I love it when my muse is on overtime...as promised, Luke, Babette, and Morey make brief appearances.
Thanks for the responses, they make my day. Really. Any day that includes a little email in my inbox from a reader is a perfect day in my book.
Enjoy!
Standard disclaimer.

"What's that?"

"That, my love," Lorelai said, lovingly caressing the brochure in her hands, "is Harvard University. And because you are so incredibly smart, that is where you are going when you graduate."

Rory looked at her, puzzled. "For middle school?"

"Oh, no, sweetie. Harvard is a college. The best college in the whole world. It's where I wanted to go."

"Why didn't you?"

Lorelai grinned. "You.Harvard kind of encourages graduating high school."

"Oh." Rory studied the brochure. "It's pretty."

"Yeah, it really is. Hey, do you want to go feed the ducks? I think our bread went stale so we have some crumbs."

"Yeah!"

They walked slowly down the path towards the pond, Rory trying to remember the names that she had given all of the ducks. Lorelai was laughing and suggesting more and more outrageous names when Rorycouldn't remember.

Rory was counting on her fingers. "Donald, Daisy, Daffy…um…"

"Gerschnitzel?"

"No! And Penny, Patty, Lane…uh…"

"Schnickelfritz?"

"Mom!"

They giggled together as they neared the pond, but when they rounded the corner, Lorelai grabbed Rory's arm and pulled her to a stop. A young man was sitting on the footbridge, leaning his elbows on his legs, staring into the water. He was wearing a white dress shirt and black slacks, a black jacket next to him on the wooden planks. And he looked absolutely miserable.

Rory tugged on Lorelai's hand. "Mom, who is that?" she whispered. "He looks sad."

Lorelai held on more tightly to Rory's hand and steered her away from the pond. "Hon, someone died the other day. I think that's his son."

"What's his name?"

"I can't remember. Duke, or something."

"He looked really sad."

"I know."

"So we can't feed the ducks?" Rory looked at her bag of crumbs forlornly.

"Aw, not today. I think he needed to be alone. Let's just walk around town a little, okay?"

"Okay." They were silent for a few minutes. "I miss Dad," Rory said suddenly as they passed the gazebo.

Lorelai glanced at her. "I know, babe. But Christmas is coming soon. He'll visit then."

"And you'll see Grandpa."

"Uh-huh."

"Duke won't get to see his dad at Christmas," Rory said solemnly.

"No, sweetie, he won't."

"So we're lucky."

Lorelai bit her lip, ruffling her daughter's hair. "Yeah, we are."

As they turned a corner, Rory gasped and Lorelai followed her gaze. In a yard populated by at least a dozen garden gnomes stood a diminutive house. It looked like it had been built specifically for a person no taller than five feet. Rory started giggling.

"It's so small!"

"Yeah, it is. Look at all the funny little gnomes, Rory!"

The tiny door opened and a petite woman with a lot of teased blonde hair walked out. She was followed by a man who was so tall that he was nearly bent in half trying to get through the door. The woman stopped dead when she saw Lorelai and Rory.

"Oh, my gosh!" she exclaimed. "You must be Lorelai and Rory!"

Lorelai blinked in surprise and Rory looked up at her, confused. "Do we know her?" she whispered.

"No," Lorelai whispered back. "Uh, hi!" she called to the odd couple surrounded by gnomes. "Yeah, that's us. It's nice to meet you…"

"I'm Babette, and this is Morey. We're just on our way to Will Danes's funeral. You girls going?"

"Oh, no, we didn't know Mr. Danes," Lorelai said quickly. "We were just…heading home."

"Oh, well…it was nice to meet you girls."

Morey nodded at them, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. "Stay cool."

"Uh, we'll try."

When they were out of sight, Rory tugged on Lorelai's handand pointed at the house next door. "That's a nice house, Mom."

Lorelai grinned. "Yeah, it is. Maybe when I win the lottery we can buy it."

Rory frowned at her. "You don't like the lottery."

"It was a joke."

"Oh. So does that mean we can't buy the house?"

"Hmm." Lorelai studied the two-story house with the large porch. "Maybe someday."

Christmas was her favorite time of the year. Emily knew and took great pride in the fact that her annual Christmas parties were unparalleled in her social sphere. Every year her friends and her enemies – all of whom were invited, purely for the sake of tormenting them – exclaimed over the perfect decorations, the delectable food, and the seamless and unobtrusive activity of the servants. How did she do it? they would ask. Emily would smile, shrug, and turn away to issue some trivial order to a passing waiter, but she knew the answer.

Detail. It all came down to detail. The candles could only be so long, the tablecloths must be spotless, and every servant's outfit must be meticulous down to the last cufflink. Lorelai might scoff at Emily's need to "control" everything so minutely, but Emily had seen enough high society parties gone wrong to know that one small slip-up could mar one's reputation as a hostess forever. All she needed was for the wrong person to see the waiter with his zipper down, or to notice that her champagne glasses were just a little on the spotty side, or to trip over a badly placed end table.

To Lorelai these accidents would be amusing. To Emily they spelled disaster.

Emily's attention to detail and her ability to spot problems from miles away were legendary. That was how she could tell, when Lorelai and Rory walked through the door on the night of the annual Christmas extravaganza, that all was not right in their world. They both looked beautiful. Lorelai had chosen a deep blue cocktail dress with a skirt that hit just above her knees and a halter-style bodice, and she had dressed Rory in a dark red velvet party dress and black Mary Janes. They were both smiling, but Emily recognized the faint tightness in Lorelai's smile. Something was wrong.

"Hi, Mom," Lorelai said, approaching her. "The place looks fantastic. I think this might be your best one yet." They rarely got along, but Lorelai would never make the mistake of criticizing Emily's party. She was among the very few who knew exactly how much work Emily put into these affairs.

"Don't you two look lovely," Emily said with a smile. "Rory, I love your dress."

"It's soft," Rory told her, petting it. "You look pretty, Grandma."

"Well, thank you, dear. Why don't you go say hello to your grandpa?" As Rory wandered off in search of her grandfather, Emily turned back to her daughter. "Were the roads bad?"

"No, everything was fine. Thanks for sending the car." This last was said rather grudgingly. Lorelai hated accepting favors. "You look nice tonight, Mom. Is Dad behaving?"

"So far, no impromptu business calls. I hope it stays that way."

"Well, good."

Emily hesitated. "Lorelai, is something wrong?"

"What? No, everything's fine. You made the apple tarts tonight, right?"

"Of course." Emily hid a smile. Lorelai had a weakness for the apple tarts.

"Well, I'm gonna go grab one or two. Or six or seven."

"Do you want a drink?"

"Yeah, martini, dry, with a twist. Meet me by Dad."

Against all prior knowledge of her daughter, Emily reached out and took hold of her arm. "Lorelai, please tell me what's bothering you."

Lorelai looked at her mother, then at the hand on her arm – gentle but firm – and took a deep breath. "Okay. Let's go to my room."

They stopped to let Rory know where they were going and instruct her to stay with her grandfather, and then entered the fairy-tale princess room that had been Lorelai's. It was meticulous, as always. Lorelai, however, barely glanced around the room as she sank onto the bed, wrinkling the perfect bedspread.

"It's Christopher," she said.

Emily sat beside her. Not too close. "Is he all right?"

"I wouldn't know." Lorelai fumbled with the hem of her dress. "He hasn't called in days." She looked up and met Emily's eyes. "He promised Rory he'd be here for Christmas."

"Oh, Lorelai, Christmas is two weeks away. He has plenty of time to keep his promise."

"Mom, come on. Our whole lives, we both knew the Christmas season started with your party. Everyone in Hartford knows that. They may as well mark it on the calendar. Rory thinks that way, too, and she's crushed beyond belief. The only way I talked her into that party dress was by reminding her that she'd see Grandma and Grandpa."

Emily ignored the brief moment of pride that swelled her heart on hearing this and focused on her girls' disappointment. "He loves Rory. If he promised her, I'm sure he won't let her down."

Lorelai huffed out a breath. "He could make a career out of disappointing us. He…"

"Mom!" Rory tore into the room, clinging to the hand of a tall, curly-haired young man. "Look! Dad's here!"

Lorelai stood, her eyes widening. "Christopher."

"Hey, Lore." He swept her up in a hug. "God, it's good to see you. You look fantastic." He turned to Emily, kissing her hand. "Emily, radiant as always."

"I wasn't expecting you, Christopher," Emily said rather tightly. If there was one thing she hated, it was an odd number at the dinner table.

"Sorry, Emily, but I managed to come in a little early. I ate on the road, so I won't mess up your arrangements. I'll just hide in the study till everybody's gone."

Emily nodded. "I'll send a maid to get you anything you need while you're there. Lorelai, Rory, please come down soon." She left them.

Lorelai stared at Christopher, unable to believe how good he looked. "Look at you, all tan and healthy," she teased. "Spend all your time riding the waves?"

"Nah, I don't have the balance for it. You can basically get a tan just walking from one side of the street to the other."

"How do you ride waves?" Rory asked.

"With a surfboard, hon," Lorelai explained. "It's an expression."

"Oh. Did you bring us presents?" Rory demanded of her father.

He grinned. "Sure did, sweetheart. But you'll have to wait a while before you open them."

"Planning on staying a while?" Lorelai asked.

"At least through Christmas, if that's okay," he said seriously, watching her reaction.

She beamed. "Oh, it's so much more than okay."

Christopher scooped Rory up and took Lorelai's hand, and they walked down the stairs together.

Okay, so I've just realized that the ducks would probably have flown south weeks ago. Oh, well.