There's Luke
Chapter Four
(Luke's point of view)
She actually wants to move into the Twickham house. Somehow, I managed not to screw this one up. She wants to move there with me.
I'm standing here in her kitchen, holding Lorelai in my arms, with this ridiculous grin on my face. And all I can think about is Taylor.
That is not right.
As soon as Lorelai told me she wanted the house, as soon as I was able to think clearly, I realized that I told Taylor that I didn't want the house. Now I need to fix that.
When I pull away from her, she looks different. She looks calm. She's smiling. "So. I guess we're moving?" she asks.
I nod. "We are. Assuming Kirk hasn't bought the house yet."
"Kirk?" she asks, scrunching her forehead in that way that she does sometimes.
"It's a long story that that involves a steam room full of almost naked old men and Taylor in a towel, so I'd rather not go into it."
"Oww," she says, shutting her eyes and throwing her hand over her face.
"What?" I ask.
"The image of that is like jabbing a knife into my eyes. It's King Lear over here. You can't say things like that."
I laugh. "You don't like hearing about it? Try being there." She smiles. I love it when she smiles, but it feels especially good to see her smiling today. The way she looked when I got here… I hate seeing her like that. I'd do anything not to have to see her that hurt again.
"But the point is, I need to go see Taylor," I say. "You're welcome to come--"
"But I don't know that I'll ever be able to look at Taylor again." She sighs, shaking her head. "You know, I think I'll let you work this out with Taylor. I was thinking I should go see Sookie, bring her a present for the baby."
"The baby. I'd almost forgotten about that."
"Me too. That's the problem."
"So, I'll go talk to Taylor, and I'll find you afterward?" I ask, putting my hands on her arms.
"Good plan." She leans in and kisses me. "Good luck," she says softly.
"It'll be fine," I say. I think it will be fine. I'll make it be fine. I'm getting this house.
"Luke," she says again, putting her hand on the back of my neck and sending a chill down my spine.
"Yeah," I reply.
"I love you," she says. I would say it back, but I get the feeling she doesn't want me to. It was more like a "thank you," I think.
"I know," I say, because it's what she wants to hear. And because it's true. I do know.
And now I'm sitting in my truck, racing to see Taylor. I never thought I'd drive over the speed limit, or even at the speed limit, to get to Taylor, but here I am.
I park my truck in front of the diner. I don't go in, but I can tell that it's not crowded. That's not unusual for 4:00.
I pause outside the door to Taylor's store for a second and take a deep breath. If this were about anything else, I'd barge in, force my way through the Brownie troupe at the ice cream counter, and just tell Taylor what he is going to do for me. But this isn't anything else, this is the rest of my life, and maybe I should approach it differently. Calmly.
I take another breath and walk in. There are little girls in brown vests everywhere; I can hardly move. They're eating and jumping and playing those little clapping games where they sing annoying songs.
"Ahh, Luke! Hello!" Taylor shouts over the squeals and high-pitched conversation. "We're out of double chocolate chip fudge. Very sorry."
"I'm not here for ice cream," I say as I navigate my way to the counter. Must stay calm. Also, must not step on the daughters of any of my customers.
"No?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. "I can't entreat you to sample our Mocha Swirl? It really has quite a rich and—"
"Taylor," I interrupt. Must stay calm. "I need to talk to you about the house."
"The house? What house?"
Must stay calm. "The Twickham house, Taylor."
"Oh, yes, the Twickham house. Surely you haven't changed your mind?"
I'm standing at the counter, gripping the edge in frustration. "I want the house."
Taylor rolls his eyes dramatically. "Of course you do," he says, turning around and rearranging a stack of glass dishes.
Must stay calm. "What does that mean?"
"Well, did you talk to Lorelai?"
"What? Yes. What does that have to do with—"
"And, as it turns out, Lorelai does want to move?"
I take a deep breath and stare at him. He's made his point.
"Taylor," I sigh. I don't feel like playing this game. "Can I still get the house?" He must sense that I'm serious about this, because he doesn't take long to respond.
"I never even reversed the paperwork. I knew how this was going to go as soon as you told me you didn't want the house."
"So, it's mine?"
"It's yours. In fact…" he walks away and unlocks a cabinet under the cash register. "I had this delivered this morning just in case."
He's holding a key ring with two silver house keys hanging from it. I've never been so happy to have someone completely ignore my instructions. He hands me the key ring. The relief is instant.
I nod. "Thanks, Taylor."
"Are you sure you wouldn't like to sample one of our flavors? Strawberries-in-cream has been especially popular today."
"Bye, Taylor," I say, making my way back to the door through the sea of four feet tall children.
I make my way to the door, and am glad to finally be outside. I turn towards the diner and find Lorelai walking down the street with Sookie, Jackson, and two baby carriages. Before I have a chance to say hello, or to tell Loreali that the house is ours, Sookie almost knocks me over when she throws her arms around my shoulders.
"Luke! Luke!" she shrieks. "I am so happy for you! It's just… I mean… Can you believe it?"
After a few stunned seconds, I pull her arms off of my shoulders. Her eyes are puffy. She fans her face with her hands. "I'm just so happy for you." She literally squeaks this statement, and it would be funny if it weren't so real. I kind of understand how she feels, too.
Tears start falling from her eyes. She throws her arms around me again, this time around my chest.
"You're getting married! Married, Luke!" She's shouting in excitement, and I can see Lorelai tensing up, checking her surroundings for Babette or Patty. She's not ready for everyone to know; she hasn't told her daughter yet.
Jackson walks over and pries her away. "Sorry, Luke. She's still a little hormonal," he says in a half-whisper.
"Am not!" says Sookie.
"You should have seen her when Lorelai got to the house," Jackson adds. "Speaking of which, we need more Kleenex."
"Don't worry about it," I say. "Congratulations, by the way, Sookie," I say, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. "And Jackson." I shake his hand.
"And you!" says Sookie. "And Lorelai!" She starts giggling. "And Martha, for being born! And Davey, for being Davey! It's just-- I'm just so--" She starts fanning her face again, about to cry. As Jackson tries to calm her down, I sneak over to Lorelai. I lean in towards her ear.
"I got it," I whisper as I take her hand. She squeezes my hand and smiles.
"Okay then," she responds, still holding my hand, smiling, just looking at me.
"So, Luke, Lorelai… an early dinner? We were going to pick up a burger at the diner, but we could all eat together," offers Jackson.
"Actually, if you don't mind, could I borrow Lorelai tonight?" I ask. "There's some important stuff we need to do with the Twickham house—"
"Ohmygosh the house!" Sookie exclaims. "Did you— Is it yours?"
"Yeah. It's mine," I say.
"Luke!" she squeals, and again throws her arms around me. "You're getting a house, you're getting a house." She's actually singing this.
"Maybe it's better that we eat alone tonight," Jackson says as he pulls Sookie away. "Too much excitement."
Lorelai wraps her arms around Sookie. "Good night, sweetie," she says. "I'll call you tomorrow?" Sookie nods. "And good night little baby Martha. You watch out for your mommy, okay?"
After a few more goodbyes, we finally split up, and I'm left standing on the street with Lorelai.
"So, Mr. Mysterious, what is this something we have to do tonight?" she asks.
"I need to show you the house."
"I've seen the house."
"No. Not the way I mean."
I can tell she's confused, but she doesn't say anything about it. She's still holding my hand, and we walk quietly to the Twickham house. I can feel her new ring pressing against my hand. This can't be real, but I think it is, and I'm scared and so incredibly relieved at the same time.
The house looks better now than it has in years. Apparently its owner's death was all it needed to get a fresh coat of paint, new shutters, and a doormat. But even though it's a little neater around the edges, it's still the same house I've wanted for so long.
I don't know when I got it into my head that I should live here. Or why. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Mr. Twickham lived here for so long and I knew he'd never move. By devoting myself to this house that would only be sold when he died, I didn't have to feel so guilty about living in a cramped apartment and not really trying to get my life moving. It wasn't my fault; I was just waiting for the house to hit the market. It had nothing to do with my own fear. Nothing. I was just waiting.
So when Twickham died, that was my chance. If I didn't take it, I'd be dooming myself to a lifetime above the diner.
We're walking to the front door, and I love the feeling of house keys in my pocket. I hand the key ring to Lorelai. "Would you like to do the honors?"
I'm surprised when she shakes her head. "No. You bought the house. You open the door." She doesn't say this in a mean way at all. In fact, I feel like she just gave me a present.
I put the shiny key in the lock and the door swings open. The hardwood floors are still shiny with polish, and the whole house smells of Pine-Sol.
"Wow," she says. "It looks so different when it's empty."
It's funny that she says that, because I had the complete opposite thought. I can see everything, down to the used coffee mug sitting in the kitchen sink. Can't she see the living room? Can't she see the couch with the beautiful brunette reading in front of the fire? Can't she see the toddler, asleep with her head resting on her mother's lap? Can't she see me, sitting in the armchair, pretending to read Sports Illustrated but really staring over the magazine and watching my family?
I'm not sure exactly why I needed to show her the house tonight, but I did. I needed to show her the way I see it. It's my house right now, but I need to make it hers. I need to make sure she knows it's hers.
She's standing at the bottom of the staircase, running her hand over the white banister. "It's beautiful, Luke."
"Yeah, it is," I say, but I'm not sure I'm really focusing on the conversation. I'm too busy thinking about this house, how it's going to look soon. I can see Lorelai everywhere. But then again, even before I knew her I could see her here.
"So, give me the grand Luke tour." She puts her hand out in front of her, gesturing for me to take it, and I notice her ring again. She's grinning and her eyes are bright. God, those eyes. They make me feel like some dumb 15-year-old, in love for the first time. But I'm not 15.
I could start downstairs with the kitchen. It has this great big stove with a brick overhang. Or I could take her through the living room, with the original mantle and fireplace. But that's not really why I'm here tonight.
"Okay," I say. "Let's, uh, start upstairs."
"Ooh-la-la. You get straight to the point, don't you?" She let's me guide her up the stairs, down the hall to the left, through the white door on the left side of the hall.
And here it is. Our room. To her, it's completely empty, but I can see everything in it already. I decide to tell her, because it's a little weird that I'm standing here staring blankly at the floor.
"So…" I say, unsure of how to begin. "I've got this all planned out."
"What planned out?" she asks.
"The way the house looks. I just – I can see how everything will look."
"And? How does this room look?"
"Well, this is our room."
"I got that much," she says, smiling.
"Okay… This is where our bed goes," I say, gesturing broadly towards an area of the wall across from the two windows looking out at the street.
"Good choice. What kind of bed? Can it be a four-poster? I really want a four post bed."
"Sure. Whatever you want." I mean that, too. Because when I see the way the house is going to look, I don't imagine it the way I would want it to look if I lived here by myself. I see the Lorelai things in the house, too: the high heels thrown on the ground, waiting to be stepped on, the ridiculous monkey lamp in the living room, the Cheetos in the kitchen, the four-post bed.
She just stands there completely still, except for her eyes, which are darting around the room. I think that she's beginning to see the Lorelai things, too. She can see it now; it's not my house, it's our house. And even though she hasn't said anything, I can tell she's happy, because her eyes are bright.
The end, for now. The next chapter should be the rest of the tour from Lorelai's point of view. Thanks for reading. Please, please review!