Title: There's Luke
Chapter: Seven (Lorelai's point of view)
Sneaking in is a lot like sneaking out. I said this to Luke earlier, but I'm thinking it again as I pull into my parents' neighborhood. I feel that same mixture of anxiety, adrenaline, and determination that I felt when I was 15 and climbing out my window.
I park my car on the street, a couple of houses away from my parents. They can't know that I'm here. I have no interest in talking to either of them today, or any time soon. It's too much.
Talking to Rory is also too much, but that's a too much I'm going to have to deal with. I'm going to be to the point and honest. I'm the mature one here; she's the kid. She's made that perfectly clear.
I check to make sure I have my keys – what would be worse than getting locked out in Hartford? – and I quietly shut the door to the jeep. Here we go.
Once I reach my parents' lawn, I slip off my high heels and carry them the rest of the way. The grass is still dewy at 7:30 in the morning, a fact I'd forgotten since I don't remember the last time I was here at 7:30 in the morning, and I know that my black heels on the wet lawn would not turn out well for the shoes or the grass. Plus, heel marks across the Gilmore lawn would surely be noticed by someone.
I walk briskly along the edge of the lawn, hoping that my mother is busy and my father is at work already. It occurs to me that Rory could be at his office – wasn't he going to let her pretend not to be wasting a year of her life and be a secretary? – but I'm going to bet she's still sleeping. He wouldn't want to offend her and make her get up too early.
I make it to the back of the house blessedly undetected, and now I'm standing in front of the pool house, facing the same window where I saw her last. The lights are off, and even though I am a mother going to talk to her daughter, I am completely aware of the fact that I am intruding. I take the house key that I hope will also open this door out of my purse, and slip it in the lock.
I'm in. I wipe my muddy feet on the doormat, and deposit my heels next to the front door. Okay. That was the easy part.
I tiptoe to the bedroom. The door is cracked open, and I slip inside silently. I was right; she's sleeping. I remove an overflowing cardboard box from the chair next to the bed, and take a seat.
I'm not really sure what that game plan is here, to be honest. I never really got past the sneaking-in undetected part when I was envisioning this. Luke was right to be worried about my showing up here. It's not that I don't know what to say; I don't know how I want her to react.
If she seems happy for me, I'll be hurt by the discordance of the whole moment. How can she be happy for me while she's busy being angry with me? How can it be that at what should be the happiest moment of my life, the moment when I know who I am going to marry, the other love of my life and I are barely speaking?
At the same time, if she's not happy or if she's upset or so angry to find me here at 7:35 that she won't speak to me, I'll be hurt, too. I wonder which would be worse, as I watch my perfect daughter sleeping. But she's not perfect, I remind myself. That's what I've learned this week, even though she's been trying to show me for a long time now. My perfect daughter is imperfect.
It's so strange to sit here, an intruder, just watching her sleep and dreading the conversation that will come when she wakes up. I feel so helpless, like I have no control over the situation. Who knows when she'll wake up? How long will I have to wait?
I used to be able to wake her up if I needed to. Even if it was just to talk, I could wake her up, but usually it was to get ready for school. Sometimes I would climb into bed with her, and wake her up gently with promises of pancakes and coffee at Luke's. Other times, when we were rushed and 12-year-old Rory wouldn't drag herself out of bed, I'd blare the radio or shake her shoulders until she was angry enough to get up. Occasionally, I even resorted to throwing pillows at her from the other side of her room.
I'd kind of like to throw something at her this morning. Maybe it would wake her up from her sleep and from her incredible immaturity.
But no, I'll just wait. I clench my fists, digging my fingernails into my palm, and shake my foot from side to side.
At 7:45 the steady beep of her alarm clock begins, increasing in volume until I can tell she's awake. She rolls over slowly, reaches out, and struggles to find the off button. Finally she does, and she pushes herself into a seated position as she rolls her head slowly from side to side.
Even though the expensive Gilmore curtains effectively block out most of the light, it's still bright enough for her to tell that I'm sitting here. "Mom?" she says. It's not angry, just surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"We need to talk," I say. Direct. To the point. Honest. Very good.
She pulls the covers off of herself. "I don't want to talk," she says, climbing out of bed, walking towards the bathroom.
"Right. But here's the thing. We need to talk."
She's about to walk into the bathroom, but she stops and turns towards me. "I'm not going back to Yale."
"You've made that clear."
"And if I were to change my mind, it wouldn't have anything to do with my mother showing up at 7:45 to lecture me." Despite the harshness of her statement, I am slightly relieved to here the "if I were to change my mind." But I have to focus. I'm not here for this.
"So," she continues, pretending not to be flustered by any of this, "I would appreciate it if you would leave my room."
"This isn't your room. This is a pool house. I have just as much right to be here as you do." Damn it. She's pulling me down to her level. She's the kid here.
"Should I call Grandma and ask who has more of a right to be here? Maybe she'll come over for some breakfast and the three of us can enjoy the pool house together." She walks towards the phone. I really can't believe this is Rory.
I clench my jaw. Focus, I tell myself, but it's hard because I just can't relate to her right now. How has she lost so much respect for me so quickly? When did she become her own person, and how do I fit into this? Because I know we'll get past this fight, but I want to get past it really, and not just to speaking terms.
"Rory, really, just pretend for two seconds that you don't hate me." She's taken aback by my directness, and she lets herself fall back onto her bed. I look right at her, take a deep breath, and begin.
"In five years, where do you see yourself? Where do you see us?" She's staring back at me, blankly. "Actually, how about 10 years? You might still be in college in five years. I don't know what your grand plan is so I don't want my hypothetical to infringe on that." Damn it. I did it again. I'm going to be mature from now on.
"What are you talking about?"
"In ten years, where do you see us? Do you think we'll be speaking?"
"I think we'll be speaking," she answers, and it seems like this is the first time she's registered that fact that this isn't an ordinary fight we've been having; it could have long-term implications. I continue.
"If you get a new job, or meet a great guy, or break up with a great guy, do you think you'll call me?" I started this line of questioning to make a point – that this fight could really hurt us, that it's terrible not to be able to talk about the big stuff. But somewhere in the last few seconds, I've really started to wonder how she'll answer.
"Of course I'll call you."
"But if it happened tomorrow, if you met Logan tomorrow and he said, 'You know what Rory. Better off as friends.' Do you think you'd call?"
She looks at me, and rearranges herself on the bed so that she's sitting Indian style. After a moment she answers. "I don't know." It stings, but at least she's being honest. At least she's talking to me.
I nod. "Okay then." We sit there quietly again as I try to figure out where I'm going with this. "Rory, it's no secret that I… haven't agreed with certain actions you've taken over the past year," I say.
She nods, because she does know. We both tried to pretend it wasn't affecting us, but it was. Because it was more than sleeping with Dean, rushing into bed with Logan, stealing a boat, and dropping out of Yale. It was imperfection, it was unmet expectations, it was anxiety, it was disappointment. Feelings I'd never felt before.
"And for 21 years, it's been my place to worry about that. From time to time, when you would do something crazy like, I don't know, spend the night at Ms. Patty's with Dean, I had to care. I had to get all worked up and upset because you weren't your own person, you were my kid."
"So this year, when you started… taking those actions that I didn't always agree with, I kept getting emotional about it because I didn't see you as your own person. You were my person… my kid…" I'm still staring at her, and she's gazing back, giving no hint of what she thinks.
"But what this Yale thing has shown me is that maybe you're trying to tell me something. Maybe this is your way of putting a little space between us, becoming your own person."
"This doesn't have anything to do with you," she says.
I nod again. "Okay. Well, you might not think it does. But I do. Whether or not this is what you meant to happen, you've sent me a message. You want our relationship to be different, and that's fine. I just wanted to know how different you want it to be."
"I don't want it to be different," she says.
"How can you say that? You moved out. You moved here," I say, gesturing towards the stack of empty cardboard boxes. "You want something new – more independence, more freedom… Maybe you're right. The last thing I want is to be my parents. I want you to have your space."
She looks really uncomfortable, or maybe just sad because she sees what she's done. I don't know.
"I'll give you more space and more time, but I'm not going to disappear, because if I do, I'm afraid that you won't call me in 10 years. I can deal with you not calling me in 10 minutes, or 10 days. Ten weeks is a lot, but 10 years. I can't deal with that. It's too much."
"Mom, I'm going to call you."
"All right, then. Good." Awkward silence.
"Is that why you came here? To ask me that?" she says, getting out of the bed again.
I nod. I keep nodding. I'm still nodding. "No," I stammer, finally, and stop nodding.
"Okay then," she says, sitting back down. "I have to get to Grandpa's office eventually so…"
"Rory, something happened to me the other night. Something big. And I'm going to tell you, not because I'm expecting a Mary Poppins reaction or anything, but because I think I owe it to you. If it were you, I'd want you to call me, and I wouldn't want to hear it from someone else."
She says nothing. She's staring at the ground next to the bed.
"Luke…and I… are getting… married." I wish I had said that more definitively, but each word was like stepping further into an icy lake and just waiting for the its-too-cold-to-keep-going signal to reach my brain. I could have dived in, but I didn't, because if it were too cold, then I would already be wet.
"Oh," she says, looking up from the rug. "You and Luke."
I nod, smiling softly. "Luke and I are getting married," this time I just say it in one breath, and it feels good. Turns out the water isn't that icy; in fact, it's really refreshing.
"Mom, that's-- Wow. You and Luke. It's really happening."
I nod again. "It is. It's really happening." I reveal my left hand, twisting the ring so the diamond is on top.
"It's just…unexpected," she says.
"What do you mean?" I was not expecting "unexpected" to be her adjective of choice. What is unexpected about this? I thought everyone on earth, including my mother, saw this coming.
"The other day, at the hospital," she explains. "You were going on about being young and independent for the first time, not wanting kids. What happened to that?"
I had let myself forget about that conversation, and I am surprised that Rory has chosen to bring it up. "Things changed. My daughter dropped out of Yale and moved to Hartford."
"You're getting married because I dropped out of Yale?"
"No. I'm getting married because when you dropped out, it made me realize some stuff."
"Like what?" she asks.
"Like, how important it is to have something constant in your life. Like, how much Luke cares about me, and how much I need him." I said that last part without really thinking about it, and I'm startled by how true it is. I need him so much. I sit quietly for a moment, just thinking how lucky I am that when this stressful conversation is over, I'll be able to drive to Stars Hollow and find him and things will be okay again.
"Rory, if you get to change and move on, then I should too. And if I'm going to move on, then I need to think big picture. I need to think 10 years from now. And 10 years from now, I don't want to be single and independent. I want to have a family. I want to be with Luke."
"Well, congratulations," she says, but her heart isn't in it. She was there for the last nine years, but ultimately she missed the big moment. It has to hurt a little.
"Rory, there's something else." I pause, figuring out how to break the news. "I'm, uh—I'm moving."
"You're moving?"
"Luke bought the Twickham house."
"You're leaving our house?" I think tears are starting to well up in her eyes, but I have to be direct. To the point, I remind myself.
"Yeah. I am."
"So when you came here to find out how our new relationship was going to work, you'd already pretty much factored me out?"
"No, Rory. Not at all. In fact, if you ever decide to move back to Stars Hollow, you'll have the entire basement to yourself. Luke thought of that. Luke was very concerned that you, Rory, have somewhere to stay in his house. No one factored you out." I respond.
"You can't leave our house."
"I'm not. I'm leaving my house. You already left, remember? This is your house."
She stands up and walks over to the closet. "I have to get ready for work," she says.
"Rory," I say, standing up and walking to the closet. "When you left, you gave me permission to make decisions that aren't based on you. I haven't made a decision that you weren't part of since the day you were born. You can make your choices, and I can make mine, and I'm just… desperately hoping that we can work it out so we can be friends again. This is good, Rory. I don't know if you can see that right now, but maybe in a few days. This is so good."
"I know it's good," she says, ripping a black pinstriped skirt from the closet, letting the white plastic hanger fall violently to the ground. "It's good for you, it's good for Luke. It's perfect, really, for both of you."
"Then why are you so upset?"
"I don't know!" And when she says that, I just want to cry and throw my arms around her, because she's being honest again. It's interesting that the two completely honest things she's said during this conversation have both been "I don't know." She's a kid, of course she doesn't know. She's scared. I can see that now, but she's too proud to admit it.
She looks from the crumpled skirt she's holding to me. Tears are rolling down both of her cheeks. "I am happy for you, Mom. I am. I swear," she stammers through sobs. "You and Luke deserve this."
"Rory," I breathe, as she collapses into my arms.
"I messed everything up. I know that."
"That's okay sometimes," I say, holding my imperfect little girl, not wanting to let go because I don't know what will happen if I do.
"But I can't go back to Yale." Her words hit me like a wall of bricks, because for a second I thought she was going to apologize, repack her boxes, and sign up for classes.
I don't even know how to respond, but I still don't want to let go, so I just stand there with her, and I start to cry, too. Finally, I pull myself away, and I sit on the edge of the bed.
"So, I'll ask again, what's the plan?"
"I don't know," she says.
"How long are you going to stay here?" I ask.
"It's not like I could come home."
"Not unless you're signed up for fall term," I respond. She was expecting this answer.
"Then I don't know."
I nod. I sit there quietly while Rory takes the rest of her outfit out of the closet.
"I need to take a shower," she says.
"Okay. I should go, anyway. Sookie's home with Martha, so I need to be at the inn." We start walking to the front door.
"How is Martha?" Rory asks, as we walk.
"She's beautiful. She's perfect," I say, even though she's not perfect, because if Rory's not, then no one is. The awkward silence creeps back in.
As we stand by the front door, both of our faces are red and puffy, and I notice that we both wipe our cheeks with our hand in the same way. "You'll call if you need anything?" I ask.
"I'll call." I don't know if she will, but I hope she does. I want more than speaking terms, but I'll take that for the next 10 days or 10 weeks or 10 months.
"Bye," I say awkwardly. Is this really how it ends? With "bye." Can I not even muster a "have a nice day" or tell her that I love her? So much for honest and to the point. So much for being the bigger person. I open the door and walk out. I make it just a few feet and then I hear the door open again. I'm so relieved that she didn't let me leave.
"Your shoes?" she calls out, holding my black heels. Stupidly, I hadn't noticed that I was still barefoot.
"Wow, yeah, that would help," I say, walking back and taking them from her. I would put them back on, but I'm sure the grass is still wet. "So I'll see you." I turn to walk away, slightly crushed.
"Mom," she says. I turn around, and I'm struck by the look on her face: Her expression is strong, resolute, and stubborn, but her eyes are those of a little kid who is lost at the supermarket. "You know I still love you, right?"
I do know that, because I know all about loving people and being angry with them at the same time. Still, it feels so good to know that she knows she still loves me, if that makes sense.
"Yeah, I do. You know I still love you? Always and no matter what?"
She nods. I half-smile. "Bye, Rory."
"Bye, Mom."
I make my barefoot way across the Gilmore lawn, slip my heels back on, walk down the street, and successfully start the car. Now I'm heading home, and I can't quite decide how I feel about the conversation. It could have been much worse, and at least she spoke to me. But still, she was guarded, and I was invading, and she was only sort of happy for me. I remember when I thought I was going to marry Max, and we jumped around my parents' dining room in excitement. She was so, so excited.
This time, when I know I'm going to marry Luke, we cried in my parents' pool house.
It always scares me a little bit when I'm driving, lost in thought, and suddenly realize I'm almost home. Was I not paying attention when I pulled out onto the interstate, drove for almost half an hour, got off at the exit, and navigated my way to Stars Hollow? I'd like to think I would have noticed if, say, a small child on a bicycle veered into the road, but who knows? I just find it strange that somehow, I'm back in Stars Hollow, almost at the inn. I remember that I'd told Luke I would call him later, and I want to hear his voice anyway. I dial the diner.
"Hello," says a flustered Cesar, after almost 10 rings.
"Hey, Cesar, it's Lorelai. Can I talk to Luke?" I'm pulling into my parking spot at the inn. It's only 8:40, and Michel's car is here, so I can steal a few minutes to talk.
"Luke's not here. He left about 15 minutes ago."
"He left? Where did he go?" I hear something fall and shatter in the background, followed by a scream.
"Dunno. I gotta go, Lorelai. Sorry. If you find him, tell him everything's good here."
"Bye." I hang up, and dial Luke's cell phone. It rings only once.
"Hey," he says. I can tell he's been waiting for my call.
"Hey. I called the diner."
"Yeah. I'm not there."
"I got that much. Where are you?"
"I'm at the fishing hole. How'd it go with Rory?" he asks.
"It was hard, but… it went. Why are you at the fishing hole?"
"I needed to sort some stuff out. What did she say though? Was she upset? Is she going back to Yale?"
"What kind of stuff do you need to sort out?"
"Just stuff."
"Is everything okay?" I ask.
"Yeah. Fine." He pauses. "Are you at work?"
"No," I say, and I'm not lying because I've just backed out of my parking spot and left the Dragonfly.
"Maybe we should talk in person," he says.
"I think so."
"Everything's fine. Don't worry." He pauses. "I just, I think it would help me…to, you know, see you."
"I know exactly how you feel," I say, and I make my way to see Luke.
Thanks for reading. You guys have been so great with the reviews. It makes me very, very happy. TBC… I think the next chapter will be it, but who knows what will happen when I actually start writing? Thanks again!