Day 10
"Good morning, fair maiden," you call out, approaching the corner where Rory is waiting on you. She looks completely different from how you've become used to thinking of her, hair flowing around her shoulders, with an appropriately demure knee-covering skirt and cardigan. Today her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, and she's wearing a three-quarter-length sleeve button up shirt, cut close to her body, with green and white with purple - or maybe they're pink, you're not quite sure - flowers of some sort on it; form fitting jeans that hug every one of her very lovely slender curves, and a pair of old, beat up tennis shoes. Yes, casual clothes suit her - they suit her very well. You can't wait to get a look at her from behind in those jeans, you think wickedly. You're sure the view will be just as nice.
"I hope you'll forgive me for being a couple of minutes late - I was getting you coffee. I was going to get you something to eat as well, but time ran out," you explain, handing her the large paper cup you have in your hand.
"That's all right," she smiles, taking the cup from you and taking a tentative sip. "This is actually good," she smiles, after swallowing.
"I had them put a double shot of espresso in it," you chuckle. "Figured that would make it strong enough."
"Mmm, it did," she says appreciatively after taking another sip.
"I was going to try to get you some pastries," you apologize, "but didn't end up having time, so we'll just have to see if we can find a street vendor or a shop with something, since you enjoy food so much," you chuckle, getting a tap on the elbow from her.
"I do not eat that much!" she exclaims in mock outrage.
"Really, you do," you laugh. "I'm not complaining though. You're the first girl I've met in I don't know how long that actually eats."
"It's not like I'm fat!" she blusters.
"I never said you were fat," you defend. "You're not - you have a lovely figure. I just said you actually eat. Most of the girls I know think a lunch of celery sticks and lettuce leaves with a dash of lemon juice is packing it in. Carrot sticks are actually considered gluttonous - they're carbs. It's refreshing to see someone who actually enjoys food without freaking out over the calorie count every five seconds."
"Well, when you put it like that, I might have to not take offense," she grins. "I had breakfast, but I could always do with a snack, if you see something, holler."
"I'll be sure and keep a sharp eye out," you laugh.
"So," she says after a moment. "Where are we heading today?"
"I thought we could play it by ear, see where the day takes us," you answer back, sweeping an arm forward to indicate that she should head down the sidewalk. You pause a moment before following her, taking a moment to appreciate what is quickly becoming one of your favorite things - the view of Rory walking away. The view from behind is just as enticing as the one from the front; form-fitting jeans very much suit the shape of one Rory Gilmore.
"Did you have anything in particular you wanted to look at?" you ask after a few minutes of companionable silence. "I know there's some handmade jumper vendors that my sister loves to visit whenever she's here."
"You have a sister?" she questions.
"I didn't realize I hadn't brought Honor up," you chuckle, nodding. "I honestly thought I had, since she's the reason I'm here to begin with."
"She is?" she replied, her forehead wrinkling in confusion. "I didn't realize she was here."
"Oh, she's not," you laugh with a shake of your head. "No, I've been cooling my heels for days waiting on her to tear herself away from Josh, her boyfriend, in Ibiza. We're supposed to be going hiking on Skye for a few days before I head home to get ready to go back to school."
"I take it you get along?" she questions.
"Yeah," you nod with a smile. "If I'm sane or the least bit normal it's all because of Honor. She was really there for me when we were kids - well, and as I've gotten older too," you laugh, recalling the recent yacht sinking and Honor's part in saving your ass.
"Really? That's kinda fascinating," she smiles back at you. "I've never really thought about it, but most of my friends, at least my close ones, are all only children."
"Oh my God, my childhood would have been a living nightmare had I been an only child," you moan with a shake of your head. "The ever changing merry-go-round of nannies, Dad always away on business, a huge house to rattle around in and get lost. I think I could have hidden for months and no one would have noticed."
"Where was your mom?" she asks.
"Mom was there; actually she rather dotes on me - I can get away with anything with her," you grin. You could go into the fact that your mother loves you because your father ignores her most of the time so you're her Mitchum substitute, but you don't. Getting into the inner workings and machinations of the Huntzberger clan seems futile at this point. Maybe if you get to know Rory better one day she'll learn about them, but that day isn't today. "Anyway, yeah, Honor's why I'm here," you smile, closing the subject of your family.
"And you're going hiking?" she queries, making you nod in return. "I think that's so cool - the going somewhere with your sister part. The hiking seems a little excessive.
"Don't like hiking?" you ask.
"Don't like exercise," she grins, her eyes sparkling. "But, like I said, most of my good friends are only children. My best friend Lane - we've known each other since the first day of kindergarten - is an only child, too," she smiles. And then so is Paris - she's my roommate - I've known her since I first went to Chilton - she was practically raised by her nanny. Actually, her nanny is who came to our graduation at Chilton, not her parents. I didn't realize till I got to know her that people really had parental substitutes in nannies, but she does. Her parents are still married, but they were never around."
"She's your roomie?" you ask, since you assume you'll be meeting her when the semester gets underway.
"Yeah, she's…" Rory starts laughing. "Paris is uniquely crazy and intense. I would say more, but I wouldn't want to deprive you of your own first impression, but she does a very good imitation of a Mack Truck, if I do say so myself."
"Really," you laugh. You haven't really thought about who you imagine Rory's roommate to be, but haven't thought it would be someone that sounded like she was the complete polar opposite of Rory.
"Yes, really," she giggle. "But other than one of my exes, I really wasn't ever close to anyone that had siblings; it's not something I've really experienced up close to know if I was missing out on something. Of course, my mom and I are as close as sisters. She's my best friend."
"See, now that's something I can't imagine," you chuckle. "The only bonding experience I've ever had with my dad is a shared love of sailing."
"Well, that's something, at least," she replies.
"Yeah, I guess," you agree, not wanting to elaborate. "Okay," you say, putting your hand on the curve of her back as you approach Portobello Road, which is jammed with street vendors, "where do you want to go? What do you want to look at?"
"I don't know, can we just see what's here and look around?" she asks eagerly, turning to look at you over her shoulder.
"Yes, that's fine," you laugh. It reminds you of Honor's enthusiasm when she discovers a new shop or designer. Everything must be explored.
You could take your hand off her back - really, you probably should. But your hand feels so natural, settled at the curve of the small of her back. The fact that it feels like it belongs there should bother you, but somehow it doesn't. Of course, a lot of things about this should bother you, if you're being completely honest with yourself, beginning with the fact that you still haven't hit on her yet, not really.
Because unlike, say, Stephanie, you're actually interested in her. A part of you would like to take a chance, throw caution to the wind, and kiss her like you want to, but you've held back. You want to know what it would be like to kiss her. You'd like to slowly peel away the layers of her clothes and find out if her skin is as soft and silky as you imagine it is. But there's still that innocence you see in her eyes, and the lifting sadness. She has emotional depths that you just aren't ready for - not yet, anyway. Or maybe you just don't want to deal with them. You like your life the way it is, surrounded by close friends, Colin, Finn, Stephanie, Lanny, and a few others. The girls that chase you relentlessly are easy to keep outside of that tight circle.
None of the girls are under the illusion that they exist for anything more than an easy lay, fleeting companionship, and nothing more. They know the score as well. They're using you - a couple of nice meals and if you keep them around for more than a week, some nice parting gifts, and nothing more.
Rory's the first girl you've ever met who makes you want to adjust the balance of your life - or has made you actually think about it, maybe step outside your safety zone, because you want her to get to know your friends. You think she'd get along well with Stephanie, and that Steph would think she was great too - not to mention Colin and Finn, who would probably adopt her on sight.
But you still can't imagine trying to integrate her into your life, because doing that would mean parading your latest 'companion' in front of her, which you have no desire to do. You don't want the decadence of your life to touch her, spoil her, or make her jaded like you are. Something in her brings out a protective side of you that you've never experienced before. She makes you want to hold her in your arms and shield her from the world, which scares you shitless. It's so not you.
It means at some point, and probably pretty soon, you're going to have to make a choice you've never had to make. How to deal with a girl you really would like to get to know, but also want to be with. She's not like Steph - you don't just want her as a pal. You want more, but have no idea what that means, how to ask for it, or how to do it. You have a bad feeling you're going to fail…
"Logan, look!" Rory's eager exclamation pulls you out of your reverie.
"What?" you question, no clue as to what's gotten her so excited. You've been looking at antique silver stalls and at tortoise shell boxes for a while. She had refused to buy any of the latter, declaring them beautiful, but cruel.
"It's an original poster of U2 at the Palladium!" she enthusiastically replies, holding it up for you to see.
"That's very cool," you reply. "What else do they have?"
"I don't know, but my mom would love this," she grins, turning back to the stall to look for more hidden treasures. Her enthusiasm amuses you and adds to her appeal, and you wonder at this point if there really is anything about her that would detract from it. You know you're infatuated with her, which is a bizarre state of being for you; you've never been infatuated with anyone, ever.
"Okay, if you were a Bangles-and Go-Gos-obsessed woman who grew up in the eighties, which one would you prefer?" she asks, holding up the U2 poster and another one of The Clash. "She would love both of them. There's one of the Velvet Underground too, I'm going to get it for Lane," she continues, pointing over to the wooden box she'd been going through, "which is really cool. But I can't afford three. I can't afford two, really, but I'll manage, so you have to help me choose."
"Get all three, I'll pay," you offer.
"No, I can't let you do that," she answers with a shake of her head, taking you aback, and circling you around to the debate you've just been having with yourself. Is there anything about her that doesn't appeal to you, doesn't draw you in further, and make you want to know her more? Because girls never turn down your offers to pay. Every one of them that you'd ever met happily let you whip out money or the Black Card and pay. "It's a gift for my mom, and I can afford one of them, just not both. So help me choose," she repeats, shaking the posters.
"Seriously, Rory, I can pay for them - get all three," you insist.
"Seriously, Logan, no," she replies firmly. "I can pay for my own gifts."
"Well, then, fine," you return, a mixture of amusement and frustration in your voice. "Aren't all women predisposed to be at least a little in love with Bono?"
"Of course," she grins. "Fantastic logic, decision made," she says, going over to put away the Clash poster before paying the vendor for the U2 and Velvet Underground ones.
"Mom is going to love me for getting this for her," she trills, bouncing over to stand next to you. "I'm the best daughter!"
"That is a pretty cool gift, I would have to agree," you grin back at her enthusiasm.
"I did good!" she grins. "Okay, where to next?"
"I don't know; did you have anything specific you wanted to look at?" you ask.
"No, nothing specific," she shakes her head. "I guess we can just play it by ear."
"That's fine, though there is a tattoo parlor over there if you want to get my name inked into your flesh as a souvenir of your time in London," you point with a smirk.
"Tempting…but no," she replies with a blank face, though her eyes are twinkling with laughter.
You spend the next couple of hours looking at odd assortments of antiques of every variety and handmade crafts. Rory buys a couple of carved boxes for her friends, and you get an antique hand-drawn map from the eighteenth-century and a model sailing ship. While she's looking at fountain pens you hear her stomach rumble, reminding you that neither of you have really had much to eat today.
"Hey, I know a place we can get something to eat that I think you'll love," you suggest.
"Oh, food!" she exclaims, her eyes lighting up.
"You like food," you chuckle.
"Food is my friend," she sighs.
"Let's go get something in your stomach," you reply, putting your hand back at the base of her spine, directing where you want her to go.
"The Brown Derby?" she questions as you usher her inside.
"Yep, best burgers in London," you grin.
"You're joking!" she exclaims.
"Nope, I'm serious," you nod, ushering her to a booth. "Homemade burgers, little wedge fries. It's been here forever, you just have to know where it is."
"There are phones to order on," she laughs, sliding into the booth.
"Yeah, it's been the exact same since the fifties, I believe," you reply. "When you know what you want you just pick up the phone and order. Do you know what you want? I do already."
"What are you getting?" she asks eagerly.
"Cheeseburger basket - that's a cheeseburger and fries - with a cherry-vanilla Coke," you return.
"Oh, I want the same," she says eagerly. "That sounds yummy!"
"Do you want to do the ordering?" you ask, holding the handset of the phone out to her.
"Oooohhh, thank you," she grins, taking the phone and ordering for both of you.
"So tell me all about Brave New World," she requests, putting the phone back in its cradle. "Is it what you imagined?"
"Actually, it's nothing like I imagined," you admit after a moment of thinking about it. "I think I'd assumed it had to do with genetic engineering, but it has nothing to do with that at all. It was actually written a couple of decades before Watson and Crick discovered the double helix."
"Really?" she asks, surprise obvious in her voice.
"Yup," you nod. "It was published in nineteen-thirty-two-long before the concept of DNA had entered the public consciousness. It's more about utopian society that's a bit mad, or very mad, I guess. I've only gotten through the first six chapters, which is the first section of the book. It takes place in London in the twenty-sixth century, but there's a single world state. Sex is easy, but not used for procreation - that's done in laboratories. Henry Ford is kinda like God. There's this narcotic that reminds me of what people are doing to their kids today with Ritalin that's used to sustain a euphoric state, but it also sublimates your natural urges.
"I'm not far enough into it to really know, but I think it's supposed to be anti Marxist, there's a guy named Bernard Marx and a woman Lenina Crowne, but they're the protagonists so far. So I'm not sure how it's anti-Marxist yet. But the singularity of thought, repression of urges, except sex is readily available and encouraged, and people that don't conform are sent to reservations, which are reminiscent of the Stalinist gulags."
"When did you say it was published?" she interrupts.
"Nineteen-thirty-two," you reply, as the waitress sets your food between you. You watch her put a tiny bit of mustard and ketchup, nothing else, on her burger, and take a bite.
"Oh my God, this is so good," she says after swallowing.
"I told you, best burgers in London," you grin.
"You weren't kidding," she replies eagerly, hitting the ketchup bottle to get some to come out for her fries. "Salt and pepper?" she asks.
"Please, no fry is complete without both," you agree.
"You know it," she grins. "I'm glad you knew about this place - this burger is almost as good as Luke's, and I don't think I've ever had cherry-vanilla soda before. Luke doesn't do exotic."
"The original owner was a Dough Boy from World War II who apparently fell in love with an English girl and never left. He opened this place because he wanted something that reminded him of home," you explain. "My grandfather brought me here the first time I remember coming."
"Well, thanks for sharing it with me today," she smiles. "I'm an admitted cheeseburger addict. The gulags are after nineteen-thirty-two, though, aren't they?"
"Yes and no," you say after the moment it takes you to realize she's returned to what you'd been talking about before falling in love with her cheeseburger. "I'm pretty sure, though I need to look it up, that they were employed to cleanse Russia of those who didn't agree with the Bolsheviks after the Revolution in nineteen-seventeen, but they didn't come to light till Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn wrote about them in The Gulag Archipelago. Stalin is in power through World War II, comes to power in twenty-eight. I'm not sure what the correlation is; I'm going to have to keep going to see if it makes sense, because at this point, it kinda doesn't. I think I need to do a bit of internet research tonight, to get some context," you finish, taking a large bite of your burger.
"So, tell me more about your sister," she suggests after a moment.
"About Honor?" you question back, because no one really ever asks about Honor. Your friends all know her and take for granted how close you are, and the girls who move in and out of your life could care less. You wouldn't introduce them to her anyway, at least not as anything more than what they were, your for-now companions.
"Yes, Honor," she nods. "What's she like? How old is she? Do you look alike? I don't know-tell me about her," she grins.
"She's three years older than me. Yes, we look alike, or at least related. She's blonde and has brown eyes, just like me," you chuckle, a picture of Honor coming to your mind. Rory looks fascinated by your description, focusing on you while unconsciously eating the last of her fries. "She's a little ditzy and bubbly - lives a bit of a blonde life, but smart too; you shouldn't underestimate her. I think she uses her blondeness to fool people, they think she's a ding-a-ling and then she's got 'em. She's going to make a great mom someday. Really, I don't know how to describe her. She's amazing, the person I'm probably closest to in the world, and like I said, any sanity I have can be credited to her."
"I'd love to meet her someday," she smiles, reaching over to take a drink.
"I'd love to introduce you to her sometime," you reply with a sardonic smile, because you would like for them to meet someday. It's just a matter of in what capacity.
As your friend, and you would consider the two of you friends by now, you have every intention of heading over to Branford to see her when you moved back on campus. But you can't imagine dating Rory - that would mean adding her to your harem, and that isn't what you want. Rory's different. She's not a girl you take out to dinner for a reciprocal fuck at the end of the night, then get dressed and leave in the middle of the night. She's the kind of girl you settle down for, make plans with, and cherish, but just the thought of any of those things makes your insides go a bit cold. You're nowhere near ready for that, not with Rory, not with anyone. Maybe if you'd met in five or seven years, you might jump at the prospect; right now, it doesn't fit with who you are or how you live your life. Not right now.
Which leaves you with a conundrum, between a rock and a hard place. What the hell are you going to do with her once you're both back at school? Stick her on a shelf and hope like hell no one else asks her out? You can't imagine having to put up with some of your friends dating her…touching her. It might be the height of hypocrisy, but while you might not want that for yourself yet, it felt like nails on a chalkboard imagining her with someone else. She deserves someone that treats her like a princess, even if you don't want to think about who that prince might be, and she certainly won't find him amongst your friends.
"Why don't we get out of here - there's more shopping to be done," you suggest, pulling yourself out of your own reflection.
"Okay," she agrees, picking up the check to look at it.
"I'll pay, my treat," you say, pulling it out of her hands.
"I can pay for myself," she says with a shake of her head.
"You haven't let me pay for anything today; I think I can pay for your lunch," you return, getting money out of your pocket.
"Fine," she huffs, pouting. You catch yourself before you tell her to not jut out her lip unless she plans on using it.
Once you've paid and are back out on the street, she suggests going to find the handmade jumper vendors you had told her about, and then determinedly returns the subject to Honor, "You're supposed to go somewhere with your sister?"
"Yeah," you nod, "we're supposed to spend several days hiking and trekking in Skye, no comments from the peanut gallery. Maybe do some sailing, though the water up there is really choppy. We're going to play it by ear."
"So why haven't you gone?" she quizzes.
"Well, I would have missed your marvelous company," you smirk at her.
"Shut up," she volleys back, with a little tap of her fingers against your stomach, causing the skin under your shirt to tingle.
"She's in Ibiza with her boyfriend, who at some point soon should become her fiancé," you return. "Apparently he's better company than me, and she can't tear herself away."
"Ahhh, you got thrown overboard for sun, love and sex," she laughs.
"Exactly. Trekking and hiking with her brother apparently isn't quite as exciting as dancing the night away with Josh and having him rub suntan lotion on her," you laugh back. "Though I have a hard time imagining Josh dancing the night away."
"He's not like Honor?" she asks.
"He's quieter, but they make a good pairing," you reply.
"Compliment one another?" she questions.
"Yeah," you nod. "They do." It scares you slightly, especially since you're sure they're heading for the altar fairly soon, that the things that make Josh work for Honor are some of the same qualities that draw you to Rory. Her quiet intelligence compliments your more forthright and bold one.
You shake your head, attempting to shake loose of this contemplative mood and get a hold of your thoughts and emotions.
"Handmade sweaters - or, as you insist on calling them, jumpers?" she asks hopefully, bouncing on her toes.
"Something wrong with referring to them as jumpers?" you ask with a cock of your brow.
"British snobbery," she shoots with a wrinkle of her nose.
"So sorry I insist on using the proper term," you lob back a bit defensively. Honor and Stephanie would love that she doesn't put up with your shit. "But, yes, I know several places Honor has gotten ones she loves," you nod. "Let's head back over to Portobello Road and see if we can find the vendors I remember," you instruct, guiding her the way you want her to go.
"Oh, look at this one," she says after a couple of disappointing vendors, holding up a brown cardigan with a white yoke and small pink flowers on it. Not really something you would pick, but she seems to find it eye-catching. "I like it; it's different, but pretty too."
"Well, why don't you get it then?" you suggest.
"I think I will," she nods, shifting her bags around to get her money. You don't bother to volunteer to pay; you know she'll turn you down.
"Okay," she says, bouncing back over to you once she's paid for her cardigan, "next vendor."
She finds a soft pink cabled cardigan - or maybe it's not cabled, but it's pretty; even you can admit that - several vendors later, and a lightweight, delicate, webbish cardigan that she thinks her mother will like, and urges you to get a dark green cabled jumper for yourself. "I think it would look nice on you," she says, making up your mind for you.
"Where to next?" she asks after you've both paid.
"I don't know - did you have anything in mind?" you reply.
"I think I saw some glassware back up the road," she points.
"Well, then, let's see what we can find," you suggest, "lead the way."
She finds several antique inkwells and fountain pen sets that she likes, deciding to get one for herself and one for Richard. She picks his out with great care, looking over the small vials and pens carefully before deciding on which to get and paying for them. You realize several more hours have gone by, and it's turning to evening now. Emily will probably want her back soon.
"I don't want today to end," you blurt out, before you can think to stop yourself. You can see the surprise in her eyes when she looks up, which is belayed by the small beginnings of a smile and slight nod of her head.
"I don't either," she replies softly.
"Do you like Indian food?" you ask hopefully.
"Yes," she grins back. "Just not inside, because of…"
"The smell," you finish together, making you both laugh.
"You're going to have to trust me," you say. "I know this great place up near Regent's Park, but it's vegetarian."
"You know how I am about vegetables," she replies skeptically, her nose scrunching up adorably.
"I know; that's why I brought it up before we ever headed up there," you chuckle. "I promise you it's wonderful, and if you hate it I'm sure you can come up with an appropriate punishment to mete out."
"I could declare it horrific, enjoy it, and still get to think up some punishment," she returns, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
"I don't think that will be an issue," you reply confidently.
"Pretty sure of yourself," she mocks.
"I promise it's fantastic, and have I made a wrong culinary turn since we've met?" you ask with a raised brow. "Their eggplant and dal dishes are fantastic and they make great naan. It will be a good counterbalance to the cholesterol and calorie fest we had at lunch."
"I'm not crazy about eggplant," she replies skeptically, her brow raised a bit.
"I promise," you return, holding up three fingers. "Scout's honor," you swear, wearing what you hope is your most innocent expression.
"Somehow I can't quite picture you as a boy scout," she giggles. "You're certainly no Michael Vaughn."
"Pshaw," you scoff. You have no idea what she's talking about, but aren't going to ask, either, so you just grab her bag-laden hand, noting how perfectly it fits into yours, but pushing it aside as you pull her toward a side street where you can hail a taxi.
The ride goes by in a companionable silence, broken only occasionally by one or the other of you pointing out a passing landmark, or the occasional grumbling about 'we should have taken the Tube,' because of the early Saturday evening traffic.
"I'll go order the food," you offer once you're outside the small take-away restaurant.
"Aren't you going to ask if I like spicy?" she queries as you start to walk away.
"I figured since you already said you like Indian, you must like spicy," you reply over your shoulder. It takes a few minutes to order and pay, then you join her on the bench she's found.
"It's going to be a few minutes," you inform her.
"You know, I hadn't noticed it before, but you're very presumptuous about my eating habits," she says, a teasing lilt in her voice. "You just order stuff, or bring it to me, and assume that I'm going to enjoy it."
"Well," you draw out, "you've liked everything I've 'presumed' you would enjoy thus far," you chuckle, air quoting as you say 'presumed.' "I'd say I've done a pretty good job with regard to your tastes in food."
"Hmmm, maybe, but you're still presumptuous," she replies crisply.
"Okay," you return a bit nervously, shifting on the bench, "are you thinking you've come up with some great insight into my psyche though the fact that I've ordered food for you?"
"I hadn't really thought about it till you went up and ordered without even asking me what I like - it's not like the other times when you brought food for us," she replies, her eyes twinkling. "But as I was sitting here I realized that your ego must be massive. You just assume that you're going to know exactly what I'm going to like. You didn't even bother to ask me what my preferences might be, or even if I have any."
"I…I…I…" you sputter - she's caught you off guard. "I just…assumed that since you've liked everything…"
"Yes, you assumed," she cuts you off.
"But haven't you liked the stuff I've gotten you thus far?" you ask, confused. No girl has ever objected to you ordering for her or getting things for her.
"You really are used to females falling and tripping over themselves to make sure you know how much they adore you, aren't you?" she grins.
"I...just…" you try to start.
"No, no need," she laughs. "You really thought I was angry, didn't you?"
"You're not?" you ask, the breath you've been holding flushing out of your body.
"No, I'm not," she grins. "I just thought I would point out your presumptions to you."
"Oh," you reply.
"Yeah, oh," she giggles. "I don't know if it's a flaw, but it did occur to me that you're just so used to girls falling all over themselves over your twinkly brown eyes and artfully mussed blonde hair, not to mention access to your endless trust fund, that they all just defer to you and thus you assume all females are like that."
"So my eyes twinkle, huh?" you grab onto her compliment, trying to turn the tables on her.
"Yes, they do," she returns tightly, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Saved by the bell," you chuckle. "Our order is ready."
"Oh, good, I'm starving," she says, jumping up. "I hope you ordered something I'm going to like."
You think about what she said as you walk over to the counter and pick up the bags of food you've ordered, picking the conversation back up as you fall in step beside her. "You're right, you know."
"What do you mean?" she questions. "You got a ton of food."
"Well, I figured I shouldn't be overly presumptuous, since you're not a huge vegetable fan, so I ordered a bunch of different stuff," you reply. "Hopefully in all of this will be something you'll like. But I'm talking about girls deferring to me. You're right. I'm used to that. Aside from a couple of girls I'm actually friends with who treat me like I'm no one special, it seems like most of the girls I meet are just looking to use me for an expensive meal and, if things go for a few dates, maybe a nice parting gift."
"What exactly do you get out of this?" she questions, then picks up her purse and swings it out to gesture around you. "Where do you want to head? I like to watch the seals - it's not too depressing. Conceptually zoos are nice, but putting beautiful animals in cages has always stuck me as wrong."
"Seals are fine," you agree, following her to the map. "What do you think I get out of it?"
"I think I'm afraid to ask or assume," she replies, pointing to guide you toward the seal display.
"I'm a young man in my early twenties; I'm not going to lie and try to tell you I don't like sex," you admit. "Here, start going through these and see if you see something in there you might like."
"So it's a form of prostitution?" she pointedly asks. "What are each of these?"
"I wouldn't call it that," you defend. "There's cumin rice, spinach dal - that's lentils, a vegetable and pineapple curry, some okra fry, which I really like, creamy spinach, a couple of eggplant dishes - eggplant in yogurt gravy and eggplant and potato curry, some curried mushrooms with peas, a mixed vegetable stew, a couple of kinds of dumplings - steamed spinach and deep fried mixed vegetable, and I think some potato and corn cakes. I think that's everything I ordered - well, a rice dish for desert - but that's about it."
"Good grief," she giggles. "You really tried to cover all the bases, didn't you?
"I figured if I got enough, you would have to find something appealing in there," you laugh. "Can you hand me a fork?" you ask, trying to decide if you really want to discuss this with her. Your time together has thus far been idyllically otherworldly, but you know if you're planning on continuing your friendship back at school, she's going to learn what you're really like.
"Oh, the pineapple curry is really good, try it," she says, holding out a forkful for you to taste.
"That is really good," you say, after you swallow. "You're probably going to think I'm an arrogant jackass, but yes, I get sex out of the arrangements, if you can call them that, with the girls I date. I don't do relationships; I've never been in one. I have a few girls who I'm actually friends with that I would never touch sexually. But those numbers are very few, like three. The rest of them are a rotating sea of girls that ask nothing of me emotionally, and I ask nothing of them either. It's dinner and a fuck, that's about it. I don't want any more from them, and for the most part they want nothing more from me. A few have gotten it into their heads that more was possible, but I've generally been able to shed them pretty quickly."
"Wow," she says after a moment of silence. "That's just…that's kinda sad. Some of my relationship history is kinda painful, even with only two boyfriends, but at least I know I meant something to both of them. I don't know if I'm cut out for that kind of lifestyle."
"I wasn't asking you to be," you reply tightly, because you're not. You can't imagine treating Rory in the dismissive manner you treat most females, assuming the worst from the beginning so you can easily shed them when the time comes with no guilt or recriminations.
"So, if you're not interested in me for dinner and a fuck," she starts, the curse word sounding foreign coming out of her mouth. "Then what is it we're doing here?"
It takes you a minute, because you know you're lying to an extent, but to tell her the truth, to admit it to anything but the dark recesses of your mind, just isn't happening. Because the reality is, as much as you protest and say you don't want more, she's made you think about the possibility of wanting more from a girl - in a girl - more in the last couple of days than you ever have in your entire life. But you know it's a desire that you're not ready to take a chance on. Leaping off literal cliffs you can handle, diving off emotional ones, even if she might be the most perfect girl for you that you've ever met, would take more courage than you have. Emotionally, you're still a coward.
So instead of saying what you might really want to say, you defer, "We're becoming friends."
"Oh," she says. You try to tell yourself you're imaging the little falling of her face, but it's gone so quickly, you're not sure. "Friends is good," she continues, smiling in a way that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "At least I won't have to worry about you wanting to get me out of my clothes," she finishes with a giggle.
"No," you agree, "you won't have to worry about that." And she won't, you nod to yourself. At least not in a literal sense, though that won't stop your mind from imagining what it might be like to kiss her soft lips, or caress her perfect, silky, pale skin; what it would be like to lose yourself in her body, just like you've so enjoyed losing yourself in conversation with her.
You shake yourself, knowing you need to get your mind off what you'd like to do to her sexually. "I can't believe I haven't asked you what your thoughts on Yossarian are yet."
"Oh my goodness," she laughs, perking up, "I can't believe it either. It really is amazing. These dumplings are great, by the way, and the corn cakes."
"I told you if you gave all the food groups a chance you would find things you like," you reply cheekily, talking a forkful of okra and munching.
"It really is good," she smiles. "But back on topic, the absurdity of the rules that have rules that have more rules…it's just nuts."
"Well," you say, "I think one of the guiding principles is that to deal with insanity you have to be insane, or it's easier if you are."
"That makes sense," she nods.
"But, and maybe you're not far enough into it to really have gotten this out of it yet," you continue, "but the thing I always get out of the book is you have to find your own rules, and live by them, because rules imposed on you by others are by their very nature, stifling and insane.
"Heller uses the military and war as a template for this, but ultimately it's a work about personal freedom, or at least that's what it says to me. Because you can substitute the military for anything, anyone that expects you to live by their rules, be it society, bureaucracy that tries to tell you how to live, your family, whatever."
"So you should live life on your own terms, by your own rules," she replies.
"Ideally," you nod. "But how many of us really get to do that?" you ask with an ironic smile, your father's face instantly coming to mind.
"Not many," she returns, shaking her head.
"But I should be asking you your impressions, I've read it a zillion times and here I am hogging the conversation," you admonish yourself.
"No," she shakes her head. "Please, I love hearing your opinions. It's so obvious you have passion for the subject, and it will make me read it with a different eye. I'm so stuffed," she says, laying down her fork in one of the containers between you.
"It was good, huh?" you ask.
"Very good," she nods vigorously. "Thanks for suggesting it. Ooh, look at the seals!" she laughs, pointing over at the clapping seal sitting on a ledge waiting for the keeper to throw it a fish.
"Trained wild animals; how sad and ironic is that," you say with a shake of your head.
"Quite bad," she agrees, helping you close all the containers and put them back in the bags.
"I hate the idea of putting wild animals in cages, stifling their freedom," you continue, wondering if you're talking about the animals or yourself.
"Born free," she replies.
"Yeah," you concur. "I think we have too much stuff to do the practical thing and take the Tube, I think a taxi is our best option," you say, walking out of the zoo, heading back into the main section of Regents Park.
"You're probably right," she nods. You flag down a passing taxi and give him the address where you met this morning as your destination, the ride passing mostly in silence. You wonder if you've run out of things to say, if perhaps you've shocked her with what you told her about yourself back at the zoo. You could have told her anything, but you didn't want to lie to her, make her think you're someone that just aren't. Rory Gilmore should stay away from you, at least romantically. She wasn't built for guys like you; that much has become obvious in the last few days. Nipping any ideas she might have about the two of you she might be forming in the bud seems the easiest and most logical route to take. Friends…friends you can do. Friends you can handle. Best to leave things as they are.
"I had a wonderful time today," she says with a broad smile. You hadn't realized it but the taxi has pulled up to the corner.
"I did, too," you smile back, completely genuine. It had been a wonderful day, even if your emotions were all over the place. And you know you shouldn't ask, you should let her go and not look back, at least not till you have more people around to act as a buffer, but while you have no plans to try to kiss her, or try anything, you still don't want to deny yourself her company, not on the last day you'll be able to see her for weeks. So you find yourself asking, before you can stop yourself, "Are you free tomorrow?"
"I am, actually. Grandma is up in Bath with friends for the weekend, so I'm free as a bird all day," she smiles.
"Great," you reply. "I have something in mind I think you'll love. And I'll throw in lunch and dinner as well, no reciprocation or favors expected at the end of the night."
"All right," she returns after a moment. "Same time as today? Right here?" she asks with a pumping of her bags to emphasize where you are both standing.
"Yes," you nod in agreement. "I'll see you tomorrow. Oh, let me give you the rice flower pudding. It's really good and I think we were both too stuffed to try it at the zoo," you suggest, digging through the bags of food, handing the container to her.
You watch her walk away till she gets to the house where she's staying, making sure she gets inside with no incident. "Oh, and bring a light sweater," you call out, thinking of what you have planned. She waves and smiles as she pulls out her key, heading indoors, you turn to head back to your house, a spring in your step. You'll be seeing her again tomorrow.
I don't know who I expected him to be, if I expected him to lie to me, or just not be quite as honest as he was, but I certainly didn't expect it to hurt quite as much as it did when he said we were becoming 'friends.' Not from someone I didn't even know this time last week.
And yet, it felt like a little dagger was slipped into my chest. It felt like he was calling me a name, or something. I've never thought of the word 'friends' as being a dirty word, or a negative, till today.
Though, it's not like I really want to be added to his rather obvious stable of reciprocal fuck buddies. I don't want that. And yet, I don't want to just be his friend either. There's more here, I feel it, I know he does too. I know we've connected in a special way this week, I know that. And yet, he wants me to be his friend. It feels so hollow, so empty, so wrong.
It's not like I expected him to introduce me to his friends as his girlfriend. He hasn't even kissed me. But I thought we had all the time in the world. I thought we would be seeing where this thing led when we got back to school. But he doesn't seem to want that. He doesn't seem to want to take a chance on changing his well-ordered life.
Or maybe I've been reading all his signals wrong all week. Maybe I'm just a diversion to him while he's stuck in London waiting for his sister. Maybe he's not at all attracted to me. Maybe this is nothing more than good conversation and a passing amusement.
I don't even know why this is bugging me so much; I didn't know him a week ago. It shouldn't bug me at all. Yet, it does. It's all I've been able to think about since he said the word back at the zoo. It took all my strength just to hold it together and continue our conversation as if nothing had happened, as if the thing that is rapidly becoming what I want most, to explore where this could go with Logan, wasn't just ripped away from me. Even the possibility is gone too. He left no room for negotiation.
I came upstairs and looked out at our bench and tree and felt like I wanted to cry. Somehow with that one word he spoiled everything that happened there this week. And I don't want that. I want my perfect week back; I want the possibility of maybe back.
Perhaps we never should have left the garden after all.
TBC