Christopher snapped his phone shut and turned back toward the crowd. He wondered how it was that the scene hadn't changed, people still milling and murmuring, though his version of earth had just been knocked off its axis.
His knees locked as he stood in the shaded grove, vaguely wondering if it were normal for this part of the woods to look like a Dali painting. Everything after the word pregnant had sort of begun to dematerialize.
His line of sight focused on the people in the crowd, beaming and radiant, glowing under the slowly setting sun. They were all taking their seats. Christopher joined them from where he stood, plunking down on the grass, not registering the trail of ants under his hands as he pulled up the moist blades, ripped up the roots, and tossed the divets a few feet away.
Sookie's wedding was probably starting. Lorelai was probably looking for him. But he really, really didn't want to go back there.
He felt like an abandoned child, the dull ache in his chest insisting he'd lost something vital, something crucial to his survival. And though it was only something he'd embraced 24 hours earlier- Lorelai as a partner, Rory as a daughter- he knew that it was impossible now to do without. Going back to Sherry and a baby would be impossible.
No life could be as good as the one he'd finally opened the door to just yesterday. He'd waited for it, always had it in the back of his head, always knowing that it would be there for him when he was ready. The life that was waiting for him just over the hill there, the one probably looking for him at Sookie's wedding, the one with the matching blue dresses.
Sherry was foie gras. She was Botox. The Zone. Her Birken bag was her prized possession. She wasn't strollers and Thanksgiving and tequila on the balcony, hearth and home. She'd make a horrible Tooth Fairy. And judging by her reaction to the overflowing toilet last week, he didn't see how the hell she was going to handle the constant spree of bodily functions that constitute a baby's life.
This made it even more difficult for him to get a good grasp on the situation; Sherry couldn't possibly be pregnant, couldn't possibly bear a child. It was like having the Backstreet Boys open for the Sex Pistols- it was just going against nature's intentions.
And besides that, she had freakishly narrow hips. You couldn't even begin to squeeze a human life through there, right?
But there it was, her voice echoing in his head. Pregnant. I'm pregnant, Christopher. Fuck. There was no way in hell he could let this could happen. He had to stop it, to go on with his plans with Lorelai and Rory. It was too late for Sherry; they were over. He had decided. She had thrown things, and then he'd left. Ships had sailed, farms had been bought, chickens had hatched. Completely over.
He thought back to their most recent altercation, before he came to Stars Hollow. The one that started with Chris kissing Sherry's neck, the one that escalated into Sherry saying, "Well, I'm sorry I have a headache tonight. Why don't you go in the bathroom and think about Lorelai?" And ended with Christopher staying in a hotel room, thinking about Lorelai.
She was just such a bitch sometimes. In the beginning she'd been so sweet, so affectionate, yet willing to give him the space he required. And that was precisely it- the difference between Lorelai and the other relationships he'd had- with her, he didn't want any space. He wanted to be with her, completely. To go to Luke's with her every morning, to drive Rory to school, to have the Chinese food waiting when the girls got home. It was the life he'd fantasized about as a teenager, being an adult with her in their own adult house, doing adult things. He'd started thinking about it even before Lorelai ever got pregnant.
But now, she was going to ruin it, ruin everything. She would make him keep the baby. She would trap him in this perfect brownstone with a perfect Volvo in a perfect life. And he'd be fucking miserable.
The increasingly painful lump in Christopher's throat complemented the anger that was rising in his chest. He dug his fingers deep into the ground at his sides, body trembling, closing his fists and crushing the dirt in his palms. She was ruining absolutely everything. Again.
He lifted his head, swallowing in a feeble attempt to suppress the lump, and began feeling dizzy. His throat felt like he'd been standing over a campfire too long, inhaling too much smoke. That bitter, harsh, brown taste filled his senses. His eyes were so dry they burned.
Two blue figures stepped to the head of the aisle, one craning over the other, searching the heads in the crowd. He had to get back. Now.
Walking across the lawn, he slid into his seat just as the music began to play.
He turned and watched her walk down the aisle, holding her gaze as she and Rory floated by in time to Ella Fitzgerald. God, she was beautiful.
She was beautiful, and she wanted him. She finally wanted him. They were finally together, after years of wondering if she could be happy with someone else, wondering if she regretted not marrying him at sixteen. He rubbed his throbbing temples and knew, he knew, that they were made for each other. And that Sherry probably wouldn't want this kid anyway, unless she had been marathoning her Diff'rent Strokes DVDs and was feeling particularly maternal.
He'd be able to convince her otherwise, though. No matter how maternal she might be feeling.
Rory floated by next to her mother, glancing at him and grinning sheepishly.
Rory, the very image of anything Christopher had ever considered perfect. Almost… completely holy somehow, he thought, almost not of this world. Certainly not of the world he'd been living in Boston, or Hartford, or any place he'd called home.
And he had made promises, and he wouldn't go back on his word. He wasn't that guy anymore.
Lorelai, too. He said he'd be there, for real this time, and he meant it.
He returned his attention to Lorelai, watching her watch Sookie drift down the aisle after her, both faces replete with bliss.
His head was beginning to clear as he thought of Lorelai and Rory, standing with him, telling him they wanted him in their life. That he was welcome there as a permanent fixture, as a real father and husband.
Christopher would be responsible this time and stick with his word. The ball of anger became shrouded in a sense of pride, an overwhelming feeling that, when you phrased it a certain way, he was doing the right thing.
After the ceremony he trotted up to Lorelai, bringing her a drink. "You look beautiful," he said as he handed it off. Lorelai used the napkin from under her glass to swipe some of the sweat off of Christopher brow.
She smiled. "You okay? You looked a little queasy back there."
Laughing as lightly as he could, he took her arm. "I'm fine, Lorelai. I promise."
"Oh yeah? You were totally un-freaked watching me walk down an aisle?" She poked him playfully, but he caught her finger in his fist, his face becoming more open, more serious.
"Completely not freaked. I told you."
He snickered and shook his head, marveling at how grown-up he'd become in just a few short days. Taking responsibility with Lorelai, finally, was an incredibly liberating feeling.
Her eyes softened before closing completely, pulling him into a sweet kiss. He felt like he was melting again, like he was back in the Dali painting, time dripping slowly off the branches of the trees. This time, though, it was because he knew that this was where he belonged. In her arms, her mouth like cotton candy.
The vibrating on his hip startled him, and he realized she was calling him.
No way. She couldn't make him deal with this, it wasn't his problem anymore. He forced her out of his mind and smiled at Lorelai. "Just work. I guess they're going crazy there without me."
"They depend on you a lot there, huh? Well, that's what you get for being Mr. Success."
He laughed nervously.
Christopher didn't know if it was the ball of anger he'd been rubbing at, or maybe he was just bursting with love for Lorelai and Rory, but suddenly his heart felt like a tick, one that was gorging itself with blood. So many emotions were pumping so quickly through his system, their courses slicked with gin, the air in the room eluding his straggling lungs.
"Right, yeah," he said. He felt like he was choking. "Hey guess what, I need another drink. You?" He swallowed what was left in his glass, blood rushing into his face, making him perspire.
He knew the past few were catching up to him, his stomach lurching as he breathed a burp into the back of his hand.
As the bartender handed him another gin and tonic, Rory approached with a smile, curling him into a hug and kissing him on the cheek. "I love that you're here," she said to him, her big, cobalt-colored eyes flickering in his mind. He recognized pieces of himself in her moon pie face, certain looks and certain gestures that he couldn't remember giving her.
This girl was everything he wanted to be. And he was hers.
"I'm not going anywhere, kid."
Christopher squeezed her hand briefly, dropping it as his cell phone buzzed again. Reaching into his pocket without looking, he silenced it and smiled at Rory, wiping his brow with his sleeve. "I told you, I'm here for good."
She smiled her angelic smile and went to find her mom.
The rest of the afternoon sped by in the haze of celebration, the evening finding the party in the parlor of the inn. Christopher, continuing to be overwhelmed by the situation, was struggling to maintain his composure as he wandered from conversation to conversation; proper waltz etiquette with Miss Patty, Boston's farmer's markets with Jackson, the merits of Charlie Parker with Morey. Even Kirk and politics, some town gossip with Babette.
And each conversation meant a fresh drink, each drink further threatening the release of festering emotions, as his phone buzzed on relentlessly.
He was in pretty bad shape by the time people started to leave, waving goodbyes and hauling off flower arrangements. Lorelai appeared at his side, slipping a hand inside his jacket and to the small of his back. "Still having fun?"
"You know it," Christopher said, trying to sound nonchalant. "How're you doing?"
She grinned devilishly, her hand beginning to slide downward. "I wish you'd come upstairs with me so I can show you." Her eyes alone, sleepy and sexy, were stirring more in him than anything Sherry had ever inspired.
He smiled and kissed her forcefully, trying not to sway as he put his glass down on the table. His fingers dug into her neck as he embraced her, giving her a massage. He noticed her wince, but wasn't sure if it was from the pressure or his breath.
"After you."
She smiled briefly, taking him by the hand.
Once at the top of the stairs, Christopher stopped Lorelai from fiddling with the key and whirled her around. "I want you to know," he said, staring deeply into her beautiful eyes. "I'm not leaving this time."
With that, he pinned her body against the wall, pressing his tongue into her mouth, drawing his hands through her hair.
The kiss, coupled with the force of his body, had expelled the air from her lungs, and she found it difficult to breathe; his tongue felt like a heavy wet plug in her mouth as it slid lazily from side to side.
She realized then just how drunk he must be and pressed lightly against his chest, craning her head back. His body responded against hers, refusing her subtle complaints. He pressed her even more deeply, breathing rapidly through his nose.
Christopher's shirt, soaked through with sweat, was alarming to her. Though she'd had a few drinks herself, his lazy pupils and clumsy hands were overwhelming.
He ground his waist into her, though there wasn't an apparent erection, and removed his face from hers. He didn't know why she wasn't responding to him, but he'd always been determined to please her. Trying to pin her shoulders against the wall, he bit her neck roughly, scraping his sharp teeth across her pimpled flesh. Lorelai grimaced in pain, grabbing at the back of his collar.
"Chris!"
She took advantage of his surprise at her harsh tone and slid out of his grasp, though still struggling to free herself from the weight of his body. "What the hell is wrong with you!"
His phone began vibrating again during the struggle, and the growing frustration was taking over, making him shake violently. He jammed a hand forcefully into his pocket and fumbled out the phone. Flipping it open he screamed, "Stop fucking calling me!"
He turned, pulling back his arm unsteadily and hurtling the silver plastic against the back of the hallway wall. It hit the rosebud wallpaper with a muffled thud and a snap, the casing cracked open, and spilled its complicated-looking contents across the carpet.
A horrified Lorelai stood opposite, watching him carefully, her hairline tingling in the abrupt silence that followed.
"Christopher," she said sternly, though her voice almost a whisper. "What is the matter with you?"
His face was bright red and he looked confused, nearly in tears. He slid down onto the floor, the back of his jacket collecting splinters from the wooden wainscoting. His face was in his hands, muffling his words. "I just… "
Shoulders slumped over, he let out a shaky breath. "Fuck."
She kneeled by him, stroking his shin patiently, waiting for him to speak, her heart in her mouth. Sweat formed at her brow, a sickened feeling pooling quickly into her stomach.
She always knew when he was about to disappoint her, to deny her something she'd asked for. It made her skin prickle.
"Just tell me, Chris."
He lifted his face from his hands, though his eyes were still squeezed shut.
"Dammit, Lorelai. God, I'm trying!"
Startled, she shifted away from him.
He sighed. "We're supposed to work this out, right? It's only been a day and already... this is so fucked up."
Lorelai's eyes narrowed, and her mouth solidified into a tight line. She stayed still, waiting as patiently as possible, her tense stomach beginning to quake with nervous energy. This wasn't like him.
Christopher's forehead rested back against the palms of his hands. She surveyed him, took in his shoulders, hanging heavily, straining his neck muscles.
She couldn't see his eyes, so her gaze bore a hole through his fingers.
"She... she's pregnant, Lor."
Oh.
Her mind blanked.
Then reeled.
Seconds passed, threatening to turn into minutes.
"What?" Her eyes were narrowed in disgust but offered nothing further.
Her eyes searched the ground, then his face, for some explanation. Her throat began to burn with epithets, though she stayed completely silent.
"This doesn't have to be a problem," Christopher said quickly, scared shitless by her silence. His fingers and toes were beginning to go numb, and he squeezed his eyes briefly, trying to shake the gin loose from his brain.
"This can go away."
His words grated against her; some affixing themselves to her mind, others sloughing off onto the floor.
"It can, Lorelai. Seriously."
The ticking of the hallway clock was easier to focus on than Christopher's feeble, increasingly slurred assurances.
"But, you know, I know I can talk her into it. If I could just--"
"--Stop. God. Please."
He continued to talk over her, his voice cracking. "I promise, Lorelai! Really. I do. I want to be with you. I wanna marry you, more than anything." He took her hand as gingerly as possible. "I always have. Just me and you, no one else, that's it."
"Chris..." She shook her head slowly both in wonderment and in disappointment.
"This isn't our problem," he interrupted, his voice low. "It doesn't have to be. It's Sherry's, Lor. Not ours." His eyes finally met hers at the last sentence. She tried to worm her hand out of his grasp, but his sweaty palm clasped her firmly, forced her to hold his gaze, to understand and trust him.
Neither of them said anything for several minutes; they simply sat there as the sounds of other guests trickled past downstairs. The clanking of the ice machine. The heavy shutting of doors. The cackling of the woman in the next room. Christopher was watching Lorelai stare blankly down the hall, her face expressionless. Well, it was better than the alternative, he supposed.
It was then that her eyes crinkled in confusion. "What do you mean this isn't our problem?"
He'd gone from dizzy to swirling, his brain feeling like a blinking neon sign, from all the sun and the stress and the thinking.
She wasn't getting it, he realized, and the sour feeling of too much gin in his stomach was coating him with the thick sheen of perspiration.
Christopher was exhausted and agitated and really didn't want to talk about it right now. He just wanted to go back to kissing her, to last night, when she gave him the chance to show her how much he needed her.
He pressed his hand against her thigh, clumsily fingering the smooth fabric of her dress.
"It's not... we're not... we've broken up, Lorelai, like I said, so… this just isn't my concern anymore." Both his hands were now gliding along her legs reassuringly. She pushed them away.
"Not your concern? Shit, Chris! You're going to be a father, don't you realize that?"
"But--" Wait, he knew what he should say. "I already am a father! To Rory, remember?"
"You can't do this, you can't be an asshole," Lorelai muttered. "You can't run away again. Sherry needs you, this baby needs you. Trust me, Christopher," she looked at him pointedly then. "She doesn't want to do this alone. And I can't believe we're even having this discussion." She turned away.
"No, that's not going to happen, Lor." He had grabbed her wrist, squeezing her bracelet into her skin. She tried not to visibly flinch.
"I made you a promise." His voice had turned into a sharp whisper for no other reason than emphasis. "I'm not backing down; I'm not gonna be that guy again. I wanna be with you."
Just dead air in response.
"I love you, Lorelai! Please!"
The sudden fury brightening her eyes was terrifying to him. "But you're backing down from a kid, Christopher! That's more important." She wrenched her wrist from his grasp. "God!"
"Not to me, it's not."
"Christopher." Her voice was full of warning, undercut with spite. "Stop."
His breath was quick, his pasty skin a bright crimson. He stared at her menacingly, lips pursed, one hand clutching at his lurching stomach.
"I didn't ask for this," he heaved, nostrils flaring.
"Goddammit, Christopher!" Her words were punctuated with a fist against the wall. "She's having your kid! You did this. You can't let--"
"Well then she can get rid of the fucking thing!" he roared.
Lorelai stopped mid-sentence. Repeated his statement in her head. She stood silently, sizing up the drunken mess of a man at her feet one last time. Then she turned to walk away.
"No. Lorelai, wait." He scrambled hastily to his feet to follow her. She waved her hands through the air dismissively.
Christopher grabbed hold of her shoulder, spinning her around to face him. He saw tears in her eyes and struggled to compose himself, even as the room swayed, so much like the foundering ship he was becoming.
"I can make this go away," he said in a tone as soothing as he could muster. His arm snaked around her waist, pressing his body to hers again, holding her close. Lorelai didn't make a move, just wanting not to cry at her best friend's wedding.
The hand on her shoulder slowly trailed down her side, brushing her breast softly, ending up on her stomach. This was right, he knew it. Goddammit, he had never been so sure of something in his life.
Kissing her neck as gently as he could, he nuzzled into her bare shoulder, exhaling from his tight chest. "Oh, Lorelai," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."
His breathing became erratic as he closed his eyes, taking hold of her hips. "I can fix it. I will fix it. I promise."
He dropped loving kisses along the freckles on her skin, trying to coax out her soothing voice, the one she reserved for when things were really bad. The one that made him feel rescued.
"Christopher." The way she said it made his heart drop. Her voice was low. Cold. "Get the hell away from me. Now."
His eyes shot open as she struggled free of his grasp. He tried not to let go, but she was halfway down the long hallway before he realized she was leaving.
"Goddammit, Lorelai!" He caught up to her again, pulling her back toward him by her wrist. This time the bracelet cut into her skin. She let out a quick gasp and tried to yank away, but his grip was firm and strong.
"Please, don't! Lorelai, just let me do this." He was yelling and huffing in her ear, trying to get her to be still for a minute, so he could talk her into trusting him again.
Christopher's head was clouding over, though he could continue to hear himself pleading with her. His own voice was starting to make him nauseous.
Why did she always have to fight him? Why couldn't she just let him be the responsible one for once?
His free hand tightened into a fist as his stomach continued to lurch. He trapped her and pushed her against the wall, using her body to support his weight. All he could smell was alcohol mixed with her perfume. Acidity filled his nose, burning the back of his throat.
He closed his eyes, seeing Sherry's face, as Lorelai dug her nails into him.
His tongue felt sore in his mouth, the taste of bile creeping up his throat. When his vision cleared he could see her face, cringing from pain. It didn't sink in.
"I won't let you run away from me, Lorelai," his voice shook through clenched teeth.
With adrenaline pumping, Lorelai gathered her energy and finally yanked herself out of his grip. Stumbling backwards, she squeezed her eyes shut as Christopher came toward her.
She felt an explosion at the base of her neck as it snapped back against her shoulders. It didn't register immediately that she had been hit; suddenly, all the blood in her body rushed to her head, pooling around her left eye. She felt as if every nerve ending on her face had been pinched, a searing heat seeping through the now-pulsing skin.
Had it not been for the throbbing pain in his fingers mixed with the burning in his stomach, he would have heard her cry out, her voice raw.
He would have seen her trip over her own shoes, would have watched as she kicked them off her feet as she stumbled down the hall and out of sight.
Christopher's body fell forward, crashed his shoulder into the wall, sank down, and hit the floor with a thud. His chest heaved as he noticed the moisture on his hands, a confused look overshadowing his features.
He swiped his coat sleeve at the smear of blood across his fingers, alarmed when he couldn't find a cut on his own skin.