Hello, folks. It's...12:07 a.m. right now. And I'm in no mood for rambling. I know you are thanking god right now. Heh. Well, I'll get right to the thanking. THANKS. To all of you who reviewed, especially those who review continuously. I love you with all of my heart and you are officially in my will.
Antifangirl725: Thank you for thinking that line is brilliant. And for thinking Chapter four is HILARIOUS. You even put HILARIOUS in all caps. Which I'm assuming is an embellishment. But I could be WRONG. Oh, chuckle.I'm having way too much fun...damn chocolate...well, thanks for reviewing.
epona9009: I agree with you, I hate Chris right now. I mean, he completely tricked me in the first and second seasons. How could he not, with that classic "Nice shirt. Take it off" line in "That Damn Donna Reed." Ah, to be young again. But I agree with you- in that moment in the fifth season I wanted to seriously strangle his drunken butt until his eyes popped out of his face...And then I wanted to attack him with a cleaver. Put lemon juice on his wounds. Smash him repeatedly in the stomach with a baseball bat. And so on. Glad you liked the rest, though...My brilliantness surprises even me sometimes...Ha, just kidding.
Muffin Is Injured: Muffin. Muffin, muffin, muffin. What can I say? When I recieved your review a few weeks ago, I read it. Expecting...I don't know what. But it blew me away. I mean, you used a really exemplary sample of positive adjectives. Words that have only been used in referrence to me and my mind with a highly sarcastic undertone...like, when I trip over those annoying cracks in the sidewalk or tree roots that everyone seems to avoid but I, who is usually rambling to loudly to look down and notice them. It happens surprisingly often. I love your review with all my heart. I named it Clydette, and read it over and over until my ego was huge. Literally five times what it used to be. It has minimized quite a bit since, but the aftereffects remain. And I love Hump Day, too! Who doesn't? Unless you're amish or something. Glad you liked (no, wait, I believe the word you used was 'LOVED') my Lorelai internal Luke's buns rant and the Reader's Digest version thing. Believe me, I considered printing out your review a million times and painting it on my ceiling, but I have a popcorn ceiling and that would be a really horrible use of trees. So I digressed. The only bad thing is that now I have to live up to your hype. I hope I don't disappoint. I better not. And, oh yes, I believe I owe you a lap dance now, eh? And I'm a girl, to answer your question. Glad I seem like one. If I didn't that would be...weird.
bloodymary2: Thank you for your AWESOME review. Seriously. And don't worry, I'm straight, too...I just happen to give alot of lap dances. People don't usually want them. But I do it anyway! And free, too. Heh. And a comparison with "Muffin is Injured"? I'm touched! Seriously. Your review was another ego-booster. And I believe that Rory's crisis would be referred to as a 'one-third-life crisis.' When I was angsty and ten years old I used to call it a 'one-eighth-life crisis.' Not quite as catchy as mid-life, is it? But what can ya do. Hope, once again, that I live up to your expectations with this chapter (if you review again.)
Getting tired, so...Thanks to VeroSNM, HuntingPeace, Suzanne (love the repetition of the word 'love' by the way), LorLukealways,LukeNlorelaifan, Lynnyb, Biscuitand yg.
Also thanks toultimategilmoregirland ProFfeSseR who didn't like the rambling as much, but don't fear. There's a lot more dialogue in this chapter.
SO. Now. Without further adieu...Oh wait.
Disclaimer: Do not own Gilmore Girls.
Also, just...last note...I assumed that Chris lived in Boston because of the second season (he says he lives in Boston) and I assumed that Harvard is very near Boston because of what Sherri (Sherry?) says about Rory being able to stay in their place in the third season. So. Sorry if I'm wrong. If I am, then, um, dunno what I'll do. So. Now. Without further adieu.
Her house was unusually small and gray, and for some reason an army of small children were circling around it banging pots and pans with spoons. She could tell, because, in her room, she was trying to look out of her window. Lorelai was screaming at her to just look outside the window, to try, damnit, but Rory couldn't open her eyes. For some reason she could imagine the grayness of her house while closing her eyes, as if she had a bird's eye view. She was in her room, though, trying to ignore the only vision she had, and struggling to open her eyes. Now Christopher and his parents were screaming at her with Lorelai, as well as Lorelai's parents. The children outside were starting to climb in through her window, and all of a sudden, everything went black and silent.
Rory woke suddenly at the ringing of her cell phone. It was four P.M. that Sunday, and as she sat up in bed she realized she had a pounding headache. Her phone wouldn't shut up, as if insisting she answered it. She rubbed her head and looked at it. 'Home', it said, floating in hi-liter yellow in bold black letters- letters that naively believed she still had a home where this call was coming from. She once had, but home was something she couldn't find right now. She recalled her dream, which was getting vaguer by the second.
"Hello?" she breathed into the mouthpiece, wishing that Lorelai had hung up or decided not to go through with the call or that the smallness of her voice as she spoke would detract from Lorelai responding.
"Rory." No such luck. It was her mother's voice- hard, as it could be when she was angry or in a fight and wasn't ready to apologize. Or accept an apology.
"Mom." Her voice was a bit louder, trying to match up with the big punch Lorelai'd just thrown her.
"I just wanted to check up with you. Make sure you haven't joined any cults." It was a typical Lorelai-esque joke, but strangely free of its usual warmth. It was cold and hard and dry. It made Rory gulp.
"Oh, um…no, I'm still on God's good side." She didn't bother with a fake laugh.
"Good." The word gave her frostbite.
"Yeah, good." Silence, for a painful few seconds. "Have you?"
"What?"
"Have you…um… joined any cults?" What was this? Some weak attempt to rekindle the easy, witty relationship they'd always had? It wasn't going to come back with a few phrases of cold banter. Why were they pretending like this?
"No. I haven't."
"Oh." It was getting awkward.
"Rory, I…" There was a long pause.
"What?"
Lorelai sighed. "Never mind. I better go."
"Oh, ok." Another pause. "Mom…I…"
"What?"
"Nothing. I've…gotta go, too."
"Bye…"
"Yeah. Bye."
Lorelai almost winced as she hung up the phone. What had she just been about to tell Rory…What had Rory just been about to tell her? She didn't know. Something along the lines of "I know where you are and why you're doing this," maybe. And what was with their conversation? The tone was expected- the hardness of both of their voices was something she'd been dreading because she knew it would exist as it never had before in the aftermath of…everything. But the actual content? "Rory, have you joined any cults?" Why were they trying to mask the real questions they had for each other like that? At least she knew she wasn't lying dead in a ditch somewhere with her guts spilling out. Although it was hard to say if where or who she actually was right now was any better. In fact, "she was lying in a ditch somewhere with her guts spilling out" was a great metaphor for Rory in this situation.
As she frustratedly pulled her hair out of the tight ponytail it had been in all day, Lorelai's stomach grumbled loud enough for her to suspect the neighbors would be coming over with guns at any moment. She hadn't had time to eat anything since breakfast- which had been unsavory anyway- coffee and toast, which had been all Sookie had time to make her that morning. There'd been an unusual breakfast rush. Actually, not an unusual rush for Sunday, when most guests just wanted room service and to eat amongst the Dragonfly's signature soft pillows. But still, Lorelai had been actually displeased when she saw Sookie working her butt off in the kitchen that morning, despite the fact the Inn was making some serious business. It was selfish, she knew- she was craving something delicious and deep-fried and Sookie was already too busy appeasing the guests' cravings for something delicious and deep-fried. But now her admittedly speedy metabolism had long since used up all of the calories her tiny breakfast reaped, and she was starved. There was only one place to go in situations like these. And she didn't even want to go there right now, considering the question a certain someone who worked there was avoiding at this moment.
There were a few options. One, she could simply try to conserve her energy until tomorrow by taking very slow steps and just sleeping on the couch. But to a woman who was used to eating a burger (or two), three cups of coffee (or eight), an extra large order of fries, two scoops of ice cream (with sprinkles), a piece of pie, maybe a few bags of Raisinets, M&M's, Mallowmars, etc., a couple pickles, chips, and not to mention a miscellaneous assortment of other fatty foods that seem to go together only in her world- in one sitting, the option was preposterous.
Two, she could walk to Al's. It was Russian night, though, and she was having a hard time thinking up what exactly Al would be serving on Russian night. What do those Russians eat, anyway? I'm not even sure where Russia is located geographically. I know its in Asia or Europe- Isn't it that country you'd expect to be European but no, its like huge and right next to China. Right? That's Russia. And I don't know what kind of meat they serve there, and Al's not one known to hold back, exactly. Even when he was serving pancakes his condiments were iffy. I do not want to be caught eating ferret or mongoose or one of Hannibal Lector's siblings. So no for Al's? Yes. Al's is a definite no.
Three, she could order out. But the pizza place had crashed their delivery truck again- it had been Joe this time- and they were all on scooters and mopeds. She didn't have the patience or energy for scooters and mopeds. Need food. Now. Chinese? That place had recently gotten a lot smellier and a lot greasier now that Something-or-other Lee's sons were cooking.
Which left Luke's. The option she'd automatically cancelled out before. Luke's with the best food on the planet. Luke's with the handsome Luke with the nice buns in it. But also Luke's with the potential awkwardness between her and her handsome Luke in it. Her stomach moaned again- this time she thought it was actually speaking to her. With vowels and consonants and all the rest. Luuuuuuke's. God, I have a one-track stomach. Ahhhh, I'm so hilarious to even myself at times. Even when I'm starving- very nearly literally this time- and exhausted, I am hilarious. She couldn't resist the urge any longer. It was time for some serious deep-fried goodness. She grabbed her coat and put it on, preparing herself for the sweet seduction of one of Luke's patties (dirty) on one of Luke's special burger buns (dirty) with mounds of ketchup and onions and ahhhhhhh….
She marched through Luke's door and immediately flapped a wad of money in the air toward the counter. Screw awkwardness; they were both champs at avoiding it anyway. They should be now. Considering. "Oh, Lu-uke! If you can make me a burger and fries in under thirty seconds I will not only give you, um…" She quickly counted her money, "Three dollars, but there will also be a lot of compensation, my friend, and trust me, with all of the stretching I've been doing lately, it'll…"
She drifted off, realizing there was no Luke behind the counter, only ten confused Stars Hollow citizens staring at her with their burgers clutched in their fingers in mid-air. She cleared her throat. Be charming. Be witty. They obviously do not understand what in the name of Buddha's fat rolls you're talking about, which can only be a good thing.
"Does anyone know where…Luke is?" Caesar popped out from the kitchen and answered her question. With a dropping of an anonymous fork, the noise in the diner eventually returned.
"He's out on an errand."
"An errand?" Since when does Luke go out on 'errands'? That's so…Donna Reed. That's so…my mother. Ugh. "What kind of errand? Is he just at Doose's?"
"No, he took the day off."
"Huh. That's a really long errand. What could someone who owns a diner possibly need an entire day to order? I mean, hello, there's the Internet. And a grocery store right next door." Caesar stared at her. "Are you sure he's not actually on a killing spree? You'd be really surprised how much that happens. I mean, some person tells people they're out on an 'errand' and the next thing you know, there's ten rotting corpses in their living room. Or basement. Or any room, really, just as long as it's large enough and has some kind of smell-proof walls or windows. Just somewhere that's you know, hidden, because…" Yep, they're staring again. She cleared her throat again. "Can I just order?"
She sheepishly took a seat at the counter. Caesar disappeared into the kitchen again after giving her a 'one moment' sign. Why am I disappointed that he's not here? This way, I can avoid the awkwardness. Awkwardness is never good. But still, I sort of wish we could talk. About what? I don't know. Well…maybe I do know. But Luke is…
"Lorelai?" Lane stood on the other side of the counter, looking slightly concerned. Lorelai jumped in her seat and smiled at her daughter's best friend. She wondered if Rory had told her yet. She seriously doubted it, considering how clear the letter had been- she didn't want any more arguments.
"Lane! Hello! Wow! I haven't seen you in a long time!" she said, very cheerily, convincing even herself.
"Yeah, it's been at least three days," Lane replied, now looking a bit confused.
"Yeah, yeah. Well, it seems like longer. We never really talk anymore. It's always you taking my order and you serving me- how it should be, really- um, just kidding…" she chuckled. "But how is the band doing?"
"Actually, we're going on tour this summer."
"Wow. That's so…band-ish of you."
"I know, that's what I said."
"Where? I hope you're not getting all new- Alanis Morisette on us and only playing in like, café's because especially for new bands like yours no one knows about yet, that would be bad…"
"Oh, we're doing it my mom's way. The Seventh-day Adventist way."
"Oh, no. You mean…"
"We're going to rock out the Christian/ Catholic crowd. Churches, youth groups, possibly nunneries, but I'd have to ask my mother."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Lane."
"Nah, it's fine. It's actually pretty awesome. I mean, this is my band's first tour. We are going to finally be putting ourselves out there. Our art is going to be realized by the youth of America. And they will like it, damnit!"
"Well, I'm glad you're looking at it that way." They smiled at each other. "Uh, Lane? Luke didn't happen to tell you where he is, did he?"
"I heard he was out on an errand…"
"So, no specifics?"
Lane shrugged. "Sorry, my shift started at 12 and that's what Caesar told me…"
"So everyone's being vague. Nice." She nodded.
"Can I take your order?"
"Oh, thanks for reminding me, I'm starved. And probably losing all of my energy talking like this. In fact, that's probably how I lose all of my energy. I'll have a burger- and I think you know how I want it-"
Lane started reciting-"No lettuce, no tomato, just grilled onions mixed with raw onions and a pickle on a toasted sesame bun, two slices of cheese, with extra ketchup and mayo?"
"Ah, Lane. You pretty, pretty girl. You know me so well. And make that with a double order of fries. No, make it triple. I'm feeling risky today. Screw the clogged arteries! Screw wrinkles! Screw the reduced life span!" She smacked her fist on the counter.
"Is that all?"
"A cup of coffee, too, and keep them coming. And can you put, like, a handful of those little cute carrots on the plate next to the burger? I think Luke has some of those somewhere in his fridge. I wouldn't want to get kidney failure from eating all this crap before I finally get to see if Anne Heche ever does decide to build a spaceship and transport herself back to Celestia's planet. 'Oh, Quiness.'"
" 'Nokka dune notta?'" Lane replied, imitating Anne Heche's secret alien language.
"As I said. You know me too well."
"It's coming right up." Lane took Lorelai's unnecessary menu and went to get her order.
Watching her go, Lorelai was almost sad to think that everything was the same, including Lane…Rory's best friend…It was like the town was just rushing past her, despite how important she'd been to the town in the past. No one knew about her except for Lorelai and Luke in Stars Hollow, of course, or at least she thought no one did- but she still had the entirely unreasonable feeling that everyone should be supporting her. Like Miss Patty should've found out by now and told everyone in the town- it would've comforted her, strangely enough. As if Miss Patty or Babette spent their entire time traipsing behind the Gilmore jeep. There was other gossip to attend to. Lorelai felt alone, nevertheless, right now, in the diner with neither Luke nor Rory to banter with. Had she ever actually been in Luke's without her daughter or her then-friend, now-boyfriend/ possibly fiancé? She couldn't remember a time. But now. The atmosphere was definitely different. And who were these random Stars Hollow people? She'd never seen them before. The only people she knew in this diner were Lane and Caesar. And herself, of course.
Clink-clink-clink. The diner door opened behind her. She spun around in her swivel chair, hoping it was Luke returning from his 'errand.' It was Kirk, with a fiddle in his hand. He had a 'Countdown to Harry Potter 6' shirt on, and a wizard's hat. "Does anyone have any extra wart-remover cream? " he asked, clearly distressed. "Taylor won't give me any."
Right on cue, Taylor walked through Luke's door. "Kirk, it's only because you've been clearing my aisles of it. You've used ten tubes in the past two days! You know I don't allow any customer to use exorbitant amounts of any product in my store when I know for a fact they're using it for purely entertainment!" Lorelai looked behind the counter, where Lane was filling up a mug with coffee. They exchanged an amused glance.
Lorelai sighed. She knew two people- the two people she found most important in her world- who would've enjoyed this moment. And they weren't there beside her.
It was hard for Rory, someone who'd always had at least some kind of organization of her life, to accept this weird, lazy way of living. The day after she arrived, she woke up at noon (she thought this might just be some weird automatic self-preservation thing that meant she wanted to avoid Chris, who generally was off to work or some other place way before then, and didn't get back until at least five, when she would make sure she was out). When she noticed, to her relief, that her father had left a note on the refrigerator explaining his absence- Rory. Feel free to eat anything. I'm at lunch, she was honestly too tired to do anything but scrounge around in his cupboard for cereal. She was slightly amused to see what brands he had. At the front was the healthy stuff that a stranger at his house might be impressed with- a box of Kashi, some oatmeal, and of course, the much-coveted (by cardiologists everywhere) Raisin Bran (to reduce his cholesterol, of course). But as she delved into his supply more deeply she could see his guilty pleasures emerge. Oreo O's, chocolate Rice Krispies, and, at the very back, a mostly eaten box of Lucky Charms. She very nearly laughed. My dad is a cereal whore.
She grabbed the Oreo O's. They seemed just chocolatey enough to be disgusting and delicious at the same time. They reminded her of Lorelai in that way- Oreo O's would be something she would love, possibly something she'd put on the mantelpiece next to pudding and pop-tarts. Even though she felt uncomfortable taking anything he had, even disgusted with herself for doing it, she figured eating large amounts of his cereal was a good way to start compensating for all those times he hadn't been there. It would never be compensated, though. That was something she knew.
After eating two bowls of the stuff in her pajamas, she decided it was time to do something. What, she didn't know. It was the first time in her life she'd had all this time and no purpose or attachments. Yeah, she'd made pretty sure she'd cut all of those off. She got dressed quickly, cleaned up the kitchen, and repacked her dirty clothes, not wanting to make any sign of her existence here. She grabbed her wallet and left a five-word note- I'll be back by six.
Planless, pointless.
She didn't bother taking her car. It was Boston. There should be some form of public transportation here. She started off in a random direction, careful to note street names and building structures. She had her cell, of course, just in case. But that's all it was. Just in case. She didn't want to be dependent, even the tiniest bit. After walking two blocks, she found a bus, and not particularly caring where it went, boarded.
She sat next to a relatively good-looking college-aged guy with dark hair. He kept looking over at her, obviously readying himself to flirt. She cursed him. Usually she would enjoy this sort of attention, if it came from Logan, but she wasn't in the mood.
"So," he said, grinning at her. She gave him an exasperated smile. "Whatcha reading?" He gestured to the unopened book in front of her.
"Vonnegut," she replied shortly, not looking at him.
"Interesting choice."
"I'm sure the New York Times would agree."
"I think they would." He stared at her, still, smiling, for a minute. She pretended to read while getting more and more annoyed by him.
"Why are you staring at me?"
"I could be staring at many things. The fascinating filthy bus bench, your sweater, perhaps. Your book." God, he was like Tristan and Jess rolled up into one cocky ass-like package. She didn't say anything else, just concentrated on her reading.
The bus finally came to a stop, and she grabbed her purse and stood up. She sighed when she saw her little friend get up, too.
"What, princess? This is my school. I have to get off here or I'd probably be expelled."
"Your school…" she looked out the window and saw the sign, right in front. Harvard University. It hit her like a brick in the head.
"Are you going to move?"
"Last stop!" she could hear the driver yell down the nearly empty rows. Damn, she should've checked the bus schedules. She should've planned this.
"Oh…sorry," Rory said, walking down the aisle and out of the bus.
Harvard University- it was all the same. She remembered the last time she'd been standing in this spot. It seemed like such a long time ago- she'd been sixteen. Almost four years ago. Four years ago, she was sixteen years old, nearly seventeen- she'd been outside this open entrance, standing next to her mother.
She'd been in awe, thinking she was beholding her future. She'd been excited. Lorelai had been excited. They'd been like a damn cheerleading brigade. Rory remembered then, and she remembered now. She was a few inches taller now. Her hair was shorter. She was a little bit thinner. Four years was a little for so much change. Her mom was with Luke, for one. And she'd almost been with Christopher. Rory now had a half-sister. Rory had long since broken up with Dean. She'd gotten with Jess, broken up with Jess, Jess had told her he loved her, then she'd dissed Jess in her Yale dorm room. She'd then slept with Dean, who was married, starting a whole new cycle of breaking up and getting back together and leaving hurt people in her wake. And then Logan. And Yale- she'd gone to Yale, not this grand place in front of her. She'd changed the plan.
Four years. It was short, for everything that had happened. She could remember everything about those four years, but she couldn't seem to find a reason she was standing there. Waiting for the Welcome to Harvard University sign in front of her give her some answers. What had changed? She could answer that question, sure. She could write several term papers on that question. But…why had she changed? Was it Jess's influence so long ago that led her to this moment? Was it sleeping with Dean last year that took away the excitement she'd once felt, gazing upon this entryway? Was it Logan? It wasn't her mother- Lorelai was the one constant in her life. Now she didn't even have that. She searched and searched, but she couldn't find a reason. Was there even a reason, or had this hopeless moment been lodged in her fate since she was born?
Because now, she didn't want to go inside that campus. She didn't want to buy Harvard sweatshirts, Harvard pencil holders, Harvard gum, Harvard ice cream, or sneak into a Harvard dorm. She wanted to sleep again. She wanted a magical way to get out of this stupid mess, and she wanted something or someone to tell her why she was on the verge of frustrated tears outside of Harvard. She wanted to know why that guy on the bus was staring at her with a slightly amused expression and she wanted to be the same person who had stood on this spot four years ago with a smile on her lips and in her blue eyes and she wanted coffee damnit. That last want seemed to be the only want she could appease.
She looked at Mr. College Boy, who had yet to move and was raising his eyebrows at her. Trying to keep her voice intact, she asked him. "Where's the nearest coffee place?" He pointed wordlessly inside the campus, at a kiosk lying two hundred feet away. She looked at it. Beholding her future.
The knock came from the front door downstairs. She checked her watch. 7:00, right on the dot. Ugh. Why did every guy she dated have this problem?
"Luke, it's seven o clock!" she shouted from upstairs, struggling to line one of her eyes while using her left hand to keep her hair from falling into her face.
"I know."
"It's seven o clock, and you told me you'd pick me up at seven o clock!"
"I'm sorry, I'm still not seeing the problem." Outside, Luke began to tap his foot nervously. He checked his hair in the Gilmore's silver doorknob (very hard to do, and completely pointless) and began brushing his suit and clothes, avoiding his pants pocket tentatively.
"So…everyone knows that seven actually means seven twenty, seven fifteen at the very earliest!"
"I think I missed that chapter in Emily Post." He looked down at his shoes and scowled at the small scuff mark he'd seemed to made on the way to the door. These were brand new shoes. He'd bought them yesterday from a condescending French lady who'd charged him way too much and reminded him unbearably of Michel.
"Once again, the witty comebacks are so not your forte." She looked in her mirror again. Ugh, since when was lining so difficult? One of her eyes was at least twice as thick as the other one.
"Yeah, actually arriving for a date at seven when I said, quite specifically, I might add, that I'd be here at seven is my forte." He took his shoe off and wiped it on the Welcome mat.
"You're not giving me enough primping time!" Ow. I knew I should've just stuck with the mascara. Damn.
"I gave you plenty of primping time! I told you I'd be here at seven, I'm here at seven. You could easily have begun getting ready fifteen to twenty minutes earlier, instead of making me wait fifteen to twenty minutes to actually pick you up for a date I said I'd pick you up at seven for." He looked around, to make sure Babette wasn't staring at him through her window or something, and casually checked his breath. He grimaced and popped in a mint.
"I'm getting dizzy from the running in circles and that is not a good thing when I've got a sharp pointy object near my eyeballs!" Stupid…eyeliner…cheap…eyeliner…
"So, what am I supposed to do?" Luke smiled at the 'sharp pointy object' comment. He checked his breath again, whilst muttering at himself for being stupid. He found it to be satisfactory.
"Just wait for me to finish primping! Just…hide behind a bush! In fact, wait in the car! A lady never lets a man hear her primp. Primpery is a secret method that dates way back to the ice age days. I believe we used Velociraptor dung for eyeliner back in the day, but the same basic concept applies. Man brings home the bacon, girl gets pretty so as to get the bacon. It's quite the vicious circle if you think about it. Because then the man loses the bacon to the girl and needs to re-get the bacon. I believe God actually threw up his hands and pleaded for the mental ward when he ran into that problem." She shook her head at the weird silence that followed that rant. Is it just me or am I making little to no sense whatsoever?
"I'm coming in, Lorelai!" She's making no sense.
No, Luke! No! Ow! Whatever happened to my lining skills, huh? And look at my face, I'm all flushed. I'm shaking and I'm flushed. Why am I so nervous? I can guess why, actually. Major Max déjà vu. I believe this whole 'always be late on a date' (ooh, a rhyme) conversation is the exact one I had with him before… No, do not think about Max right now. This is about Luke and I, this is not the same as Max and I. It's not the same. Luke and I work. Work really well. I proposed. That in itself shows a level of commitment I've never, ever showed for anyone else. I just hope he doesn't pull a Lorelai. Ah! He's coming in. Hurry, hurry. Just line the eye and walk away. That's right. Alright, good. Eyes are lined, evenly, and I don't look remotely like Morticia Addams. Good. Ok…hair? Remembered to curl it? Yes, I did. Check. Dress? I'm not naked, am I? No, not naked. Wearing a good dress. Splurged on this one. And good shoes. They appear to match perfectly. Check. Lips…sheer gloss…check. Got some in my bag just in case. Mascara…check. Not too clumpy, is it? No. Subtly fuller… Good.
I'm sure about the dress though, right? Yes. Navy blue. Brings out my eyes. Not too fancy, but also sexy. And on the internet it said blue stands for femininity (good, as I don't want to seem masculine…unless he's gay…? Ok, that's totally over thinking it, Lorelai) and fidelity. Which totally says commitment. Or 'garter belt.' Either one. But whatever, I'm glad I didn't wear the red dress because it said red makes people hungry…and I don't want him to be thinking of fajitas while we're kissing, he might drool…Ew! Must promise myself never to think of that again…I'm nervous. Nervous, nervous, nervous. Can't believe I actually looked up colors on the internet so I could pick the color dress I'm wearing…that's so…spinster-ish…but not going to go into that right now, right?
"Oh, hi, Luke," Lorelai said as he entered her room, smiling anxiously, and hiding her eyeliner behind her back. "I see you've just completely ignored the conversation we had two minutes ago." He just sort of half-smiled and raised his eyebrows. He looked really, really nice- all dressed up in the clothes she'd bought him that time four years ago. She couldn't help but let her eyes linger on his body for a moment and let her mind drift to dreamland, where Luke awaited her suntanning on a beach in Brazil, with one of his burgers on the grill. They were married, of course. And she was wearing a really fabulous bathing suit, and Luke was rubbing lotion on-
"You ready?" He resisted the urge to wipe his already sweating hands on his coat. He just put them behind his back.
She zapped back into verbal sparring mode. "I mean, really. What if I was completely naked?" Gracefully, she attempted to put the eyeliner back on her armoire while actually knocking over her entire makeup bag on to the floor. She smiled in a 'oh, you know me' kind of way and knelt down. He crouched to help her, starting to buzz with the feeling he got whenever he was within five feet of her.
"Wouldn't your door be closed if you were completely naked? Or at least you would've shut it as I walked up here." I've seen you naked before. On that thought, Luke started running his hand anxiously through his hair, hoping desperately he wasn't blushing with the revealing images that were now flitting in his brain.
"But what if I had a heart attack or something while you were coming up the stairs? I would've dropped dead and I'd just be lying on my bedroom floor, completely naked. And you'd see me." She grabbed her bubble gum Lip Smackers before he could see it.
"Wouldn't you be more concerned with staying alive than me seeing you naked if you- improbably, by the way- dropped dead of a heart attack?" They put all of her make-up into the bag again and got up.
"But…You said it yourself! All these years! I drink way too much coffee, eat way too much red meat. According to you, I'm like seventy years old internally. I may be Princess Leia on the outside, minus the very uncalled for head…buns…and the whole sleeping with my brother thing, but inside I'm Yoda. Old and wrinkly and…not male…that would be weird…" She shook her head.
"Even so. You're probably not going to die anytime soon. Although, if you only cut back on your beef consumption…make it one burger a day, maybe…"
"Luke." Lorelai smiled condescendingly.
"Nine cups of coffee instead of ten?" Their familiar banter relaxed him, slightly.
"Yes, and then I'm going all soy."
"You're crazy," he said gruffly, beginning to walk towards her bedroom door.
"Some would call it charming." She grinned at him brightly.
"Should we go?" He tried to ignore his urge to immediately close the space between them, and shuffled outside into the hallway.
"Only if you promise not to make me eat any vitamins," she said, her hand brushing him on the arm. The feeling it gave both of them weirded them out. She removed her hand.
"And risk ending up in the hospital with one of my fingers chewed off? Uh, no." He tried not to let his voice crack with nervousness. He failed.
"Then yeah…" she did a mental checklist again and smoothed her hair down, taking a deep breath. "Let's go. Since you refuse to let me completely primp. I feel travestied. Really." I really hope, Luke, that you're going to address what happened or I might just smash a pie on your face. This is one of those moments. They're few and far between, my friend, but they do stand out.
They got in his truck outside- he did the awkward guy thing where he opened her side before getting into the driver's seat, which she'd never really got because girls have perfectly good arms, too. But whatever. No one spoke for a straight three minutes in the car, or made a noise, except for an occasional escaped strangled sigh from Lorelai.
" 'You look beautiful, Lorelai,'" she said in a deep voice. " 'Even though I didn't give you enough primping time. Sorry about that, of course. I plan to repay you by acting as your slave for the next three months. It starts now. I'll be feeding you, carrying you, bathing you-'"
"What are you doing?" Luke interrupted.
"Well, Luke, obviously you can't handle the whole 'opening mouth and making noises' concept on your own, so I'm doing it for you."
"Right, right. And you do realize that what you say to yourself does in no way reflect what I would be saying to you if I did speak?" He jolted in his seat when she mindlessly put her hand on his thigh, near his pocket.
"You know, I'm officially in a part of my brain where it's hard to understand any logical concept. So I don't know. Ask again when I'm back in full working mode." Luke half- smiled at her, and Lorelai pouted. She removed her hand. It was a move that filled him with mixed feelings.
"You do look nice tonight." Lorelai's pout deepened but when Luke looked back at the road again she smiled.
"You look beautiful, too, Luke."
She noticed, then, that they were parking. He opened the door for her again. She awkwardly thanked him and took his hand. She couldn't help but notice that both of them were sweating a little bit. Antiperspirant for your hands- now there's an idea.
It was only when they got inside that she noticed where they were- it was where they'd had their first date. She remembered everything about that night- the really long back of the menus, Maisy and Buddy, the history of the place- it used to be a whorehouse. And the horoscope.
I'm all in.
Lorelai's stomach did a pirouette when she saw a candle and a 'Reserved' sign waiting for them at the very same table they'd dined at nearly a year ago.
"Luke…" she looked at him and sat down, sorry, for some reason, that she had to release his hand. "Wow, it's…all the same."
"Yeah, except for the menus. A few customers actually began to cry after reading them, and that put a damper on the whorehouse feeling to this place. So they got it abridged."
"Oh," she said, forcing a nervous laugh, but her heart was pounding viciously. "Good. It was really long."
"Yeah, it was really long."
They both paused for a long time. Luke was shuffling in his seat and Lorelai was resisting the urge to make her breadstick come to life.
"So…" he said.
"Yep. So…" She laughed again, fingering her butter knife. She felt something weird and fluttery in every nerve of her body that she hadn't felt in the car.
"Have you talked to Rory?" He asked, seriously. It wasn't a small talk-ish question. Her flutteriness ceased immediately, and she sighed, trying not to let her face or voice show what she was feeling.
"Briefly. On the phone- on Sunday. I wanted to tell you, actually- she's not at my parents' house anymore," Lorelai replied, as casually as was possible.
"What- Lorelai- Wh-why?" he sputtered.
"She left a note. Something about how we were infringing on her ability to think about herself."
"Oh, my god…Where is she? Do you know? Is she ok?" He leaned forward in his seat.
"She's fine. She's beating about ten other people in the 'People I most want to evilly torture with cutlery' list I have written down somewhere - but she's fine. Didn't sound like she was dead or in danger of being dead within the next year on the phone. Or at least I know she hasn't joined any cults." Their conversation had told her at least that meager fact.
"But… where is she?"
"She didn't say in the note. But I have an inkling." She looked at Luke across the table, hoping he would get what she meant without her having to say it out loud, because that, of course, would make it true. Understanding, as expected, flickered on his face.
"Oh, no." Why? She knew it was going to hurt Lorelai. Hurt me.
"Yeah. That was pretty much my reaction."
Luke looked at her, noticing a few very subtle lines around her bright eyes that had never been there before. They weren't noticeable unless you observed her for awhile, perhaps saw before and after pictures. But Luke had memorized her face, every square millimeter of it- in all of its phases. Elated, surprised, disappointed, content, confused, angry, sad, nutty, enthused, about to crack a joke, about to say 'dirty', and that sweet, sad look she got whenever she had to talk to Rory about something that bugged her or talk to Rory about something that bugged Rory. Here he saw a mix and something strange and raw he'd never seen in her eyes. It was helplessness. Lorelai wasn't helpless, to say the least. He couldn't imagine a situation in which she could be considered helpless. Except… maybe… this one.
"When did this happen again?" He locked her into a gaze, wanting to melt away that feeling that showed so much at this moment, as if all of the fakeness she'd carried around the past five or so days was finally beginning to fade, in this rare moment of vulnerability. Vulnerable; that was another thing Lorelai was not.
"Oh…I heard about it on Sunday morning from my mother. Completely freaked out, as usual…apparently she left Saturday afternoon." She broke his gaze suddenly, after saying that, suddenly conscious of what her face was probably revealing.
"Oh. Why didn't you tell me?"
"You were…out on an errand. For three days." He grunted. "Darn long errand, eh, Luke?" She said pointedly, waggling her eyebrows.
"Oh. Right. I was." He pretended to be reading his menu carefully, averting the question she wanted to ask -'what errand?' He didn't want to answer that question, not right now. "You're sure she's fine?"
"Look, I really don't feel like talking about this. It's a date, right? We're supposed to be getting drunk and waltzing, and I don't know, making fun of waiters, not talk about daughters or anything overly…realistic."
"Sorry. I just…Rory, she's so young, and right now she's going through this weird phase. You know I think she's being stupid."
"Yeah. I know. It's okay." She paused, too, and bit her lip, to look at her menu, but looked up again quickly, the silence annoying her as it usually did. "I'm sorry, it's been a while…when is someone going to serve us?"
"Oh, I think they're bringing our food out now."
"But- we haven't ordered yet." She gestured at both of their menus.
"I told them what we wanted. I came here…last week. They insisted I did it, said something like a 'romantic date must be planned.' Which I find crazy, at least to this extent, but… so I reserved this table and they asked me what you wanted. It wasn't hard to guess." He smiled at her.
She was flattered, and the flutteriness of her nerves returned to save her from a dark Rory-induced mood. "Lucas Danes. You are one classy gentleman and a damn good date. Remind me to give you lap dances more often."
"Yeah…I figured that would cancel out the fact this place used to be a whorehouse."
"No, no. That's what I love about this place. The whole idea that at some point, a half-naked woman with tassels might have been servicing a young hopeful at this very spot. It gives me hope."
"Don't be gross."
At that moment, their food decided to arrive. For Lorelai- it was the biggest cheeseburger she'd ever seen, just the way she liked it, with fries. Although sitting next to the fries was a little bowl of fruit. She raised her eyebrows at Luke and he shrugged innocently.
Luke got something resembling pasta only it had mushy green stuff and peas on it, with a bowl of fruit on the side. She wrinkled her nose at it.
"Luke, what the hell is that?" She pointed at the green mushy stuff accusingly.
"Pesto."
"Like…Termites? Roaches? Mr. Bob's Exterminator Service?"
"No. Pesto. Want some?" He dangled a forkful of it in front of her face.
"Uh, no, I'll keep my stomach from regurgitating itself, thank you very much."
He ate his pesto, she ate her burger. He ate his fruit, she ate her fries and nibbled at the end of a grape. She drank her champagne, he drank his beer. The whole eating process took about twenty minutes. Occasionally they'd smile at each other. She was buzzing with anticipation. Of what, she wasn't sure. But she had a feeling, gnawing at her heart and brain. It wasn't a bad feeling.
"Want to go?" Luke asked, when they were done.
"Don't you have to….? Luke. You already paid?"
"Seemed pointless not to, as I knew exactly what we were getting. Plus I'd just gone to the bank."
"Convenient." Go away, butterflies…
"I thought so."
"You didn't have to do this…" She gestured to her now-empty plate, the candles, the reserved sign, his nice outfit.
"I know. I wanted to. Make this… special."
"Special. It's a word like 'fun' and 'cute' that I know you find so hard to muster out."
"You underestimate my abilities. But yes, you're right…I don't even have 'specials' in the diner to accommodate my weaknesses. Well, that, and Taylor would love it if I had 'specials.' I'd hate to please him."
"I'd hate it, too. Annoying Taylor happens to be one of my hobbies. Right there in between eating and throwing fries at people. But I don't hate this kind of special."
She glowed at him, with her eyes and mouth, the look and Rory forgotten, and he glowed right back. The space between them suddenly sizzled with what they both wanted, what they were both willing to give. Silence fell around them, the chatter and light background music of this used-to-be-whorehouse stopped for them. They were having a moment. Maybe the moment of a lifetime.
"It's not bad," he said hoarsely. They looked at each other for another long moment. Lorelai opened her mouth, wanting so badly to bring up her proposal, get him talking about it, ask him again if it was necessary. Because she was so, so sure it was what she wanted. She felt it now as strongly as she had that moment six days ago. Before she could say a word, though, Luke got up, and put a thick wad of one-dollar bills on the table to tip the waiter.
"Where are we going?" She stood up and grinned at him.
"Back to Stars Hollow."
"Oh…We're…going home already?" She didn't want to admit it, but she was disappointed. She thought maybe…she didn't know what she thought. But it had been a short date. A really short, really good date. She didn't want it to end. And, of course, they hadn't really talked yet, and she needed an answer, so…
"No. Just back to Stars Hollow. For dessert."
"For dessert. Really." The urge to talk disintegrated immediately. Maybe after dessert. Maybe during dessert. There is time. She ignored the little voice in her head that was telling her she was procrastinating. That she was afraid of what he would say.
"Yes. A special…cute…fun…dessert." She laughed. He loved it when she laughed, especially when she laughed because of him. Not at him, obviously, but…
"Well, I've got to tell you, Luke, this date is really not sucking. The lap dance offer still stands."
"I may take you up on that."
"Luke, you dirty boy." She pouted.
"Alright, back to the Hollow. This whorehouse vibe is not doing your already marginal brain a bit of good." He took her arm again, and they went back to the truck.
"Ooh, look who just said the word 'vibe.'" She giggled. She felt giddy.
Rory lay on top of her bed, a bit surprised at how her room hadn't changed at all since she'd gone to Yale. It was the same. She thought back to standing outside of Harvard. She was having déjà vu- this room, like Harvard, was yet another reflection of what she had been, and showed her what she now was. She tried to ignore the insistent pang in her gut that she was doing the wrong thing here. She had tried to learn to trust her gut, because if her brain and heart got too involved, she tended to over think things. Let moments pass before she had a chance to say what she wanted to say or do what she wanted to do. Her gut had led her to a lot of places over the past year. She had slept with Dean because of her gut. She had stolen a yacht because of her gut. She'd quit Yale because of her gut. She'd gone to her father because of her gut. Her gut had done a lot of damage, frankly. So now, maybe, she decided, it was time to let her brain and heart interfere.
She needed someone. She wasn't as independent as she wanted to be. Living with Lorelai for most of her life had made her that way- both independent (she could take care of herself) but dependent on her mother, because Lorelai was always there to cushion a fall or lead her in some direction. And her mother had never, ever left her on her own unless she thought it was right for Rory. That was, in fact, the main thing Lorelai kept in mind for everything- whether or not it was right for Rory.
She couldn't go to her father, of course. He wasn't the person she needed. He tried, so hard, to be everything he seemed to be, but he never quite made the cut. And Emily and Richard- they didn't understand her. They were to caught up in what long-standing tradition and society told them what was right to really understand what was right.
Lorelai understood her, more than any other person in the world, and she understood what was right. She needed to know, past everything, what she wanted to do with her life. She needed to talk. She didn't want to just confer with herself- that hadn't done much good in the past days, and she wasn't exactly having any revelations. When she looked at a restaurant, she didn't have an overwhelming urge to become a chef. The idea was actually laughable. When she passed a Law Office, she wasn't impelled to become a lawyer.
So now, here she was. In her room, with so many memories in it, with her past so imminent in it she wanted to recapture every single one of them in a moment. It made her sad. Her eyes filled, making her glance at her clock blurry. It was 8:30 P.M.- where was Lorelai?
She'd spent the past three days doing nothing- but at least the 'nothing' came with a routine. She'd get up at around noon, every day, always eating two bowls of Oreo O's. She'd get dressed, wonder about what she was going to do that day, wonder where Christopher was, really, (he always left a short note explaining he was at work, or at lunch, or something) and wonder where he left Gigi every day. Every day she'd walk and her feet would lead her to the same place. The bus.
She'd board, and then convince herself she was surprised when it always took her to the same place- Harvard. She'd stand outside of the entryway for five minutes, simply staring, and then get coffee at that kiosk. She'd read on one of the benches for about two hours, and then board a bus going in the same direction, and get off at a random stop. The first time, it was in front of a mall, where she took three hours to buy a sweater. The next time, it was in front of a random rundown apartment building, where she walked two blocks until she found a café, where she had a sandwich. Yesterday she'd just stayed until it made all of its stops and ended up at Harvard again. And today, she'd gone on the wrong bus. She'd stopped two blocks away from her dad's place. It was then and there that she made the first decision she'd made since Friday- she wasn't going to float anymore.
She was going to make a decision. A solid, hard decision. And contrary to what she had believed, being on her own wasn't going to make it for her. Maybe she needed arguments. Maybe she needed another person's reasons. Maybe she needed what she'd run away from.
She turned over, and drifting off into a tear-induced sleep, thanked god once again that her mother still kept that key in the ceramic frog.
"I've gotta say, Luke, your pie definitely tastes better outside."
"Really?" Luke took the blanket on their laps and made sure it was covering both of them.
"Yeah," she said, closing her eyes and savoring the sweet cherry filling and soft crust that was Luke's pie. "In fact, I'm going to have to insist on getting take-out now. It makes me wonder what I've missed out on for all these years. So young. So naïve. Thinking that pie was meant to be eaten inside, where it's warm. Where I can be sure dirt isn't going to ruin my shoes or get on my skirt. Boy, was I wrong." She had another bite.
"Mmmmmm. Luke…are you seriously not going to eat this pie? This is not normal pie, my friend. This is super pie. This pie is the Wonder Woman of pies. In fact, it's Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and Spiderman combined. No other normal, mealy pie can compare to this pie. I mean, after eating this, I will feel personally degraded if I have another bite of another pie having known that somewhere in my stomach, or sewer system, there exists a pie this extraordinary. I may have to go on freaking Prozac. And won't you feel bad knowing it's your fault, making this pie, giving it to me, with no expectations of its greatness." She shoveled a forkful into her mouth. Luke laughed.
"Yeah, unfortunately for me, I know what goes into it. Enough butter to give a small European country heart attacks. And diabetes. And…countless other diseases that even I don't want to mention while you're eating that."
"I appreciate it."
Luke grunted in response. It was a manly grunt, but he looked at her eating his pie with eyes that seemed softer. He loved seeing her face contort into her weird range of expressions- now, while she was eating, it was ecstasy. She actually moaned as she chewed the final piece of crust, keeping her eyes closed a few seconds after swallowing. It was in this moment that she made a decision that she wouldn't let herself back out of. She turned to Luke, an oddly serene look on her face.
"Luke, why won't you answer me?"
Suddenly his body felt very warm and tingly. His dry mouth opened slightly, and his mind refused to let any thoughts resembling sensible in its midst.
"I- Lorelai, I-"
"I've been waiting for six days. Is it because you think I don't want it? That it was just a desperate tactic to end your rant? It wasn't. Because I do want it. I really do. I know I haven't got the greatest commitment track record. You, of all people, should know- you've known me for what I consider the most important part of my life. But, Luke, this is different. I feel it. And I hope you feel it, too, otherwise I'm making a complete fool out of myself right now. Because I was right when I was rambling about my shoes and god knows what else. You are the one person who will always be there for me. Regardless of anything. Regardless of anyone. You were the person I went to last Friday night, and it wasn't because of your really great coffee. Or pie- although this is some damn good pie. Or burgers, or fries. Although, you do feed me. And for that I am grateful, because otherwise I'd probably live off of stale pop-tarts and Al's, and I'd probably be dead…or hospitalized…by now…" She paused to scrape some cherry filling off of her plate with her fork.
"I…" Luke started, but Lorelai interrupted.
"It's because…" she sighed, closed her eyes, and licked her fork, took the plunge- "I love you."
Luke was still gaping at her, his courage, the courage he'd had last Friday night when he'd told her he loved her, too, lost. A torpedo of emotions exploded in his body, leaving him speechless and incapable of movement. A random voice in his head was urging his arm to reach into his right hand pants pocket and retrieve the box that was lying there, burning like a coal, but his arm wouldn't listen. He merely absorbed the moment. Why did he deserve this? Why did he deserve this beautiful woman to tell him that he was all these amazing things and that she loved him? It was too much for him to take.
"I bought a house," he blurted out.
Lorelai opened her eyes and looked at him. "What?"
"I bought a house. The Twickham house."
"Luke…What?"
"I bought a house last week, with the old guys in a steam room, and I saw Kirk's chest…thing, and I bought a house. But now I don't have it anymore. Damnit, I need to talk to Taylor…! He's probably asleep by now…stupid…cardigan man…always goes to bed at nine…" He got up and started to walk very quickly in the direction of Taylor's house.
"Luke! Luke, talk to me." Lorelai got up and began to jog after him.
"I bought a house. The Twickham house. I need to talk to Taylor," he repeated, looking back at her.
"So I've heard. Why did you buy a house?"
Luke stopped and looked at her, as if just realizing he had been speaking to her.
"For us," he said breathlessly. They locked into a gaze.
"Us…as in…you and me?" Lorelai said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
He nodded slowly, his face still grim. Need to talk to Taylor… She smiled slightly.
"Luke, does this mean…I mean…does this buying a house thing…Does it mean…?" she babbled on, seemingly incapable of stringing together a real sentence, and crossed her arms.
If it had been a cartoon, a light bulb would've flashed above Luke's head. Realistically, his brain began to work again, and that urgent voice in his head telling him to reach inside his pocket finally got through the silent stubbornness in a move that was just as symbolic as that metaphoric light bulb. He knelt down in front of her, the old gruff Luke-voice in Luke insisting that this was corny, and distinctly chick-flickish and if it were a movie 'Time After Time' would be playing, or some other random corny eighties song that he didn't want to know about, and that his reputation as a gruff burger-flipping monosyllable man would be ruined hereafter. But that un-Lukeish voice was insisting he pull that box out and say something extremely corny to the now- gaping woman who was in front of him.
He decided, for only about the fifth time in his life, to listen to that voice.
"Lorelai…will you marry me?"
GASP! Please review. I will love you forever. Sorry for reusing the Anne Heche reference. Couldn't help it.