Title: Too Close for Comfort
Chapter Two: Say Goodbye, Rory
Time: The morning after Keg! Max! Basically, the timeline of Say Goodnight, Gracie.
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"Good morning!" I greeted my mother with a cup of coffee the second she came into the kitchen the next morning. I think I was feeling a little guilty for the lie the night before.
"Hey, sweets." Mom half-groaned as she pulled the coffee from my hands. "Aw, nice." She took a long sip and then settled her gaze on me. "What're you doing today?"
I shrugged. "Recovering."
Mom smiled and took another sip. "Does recovering involve getting your belt and key back from Lane's?"
"Oh, yeah!" I said like it was the first I'd thought about it. "I'm gonna call her." I got up from the table and walked into the living room, where I'd seen the phone the night before. I quickly called Lane, and conducted a hushed conversation in the corner of the room near the window. Two minutes later, I made my way back to the kitchen and smiled at Mom. "I'm gonna go get her backpack from Kyle's house, then run by and get my belt and key. Uh…come with?" I added the last part only so my mom would think I was still behaving normally. Which I was. For the most part.
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"Key, belt, key, belt, key, belt, key, belt," I murmured, searching through the rumpled bedclothes on the floor of Kyle's guestroom. An older woman—Kyle's mother, I was guessing—passed by the doorway, her eyebrows raised at me. I smiled a tight smile, and she looked away, obviously ashamed for me. I groaned, and then grinned when my hand wrapped around my key. "Yes!" Right next to it was my belt, which I quickly slid into my belt loops before standing and leaving the room. I found Lane's backpack right where she said I would; I was about to slide it on when I noticed the smell…I then decided to carry it out of the house holding it as far away from my nose as I could.
Kyle and his friend were arguing in the front yard as I walked up to my mom.
"Have you seen these guys? They're hilarious!"
Ready to get rid of Lane's backpack, I said, "I got it, we can go."
"Why are you holding it like that?" Mom asked suspiciously.
"Because, when Lane left it here last night, it was a very different color. And smell."
Mom made a face. "Are you sure she's gonna want that back? It's been left alone. All night. At a keg party. There's no getting over that. That backpack is permanently scarred." Getting even more into it, she added with a tiny smile, "That backpack is Zelda Fitzgerald."
Going along with her, I said, "Well, Zelda's going home."
"Okay." Mom wrapped her arms around my shoulders. "Your first cop-raided party. I am just so proud!"
"Mom," I protested, feeling badly.
"I just wish I could've been there."
I made a face, hoping Mom couldn't see me. "It was no big deal," I said aloud, dismissing it.
"Hmm."
Thank God, the next thing we did was split up around the Church of Stars Hollow, where Lane had told me she'd be almost all day long. Mom went off to work, and I headed into the Church, still holding Lane's backpack as far in front of me as I could.
"Hey," I said quietly, settling into the seat next to Lane. She was sitting at a table in the back of the church, doing…well, I don't know what she was doing, but she was sitting in church. Ever since I was young, Mom always taught me that while you're sitting in church, if you're going to be talking about non-church related things, you should talk quietly.
"Hi," Lane grinned.
"So, how are you? How were things last night?"
"You mean, after my drunken call to my mother?"
"That's the one," I nodded. "What happened after I dropped you off?"
"I'm…not sure."
"What do you mean, you're not sure?" I didn't think she was that drunk.
"Well, after I sent you home, I walked the last block to my house and went in."
"And?" I asked, after a long enough pause.
"The place was dark."
"No Mrs. Kim?" I asked, surprised.
"No Mrs. Kim." Lane shook her head.
I shook my own head. "No Mrs. Kim."
"So, of course, I panicked."
I nodded.
"What does this mean," Lane continued. "I mean, when I come home ten minutes late from bible study, she has a cow. But I call her drunk, tell her I'm at a part, I'm a drummer in a band, and I'm in love with a non-Korean…I expected there to be backup—aunts, uncles, cousins pulled out of villages I've never heard of—but nothing."
"That's so weird. I don't understand."
"Me neither!" Lane exclaimed. The priest heard and glanced back at her. She blushed, and then ducked her head and continued quietly, "So I go upstairs to make sure everything's okay. I look in her room, and she's in her bed. Asleep."
"No!" I exclaimed quietly.
Lane nodded. "Then, this morning, I get up, I go in the kitchen where she's making breakfast, and I say, 'Good morning, Mama'."
"And?"
"She turns around, looks right at me, and says, 'Good morning, Lane'."
"Really?" I asked, surprised. That didn't seem very Mrs. Kim-like.
"And those were the last words she's said to me all day."
"Huh. That's…weird. She's freezing you out?"
"No, I think it's more Stepford than cold."
"Hmm. We'll have to ruminate on this more later. I think I'm gonna go see Jess."
"Okay. Have fun."
"Okay," I stood to go. Lane grabbed my wrist.
"Hey, what's that smell?"
"Your backpack," I said apologetically.
"Oh. Okay. Bye." She released my arm and waved.
"Bye," I whispered, before ducking out of the church.
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Luke's was incredibly crowded. When I walked in, Jess was at a table in the corner, arguing with a guy just sitting there. He was so agitated, he didn't notice me as I settled into the only empty seat at the counter. Caesar, setting a plate out for Jess, noticed me and waved. I waved back.
"You know what you want yet?" Jess practically yelled.
"Uh, I'll just have more coffee," the guy said.
"More coffee coming up. Glad to make your dining dreams come true." I could hear the biting sarcasm in his voice, and I just smiled. He left the guy at the table and swiftly picked up the coffee pot from the end of the counter. He continued on his way, still not seeing me.
Suddenly, Taylor, dressed in a turn-of-the-century pastel outfit—like Dick Van Dyke during the cartoon sequence of Mary Poppins—burst into the diner door and started singing the Candy Man song from Willy Wonka.
Jess, unimpressed, simply said, "Move."
Taylor deferred, instead instructing one of the old-timey dressed women he'd brought with him to give Jess a taffy. Jess declined, and then pushed past Taylor to continue pouring coffee. Finally, he walked behind the counter again, set the coffee pot down, and turned around. He saw me, started, and then smiled.
"Hey," he said, leaning down to kiss me.
"Hey," I repeated, pushing from my stool a little to meet him halfway.
"Did you guys get home okay?"
"Yeah," I smiled. "Thanks for being so understanding."
He shook his head. "I didn't do anything."
"Well…thanks for being you."
He smiled. "And with that line, you're officially cut off from any and all WB dramas you are currently watching."
"Aw, but Dawson's almost over!"
He smiled, but his eyes flicked towards the door as the bell rang. His smile changed to a scowl and he quickly walked out from behind the counter. "Be right back."
I turned in my seat and watched as Jess walked over to Luke. He started yelling at him, and then Luke started yelling right back. After a minute, Luke glanced at me, and sighed, defeated.
"Fine. Take a break. I want you back here in fifteen minutes."
"Thanks a lot, Uncle Luke," Jess said, unnecessarily annoying Luke even more. He wandered over to me and grabbed my hand.
"Wanna go upstairs?" I asked as he opened his mouth, beating him to the punch.
"Sure," he grinned. His hand slipped from mine to around my waist as we walked the short distance to the stairs; before ducking under the curtain, I caught Luke's eye and mouthed, "Thanks."
He nodded and continued whatever it was he was doing.
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Jess started kissing me the second we reached the top of the stairs. That caused a little bit of trouble actually making it through the door, let me tell you. Jess pushed me against the door, and I was fumbling for the doorknob behind me, all while not letting go. After a few minutes, I just started giggling, which caused Jess to grin, and then suddenly we fell through the door.
We landed on the floor with a loud thump! Jess landed on top of me, which wasn't all that comfortable, but I managed to roll us around so I was on top. Then I slowly started easing us up. We eventually made it to a standing position, but we didn't stay that way for long. Jess pushed me backwards onto the couch, and we ended up in a reclining position.
Jess reached his hand underneath him. Since I was sans belt, he started to unbutton my jeans. After he'd succeeded there, he reached for the zipper, and I started to push him off me.
"Jess, wait."
He took his hand from my jeans. Satisfied, he wasn't going to pursue it any further, I let it go.
Until he reached for my shirt.
"Jess. Wait."
He didn't stop, so I jumped up from the couch, pushing him away and off of me.
"Jeez," he complained, standing too.
"Not here. Not now." I shook my head.
"Fine," he said, throwing his hand in the air, keeping his back towards me.
"What is wrong with you?" I asked. He was acting so weirdly.
"Nothing's wrong with me."
"Someone could have walked through that door," I said, pointing. "Luke could have walked through that door. Or, God forbid, my mother."
He muttered some comment. He was still facing away from me, and his hands were shoved deep into his pockets.
"What?" I asked sharply.
"Whatever," he shot at me, before turning away again.
"You did not think it was gonna happen again so soon, did you? We haven't even talked about it yet."
"I don't know what I think anymore." He sounded so sad. I walked over to him; put my hand on his shoulder.
"Jess," I said, softly.
"Rory, stop, just stop!" he yelled, wrenching his arm away from me. He finally faced me, but kept his gaze on the floor. He continued angrily. "I did not invite you upstairs last night! I did not tell you to take of your clothes! I did not tell you to have sex with me! You did it all on your own!"
My heart was beating rapidly. Was Jess yelling at me for last night? Had he hated it? Was it not supposed to happen? My eyes started stinging. After a few seconds, I finally wrenched out, "I…I don't know…what I did," before turning and leaving the room.
Jess sighed as my hand hit the doorknob and I threw it open. "You didn't do anything. Rory…," he half-heartedly called. I ignored him and continued down the stairs, my tears making the pattern on the curtain all blurry. I pushed past it and into the slowly-emptying diner, running directly into Luke.
"Rory. Are…you okay?" he asked hesitantly, most likely scared of my crying.
"Yes. No. I don't know," I managed, before pushing past him and out the door.
"Whoa. What happened?" he called after me. I noticed as the door closed that when Jess came downstairs, to follow me, Luke muttered, "Figures," and then held his arm in front of Jess. "Upstairs. You and I need to talk."
Jess threw one last glance at me—causing me to turn away quickly—before being pushed back upstairs by Luke.
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After our fight, I walked home crying. Thank God, Mom was upstairs, because I don't think I could have handled talking to her. Fortunately, I quickly got a call to take my mind off of everything.
"Gilmore, get down here now."
"Paris?" I asked tentatively.
"We're completely behind on the graduation edition of the Franklin. This is going to be our last edition. Ever. This is going to be the issue of the paper everyone will remember us by. This is going to be the issue of the paper that the Yale Daily News will look at to see if we're worthy enough. Rory, I'm freaking out!"
"Okay, calm down. When do you want me there?"
"Anytime after now would be good."
"All right, just give me…an hour," I said, glancing at the clock.
"Don't expect to get out of here anytime before nine."
Paris hung up briskly, allowing me to start glancing around the living room for everything I needed for this, my last issue of the Franklin. Before long, Mom came downstairs, carrying six or seven skirts over one arm.
"Okay, here's the problem. Every single one of my skirts," she said, laying her skirts one by one on the couch, "is either too long or too short for this season's acceptable lengths. Which means, I either have to alter or shop."
I glanced up at her from my backpack. "To be or not to be."
Trying not to smile, she retaliated with, "Just wait 'til you hear what InStyle thinks of you, young lady." Finally noticing what I was doing, she asked, "Franklin meeting, huh? What time are you getting home tonight?"
"Well, we have to go over the special graduation edition of the Franklin, and of course we're 'completely behind', partly because Paris can't let anything go to print unless she's proofed it a million times. Can you say, 'crazy anal micromanager'?"
"Not five times fast."
I smiled at her and answered her question. "I'll be home by ten." I stood up and slid one backpack strap over my shoulder.
"That's all I needed to know," Mom smiled as I walked past her.
"Oh, shoot," I said, stopping. "I forgot my notes."
"I put them in your bedroom."
"Thank you, Mom." I smiled again and turned around, heading back to my room. Unfortunately, my mom's idea of putting my notes in my room consisted of throwing them on top of the thousands of papers I had strewn on my desk. Halfway through searching through the first of dozens of stacks, the phone rang, and my mom yelled, "It's for you!"
After picking it up, I discovered my grandmother was on the phone…and I didn't get out of the house for forty minutes.
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After spending a relatively uneventful few hours working on my very last issue of the Franklin…ever, I got home to my mom, teary-eyed, on the couch. She told me, quickly and tearfully, that Fran Weston…Fran…had died.
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The next day, dressed in our best black attire, Mom and I were walking to the church for the funeral. I, unfortunately, was wearing my only coat that was suited for the weather. It happened to be bright red, but I thought maybe Fran wouldn't mind.
"You know," Mom said suddenly, "Fran was one of the first people I met when we moved here."
Because she'd been telling the same Fran stories over and over for the past twelve hours, I said, "I know."
"The first day here, I stopped in—"
"And asked her for directions to the inn," I finished. Seriously. The same three stories. Over and over.
"Yeah. Oh, she was so sweet. And, oh my God…." And she was off. I'm sorry to say I kind of tuned her out, because, well, the same three stories. Instead, I was thinking over that fight Jess and I had had. Was it even a fight? I seriously couldn't tell. I figured I should visit him and see if maybe we could talk. Something was obviously bothering him, and I didn't…well, I didn't want him to be mad at me for prom. You could only buy tickets for so much longer, and I knew he hadn't gotten them yet.
"'I'm gonna kill you.'" Mom finished her story happily. She smiled, and squeezed my shoulders.
"Mom, can I just meet you at the church?"
"Why, what are you planning? Is it finally payback time?" She grinned at her own little joke.
"No," I responded, desperately trying to think of something, "I just need to stop in at Doose's and get something. Kleenex! We'll need Kleenex."
Mom, obviously still not over her someone-died-we-must-be-inseparable phase, said, "Aw, I'll come with you."
Shit! I thought. Aloud, I said, "Um, well…." So very articulate.
Luckily, kinda, we stumbled across Miss Patty, sitting on a bench, bawling her eyes out. Mom started to comfort her, and after a minute she allowed me to run off. Thanking Miss Patty silently, I rushed off, heading for Luke's diner.
I made it all the way to the steps before stopping myself. Maybe he just needs space, I thought, heading back down the sidewalk. No, we need to talk about this, I told myself, steeling my nerves and making it up to the door. I put my hand on the door, to push it open, but talked myself out of it again. I turned and ran from the diner, and didn't look back.
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After the funeral, my mother and Sookie decided they needed to get a head start on buying Fran's inn directly out from underneath her casket. When they asked if I wanted to edge to the front of the line, near the lawyer pallbearer with them, I politely declined, saying, "No, you guys go ahead. I'll be in the back of the line so that when the earth opens up and swallows you whole into hell, I'll be here to tell a story."
My mom, who, if possible, was practically persuaded to pursue the inn after that, just said, "Okay," and walked off.
Walking out of the church, I somehow got roped into a conversation with Dean. My ex-boyfriend Dean. Who was dating Lindsay, who was much meaner in twelfth grade then she was in fourth grade, when she loaned me that money for the Mark Twain magnet. Lindsay, whose favorite singer was Michelle Branch. Yeah, that Dean.
"Hey, Rory," he said as he walked up to me, all tall and nonchalantly-like.
"Oh, hey," I responded, friendly. "You were in there?" Silently, I added, Not that I could notice, because my mother and her best friend were too busy working on their custom apartments in hell.
"…hung in the back," Dean finished.
I nodded like I knew what he'd said, and added, "It was nice of you to come."
"Well, she was a nice lady," he said, a bit awkwardly.
"Yeah, she was," I said, even more awkwardly.
"Listen, uh," Dean glanced around us at the people still streaming from the church, "can I talk to you for a sec? We'll catch up, I promise," he added, pointing to the line of people following Fran.
Not having anything else to say, I said, "Sure."
"Good." Dean led me two feet away from everyone else, and then started, "Okay, um…."
Wow. He was almost as articulate as me. "What?"
"Uh, are you ready?"
"Yes, I'm ready," I said, 'cause I can be really stupid sometimes.
Dean blurted out, "I asked Lindsay to marry me."
I stuttered.
"And she said yes."
I stuttered more.
"So what do you think?"
I think I said 'uh' that time around.
"I know, who woulda thought? I mean, it's weird, but Lindsay's amazing and I asked and she said yes, so…I'm getting married."
There was a rushing noise in my ears. I kinda shook my head and poked my ear, trying to get it to stop. Dean was getting married. DEAN. DEAN. DEAN.
I think there was more to the conversation, but I don't remember much. All I know is, Dean was getting married. To Lindsay, his third girlfriend. Whom he hadn't known for more than three years. And only six months after breaking up with me!
The last thing I do remember, however, was Dean walking off, mad, while I yelled at him, "Jess does not treat me like dirt!"
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Later, after dinner and our walk around the town square, Mom and I were walking back to our car, this time in dark.
"I was negotiating at a funeral," Mom said, and thank God, she sounded remorseful. Maybe her apartment in hell wouldn't be that hot.
"I saw."
"Which might've been the most inappropriate thing to happen today, until that gnat flew into Kirk's mouth and he freaked and dropped the casket."
"It was a nice save," I said, referring to the way that Mom's not that hot hell apartment might be stocked with some kind of coffee substitute.
"I'm feeling so weird," Mom continued. "I'm completely sad about Fran, but the inn…it's really gonna happen."
"Looks like it," I said, almost smiling. Maybe the inn would look nice in a picture on the wall of Mom's hell apartment.
"Hey, come here," Mom, the queen of non-segues, steered me over to a closed dress store. There was a red prom dress in the window. Suddenly I didn't wanna talk anymore. I just wanted to go home, and maybe think more about Mom's hell apartment, because that was keeping my mind off other things.
"That one would look great on you," Mom said, pointing towards it.
"Oh, I don't know," I said quickly, hoping to avoid this conversation.
"We should come back tomorrow and try it on," Mom said happily. She was so looking forward to prom; she hadn't had her own, because of me.
"Maybe."
"Hey, prom's coming up, kid. We need to get you a dress. Unless you want me to make you one?"
"No, that's okay."
"Hey, maybe we could hit the mall tomorrow after school," she started excitedly. "I could meet you in Hartford and we could go to a fancy store where they'll follow us around like we're thieves." She grinned.
"I don't wanna talk about dresses anymore," I said, sounding exactly like a five-year-old.
"We've only been talking about dresses for two minutes," Mom said. And rightly so…we had.
"Well, it feels like longer," I said stubbornly, turning away from the window.
"Rory," my mom said, now sounding a little worried.
"And I don't know if I even need a dress, okay, 'cause I don't even know if I'm going to the prom," I finally blurted out.
"I thought Jess agreed," Mom said, confused.
"Well, that was before," I said simply.
"Before what?"
"Before the party, before all the fights, before the thing in Luke's apartment!"
"Okay, come with me," Mom said, taking me by the wrist and leading me to the Jeep. After we both got in, she turned to me again and said, "Okay, we left off with the thing in Luke's apartment."
"I don't understand. One minute he's happy, then he's not. And he doesn't tell me anything ever. I mean, you're supposed to tell your girlfriend things. That's the whole point of having a girlfriend, isn't it?" Now that I'd started, everything came pouring out. I could tell this was going to be an award-worthy ramble. Or rant, depending on how you looked at it.
"Yes, it is. Now, Luke's apartment, what happened there?" Mom asked again. I ignored her, going too fast to stop.
"And I'm so tired of fighting. Or not even fighting because he won't fight. He just gets mad and disappears and then comes back and I don't like how I feel and I don't like what I do."
"Like what you do where, in Luke's apartment?"
"I don't wanna feel like this, I don't wanna sit around wondering when we're going to talk, if he's mad, why he's mad. I hate this. I really, really—"
"Honey," Mom yelled, "you gotta tell Mommy what happened in Luke's apartment!"
I sighed, and then decided to tell her. "Jess and I went up to Luke's apartment and we were kissing and then it seemed like he wanted to…." I trailed off, letting Mom's imagination finish the sentence. It did.
Her eyes were really big as she asked, "Did you?"
"No," I sighed, neglecting to mention then. "And then he got all weird like he was mad at me."
"Hey, if he was mad at you because you wouldn't have sex with him, then he's a jerk."
"I know that," I sighed again, "but I don't' even know if that's why he's mad at me. I don't know if he's mad at me. I don't know anything because he won't talk. He just sulks, then disappears, and just when you're through with him, he shows up at hockey games with Distillers tickets."
"Distillers tickets?" Mom asked, confused. "What Distillers tickets?"
"Oh, that's right," I started sarcastically—the sarcasm for me, of course, "you don't know about that because I didn't tell you because I was embarrassed because I didn't wanna be that girl and you don't want me to be that girl, but after the hockey game, I was that girl."
"What girl? Help me, drag me along, honey," Mom pleaded.
I exhaled. "The girl who lets her boyfriend treat her like dirt"—because it was true, Jess did treat me like dirt—"and then lies to her mom about it."
"Okay, you need a breath here."
I ignored her and continued, "Something's going on with him and it's been going on for awhile."
"You can't make him talk, Rory," Mom said wisely. "He has to want to."
"But why doesn't he want to?" I asked, desperately. This was so hard.
"Because it's probably hard for him." Mom sighed, and just stared at me for a little while. "Honey…" she started.
"I don't wanna talk about it anymore. I'm tired of talking about it. I'm just…tired." I curled up as much as I could and leaned into the car door.
"Okay," Mom said quietly, starting the car and easing us back home.
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The next morning, I walked out of my room all dressed for school to the wonderful smell of coffee. There was actually food on the table, and it looked edible. I smiled.
"I thought I smelled coffee," I said, sitting across from my mom.
She stood up and swept her arm over the food, Vanna-style. "Good morning, your highness. I trust you slept well."
"And to what do I owe this lovely display of domesticity?" I asked, taking a sip of my coffee.
"Well," Mom started, refilling her own cup, "being brilliant and all, I figured you would probably still not be in the mood to go to Luke's this morning, so I thought we'd have a nice little breakfast here."
"Wow, okay," I said, impressed. Of course, I knew what she'd done the second I took of bite of my pancakes. "Hey."
"Good?" Mom asked, smiling. She knew I'd figured it out.
"These are from Luke's," I told her.
"What?" she asked innocently.
"You got up this morning, went to Luke's and brought this back."
"Well, I sure as hell am not gonna cook."
I smiled. "They're good, thank you."
"Put 'em on a plate just the way you like 'em," Mom smiled back.
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Later that morning, as I got on the bus to school, I was only thinking of Dean, and the wedding announcement Mom and I had seen in the paper. Then, of course, the "bomb" was "dropped".
All the people getting off the bus dispersed, and suddenly, like the parting of the Red Sea, I could see the back seat. And Jess. Wondering what he was doing on the bus to Hartford so early in the morning, I walked over to him.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey," he repeated, not at all surprised to see me.
"Can I sit?" I asked, seeing as we hadn't talked to each other since our fight.
"Uh, sure, sit." After I sat, he leaned towards me and said, "I thought you took an earlier bus."
"Oh, my first class got canceled today."
"Oh." He seemed a little disappointed, but bounced back. "So what's been going on?"
"Nothing much. Fran died."
"I heard."
"I went to her funeral yesterday," I said, noticing a large duffel bag out of the corner of my eye. A very familiar large duffel bag.
"Luke went, too," Jess said.
"I saw him there," I nodded.
"Yeah?"
"He was in the back."
Jess nodded for a minute before leaning towards me again. "I can't go to the prom."
When I looked at him, he added, "I couldn't get tickets."
"Oh," I said quietly.
"Sorry," he said just as quietly.
The bus slowed down to a stop, and I stood up.
"This is my stop."
"Okay," Jess said simply.
"So…you'll call me?"
"Yeah, I'll call you."
I turned to leave. After a few steps, Jess caught up to and grabbed my arm. I turned back towards him and he gave me a deep, deep kiss; deeper than any he'd ever given me before. It tasted sad…like a goodbye.
With a tear in my eye I pecked him after we separated.
"Goodbye," I whispered.
He nodded, and settled back into his seat.
Wishful thinking, I suppose, imagined the glistening in his own eye.
He was gone.