you to be," Rory finishes, recalling Jess's raised voice.
"You don't have to do that, Rory. I don't think you want to."
"But they gave me Chilton. They gave me Yale! I owe them."
"You owe them gratitude and Friday night dinners." Lorelai sighs, lightly touching her forehead as if warding off a headache. "I know you love your grandparents. I love them too, even though sometimes I can't stand to be within a five mile radius of that house. But it's your life, not my mother's."
"I know that," Rory assures her. "I just don't want to disappoint her."
Lorelai groans and throws her hands in the air. "It started with Blake," she shakes her head. "My mother wanted you to have a new boyfriend, so she picked him out for you. It just built from there… You got lucky that you actually liked Blake, or else you would have had to keep dealing with the suitors from hell."
"Will you start coming to dinner again?"
"Rory… you just… do you understand? My mother is trying to raise you to be like her. To be some damn socialite! That's not you. I don't want you like that. And every time she and I are in the same room together… there's just… friction." Lorelai pauses, sighs, regroups. "I can't stop you from living how you want, but please, Rory, don't avoid me anymore."
"I wasn't trying to avoid you," Rory says quietly.
"I wasn't trying to avoid you either," Lorelai admits.
"It just happened."
"Yeah, things just… happen sometimes," Lorelai agrees, and Rory knows how true that is.
"Can I stay here tonight?"
"Of course." She pauses. "Do you want to tell me what got you here sobbing on my doorstep in the first place?"
"Later?" Rory pleads. "I'm exhausted."
"Emotional distress, gotcha."
Lorelai studies her daughter for a long moment, lingering on the bloodshot eyes and the tears that slowly dry on her face. "Don't slip away again, okay?"
"I won't," Rory promises. She stands and begins to head to her room. Halfway there, she turns and goes back to her mother and gives her a light kiss on the cheek. "Night, Mom."
"Night, kid."
Once Rory disappears in her bedroom, a small smile appears on Lorelai's face. She doesn't try to fight it.
-
"Yes! you are the ruin--the ruin--the ruin--of me. I have no resources in myself, I have no confidence in myself, I have no government of myself when you are near me or in my thoughts. And you are always in my thoughts now. I have never been quit of you since I first saw you. Oh, that was a wretched day for me! That was a wretched, miserable day!"
Jess reads the passage once more, beginning to suspect that he is a masochist at heart. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he wanted to go over this. As he browsed through his collection, he purposely picked Our Mutual Friend, skipping ahead just so he can read about how screwed up he is.
Now the act of reading is ruined by his own actions, and he drops the books onto the cushion beside him, running a hand through his hair. Gingerly, he touches his cheek, but there is no mark left behind. The night before when he went to sleep, it was still red, but now, there is nothing, no lingering print of her anger, just the internal sting of her words that had seeped in.
Deadbeat drunk, she had accused. That had unnerved him because often, she would raise an eyebrow whenever he went out drinking. Is that what she really thought of him? That certainly would be the kicker, he thinks, if she actually believed he was on the path to alcoholism. He worked around drinks all the time, but never indulged himself. It was only after hours, or on his nights off, or when she upset him, or…
Quickly, he stands up, beating that out of his mind only to remember her assurance that he would fail (her) again, and would take off. He remembers her blatant declaration of how she doesn't need him, although he knows that is bull. If she doesn't need him, then she wouldn't be so desperate to keep him in her life. Their friendship, he recalls; she values that.
Doesn't matter. None of it matters. She keeps screwing him over, invading his life, and even when she isn't physically there, she is all he can think about. Going over what went wrong, and how he messed up. Forget this.
Then, he thinks of Megan and her suggestion of coffee. It's just what he needs.
He heads into the kitchen, where the phone rests on the counter. Before he can pick it up, the flashing red one catches his eye. He has a message. He presses play and listens to the robotic voice state the time and date (early evening; yesterday), and then he hears her voice:
"Hi, Jess, it's me. Look, I'm… sorry about last night. Your date looked really nice, and I hope I didn't ruin things. But you… you said…" (a long pause, and he thinks she's hung up) "I'm sorry. Just call me sometime."
The old familiar guilt revisits him, settling on his shoulders. It is a secondhand emotion; after experiencing so much of it, it is almost a solid part of him now. But still, it affects him, making him rethink the night before. This message only reinforces his belief that she wants (needs) him in her life. However, he can't get her harsh words out of his head, even if they were just an angry reaction to his own.
Deleting her voice, he picks up the phone. Twenty minutes later, he's out the door with a coffee date.
-
"Rory."
He is finding it increasingly difficult to escape her.
"Rory," he repeats because Megan really didn't give him much to go on.
They sit in a quaint shop, perfect for quiet dates and meaningful conversations. Their waiter is tall with a snide attitude, acting as if fetching their orders is beneath him (and Jess has to hold back the urge to remark that technically it is). The man has to hunch over in half to deliver their coffees, and then he leaves without a word, not even asking if either would like anything else. Megan seems oblivious to the less than stellar service, and Jess quickly forgets it with the mention of one name.
"You said you would explain the situation to me if we went out for coffee."
Well, shit. Jess originally thought she was only trying to ask him out. Now, he is actually expected to discuss the very personal matter of Rory? He supposes he owes a simple, neat explanation to Megan because Rory did interrupt one of their dates, but what to say?
"She's an ex-girlfriend. We dated in high school."
"It ended badly?" Megan asks.
"Yeah. It ended with me in California and her going off to Yale."
"Oh." She is confused, but Jess makes no move to shine a light on the exact events. There's no need.
"I came back during her sophomore year. Had to go through the whole redemption thing before we became friends again."
"So you're just… friends."
"She has a boyfriend," he points out. "You met him. He was that wonderfully charming asshole, Blake."
"He did seem like kind of a jackass," she smiles. "But are you two just friends?"
"I swear, three seconds ago, we went over this."
"She has a boyfriend," Megan says, "and he yelled at her for spending too much time with you."
"I think you're overstepping a line."
"No direct answer?"
"Megan, I'm serious… this isn't any of your business."
"You said it was complicated. And I'm not going to date you if you're already seeing someone else."
"She has a boyfriend, alright? They've been dating since her freshman year, and that's it. Nothing more."
"So you two… how long?"
"Jesus!" He stands up, ready to hightail it out of there when she speaks again.
"Listen, Jess, I was going to sleep with you on our first date. I don't know what you think of me, but that's not usually me. I like you. A lot. But if you're seeing this girl who's already seeing someone else…"
He sits back down, beyond frustrated. "We're not seeing each other anymore."
"But you were?"
"Yes, geez! We were sleeping together. Would you like to know the details? Where and when… how?"
"You're kind of being an asshole."
"And you're kind of prying into my private life," he shoots back.
"I'm sorry, but I just found out that this guy I like used to sleep with some girl who is currently in a fouryear relationship. Four years and she…"
"Don't do that."
"What?"
"Don't start implying things about her," Jess warns.
"What am I supposed to think? She dates some guy throughout college and keeps you on the side?"
"Stop it, I mean it. You're starting to piss me off with —" He cuts himself off suddenly, swearing under his breath. "I'm getting mad at you," he states blankly.
"I'm sorry," she immediately says. "I really shouldn't have…"
Jess shakes his head in disbelief, speaking mostly to himself: "I'm getting mad at you over her."
"Jess," Megan begins, looking at her watch. "I have to get going. I… I really can't do this."
She stands and leaves a couple of dollars behind, her payment for her coffee. She pauses at his side, and she gives him a kiss, short and final, because this isn't – can't – go anywhere.
"I'm sorry," she says once they part.
Then the bell above the door rings, signaling her exit, and Jess sits back in his chair, at a loss.
-
That night, he works late, behind the bar. It is a Monday, and there is one consistent customer that has been sitting in front of him for the past three hours. The guy keeps ordering up more beer, and Jess knows that soon, he will have to cut him off. The scene makes him uncomfortable, and he tries to picture himself in the man's shoes, so in need of a distraction that can pluck him out of life and drop him somewhere else.
If he and Rory hadn't been so messed up at the moment, she probably would have been there, talking to him, serving as his distraction. Or maybe when he got back to the apartment, she'd be asleep on his couch – maybe his bed. He likes coming home to her, he likes seeing her. She may drive him to head out and drink sometimes, but when they're good, she's the reason he doesn't. She's the reason he lingers here, working to keep his apartment, hanging around so she has a place to hide.
It's strange how she's always trying escape through him, while simultaneously, he's trying to lose himself in her.
As he calls the man a taxi, Jess begins to wonder if he is worse off with Rory or when he is without her.
-
Her window is cracked to let the cool night air in, and it is just enough for him to slip his fingers in, and open it the rest of the way. He isn't completely sure why he doesn't just wait until tomorrow to see her, but tonight, after he finished up at the bar, he just… had to.
His stop at the dorm only succeeded in scaring the hell out of Paris, who haughtily informed him that Rory is currently staying in Stars Hollow, commuting to her classes from there. Somehow, this brought him a spark of happiness; she finally spoke to Lorelai.
The actual process of climbing through her bedroom window is much easier to visualize than to actually do. Gracelessly, he pulls himself in, nearly wiping out in the middle of her floor. He stands and finds her asleep in bed, turned on her side, curling into herself. Seeing her like this, peaceful and harmless, brings a familiar surge of something he cannot name. There's a hint of nostalgia mixed with something more; much more.
Jess sits on the side of her bed, and lightly touches her shoulder, tracing a line up her neck and to her cheek. She wakes slowly, shifting under his touch, her eyes fluttering open. Before she can startle, she recognizes him, or at the very least, his outline in the dark.
She sits up and they're close, very close. Before she can question his presence, he closes the small gap, and kisses her. She's so startled, she almost pulls away, but he follows her, moving back with her. He lays her down and climbs on top of her, settling carefully.
She doesn't know his reasons or if this even means anything, but in that moment, it doesn't matter, because he is here, wanting her. The past harsh words and ill intentions dissolve, as he presses harder against her, and she remembers how much she missed this. He nibbles on her bottom lip, before kissing the side of her mouth and sitting back up. Immediately, she shoots up to follow him, grabbing his upper arm. She is terrified he'll leave again, leave her.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm sorry for telling Blake all about you. It was before you came back, when I was still mad at you… the subject of past relationships came up, and it all just… came out. And I'm sorry about what I said to you. I shouldn't have…" She trails off, too tired to point out that he yelled at her first. She just wants this fixed and better; she wants Jess to be hers again.
"And I lied," she tells him. "When I said I didn't need you." She pauses and can't put the words together. She cannot outright say it; it's too scary to dwell on how much she depends on him. So she simply settles on, "I do."
He studies the way she looks at him, trying to copy it. He wants to mirror her expression, so she knows, understands, that he needs her too. He foolishly thinks that no matter what happens, no matter what she does, he wants her in his life. He's too far in with her to stop now. She's bad for him, but without her, it's even worse.
He has no idea if she understands, so he kisses her again, a quick brush against the lips.
"Can I stay tonight?"
"Yeah," she answers softly.
She moves over in bed and lifts the sheet, and he climbs underneath. She turns away from, and he slips in behind her, curving so he fits perfectly around her body. Tugging on his arm, she gets him to wrap it around her, and she takes his hand, entwining their fingers. Lightly, she brings his thumb to her lips, before simply resting their hands against her closed mouth, his knuckles brushing the tip of her nose.
Moments later, she falls asleep in his arms, while he lies awake and wonders if he is out of his mind.