She spills coffee on the floor when she scoops it into her maker. When she bends down to clean it, she hits her knee on the cabinet, knocking more onto the floor. Paul Anka tries to lick it up, in which she shoos him away, only succeeding in scaring him into a chair, which, of course, falls over with a crash.
He runs away and hides, and she's sure she won't see much more of him today. When she tries calling Rory to say good morning, it goes straight to voicemail and her mailbox is full.
Her head is pounding, and she's not sure exactly why. The coffee only seems to temporarily ease her pain, and when she walks with the hot cup to the den, she feels faint. She wonders if she has one of those carbon monoxide leaks in her house and worse, if she did in fact pass out, how long it would take someone to discover her body.
She blames the weather for her pessimism. It's an overcast day and her house seems darker than usual. She misses the sun.
It's days like this that are the worse. Where she feels no guilt for waxing poetic of what might have been. She walks outside, hoping to escape the invisible fumes that she's sure have invaded her house. She sits on her stairs and slowly rubs her hand around the rim of her cup, coaxing it into coolness.
The coffee and the potential deadly fumes. The missing socks and Paul Anka being completely terrified of her. It's all of this that makes her miss him. She knows that the woulda/coulda/shoulda combo is dangerous. She knows that it's unhealthy and nonproductive. Usually, she avoids it. Today, she's feeling too low to have such self-control. Luke's her coffee provider, as he promised he'd be. She thinks it's over. Completely. And she hates that she can't seem to let the hope go. And so, she lets her mind drift.
If things had been different, he would have come after her. He would have grabbed her arm, a little too fiercely in his desperation. He would have made her look at him, seen the tears in her eyes, and held her tightly against him.
If things had been different he would have run his hands through her hair until she could breathe again and he would have promised her he'd fix things.
If things had been different, she would have hit her hands on his chest as he tried to soothe her with his words. She would have fought against his firm embrace until she was too weak to do so any longer. He would have led her home, and helped her inside. He would have sit beside her on the couch and told her how important she was to him. He would have fought for them.
There would have been screaming and yelling and fierce words, but neither of them would have moved until they both couldn't blame any more. Until their words were exhausted and the sun had begun to gently stream in through the windows. With one look, he would have taken her to bed.
Instead, they were both left with too much unsaid. For months they had been sitting on accusations and apologies, until they were buried inside so deep, they were both sure they would never be needed. A flood of relief and sorrow clouded her mind when she thought of the words that would never be spoken. It was too late for them, and it was too late for the words that would release them from their tireless purgatory.
In her unproductive ramblings, her eyes have drifted towards a neighbor's house. Lorelai watches in fascination as three children play basketball. Through the trees she can hear the laughter and the small sibling arguments that ensue. The cheers and shrieks of laughter clear in her mind. The picture made vivid by the sounds; a frame clear in her mind. Every so often, she catches a glimpse of a red shirt or yellow hat, only slices, the rest to be filled in by her imagination. She watches intently, waiting for another peek.
They could grow up to be anything, she thinks. They could be basketball players or rocket scientists. They still get the chance to decide. They still get to experience the moment when they realize their dream and potential. They still get to experience love and laughter and kisses.
They are going to get their hearts broken. They are going to cry and scream and fight, because they are so convicted in their belief that nothing is more important than being right. Being justified. Pride. They are so sure that love can come again. They are hopeful and optimistic. They know that even though it hurts like hell, love will come again.
She tries to smile for them. She tries to ignore the tears that seem to be gathering in her eyes. She tries to be happy for them and push away the childish jealousy that clouds her thoughts. She wants to, and tries to, but she can't seem to rid herself of the unwelcome and disturbing realization that her time for all these joys, has passed. She has her life that she made herself, and doesn't regret much, but can't seem to reconcile her successes and her failures.
She can't fight the feeling of emptiness and loneliness that envelops her. She thought that when Rory went to college, that the feelings then, those would be the worst. That's when she would feel the most alone. That's when she would feel the pricks in her heart that threatened to suffocate her.
It is much worse now, she thinks. Not being needed. Feeling completely alone and useless. She spits out the unwelcome word. Useless. It is much too strong of a word for her to use so freely in her imagination, and she can't help but hate that it ever crossed her mind in the first place.
Instead of trying to find all the reasons why this word shouldn't, and couldn't, ever apply to her, she stands abruptly, hitting her elbow hard on the railing, a wayward nail tearing through her skin as she yelps out in pain.
She thinks the children have heard her, but relief washes over her as they begin to play once again. She stumbles inside, surprised at her blurry vision. The pain had not seemed enough to draw tears, but they are running down her face regardless. She wishes that she was a child and could open the door to her mother's welcoming arms, waiting with a band-aid and medicine that would sting but ensure that the scratch didn't get infected.
Instead, she's surprised to see Paul Anka, seemingly forgiving her and trying his best to come to her aid. While she is comforted by his presence, he holds no band-aids or medicine. He offers her his bone instead.
She starts to walk past him into the kitchen and abruptly stops, unsure if she even owns a hammer, much less where one might keep such a thing. She is sure, however, that she needs to turn a new leaf. No more wayward nails. She refuses to feel sorry for herself any longer.
She grabs the bone from his mouth and storms to the nail that threatened her sanity. She doesn't even let the word "Bert" cross her mind as she pulls back, squinting an eye to focus, and swings for the nail. It hits dead on, and she almost laughs at herself, unbelieving. She swings again, almost proud, and a little too confident, and the nail starts to slowly slide back into place.
Just when she thinks she's got things figured out, she leans her left hand against the railing for leverage. She pulls back for a final swing, focused and proud, putting all of her weight behind it. The wood creaks and cracks, but she's so determined, it doesn't faze her in the slightest. As she swings and hits it once more, BAM.
As if the fates had planned it all along, the whole scene crumbles. The railing crashes down, Lorelai falling right behind it. She hears a snap in her arm as she hits the ground and she groans.
"Fuck," she says. Damn, shit, hell, she thinks.
Wincing, she rolls on her back, pulling her injured arm to her chest. She cradles it, and then, she laughs.
She laughs as she thinks of how she must look right now. Flat on her back, lying on broken wood and still grasping the dog bone. She laughs as she is reminded why she's never tried to fix these types of things before. She laughs because in her quest to free her mind of Luke, she's literally fallen flat on her face, and she's no doctor, but is pretty sure she's broken her arm in the process.
She winces again as she sits up slowly. Paul Anka stands on the porch looking down at her. She knows he's oblivious, but his tail is wagging so happily, she wonders if he considers this his payback from earlier.
She stands up, still unsure if she should laugh or cry, and settles on a mixture of the two. She walks up the stairs and opens the door. She grabs the phone, setting it on its back on the table. Each number she dials proves to be tricky. Shots of pain being delivered directly to her arm at every movement.
Babbette and Morey had come by yesterday to tell her that they'd be away for the weekend. Sookie's line is busy, and Patty isn't answering either. Rory's voicemail comes on immediately once again. She doesn't even wait for the message informing her that her daughter is so busy and important that she's not even receiving messages, including those from her mother.
Exhausting all of the people who could and would take her to the hospital, a final name comes into her head.
He answers on the second ring, and sounds annoyed when she doesn't respond right away.
"Sorry to bother you Luke-"
"Lorelai?"
"Yep. Hi."
"Hi, how's it going?" He seems a little less frustrated, and she's at least thankful for that. She can hear him moving plates around. He shifts the phone from his ear, "Eggs and bacon, wheat toast!"
"Look I know your busy-"
"Yeah, sorry. Breakfast rush. Can I call you back in thirty minutes?"
She debates on whether or not she can drive herself. Her decision is made when she shifts the phone, somehow furthering her pain. She winces, "Well, I was hoping you could help me out."
She can hear him sigh and she rushes to explain, "I think I broke my arm."
"Your arm? Are you okay?"
"Well that's debatable. I think I need to go to the hospital." She rushes unnecessarily on, "I would drive myself but I'm having problems just making phone calls, and Rory and Sookie aren't answering their phones-"
"I'll be right there."
And he hangs up and she sighs. She sets the phone down, gingerly grabbing a Kleenex trying to wipe the tears and dirt from her face.
She's made it to the porch when he pulls up just a few minutes later.
He's out of the truck and darting towards her before the dust has settled.
"Are you okay?"
It seems the trip was enough time for panic to sink in.
She wants to cry again at the sympathetic look he gives her.
Instead she says in a confident voice, "Oh yeah sure. I was heading out to the batting cages, wanna come?"
His arms are on his hips, unfazed by her snark, and she watches as he takes in the scene before him.
"What the hell were you trying to do?"
She opens her mouth to speak and then he notices the blood on her arm.
"You're bleeding!"
"It's not from the break."
"Well I would hope not. Did you fall off your porch?"
"Well sort-of, see-" she tries to explain how one as dainty and together as herself finds themselves on the ground with a broken arm.
"Do you have a tetanus shot?"
"Luke-"
"There're nails in that wood." He kicks it around a bit before continuing, "I knew that thing was unsteady. I don't know why I never-"
"Luke!" she says louder to get his attention.
It works.
"Can we talk semantics later? This kinda hurts and I could totally go for some painkillers about right now."
"Sure, yeah." He's kind of pacing around strangely, and won't stop looking at the broken wood on the ground guiltily. "I just can't-"
"Hey Luke?"
He finally stops his pacing at looks at her.
"Can you take me to the hospital?"
"Of course. Right. Hospital. Sorry."
"Thanks."
When she goes to stand up, he's beside her, hand on her back, helping her. She almost feels guilty for just wanting to hug him. Just hug him and thank him for always being there for her. She doesn't.
He leads her to his truck and opens the door for her. He helps her up into the truck and reaches for her seatbelt.
With a coy smile she says, "I still have one that works, you know."
"Right," he smiles back at her.
She successfully buckles herself in and he gently closes her door, walking to his side.
They are well out of Star's Hollow when he finally breaks the silence, "So what happened?"
"You wouldn't believe it if I told you."
He smirks, "Try me."
She takes a deep breath and resists the urge to tell him about her horrible morning and how she just couldn't seem to stop missing him.
"I cut myself on a nail on the porch."
"And fell off?"
"No, thank you very much. I was trying to hammer it back it."
He holds in a laugh, "You used a hammer?"
"For your information, I can use a hammer."
He smiles, "Oh I'm sure you can. I've just never seen it."
She smirks.
He continues, "I didn't even know you had a hammer."
She grins surreptitiously, "I'm sure I do... somewhere."
"Huh?"
"I was using Paul Anka's bone," she admits embarrassed.
He laughs, "Seriously?"
"Seriously. And don't laugh! It was working! Well, until the railing broke, but until then..." she smiles.
"Until then you were doing great?" he repeats smiling.
"Yeah," she insists, returning his smile.
She enjoys the quiet moment between them, temporarily forgetting about the pain in her arm.
Still smiling he continues, "We really need to get you a toolkit for your house."
She's sure he doesn't realize why that may have made her lose her smile and look away. "Yeah," she replies, trying to sound cheerful, but she's stung. She tries not to let it show and smiles back at him, "I'll have to do that."
He seems to realize though, and continues, "But hey, you can always call me. You should have called me today anyway." He tries to lighten the mood, "I have an actual hammer and everything."
She smiles at his effort. After a moment, she breaks the silence, "Hey thanks for doing this Luke. Really, thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you. You've saved me more times than I'd like to admit," she laughs good-naturedly.
"Don't give me too much credit. I should have fixed the damn thing in the first place."
She chooses not to respond, and figures they both know why he hadn't. No need to bring up unpleasant memories.
"We're almost there. Your arm doing okay?"
"Yeah she's good. Not looking forward to months of darkness inside a cast, but she's very excited about the painkillers that I keep assuring her are coming."
"Good," he nods at her reassuringly. His eyes are on the road but she watches as they glance in her direction every now and then. Just when she thinks she can't stand it any longer, he speaks, "You can call me you know."
"Huh?"
"Call me. You can call me if you need help with something or break an arm or whatever," he frowns, "I don't like that you don't think you can call me."
"I just," she pauses and tries to figure out how to word her hesitations correctly. She sighs and goes with honesty, "I just don't know where we stand Luke. I mean I said my piece and we've had a good customer/coffee provider thing going on, and that's great. But where are you? I mean, are we friends? Are we even anything? Where are you?" She exhausts her breath and looks at him unsure, afraid she's asking too much.
He sighs and looks at her with a steady gaze, "I don't know."
There are worse things he could have said and she accepts his answer, nodding solemnly and looking back onto the road. He holds his gaze a little longer and then does the same.
Her hand is resting on her knee, and as it's slightly numb, she doesn't feel it at first. But a quick glance down confirms it. His hand is ever so gently holding onto hers and his thumb is rubbing it reassuringly.
She sniffles and swallows the tears that threaten.
"We're almost there. Don't worry."
And she thinks that maybe she does have time.
TBC