Thefirst Monday after their night together she was unable to walk into the diner with any kind of grace, the mask she had kept firmly in place having slipped beyond repair. And when his answering look held more guilt and confusion than acceptance, she knew their pretense of being passing friends was not going to work anymore.
She has not been back since.
Weeks have passed yet nothing has changed, she has stayed locked in her misery, her loneliness, without Luke, without Rory. She has had time to reflect, time to be caught in the mire of regret, time to be rueful of her foolish pride.
The tiles of the bathroom floor feel cold on her bare feet as she sits on the edge of the tub, staring down at the test in her hand, counting off the seconds. She knows in her heart that the test in unnecessary, that she's not pregnant, but she needs confirmation. When it reveals her instincts are true, the disappointment is a tangible thing. Tears run silently down her cheeks, as she rocks herself back and forth, arms clenched tightly around her middle. She doesn't even understand her own tears anymore. She doesn't understand why she's mourning so, just that the pain feels real and almost welcome.
She misses him. It is just as simple as that, yet just as complicated.
If she had any doubts as to her true feelings, they were extinguished a long time ago. Never, even through the years without Christopher did she pine for someone the way she pines for him.
It's almost funny really, the irony of it, that her life has become so simplistic, the people and things he thought too much, gone. And it is that lack, which has her reeling and railing against this latest cruel twist of fate. Another piece lost that can never be found.
Lying down on the bed in the dark she remembers the last time he was here. She walks through each step and touch in her mind, an exercise she's done over and over again, to ease the torment of her heart. But this time she grasps his shirt as he stands to leave, and he slides back down on the bed with her, smiling gently at her insistence that he stay. A fantasy so much better than the realty of her silent tears.
Would he have stayed if she asked? He didn't have to stay after she fell asleep the first time, didn't have to so carefully erase the coldness of their reunion with tender kisses and attentive hands. He didn't have to let her love him so fully, without words, without demands, taking a moment in time to heal her wounds and silence the heartache. Would he have stayed if she asked? Was he waiting for her to? Did she disappoint him again?
Somehow it seems important to know the answers to these questions, to swallow her pride in the asking, to share with him her loss of something that was so precious a thought, that to lose it had her doubting her sanity.
Rising, she dresses to go out, before fear and pride keep her locked away and clinging to a past she knows she can't change.
The early November streets are littered with fallen leaves, the cool crisp air, flushing her cheeks as she walks quickly toward town. The square is covered in white twinkling lights, their soft glow casting shadows on the gazebo floor as she enters and sits quietly on the bench. She can see him clearly, cleaning up at the end of the night, walking from table to table. This isn't the first time she has sat in this same spot, watching him, unable to make a move to close the distance they have imposed on each other.
Flipping her cell phone, she dials the number.
"Luke's," he answers.
"Luke, it's Lorelai."
"Hey," he answers softly, and she closes her eyes for moment, savoring the sound of his voice, the welcome in his tone.
"I need to talk to you about something, can you meet me after you close up?"
"Sure. Where are you?"
"In the gazebo."
"Okay. Give me a couple of minutes. You want to come in? Go upstairs?"
For a minute she's tempted, surprised at his invitation, his willingness to box himself into his apartment with her. But she doesn't trust herself in such a private setting, needing air and space and escape routes.
"No. Come out here. Okay?"
"No problem," he answers, hanging up the phone.
The bout of tears earlier has left her melancholy and spent, stripped of her usual facade. The questions that felt so intense earlier seem futile and foolish in light of their current circumstances. They have hurt each other so much, whether intentional or not, they have battle scars that are not going to be healed by demanding answers to philosophical questions. He did leave, he chose to, she didn't ask, she couldn't, and even if they both regret their actions, they cannot erase what went before. As minutes tick by waiting for him, she doubts her ability to say anything coherent, but maybe it's not necessary anyway. As he walks toward her, she thinks maybe this is enough, maybe this is all I need, just a moment to drive away the lingering pain she can't shake, the feeling of loss she can't help but feel.
"Hi," he says as he walks up the steps to meet her, smiling slightly.
"Hi," she says smiling back, awkward and shy.
"Are you okay?" he continues, trying to prompt her from their sudden awkward silence.
"I'm not pregnant," she blurts out, sighing deeply.
"Okay," he answers looking confused, waiting for her to elaborate.
"When we were together, well. . . I hadn't been taking my pills. . . well for a long time actually. . . because well there really wasn't any need to . . . and I wasn't thinking clearly. . . and anyway. I just wanted you to know that I'm not pregnant. I think it's important for you to know, well, that everything is okay, and there are no surprises. I just thought you might want to know. . ."
"I have a kid," he whispers.
"Luke, I'm not pregnant," she says again, thinking he has totally misunderstood her.
"I know. I have a kid. A daughter. She's twelve. Her mother, well, she i didn't /i tell me, and obviously we weren't careful and she didn't think it was important, you know to tell me for twelve years. . ." he says defeated, sinking down on the bench, knees splayed, bent over, looking down at the floor.
Of all the things she ever thought she would hear out of Luke's mouth, this is probably the last. Luke has a kid.And for a moment, she feels cheated again, robbed of her moment, numb with shock.
"I thought it was important that I tell you that," Luke whispers dejectedly. "That you know how complicated my life has become. I don't know how to do this, you know, be a father. I don't know what she needs from me. I don't know what to do for her."
"You're going to be a great Dad," she says, meaning it sincerely, and just that easy she steps out of her role as ex-girlfriend to be best friend again, wanting only to be there for him.
Sitting next to him, she reaches down and holds his hand, folding her fingers between his, feeling the rough material of his cut off gloves against her softer skin. She feels him sigh deeply, staring at their entwined hands, running the fingertips of his free hand over the back of hers.
"It's going to be okay," she whispers, as he tightens his grip.
They sit in silence for while, the feel of his strong shoulder against hers, the touch of his fingertips along her skin, gathering strength from each other.
Taking a deep breath, she finds her resolve. It is past time that she was totally honest with him, past time for pride not to get in the way. Needing him to understand, needing to share her own confessions with him, she gathers herself and takes the chance.
"Luke. . . I was disappointed. . . more than disappointed actually. I know that it wouldn't have been fair to you, but for a moment, I let myself . . . want it. . . you know what I mean."
"Yeah. . . I think I do," bringing their joined hands up to his lips, he plants a soft kiss on her knuckles, "because . . . just for a moment, . . .I think . . . I wanted it too."
To be continued