1Disclaimer: This is an original story based upon the characters of Gilmore Girls. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit will be made from this story.

Author's note: Sorry for the long wait in updates. My life is going through a bit of a crazy spurt right now. Hope you enjoy this next installment.

"The Silverware Set"

I knew the next thing in the chest very well. It was smaller box made of wood and lined with red velvet. Inside was the silverware set–the one we only used on very special occasions. It was the one thing my mother had that I had loved all my life, the only one of her possessions I wanted when she...um...yeah.

I opened the case slowly and felt like a little girl again. For some reason I was drawn to this silverware set. I would watch fascinated while the maids polished it and once I took it while my parents were gone for the evening and had a tea party with it–a tea party that cost me three weeks grounding when Mom got home. I looked at the silverware amazed–it hadn't aged at all–it still sparkled like new. It was from Paris France and had incredibly ornate handles–the forks had unicorns and mermaids in the handles, the knifes had castles for handles, half the spoons were carved like a king and the other half were carved like a queen. The salad forks and soup spoons were gold colored and the serving spoons all had "Emily and Richard Forever" engraved on the handles. I knew very little about the history of the silverware, only that my aunt Hope had given it to mom. I assumed it was a wedding present. Mom's letter lay on top of the silverware. I picked it up and opened it. It was longer than the others.

I knew this was one thing that you would want when I died. You always loved this set and I always planned to leave it to you. It always made me happy that you liked it–I felt like I got to share something pretty and elegant with you–even if it is only a silverware set. I always felt like it was a link between us. You always asked me growing up why we only used the silverware set once a year. You asked me when Aunt Hope had given it to me. I never answered either of those questions and I would like to try to now.

To tell this story, I must begin at the beginning and I know right now you are rolling your eyes and making the "Oh when God created Man?" joke. That wasn't funny any of the other times you said that when I said I should begin at the beginning and it isn't funny now–so pay attention.

I had to smile–she did know me well.

Well–how should I start? I know you have asked me questions about your Grandmother Patricia in the past and I haven't told you much about her. The story about my birth is probably the most you have ever heard about her. The truth is–I couldn't ever talk about her because it was too painful. My mother died when I was seventeen, and Aunt Hopie was ten. My parents were on the way home from a symphony function when they were in a car accident. The hospital called and I drove Hopie and myself up to the hospital but we didn't make it in time. My mother was already dead and my father was in surgery. Those hours were the longest in my life. It was late and Hopie fell asleep but I kept pacing the hallway–waiting for news of my father. I had just lost my mother, and was devastated by that loss and was now face with the prospect of losing my father as well. What would happen to us? I kept looking over at Hopie–she was so young, and I was only seventeen. What if my father died? Would they let me take care of Hopie? Would they take her away?

My father came out of surgery just fine but was devastated by the loss of my mother. For the rest of his life I think he blamed himself that he lived and my mother didn't. Slowly he drifted away from us and more and more into his work. He died only five years later. I think from that moment on he just gave up. I had to grow up fast. I was seventeen and was suddenly responsible for this little ten year old. I missed my mother terribly. You see Lorelai–I was with my mother the way you and Rory used to be. She was my best friend too. I guess that's why it always hurt so much to watch you and Rory together. Partly because I was jealous and wanted to have that kind of relationship with you, and partly because I still missed my own mother so much and watching the two of you together made me remember.

I graduated from high school and then postponed going to college to stay home and take care of Hope. Those were difficult times. I was a child myself–feeling lost in the world with out my mother and I was trying to raise a little girl who knew full well I was not her mother but her sister. I know you think you invented the phrase "You're not the boss of me" but trust me Dear–It was Hope. They were very rough years for the both of us–Hope became rebellious and didn't want to have anything to do with me. She began staying out late at night and I couldn't get her to listen to me when I told her to come home at a certain time. Father was no help–he was often later than she was coming home from the office. I got scared–I felt like I had failed the people I loved most in the world. I had failed my father because I couldn't keep a household running like he wanted, I had failed my Hopie, and most of all, I had failed Mother and for that I hated myself. I tried to run away. When Hope was fifteen I told them I was moving out and going away to school. Hope told me she hated me and wouldn't talk to me for a month. Those first few months at school were unbearable. I was shy, awkward, and constantly worried about the affairs at home. It was shortly after that that I met your father when he was on vacation. I fell madly in love with him and began traveling to Yale on the weekends to see him instead of going home. This drove an even deeper wedge between Hope and I. My father was still oblivious to what was going on or else he didn't care but the maids would call me up and tell me that Hope was coming in later and later and that she was seeing someone seriously now. I tried to stay focused on school and Richard, tried to believe that Hope would be okay but I worried about her constantly.

As your father and I became more and more serious, I brought him home to meet my father and Hope. My father shook his hand and then said he had to go to the office and Hope wouldn't talk to him the whole evening. She just sulked. Richard waited in the car while I yelled at Hope for her immaturity. Things just got worse from there–it was three days–three days after I became engaged that I received the second hardest phone call of my life–it was Hope. She had just come from the doctor's office–and she was pregnant.

I put down the letter. What? Aunt Hope had become pregnant at sixteen? That was impossible. Hope only had two children–Carl and Rebecca and both were younger than I was. I picked up the letter and read on.

I know you are probably shocked right now–trust me, that is nothing compared to what I felt. My Hopie–my little Hopie was pregnant. I postponed the wedding and Hopie moved in with me. For awhile, it was like it used to be–we stayed up late and watched movies, and just –"hung" as you would call it. Hopie was shunned by our inner circle of friends and because I stuck with her so was I. All we had was each other–and your father. He was so wonderful, so patient and loving. He helped Hopie through so much during that time and was a constant support for me.

It was only four months into the pregnancy when I called your father up in the middle of the night and told him we needed to go to the hospital. Hopie had woken me up in the middle of the night–she was having contractions. Again I was in that same hospital pacing the floors wondering if I was to now loose my sister as well. I was so glad your father was there. The doctor finally came and told us that Hope was going to be fine–but the baby would not live more than an hour. I was able to hold her for only a minute–it was a girl–such a sweet and tiny little girl. Richard and I waited outside while I watched through plaited glass as my sister held her child until she died. We had a private funeral–only Hopie, Richard and I were there. My father never knew–he never knew she was pregnant. There are only a few people in the world that know of the short existence of Emily Ann Haines.

I had to stop–why hadn't she ever told me about this? Why had Aunt Hope never told me about this? I guess I could understand, being a mother myself–what would I feel if my child died? I would be devastated, but would I try to pretend she never existed? For some reason it really upset me that I had never known–never known about another cousin who only lived an hour–my mother's namesake. But what was it that was really upsetting me? Was it that or the fact that Aunt Hope had never told me that she had gone through a pregnancy at sixteen. At a time when I could have used a friend to talk to–someone who would understand me, she had never told me the truth. I picked up the letter and read on, hoping to find some clue.

The loss of her baby nearly killed Hope. She became more despondent and more belligerent. She started staying out late again–trying to drown out her sorrows by reliving the wild child days. I was at my wits end. Finally one night I kicked her out–I told her that I couldn't do it anymore and that she needed to find some place else to live. She left and for months I didn't hear from her. I was out of my mind with worry. Finally I got a postcard from her–she was in France. She didn't want any communication, she just wanted me to know where she was. I was so relieved. Finally I was able to get on with my life. I got married to your father. I wanted her to be there so badly, but she wouldn't come. I sent her practically a dozen invitations but she never showed up.

One day–three months after you were born, a woman showed up at the door. She said she wanted to see you. She was such a beautiful woman, dressed in a classy suit with her hair done up. I must have stared at her for at least ten minutes before she said, "Emily, don't you recognize me?" It was her–it was Hopie! She had met a man in Paris–Uncle Thomas, who had helped her to get her life back on track. I was ecstatic–she had come back to me! She went into the nursery, picked you up and just cried as she held you. She always loved you Lorelai–like one of her own children. That night, when I went to bed, there was a package laying on my bed–the silverware set–she said it was the wedding present she never got to give me. It became my most prized possession . It meant the world to me–and the day every year that we use it is Emily Ann's birthday. I want her to know we haven't forgotten. It is up to you now to carry on–her birthday is April 22nd. Don't forget. And the next time you see Hopie–tell her I love her.

That was it–the letter ended and I sat back on the bed. I felt like suddenly a huge piece of the puzzle of why my mother was the way she was, was suddenly handed to me. Suddenly I realized why she must have been so controlling– she had already been through the parenting thing once before and felt she failed at it. So–when the real daughter came along, she was so determined not to fail that in her twisted way of thinking she had determined to control her child's life–to make her do the things she wanted her to do–and it had backfired. I put my hand to my mouth–my pregnancy, my running away, my turning against her–she must have felt like she was reliving it all over again. I look up at the ceiling–am I looking to Heaven? I don't know.

"Mommy, why didn't you tell me?" I ask. "Why didn't you tell me?"