(Note: The previous segment was from Rory's drunken, just eloped, point of view. The shopping for clothes and the helicopter were supposed to be clues to this. Kudos to those sharpsters who figured it out. Tomatoes at the author who flew too a bit too subtly below the radar.)

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6.05 We've Got Magic To Do. A day or so later.

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Damn if you just gotta face up to some things in life.

Like when you've gone back to the department store to return a bag you've brought home by accident, and then stop by the cosmetics counter for just a moment to get a sample of that new miracle eye-cream when, lo and behold, 'Rock Lobster' starts to play over the store sound system.

Not 'Rock Lobster' as you knew and loved it: Cool and alternative; Friends dancing in a crush in somebody's living room, (parents gone to the Hamptons for the weekend, furniture pushed against walls,) as you all 'down, down, down...' to the words of the music, and writhe frenetically about to the beat.

(Which is fleetingly disturbing because of the Kirk images it conjures...)

No, this 'Rock Lobster' has been smoothed over like creamy peanut butter onto Wonder bread. A mere ghost of its former self, it has become elevator music. Which is sadder than the fact that you really should buy the large size of that new miracle eye cream rather than just flirting with a sample.

And suddenly there you are driving home in the rain facing all sorts of stuff which is best not thought about at all. Like the deepening creases around your mouth, and slight puffiness under the eyes. So, age mostly.

But you tell yourself that's all right, really.

The dream business is in place. The dream man. And though the Lorelai-look might be over, you haven't exactly graduated to elastic-waist pants or St. John's knits... yet.

(This thought crossed her mind as she pulled out of the mall parking lot.)

xx xx xx

There's also knowing that though facing age and puffiness and creases are one thing, starting over is another. And that is what she must do. Start over. Reinvent the Lorelai she was, the ever-vigilant mother and provider, the custodian of magic for her too-serious daughter, into the Lorelai that must be.

For the third time in her life, she must leave comfort and stability and create from nothing (but inner resource,) a new life, a new self.

Well, not from nothing. She has a support system now, she knows. And she is learning. Learning to be a partner rather than a mother, learning what real vulnerability is...

(She pulled under the cover of a gas station to fill up her tank then and watched the rain splash as she waited.)

She'll do it. She knows this. And happily. She'll settle into the re-made house and re-made life. Share a checking account. Keep vegetables around, regularly wash five thousand pounds of flannel and denim, andeven halflisten to the drone of some game she'll never be able to clearly identify playing on tv. (All terrifying thoughts when one is no longer an ingenue.)

Because she loves him so much.

And yet, there's the fact that her daughter is still gone tipping it all slightly out of balance.

Which causes a hitch in her breathing, and a clench in her heart even now, even when she's held her resolve so long. Yeah, she's let her bitterness get to her here and there along the way, and she's not proud of that, but she must continue to believe that Rory will find her way yet.

What that way might be scares the hell out of her. But just as she must now re-create herself (because at her time in life that is what marriage must amount to,) so must her daughter, though perhaps at twenty it is not so much recreation as the initial creation itself.

(She topped off her tank then and reached for her receipt when a little shop across the corner caught her eye. Normally she wasn't really a thrift kinda gal, but the elementary school was having its annual collection and redistribution of winter coats next week...)

xx xx xx xx

She filled her arms as she walked the aisles.

A little quilted parka, a flannel-lined denim with a tattered Strawberry Shortcake on the pocket, a bright green wool pea coat...

And his words, murmured in the dark (where he always spoke best,) warm flesh sealing them together, swept through her again...

'A man doesn't look for years... He doesn't just look and look...'

(And she wondered about this because, really, how much looking could he have done from behind the counter of a diner? though, wisely, let it pass...)

'He doesn't just up and go camping when he finally finds her... He doesn't want to... Maybe when he's twenty-two he does... but not when he's forty-six... When he's found her, it doesn't matter what the hell he does with her... He's just glad... Glad he's finally got her... And he's not just gonna let go of her to go fishing... I've been fishing... For years I fished... Told myself it was better... I was better off... I wasn't... When you finally get what you want you don't pretend fishing is better...'

'Luke, I'm not going anywhere,' she'd whispered back.

'That's right...' he'd yawned...

And soon she drifted too, but only after his soft snore vibrated through them. It had become their way by then. Their remaking of sleep.

So that was part of the new life too, she thought, as she scooped up a handful of safety-pinned mittens from a bin.

She'd coveted her independence through the years. And though it had been born out of necessity, she'd come to bask in it, be proud of it even, for its price had been high.

And independence is not an easy thing to let go of. Not at all. Luke Danes was not coming cheaply, that was for sure. And she'd sincerely thought he'd want breaks to do guy sorts of things, and had been caught off guard by the intensity of his passion to be with her. To forge their togetherness in the real as well as the intimate. The ease with which he shook off his loner-life surprised her.

She'd equated Loner with Independence and that had been a mistake. These are the things you learn about people you thought you knew. This is what love is.

"Quality will out, Lorelai," Emily's imperious voice broke into her thoughts, as she eyed a pile of small snow boots in the corner. "Worthwhile things cost."

She looked about then, wondering if there were any mufflers too.

"In the basket at the back," smiled an older woman at the counter, after she asked.

She set her pile down and headed to them accordingly.

She found six in good shape in various lengths and colors and thought about how she'd always wanted to learn to knit.

She laughed a bit then, imagining she and Luke years and years from now, bent and bifocaled, she knitting, he making them some sort of vegetable mush.

"Something funny?" smiled Molly (the elderly lady wore a nametag) as she began to ring up the pile.

"No, no," she brushed off.

"Do you have a lot of children?"

"What? Oh, the coats. No. It's for our elementary school. For the kids who don't have any."

"Very nice," smiled Molly. "Pretty ring. You're engaged?"

"Yep."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks. Are you married, Molly?"

"Forty-six years in January."

"Wow. Congratulations to you too."

"Thank you. That'll be thirty-six fifty."

"So, Molly..." she leaned in, "Any regrets?"

"Many," laughed Molly. "But I still love him. Bugs the hell outta me sometimes, but I still love him."

Lorelai nodded and paid her.

"How 'bout advice, Molly---Got anything good?"

Molly eyed her over the trash bag she was stuffing with the children's coats, "Wear comfortable shoes at your wedding."

"Hmm... Comfortable shoes? Never tried that before."

"I didn't think so. You won't regret it though. Let me help you get these out to the car..."

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"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

"Hey, you. Where are you?"

"I'm driving back from the mall."

"Really? It's late. Everything okay?"

"Fine. I stopped on the way."

"What for?"

"Shopping."

"Ask a silly question..."

"So, camping was good?"

"Camping was okay. You're better."

"I love you too."

"So what did you buy?"

"Fifteen second hand children's coats."

"Again, ask a silly..."

"Hey, Luke, I need your help with something."

"What's that?"

"Well, I found a dress..."

"A dress?"

"Well, The Dress. Maybe. At least I think so..."

"The Dress? What does that mean?"

"Think about it, Luke."

"Oh, right: The Dress."

"The most important of all dresses, Luke."

"Right, well, that's great."

"I found it at this vintage place."

"So it's a used dress?"

"An antique, Luke. A real deal. Nineteen-thirties, vintage bugle beads. Satin like that can't be found any more. Needs a little repair but nothing I couldn't manage."

"Well, that sounds great."

"Only, I didn't buy it."

"I'm a little confused. I thought you said it was The Dress."

"I think so."

"So why didn't you buy it?"

"I want you to see it first. To be sure."

"Isn't that bad luck or something?"

"I don't care. It's an important decision. To me anyway. I want you to help me make it."

"When can I see it?"

"Molly will hold it until Wednesday."

"Tomorrow's good for me."

"Good..."

"Good..."

"I'll be home soon."

"Drive carefully. It's still pouring here.."

"I will. It's still pouring here too."

"I'll keep dinner warm until you get here."