"Writing is a job, a talent, but it's also the place to go in your head."

― Ann Patchett


It wasn't hard to keep busy. Rory wrote a long piece on the history of the Autumn Festival for the Gazette. This year they'd added a turkey pardon to the event, but the turkey escaped Kirk's yard an hour before the ceremony, so they had to pardon a chicken. The story practically wrote itself. She volunteered for the can drive, wrangling an army of Stars Hollow High juniors eager to pad their resumes into breaking the town record for most cranberry sauce ever hoarded for donation. She asked every local business in town to advertise on the Gazette's website. She helped Babette make an Instagram account for her cat.

She created a massive story board covered in color-coded index cards, with arrows connecting pieces with similar themes, to outline her book. "It kind of looks like a serial killer's wall," Lorelai remarked. "But in a good way. A very organized, methodical serial killer. A real Ted Bundy."

She had so much energy. It was like one of those moods where you're determined to get your house in order: you clean out the fridge, even the mystery takeout containers you're afraid to disturb, organize your closet, and throw out all the tubes of dried-up mascara in your makeup bag. But normally those moods end after four hours when you collapse on the couch with a pizza, exhausted and self-satisfied. This one was still going. She was getting her house in order. And according to Wikipedia, she only met two of the seven criteria for a manic episode, and as long as she was under three, she didn't need to seek psychiatric help.

Every day she sat down with her coffee and snacks within reach and wrote for hours. Her goal was a thousand words a day, but she often blew right past that mark without even noticing. The stories were all there, just below the surface the whole time. When she invited them out, they came in droves, vivid and with a life of their own. Vocabulary choices, turns of phrase, putting chapters in order — she could do all that fine-tuning later. For now she just had to put her fingers on the keyboard and see what happened.


"You might want to start locking the door when you're home alone writing."

Rory's head snapped up from her computer screen. She sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop in front of her. She felt disoriented at first; it was dark outside, but the last time she'd checked the clock it was noon. A familiar face looked back at her, head cocked, dark hair shorter than the last time she'd seen him. The beard was new, but it worked for him. He wore a dark jacket and fitted jeans and was holding a toothbrush. "Jess!" she said, leaning forward for a quick hug. He smelled like himself, like soap and winter cold. "Wow. It's great to see you. I didn't realize I was so oblivious to the world around me."

"Well, better me than Curt Duncan. I actually knocked, walked in, said hello, went upstairs to grab Luke's toothbrush, and came back downstairs, and you didn't react once. I didn't want to interrupt you because you looked so productive, but I felt a little creepy just leaving."

"Productive is a charitable word for how I look right now," Rory responded, running a hand through her unwashed hair. She knew she wasn't a pretty sight. She'd been in the same position all day, every day this week. She was wearing leggings for the fifth day in a row. "It's an unwritten rule of the universe that a person can't wear leggings more than two days in a row unless they teach Orangetheory for a living," Lorelai always said. The coffee table was littered with empty Pop-Tart wrappers, though she couldn't remember going to the kitchen or eating them.

"I'm just glad you're writing," Jess said. "Still working on the book?"

"I am," she nodded. "I don't know if it's any good, but I'm enjoying the process."

"Good to hear." He clasped his hands in front of him.

She shut her laptop and rested it on the coffee table. "So what are you doing in town? I didn't know you were coming."

"I'm just here for the night. Luke sounded like he was going to rip his hair out when he told me he was helping out Liz and TJ, and he needs every strand he's got, so I came up to pitch in. He forgot his toothbrush so I just swung by here to grab it for him."

TJ had thrown his back out tying his shoelaces and had been laid up on the couch for days. Liz had a meltdown, and Luke stepped in. He had been spending the night at their house, so Lorelei was spending extra time at the inn, which worked for Rory because it gave her peace at home. Now that the Hartford house was on the market, there were prospective buyers traipsing through on a regular basis. It interrupted her work, and it upset her to see them planning out their own futures in those familiar rooms. She was spending more and more time in Stars Hollow.

"Did you hear that TJ got ahold of a bell and has been ringing it every time he wants something?" Rory asked, shaking her head at the mental image.

"Yeah, one night of bizarro Downton Abbey is all I'm going to be able to handle."

Rory glanced at her phone. Another missed call from Logan — no surprise there. She'd gotten used to those in the past few weeks, and seeing his name on her missed calls list no longer made her feel sick to her stomach, though she still had no intention of calling him back. She turned the phone screen-side down and put it on the coffee table and pushed it out of her mind.

She hadn't noticed she was hungry while she was writing, but now that she'd come up for air she was distinctly aware that her stomach was growling. "Hey, do you want to grab some food before you head over to wait on Lord Grantham? I'm starving."

"Sure," Jess nodded.

"Just give me fifteen minutes - I really need a shower."

"You said it, not me," he said innocently, raising his hands and shrugging.

Rory tossed a throw pillow at him and hauled herself up. "Oof — I'm vertical! I've totally earned a burger."


"So how's Philly?" Rory asked, grabbing the ketchup off the counter and weaving her way back to the table by the window. Jess was hanging up his jacket, under which he wore a plain white t-shirt. Luke's was quiet, and it hadn't taken long for Caesar to grill up their burgers. They both plopped down in their chairs.

"It's good," Jess said. "But I'm actually moving."

"Moving! Where? Why?"

"We're relocating the business to Brooklyn. We're trying to grow and there are a lot of people who will take us more seriously if we have a presence in New York."

"I think that's the first time I've ever heard you refer to Truncheon as 'the business.'"

He grimaced. "Don't even get me started. The last six months have been all financial statements and business plans. It's really not my thing but — it's a necessary evil. We got lucky when we were starting out. We didn't know what the hell we were doing, and we managed to scrape by. But now we're trying to turn it into something bigger."

"Well, that sounds exciting. You guys do great work and if you can do more of it — even better."

"What about you? Are you planning to stick around here for awhile or will you be on the move soon?" He took a bite of his burger.

Rory looked out the window, where Miss Patty was leading a group of young girls in glittery robes. She carried a shepherd's staff wrapped in twinkle lights, waving it as she led the way.

"I'm staying around for now. Because of things like that," she said, gesturing out the window.

He followed her gaze. "You just can't quit the Stars Hollow Christmas pageant?"

"It's helping me write. Not the Christmas pageant specifically, although this year's Studio 54-themed remix of 'Away in a Manger' is truly an inspired choice. But just being here, really living here, seeing everyone and staying up to date on all the minutiae of Stars Hollow life. Before this past year I hadn't really lived here since — I don't even know. I think one summer in between jobs? Maybe 2009 or 2010? And Stars Hollow is such a central part of the story, and it's really hard to get it right without making it sound like Mayberry." She was aware that she was talking very rapidly.

"Have you read Empire Falls?"

"No. Should I?"

"Russo does small-town life well. Gritty small-town, not like Stars Hollow, but worth a read."

Rory pulled out a pen and made a note on her napkin. When she looked up, Jess was looking back at her, amused.

"What's that look about?"

"You've got a sort of deranged look in your eyes."

She touched her face. "Valerie Solanas deranged?"

"No. In a good way, like a woman on a mission." He pointed at her for emphasis as he clarified: "A non-violent one."

"I am a woman on a mission." She lifted her chin.

The door opened with a jingle and a gust of chilly air entered the diner, followed by Miss Patty, sans twinkle-lit staff. She spoke to Caesar at the counter before she spotted Rory and Jess and sauntered over.

"Well, well, well," she said. "Look who we have here. Are those one hundred percent beef?"

Rory was about to answer when she realized that Patty wasn't eyeing their burgers, but rather Jess's biceps. While they both sat there with their mouths wide open, Patty mimed giving one of his arms a squeeze, wiggled her fingers at them, turned on her heel and sauntered away.

Rory and Jess just looked at each other, Jess' eyes wide in horror, Rory's wide with glee.

"Don't you dare tell Luke," Jess said, struggling to keep a straight face.

"I am definitely telling Luke! I think she actually licked her lips," Rory said.

"I'm never taking my jacket off in this town again."

"Sure, Pat LaFrieda."

Despite his best efforts, he cracked a smile.


"So I think the last time I saw you before this summer you were still working at the Journal. What happened to that gig? I thought you liked it there." Jess picked up a stray fry from his nearly empty plate.

Rory exhaled. "Oh, it's a long story."

He shrugged. "I've got time."

Rory considered how much to tell him and decided — why not? — all of it. "Well, it wasn't just one thing. But I was doing okay. I bounced around a few different beats. I was doing what I was supposed to do. And then the Boston Marathon bombing happened."

His brow contracted in concern. "Were you there?"

"No," she said. "But a couple days later, my boss asked me to go to the house of one of the victims. I was supposed to get a quote from her family."

She sipped her coffee. "So I went, and I stood on the corner across the street for awhile. And I couldn't do it. I left and went to Trader Joe's and just walked up and down the aisles. I didn't even buy cookie butter." She fiddled with an empty sugar packet. "She hadn't been buried yet. They hadn't even caught the guys at that point. But that was the job. My job."

"Not wanting to do that isn't a bad thing."

She shrugged. "But it did make me a bad reporter. Other reporters for other papers went and got the quote, and I didn't. I couldn't do the job. And I'm okay with that now. I mean, I wasn't at first. I spent awhile wondering if I had what it takes, and what 'it' even is, and whether I wanted it. I hung on for another six months and then I quit. I figured if I was freelancing, at least I could choose what kind of reporting I wanted to do."

"Well, journalism isn't what it used to be. 'This Dog Wears a Hat, and You Won't Believe What Happens Next.'"

"Yeah. You're right. Or maybe it was never what I thought it was. I don't know." She rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Remember when I wanted to be Christiane Amanpour?"

His mouth turned up slightly at one corner. "I remember." She smiled back. Sometimes it's nice to talk to someone who shares your memories. Like talking about a movie with someone else who's seen it. Rory had been reliving old memories a lot lately as she wrote her book. She was trying not to get nostalgic, but she had even found writing about some of the bad moments to be not altogether unpleasant. The luxury of writing about them ten or fifteen or twenty years later is that if you're lucky, you can relive those moments from another perspective. You can see where they led and what they built. You can see how they made you.

" I was so sure, but I didn't have a clue," Rory said.

"A tagline for teenagers everywhere."

"And you — you just wanted to be anywhere but Stars Hollow."

He looked at the room around them, from side to side and up to the ceiling. "Huh," he said, holding up his hands. "And yet, here we are."


A few nights later Rory was in New York, looking up at a pre-war brownstone, its lights glowing on the chilly winter night. The steady buzz of conversation was audible from the front steps. She rang the bell and the door swung open.

"Rory!" Paris said warmly, ushering her in. "I'm so glad you came." Then, quieter and more bitterly: "When Doyle found out I was hosting a holiday party he planned one for the same night. He's friends with the Duffer Brothers now. He's got all the kids from Stranger Things there. How can I compete with that? I had to invite my entire staff to fill out the guest list."

"It looks like you did a great job," Rory remarked, looking around. The wine was flowing, the food was bountiful, and the fire crackled. It wasn't packed wall-to-wall, but it was cozy.

Paris handed her a glass of wine. "Come talk to me in the kitchen." Rory paused, glancing down at her drink. She'd had sushi and lunch meat and soft cheeses, and she'd thrown away the prenatal vitamins. But she hadn't had a drink yet. She took a small sip and followed Paris.

"So, how are things with Doyle?"

Paris sighed. "He wants to try mediation. But only because I won't agree to let the kids spend the summers with him in California. What are they going to do out there, surf?"

Rory clicked her tongue with sympathy. "I'm sure you'd miss them a lot if they were gone all summer."

"Doyle and I are still having sex," Paris confessed.

"Oh." Her eyes darted to the side as she looked for an escape.

"Like, every time we see each other. Divorce sex is crazy."

"I think there's a show about that on Bravo."

"I'm having sex with other people, too," Paris continued. "I've been on all the apps. You've got your Tinder, your Bumble, your Hinge. Coffee Meets Bagel. The League. I'm using them all. It's very convenient. It's like ordering a pizza."

"A ringing endorsement."

Paris launched into a five-minute tirade about why dating apps should have an STD test verification feature, until, blessedly, someone else walked into the kitchen and plucked a stuffed mushroom from a tray.

"Hi!" Rory said eagerly, sensing an opportunity to change the subject.

"Rory, this is Katherine. She works at Dynasty Makers," Paris said, reluctantly giving up on her spiel. "Katherine, this is my friend Rory."

Katherine was a reproductive endocrinologist at Paris' clinic. She was also tall, with a full-sleeve tattoo on one arm, and was pulling off an avant-grade black velvet dress very impressively. Rory felt a little frumpy in her skirt and lace top, but Katherine turned out to be nicer than she was intimidating.

Paris next tried to drag both Rory and Katherine into speculating about where Doyle had learned the new trick he was using in the bedroom, but Katherine was not having it. "Stop thinking about it, Paris," she said firmly. She turned to Rory. "So what do you do?"

"Oh, yeah, how's the book?" Paris asked.

"I'm a writer," she explained to Katherine before addressing Paris' question. "It's coming along. It's… I can see what I want it to be so clearly. It's hard, getting people's voices right, figuring out what to include and what to leave out. But I know exactly what story I'm telling, and that helps."

"Our very own Mary Karr," Paris declared approvingly. "I have a friend at Random House. Let me know if you want me to give her a call when you're ready. What about men? Are you dating anyone?"

"Uh, no. Not really in the market for any pizza right now. I'm taking a long break from pizza."

Katherine snorted. "Oh, God, did Paris compare Tinder to Dominos again?"

Paris was distracted by something on her phone. Her nostrils flared. "Doyle just posted a picture with Winona Ryder. That whiny klepto better get her hands off —"

Rory and Katherine met each other's exasperated gazes. Rory put her hands on Paris' shoulders and steered her back toward the living room. "Phone down. Let's go. Party time."


Next week: Rory, Lorelai, and Luke visit Emily in Nantucket for the holidays; Rory finds out why Logan has been calling.