July 18, 2008
He can't not look at her, that's how it is, if she's in his line of sight, he's looking. She's at the other end of the common room, curled up on the couch with her laptop. He absently presses a finger to his lip, it's stopped hurting.
Since Lane left she's been brief with him. He doesn't wonder why, what's the point? It's probably better this way anyhow. They've spent a few nights in the common room with the others, watching movies, or each in their own corner, that way of hanging out together that mainly just means sharing space. He gets by on it, won't ask for more if he can keep that. Paula and Nicks are playing cards. He's reading. Rory's squinting at her screen. She sighs deeply, hits the same key repeatedly and types again.
He doesn't ask. But it is their week on household duty. Nicks and Paula are one team, Mark and Izzy another, and he and Jake was one; Now it's him and Rory, and the dishes have been piling up since yesterday. When he sees her in the kitchen later he sort of has to help to keep his conscience clear.
"You don't have to." She says when he joins her.
"Yeah I do," he responds.
She doesn't look at him, but hands him a towel. He starts wiping off the plates, putting them into the cabinet. Okay, so maybe he wonders a little why. But he shouldn't ask. He goes for something different instead.
"What's going on?"
She looks up, smiles tightly.
"With you beating up your keyboard earlier?" He clarifies, a little embarrassed.
Her expression softens.
"Oh that." She sighs. "My car's in the shop, it was gonna be done today but the guy said it needs to stay the weekend, and I was gonna drive up to see my grandpa so now I have to take the bus and the timetables are just disastrous or they won't load-"
"I could drive you."
What the hell? She stares at him. His head tries to keep up.
"I should visit Doula, Luke."
She chuckles.
"You should?"
"Been neglecting my duties."
She shakes her head.
"You'll be neglecting your duties around here too." She gestures at the dishes.
"Look who's talking."
She goes a little pink.
"I was gonna do it when I got back." She chuckles. "And you weren't planning-"
"You presented an opportunity." It works, technically, Nicks is busy with her writing, he's free to do whatever, of course this would be it, even if it shouldn't be. "When do you need to leave?"
She hesitates for a second, and part of him is relieved, but then:
"Tomorrow."
"Okay."
Gravity.
"Thank you."
They finish up, she goes to pack some stuff, and he picks up his phone. He calls Liz first, not out of consideration, but to get out of calling Luke himself. He downplays offering the ride to Rory, just tells Liz it made sense they drive together.
"You're such a good guy, I don't know where you get it." She gushes.
"Yeah, yeah."
"You staying with us?"
"No, at the diner." He doesn't offer an explanation. "Tell Luke for me?"
July 19, 2008
The city is still scorched. The thunder storm from Lane's visit didn't do anything but evaporate straight away. If there was a way buildings could wilt, he's sure they would. Rory's waiting on the sidewalk outside their building with an overnight bag when he pulls up in the car, and she gapes when recognizing it, paint job and all. He stops by the sidewalk, leans over and pushes the door open.
"Oh my god! Is that the same car?"
"Yup."
She gets in, tosses her bag in the back and looks around, takes a breath, smelling the space. He laughs silently at it.
"How is that even possible? Last time I saw it-" She falls silent and he knows why.
"Uhm, the guys, we pooled our money to fix it up, we needed a car, in the beginning."
She fastens her seatbelt. He steps on the gas and heads towards the 478. It's quiet. He glances at her. She's in a white shirt and a denim skirt that ends right above her knees. He leans over and opens the glove compartment taking care not to touch her.
"Pick whatever music you want."
She picks a tape with Pearl Jam, one of their endless live bootlegs. She pushes it in, chuckles at Eddie Vedder talking between tracks, then sings along, softly, slightly out of key. What the hell is he doing? They've just gotten on the 95 when she speaks again.
"So… How do you suppose this will work?" She asks.
"What?"
"It's the first time we're in Stars Hollow since..."
Her voice trails off, he glances at her not sure if she's counting the years or if she's too aware of when they last inhabited that particular space together. She looks up and he knows which it is.
"I mean, are you gonna sleep on our couch?" She asks, smiling.
"I don't know, depends on what Luke's in the mood for."
"Well, how have you slept when you visited before? At Liz's?"
He laughs without knowing why.
"No way. I've stayed at the diner, a couple of times on Lorelai's couch."
"What about my room?" Her voice is quiet.
He clears his throat.
"You honestly think Lorelai would let me sleep in your room?"
"She doesn't?" She raises her eyebrows.
"She always has some excuse."
Rory snorts, shakes her head.
"She is a nutjob."
"She's okay."
Rory turns her head at him and squints.
"Did I just catch you good-mouthing my mom?"
"We've been getting along better."
She snorts.
"Meaning you've stopped actively trying to piss her off."
"Sure." He admits. "But I think maybe she's been trying not to get pissed off too. It's a delicate balance, a two-way serpentine road-"
She laughs.
"You're full of it." There's a pause. "But, I am happy you're getting on better. It's probably 'cause I'm-"
He interrupts.
"We've known each other for a while now, she's just gotten used to me."
She looks at him, a bit of wonderment in her expression.
"Thanks again for doing this, it's so nice of you."
"Stop it."
"Stop calling you nice or thanking you?"
"Both."
She doesn't ask why, and stays quiet. It gets unnerving pretty quick.
"Hey, have you read Nation?" He asks.
"Pratchett?" She laughs. "You read Pratchett?"
"I read everything."
There's a pause. He sees her looking at him in the corner of his eye.
"It's a great book, all categories, you should read it."
"I will." Another pause, like she has a foot out the conversation, but then: "Why did you think of it?"
"I don't know, I guess I came to think about his ideas about magic."
She gives out a surprised laugh, eyes gleaming.
"I can't believe I didn't catch that as an angle for you."
"And here I thought you knew me."
"Jess Mariano - the nerd." She smiles. "You should get those Urkel glasses, but you'd probably just look good in them and then where would we be?"
They look at each other, smiling. She clears her throat.
"You were saying something about magic?"
"Right. That's his idea about it anyway, the amount of schooling and practise you need to use magic is so immense that you might as well just do what you wanted it for the regular way. And then there's wild magic, chaotic and sentient, that you can't control anyway."
"Fun."
"That's the Pratchett appeal."
"I always preferred Douglas Adams." She says.
"Really?"
"I liked his characters better."
He nods, tries to stay quiet, can't.
"Speaking of which, d'you get around to making that list?"
She smiles.
"For our book club?"
"Yeah."
"It's harder than I thought." She admits. "Everytime I think of one I can't help imagining what you'll have to say about it," she chuckles, and her voice changes, goes theatrical, "and I think it's really rude of you living in my head like that, paying no rent, making a mess, sharing your opinions even when I'm not asking."
He laughs, but doesn't really think it's funny, just, the way it is, that's what it's like for him with her, and not just when books are involved.
"Well," he starts, "maybe we could take advantage of it."
"How?"
"We could pick out books for each other."
"I pick a book for you-?"
"A book you think I would've picked, and the other way around."
"And then we switch."
"Yeah."
She smiles and nods slowly. She leans back in her seat, props her legs, her bare feet up against the dashboard and looks out the window. He can't not look. She catches it.
"Is this okay?" She asks.
A thing gets its worth from how it's used, how it's loved, not how tidy it is or how good it looks; A pretty girl being comfortable in his car adds to its worth, so apart from him wanting to pull over and pull her into the backseat, and that unfortunately being out of the question, it's completely okay. He nods, clears his throat and nails his eyes to the road.
"So, what's the plan for your visit?"
"See my mom, have some sort of binge-movie-night, tomorrow I'll go to Hartford and see my grandpa." She answers.
"What time will you be back? I mean, when should we go back to New York?"
"I don't know."
"I could pick you up in Hartford." He offers.
He can tell she actively considers it, chewing on her lower lip.
"Okay. Yes please. You remember-?"
"I know where."
They stop for coffee and lunch, and reach Stars Hollow about an hour later. He parks by Lorelai's house. She picks up her overnight bag and gets out of the car.
"Do you wanna-?" She starts.
"Probably best if I don't. I'll go straight to Liz's.
She nods and slams the door. He waits until she's reached the porch and is greeted by Lorelai. They hug and Lorelai raises a hand in his direction, he returns the gesture and drives off.
Liz's house is worse every year. When they bought it, it was fairly normal, like someone who had their life together might live there. Since then it's become sentient, inviting and radiating chaos. Liz's places always had that air about them. Lorelai's house has a similar vibe actually, but where Liz gathers chaos, Lorelai gathers folly. He's been wishing for a while his mother could take a couple of cues from her sister in quasi-law.
The lawn is unmowed, and the garden shed surrounded by the failed or discarded projects of the house's inhabitants, color is chapped across the facade and vegetation protrudes through the wood of the porch. Luke does what he can but has learned by now that some things have to be allowed to fall apart in order to prove their points. Jess also suspects his uncle takes more than a little pleasure in watching Taylor tear his remaining hair at the state of the place. He chuckles at the thought.
Liz greets him with the sort of disproportionate enthusiasm which he always fails to match. On good days the discrepancy leads to her going on and on about her life, her friends, her business, her love life, and on bad days to stiff silences or worse: him being handed over to TJ as a conversational partner.
"TJ's napping."
It's among the first things she says, and he stifles a sigh of relief. Liz may be a nut but at least he's comfortable handling her.
"I thought that was Doula's job." He retorts.
He closes the door behind himself. He's strategically left his own bag in the trunk of the car, no need to invite an invite.
"Could you watch her?" Liz walks ahead of him into the kitchen where Doula is sitting on a blanket with some toys. "And put on some coffee will ya? I'm way behind on my orders, I'm just gonna slip out and-"
She doesn't even finish the sentence before disappearing into the garage. He stands still for a moment and smiles to himself. Then he looks at Doula who looks back at him.
"Just you and me, huh?"
She lets out a sound of some bubbly variety and he shakes his head, like everytime the thought crosses his mind; that she might recognize him, that she's his sister, and that eventually she'll learn the word brother, and he will be its definition.
He heads for the coffeemaker and Doula makes another sound, a protest this time. He walks over to her.
"I'm not going anywhere."
He picks up the toddler. He's confident about it, has been even when she was an infant, quick to learn. If Liz can do it, it can't be that hard. It's far from the first time that thought has pushed him into trying something, a strange sort of inspiration. If he ever writes an autobiography he should probably mention it. He puts on coffee, holding Doula with one arm. Then he sits her down on her blanket and himself next to it, and lets her show him her toys.
About twenty minutes pass before Liz comes back. She pours herself a cup of coffee and sits down next to Jess and Doula. She talks about her orders, about her new line and he offers the polite affirmation sounds but doesn't really ask any questions, or offer information about his own life.
TJ wakes up and Jess immediately offers to take Doula for a walk. He takes her to the park and watches her play, pushes her in the swing and helps her build a track in the sand for her toy cars. They stay for a while. When he gets back it's late afternoon. He stays by the door and talks to Liz.
"Is this all we get?" Her tone is light, but it never takes much to tip it.
"I'll be back tomorrow." He mumbles, shifting his weight. "I should go."
"Dinner at Lorelai's?"
He shakes his head.
"Just gonna meet up with Luke. And if I know the Gilmores it'll be the entirety of whatever latest menu they got in their mailbox, don't know if dinner is big enough of a word."
Liz smiles in an unnerving way and pets his cheek before he has a chance to stop her.
"Well, whatever it turns out to be, say hi."
He takes the car, just to be safe, just to be free. He parks it outside Luke's and heads inside. Luke is tied up with a customer but nods at him as he enters, and he unceremoniously pours himself a cup of coffee and sits down at the edge of the counter waiting for his uncle. After a few minutes Luke walks up to him, while untying his apron.
"So this is a surprise." He starts, naturally. "Your visit. Liz told me and I thought, is it Christmas already?"
Jess smiles tightly and drinks his coffee while bracing himself.
"Rory need a lift?"
Luke looks pleased with himself, like he figured something out, which is fair, but not exactly a feat that makes him Sherlock Holmes. Jess sighs.
"Yeah, I see how it is; I'm forever typecasted, no helping out allowed."
"Oh come on now." Luke waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Did I say that? But I know you and-" he lowers his voice, "-your bullshit is showing."
"So? I like her, always have, hardly news I'd be inclined to help her out." Jess says lightly.
"No, you just remind me of someone s'all."
"Yeah? Who?"
Luke shrugs.
"Just someone who regularly plays Golden Retriever."
"Should we get going?" Jess gets out of his chair and goes to pour out the rest of his coffee.
"But you're probably more of a Labrador, right?" Luke has been waiting for this for six years.
"Whatever you say." Jess collects his things and heads for the door. "Later, Cesar."
Luke follows him.
"Or maybe some kind of Terrier? Lot of bark." He snickers, and Jess shakes his head.
They pass the gazebo. Luke places a hand on his shoulder. Jess hates that it still feels odd, that he can't even get used to these simple, kind gestures. He kills the feeling by reaching back and patting Luke on the back.
"How are you?"
"Same old, same old, why would you even ask?" Luke mutters.
Jess chuckles, maybe he's not the only one with difficulties. Luke sighs.
"Town's as crazy as always, it should try something new sometimes, but that's the definition of insanity, what can you do? Diner's the same as always because every time I even consider changing anything there's a riot, starting at home. Oh, and incidentally; My old lady is the same also, only you won't catch me complaining about that."
Jess smiles.
"Your old lady? What are you, a biker?"
"I can't refer to her as my girlfriend or partner or I'd never hear the end of it."
"Plus I bet she's into the biker-title."
"Yeah, well." Luke admits.
"You should marry her, solve that problem."
"Yeah, but then I'd have to ask her and I'd never hear the end of that."
Jess laughs. Luke and Lorelai's bickering is a whole lot more fun when they're happy together than apart and frustrated, there was always a note of danger to that which Jess has grown out of enjoying.
They reach the house and enter. Paul Anka greets them at the door but apart from him the place is quiet.
"The girls are at Lane's. They decided to bring Al's entire Pancake World to her, Zack and the boys. Good riddance if you ask me, I've had it up to here with Al's Pad Thai, I even wish he'd go Tex Mex again."
"So what do we do about dinner?"
Jess opens the fridge, half-afraid of what he'll find there. Before he has time to register any content Luke grabs him and leads him away from there.
"You're not doing anything, I'm cooking. I usually have to fight the fast food joints in this town for the right to feed myself when Lorelai is involved, so I am not wasting an evening like this."
"Knock yourself out." Jess sits down at the table.
Luke cooks dinner. They eat. It's good. Jess puzzles together the recipe to make it himself for another day. They do the dishes. It's quiet, until it isn't. Distant voices grow closer. Lorelai and Rory are coming home. Luke wipes the last plate.
"Let's go."
"We're not staying there?"
"Uh-uh, let them have the evening to themselves, we'll stay at the diner."
Jess gathers his things once more and follows Luke to the front door. It opens just as they're about to exit, and mother and daughter fill up the hallway. Lorelai hugs Jess briefly and leans in for a kiss from Luke. Jess looks away and locks eyes with Rory who seems to be on the same mission as him. They smile at each other, it's warm and close, and the proximity in the small room is just a very small part of why.
"Jess?" Luke says.
He blinks.
"Yeah, let's go, enjoy your evening."
They head back to the diner, closed by now. The apartment has gotten better since Luke has stopped living permanently in it. It's less cluttered, tidy, and Jess's old room has been converted into some sort of living room, with the TV and a fold out couch. Luke gets two beers from the fridge, hands one to Jess and turns on the TV. They sit down.
"So, what does your girlfriend think of all this?" When Jess ignores him he clarifies: "You, Rory, roadtrip."
"Nothing," Jess takes a sip from his bottle, "she barely asked what I was doing for my weekend. The only way this is even a thing is if I make one of it."
Luke gestures.
"So, she knows, she doesn't know?"
"She doesn't care."
"Well, how's the whole roommates going?" Luke tries.
"It's fine." Jess says curtly. "Kinda nice to have her close by actually."
It is. Just because there's a ton of problems coming along with it doesn't negate that.
"How're you holding up?" Luke asks.
Here's where Jess hits a roadblock. He wants to answer quickly, dismissively, but the word, a simple fine, gets stuck in his throat. He sighs.
"Could we not do this?"
Luke nods.
"Sure. If that's what you want."
It's quiet for a few moments, but Jess doesn't want Luke thinking that he doesn't appreciate him offering an ear, because he does, it's the one he couldn't do without. He stifles a sigh.
"It's just, there's nothing to say, saying stuff won't fix it, probably the other way around, and it's too complicated anyway."
Luke frowns.
"No it's not."
"What do you know?" Jess gnarls.
Luke holds up his hands in admittance.
"Okay, fine, situations can be tricky, but your feelings usually aren't, unless you're too scared to look at them."
"Luke." It's a plea.
Luke sighs, shifts in his seat before speaking again.
"Remember that girl you used to date?"
"Vaguely."
Clearly. He knows who Luke means but they were all the same. No. Not the same. But into him for the same reasons; his armor, his projections, his power, all built on what he's been through, none of it what he wants to be. Even Nicks is an advanced version of the same kind. Sure, she probably likes a lot of things about him, but it's how he holds himself together that really matters. Rory is not part of that. He still doesn't know exactly what she saw, but knows that it was none of that crap of his. Maybe she was being honest that night at the Biergarten; maybe she was lonely without him.
Luke is just sitting there, nodding, like he's thinking about Shane.
"Yeah." He says absently. "Of course, you may be nothing like me."
"I'm myself enough." Jess mutters. "Wish I could fix that."
"Come on now." Luke lowers the volume on the TV and turns to him. "I'm not saying you don't deserve the normal kind of contentment. I don't want you to be lonely, or unhappy, but I want you to have more than enough. Sometimes settling is just running from disappointment."
Jess is not in a position to say anything dismissive, so he swallows, lowers his voice.
"I know it's not normal, being wired like this."
"Hey." Luke grabs his lower arm and shakes it a little. "I know you care about Rory for real reasons, give yourself some credit."
There's no response good enough. He doesn't try to provide one, just turns the TV back on.
When he goes to bed - the couch made up - a while later, he watches the ceiling lit up by the too bright street lights - one of Taylor's attempts to make the town's zero tolerance on crime reality, burning away the one-point-eight times a years someone actually calls the police with eighteen hundred lumens - and stray shadows from the trees sneak into the apartment. He reaches for New York, Brooklyn, Nicks in his mind but it feels fake, so he stops. He listens to Luke who's already snoring, the buzzing from the fridge, the light ticking from the clock.
He feels the ache in his chest. It's not new, it's the least new thing in his life, but these days he mostly ignores it, just like he did before he moved to Stars Hollow, before he even knew Luke. It's only here, in the apartment above the diner, that it's actually okay to just feel it, he doesn't know why, or maybe he does, but he's not up for acknowledging it.
July 20, 2008
"I don't see why you can't stay at our place when you're visiting."
Liz is more on edge today. Even after Jess has spent several hours with Doula at the park, helping with cooking lunch, doing the dishes, listening to TJ tell the story of him joining the Stars Hollow Historical Society, painfully participating and getting kicked out slash quitting, but since it's his word against Taylors it could be either way.
Now he's readying to leave and Liz won't let him without putting up a fight.
"You really wanna have that conversation?"
He knows she doesn't. He doesn't even think she really wants him around that much, but like, he gets it: She wants to want him there, or she wants him around but a bit to the left, him to be a different son. Maybe he's too hard on her, she can't change any of what happened between them, and he's not ready to ask for anything she might be able to do in any constructive way, but he can't help himself.
"Well, why not stay longer?"
"Liz-"
"And why don't you ever bring your girlfriend home?"
He's about to protest the basic concept of home but remembers that it really is to Liz, to Luke. And he feels cheated, in a way, raised a New Yorker only to have that yanked - no pun intended - away from under him. She could have stayed here, had him here, his life would have been different, even if nothing else would've changed. Now he's like an immigrant in his own home country. Weird. Stars Hollow, home? Nicks in Stars Hollow? What would be worse? Her liking it or hating it?
"I don't think we're there yet." He says, not specifying if he means Liz or Nicks, not knowing himself.
"Or maybe you're embarrassed or something." TJ lets out from his seat at the table, Doula in his arms.
Jess snorts, gestures decisively at him.
"You do not know what you're talking about, man."
"Yeah, TJ, butt outta this, please." Liz says.
She turns to Jess. They look at each other. She closes her eyes, smiles.
"Hey. I get it, the vibes need to be right everywhere."
Her habit to lean on hippie mumbo-jumbo is becoming a coping mechanism for both of them. She leans her forehead to his, he lets her, closes his eyes for just a second and lets himself feel it.
She wants things to be different too but she's powerless and frustrated, that's why she's been such a crappy mother through the years. They say people who lose their parents early are stunted, Luke is too, in his way. But they had to grow up anyway. Luke accepted that, Liz didn't.
And at the thought he wonders if Nicks is more like his mother in that way. Her apartment, her obsession with people, it's a way to never be alone again. He can't blame her, even if he can't relate completely, and her way of dealing with loneliness is definitely more constructive than Liz's ever was.
Liz lets him go but he's still exhausted. This is why he doesn't improvise visits this way, he needs preparation.
He drives to Hartford and rings the doorbell of the looming Gilmore mansion. Seconds pass and he takes a few steps back to regard the house. Lights are turned on and visible through windows, but there's no movement inside, no sound makes it through the brick walls.
The door finally opens and a woman in service clothes appears. They squint at each other.
"Yes?"
He resists glancing down to remind himself of whatever worn t-shirt he's wearing, how torn his jeans are.
"The Gilmores?"
She lets him in. Rory comes rushing down the hall. The woman makes an attempt to remove his jacket. Rory interrupts her before it becomes a struggle. The woman disappears in the direction of the kitchen. Jess smiles at Rory, slightly embarrassed.
"I'm sorry, I was confused by the-"
"Yeah, they usually open the door too."
"Am I early?"
"You're right on time, a sight for sore eyes really."
She looks like she means it. They smile at each other, a little lost in it, like yesterday. Steps approach and interrupt them. It's Emily Gilmore. He remembers her of course, but she looks older now, sharper, all the pretense of his first visit put aside.
"Grandma, you remember Jess."
"I do."
She doesn't reach for his hand, but then again, he doesn't offer it, even if he's not sure which of the two came first.
"Jess is here to pick me up, we're driving back to New York together."
Emily smiles coldly.
"Well, I'm sure you don't want to rush the girls, we're having coffee and brandy."
He opens his mouth and looks at Rory, who shoots him sort of a helpless smile.
"'Course not." He says.
He finally slides out of his jacket, and Rory immediately takes it from him hanging it on the hall stand. Emily sticks her arm under Rory's and leads her back into the living room, Jess follows awkwardly. Lorelai is sitting on the sofa and looks both amused and sorry to see him coming.
In a big black chair, probably on loan from the hospital, sits Richard Gilmore. They've never met, he's just seen pictures at Lorelai's: a few have appeared over the last couple of years as their relationship apparently has gotten better. He's paler, thinner than in the photos though, leaning back in his chair, tired. Jess hesitates for a second, looks at Rory for guidance, before deciding that he really needs to grab the bull by the horns. He walks up to Richard, Rory has to rush to introduce him.
He takes Richard's hand, and the older man smiles faintly at him. Jess backs away, relieved to have the greeting out of the way.
"How do you know my granddaughter?" Richard asks.
Jess blinks, opens his mouth without knowing what he's about to say.
"He's Luke's nephew." Lorelai says. "He and Rory share an apartment together with some other people."
Richard nods in recognition that's obviously not real. Jess exchanges a look with Rory, Lorelai, and reluctantly Emily, and feels it's very lucky Richard isn't connecting the dots. Rory ushers him to a chair, face apologetic.
"Do you want something to drink?" She whispers, while whatever conversation was going on before continues between the others.
He shakes his head.
"What I really want is to get out of here."
"Working on it."
She fetches him some water anyway which he holds onto for something to do. She and Lorelai are unusually silent, letting Richard and Emily pick topics, just providing some overly chipper commentary. It's clearly an awkward situation for everyone except possibly Richard who might be too tired to notice. Jess looks at Rory and sees the lost in her eyes between jokes, he looks at Lorelai, wishes suddenly, that he was someone who could sweep in with actual help and grand promises he was able to keep. Someone who was allowed to. Even if it would mean spending more time in this house. But he is who he is and has nothing else to offer.
Fortunately it doesn't last very long. Richard doses off and the conversation falls quiet. The women sit silently for a few seconds. It feels like nails on a chalkboard.
He clears his throat.
"We should go." Rory says.
He stands up and reaches for her, like an idiot, like she's his, but she doesn't seem to mind, just joins him as they head for the hall. He's in his jacket quickly. She takes more time, waiting for Lorelai and Emily to catch up, for them to escort them out. Lorelai stands close to Rory, Emily a bit away.
"I wasn't exactly over the moon when I heard she was getting back into a car with you." She says.
She obviously remembers everything. The same old story, or versions of it, acted out over and over by everyone involved. He doesn't know what to say, one part of him is defensive, another wants to apologize, for everything.
"That was an accident, grandma." Rory's quicker.
"Accidents require unfortunate circumstances, no need to repeat them."
That hurts, because he sort of, kind of believes it's true.
"I'm gonna wait in the car." He mumbles.
Rory laughs, he's surprised at the sound and looks at her, sees that she's angry, only handling it with humor.
"Can I come with you?" She asks him, and he smiles, dazed.
"Rory-" Emily starts.
"No seriously," Rory bites, "we were done with this discussion seven years ago, I told you the truth; accident, you insisted on devil worship, I ignored it and moved on with my life, and if you can't keep up, too bad." She finishes, and hugs Lorelai. "Bye mom." She kisses Emily's cheek despite her grandmother still looking displeased. "See you soon, grandma."
They leave Hartford. Rory rifles through the glove compartment and finds some Bad Religion that she proceeds to play at maximum volume enthusiastically bopping along. Somewhere after New Haven she lowers the volume.
"We're gonna have to stop for coffee, there's a roadside café coming up that's decent."
He obeys, follows her instructions. The place is big and ugly; housing a gas station, a service station and a rest stop. The café is brightly lit by luminous tubes over the counter, and twinkle lights along the windows facing the 95, the floor is cracked and dirty and the music is just from the local station, but Rory skips into it, picking a table and ordering coffee for him, soda for herself, and fries to share from the tired waitress.
"You're cheery." He remarks.
"I'm euphoric from the freedom." She laughs.
"And you've gotten spunkier." He adds.
"I picked some up." She jokes, then sighs. "You've always had yours though; you picked me up, came inside, you're a brave man."
He winces.
"I don't know about that."
Their drinks and fries arrive. She starts eating, he sips his coffee.
"So, how was your visit?" He asks.
She chews, swallows, considering her answer.
"Needed, I guess, even after everything." She sighs. "You caught grandpa at a bad time, he was spryer earlier."
He chuckles.
"That might've been a disadvantage for me, if he has the memory of your grandma."
"Well, I would've liked for you to meet him while he was more like himself."
"He'll get better." I could come back prepared, next time, he thinks for no reasonable reason.
She nods absently.
"The doctor says so too, things should calm down around here."
They're quiet for a few minutes.
"You can get back to work." He says.
"Yeah." She says slowly.
"You don't seem too happy about that."
She makes eye contact.
"I don't know that I am." She turns her soda glass a couple of degrees, it makes a sound as it drags against the surface of the table.
"I wish I could help." He says.
She smiles.
"You are."
She looks at him and he hates how out of control he feels, like he's falling and grasping for something to hold onto. She clears her throat.
"How was your visit? I know you didn't plan for it-"
He sighs and laughs at the same time.
"It was fine, like always, I'm used to it."
"Wow. You really did do me a favor."
"No. Yes. I-" He hesitates. "I'm always looking for excuses to go there."
She shrugs.
"It's home, right?"
"Not to me."
She frowns.
"Your sister's there."
"Yeah, but it's not just 'cause of Doula or Luke; It's for Liz too." He doesn't know why he's telling her, he's barely even formed the thought for personal use. "I guess I still..."
He falls quiet because he can't pick what to say next. Still what? Still angry, still waiting, still hoping, still wishing. Just still. There's still time for still. Nicks doesn't have that. She's moved on. Meanwhile he still feels all of the things he's ever felt. What do you do with that?
"I don't know why Liz would even want me there, she's mostly uneasy when I am, and I don't know why I go- 'cause i'm not that guy."
He looks up at her and she's stirring her soda with her straw, nodding slightly.
"Have you read White Oleander?"
He can't help smiling.
"Yeah."
"There's this quote…" She taps her chin, squinting. "Being with someone so dangerous was the last time I felt safe."
"Yeah." He can barely manage the simple sound of the word.
"My mom isn't dangerous, as long as you keep her caffeinated, but-" She starts, stops, goes on. "And I don't know what Liz did, so I'm not in a position to judge- I could, if you wanted me to, remember those ears, and I hope you don't think I'm telling you to blindly forgive and forget 'cause I'm not, I'm just talking about understanding yourself."
She's rambling, maybe falling too, but it's comforting, at least he's not alone.
"My point is your family, you know them, and they know you, even if they do it badly, I just think that a lot of our comfort comes from being known, maybe not always understood but known. I'm betting that's why Liz wants you there even if you don't get along, to keep it real." She pauses, nods in pace with her words. "I mean, my mom, my grandparents, my dad, it's a very familiar can of worms."
He clears his throat.
"Your can of worms."
"Mine." She taps her chest with her fist. "And you think- you know- that others have it better, and sometimes you want that, but it wouldn't be yours, you wouldn't fit because it's not where you're from. And most of the time, not always, but most of the time, the better things are just cans of unknown content. I know, 'cause I'm part of what some people consider better things and I…" She lifts her face and looks straight at him. "I still, too."
She takes a sip of soda as if she needs more.
"And you wanna know what your problem is?" She continues, pointing her straw at him.
"Please." He can't keep real desperation from seeping into his humor, maybe she notices, but it hardly matters at this point.
"It's that you always painted yourself into every corner you could find. But the good news is you can step over paint, you can jump, or get your shoes dirty. And you say you're not that guy, but maybe that's exactly who you are."
She takes a deep breath, and watches him intently. He raises his cup in some sort of acknowledgement.
"Maybe." He says.
"I'm right about you." She mumbles.
"I hope so."
She finishes up minutes after that and they get back in the car and drive the rest of the way.
July 21, 2008
It's late when they arrive, past midnight on a Sunday. He parks a few blocks away, the only open spot he can find, and they walk together back to the building. Rory's still in a good mood, from the food or sugar but he has to consider the possibility that she's happy from just spending time with him too, there's too much evidence for him to ignore it by now. She skips ahead of him and stops by the elevator.
"Why don't we ever ride this thing?"
"Because it takes twice as long as just climbing the stairs."
She smiles widely.
"Let's do it!"
He gives in.
"Fine, weirdo."
She pulls at the door, it's old, heavy and she has to really lean away from it, it's adorable. He helps her pull it open as well as the inner door. The interior is old, unchanged since the house was built, wooden paneling, and brass cage bars. A panel for buttons in fake mother of pearl and space above it where a mirror used to be. It's just wide enough to hold two. So they fit themselves in; their backs against the opposing walls. They're close enough to share warmth. He's close enough to smell her, the fries and coffee from before and chewing gum on her breath, the soap from Lorelai's shower mingling with sweat, all working to make him dizzy.
This was a mistake. But it's too late now.
She's smiling, an inch from his face and he can't help himself, doesn't even register anything about his impulse other than its strength and speed. It nearly shakes him loose from reality, his hands close tightly around the metal bars behind him. She stops smiling as it becomes obvious to her what he's thinking. He still reaches to pull the door shut as it needs to be in order for the elevator to work, and she reaches for the buttons, hovers her finger over the right one, their arms crossed over one another's. Her face still has that happy glow, but she's serious too, eyes nailed to the panel, or if it's his arm. She pushes the button slowly but firmly, stroking her arm against his in the process. He shivers.
The elevator makes a ghostly sound as it rocks into motion, the act of it echoing down the shaft. Reluctant clanks of wires and chains being dragged. The sound of a haunted house. He makes an attempt to say something, but is out of words. Her eyes flick to his face anyway, at his motion, his breath, and searches him softly, attentively. Her mouth falls slightly open in an audible breath, she looks helpless.
I gotta go take care of something. The urge is as strong as it's ever been. Break up with Nicks. It's the first time he actually shapes the words in his head, puts them in sequence. They hurt, and something else... He's stupid, that's what it is. He's the helpless one. Helplessly in love with Rory Gilmore.
The elevator comes to a sharp, rumbling stop, and the silence after is peppered with echoes from the shaft and the faint buzzing from the lamp locked in its brass cage at the ceiling. They don't move.
Luke is right; It's simple. Too easy. At the tip of his fingers, his tongue. All it would take is him leaning into it, one inch, and he wouldn't need to say anything else. Two years ago he wouldn't even have hesitated, and part of him grieves the loss of that person.
"Why couldn't you have told me you were leaving?"
It's a whisper but it cuts him right through as he instantly understands what she's referring to. He blinks and sees her eyes are shiny. He swallows.
"I can't talk about this, Rory." It comes out hoarse, like he hasn't spoken for days.
She goes on talking, voice full of cracks.
"I mean, it wouldn't have made a big difference back then, but it still would've changed everything."
"I can't think about that." He forces himself into action, reaches and pushes the bars open.
"Why?"
"Because I fucked up. And when I got my shit together you had moved on and now-" He leans against the door for it to open. "Do you know what I would've given to hear that two years ago?"
He exits. She follows him to their door.
"You wish it was different." She says.
He fumbles for his keys.
"But I don't want to."
He finds the keys but is too stressed to find the right one, it's dark.
"Because of Nicks."
"Right." He gives up on trying to unlock the door, leans his forehead on it instead. "Why couldn't you have wrecked me worse in Philadelphia?"
"What?"
"I never should've left Truncheon that night, I should've stayed there alone, I wouldn't have talked to Nicks, we wouldn't have-"
Her eyes widen. She interrupts him, speaks quickly, pleading.
"No, Jess. I was wrong. I shouldn't have come to Philadelphia in the first place, it was selfish, and insane and I'm so sorry I did that."
He looks at her. She's right, but he can't even bring himself to wish she had stayed away.
There's something so fundamentally wrong about her being right, right there, and him not being able to do anything about it, but there it is: He wants her to be right about him too, about him being a good person. Ironically she can't be right if he winds up acting on this, despite what they both might want. She deserves better than to be put in that position. So he swallows it all down.
"You have to help me out by not-" He pauses, takes a breath, finds his key, unlocks the door but leaves it closed, stares at the floor. "I'm not up for talking about what might've been, okay? Maybe I'll never be. I don't think we can be friends like that."
There's silence, he uses it to try to get himself together, finish this, leave it here.
"Sorry." She says.
He looks back at her, and forces a smile to smooth over the entire conversation. She shrugs, smiles a bleak little smile in response to his.
"We could file it away as just a throw-away line. A dumb joke."
No. He can't bring himself to do that either. It's too late.
"Jesus, Rory. What do you think I'm made of?"
His voice echoes between the walls, full of sharp edges. She stops smiling.
"Why do we have to wreck everything?" He whispers.
He finally turns the handle, opens the door, walks into the hall, hangs his jacket and turns to look at her - still outside the door.
He's so stupid, that's what it is. Helplessly in love with a person who's used him like a tool, the memory of Nicks's words sting, but also keeps him in check, so he adds to it: Maybe not helplessly, but willfully, stubbornly in love with someone who left him with his finger in the dam, someone who he had to bait into being with him the first time around, it doesn't matter that she's never been intentionally careless, he can't trust it. That's the thing, that's what it is what it is means. He needs to stop being such an idiot.
"I think we need to try to be just roommates for a while."
She looks at him, pale. She nods.
"Alright."
She steps across the threshold.