Chapter 5
Rory placed a neatly folded stack of shirts in a cardboard box and secured it with a long strip of packing tape. She labeled the box 'clothes' with a black sharpie on the top and a side, and then grabbed the next empty box. Remembering something, she set down the box and went to her to-do list to add two more items. She had a week to get everything together, and her mind kept thinking of more things she needed to do, needed to pack, people she needed to touch base with.
It was almost winter break, and Rory wasn't coming back to Yale next semester, again. She'd be back to graduate, of course, but this fall was her last semester on campus. The day after Christmas, Rory was jetting off to Ireland to study abroad for the final term of her college career. Everything she needed to do, pack, and discuss with professors had to be done within the next 48 hours, because this was it.
Once she had the clothes in her dresser packed, she took another empty box and her list to the living room. She knelt down next to the television, concentrating on the movies on the shelf. She pulled off her movies. Most of the movies on the shelf were hers. Paris only owned three DVDs, and when Rory made the mistake of asking how that could be possible, she got an earful about how Paris had been serious about getting into Havard when she was younger and didn't have time for frivolous things like movies. If it couldn't be listed on a college application, Paris didn't have time for it.
Rory was lucky Paris and Doyle let her live with them when she came back to school a year ago. It was the two bedroom duplex just off campus Paris had told her about. It was in a perfect location. When she got word Rory would be returning to school in the spring, she promptly kicked out their roommate, who was an oboe player who didn't take advantage of Yale's multimillion dollar music facility for her early morning practice sessions.
Paris could not, however, help Rory at the Yale Daily News. She'd handed out all of the beats to the reporters who bothered to show up on the first day of the fall semester. She couldn't make an exception for Rory just because they were friends. Rory said she understood and would go to one of the school's many other newspapers. Not allowing that, Paris said she would find something. Rory ended up filling in wherever more reporting was needed. When there was a spike in crime, she tag teamed with Glenn. When there was a heavy schedule at the performing arts center, she reviewed concerts and plays. Paris didn't fully trust an underclassman to do her old beat justice, so Rory often wrote about religion. It kept her on her toes and out of her comfort zone.
Doyle came out of their bedroom, followed by Paris. She eyed the list Rory had sitting on the small dining table. From the other side of the table, Rory's laptop dinged. Paris glanced at the notification. "You've got mail. Tristan."
"Oh, okay," Rory said. "I'll look at it later."
Paris watched Rory move around the apartment. It wasn't until Rory had her box of movies full that she noticed she was being observed. "What?"
"You're never going to have a successful relationship as long as you're friends with him," Paris stated matter-of-factly.
Rory frowned at this unexpected declaration. "What?"
Paris tilted her head toward the laptop. "As long as you and Tristan are friends, you'll never have a successful relationship. I don't think he will either."
"What are you talking about? Things with Paul are fine," she said. Paul was a grad student. Rory met him at the library on campus. It seemed like a natural place to find someone perfect for her. He didn't mind when Rory went on weekend mini excursions. She was writing freelance articles about New England destinations for a couple travel magazines. There was a lot in her own proverbial backyard that she hadn't seen. Besides a handful of school field trips, most of her life had been confined to Stars Hollow.
Paul usually had papers to grade and his thesis to work on during the weekend, so Rory's road trips were solo. Paul was nice and perfectly lovely company. He was . . . fine. Paul was fine.
"And he's been dating someone—a girl named Danielle." He never actually mentioned her, except in passing once. He and Rory didn't talk about significant others anymore. It was an unspoken agreement after they got back into the routine of writing to each other. They were friends again, they talked about everything else, but there was no need to talk about their love lives. Instead, they talked around it.
And there were other ways of looking into these things, so Rory knew Danielle was a Phi Beta Kappa student and vice president of the senior class at Princeton. Rory also knew that Danielle was gorgeous and leggy and had the shiniest long black hair. He had significantly leveled up from the girls he'd dated at Chilton.
"I'm not in love with Tristan," Rory said.
"No one said you were," Paris said. "But it's telling that you put it out there. Tristan broke up with that girl this week. You didn't see?"
"I don't stalk Tristan on the internet," Rory said, taking a break from her packing to look in the refrigerator for a snack. "And we don't get into the sordid details of our relationships. So, no, I didn't know."
"I don't know who dumped who, but they split," Paris said.
"Well that's too bad." Rory asked, "But what does that have to do with me?"
Paris rolled her eyes. "Are you honestly telling me Paul is fine with you being in constant contact with Tristan, with the way he looks?"
"We aren't in 'constant contact', and Paul doesn't know about Tristan," Rory said. When she did mention him, she only called him her 'friend at Princeton'.
"What if Paul told you he was uncomfortable with your friendship with another guy and wanted you to stop being friends?"
Rory's face screwed up at the absurdity of the hypothetical question. "I've been friends with Tristan for years." He was also easily one of her closest friends. "I'm not going to cut loose a long-time friend for a guy I haven't known that long and won't be with for long."
"You're already planning to dump Paul?"
"I'm leaving for Ireland soon. I'm not interested in a long-distance relationship." They had always seemed temporary. She thought it would be good to try a different kind of guy. Someone safe and studious. And it was . . . fine. It was just fine.
Rory made a mental note to add 'break up with Paul' to her to-do list. She'd add it later, when Paris wouldn't be there to watch and scrutinize.
"So you admit Tristan is more important to you than the guys you date?" Paris asked.
Rory let the thought roll over in her mind. "I'm not saying anything. You're putting words in my mouth. Being friends hasn't affected my relationships." Except Colin, of course, but she kept that to herself. No one needed to know about that.
"Paul isn't really your type," Doyle said, taking a seat on the couch and turning CNN on quietly.
"What do you think my type is, exactly?" Rory asked. She quickly added, "And don't say jerks."
"Your type is more . . . edgy," Paris said with a shrug.
"You don't think Colin was a bit edgy?" Rory asked wryly. She met him while covering his secret society sophomore year. He had tracked her down and asked her out, without using the letter 'e'. "He was always planning some stunt or prank."
"He was a privileged white male," Doyle said disapprovingly.
"You're a privileged white male," Rory countered. "And so is Tristan."
After taking a break, during which Colin slept with several girls, he decided he wanted Rory back. And he decided to proclaim this in the middle of one of her classes. He burst in—mid lecture—to declare he was in love with her and he could get over what happened with her and Tristan. It was completely embarrassing. He made it sound like she slept with Tristan. Which she did, but not while she was with Colin.
If only it had been a stupid prank.
"We—were on—a break," Doyle said with a chuckle, shaking his head. "He insisted with no self-awareness." After consideration, he added, "To be fair, Paul is better than the Australian media mogul. I couldn't stand him."
Ah yes, the media mogul. Rory dated him after returning to school in the spring. His father owned a cable news network. Unfortunately, they had heard how her internship went. "Dinner with his family was an unmitigated disaster."
"That's a little dramatic," Doyle said.
"They accused me of dating him just to get a job in journalism," Rory said, verging on a rant.
"Weren't you?" Paris asked.
"No!" As though she'd be interested in someone because his dad impressed her. But he sided with his family and broke it off. They just didn't trust her.
"Why else would you date that idiot?" Paris shook her head. "That was the only way it made sense."
"I decided against political reporting. I didn't want to work for their news channel, anyway. I dated him in spite of it, not because of it. "Who takes a girl they just started dating to meet the family, anyway?" she asked. "And who breaks up with the girl because their parents don't approve? If anything, I should have been more appealing."
That left Graham. Rory dated him casually, and only for a summer. Perhaps she shouldn't have agreed when Emily introduced them. If Rory was being honest, she'd dated Graham because she felt helpless after sleeping with Tristan, knowing nothing was going to happen on that front. At the end of the summer, Graham wasn't interested in pursuing the relationship any further, which he explained, rather insultingly. He said she was irritable and aloof all summer, like she wasn't really present. He didn't see how her mood would improve once school was in full swing.
They had very little in common anyway, besides going to Yale. He liked sports, for Pete's sake.
Okay, so when she sat down and really thought about it, she was two for four on Tristan affecting her relationships. "I guess I didn't feel close enough to any of those guys to share everything." She added, "I didn't want them to ruin a good thing."
Paris could have taken the opportunity to pounce, to point out that Rory did feel comfortable enough to share most of herself with Tristan. She didn't, though. She just said, "Maybe you'll find someone you can open up with, about everything."
XXXXX
"Okay, is there anything else you want me to change?" Tristan asked, holding his phone in one hand and taking notes with his other.
"I think that's it. I'll let you know if I think of anything," Tristan's friend, Sean, said. "It looks great though. You did a better job than I thought you would."
"Uh, thank you?"
The line was quiet for a moment, then Sean said, "So, another one bites the dust, I see."
Tristan opened his laptop and was already focusing on the lines of code on the screen. He looked away, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Another one what?"
"Girlfriend. You broke up with another one."
"Oh. Yeah. We just weren't right for each other. You know how it goes."
"Sure," Sean said. "Girls who seem perfect never quite are," he added dryly.
"She wasn't perfect."
"Hey, did you ever date that one girl?"
"What girl?" Tristan asked, choosing to play dumb. Sean sat next to him in the cafeteria at military school. He knew Tristan only got letters from one person.
"You know the one. The girl that wrote to you in high school. What was her name?"
Tristan put the cursor where he needed to re-write the code before answering, "Rory." He opened one of his notebooks to make sure he was changing the code correctly.
"That's right. Did you ever date her?"
"Nope. We're just friends." Tristan continued, "And she left for Europe two weeks ago to study abroad in Ireland next semester. I don't think she's going to be sticking around here after graduation. She will be globetrekking." Rory had a new energy about her after taking a semester off last year. She had renewed motivation now that she had refocused.
"Hmm. Well, I always wondered why you didn't date her."
Because they weren't in the same place. Because Tristan didn't trust the other guys she was surrounded by. Because they'd hardly get to see each other. Because they'd have to play phone tag. Because who knew what would happen after graduation? There were many good reasons. Tristan had recited the list to himself for years. It kept him in the present moment. It kept him from fantasizing about things that would never happen.
"What are your plans after graduation?" Sean asked, bringing Tristan back to the moment.
"Nothing solid yet," Tristan said. "I'm keeping my options open."
"You'll think of something," Sean said. "How much do I owe you?"
"Owe me for what?" Tristan asked, sitting back and looking away from his monitor.
"For all the work you did. You had to learn how to do that. I owe you for your time and expertise."
"I'm not an expert. I've been flying by the seat of my pants," he said. "I was just helping you out."
"You perform a service, you get paid," Sean pointed out. "Dude, I get to write this off as startup fees."
"Oh, I hadn't thought about it."
"Well, think about it and send me an invoice."
They ended the call and Tristan went to work immediately making the changes Sean wanted to his website. He checked the front end again to make sure he didn't forget anything—or break the whole site—and logged off. He closed his laptop and picked up a postcard. It was from Rory, from her first destination in Europe. It was just a quick couple of lines. He had a feeling it was more to brag about where she was. He tapped the card on his desk a few times before pinning it to the bulletin board in front of him. He looked at the card thoughtfully as he sat back in his swivel chair.
"What am I going to do about you?"
XXXXX
Rory stepped away from her family, finished posing for photos. She assured them she'd meet them for dinner in an hour before making her way over to the library, where Tristan was sitting on the concrete steps, waiting for her. He looked handsome in gray slacks and a blue shirt that brought out his eyes. He already graduated yesterday, and came to Yale to lurk around campus until her ceremony was finished. He didn't get a seat since she'd only been allowed four tickets. He thought the reenactment ceremony at Stars Hollow sounded perfectly reasonable.
Rory smiled as she approached him and took a seat a step lower than him, arranging her black gown around her. She took off her flat hat, careful not to disturb her soft curls.
Tristan picked up a bottle of champagne he'd brought and uncorked it. He held it over for her.
Rory accepted it and took a big sip. "Well it was touch and go, but I made it."
"Yup." He smiled at her. "We're done."
She sighed. "No, just beginning." She had a job lined up. She was going to write travel and culture for a Condé Nast magazine. In a week, she was leaving. She had a one-way ticket to Bali. She doubled the number of articles she sold when she went to Europe to study abroad. By the time a fourth magazine was interested in her writing, she was confident she could be a travel writer. She started mailing out resumes as soon as the spring semester started. Studying abroad, without any ties holding her back, had been the best decision for her. Traveling solo, she had to figure everything out by herself. And she did it. Her mother and grandparents were unwaveringly proud.
Tristan put his hand on the bottle to take it back, but Rory took another gulp before letting him have it. "Cheers." He raised the bottle and took a drink. "How was the graduation party last night?"
"Oh." She pulled the champagne back. "Fine. Grandpa and Grandma sang." She took a long guzzle at the memory.
"Sang what?"
"An original piece. It was about me."
Tristan laughed softly.
"I don't think I have a day to myself over the next week. Mom has movie nights and shopping plans. Grandma and Grandpa want me for lunch and a last Friday night dinner. Dad wants to hang out with me before I go, too. Lane and I are planning girls' night."
"Sounds like you're booked out."
She nodded as she put her lips around the bottle. She stopped the flow and almost choked. "Oh, I should check my schedule to see if I can squeeze you in. I'm sorry, I'm not used to being in the same state as you."
He waved a hand and shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Hang out with your family. I have things to take care of."
Her shoulders fell. "Oh, okay. So, what are you going to do now? Rent a place on campus?" she teased.
Tristan leaned back, resting his arms on the steps behind him. He shook his head. "No. But I don't want to get a job either."
"Well what are you going to do? Go to graduate school until your trust fund kicks in?"
"That won't be for ten years, and it's not enough."
"Not enough for what?"
"To live on."
"What are you going to do then?"
"Remember when my buddy was starting a business and needed a website?"
She shrugged. "Sure."
He had told her about it. He took some classes at the nearby community college during junior year and learned to build a website. He let Rory see it. It looked really professional. She didn't believe he was the one who built it.
"I went to some networking events, and talked to some business owners who don't have an online presence yet—it's actually a lot—and told them why they should be online."
"And you talked some into it?"
"Yeah, I have really good soft skills. They know they need to be on the internet, they just don't know how to do it," he explained. "And they referred me to their business friends. I have paying clients coming in every week. I had so much work, I barely had time to study for my finals." He gave her the champagne. "I don't need to get a job."
Rory didn't lift it to her lips though, she let it rest in her lap. "But—that's . . .You're going into business for yourself?" she asked, incredulous. "You're starting a business, just like that? Right out of college—without a business degree or doing some kind of internship first?"
"Mm-hmm." He tilted his head toward her. "I did major in business for two semesters. I think I know what I'm doing."
"But, hold on. You've had the intellectual powerhouse of Princeton at your fingertips, and you started a business with what you learned from a few classes at community college?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Don't be such an elitist."
"I'm not." She paused. "I am. That's crazy."
"Princeton still looks good on my resume. If I had a resume." He leaned in conspiratorially. "I don't have a resume."
Rory stared at him. She proofread and tweaked her resume every other day. She printed it so many times she knew how to change the paper and ink on the library copy machine. Some days her fingers were covered in bandages from all the paper cuts she got from stuffing envelopes.
"You can work from home in your underwear?"
He didn't say anything for a moment. He took the bottle back to take a swig. "Mm-hmm. Just take a second to picture that. Or the beach."
"Or a cafe in Paris."
"Or Bali." He handed the champagne to her. She took it limply.
She opened her mouth, but words failed her. He lifted the bottom of the bottle until it reached her lips. She took a sip. Then, "You can't go to Bali. It's in Indonesia."
"That's why I couldn't find it. I didn't turn the globe far enough around." He made a circling motion with his finger. He continued, "I have money coming in and can go wherever I want. I really want to date this girl, so I have to go to Bali."
Rory took a shaky breath.
"I've been stuck in these important, name brand institutions since I was six. My stuff is in boxes, it's time to be rootless and go on a big adventure," Tristan said. "I promise I'll still work in my underwear." While she sat stunned, he said, "Do you want to go to dinner in a couple weeks?" He added, "On a date, to be clear. It would be a date."
She found her voice to say, "But we're such good friends. Dating could ruin that. I don't want to lose one of my best friends."
He shook his head. "The friend zone is the one hundred and thirty miles between Princeton, New Jersey and New Haven, Connecticut. We have only been friends because of that zone, and the zone no longer exists," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm closing the zone."
She frowned. "I was in the friend zone?"
"Yes."
"Girls can't be in the friend zone."
"You're a girl, and you were in it," he said simply. "I tried to get you out of it sooner. Did I ever tell you I applied to Harvard?"
Dumbstruck, she said, "No. You did?"
"Mm-hmm. I did not get in. But I applied."
Rory's heart was thumping harder than normal. "But why?"
He grinned and pushed some hair that had blown in her face behind her ear. "Why wouldn't I try to be close to you? You were single—you finally had those other two knuckleheads out of your system. It could have been my chance."
"Did you apply to Yale?"
Tristan sat back again. "No. I didn't think you would come here. Harvard was just a shot in the dark."
She thought about it some more, her heart racing. "But moving to a different country is huge. And we're terrible at relationships."
"Are we?" he asked.
"I would say so. I've dated . . ." she trailed off as she counted every guy she dated in college. "Four guys at Yale."
"Stop dating jerks."
"They weren't all jerks. Paul wasn't a jerk."
"Who's Paul?"
"Paul, you know, the guy I was dating before I went to Ireland."
"No, I don't know. You never mentioned him."
She gave him a look. "You can find these things, if you look."
He frowned. "Not if you don't change your relationship status. Which, I've heard, means it isn't even 'official'."
Her face mirrored his. "I didn't?" She shrugged. "Eh, it doesn't matter anymore." She got back on topic, "What about you? You've had more girlfriends. What was it, five?"
His eyes looked up as he thought. "Five or six. That doesn't mean I'm bad at relationships."
"Well it can't be the girls. They were all perfect, but you managed to find reasons to break up with them."
"Some broke up with me," he said. "And they weren't perfect."
She argued, "Yes they were. Every Princeton girl you dated was smart and beautiful, like they belonged on the runway or on the front of a magazine." He started shaking his head, but she went on, "Caitlyn? Caitlyn is a Rhodes Scholar. And Heather? She fostered shelter dogs and built houses in the summer with Jimmy Carter." She thought of his other girlfriends. "Oh, and Alissa. She was a National Merit Scholar. You could not have found anyone better," she said. "No other girl could ever have a chance. They're completely intimidating."
There was a pregnant pause. "How did you know all that?" he asked.
She waved her hand dismissively. "It's all out there."
He turned in so he was facing her. He tilted his head and gave her a knowing look, the corner of his mouth started to curl up.
"And you are so picky that none of them were good enough." Tears started to well up in her eyes. "It really makes a person wonder what those girls could possibly be missing."
He cut her off before she could say anymore, lifting her chin to press his lips firmly to hers. Her hands cradled his face as she kissed him back, the champagne bottle forgotten.
She was breathless when he finally broke the kiss and gazed into her eyes. "If it doesn't work out I'll just move to a different country and we can go back to emailing." He tilted his head and leaned back in, but paused, making Rory close the gap, which she did quite willingly. All thoughts evaporated, the only one remaining was that they would get to do this a lot more.
She reluctantly pulled away. "Okay, we can go to dinner. In Bali. We'll just . . . see what happens."
