A/N: My muse came to me this morning; with a big red ribbon during math class. Who am I to ignore the gods?

Disclaimer: Sigh.

Two hours and many phone calls later, Rory was sitting on the couch watching Almost Famous and surrounded by enough Indian food to feed ten.

Excuse me, I've seen you eat.

"Okay, six," she quoted.

After realizing that there was know way in hell the thought of Jess was just going to disappear from her head, she decided to treat it rationally and think up a solution. Really, she thought, it's only like when you get a song stuck in your mind. There are two ways to get rid of it: you can find another, more annoying, song and sing it and sing it until the other one is gone and the new one has taken its place. Or, she smiled at this, you can sing the one that's stuck so loud and so much that eventually it leaves to find another sucker to prey on. She chose the latter.

Which was how she found herself knee-deep in samosa watching Kate Hudson commit suicide.

Her phone rang, and she pushed through piles of containers to reach for it. Mom, the caller ID on the front read.

"Urgggh," she groaned. "I'm busy!" she yelled at the phone. The truth was, she wasn't in the mood to explain to her mother why she was sitting inside wallowing instead of out with her husband on her honeymoon.

Wait, she thought. Wallowing? She couldn't be wallowing. After all, how can you wallow over someone who you hadn't been on a date with in five years?

"No," she said firmly. "Definitely not wallowing." It was more like…remembering. Yeah, remembering.

She sighed. She was thinking about that giant dinner her mom had thrown for the town—with the costumes and the decorations and the people and the sleigh rides.

The sleigh rides. Ride. The one with Jess.

"It definitely has the most personality," she said, remembering what Jess had said about her snowman. "Snowwoman, actually."

Bjork.

Why was it that lately all her thoughts seemed incomplete?

She frowned. "Miss him," she muttered, hugging a pillow close to her chest.

"Miss who?"

She jumped at the voice. "Logan!" she yelled.

"Who do you miss?" he repeated.

"No one, nothing," she said quickly. "God, you scared me. When did you get in?"

"Just now," he said, taking his jacket off. "You were too busy having a conversation to your imaginary friend over here to notice."

"Ha ha," she said. "I was just…" she waved her hand, trying to think of an excuse. "…talking to the movie." What the hell? She scolded herself.

Luckily, Logan had dealt with enough of her weirdness in the past to make much of it. "Sure," he said.

She let out a sigh of relief. Thank God he was so gullable.

"Hey," he said, suddenly, squinting his eyes. Her throat tightened. "Where's your ring?"

"Ring?" she asked.

"Your wedding ring," he said. "You're not wearing it."

"Oh, my ring," she said, glancing down at her hand. "It—"

Reminded me that I'm married, and probably shouldn't be thinking of my ex-boyfriend, she said in her mind.

"I…uh…took it off."

"Why?" he asked, his voice sharp.

"I, um," she scraped her mind. "Got a rash," she said quickly.

"From a twenty-four karat gold ring?" he said, looking suspicious.

"No," she said. "It was…" she trailed off. Not a fight, she thought. Abruptly she felt her mouth moving, as though reciting something from memory.

"Just a fluke thing," she blurted out. "Actually, I think my Spanish midterm gave it to me."

"Your Spanish midterm?" he shook his head. "What's going on, Ace?"

"Nothing," she said, putting her head in her hands. "It's just this flu. I think it's getting worse. I must have a fever, or something. It's making me all delusional."

"Oh," he said, looking concerned. "I'll go out to the drugstore and get you some medicine."

"Thanks," she mumbled. When she heard the door close, she hung her head.

"Ladies and Gentelman, Norman Bates."