AN: So I bet you weren't expecting this. Just a warning it's not really Rogan. I mean, I guess in a way it is-from an outsider's perspective. But it doesn't contain any Rory or Logan. Still-I've been wanting to write this forever; just ask Caro1414 how long I've been talking about the Black and White cookie scene, lol. Anyway, enjoy. And just so you know, I'm almost done with the next chapter of Fake News so that should be up in the next day or two.
Outside the hospital, cars idled in traffic, smog billowing up out of exhaust pipes. Ads plastered the back of benches—including one for her company's latest monoclonal antibody treatment. A little way down the street, a cart selling some sort of unidentifiable meat product emitted strange smells. A myriad of people hurried by, faces glued to their phones, all in a rush to get wherever they were going.
Every single person was in a rush. Everyone shuffling their feet, moving forward, heading somewhere. And all she could do was stand there, not sure if time was even still happening. Not sure if the world was still turning. How could it be? Maybe those flat earthers she and Logan had been mocking last night were on to something.
And oh god, was that really just last night? Was it not even 24-hours ago that she and her fiancé were happy and laughing and arguing over whether or not to have a chocolate fountain at the wedding—as though when faced with a choice between chocolate fountain or no chocolate fountain, there was ever a time one would pick 'no chocolate fountain.' It was absurd. But not as absurd as thinking their biggest problem had anything to do with chocolate.
No, their biggest problem always had been and always would be, Rory Gilmore. Odette hadn't known at first—about Rory, not about the affair. She'd always known about the affair. From the time he'd visited her in Paris after his conference in Hamburg, she'd known. There was something different about him; kinder, more attentive, more…adoring. It was a dead giveaway. And, if she was honest with herself, a part of her had actually been happy about it. It took the pressure off of her. She didn't need to feel guilty about living in another country, about working all the time, about rushing him off the phone when an important business call came in. She didn't have to feel bad that she couldn't take more time off to visit him in London, or that she had to cancel on his Uncle's birthday party last minute. And ugh—the Skype sex…she was so glad she didn't have to constantly fondle herself on camera for him.
But she hadn't known it was her.
Not for almost a year. Not until her Grand-père had passed. Odette and Logan had been sitting at the table in his London loft, eating their breakfast and reading the paper. She had the Science section, he had the business pages—as was their routine when she was visiting. They'd been joking about something silly…she vaguely recalled it had to do with this squirrel that resided in a tree outside his office. The creature was practically domesticated, and they had a running gag about him bringing it home as a pet. Anyway, he'd trailed off mid-sentence, his eyes hyper focused on the printed page in front of him.
"Is everything bien?" She'd asked. He'd assured her it was, he just needed to call his father. He'd gotten up and gone out to the balcony, but she'd caught snippets of the conversation. "Did you hear?" "How'd it happen?" "How's Emily holding up?"
She'd reached for the pages he'd left behind on the table, turning them around to glance at the headlines. She didn't know why she felt like she was snooping, it was the Wall Street Journal, not his diary. Most of the page was taken up with a story about Ana Botín's changes to Banco Santander. Certainly nothing she could imagine having such an emotional impact on her boyfriend. But, in the bottom right-hand corner was another, smaller story; one about the passing of Senior Vice President of the international Insurance firm, Henning-Styles; Richard Gilmore was his name. And while Gilmore was hardly an unusual surname, it left an uneasy feeling in her gut.
Logan rarely ever talked about Rory Gilmore, despite that fact that she had been a major part of his life for three years, despite the fact that they had lived together, despite the fact that he had proposed. One would think that she would come up occasionally—an aside to a funny story at least. But she almost never did. In fact, the few times she did seem to come up, it was usually when his friends Colin and Finn were visiting and they would mention that hilarious thing she did…like that time she and Logan stole the yacht…or that epic London farewell party she threw. And every time, Logan would get uncomfortably quiet. When she'd try to bring the subject up herself—asking about past relationships, or just his life in general during that time —he'd brush her off. Yes, he'd answer, but he'd tell her some detached and superficial version. And his eyes—his remarkably expressive eyes—would change, like one of those metal doors coming down over a shop entrance at the end of the day to protect it from intruders.
It was obvious to anyone with an ounce of discernment, that Rory had broken his heart, and that it had never fully healed. He still loved her. But then again, didn't everyone have a first love they never truly got over? First loves changed you. They shaped you. First loves were an indelible part of you. It didn't mean you didn't love again; that that love couldn't be even stronger than the first. So, she'd convinced herself it was nothing to worry about. Rory Gilmore may have still had a spot in his heart, but she was half a decade and three thousand miles away. Of course, that was before she knew.
Logan apologized when he came back from his call. "Sorry about that. Apparently, an old family friend passed away."
"Qui?" she'd asked as innocently as she could.
"Just a friend of my father's. I went to school with his granddaughter."
That was the moment she knew. The other woman wasn't just some other woman; the other woman was Rory Gilmore. She felt it in her bones. It was the combination of truth and deception that convinced her. That and those eyes of his. The look of heartbreak and betrayal in them as he said the words 'I went to school with his granddaughter' were surely mirrored in her own. It was as though he was trying to convince himself—just some girl he went to school with. Just some meaningless individual from his past. As though he didn't want her to be more because then it wouldn't hurt so bad that he'd read about it in the paper, that he'd had to confirm it with his father instead of hearing it from her.
A horn blared, breaking Odette from her trance. She couldn't just stand here on Fifth Avenue wedged between Mount Sinai and Central Park…between sickness and health…between good times and bad.
She should call a car. She hadn't slept in over 24 hours, her feet were aching in her Louboutins, and her chest felt like there was an elephant sitting on it. She reached for her purse to retrieve her phone but stopped, instead pivoting on her heel, and beginning to stride down Fifth Avenue with a look of purpose she did not feel.
She didn't know where she was going. Or even really where she was. The city was foreign to her. Sure, she'd spent time in the States, but she'd gone to school in Philadelphia and most of her work trips were to FDA headquarters in Maryland. Manhattan was his turf. And when she'd agreed to come here, that was okay because they were partners and what was his was hers. But now? Now she realized just how foolish that was. New York would never be hers. It would always belong to them.
Rory Gilmore wasn't half a decade and three thousand miles away anymore. She was here. And she was now. And she had just given birth to Logan's child. Odette couldn't compete with that. Did she even want to try? They'd never really discussed having kids. They probably should have, but the truth was, she was conflicted herself. She knew she should. But it just seemed like so much work. She was taking care of an entire company; hundreds of employees. She was responsible for keeping them paid and employed. She was responsible for the lives of millions of people who benefited from the medications she helped develop. She already had enough responsibility; she couldn't imagine adding a child to the mix.
But like it or not there would be a child in the mix now. No matter how vehemently she had protested it, if she stayed with Logan, she would have some role in the child's life. Unless he chose not to be involved. But that would never happen. He was too good a man to not be a part of his daughter's life. She realized how ridiculous that sounded…to call him a good man while he was awaiting the arrival of his love child. And there was no other word for it than that—love child—for it was born of a love that Odette now knew she could never compete with. But despite all the hurt he'd caused her, she really believed that…that he was a good man.
She wasn't sure how long she'd been walking for. Her feet no longer ached because they had gone numb; just like the rest of her. She was numb inside and out. And God, she just wanted to feel something. Anger, sadness, regret. Anything but this all-encompassing…nothing. She looked around at her surroundings, her eyes landing on a storefront across the street. Zaro's Bakery. Thank God…a boulangerie. She needed pâtisserie or gâteau or anything sweet. And she needed to sit.
She crossed the street, not bothering to head to a crosswalk and wait for the signal. When in New York…
Inside there was a long row of glass cases filled with cakes. But not like the pâtisseries she was used to Paris. These cakes seemed so much richer and heavier…several types of New York cheesecake, something encased in a layer of chocolate candy coating, a decadent carrot cake heaped in gobs of cream cheese frosting. There were ornately packaged plates of cookies for sale. The back walls contained the breads—not long, skinny loaves of French bread, but distinctly New York breads like bagels and challah and fat loaves of pumpernickel. Nothing in this place felt like home and the comfort food she craved was just making her feel even more lost and alone.
"What'll you have?" a man with a thick New York accent asked from behind the counter. She looked up at him.
"Uh, perhaps you could offer a suggestion?" she asked. She'd shut off her decision-making abilities the moment she'd walked away from Logan in that waiting room. In an attempt to avoid making the decision she actually needed to make, her brain was clearly opting not to make any choices at all. She was operating on pure survival mode.
"Well, the black and white cookies are what we're famous for." He nodded his head to another case off to the right that contained these so-called black and white cookies. The name was hardly inspired, but she supposed it beat the oddly named rugelach next to it.
"Oui, merci, I'll take one." She gave him her credit card and he rang her up before handing her a large, flat disc iced half in vanilla, half in chocolate, wrapped in wax paper. The cookie was almost as large as her head. She didn't care. It wasn't like she had a wedding dress to fit into anymore. Or did she?
Could she do it? Could she walk away? The thought of leaving him was physically painful. She loved him. Despite all the bad he'd done, all the hurt he'd caused…she loved him. God only knew why. She should hate him. Leaving him should be the easiest decision she ever made. And on some level, it was. She was a scientist...a woman of logic and reason. And reason said she needed to end it. But she was also a Parisian…a woman of passion and heart. And her heart still ached to be with him.
She sat down at a table, breaking off a piece of the chocolate side of her cookie and popping it in her mouth. The rich, chocolatey icing melted over her tongue while the moist, fluffy cake like cookie underneath gave substance to the confection. Dear god that was good. True, it was no madeleine or pain au chocolat, but it was delicious nonetheless. If she had enough of these cookies, could they fill the emptiness she felt inside? Maybe she could just give up on men, spend all day eating these black and whites, channel her focus into her work, and develop a cure for the diabetes she was sure to develop as a result. She didn't need Logan. She didn't need a fiancé. She popped another bite in her mouth, and then another and another, shoving the food down in a distinctly unladylike manner, her mouth bulging like a chipmunk storing nuts for winter. If anyone she knew could see her now…Hell, if Logan could see how unsightly she looked now he'd probably make her decision about whether to stay or go a moot point. If he hadn't already. It didn't matter how much he protested, it didn't matter how much he hated Rory or how angry he was at her. He loved her. Just as Odette loved him. And that love, if it didn't win out today, would eventually. There was no keeping those two apart when they were forever bound together by a child.
She swallowed the last bite of her cookie, trying to focus on anything but the hopeless sense of detachment. However, as the dopaminergic effects of the sugar wore off, she feared that the cookie had done too good a job at taking away the numbness. As she had sat there eating, the blood had begun flowing back to her feet, causing her soles to throb relentlessly; throb to the rhythm of her broken heart; throb like the welling of tears that were suddenly forming behind her eyes.
She couldn't cry. Not here, not now. She didn't even remember the last time she had cried; not in years, she was sure. Well, maybe she got a little weepy at the cinema; Amour had certainly been a tearjerker—how long ago had that come out?
She took a gulp of air, trying to swallow back the waterworks. Crying would solve nothing. And eating her weight in fattening, American junk food would do nothing to solve her problem either. Though she couldn't see how it would make her problem worse. Maybe she should get another.
But no, it was passed the point of eating her feelings now. The numbness had given way to despair that was too deep an abyss to even make a dent in. It was over. She knew it. She'd known it the moment he'd said Rory's name to that dingue blonde woman in the hospital cafeteria. She should have known it two years ago as Logan picked up his Wallstreet Journal and buried his head in stock quotes, pretending that Richard Gilmore's death meant nothing to him.
But she was too far in at that point. She'd spent too much time convincing herself that his affair was just a meaningless dalliance to pass the time and attend to his physical needs while she was unavailable. She had to keep believing or the carefully constructed lies she'd been telling herself for almost a year would come tumbling down around her, threatening to destroy her entire identity as a smart, successful, modern woman. She had to believe. She had to believe that if he'd wanted Rory over her, he'd have chosen her. That if Rory was the woman he loved most, she wouldn't be the one he kept a secret. That if Rory was the one he wanted a life with, she would have been a part of his life. But she wasn't; Odette was. That had to mean something, right?
She just needed to try harder; to be more present. She needed to visit more. She needed to pay attention to him when he called instead of trying to multi-task by reading the latest research proposal while he talked about his day. She needed to prioritize his family events. She needed to spice things up on those Skype calls she hated so much. If she could just give a little more to the relationship, he wouldn't need to look outside it to fulfill his needs. And her efforts paid off when just a few months later, he slid and enormous Harry Winston, princess cut diamond onto her left ring finger. And six months after that, when she'd settled up her projects in France and officially moved in with him, she knew she'd been right to assume it was her fault for not being around…because once she was, all essence of Rory and the affair vanished into thin air.
Things were good. Her life was good. And despite her fears around balancing career and relationship, work was good. She could have it all.
She had no way of knowing that it would all come crumbling down on her nine months later. Nine months of building a new life. Nine months of trying harder and giving it her all. Nine months of convincing herself that she just had to be…enough. And in the end, she wasn't. She would never be enough. Not for him. So really, was there even a decision to make? She had to let him go because for as hard as she'd tried to convince herself otherwise, he was never really hers to begin with. He'd belonged to Rory Gilmore since he was 23 years old. And now, he belonged to their daughter as well. If she couldn't compete with one Gilmore Girl, then she certainly couldn't compete with two.
The tears she'd been trying so hard not to shed were streaking her face, and she wiped at them with the back of her hand. She should go…get a car to the airport and just leave. Leave this godforsaken city in this godforsaken country. Leave him to figure it out on his own that she was gone. How long would that take? He probably forgotten she was even here to begin with.
She should go before she changed her mind. Before she heard his voice or saw his face and every bit of resolve she had crumbled like the remnants of black and white cookie on the table in front of her.
But she couldn't. She wouldn't. She would leave with her head held high, like the dignified woman she was. She would be the bigger person. She would face him and show him he had not broken her. He didn't need to know that it was a lie…that she was a shattered shell of the woman she used to be. After all, if he could lie so easily, why couldn't she?