The first day that Rory woke up and discovered that she did not have to go to school, she pouted. Lorelai, torn between amusement at Rory's passion for school and pride in that stellar pout, reminded her that she could spend all her time with Lane. Somewhat cheered by this thought, Rory rushed to the phone to call her best friend before Lorelai could stop her, and received the sharp edge of Mrs. Kim's tongue for calling so early.

Jason, the head chef, resigned in the beginning of June. He'd found a job in a restaurant in New York and insisted that in Sookie's more-than-capable hands the Independence Inn kitchen would flourish without him. At his farewell party he kissed Lorelai's cheek, hugged Rory close, and clung to Mia as tears streamed down her face.

"I'm sorry," Mia sniffed, wiping at her cheeks. "I'm such a watery old fool, but I hate saying good-bye."

"I'm not so good at it myself," Jason answered with a smile. "We'll keep in touch, though, I promise."

"You are not leaving for war," said a peevish Michel, who had been forced to make an appearance (Lorelai had threatened to rip the tag off his designer jeans if he didn't). "We will carry on quite well."

"Yeah, I'll miss you, too, Michel," Jason grinned. The Frenchman gave a haughty sniff and turned away. Jason caught Lorelai's eye and winked, and Lorelai smiled back, trying not to cry at this upheaval of a world that had offered her her first real home.

Having Rory at home all day was comforting and wonderful. She followed Lorelai around the inn as she had done for years, placing mints on pillows and replacing the soaps and shampoos in the bathrooms. In the evenings Lorelai would sew: she would start with the mending and end with her pet project, a quilt of Rory's baby clothes.

It seemed impossible that already enough time had passed to make the tiny dresses and booties and hats that Lorelai had so carefully crafted obsolete. She picked up a blue dress that exactly matched her daughter's eyes, and felt her own eyes sting with tears. She glanced in the corner at Rory, who was sitting in a tiny antique rocking chair Mrs. Kim had given her for Christmas and reading Stuart Little. She really was beautiful – untouchably so, with her shining dark hair and her porcelain skin and her brilliant blue eyes. Had six – almost seven – years really passed that quickly? Delicate fingers turned a page, and Lorelai blinked and looked away. Her other life seemed so far away, in another universe.

She was twenty-two years old. If all had gone according to plan, she would have graduated college this year, possibly engaged to marry Christopher. Maybe. He'd always been a little sketchy about the commitment issue. Either way, she wouldn't be here with a little girl unparalleled in her beauty, her sweetness, and her intelligence. She wouldn't be sure of herself and her abilities to provide and protect. She wouldn't be her.

Lorelai smiled again as she picked up her quilt. Her lemons had turned into the sweetest lemonade imaginable.

Emily hadn't seen her girls in weeks. So she called. She missed them. But she couldn't tell Lorelai that. Instead, she did the next best thing. She scolded her.

"Hello?"

"Lorelai?"

"Um, no, this is Veronica's House of Pleasure. How may I serve you?"

"Oh, for goodness sakes, Lorelai! Is that appropriate?"

"Highly, when your only daughter answers the phone and you don't recognize her voice."

"Well, perhaps if that daughter called and visited more often I could pick her out of a line-up."

"Oh, Mother."

"Well, that one looks like Lorelai, because I'm pretty sure she had dark hair…"

"You're behind the times. It's an orange mohawk now. Very trendy."

"Is that a joke?"

"Of course it is! Orange looks awful on me! It's really purple – brings out my eyes."

"You're exhausting."

"So I'm told. So…"

"Yes?"

"Well, you called. I assume you have something you need to talk to me about."

"I was just wondering if there was any chance that I might be permitted to see my granddaughter between now and her eighteenth birthday."

"Gee, I don't know…I'll pencil you in for the day after next Halloween, but after that we're pretty much booked."

"Lorelai."

"Mother."

"Why don't you both come up for the fourth of July? Your father's company is holding a barbecue, and they always have the most spectacular fireworks."

"A barbecue? I'm having some trouble picturing you and Dad wearing bibs and chowing down on wings."

"Do you want to come or not?"

Lorelai paused. "Sure, Mom. We'd love that. Just let me make sure I can have that day off. Holidays are crazy around here."

"The barbecue starts at 6:00."
"Oh, that'll be fine. I'm on day shifts for the next few weeks."

"Day shifts? What does Rory do?"

Lorelai bit back a sigh and settled into her rocking chair, ready for a heck of a conversation. "Well, sometimes she follows me around the inn…"

"Oh, perfect. I'm sure her first words were 'dust buster'."

"Actually they were 'house-keeping,'" Lorelai retorted, then moved on quickly before Emily could retaliate. "But usually she stays with Babette, Miss Patty, or Mrs. Kim."

"Do you know these women?"

"No, Mother. I saw them on the street wearing leather mini-skirts and fishnet tights and thought they looked nurturing. Of course I know them. I've been living here for almost seven years."

Emily paused. Had only seven years passed? It seemed like a lifetime. "Well." Lorelai smirked, reveling in her small victory. "I guess I'll see you on the fourth," Emily said at last.

"Yes, you will."

"Mommy, I wanna be a dancer just like Miss Patty!" Rory announced one day when Lorelai walked to the dance studio to pick her up after work.

"You do?" Lorelai raised her eyebrows. She was pretty sure Rory had inherited her musical and artistic talent from her mother – which meant she had none.

"Uh huh! She gets to go places and dance a lot for lots of people!"

"Well, sweetie, maybe in a few years we'll sign you up, okay?"

"Okay." Rory hummed tunelessly (yep, her mother's talent, all right!) as they crossed the street. They picked up dinner at Al's Pancake World and tried to guess what was in the grab bags as they made their way back to the inn. Rory laughed at Lorelai's increasingly ridiculous suggestions, and when they finally got back to their little potting shed, they were both helpless with giggles.

Hundreds of rich people in suits sat at delicate glass tables in the shade of a marquee, eating exquisitely grilled steaks and shrimp. The adventurous ones had gotten barbecued ribs and were picking at them with their forks and knives. The men wore suits and ties; the ladies wore dresses. Lorelai, in comfortable jeans and a t-shirt, stood frozen at the entrance to the marquee, gripping Rory's hand and trying not to turn beet red.

"Lorelai!" Emily hissed, and Lorelai turned to see her looking mortified. "What on earth are you wearing?" she asked incredulously.

Lorelai looked down at her outfit, then met her mother's eyes defiantly. "You said it was a barbecue, Mom."

"That doesn't mean you need to dress like a cowgirl! And just look at Rory!" Emily stared in horror at the old clothes Lorelai had put on her.

"Barbecues are generally messy. And fun. I wasn't going to put Rory in her best dress and then have her ruin it."

"Ruin it with what?"

"With…with barbecue sauce! And anything else that might come along!"

"Mommy, I'm hungry!" Rory whined, tugging on her mother's hand and staring dolefully at the grill, where a white-clad chef complete with tall hat was turning steaks.

"Ah, Lorelai, Rory," Richard said, walking up to them. "I see you saw no reason to change before you came."

Lorelai ground her teeth. "Mom said it was a barbecue."

"And?"

"Forget it," Lorelai snapped. "Rory's hungry."

"Oh, I'll take her," Richard said eagerly, taking Rory's other hand. "Come on, Rory. Let's go find some food."

"Deserter," Lorelai muttered as Rory trotted happily beside her grandfather, who looked a little silly in his severe suit walking with a jean-clad little girl.

"Honestly, I don't understand you sometimes," Emily said, sounding exasperated.

"Mom, in the normal world, barbecues are fun. With messy food and watermelon-seed-spitting contests. I don't know what brain tumor made me think that this shindig would be like that, but that's what I thought."

"Why would anyone spit watermelon seeds?" Emily asked, baffled.

"So they don't have to swallow them," Lorelai answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Well, I hope you're happy – everyone here is talking now, saying that I couldn't even teach you how to dress properly."

"Extremely."

"Excellent."

Emily stormed away. Lorelai flopped down at a chair near a horrified woman in a huge millinery confection that had ten yards of netting decorating it. Lorelai waved at her.

"Nice hat."