"You said you like anything that's bad for you, correct?" you ask, hoping she'll like what you've brought today.
"Yes, and if you have one of Luke's burgers in there, I might actually have to kiss you," she grins, her eyes twinkling.
"Tempting," you shoot back. "An offer I might just have to take you up on some time," you continue, causing her to blush. "But no, no burgers from Luke's today. How about fish and chips?"
"Oh, that sounds wonderful," she claps. "I've been wanting some, but Grandma turns her nose up at food that common. I think she frowns on deep frying, but Mom and I lived on fish and chips while we were in England last summer."
"You and your mom came here last summer?" you ask, handing her a newspaper shaped cone with the fried fish and chips inside.
"Yeah, after I graduated from Chilton, we backpacked through Europe together," she replies, popping a chip into her mouth.
"You and your mom?" you question, never having heard of anything like it.
"Yeah, she had me really young, and I think she missed out on a lot of things because of it. Backpacking through Europe as a teen is one of them," she explains. "So we decided a long time ago that when I graduated from high school we would take our first trip to Europe together, backpacking, staying in hostels, generally living the life of tramps for a couple of months."
"You stayed in hostels?" you ask, surprised that Emily and Richard had allowed it. "How was that?"
"Pretty much sucked," she laughs. "Almost made us both wish we had taken Grandma and Grandpa up on the offer to do Europe in style. But I think everyone should do it on a wing and a prayer once."
"I'll take your word for it," you laugh back. "Vinegar?"
"Why would I need vinegar?" she asks, her nose wrinkling.
"Malt vinegar," you explain. "You've had fish and chips and haven't had them with vinegar?"
"I was about to ask you were the mayonnaise was," she replies.
"There is no mayonnaise," you rebuke gently. "You have to eat it with malt vinegar, otherwise it's not authentic. You want the true fish and chips experience, don't you, Miss 'I stayed in hostels'?"
"Fine," she huffs back. "I'll try a little with vinegar, if you insist, but if I don't like it, it's all your fault," she finishes, sticking her tongue out of the side of her mouth. You can think of a couple of things you'd like to do with that tongue, but refrain from suggesting any of them.
"You've never backpacked through Europe?" she asks while you're putting vinegar on one piece of her fish and a few chips, so the rest won't be ruined if she hates it.
"No, I've backpacked, complete with unlimited Eurail pass, a couple of times with friends," you reply, handing her back her meal. "I've just never done the staying-in-hostels thing."
"So you backpack and then stay at the Ritz?" she questions with a chuckle.
"No," you laugh. "There are levels of service between the Ritz and a hostel, if you didn't know. We mostly stay at small inns out in the country and mid level hotels in the cities."
"So what, instead of the Savoy or Claridge's you stay at the Park Lane or Mayfair?" she shoots back, skepticism heavy in her voice. "Oh, this is really good," she says, enthusiastically tearing off a large piece of fish. "I need a napkin."
"I told you, and, no," you reply, reaching to find her a napkin. "Here you go. In London, we usually stay at The Gloucester or St. George's. Or Chelsea House if Colin remembers to call ahead to one of his former step siblings."
"Colin?" she questions around the food in her mouth.
"One of my best friends. He has former relatives that live here in London and are members," you explain.
"That's very chi-chi," she lobs back.
"I never claimed that I didn't enjoy the comforts and privileges of the station to which I was born," you defend. "I never claimed that I haven't stayed at the Ritz or the Savoy. I have, and when I spend a decadent weekend in New York I usually stay at the Pierre. And there have been times when I have been completely blasé about the amount of money I threw around, coming close to incurring my dad's wrath for actually spending too much. I'm just saying that when we backpack we try to not go overboard with the luxuries," you finish, popping a piece of fish in your mouth.
"To be more like the hoi-polloi," she giggles.
"Yes, to tap into my bourgeois side," you chuckle, nodding your agreement.
"You have a bourgeois side?" she questions with a raised brow, her skepticism evident.
"I can pretend with the best of them," you shoot back.
"Oh I'm sure," she laughs, rolling her eyes.
"Didn't you say you went to Chilton? And you're at Yale now, so you're not doing that badly," you reply, a bit on the defensive.
"Both paid for by the grandparents," she replies smoothly, which answers a few of your questions. You knew her mother had run away from Hartford and Emily and Richard not long after Rory was born, and that there wasn't a great deal of contact through the years, but she had gone to one of the top prep schools in the city.
"I'm not saying we're paupers, at least not now, and my mom just opened an inn with her best friend, but for years things were very tight. We didn't even move off the property of the inn where Mom worked till I was twelve," she details. "I know what doing without is like. That's how I grew up."
"Well, then, at least you have grandparents that are willing to pay for you to go to schools worthy of your intellect," you reply, then change the subject. "Did you finish the Cather?"
"I did," she nods.
"And?" you question back.
"It didn't really improve for me," she replies, after swallowing. "I actually think their lives - Jim, Ántonia, even Lena Lindgard - their lives were actually interesting. I enjoyed the explorations of the intersecting lives, but what I didn't get into was the whole hardworking immigrants bonding with and taming the land. Though if women had as much freedom as Cather says they did, it was a much freer society than the more traditional and I guess easier ones back east, or further east."
"I actually think that was pretty true," you return. "I took a class on the settling of the west during my sophomore year, and life was… I don't think I'd say that it was better, but it was equally difficult on the female settlers as it was on the men," you explain, gesturing with your hands to imply the wide-open vistas of the unsettled west. "Once you settled into the more 'civilized' versions of society, men and women assumed their more traditional gender roles. I'm not sure life was better for women on the prairie, but it was more equal.
"Have you ever watched Deadwood?" you continue.
"No," she answers.
"Well, it's a very egalitarian society," you explain. "The bank is owned by a woman, which grants her some status in the town, a good deal of stature, in fact. But when push comes to shove, she is still a woman, and she still needs the muscle of the men to maintain order and bring those that would take advantage of her to justice," you continue, breaking off a piece of scone and popping it in your mouth. "It takes place in South Dakota. It's an interesting show; I think the medium of television does a better job of bringing the hardscrabble life of prairie settlers to life and making it interesting. You don't have to read the descriptions of the dust and grime and toiling; it's all right there on screen."
"I might have to check it out when I get home," she answers. "Is it on dvd?"
"I don't think so - not yet, at least - but I'll check and let you know," you offer."Thank you," she smiles.
"So if you finished your time in rural Nebraska, where are you heading today?" you inquire.
"Joseph Heller, Catch 22," she says, showing you the distinctive bright blue and red paperback.
"Yossarian lives!" you exclaim. "That is one of my absolute favorite books ever! Have you ever read it?"
"Actually, no," she shakes her head. "It's one I've meant to get to - it's on my list of 'you must read,' and one of my boyfriends in high school loved it - it was one of his favorite books, too - but for some reason, I never have. I was actually really excited when I saw it on the list for my class - it finally gives me an excuse to take the time to read it."
"You're in for a treat, he was definitely right," you grin, wanting to ask about the unnamed ex, but deciding not to. "It really is an amazing read. Yossarian, Colonel Cathcart, Milo Minderbender, Major Major Major, Major blank de Coverley…you're going to love it, I promise!" you enthuse. "I can't wait to hear what you think of it. I think I've read it at least five times, and every time I find something new that amazes or confounds me, that I swear I've never remembered reading before."
"Five times?" she asks. "How old were you the first time you read it?"
"Thirteen, I think," you say after a moment, trying to remember. "I'd have to check my literary journals to be completely certain. But I'm pretty sure I was thirteen the first time I read it. It really is amazing. Your ex has good taste."
"He did - in literature, anyway," she laughs with a sardonic tone. "It's not like I have a string of exes sitting around, just two, but one was a bookworm, just like me."
"Ah," you smile, the information seeming to affirm your view of her as at least semi untouched. "Well, you're in for a treat. I can't wait to hear what you think. The sequel, Closing Time, is even pretty good. Speaking of that, this garden tends to get really crowded on the weekend. I was wondering if you can maybe go do something out in the city with me tomorrow, if it doesn't seem to forward of me to ask."
"No, not at all," she beams. "I'll have to check with Grandma just to make sure, or to be able to be free, something, but I'd love to. It's so funny - ironic, not haha - but I feel like we've really gotten to know one another these last three or four days, and yet we haven't even ventured five feet in either direction of this bench."
"That's so true," you chuckle. "We can adventure the day away, if you like. I'm not sure what time you can get away, or how long Emily will let you stay out, but I'm pretty much free as a bird for the entire day."
"I'll ask her at dinner tonight. Is there some way that I can get ahold of you?" she queries.
"I'll give you the number for my cell - if I don't answer, just leave a voice mail. I'll check them and either call you back or you can call me back a couple of hours later," you say, getting out a pen to write the number down on a piece of a napkin. "What number should I expect it from?"
"I have no clue what the number is at the house," she laughs sheepishly, a blush flushing her creamy skin. "But I'm really looking forward to going adventuring. I went out a lot by myself in Rome, Paris, and Florence, but this garden and the company of a good book beckoned me here, and if I hadn't decided to read instead of going off on my own, I wouldn't have met you," she smiles, the blush getting deeper in her cheeks.
"I think that's a pretty good tradeoff, me as opposed to deepening your cultural knowledge," you laugh with a smirk.
"You really do think pretty highly of yourself?" she giggles.
"Confidence," you laugh again, the smirk growing. "Plus, if I hadn't been equally drawn to the garden and written word, I wouldn't have met you either, which I think would have been a great misfortune. I think meeting one Rory Gilmore was the highlight of my summer, maybe even my year off."
"You really do need to stop with the compliments," she blushes again.
"I should only stop if they're not true, but they are, so I can't stop. Maybe you just need to learn to accept a sincere compliment," you return, knocking her knee with your knuckle. "As for tomorrow," you continue, changing the subject when her cheeks flame up again, "while I think you look lovely," you say, waving your hand to indicate her colorful pink, red and white sundress and cardigan, "I think you can dress down if you want to. Not that I'm trying to dictate wardrobe."
"Grandma likes me to maintain a ladylike wardrobe," she giggles, her hand going over her mouth. "I do have plenty of other things to wear. Not a ton with me, but enough that I think I can manage something more relaxed and youthful."
"Sounds perfect," you smile back, wondering what her legs look like in a pair of jeans or tailored trousers. "Oh, instead of scones - and if you hate me for not bringing them, I promise we'll get some tomorrow - I brought clotted creams."
"Mmmm, caramels," she replies, her eyes lighting up. "I think with all the fish and chips that will be perfect."
"You ate every single bit," you laugh, still completely amazed at her appetite even though you've been seeing it in action for three days straight.
"Gilmorian metabolism. If I ever have kids it is the one thing I insist they must inherit," she grins.
"It does seem to be a scientific marvel," you laugh back, your thoughts conjuring up the image of Rory pregnant, making you smile.
"Really, it is!" she exclaims, the grin on her face seeming to want to split it open. "So what's on tap for you today? Still in World War I Italy?"
"No, I finished this morning and I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. Uncle Ernest doesn't disappoint. No snide remarks from the peanut gallery, but it still wasn't my cup of tea," you say, reaching around to get your new book. "I knew it was going to end badly, and tragic, doomed romance just isn't normally my thing. Though I'm not sure this is either - I'm starting Brave New World by Aldous Huxley."
"Okay, not for an American Lit class, obviously," she replies with a raised brow.
"No," you shake your head. "It's for an ethics class I'm probably taking, and it's been on my to-read list for a while. If nothing else, it will make me think about some things I probably haven't before."
"It's supposed to be provocative, if nothing else," she nods. "You'll have to tell me what you think, since I've never read it either."
"I will. If I finish it before you leave I'll let you borrow it, and you can read it on the plane home, or wherever," you offer. "You can always give it back to me when we get back to school, though really you don't have to return it. Just a good excuse to make sure we see each other again."
"I think that's guaranteed," she smiles shyly, the blush creeping back into her cheeks.
"Speaking of my book, I should get started," you say, moving to sit under what you've come to think of as 'your tree,' as it's 'her bench.'
Just like for the last four days you read in companionable silence for the next hour and a half, each of you sneaking glances at the other. She opens the caramels every so often, eating them casually as she reads.
You've grown familiar with the way she bites the edge of her lip when she's reading something that makes her nervous, her current selection making her do that quite often, the quiet chuckle she makes when something mildly amuses her. Today that's mixed with a few small gasps and full laughs, which is appropriate given what she's reading. You wonder, and almost ask where she is, which part is causing the reactions, but decide to wait till tomorrow when she's gotten further into the novel.
When she finally gets up to head back inside she says, "I'm really loving it so far. I can't believe I've never read it before. What was I thinking?"
"I have no idea. It's a modern classic for a reason," you smile. "It's brilliant."
"It really is," she smiles back. "I'll call you later this evening, and I'll see you tomorrow."
"I'll be waiting for your call," you reply. "We'll figure out where to meet when we talk."
"Okay," she says, turning to leave. "Enjoy the rest of your afternoon or evening."
"I shall," you return, watching her till she disappears behind the gate of the house where she's staying.
I realized today when I brought up Jess that I'm supposed to love Dean. I chose Dean. I realize talking about literature and books naturally makes me think of Jess, but I haven't even thought of Dean in a couple of days - my head has been so full of Logan. He's this crazy combination of cocky, thoughtful, full of himself, funny, intelligent, and cute that I'm finding more and more irresistible. Today when he touched my knee, I felt like a spark had gone off.
But I'm not supposed to feel this way. I told Dean that I love him; he loves me, no matter what's going on with Lindsay. And yet, my mind is completely filled with Logan - everything else is being crowded out. Part of it is the newness, I know. But then when we sit on the bench and talk, it's like we've known each other for years, as if we're two old friends catching up, and it makes me feel completely comfortable around him, as much as I'm always very aware of him, the way his eyes twinkle, the way he smiles, that infuriating smirk of his.
I think his eyes are my favorite thing about him. The way they're just brimming with mirth, there's no maliciousness there, just intelligence, fearlessness, and this irreverent view of life and the world. It makes me want to know how he sees the world like he does, to see it through his eyes, to experience it with him.
Which is why I'm so excited about tomorrow. We're leaving our little haven. It's scary, to an extent, but exhilarating too. We're going to go have an adventure together, even if it is just dickering with vendors at the stalls on Portobello Road. No matter what we do, I have a feeling it will make me see things completely differently than I had before, even if I've been there in the past, which reminds me of Mom, the way she looks at life, laughs at life. There seem to be no boundaries to Logan in life, and it's not just the fact that he was born with money. It's his outlook, the way he sees the world. I want to know what that's like…
…We ended up talking for two hours, about everything and nothing. We like a lot of the same movies, it seems, besides having some similar tastes in literature. It's been a really long time, if ever, that I've felt this comfortable with someone else, much less a boy. I did, eventually, with Jess. But I only met Logan four days ago, and yet, I feel like I've known him for years. Known him well for years. How did that happen?
I can't wait for tomorrow.
TBC