"Do you think it would be fun—" Fiona shouted. "Do you think it would be fun if we got married?"
He took her up on it, he shouted yes. He wanted never to be away from her. She had the spark of life.
-Alice Munro, "The Bear Came Over The Mountain"
He arrives home one sticky evening in late July. After fiddling with his keys, he pushes the door open and scoops up the pile of mail scattered on the floor. The mail and keys are tossed on the table. The limp tie quickly follows. He untucks his wrinkled dress shirt, shuffles over to the thermostat to crank up the air, then makes his way to the kitchen. He thinks he'll throw together some pasta and a salad. He hits the power button on the remote and the TV blares to life.
Fifteen minutes into the news, the water is boiling and the pasta is bubbling away. He is busily chopping vegetables when the news anchor's voice penetrates his hazy thoughts and snaps his body to attention. "...camp has established campaign headquarters in the Illinois senator's hometown of Chicago. The senator and his wife are expected to spend the next month in the Windy City aggressively recruiting volunteers in these final months leading to the all-important primaries..."
He drops the knife on the cutting board and leans on the counter, thinking. A loud sizzling tells him the water has just boiled over. He rushes to the stove top and turns the burner off. He grabs a towel, lifts the pot and carefully pours the pasta in the colander waiting in the sink. The steam forces his head to turn away and he catches sight of his refrigerator. Something clicks. He hastily sets the pot in the sink and strides over to the table.
Phone bill, credit card statement, take-out menu, circular, circular...postcard. Millenium Park. Looks like we'll be staying for awhile. It's strange being here - Dean lived here before Stars Hollow and he'd describe all the places he used to go. Might head home for a weekend. I miss you. I love you. Rory.
He slouches onto a chair and contemplates the postcard. Dean. Yet another subject they'd never really gotten around to discussing. His sole memory of the one before him is clouded by a few years and an obscene amount of Richard's finest scotch. He remembers watching him walk away from her. Rory, looking like a million bucks (literally, dripping with Emily's diamonds), standing there, weeping, but letting him go.
Back before they were sleeping together, when they flirted and side-stepped and hinted and the air was thick with all the things left unsaid, he asked her about it. Once. Why did it end? He'd sensed it was a deeply private question, one he'd have little chance of getting a straight answer to if she hadn't been slightly tipsy.
She'd tilted her head to the side thoughtfully, her eyes locking into his and holding him there. The noises of the pub melted away. It was time. We weren't right for each other anymore, and hadn't been for a long time. We both saw it coming, it just took us awhile to accept it.
Something like a shameful memory flashed across her eyes then, and she had flinched. He had tactfully changed the subject.
Oblivious to his rapidly cooling pasta and half-chopped vegetables, he has a thought that brings him comfort. I'm the one who walked away, but she hasn't let me go.
It occurs to him that he hasn't laid eyes on her in exactly two months. This is not okay with him. He types her name in a seach engine. Four pages of "Rory Gilmore" articles later, he finds what he's looking for. He clicks on a link to YouTube and waits for the video to load.
A Film By Kirk, letters in white against a black background. The film begins. A shaky handheld camera pans across many faces in a crowd. They ignore the camera and appear to be anxiously awaiting the arrival of someone. He recognizes many of the faces from the weekend he spent in Stars Hollow. The woman from the dance studio, Taylor, Luke, Lane, Zack, many more. The camera man trips and falls with a loud "Ow!" With a thud the screen goes black, which turns to green as the camera is picked up from the grass. "Are you okay, Kirk?" someone asks. The camera points overhead to reveal a ceiling made of cloth, different patterns and colors stitched together by a no-nonsense hand.
Suddenly the crowd inches forward excitedly. "There they are!" someone shouts. The camera zooms in on a Jeep driving through the pouring rain. It comes to a stop. His breath catches as the passenger car door opens. The crowd surges forward and all he can see are the backs of heads. In all the cacophony he loses sight of where she should be. Then the camera pushes its way to the front of the crowd and there she is, looking around in shock. Lorelai is standing right next to her, looking equally amazed. Then everyone is shouting out congratulations and he catches sight of a "Bon Voyage, Rory" sign.
The camera ambles around the crowd for the next few minutes before it zooms to her face in an extreme closeup. "Uh, hey Kirk," she says, smiling.
"Rory, any last words for the citizens of Stars Hollow before leaving town, probably forever?"
She pauses. "Which one of us is the reporter here?" Then she points a finger at him. "If you think you're getting rid of me that easily, mister, you are severely mistaken. Thanks everyone, for doing all this!" She gestures around, her eyes looking suspiciously moist. "I'm going to miss you all so much."
In a sudden move that makes him feel slightly queasy, Kirk turns the camera to his own face. "Stars Hollow's own Rory Gilmore. This has been part one of a yet to be determined number of the series entitled 'Rory Watch: From Stars Hollow to the White House." The noise fades and the screen goes black. In white letters: This has been a film by Kirk.
He exhales slowly. He clicks on the link. A Film By Kirk. The film begins again.
Later, after the ache in his chest still throbs painfully, he realizes. I want never to be away from her.