Title: Too Close For Comfort
Chapter Six: The Leeopolis…es…?
Time Frame: I suppose it's right around early to mid-October.
A/N: I promise, I will totally have more soon. And more quickly. Just…be happy that my computer decided to be nice to me tonight…that's the only reason you have this. :D
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"What did you do?" Mom demanded to know, reaching her hand to touch my hair. I simultaneously hit her hand and touched my hair.
"I dunno," I shrugged. "I just…cut it."
"But why?"
"Do you know how hot it is?" I asked, leveling a gaze at her.
"Granted," she gave me, "but you didn't ask."
"What? Why should I have to ask you?"
"You know what I mean. You didn't tell me first."
"I'm so sorry," I said mock-apologetically. "I forgot I had to run all decisions by you first." Then a thought hit me, and I asked worriedly, "Do you like it?" I put my hand back up to the shorter end of my hair.
"If I don't, will you put it back?"
"Mom," I sighed, dropping my hand.
"Yes, it's very pretty." She smiled.
"Thank you. Was that so hard?"
"Yes, very," she said, nodding.
I smiled, and then tried to get the conversation away from me. "How're you and Dad adjusting?"
She shrugged and leaned deeper into the couch, throwing her head back. "It's hard."
"I'll bet."
"I mean, we're just barely readjusting to each other. He won't…." She sighed. "He won't talk to me. And I can't…I can't handle it. I need to know why the hell he left Sherry. I need to know if they talked it out or if he just walked out. If he just walked out, I don't think I can trust him to stay anymore. I mean, what's to say he won't do the same to us? But, you know, we had a great time in Europe. You know, you were there."
I nodded, keeping my eyes on her.
"But that was Europe. That wasn't here, where we know people and people know us and most of them know our history, and I don't know if Chris is doomed to repeat history forever and ever, and I just wish he would talk to me, but he won't, and instead he drives three hours to work, works for four hours, and drives three hours back. And I don't know if he's seeing his other daughter at all, and I know he's hardly seeing you, and when he gets here all he wants to do is go to bed, and usually with me, and I can't do this, and I wish I could figure out a way to make this work, because it's killing me. It won't work like this for much longer. It just won't. I can tell these things, you know. I'm psychic."
"Since when?" I asked, hoping to steer away from the more serious parts of that monologue.
"Since I slipped in the shower this morning." She smiled at the joke quickly. "It's also common knowledge. This strained relationship will kill us before too long."
"Aw. I like you un-killed."
Mom finally looked up, and smiled. "And I like you un-killed, too. And I also like the fact that I'm not the one paying for you to go to that big fancy school and learn words like 'un-killed'."
"Hey! I have hormones," I protested, gesturing to my stomach, which was just over six months big. And six months big? Is big.
Mom smiled her patient pregnancy smile. "Everyone has hormones, sweet. Yours are just pregnant. That makes them bigger."
I laughed, and then yelled. "Ah! I was being indignant."
"I know. I tricked you into laughing. And somehow, I can even do that without ever having gone to a big fancy school like Yale." She held her arms up in a shrug of disbelief, shaking her head.
I tried to stare at her meanly, but she kept shaking her head in that stupid little pose, and I soon burst out laughing.
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I only had two classes. Two. I was originally gonna take, like, five, but then I got pregnant, so I was only gonna take three, but then I got here and I was very pregnant and I wasn't feeling well the day we did course selection, so I only got two.
Now, my two classes were actually giving me the right amount of hours I needed each week—barely—but they were so stretched out and so much less than Paris's workload that I never saw her. I usually ended up sitting around the common room, reading What To Expect When You're Expecting or watching one of the endless list of movies Mom kept sending me to watch that had even the tiniest little thing to do with pregnancy.
I was in the middle of my third viewing of Nine Months, one of the more aptly-picked titles, What to Expect When You're Expecting spread out on my lap, my homework settled next to me, when I suddenly stopped the movie, put the book on top of my homework, and left the suite.
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I walked for maybe an hour before finally getting tired enough to want to sit down. I still passed about four benches, choosing instead to go to this little café I spotted across the street.
The smell of coffee was overpowering the second I walked into the café. I still wasn't allowed to have an actual cup of coffee, according to Dr. Robinson and our last visit, but she'd said I could have coffee-flavored things, or stuff with a small amount of coffee. Because of this, I was thrilled to no end when I saw "Coffee-Chocolate-Cheesecake" listed on the menu. I immediately ordered the biggest piece, along with a warm milk.
The very first bite I took was so coffee-y that I was bowled over—the last time I'd had something coffee-flavored was in Belgium, when Mom had left her coffee on the table for half a second while standing up to get more chocolate, and Dad had been in the bathroom. I'd stolen her cup and taken the smallest sip known to man when Mom snatched it from me and yelled, "NO COFFEE FOR BABY!!" loud enough for Jackson, whom she was imitating, to hear, all the way back in the States.
Halfway through the piece, I was feeling a little light-headed. I didn't know whether it was the coffee, or the excitement from the coffee, or what, but I laid my fork down, got up for water, and then settled into my seat, leaving my cheesecake for later. Without anything to do—I'd left everything in the suite—I glanced around and noticed independent newspapers in the corner boasting news on the arts. Shrugging, I waddled over and picked a paper up, before waddling back to my seat and plopping down.
Yeah, that too. I was waddling now. Waddling. Like a duck. I was like a duck. I was like a five-foot-seven blue-eyed brunette fat duck, waddling everywhere. It was the most embarrassing on campus, where I lived, waddling down halls and through the campus. My third trimester was quickly approaching every day, and the next thing I knew I'd be in a hospital bed screaming with pain.
I looked forward to that every…single…day.
Trying to get my mind off of my stupid wandering thoughts, I opened the newspaper to the first page, which happened to be the page full of ads. Of course, almost every page was full of ads, but I picked the one without any substance at all. I flipped the pages idly, and then suddenly stopped as something caught my eye.
Are you between the ages of 14 and 25?
The mother or soon-to-be mother of a small child?
Tired and lonely in your time of need?
WE CAN HELP!
We are all in your shoes, too!
We know how you feel!
Come to the young mothers group!
Monday 6:30 pm, Tuesdays 5:30 pm, Wednesdays 7:00 pm, Thursdays8:00 pm, Saturdays 10:00 am and 9:00 pm.
Children welcome at all meetings!
I glanced at my watch. Seven. And I knew it was Monday, so…. "Aw, damn," I muttered, secretly relieved. "Guess I can't make it! I'll wait till next Monday."
I ripped the small ad out and tucked it into my pocket, promising myself to ask opinions on it before deciding whether or not to go.
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There was a knock on the suite door—a frantic, hardly pausing knock, one that made you think the knocker was in some mortal peril and if you opened the door a second too late, their blood would be splattered all over the walls of the hallway.
And maybe Identity had less to do with pregnancy and more with giving me wacko thoughts and really bad nightmares.
Anyway, so there was a knock on the door, and all four of us—we were all somehow in the common room, all doing random things—said simultaneously, "It's your turn."
I glanced to the left of me, where Tanna was sitting in a chair, staring at the TV screen.
"Hey, Tanna?"
"Huh?" she asked, directing the words toward me but keeping her eyes on the television.
"Do you think you could get that? Janet's doing push-ups, and Paris is doing homework, and I don't feel like waddling."
"Okay," Tanna said, standing and walking to the door. I watched as she opened it, and happily stood up when I saw who it was.
"Lane!" I said, waddling over. I wrapped her in a hug, thrilled to see my best friend. "What are you doing here?"
"Well," she started, rolling her suitcase over the threshold, "funny you should ask."
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The next thing I knew, Lane, my mom, and I were sitting around the kitchen table, back in Stars Hollow, and Lane was re-telling her story.
"Zach and Brian and I were in New York checking out other bands, and we were supposed to be home by nine, like I'd told my mom, but there was some kind of major accident on something somewhere, and we were completely stuck. We couldn't find a single way to even get onto the road, let alone actually go anywhere. So I tried to find a bus, but the buses were all behind. Finally we all chipped in and got me a train ticket into Hartford, where I got a bus into Stars Hollow, but by the time I got home it was almost eleven. I walked into my room and my mom had found everything."
"Everything?" Mom asked, her eyes wide. I nodded solemnly, along with Lane. I'd had the same exact reaction the first time through, also.
"Everything. She'd spied a loose floorboard and pried it up, and found my CDs there, and somehow she found all my false bottoms and little niches and…she got into my closet."
"Oh, God," Mom shuddered. "That place is, like, the anti-Mrs. Kim haven."
"I know. Everything in there is the exact opposite of what my mom wants. I mean, even though she's known about the band for a few months, she still doesn't approve, and now she really doesn't approve. I mean, she even found my makeup kit." Lane shook her head. "I asked if she'd let me stay there, since she knew everything, and we could have no secrets and I could stop going to Seventh Day Adventist and—she said 'Children do not make the rules. You may move out and live like that somewhere else.'" I saw the tears collecting in the corner of her eyes. I grabbed her with one arm and hugged her; Mom did the same.
"Aw, sweetie. You know you can always stay with me."
Lane, fully crying now, nodded into our shoulders. "Thank you so much, Lorelai."
"Anytime, hon. Anytime."
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"Mom?" I asked, pushing her bedroom door open late that night. She muttered something in her sleep and rolled over. I edged into her room and towards her bed, shutting the door and the small ray of light out. I slid under her covers, leaning my head on her shoulder. "Mom?" I asked again.
"Rory?" she muttered.
"Yeah," I responded. She maneuvered her arms until she was wrapping me in them, and I snuggled towards her.
"This is a change," she commented. "Usually I'm the one crawling in bed with you."
"I have to ask you a question," I said.
"Mmm, what is it, sweetie?"
"Today I was reading this newspaper, and there was an ad for a young mothers group. I was just wondering—should I go?"
"Do you want to?"
"Maybe," I said. "I'm not sure. I mean, it might be nice to meet people my own age in my same situation, but it might be a little weird."
"Yeah. I dunno. If you want to, you should. It's probably a good idea, though."
"Lane said the same thing. I asked her on the car ride here."
"Is she asleep down there?"
"Yep. She's curled on the couch, the blanket covering every inch of her."
"How's she doin'?" Mom asked quietly.
"Okay," I shrugged. "She stopped crying not long after you went to bed, and then we just talked about nothing in particular, but mainly Dave and Jess, before she drifted off."
"How is Dave?"
"In California."
"And Jess?"
I shrugged again.
"As I thought," Mom said softly. "Still haven't told him, huh?"
I shook my head.
"Ror, sweetie, he'll be back here eventually. Luke is his uncle; they are family. I think he might wonder if you have a baby born nine months after you guys had sex."
"I can always say it's yours."
"You will not. If you do, somehow, somewhere, it will get back to my mother, and then we shall all die. Besides, even if he doesn't see you, you know the second Miss Patty sees him, she'll tell him all about it."
"Well, then, I'll just have to keep him away from Miss Patty."
"Oh, honey," Mom sighed. "Just…call him. Write him. E-mail him. Do something. He needs to know."
"I know," I said uncomfortably, starting to squirm. "I know."
"Good. You should." Mom planted a kiss smack-dab on the top of my head. "Get some sleep. You need it."
"Okay," I said, remaining where I was. Mom kissed my head one more time, and then rolled back over. I lay there, on my side, my knees curled as close to my stomach as they could be, staring at Mom's open closet. Jess should know. Jess should know. He should.
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After asking every single person I knew their opinion on the young mothers group, I finally decided to go Saturday night at 9:10. Figuring I could find the place quickly, I headed out right then. Unfortunately, it took me half an hour to locate the general area of the place, and I didn't make it to the building till around 9:45.
As I got closer, my face fell. The place looked completely deserted. The lights were off and the door was closed. When I reached it, I tugged desperately for a few minutes, and then sighed. I'd finally gotten my courage up to go to this group, and the door was locked.
"You here for the young mothers group?" a voice asked. I spun around, and noticed a faint orange spot glowing in the darkness of the side of the building.
"Yeah?" I answered, a little apprehensively.
"Sorry, hon, they're done for tonight." There was a sharp intake of breath, and then the owner of the voice walked forward into the light.
It was a woman about my age—maybe a little older, but she didn't look a day over 22. She was wearing a knee-length skirt that looked like it'd been made from an old pair of jeans. It had legs like jeans, but the middle was a light pink cotton print. Her shirt was blue peasant. It had an empire waist, and the hem fell at the top of her skirt. The sleeves were long and ended in ruffles, making her look very Prince-like. She had one sleeve tucked into her hand, and that same hand was holding a lit cigarette in front of her mouth.
"The only reason I'm still here is I came out for a smoke break." She laughed. "Then they all started matriculating out here, and now they're gone." She smiled at me. "First day?"
I nodded.
"Don't worry, they'll be here next week. They're a good bunch of people, too. Very nice."
I nodded again. I didn't really know what to do.
"Hey, you okay?" She looked at me, kinda worried. "You wanna go get some pie or something? We can talk if you want to."
I paused. She stared at me nicely, a slight pleasant smile on her lips. She certainly didn't look or seem evil, and she was a young mother too. Maybe we could find something to talk about. I slowly smiled. "Sure. I'm Rory Gilmore, by the way," I added, sticking out my hand.
"I'm Iliana Leeopolis," she said, shaking my hand with hers. She left her heft hand where it was, stretched behind her, so the smoke didn't come near me. After letting go, she took another quick drag on her cigarette before stamping it out on the ground. "You got a car?"
I shook my head. I'd walked from campus; it had ended up only being a few blocks away, but impossible to find.
"All righty. Wanna ride in mine? I promise I'm not a psycho or anything."
"Sure," I said, following. She continued talking as we walked around the dark corner to the parking lot, which I found strangely comforting. Actually, considering my mother, that's not that strange.
"Sorry if my car's a mess. Well, there's no 'if' about it. It's a mess." She laughed. She had a nice laugh, and it seemed to bubble up easily. "I have a two-year-old," she explained. "It's actually a miracle that I'm not a mess. I came straight here from work, which is usually the only way to insure that I don't have chocolate on my shirt or a lollipop stuck to my ass."
I laughed involuntarily. I was feeling a little more comfortable. "What do you do?"
"Oh, honey, don't ask," she sighed. "I cook, I clean, I repair toys, and sometimes, when I'm lucky, I get to be an executive assistant in Hartford!" She added extra enthusiasm to her job title and location, bouncing around like a cheerleader. "My husband works afternoons and nights," she explained, stopping at the only car in the empty parking lot.
"What does he do?" I asked, reaching for the passenger door handle.
"Hold on," she said. "Lemme find my keys." She dug through her purse for a few minutes. "A-ha! Victory," she smiled, holding up her keys triumphantly. She pressed a button and unlocked the car. "Hold on, let me clear the stuff out of the front seat for you."
I stood next to the car, watching as Iliana slid into the driver's seat. She continued talking as she pulled all of the papers and toys and empty food bags from the front seat and dumped them unceremoniously in the backseat. "Zahn—my husband—is in a band. They have an actual record deal, which means we get money when the four of them go into the recording studio and sit on their asses for twelve hours, before squeezing out one take of one song and heading back home." She leaned back and admired the now empty seat. "There," she said triumphantly. "Go 'head, get in."
I did as she said, sliding into the seat. I unwrapped myself from my now ever-present messenger bag and dropped it on the floor at my feet. "Thanks for this, by the way," I said, closing the door and looking at Iliana.
"Oh, don't mention it," she said, shaking her head. "Besides you're paying for yourself. It's not a date."
I chuckled. "I know."
"Good." She grinned, and started the car. Some weird pop/electronica fusion music started.
"What is this?" I asked, gesturing to the radio.
"Dandy Warhols, 'We Used to be Friends'," she said easily. "We can change it if you want to. I've got almost everything. I have the weirdest taste in music. I mean it, I like practically everything. And on the other hand, I can be a music snob."
"Oh, my best friend Lane's one of those! She also listens to everything and knows everything about them."
"Oh, I don't know anything about them. Sometimes I do. I mean, I'm a total matchbox twenty freak, and own all of their CDs and can sing along to every one of their songs. They're just awesome, though. Some people don't like them, and I can't see that at all. Rob Thomas, first of all, is a god. Second of all, they're just all so creatively talented that all of their songs can be seen as completely different from each other, but you can still tell they're matchbox twenty songs." She paused for a breath, and grinned. "Sorry. I've always been around music freaks my entire life. If I ever have a girl, I'm totally naming her after the patron saint of music. Sometimes I'll adore a song just because of the way the instruments sound. Bass and drums, in particular, just kill me. I always knew I'd marry a bassist," she added as an afterthought, shaking her head. "And my son's decided he wants to be a drummer, just like Daddy's best friend."
"My best friend's a drummer!"
Iliana laughed. "I don't know why that's funny to me. Just is. I also might have had some caffeine. Oh! We're here," she said, sliding quickly into a parking spot on the street, almost as an afterthought. "Come on in," she said to me, turning as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "You'll like it. They have lots of pie." She grinned, and left the car. I smiled and followed her.
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"Okay, wait. What's her name?" Mom asked.
"Iliana," Lane, sitting on my bed next to Mom, answered. "But what's the band's name?"
"I told you, I didn't ask." I turned from my closet and held yet another maternity top up against my stomach. "Whaddya think?"
"Too casual," Mom dismissed. "And Illahn—"
"Iliana," I corrected, throwing the top onto an ever-growing pile of unwearable clothes.
"Right, that's what I said. Iliana's husband is…."
"Zano, and their kid is Miles, and the drummer's name is…."
"I don't know!" I said, pulling the last three shirts out of my closet. "Anything?"
"Hmm…do you have a dress?" Mom asked. I nodded and buried myself back into my closet. Eventually I emerged with a mid-calf light blue stretch dress.
"Perfect," Lane breathed.
"Yeah, now all I have to do is fit in it." I let out a slight huff of indignation, and then headed for the bathroom.
I was getting dressed up for my baby shower. My town-wide baby shower, where the whole town was going to give me countless eccentric presents while I sat perched on a makeshift throne, a lavender party hat plopped on my head, and Kirk screaming into a bullhorn in the background.
I know these things; I have mother's intuition.
Halfway through putting on my dress, I plopped unceremoniously onto the toilet. Had I seriously just thought that? Had I just called myself…a mother?
"Mom!" I screamed, pulling the dress as quickly as I could the rest of the way on. I flung the door open so I was face-to-face with a very shocked Mom and Lane, both looking scared out of their wits.
"What? What is it?"
"I'm gonna be a mom!"
Mom stared at me for a second, and then smiled. "Oh. Oh, sweetie." She wrapped her arms around me. "You just had the shock of realization. It won't be long now." She let go. "Next thing you know, you'll be popping that sucker out and sending him or her off to fancy school, so they can realize half a month into the third trimester that being pregnant means becoming a parent." Mom laughed. "This is such a big moment!"
"I know, I get that, but…how am I supposed to do this? I'm only…." I trailed off.
"You're nineteen, sweetie. You've been nineteen for three days."
"Oh my God! I forgot!"
"You did not," Mom scolded me.
"Yes I did! I forgot it was my birthday!" I hit Mom on the shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Ow! I did tell you! I wished you a happy birthday the day of!"
"You did?" I asked, calming down. Mom nodded. I turned to Lane.
"We had cake," she said.
"I…I…I can't believe this. I can't do this! I can't believe I forgot that I remembered my birthday! How am I going to remember to, I don't know, feed the baby?"
"You'll remember to feed the baby. If only by the screaming," Mom said semi-compassionately, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
"And if you don't hear the screaming, I'll help," Lane said proudly, smiling at me. I smiled back.
"Thanks," I said softly, reaching my arms out. She stepped into them and we hugged for just a second, before Mom tapped us on the shoulder and said, "Come on, you two. Our chariot awaits." She gestured, and I saw Dad standing in the hallway, dangling his car keys and waving his watch around. I grinned, wrapped one arm around Lane's, and the other around Mom's.
"Let's go," I said excitedly. "I can't wait to see what this town thinks up next."