Everything But The Girl

California 2003 was a nightmare. Stars Hollow 2004 was an even bigger one. Philadelphia 2005 and 2006 were considerably better, until they got bad again. But New York 2017? That was the beginning of the year to end all disastrous beginnings. Jess was desolate. The years had trained him to be able to keep functioning in his social and professional life even when his private one was crumbling, but that January was really uphill. He considered ringing Rory a thousand times. He thought at first that he had made the right decision by giving her the easy way out, but he was not so sure anymore. Shouldn't he have at least told her that he loved her, that he didn't give a rat's ass about Logan being the father of the baby, that he had no intention of stealing that role from him, and that he would be civil towards the guy, no matter what? Had he chickened out, the pain of the Philadelphia incident still too present? His train of thought always started like that and ended in the same place: in his past experience, in his memories. He had told Rory that he loved her before, and still she had chosen Dean and Logan over him time and again. No, it didn't matter anymore. He had given her the easy way out, sure – but she had taken it. She would probably be in Logan's mansion now. Castle. Fortress. Whatever. And so he would always end his musings the same way: repeating to himself that he needed to go through the motions, to avoid thinking about her (he couldn't even say her name in his mind), to keep doing what he had always been happy doing, and that things would get better one day. He didn't feel it, but he knew things always brightened up eventually. It was just a matter of patience. No feeling lasted a thousand years.

Going through the motions meant also avoiding Luke for a while. He had called on New Year's Day to ask if he was alright. He hadn't pushed, hadn't enquired about what had happened, but Jess had been cold with him all the same. Talking to him was too risky at the moment, and so he told him, so Luke hang up promising that he wouldn't be initiating contact for a while, unless he wanted to do so.

He worked out a visit system with Liz so he could spend time with Doula without having to go to Stars Hollow. Every Saturday Liz would drop his sister a couple towns away from that damned place, where Jess picked her up to spend the day, and then dropped her back in the evening. His face must have been a pretty graphic disclaimer, because not even Liz had tried to pry about what had happened, and merely supported him silently and by agreeing to that weird visit schedule, which he deeply appreciated. Not even Doula tried. She was a real joy to be around, though, and Jess knew that, if he had always considered her an intellectual force to be reckoned with, it was in the emotional intelligence department that she outshone everyone. She avoided any topic that was remotely connected to love, and didn't even prattle about Kwan as she used to. They simply spent their days going to museums, or libraries, or walking around New York city, and she was only curious about anything that was not pink, or heart-shaped, or romantic in any way. Which meant that they visited every Natural History exhibiton in Connecticut.

One day, he bumped into Martina while he was on his way home. She was walking with a couple of friends and was very nice when greeting him, but he could tell she was still hurting about their breakup. He felt awful about it. He knew she had noticed that things were not right with him either, but didn't fish for unpleasant details. They parted with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and Jess wondered what life would have been like if he had taken a different decision about her. The thought of getting back together never crossed his mind.

February started a little merrier. Matt and Chris spent the first two weeks in the New York office helping him give a kickstart to things, and so his head was occupied most of the time. Since he could not stand thinking about her, he focused all his energy on the company, and was probably a real pain in the ass for his partners those days, bossing them around. They probably knew something was amiss, but such was the power of the Great Jess Ice Wall – they never asked, never intruded, and he loved them for that. He would tell them, one day, as he had done in the past. Just not yet. Not yet.

The day of his partners' departure, a big envelope arrived for him. By the size of the thing it was a full manuscript. Chris and Matt got it and started trying to assess the number of pages without opening it.

"300, Matt, I'm telling you. It's the whole thing."

"There's no way in hell, Chris. 250, at most."

"We should really put these in the bin, you know? It says clearly on the webpage that we take no unsolicited manuscripts, and when we do, it's just sample chapters, not the whole fucking thing."

"Don't. I mean, one of the best first novels we ever published was unsolicited, right, Jess-the-author? Jess?" Jess had been distracted proofreading for the hundredth time a novel that was due for printing, and didn't hear Matt and Chris. "EARTH TO JESS."

"What?"

Matt threw the envelope at him. "How long, go on. The winner takes 20$."

Jess started weighing it, lifting it up and down, when he suddenly noticed the sender's name. The thing fell from his hands.

"Man, what is it? You look as if you suspected it's filled with anthrax."

"I think we should really work on our anthrax detection systems. I mean, this is a really risky profession, opening envelopes from unknown people all the time, what do you think? So, how long is it, Jess? Open it up, man, I want my 20$."

"Sorry, it's not unsolicited." Jess put it in his drawer.

"Look at mister editor, all secretive and mysterious. What is it you're hiding? Is it the next great American novel you have there?"

"It's personal. I'll tell you about it when I'm finished with it."

Matt and Chris exchanged stares and seemed to silently decide against nagging any further. "Alright. But if it's 250 pages long I'm getting those 20$."

The time for Jess' partners to leave couldn't come any quicker, and as soon as they did he grabbed the big brown envelope and headed home, stopping first to get cigarettes. He turned on the heater when he got home and opened his wardrobe. There, behind the fancy shirts he never wore, lay his writing robe, that had been hidden for the last month. He put it on and grabbed his ashtray, lighting a cigarette.

"It's not going to be a great night for you, dear lungs."

He took the envelope and sat on the couch. There it was: "Rory Gilmore, 37 Maple Street, Stars Hollow". The thing was probably 275 pages long. He had an average reading rate of 700 wpm, less if he was reading really closely, which he would do. At 250 pages, he could be looking into 70000 words, give or take. Two hours. He could be done with it in a couple hours. He took a deep breath and opened it. The manuscript was neatly bound. The title read "Gilmore Girls". He turned the envelope upside down and a simple paper note fell.

"Just read it, please."

As if anyone on Earth could stop him.