Thirteen: Holding on to yourself the best you can
The ride home from the airport is dominated by silence as both worry over what happens next. Rory fiddles with the broken radio in vain, only succeeding in producing white noise. She wrings her hands in her lap as she stares outside at the gray, overcast skies. Already she misses the California sun.
They pause at a stoplight, and she feels his eyes raking over her. She is too nervous to meet his gaze, but she wants him to touch her, just a simple rub of the arm, graze of the leg. She needs confidence so badly but she cannot muster up any of her own. Her only hope is that he can be brave enough for the both of them.
Jess pulls into Yale and parks in the first row. Rory finally looks over at him and forces a smile. As he stares back, her muscles relax, and her smile becomes less artificial. This is it, she reminds herself. Everything is different now.
"Am I tan?" she asks, eager for the sound of his voice. "Tell me I got some color."
"I think you're only slightly more freckled," he tells her, reaching over. He pushes her hair off her shoulder to get a closer look, and she leans into his hand, purring softly.
He brushes his thumb over her lips. "C'mere," he says.
She grins at the familiarity of the word and meets him in a kiss. The stubble on his chin tickles her skin and she suppresses a happy sigh. When she pulls away, her head is clear and the world is less dizzying.
She knows she can do this.
"Ready to go in?" she asks.
He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, stalling. "Yeah."
"Nothing's changed," she assures him. "I'm going to see him tonight."
"Yeah." It's all he can say.
"I'll need to do some damage control, but I'll come by your apartment tomorrow night. Around six, okay?"
"Sounds good." He touches her arm and tries to ignore the way his hands shake. "Let's go."
>
As Rory searches her pockets for her keys, Jess stands behind her, kissing her neck. He slips a hand beneath her shirt and traces circles across her stomach. She pauses in her actions, falling back into him.
"You're distracting me."
"Am not," he mumbles into her hair.
The sound of footsteps down the nearby staircase breaks the moment, and Rory rips herself away from Jess. She shoves the key in the lock as an older male with a pile full of textbooks passes them. A second later, the door is open.
As soon as they walk in, Paris pounces on them, a scowl fixed firmly on her face. She falters when she spots Jess, Rory's overnight bag slung over his shoulder.
"Jess."
He nods in acknowledgment. "Paris."
Realization dawns as everything falls into place. Paris has always known that some sort of secret liaison has been going on between Rory and Jess, but she played the discreet roommate and never brought it up. Now it is forced in front of her, and there can be no more denial.
"You're back," Paris says.
"Yeah." Rory shifts uncomfortably under Paris's harsh watch.
"Blake stopped by here. Twice. He wanted to know where you were."
"Oh," Rory says softly.
"He asked if I knew where Jess was because he wasn't at work and wasn't answering his phone."
Rory stares at the ground. "Yeah, I went away with Jess."
"Thanks Sherlock, but I already put two and two together." Paris pauses. "And so did Blake." She throws Rory's cell phone toward her; Jess catches it. "Your phone rang seventeen times. I would know, I kept a tally. After the first three calls, I tried to turn it off but it kept ringing. You're phone's either possessed or whoever was calling is very persistent. Next time you decide to disappear and freak everyone out, take your phone."
"I will."
"Good. I'm going to the library, so if you'll excuse me." Without waiting for a reply, Paris grabs her backpack from the floor and all but stomps out the door, slamming it behind her.
"Rory?" Jess asks.
"Mmhmm?" Rory's eyes are still fixed on the spot where Paris just stood, chewing her out.
"You okay?"
"Hm? What?" Rory returns to life and turns, pushing her hair off her face. "Yeah, I'm fine. Come on, I've get messages to listen to." She grabs his hand and Jess lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
Rory falls onto her bed and Jess follows suit, grateful for a solid surface to hold him up. He rests his chin on her shoulder as she calls her voicemail.
"Hi, Rory. It's your mother. You know, the woman who gave you life. Your grandmother is pissed. I told her you were out of town, but I didn't know where. Of course, with Jess M.I.A., I have a pretty good idea of where you are. Tell Jimmy Luke says hi." Lorelai sighs and Rory feels the familiar sensation of guilt.
"So your grandmother is calling all of your friends, asking if they know where you wandered off to, and Blake is more psycho than usual, which is pretty amazing since you've been gone less than a day. Call me, please, and tell me you are still alive and… Just call."
"She's mad," Rory comments absently.
"No, she's not."
"She's disappointed."
Jess nuzzles her neck. "Rory."
Rory skips over the next four messages – they're all from Blake. She pauses at the fifth when her mother's voice floods back over the line. Both she and Jess notice it instantly, the difference in tone, the words heavy with tears.
"Rory? I'm calling on the off chance that you do have your phone and are simply screening your calls. Your grandfather, he – he had a heart attack. He's in the hospital and…"
Rory springs out of bed and Jess misses the rest of the message. He hurries into a standing position and watches as she clicks off her phone and throws it onto the bed. She does not blink, does not move. He watches her fall away from him, looking like a little girl lost.
"Rory, I am so – " He rubs the back of his neck, at a loss for what to say. "Let me drive you to the hospital."
She shakes her head. "I don't even know if he's at the hospital." She chokes. "He could be home or he could be – oh god," she whispers. She stares at Jess, pleading him to tell her different. "He could already be gone."
"No, no, no." He grabs her hands but she doesn't appear to notice as she stares at her phone. "Call your mom and I will drive you wherever, alright?"
"No. You don't have to do that. I just… this is a family matter. You don't need to worry about it."
And just like that, the entire weekend is undone.
Something within him snaps, a clean break in the cord holding him together. He is surprised when he manages to stay upright. His limbs feel limp and useless, as if he is a puppet without strings, ready to flop to the ground in a heap. Does she see it? he wonders. Does she realize she has taken him apart?
"Do you think you could go? I need to take care of this," she tells him, her voice terribly small.
He nods dumbly and leans forward, wanting – needing – to kiss her goodbye. At the last second, she turns her head and he gets her cheek.
He is out the door, out of the building, back in the parking lot, unable to see anything but violent streaks of red. He rests both hands on the hood of his car as he takes a deep breath – in out in – and tries to calm the racing of his heart.
With an angry yell, he kicks his tires, once twice, before moving to his car door. The dent he leaves is deep and unfulfilling. He peels out of the parking lot at a furious speed and doesn't look back.
>
Rory heads for the receptionist area, and finds a stout woman with harsh blonde hair on the phone. Rory taps her foot impatiently, surreptitiously casing the place for any recognizable faces.
"May I help you?" the receptionist inquires in her best 'I-don't-give-a-shit' voice. Rory glances at the clock on the adjacent wall, wondering if the woman's shift is almost over.
"I need the number of Richard Gilmore's room, please."
A few keystrokes on the computer later, and Rory has her answer. "Thank you," she says, remembering her manners. "Is there anyone else here for him? Maybe visiting him right now?"
"I don't know, ma'am." The woman's lip curls into a sneer. "A lot of people come through that door you just walked in, ask me for information I can't always give them, and then go on their way. There is no possibly way I can remember all of them."
Rory winces. "Right."
She finds the room easily. With a deep breath, she goes inside, hanging close to the door. Her grandfather sleeps peacefully in the hospital bed, a simple respirator aiding him. He looks much better than what she prepared herself for.
"Rory?"
Her head shoots up so fast that it collides with the door. She lets out a small groan and rubs the sore spot as she moves closer to the bed.
"Hi, Grandpa." Deep breaths, she reminds herself, shoving her trembling hands into her coat pocket. "How are you doing?"
"Oh, much better. I've been told I'm going to be just fine, and I feel fine."
"Good." She smiles and blinks quickly. "That's very, very good."
"I've been ordered to take it easy for the next few weeks. Emily says I've been under too much stress and the doctors agree."
"That sounds really good. I think you could use a rest." She reaches over and rests her hand over his. "I'm sorry I wasn't here. I came as soon as I can and – "
"Rory, Rory," he says gently. "It's alright. I understand your need to get away for a few days. Finals are almost here and graduation is just around the corner. You're lucky you didn't end up here in my place with all the stress you're under."
She squeezes her eyes shut, ordering herself not to cry. He has always understood her. She doesn't know what she'd do without him.
"Emily suggested that Blake take over at the office in my absence."
"Blake?" Rory stutters. "But he hasn't even graduated yet…"
"He's going to be my eyes and ears at the office, and represent me in meetings. He may be young, Rory, but he knows this business. His father raised him well."
"Right, of course." Rory stares hard at a spot on the white wall, a building pressure behind her eyes.
"I don't like the boy. I never have. But I can't deny that he will perform well in my place."
"Grandpa, I need to ask you a question." She fidgets in her seat, jiggling her knees, tapping her feet on the floor.
"Anything."
"What do you think is more important: family or your own personal happiness?"
"I should think those two would go hand in hand," he responds.
If only it were that easy, she thinks, feeling hopeless. "Why don't I go find today's newspaper so I can read it to you?" she asks.
"Why that would be wonderful."
She smiles at him again, and kisses his forehead. "I'm glad you're okay."
He pats her hand. "So am I."
The door closes with a quiet click behind her. As she turns the corner down the hall, she comes face to face with Blake. She freezes in her path.
"Blake," she whispers.
"Rory."
She spots a newspaper in his hands and realizes where he is headed.
"I…" She stops. "I don't know what to say." Her throat is sore and her hands are shaking, and she feels as if she has lost all sense of direction. "I – "
"Rory, we don't have to do this now."
She nods and tries to thank him but she chokes instead. The tears flow freely as she moves forward and he gathers her into his arms. He cradles her head against his chest as sobs tear through her body.
"It's okay," he whispers tenderly, rocking her back and forth. "Everything's going to be okay."
>
The next day, Jess sleeps late. A phone call from Jimmy asking if he made it home alright pulls him out of bed at one. The afternoon passes in a quiet haze as Jess sits idly by, waiting for night fall.
Six comes and goes. Once seven rolls around, Jess unplugs his clock with a scowl, as if time is to blame. At eight, he drives to Yale.
Paris answers the door, unhappy that her study session has been interrupted. "Rory's not here," she immediately announces.
"Do you know when she'll be back?"
"I have no idea. She didn't come home last night."
"Do you know where she is?"
"I don't know, Jess. Why don't you try her boyfriend's house?"
She slams the door in his face.