2 – We Need To Talk

The Dragonfly Inn, nestled amongst stately trees and sprinkled with a spattering of snow, seemed like a Christmas picture card. Somebody, probably not Michel, had looped holly and ivy around the porch railings and the smell of Sookie's chocolate raspberry pralines perfumed the air. The Dragonfly was welcoming and homey and Rory had never been so reluctant to go inside. "Buck up, Gilmore," she admonished herself. "If you could've told Senator Dealy that you are not going to erase the picture of him doing something borderline disgusting with a breakfast cereal, you can tell Lorelai your news."

She walked inside the Inn determinedly.

"Excuse me, miss, you bear an uncanny resemblance to my favourite daughter," Lorelai greeted her, jumping out from behind the checkout desk to pull her into a tight hug. "I missed you! Luke doesn't support my ongoing fetish for the cast of Glee."

"Neither do I," Rory pointed out.

"Yeah, but I have years of residual mother power over you that I can wield at will. I don't have that advantage with Luke." Lorelai studied her daughter carefully, noticing for the first time how tired and thin Rory looked. "You doing okay, sweets?"

"Nothing a good night's rest in my own bed and a plate of something organic won't cure," Rory assured her as they walked to the Inn's dining room. "Who knew that Luke's habit of force feeding me grapefruit and spinach once a week actually kept me healthy?"

Lorelai winced sympathetically. "Bad food on the campaign trail?"

"More like Willie Wonka meets Grapes of Wrath. What there was, was synthetic, filled with additives and covered in purple dye," Rory said. "It actually got to the point where my body rejected everything that was came out of a cardboard box or could be prepared by adding boiling water. Which meant my pickings got so slim that an apple and two Altoids started feeling like a nutritious meal. I'm going to thank Luke for all those years of forcefed vegetables when I see him."

"If you do, I am grounding you," Lorelai warned. "He just got it into his head that bananas should only be eaten when accompanied with copious amounts of whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Although I had some help from your favourite four year old in that regard. Hey, you have been drafted for babysitting during the rest of the weekend, by the way."

"Duly noted," Rory said. As they ordered lunch and ate their fill of organic somethings, Lorelai detailed all the recent town developments to Rory. When the waiter brought their coffee and cinnamon hazelnut cookies, Rory scraped together all her nerves. "Mom, I have news."

"Is it I'm-running-off-to-join-a-Californian-cult-news or more like I'm-buying-a-new-car-news?" Lorelai asked.

Rory considered. "Somewhere between cults and new cars."

"All ears. Just call me Donkey."

"Well, Donkey, you may have realised that the time I spent on the campaign trial, while instructive, was not exactly everything I wanted it to be. The censorship, the cheap motels, the coffee … all crappy to the point where it became unbearable. And I think I've mastered the art of writing the perfect lead by now."

"You've mastered that while you were at Chilton," Lorelai opined.

"Thanks. The point is that I think it is time for a change. And, just as I started thinking that I've had enough of the nomadic lifestyle, I got an opportunity to interview as a researcher and analyst for a think tank based in Washington." Rory drew a deep breath. "I went for the interview a week ago and Professor Tarkington, who'll be my immediate superior, called me this morning to say that the job is mine if I want it."

"Wow." Lorelai stared at her coffee cup. "Washington, huh?"

"Well, they have an office in Hartford to keep an eye on developments in this side of the country," Rory said. "I could ask that I'll be based in Hartford rather than Washington, which means that we can resume our weekend movie nights without too much of a commute."

"And Luke won't have to franchise his diner in the Capitol," Lorelai mused. "What kind of a think tank is it?"

"It's called the Institute for Socio-Political Democracy and Governance."

"So, what kind of a think tank is it?"

"They mainly focus on how socio-political factors contribute to the rise or decline of a democracy and what impact good citizenship has on the political stability of the country." Rory warmed to her topic as she spoke. "While it does emphasise the American government, I'm also required to write regular reports and updates on international developments that can affect the administration. And that ranges from the Eurozone crises to the aftermath of natural disasters in South America to the human rights abuses perpetrated by multinational corporations in Africa. There's also the alluring promise of travel that won't involve daylong rides on busses that smell like feet and the fact that I'll have a permanent address again for the first time in four years. I'll be able to actually buy books that I want instead of mailing them to you and incurring shipping charges costing as much, if not more, as the book itself."

Lorelai nodded slowly, digesting her daughter's enthusiasm and spark.

"So, any thoughts on if I should take the job or not?"

Lorelai sipped her coffee to buy herself some more time. "I think the American publishing industry wants you to take the job, while the hotel industry may have some qualms."

"Mom. Be serious."

"Well, you seem seriously interested in taking the job. If you want to do that, then you should," Lorelai sat down her cup carefully. "I'm just … you were so excited about the job on the campaign trail and about journalism in general since you first figured out what a foreign correspondent is, babe. I hate to see you burned out like this and I also don't want you to base an important decision on a temporary emotion."

"Most of my articles are published on a freelance basis," Rory pointed out. "I could still write freelance pieces on the side. In fact, Professor Tarkington said that the Institute encourages it. And, since it would be opinion pieces, it wouldn't be subject to the same stringent censorship that everything else I've written has been. I look forward to getting my original, unedited point of view across in print."

"Well," Lorelai said, trying to project a convincing amount of enthusiasm into her voice, "if you are happy, then I am happy. Hey, how did the professor get to hear about you anyway? Read your inside scoop on Senator Smith and the transvestite office aide?"

"Ah, no."

"Picked up your trail on the corruption at the Pixkletown courthouse?"

"No."

"Followed your searing serial indictment of Congressman Picklesby and the tapdancing incident?" When Rory shook her head mutely, Lorelai frowned. "This man read any of your stories?"

"His scrapbook of my articles isn't quite as extensive as my mother's," Rory smiled. "Actually, I got the recommendation from a contributor to the Institute."

"Who?" Lorelai asked curiously. Rory mumbled a name and flinched in anticipation of the explosion. "Rory, no. No. Are you serious?"

Rory nodded.

"I've reconsidered. You can't take the job."

"Why? Because of …"

"Yes! Rory, every time you become entangled with that boy, your life takes a turn for the worse. He didn't treat you as well as you deserve and I don't think you should base an important decision like this on his recommendation." Lorelai got up from the table angrily, not wanting the Inn's diners to remember their meal because of their argument. Rory followed her into the quiet lobby. "Mom, I …"

"Rory," Lorelai interrupted her, "you are old enough and mature enough to make that decision on your own. But, as your mother, I have the right to be concerned whenever that boy is involved with any of those decisions."

"I'm sure he's changed," Rory placated her. "And I'm sure that his involvement with the institute ends with his hefty monthly donations."

"I hope so," Lorelai muttered, flipping through the Inn's mail. "I really hope so."

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