Disclaimer: Now really, if I owned them, would they seriously be as screwed up as they are right now?
Author's Note: Many thanks to my lovely betas, iheartbridges, Lula Bo, CineFille, and to juststandstill for the legal advice. I only hope that my editing does justice to their wonderful feedback.
In the wake of the disastrous Friday Night Dinner and her fight with Emily, Lorelai had managed to summon her strength and had kept herself from making another horrendous mistake. But after she'd successfully driven by the diner without succumbing to the need for comfort, Luke had shown up at her house anyway, telling her he wanted her, that he wanted to try again.
And so they're something again - something cautious and tenuous. She wants to believe in it, but the thought of throwing her whole self into this relationship again is terrifying, the way she imagines skydiving would be if she'd ever had the desire to hurl herself out of an airplane. She's not sure how, having never done it, she can imagine with such clarity the fear of sitting in the doorway of the airplane looking down before an impending jump, without faith that the backup chute is fully functional, but that's what's keeping her from fully making the leap.
Since returning from Vermont, she's filled her evenings with movies and television, welcoming the brainlessness of the flashing images. It's not until Luke confirms that he still wants her that she lets herself pull out all of the romantic favorites she's been avoiding.
After a few nights, it becomes an obsession of sorts. She's not exactly sure what she's looking for, what she's hoping to find in the 'meant to bes' and 'true love forever' messages that she would typically mock, or if she's just in withdrawal after having deprived herself of them for so long.
Not even a week has passed when Luke unexpectedly shows up on her doorstep, after he and April have celebrated the positive results of the court-ordered DNA test. He's got a box of gifts from April tucked under his arm that he can't wait to show her. More than that, he needs her - her reassurance and her support. He needs her to tell him that he's doing the right things for his daughter, that it's not selfish to assert his parental rights.
She does exactly that, watching him with a lump in her throat as he shows her every one of April's gifts; as he visits again the childhood he'd missed being a part of. It's heartbreaking, really, that this pile of art projects similar to those of Rory's she has packed away in boxes is the sole connection he has to April growing up. When he questions the wisdom of the lawsuit, she can see the fear in his eyes about losing what he's just started to build, and she does her best to encourage him.
It's that same night that he stumbles upon her movie marathon and somehow becomes a part of it. He doesn't join her every night, but when he does it's comforting, even more so because he doesn't ask why; he seems content to just be there.
He suffers with little protest through a few Meg Ryan must-sees, as well as other favorites sprinkled among them, only seriously protesting when she pops in Clueless.
"Why are we watching a movie about fourteen year olds?" he asks after a few minutes, his voice slightly pained.
"She learns to drive in this one, so she's got to be at least fifteen or sixteen," Lorelai corrects.
"The question still stands."
"It's Jane Austen."
"This is Jane Austen?" He gestures toward the television, his eyebrows raised in confusion. "The Pride and Prejudice 'ladies-in-ball-gowns, men-on-horses' Jane Austen?"
She beams at him. "Ooh, I'm impressed you remembered. We haven't watched that in over a year."
"How could I forget?" he groans. "Six hours of British accents and you fawning over Colin Firth."
Lorelai laughs, but has to stop herself before she teases him about being jealous. That kind of flirtation feels a little too intimate for where they are now.
She's not exactly sure where that is, but they spend the next few weeks in a quiet, relaxed sort of limbo. She still meets up with April at the diner and even brings Rory along when she's in Stars Hollow. After Luke finishes building a wall to make a real room for April, she spends a Saturday helping them paint it, and is subjected to their plot to convince her to join them on their Labor Day trip to Luke's cabin.
The new whatever-it-is in their relationship has made her much less hesitant about the time she spends with Luke's daughter, especially once Luke starts to truly open up about the custody process and his own fears about suing Anna.
What's odd, though, is that even though she's spending more time with April, and with Luke and April together, in ways that are feeling really comfortable and progressing toward…something, it's the time that she and Luke spend alone that makes it feel like they're even now at a standstill.
She's got a sense that they're both waiting for something, for some signal that it's okay to move forward, but in the meantime, though they are often together and there's a sense of renewed commitment to their relationship, they're not actually dating. They're not sleeping together. Hell, he hasn't even kissed her since that day in his apartment when they'd argued about April. And she thinks all of that should bother her, or worry her. But really, it's the lack of it that reassures her. The fact that she's not jumping into anything while the fear is still so present. The fact that he seems willing to wait.
And so they go on: being together, but not quite; being friends, but a little more. And it's good, she thinks.
She hears her mother's voice coming through the door of her office before she sees her, "Lorelai, you really should train your front desk workers to be more helpful. Honestly, that girl really expects me to go poking around back here until I find your office?" Lorelai looks up in amazement to find Emily, complete with her perfect hair, stylish purse, and expensive raincoat over her arm, and a haughty set in her expression. "She didn't even offer to take my coat." She's holding it out and Lorelai is taking it before she can even fully process her mother's presence in her office. "Do you actually train your-"
"Mom," she finally gets out, a touch more sharply than she intends. "What are you doing here?"
"You're not coming to dinners anymore." Emily's tone is so nondescript that Lorelai can't be sure if she's offering an explanation or asking a question.
"I don't know why not, since the last one was such a hoot," Lorelai responds bitterly, as she turns to hang up her mother's coat.
"So what? A few questions about your life and now we're not allowed to see you anymore?"
She rounds on her mother. "Questions, Mom? That's what those were, questions? Those sounded more like reasons I'm an undeserving strumpet." The sarcastic words cover the resentment, the hurt that she's hiding.
"You do always blow everything out of proportion," Emily says, her tone patronizing.
"Mom, why are you here? Because I'm not in the mood for one of your 'Lorelai is so troublesome' lectures. I know when I've screwed up without you have to point it out to me." Lorelai can hear the brittleness in her own voice, can feel the tremor in her words. She's lived with her mother long enough not to expect her mother to understand how deeply her words cut and how permanently they scar her.
"But it sounds like things are working out for you in spite of everything."
"What?"
"You're back together with Luke." Emily says it so matter-of-factly, without any doubt in her voice, that Lorelai wonders briefly if she's spoken to him.
"What? How did you…?" she stammers. "We're not-" She cuts herself off when she looks up to see knowing amusement in the curve of her mother's smile, and then lets out a long breath, admitting softly, "We're still working it out."
"You're going away with him," Emily points out, and Lorelai wonders for a brief moment if her mother has actually become clairvoyant. She can't think of any other explanation for the surreal quality of this conversation.
"How did you…?"
"We invited Rory to join us on Martha's Vineyard for Labor Day weekend and she said that the two of you already had plans to go to Luke's cabin," she fixes Lorelai with a challenging stare, "with Luke and his daughter."
Lorelai sighs, and after a long moment gives a small nod.
"But you're not back together?"
"Well we're…" Lorelai hesitates, then shakes her head. "It's complicated."
"Really Lorelai, if I had a penny for every time I've heard that one. I'm a bright woman. Just how complicated can it be?"
Lorelai looks down at the papers she's forgotten she's holding. She's gripping them so tightly they're beginning to crease. In an attempt to calm herself, she sucks in a few deep breaths as she places the forms in a pile on her desk, before turning to face her mother again. "What makes you think I want to talk about this with you? You've made yourself crystal freaking clear on the subject."
"And which subject would that be, exactly?"
Lorelai gives a huff of frustration. "My life, or more to the point, your disapproval of it. Now, I know that you don't actually care if I'm happy-"
"Why on earth would you say that?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe it's that overwhelming sense of support I get every time I'm in your motherly presence. You're always criticizing, always butting in."
"That's ridiculous. If I've ever intervened, it's only been for your own good."
"My own good?" Lorelai hisses. "Are you serious?" Her nails bite into her palms as she holds her arms tightly to her side, trying to rein in all of her pent-up aggravation.
"I've always wanted what's best for you," Emily says quietly. The note of sincerity in her voice makes Lorelai glance up briefly to see her mother looking at her thoughtfully, without a trace of condescension.
She has to turn away for a moment to make sense of the words, because she can hear that her mother really believes what she's saying. It makes Lorelai wonder briefly whether it's worse to think that your mother wants to impose her will regardless the cost, or to recognize that your mother has never truly understood what's important to you at all. She shakes her head slowly, her voice uneven when she finally speaks. "You have a funny way of showing it."
She can hear Emily sigh behind her, and Lorelai thinks she can detect a note of sympathy woven in with the irritation. "Does Luke make you happy?"
"Yes," she says softly, still turned away, watching her anxiety play itself out in the twisting motions of her fingers. She hadn't hesitated before responding, and the part of her that's been holding back from Luke notices the irony of that. And somehow, she's not surprised that her mother picks up on that as well.
"Then what are you waiting for?" Emily asks calmly. "Is it simply impossible for you to see what's right in front of you?"
"Mom." Her tone is sharp, a warning. "I don't want-"
Emily cuts her off, but the words are gentle. "What are you waiting for?"
For the briefest of moments, Lorelai can almost imagine telling her – all of the fears, all of the hopes – everything that runs through her mind when she looks into the future. For a fleeting moment, it actually sounds like her mother might give a flying flip about her life, and she realizes that there's a timid little girl inside her that desperately wants that to be true.
But the older sister of that little girl, the one who's grown jaded and cynical, silences the hopeful one and says simply, "We're just trying to work out everything. To make it right."
Her mother is quiet so long that Lorelai almost turns to make sure she's still there, but she finally hears, in a tone that sounds not at all judgmental, "That sounds…sensible." There's a pause, then Emily adds, "I want you to figure out what will really make you happy."
It's her mother's voice, and she can still smell the distinct tang of her mother's perfume, but the words are so foreign, she really does need to spin and confirm that she hasn't been replaced by someone else's mother in the last thirty seconds.
"You want…what? How can you…?"
"Weren't you just telling me that you didn't think I cared about your happiness?"
"If you really did you would have let me be happy with Luke."
"Your father and I were going to buy the two of you a house," Emily points out primly.
Lorelai shakes her head slowly. "I know. I still haven't been able to figure that one out."
"You were getting married. It's what you do."
"Well sure, in Emily World," Lorelai says with a sardonic smile, which fades as she lets out a huff of frustration. "I just…I don't get it, Mom. Ever since you met Luke, you've let me know without a doubt how you felt about him."
Emily sighs. "Well, he wouldn't have been our first choice for you, but you were engaged. You were going to marry him."
Lorelai shakes her head furiously. "You really can't see the irony here? It wasn't that long ago you intentionally sent Christopher on a little errand to break up us up. Excuse me for being skeptical of your motives." She flails her arms in aggravation. "I mean, I just don't understand how you can justify that if you really want me to think that you had my best interests at heart. You've been talking up Christopher for years." She lets out an angry huff and adds cynically, "I figured you'd be thrilled at the recent developments. He's always been your golden boy."
"What are you talking about?" Emily gives a disdainful sniff. "That boy has always been weak and immature."
Lorelai sputters in confusion. "How can you – what are you? Oh my god, Mom, you pushed him on me."
Emily's eyes are hard. "I had Rory to consider."
Lorelai stares back at her mother in bewilderment. "What do you mean?"
"A child needs a-"
"A mother and a father." Lorelai interrupts. "I know, Mom. You've always made that message clear." She thinks she shouldn't be surprised that they're back to this argument that they've seen so many times before. She'd thought that maybe her mother had started to understand, at least in part, what Lorelai wants out of life, but even now they've found their way back, yet again, to Lorelai's fundamental disappointment – her failure to marry Christopher and give Rory a family.
"Not that you ever paid any attention to what I've said."
She wonders how it's possible that even though she's pushing forty her mother can still make her feel like a scolded child. "God, Mom, does it matter at all what I want? Why would you want me to be with Christopher if I wanted to be with Luke? Why would you do that?"
"I didn't know how strongly you felt about-" Lorelai glares at her mother, and Emily pauses before saying, "about Luke."
Lorelai responds, her voice low and even. "Would it have changed anything if you did?"
"I always thought…" Emily pauses, her expression uncertain. "I really thought you could be happy with Christopher. That if it weren't for that other woman getting pregnant, you'd be with him now."
Lorelai has to stifle a laugh at the suggestion, because even though she'd thought it possible at the time, she can no longer conjure an image of Christopher and her living out a 'happily-ever-after' scenario. Looking back at her growing pile of missed opportunities, her brief chance at something real with Rory's father doesn't even rate.
She's not sure how to express this to her mother, so she just says quietly, "We wouldn't have worked. I wouldn't have been happy with him."
"You never really gave him a chance," Emily points out, but then adds reluctantly, "but maybe you're right."
They're going around in circles and Lorelai can no longer make sense of where they are in the argument. "I just don't understand why it mattered so much. He doesn't have to be with me to be Rory's dad."
Her mother stops and gives her a long, serious look. "You really think that, don't you?"
Lorelai's brow tightens in confusion. "Of course I do. What are you…?"
"It's always been you he loves. You're the one who's more important to him. Have you really not seen that, Lorelai?"
Lorelai stills and goes cold so suddenly that she's reminded of her high school chemistry teacher's demonstrations with liquid nitrogen. She also remembers that things frozen with liquid nitrogen shatter into hundreds of pieces the moment they hit the floor, and that thought keeps her momentarily petrified with fear. Finally her lungs gasp in air greedily and she finds herself just a little surprised that her body is still intact after those several ragged breaths.
She doesn't want to believe what her mother is saying about Christopher's feelings for her, and for his daughter. The implication is too big, too wrong. She's always known Christopher cared for her and she's let herself get sucked into that more times that she'd like to admit. But her mother is saying something else entirely – that it's bigger than what he feels for Rory, possibly that she's let it be bigger than his love for Rory. "No, no, no," she says desperately. "You can't blame me for this."
"I'm not blaming you. It's just the way it is." Her mother goes on, a touch of regret in her words. "He's never wanted a family as much as he's wanted you, but I always thought that if you cared about him that you could all be happy."
Somewhere in her consciousness, Lorelai is aware that her mother has just made an important admission, but she's unable to get past the underlying revelation. "No, no," she whispers, more to herself than to her mother, wanting desperately not to believe that of Rory's father, having a hard time imagining it, but at the same time, remembering moments, feelings that leave her with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She tries to put words together to protest, to convince herself even, but she can't force them past the paralysis in her throat.
They stand there for several long moments, Lorelai staring at her toes, mentally cataloguing her history with Christopher, and his history with his daughter. When Emily finally breaks the silence, her voice is uncharacteristically understanding. "It's not your responsibility, Lorelai." She looks up to find her mother looking at her warmly, and it occurs to her that they're having one of those rare mother-daughter moments that she and Emily have once every forever and she thinks for a moment that she should savor it.
It's a moment in which any other mother would hug her daughter, but they're not really that kind of mother and daughter, so Emily rests her hand on Lorelai's arm, saying softly, "The house hasn't sold yet. We can reinstate our offer, if you'd like." It sounds incongruous and out of the blue, considering what they'd just been talking about, but in a strange way, Lorelai thinks it just might be her mother's way of giving tacit approval to the path Lorelai has chosen. And it warms her more than she'd like to admit.
She looks up and gives Emily a sad smile. "That's…that's really beyond…well, really it was beyond the call of duty, whatever, in the first place, but you don't have to…"
"It wasn't because we had to," Emily corrects, just sharply enough to keep the moment from getting too emotional. "It was, it is, a gift."
"Okay, well…" Lorelai says helplessly, unable to remember a time she'd felt quite this exposed to her mother. "I still don't think I, we, can accept it. I don't even know…"
A fleeting look of concern crosses Emily's face, though her tone is businesslike. "Well, we can certainly keep them tangled up in negotiations for quite some time. They were being completely unreasonable about a few things. That should give you time to finally get your love life straightened out," she adds pointedly.
The flash of irritation at her mother's bluntness is almost welcome, considering how quickly emotion had flooded the room, crowding out everything else. She gives her mother a rueful glance, which Emily seems to silently acknowledge before saying, "Well, I've got a luncheon back in Hartford." Lorelai takes the cue and hands Emily her raincoat, as her mother adds casually, "So, will you be joining us for dinner on Friday?"
There's just enough hopefulness in Emily's expression that Lorelai feels the tables turned for a moment, as if her mother is just asking for this one little thing in return for understanding, and it makes her want to grant it.
Honestly, even if she wanted to decline, she's too drained to come up with an adequate reason, so she just nods and says softly, "I'll be there."
There's a hint of a smile in the corners of Emily's mouth but her response is officious. "Very well then. You know, you can bring Luke and that daughter of his if you like."
Lorelai gives a halfhearted sigh. "April, Mom. Her name is April. And no thank you. I don't think we're quite ready for that yet."
Emily shrugs. "Well, we'll seen you Friday then." She glances out the door, then back at Lorelai. "I'll see myself out. I'm sure I won't have any help from your staff."
Once her mother leaves, whatever shred of dignity that had remained flees and she shuts the door before collapsing at her desk under the weight of more than twenty years of history. She's too stunned to work, to function. Even when she's able to sit up and locate the folders she'd been working on when her mother arrived, her brain feels sluggish and her movements stiff. After spending almost an hour staring at the same set of requisitions, she finally gives in and goes home.
The first thing she does when she gets home is pull out her photo albums looking for evidence with which to prove her mother wrong. Searching for Christopher's adoring gaze trained on his daughter. But her photo albums are sadly bare with respect to Rory's father and she can neither prove nor disprove her mother's assertion.
Memories haunt her: his repeated suggestions that they leave baby Rory with the nanny so that they could go out, the rare visits that were as much about flirting with Lorelai as about bonding with Rory, proposals to be her husband without any idea how to be a father, and the fact that when he came into money it was Lorelai he came to with offers of castles and cars, in spite of her being with someone else, in spite of Rory being a grown woman with her own place.
The memories, though, she can hold inside, and while deep down she knows her mother is right, she lets herself try to deny it a little longer, until the anger makes it impossible to ignore it any longer. Anger at Christopher for not making his own daughter a higher priority and anger at herself for allowing it.
Over the next few days, she and Luke continue the movie marathon. If she's quieter than usual, he doesn't say anything, but a few days later, when he reaches his arm around her shoulder and tugs her close, she doesn't resist and instead lets her head drop to his shoulder. They're back to Meg Ryan again, much to Luke's chagrin, and they're watching You've Got Mail, which luckily is formulaic enough to require almost none of her attention. Even though it's been a few days, she keeps running her mother's words over in her head, and the guilt nags at her.
Later, as the credits scroll by, Luke runs his hand up and down her arm, and even though she's got so many questions in her head – about her life and about her relationship with Luke - that she can't make sense of any of them, the motion comforts her. He gives one last little squeeze and then whispers, "I should get going."
She just nods and stands slowly, watching him lean forward, pushing off his knees as he comes to his feet. He helps her carry their beer bottles and pie plates to the kitchen and then she follows him to the door. They've made a habit of these awkward good nights. Awkward because it feels like he should kiss her good night, but they're not doing that yet. These few minutes at the end of the night are really the only moments that make her wonder what they're doing, make her wonder if her mother is right and they should just get on with it already.
These are the thoughts in her head as they run through their hesitant routine, so it catches her by surprise when Luke stops halfway out the door and turns to look at her. "You know I love you, right?"
He says the words confidently, but once they're out he goes on, his voice tentative, as if he needs to explain, "I think words are, well, just words, and that it's more important what we do." He takes a breath and then goes on, a little hurriedly, "But I've been wrong about a lot of other stuff and I just want to make sure there's no question."
The nerve signals from her brain get lost somewhere between the urge to speak and the putting together of words, so she just stands there with her mouth half-open. His expression is warm and sincere, but as the moment lengthens, she sees a quirk of amusement in his smile.
He reaches out to take her hand and then presses his lips to her forehead briefly before stepping back. She's got that sitting-at-the-door-of-the-airplane feeling and it's possible he sees that in her eyes, because he tightens his fingers around hers briefly before releasing her hand and saying, "See you tomorrow," his words and gestures removing any expectation of a response. He turns to go, and she's both relieved and annoyed that he's down the steps before she can find her words. Impatience wins out over relief as she pads across the porch and calls his name. Stopping in the middle of the lawn, he turns back toward her. "Yeah?"
She leans forward, balancing her weight on the porch rail and says, softly but clearly, "I love you, too."
The shy nod and smile he gives her in return makes her think that finally they might both be in the same place at the same time.
That's the thought that carries her through the next several days, that keeps her from spending too much time inside her head, reliving the past. The past is not a comfort right now. The more time she spends remembering, the more she thinks that her mother was right, and as she looks back, through this new lens of understanding, the more she sees moments – of hope, of unfulfilled promises, of absence – and wonders if she'd had the power to affect those moments. When she remembers the scenes of her daughter's disappointment, repeated over and over throughout Rory's childhood, she can't help but think that if Christopher didn't put his daughter first, it was because she let him.
This revelation sticks with her, drags her down like one of those backpacks she and Rory lugged around Europe, but she can't seem to let go of it. Can't stop thinking 'what if?'
Throughout it all, Luke is a constant, trying in his silent, patient way to lighten her load. In return, when the pressures of the custody suit starts to wear him down, she tries to lighten his.
In spite of his misgivings about lawyers and custody battles, after the DNA test results, Luke had met with Harry and drawn up what seemed like a fair proposal: April would be with him two afternoons a week and every other weekend. Given that she's already spending three or four days a week at the diner, along with occasional outings with Luke, it's not a great deal more time. The overnight stays would be a significant change, but April's room in Luke's apartment is ready, waiting for her to stay in it.
Lorelai watches him go off to the first mediation meeting full of hope, only to return frustrated when Anna balks at the overnight stays and the sharing of holidays. After a couple of weeks of meetings, they're still at an impasse and when another week ends without any progress, Lorelai knows that Luke is starting to get discouraged. He hasn't said anything out loud, but she suspects that he'd hoped this weekend might be the first time April would stay with him and when it doesn't happen, he starts to worry that the trip to the cabin might be in jeopardy, even though Anna had previously given permission for it.
In addition, April is busy most of the weekend with a friend's birthday festivities, so she doesn't visit. On Saturday night, when Lorelai stops by the diner for a late dinner, Luke is downright grumpy. By the time he closes the diner, though, Lorelai has managed to wear him down with a combination of distraction and understanding, and after he locks the door and refills her coffee he says with a discouraged sigh, "I just keep wondering if I'm doing the right thing, fighting with Anna like this."
"She's the one fighting, Luke. You're being completely reasonable."
He gives a half-hearted shrug. "But it's not good for April, to see that. I don't even…" Reaching with both hands to adjust his cap, he leans back against the counter and continues, "I'm not even sure she really wants this."
"That's ridiculous," Lorelai protests automatically, feeling red, hot anger toward Anna for making Luke question his own fatherhood.
"Is it?"
"Of course it is," she insists. "You're talking like all of a sudden you don't want this. What's going on?"
"It's just that she and her mom have had this special thing for so long, and I'm trying to take some of that away."
"Luke," Lorelai says, leaning forward on the counter as she holds his gaze and says seriously, "she's your daughter. I don't understand what you're trying to say."
"I don't know exactly. It's not like I'm not pissed as hell that Anna didn't tell me about April, but she keeps talking about how adolescence is such a fragile time and I don't want to make things harder for April." Lorelai gives him a skeptical look and he responds by pointing at her. "I thought you'd get it. I mean with Rory and all. You had that whole 'special bond' thing and you're, you know," he gestures at her, "a woman and all, so you get all that teenage girl stuff. It's just," he shrugs sadly, "I'm not sure that April really needs me."
"Luke…" It makes her physically ache to hear him saying this, after seeing how hard he's worked to build a relationship with his daughter, after seeing how much April obviously cares for him. She can't imagine the thought process that would lead him to that conclusion, that would have him trying to talk himself out of this fight.
But the thing is, he thinks that she should understand, because of Rory. Because she's a single mother whose child has an absent father. And she wants to tell him it's different, that Luke didn't have an opportunity to be a father because April's mother didn't let him, but then she has to ask herself if Christopher ever asked himself those questions. If he really knew how much his daughter wanted him in her life
It's that thought that stops her, makes her wonder if she's done things, said things, over the years that made Christopher think that he shouldn't intrude, or that he wasn't welcome. If that's why he chose not to be present.
And then there's the part of her that thinks that maybe she wouldn't have to be wondering about any of this if only she'd spent less time wondering what he was to her, and more time thinking about what he was to his kid.
The sudden rush of guilt makes her respond sharply, "No. No," she repeats, shaking her head, seeing his eyes widen in confusion at her obvious agitation. "You can't let her do that to you. You can't let her make it all about her. You can't let her keep your kid from you." He's giving her too much credit, she thinks. Anna doesn't deserve such understanding, doesn't deserve to be let off the hook, and neither does she.
In the end, Anna eventually agrees, consenting to the overnight visits provided she gets her choice of holidays. It sounds like a compromise for the sake of winning an argument more than anything else. Luke wonders aloud what made Anna change her mind, but Lorelai thinks that it might have something to do with the determined look she's seen in April's eyes during the last few days. She has no idea if Luke has seen the same thing, but he seems relieved about Anna's change of heart, as if it renews his faith in her willingness to be reasonable, and though Lorelai's not as convinced about Anna's goodwill, she lets him go on thinking whatever he needs to make the situation work for him.
During the next couple of weeks, April's excitement about the trip to the cabin grows and Lorelai can't help but feel her own enthusiasm build, in spite of the nervousness she feels.
It's not just for April's benefit that Lorelai makes a big deal about sharing a room with April and Rory while they're at the cabin. It's also to answer the unasked question in Rory's eyes. And mostly, it's because this is an awkward position to be in: going on an overnight trip with your ex-fiance - who you're almost but not quite dating – and his teenage daughter.
Because of that, Lorelai is prepared for a bit of awkwardness, for she and Luke to not quite know how to be with one another. But when she wakes on Saturday morning to the smell of coffee and bacon, she's not prepared for how familiar it feels to have Luke there in the morning cooking her breakfast. When she pads into the kitchen in her pajamas and slippers, she finds both chocolate chip and blueberry pancakes on the table and Luke doling out sausage links and bacon strips to each of the plates. He's humming something tuneless to himself as he works, an easy smile on his face. His focus is such that he doesn't notice her right away; when he does the humming stops and he ducks his head shyly. Lorelai can't help but chuckle at the image, and Luke reaches to fill a mug with coffee, very likely to distract her from commenting. When he turns to hand her the coffee, he wraps his other hand briefly around her elbow and there's a moment she thinks he's going to give her a 'good morning' kiss, but it passes and she thinks maybe she's disappointed about that.
She doesn't have a chance to think through the implications of that, because April and Rory have descended upon the table and soon they're all devouring the pancakes he's placed in front of them and resisting his efforts to serve them the fruit he's cut up. Between the relief of the custody settlement and the opportunity to share this place with those important to him, Luke's apparently hopeless to refuse them anything. Though all three of them tease him mercilessly about the various ways they'll torture him this weekend, he seems perfectly content, at least for the moment, to let them.
As Lorelai looks at them assembled around the table, she thinks that she hasn't felt such a strong sense of family in years. Luke catches her eye and winks at her and before she knows what she's doing, she's planning in her head to make this trip a yearly tradition and she realizes that, for the first time in a long time, she can actually imagine a future.
Later, they all stand on the dock as Luke and April prepare to test her theories about the best location on the lake to fish.
"You're sure you don't want to come with us?" Luke asks, gesturing toward the rowboat that's bobbing up and down in the water next to the dock.
"In that thing?" she asks, her tone incredulous but teasing. "Out there? That thing barely looks like it will hold the two of you. I don't want to strain its meager seams."
He shrugs. "Suit yourself," he pauses, fixing her with a determined smile, "but there will be a time that I'll get you out fishing."
Lorelai hears Rory chuckle behind her. "Good luck with that," she says before turning to April and asking, "So, what's the appropriate thing to say as you head out? Happy Fishing?"
"That'll work," April says with a grin. She glances quickly at her watch, then looks up at Luke. "Oh, we should get going. We need to be in the northwest corner of the lake by two o'clock. That's when the dissolved oxygen and temperature should be at the most optimal conditions for fishing."
Luke nods at his daughter so seriously that Lorelai almost laughs out loud at the thought that this man who's always said he's no good with kids can hold a straight face while this miniature science geek is listing the reasons they need to be at a particular spot on the lake at a specific time. It's so incongruous and yet it's not, because she's been watching him with April for weeks now and it makes sense in a way she always knew deep down that it would if Luke ever decided to have a kid. She's still thinking this as April turns to climb into the boat and Luke winks at herover his daughter's shoulder, and she thinks that maybe he sees it too, that it's odd and natural all at once.
"We'll see you in a few hours," he says, balancing his weight expertly as he steps into the teetering boat, and adds playfully. "Rory, don't let your mom try to cook anything while we're gone."
"Hey!" Lorelai protests.
"Just don't want you to burn down the cabin."
Lorelai sticks out her tongue. "You better sit down and take off before I come over there and push you into the water."
He laughs, but then does just that, lifting his eyebrow in amusement as he positions his hands on the oars and starts rowing.
Lorelai walks back to where they've left their blankets on the shore, and plops herself down, sitting with her knees up and arms folded across them. Watching quietly, she follows the motion of the oars as they push through the water and then circle back through the air, raining water drops in their wake. She's just getting used to the still silence, when Rory points out, chuckling, "I can't believe he's still wearing his flannel."
She laughs lightly, smiling over at her daughter briefly before resting her chin on her arms. "Yeah, I know. Some things never change." It's not supposed to come out with a melancholy edge and she tries to cover, "Though I never thought I'd see this." She takes in a few deep breaths. "It's nice, isn't it?"
Rory nods, "It is. It's so quiet and pretty."
"Yeah. I'm really glad we let them drag us up here," Lorelai says, looking back out to where the boat is getting smaller and smaller as Luke rows it further across the lake.
"You seem…" she hears Rory say, and she turns her head sideways to watch her daughter's face wrinkle into a thoughtful frown, "content."
It's the perfect word for what she feels right now, like things are falling into place, like she's on a wacky road trip to some fabulous locale, the journey as pleasant as the destination is desirable.
"So everything's going well," Rory prods gently, "with you and Luke?"
"We're," she pauses, smiling, "we're figuring it out."
"You know, the two of you keep saying that. What exactly does that mean?"
Lorelai lifts one shoulder in a slow shrug. "I don't know. We're working it out. We're spending time together. We're fixing what was broken."
"Have you talked about the future…I don't know, a wedding?" Rory asks hopefully.
She gives her daughter a quick glance, "Let's not rush anything."
"Well, do you think you will?"
"I don't know. Maybe. We're just not there yet." She doesn't say so to Rory, doesn't make the words real just yet, though she's starting to think that they will, eventually. But right now she's happy just to live in the moment, without spending too much time pondering the hows and whens and wheres. In an effort at distraction, she asks, "Hey, how are things with your dad?
Rory sounds almost surprised when she answers. "Good, actually. We've been having dinner once a week. Dad found this sushi place he likes near Yale."
"Sushi?"
"Yeah."
"Seriously? Cut up bits of uncooked fish wrapped in rice and seaweed?"
"How do you do that?"
"What?"
"Take a perfectly good food and make it sound disgusting."
"'Cause it's seaweed."
Rory just laughs, shaking her head as she stretches out on the blanket. After a little more probing, she talks about the trip to the Children's Museum with Christopher and Gigi, sharing the kind of anecdotes you only get when there's a three-and-a-half-year-old involved.
As Lorelai listens, prompting with questions, but otherwise saying very little, she hears what sounds like Rory's genuine enjoyment not only in the outings, but also in the memory of them. She can feel some of the tension, and the guilt, start to melt, and it makes her think that maybe it's not too late for some of the damage to be repaired, to give back some of what Rory's missed out on by not having her father thoroughly present in her life. That maybe she can find some peace about her role in that absence.
To be continued