"I don't get it. It was my friggin' birthday, mom. My birthday. And no call, no message, no friggin' singing telegram" Rory rambled, her voice getting more frustrated by the second.
"And we all know how you love those" her mother replied, her voice a bit cynical.
"Don't I deserve a congratulation? A 'hey, happy birthday, you messed up freak' at least?" she went on, not even acknowledging her mother's reaction.
"You definitely deserve a messed up freak comment" Lorelai commented.
Rory sighed, closing her eyes.
"Look, honey, he is probably waiting for you to make a move. He sort of said so" Lorelai pointed out.
Rory remained silent, not wanting to agree.
"He probably sort of wanted to provoke you with not contacting you, even if it was your birthday" her mother went on.
"So what is that supposed to mean?" she asked, furrowing her brows as she laid flat on her back staring up at her ceiling while holding the phone to her ear "Does he care? Does he not care? Does he want this or is he just feeling sorry for me so that's the reason why he still bothers to even talk to me?" she said, finishing her rant with a little sigh.
She listened to the quiet static of the phone line.
"Hmmm" her mother pondered. It wasn't one of those times when she was making up an insane ramble in her head and taking the time to perfect it. She was taking this seriously.
"I guess, he is playing hard to get" she finally said and Rory blinked a couple of times to register the words.
"Hard to get?" she deadpanned.
"Yeah, like giving you the lead, see what you do to get his attention" Lorelai elaborated.
"You think he is playing hard to get?" Rory repeated, still apparently stuck on that particular phrase.
"Yeah" her mother replied.
"That's not like him at all" she murmured.
"Well, that's just it. It had always been him fighting for your attention, chasing after you, trying to get you to give him a chance, trying to win you over... I think he is expecting you to be chasing him right now" her mother explained.
Rory listened to her stunned.
"Okay mom, we are not in high school, you know" she pointed out, rather cynically.
"Oh please. Like these games ever change" her mother countered "You always want the things you can't have. If he'll play hard to get, you'll just realize you want him that much more" she explained.
"I don't think our problems will be solved by him playing hard to get" she mumbled.
"Well what do you think would solve your problems? What are your problems exactly?" her mother stirred the conversation ever so lightly. Rory sighed. She was sick of trying to pinpoint problems in her life.
"I don't know, mom" she murmured, barely recognizable.
"Oh God" her mother exhaled loudly "child, get yourself together. Look, it's obvious you can't be without him..." she started.
"It's obvious I can't be with him either" she intercepted, her voice hurt and disappointed at the same time.
"Well good for you, Bono will be so proud" her mother retorted.
Rory sighed again and there was a long pause before either of them spoke again.
"You know it doesn't have to be so hard" her mother said, her voice quiet, careful.
Rory listened carefully, hearing the change of tone.
"You just take a chance, Rory, as with everything. You never know for sure if it's the right choice. But I think after all this, you could give him the benefit of the doubt. He could have washed his hands clean and gave up on this whole fiasco, but he didn't. He is trying. Why don't you try, too?" Lorelai finished and Rory listened to the rhetorical question hanging in the air.
There was a slight pause.
"So what am I supposed to do? Call him for a date?" she scoffed.
"Call him for a
date, stand on a table to declare your love, I don't know. Aren't you
supposed to be the creative one in the family?"
her mother
teased.
"But this is so ridiculous" she groaned, squeezing her eyes tightly.
"Love is ridicule" her mother chimed.
"You are so helpful" Rory deadpanned.
"Glad to be of service" Lorelai replied in a singsong voice.
Rory hung up the phone with a half smile on her face, resuming to stare at the ceiling.
Could her mother be right? Did he really and intentionally want her to chase after him?
She furrowed her brows. She felt embarrassed even thinking about this. She was never the one to fight for the attention of boys.
They always seemed to find him. It was always them falling all over themselves to get her to be interested.
Even with Logan, where the beginning was rocky and she later had to realize that it was important for her to make compromises for a guy and not just for them to adore her, he was the one who pursued her. And there was Jess of course, who in his own way, waited and fought for her for as long as it took her to realize she wanted him too. And then there was Dean. The perfect first boyfriend. And then the perfect screwed up affair.
She cringed.
It was a pathetic line of romantic connections. And she suddenly realized she was still a rookie when it came to making a move.
She couldn't remember the last time she asked someone on a date.
With Tristan, it had all seemed so easy. She hardly realized and they were already together, falling into a comfortable pattern that let them skip the whole awkward phase of dating. They were living together within 3 months, much to her mother's surprise. It felt natural and it felt easy.
Looking back on it, maybe it was rushed. Maybe it was just relief on her part, to find someone that she could feel so happy and natural with, after months and years of being miserable and lonely, after doubting her decisions about choosing the kind of life she had.
Looking back now, maybe she could have taken that time more slow. And less for granted.
She sighed and dialed his number impulsively on her cell.
She sat up in her bed, as if that leverage would give her a calmness she desperately needed now that her heart seemed to be racing a million beats per minute.
She held her breath counting the rings, disappointment slowly setting in as she got to 6 without hearing his voice.
"Hello?" his voice finally came on, calm and unfazed.
She swallowed a cynical comment, recalling her mother's theory.
"Hey" she said, her voice coming out uncertain and nervous "It's me, uhm, Rory".
She winced knowing full well that he knew who was calling.
"Hey" he replied, his tone much the same as the first time.
She ignored her surprise and started fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweater.
"How are you?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant and she winced again, hearing how silly her voice sounded.
"I'm good Rory, how are you?" came his reply, and she could swear he was mocking her.
"I am good, fine. Uhm, I was just wondering what you were up to" she replied the words coming out in a fast succession.
There was a pause before he spoke again.
"Just work" he said, his voice as calm as ever.
"Oh" she said "You are pretty busy?" she asked, not able to hide the disappointment in her voice.
"Yeah, it's a busy week" he replied, honestly.
She sighed, feeling ready to give up on this whole thing. Maybe she was just not able to be the proactive one.
As if sensing her turmoil, he spoke up.
"What were you calling for, Rory?" he said, his words soft, and so gentle, it made her sigh.
"Just wondered if you wanted to meet up, do something" she mumbled.
He chuckled and she realized that she sounded like a teenager asking out a high school crush.
"I have to go to this gallery opening tonight, it's for work" she rambled on, trying to mask her insecurity "I don't know if it's any good.
It's this guy who photographs dead animals, it's supposed to be very thought-provoking".
"He kills animals and photographs them?" he asked, his voice unsure.
"No! No. He doesn't actually kill them, he just takes photographs of animals that are dead, that he finds lying around, like I don't know, pigeon ran over, or squashed bug or I don't know" she explained.
"A squashed bug?" he wondered aloud.
"It does sound weird, if you say it out loud, I guess" she mumbled, suddenly unsure.
"What are you talking about? People go crazy for squashed bugs" he chuckled.
Okay, he was definitely mocking her now.
"Well, we can just do something else..." she tried to intercept.
"Look, I would... love to see squashed bugs" he went on, still not quite able to stop chuckling "but uh... today is pretty busy, so I don't know..."
"Oh" she said, disappointment hitting her. She felt her whole face light up and she felt an incredible urge to slam the phone down.
"Why don't you text me the address and I'll see if I can make it" he said, his voice matter of fact. It reminded Rory of the way he spoke with clients.
"Yeah, sure, fine, I'll do that" she said, trying to plaster a fake smile on her face.
"Alright, talk to you later" he said, hanging up.
"Alright, bye" she replied into the dead phone and sighed, falling back onto her bed exhausted.
"Ridiculous" she whispered as she pushed her wrists to her eyes, squeezing them shut.
xxxxxxxxxxx
She felt stupid staring at the huge black and white print of the dead frog in her silver mini dress and black stilettos, her hair done up in a loose bun.
She had been circling the damn exhibition for a good ninety minutes now, downing her 4th glass of complimentary champagne and checking her cellphone every 5 minutes to see if he called or messaged.
He didn't.
She sighed and took another sip of her champagne while staring into the lifeless eyes of the amphibian.
She never wanted to be a dead frog so badly in her life. She stared at the rigid form of the animal, flattened out and pressed into the dirt road that showed the impression of a truck tire, the summer sun reflecting on its opalesque and unsettlingly enlarged eyes.
She frowned and took another sip of champagne, effectively emptying her glass.
"So weird yet so... disgusting" she heard his voice and she spun around suddenly, the movement causing her to feel dizzy.
"Tristan" she said, more surprised than as a greeting.
"Hey" he said, looking into her eyes, a warm smile plastered on his face as he took in her appearance.
"Sorry, got held up at the office" he said, his voice calm as he took the empty champagne glass from her hand, smelling the remnants of the liquid lining the walls of the glass.
She watched his actions, the 86 minutes of reproaches she formulated in her head while waiting for him, suddenly vanishing in the air.
She concentrated on the floor, straightening her posture, aware that her movements were affected by the alcohol.
He seemed to notice.
"How many of these have you had?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.
She arched an eyebrow turning back to her friend, the frog.
"A couple" she shrugged, studying the photograph intently as she felt him come to stand behind her.
They stood in silence and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine.
"I like this one" she said, her voice calm.
"The frog?" he asked, his voice unconvinced.
"Yeah" she said turning back to glance at him "it looks cool. It could be a book cover" she said.
"Of a novel about a troubled 8 year old?" he joked.
She huffed.
"I don't know" he said "What would it be about?" he asked as he stole a glass of champagne for himself from a waiter who passed them.
She took a deep breath, concentrating on the picture in front of her.
"I don't know" she shrugged "Childhood, I guess. Loss of innocence. Change of perspective as you grow up"
"Change of perspective?" he asked and she could feel his eyes on her.
"Yeah, how some things you view one way when you are growing up and then later on when you're faced with them, you realize that they represent something completely different" she explained.
"And the frog is a metaphor for that?" he asked, his tone not as mocking anymore.
"Yeah, I mean, to a child, it must be a traumatic sight, right? Heartbreaking even. Whereas to a grown-up" she went on, shrugging "it's something simple. Discarded and disregarded"
He listened to her in silence and she glanced at him again, seeing him lost in thought.
"I always thought you'd write a book" he said quietly.
"What?" she asked furrowing her brows as she laughed.
He looked up at her meeting her eyes.
"That time we went to that book signing for Jess" he said and she remembered that day with a blush in her cheeks.
"You were so proud of him and happy for him, but then I watched you and there was something in you, like a hidden urge to be the same, to write something and put it out there" he explained.
"I'm not a writer" she said laughing.
"You are" he countered with a smirk on his face.
"Not a novelist" she corrected herself.
"Why?" he asked, the smirk still present on his face.
"Because, I report, I interview, I write about the truth" she said, shaking her head.
"And writers don't?" he asked.
"Writers write fiction" she retorted "I am too down to earth to write fiction"
"Bullshit" he laughed "you'd be great at it" he said, walking up to the next photograph as he sipped from his glass.
"I imagined the kind of book you would write. And it would be like that" he went on, his voice dreamy "loss of innocence and change of perspective and all that. Growing up".
"Why?" she asked, her voice breathy.
"I don't know. I figured you'd have a lot to say about all of that" he shrugged.
"But honestly, I never pictured a dead frog on the cover" he snickered.
She stared after him for a second, replaying the strange conversation in her head.
She was suddenly reminded of the fact how easily he seemed to find those possibilities that somehow never even crossed her mind, yet seemed so unambiguous. She wondered if he was that person in her life, shining light on things she somehow ignored up till that point. It was hard to argue with him. Especially since he'd much rather slide on seamlessly, making a quite joke to change the subject than to explore a question in full detail like she felt obligated to.
She walked up next to him to look at the next installation of a roadkill that she couldn't quite identify.
"Now this... this calls for a whole opera" he joked as he tilted his head, trying to decipher the lines of the photograph. She watched him with a quiet smile.
"I wonder if he ever gets tempted to photograph stuff that is still alive" she murmured as she looked at the picture and he chuckled.
"It's easier to focus on still things" he offered as an explanation and she rolled her eyes at his inability to take anything seriously.
She took his glass from his hand, finishing off what little champagne was still in there.
"The bug is in the next row" she informed him, trying not to slur the words and she smiled when she heard him chuckle.
"How 'bout we get out of here instead?" he lent in whispering in her ear as if he were about to tell her a secret "this place creeps me out"
"I suppose we could" she said turning around "I can't very well expect you to understand such divine and high-level art" she teased and he smiled watching as she grabbed her coat from the rack by the door.
She stepped out into the evening chill and immediately felt her head clear, the cold air washing out the alcohol that was clouding her head.
Her stilettos clicked on the sidewalk and she started walking, towards no target in particular.
"Is everything alright at the office? They held you up pretty late" she probed, trying to not sound affected by his lateness.
He sighed as he fell into step next to her.
"It's just a case we've been working on. Takes up a lot of time" he replied, trying to brush it off, but her question seemed to unleash the heard of troubles he tried to leave at the office, his face becoming grim as he walked next to her.
She knew he never talked about business much. It wasn't because he wasn't occupied by it, or because he didn't think she would understand. But he seemed to want to keep his private life separate from his work troubles. That's something he decided very early on, thanks to his own father's workaholic lifestyle.
"Trying to clear some lying bastard's name?" she tried to lighten the mood and he smiled wryly.
"Yeah, something like it" he said.
They walked for a minute in silence and she felt compelled to drop the subject.
"So uhm... Paris is... having a Halloween party" she said trying to switch the subject "next week. It's a week early actually, but she has some convention or whatever the week after that, so she is organizing it next week" she went on, realizing she was once again rambling.
She sneaked a peak and saw him smirking as he walked next to her, his gaze fixed ahead.
"So anyway... she invited me... us... I mean she asked if you'd like to come and all and I said I'd ask" she mumbled, suddenly feeling like a child.
"And I know how crazy you are about dressing up in drag..." she tried to joke, stopping her walk and seeing him take a couple of more steps before he turned around to face her.
"So maybe you could come with me?" she finally said, sighing in relief having finally gotten the words out.
He studied her and she shifted her weight uncomfortably.
There was a couple of seconds of silence as he seemed to formulate the words that he wanted to say.
She furrowed her brows wondering if this was still a part of the playing hard to get act.
"Rory" he started and her heart sped up "you think that's a good idea?" he said, sighing.
"Halloween?" she asked, playing dumb "no, I mean, it's a silly idea really, but it's tradition"
He laughed.
"That's not what I meant" he pointed out and she sighed knowing full well what he meant.
"You sure it's a good idea for us to show up there together?" he asked.
She sighed, resuming her walk, ignoring his question.
"Last they know, we broke up" he pointed out.
"That's not the last they know" she replied, hurt.
"Well, the last I know they know" he corrected.
"What does it matter?" she murmured.
"Really? You want to be answering questions about the state of our union while dressed as Flash Gordon and Goldilocks?" he asked, his voice becoming tense.
"I was thinking Snow-white" she joked bitterly.
He grabbed her hand forcing her to stop and look at her.
She sighed, biting back the tears.
"I don't know, I'm sorry, it was a stupid idea, let's just forget it" she said, exhaling sharply.
"Rory" he said her name, his voice pleading.
"No Tristan, stop. I am trying here, okay? You can't say I am not, but you make it really hard" she burst out.
"I make it hard?" he laughed incredulous "Rory, you ask me out on a fucking date and that's your 'trying hard'?"
She turned around again, anger boiling over.
"Don't walk away" he said grabbing her hand once again.
"This is going to take time you know" he said, stressing the words to make his point.
"I don't have time, Tristan!" she yelled frustrated "I am sick of this! What are we doing? Why? How is this going to make things right? We pretend we are complete strangers out on fucking dates. I don't have to get to know you. I know you! You know me. What are we doing?" she cried, blinking back the tears she was desperate not to show.
"I am tired of this, okay? I am tired of not being able to touch you and having to watch what I say. I am tired of pondering about how many days I have to wait until I can call you or how many days will it take for you to call me. I don't want this, I want us" she went on.
He watched her, with a stern face, his breathing becoming fast and shallow.
"Rory" he pleaded, closing his eyes as if trying to control his emotions.
"What?" she asked, her voice impatient.
"It can't just go back to that. Not after all that's happened" he said quietly and his words seemed to shatter her.
"Why?" she asked, the word barely coming out as she looked at him.
"Because I don't trust this" he said, dragging out the words as if it took a great deal of effort for him.
She stood there in the quiet of the evening, the words delivering a crushing blow that she was half expecting. She realized she should be thankful for the fact that he used such a vague term, but in reality she knew what he meant was that he couldn't trust her.
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to calm herself, to calm her body and her raging thoughts.
"Alright" she said opening her eyes finally, managing to regain some control.
She pulled her coat more tight around her body, suddenly feeling the chill of the abandoned street. She felt a strange urge to get out of there, to get away from him, to end this silly night and this silly day.
She felt him grab her hand once again and she sighed wishing he'd stop doing that.
"I'll meet you at the party next week, okay?" he said, his voice more calm, almost pleading, as if he were trying to forget what just transpired between the two of them.
She huffed not knowing if she should view it as his pity or his submersion or him trying to convince himself. The fact that the party was more than a week away and that he would probably not call until then was just an added bonus.
She sighed, too tired to fight or question anything anymore.
"Alright" she repeated herself and she pulled her hand out of his grasp walking towards the subway, feeling strangely lightheaded, despite all effect of the alcohol she consumed long gone. She managed to not look back, knowing it was probably better for the both of them.