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A letter arrived for Rory two days later and it stared up at her on the mat, white and unassuming. Rory picked it up in wonder, turning it around, and could tell from the narrow writing of Rory Gilmore that the letter was from Jess. She stood still, rubbing the thickness of the envelope between her fingers, unable to remember the last time she had received a handwritten letter. Her only mail these days were from banks or insurance companies.

Rory walked over to the cabinet where she and Logan kept various gifts they had nowhere else to put. Logan, somewhat surprisingly, owned a letter opener. It had been a present from his grandfather and Rory got it from the drawer and slowly slid the letter open, glad her husband was at work. She went into the bedroom, closing the door all the same, unfolded the paper and began to read.

Rory,

It's Jess (though I'm guessing you already know that). Luke gave me your address. I'm writing to tell you I'm sorry – not because you're married, though I know I'm supposed to, but because you were hurt and upset and I should have respected that. It was wrong. I feel like a jerk and I know I was one. I'm sorry, Rory. You don't have to accept my apology but I want to say it. I feel worse than the time we fought at the party in that guy's bedroom. It killed me that you thought I was mad because you didn't want to have sex. I could never be mad at you for that. I should have explained rightaway but I was so mad at it all, how screwed up everything was, that I didn't. It hardly felt better to tell you that the reason I was angry was because I couldn't graduate and couldn't take you to your prom. I couldn't bear the look I would see in your eyes. You and Luke were the only ones in the whole town who put any faith in me and I'd let you down. I had to go. I couldn't try and be your boyfriend anymore (God, I hate that word). I wanted to say all that when I tried to call you but the words wouldn't come.

I didn't even mean to write about that. This is what sucks about letters. I can't go back and rewrite the mess of my thoughts, try and make it clearer, what I write is set. I could have emailed you but it felt better this way. Writing the old way is more honest and somehow it's easier. I write novels, so in theory it should be easy for me to get down what I want to say on paper. It is and isn't. I wrote so many letters to you in California but I never sent any. I tore most of them up. I knew I was never going to send them but I wrote them anyway.

I think that's enough of the trip down memory lane. I didn't plan on getting into all that (this is what I mean about the downside of writing). I didn't write just to apologize. I want you to know that I meant everything I said before, about being there if you need someone to talk to. I hope you don't think that I was just saying all that so I could kiss you, or that I had some ulterior motive when I said you could stay. I was trying to be your friend. I didn't know I was going to kiss you until I did it. Doesn't make it any better, but I want you to know that. I also meant all that stuff before – everything I said about being better than Logan and what he tells you to do. Make that appointment. Screw Logan. Anyone can get depression, you don't need a 'reason' for it and you should get help if you need it. I talked to someone once – it wasn't really official, I met a woman in the writing class I took and she was a doctor. We became friends, though it was never anything more, and I told her how screwed up everything was. This was way before The Truncheon, back when I lived in a dump in New York and washed dishes for money. She said I could talk to her if I needed. We went for coffee one day, after a class, and I ended up saying all this ugly stuff about Liz and my life and how it felt like I was doomed for failure. She just listened and it really helped. I'd never said any of that to anyone before and it wasn't as if the next day all my problems were fixed and everything was puppies and rainbows, but I felt less of a fuck-up. We had a few more meetings like that, unofficial sessions, and they helped a lot. Sometimes you need to talk to someone neutral. I don't think I was depressed but I needed to say all of it to someone and then I started to write. Who would have thought, Jess Mariano in therapy? I felt stupid enough reading the self-help book Luke gave me. The point is, it doesn't matter if you don't think you have a reason or some people are worse off than you – if you need some help, get it. It's nothing to be ashamed of. You don't have to be happy all the time, or okay all the time. You can ask for help. I know you can do it, Rory. I knew it when you went back to Yale. I knew it before that, before everything got so fucked up.

I'm going to head back to Philadelphia for a few weeks for some business stuff at the Truncheon. I've written the address at the bottom if you want to get in touch with me. I forgot to say – when I kissed you, I didn't do it because I was trying to tell you to leave or wreck your marriage. I'm not going to take it back, I still think you should leave Logan and I still think he's a jerk, but not because of that. Because of all the things I said before. He disrespects you, treats you badly and acts like you're his doll. You're more than that, Rory. I know you love him and marriage is a commitment (in theory) but you didn't sign yourself away when you became his wife. I know you feel trapped. I can see it in your eyes. What does Logan see, when he looks at you? Do I want the answer to that?

I've wasted enough trees writing this. I'm going to hopefully mail it now, instead of ripping it up like I would once. I'm sorry again for kissing you. I'm sorry for letting you down.

Love – you know what I mean – Jess.

The letter ended there. Rory read it through again and again, her heart pounding. She could almost see Jess in her mind's eye, seated at his desk and frowning over the paper, hesitating as he wrote. The paper was alive with his touch and she brought it against her face so the words blurred. She breathed in the smell of ink and closed her eyes, the paper soft on her face. She lay still on the bed for a while, his writing blurring against her lids, before reading through it again. Before things got so fucked up – for him, or for her? Jess had crossed through the word love, started to write it again and then decided against it by writing you know what I mean. Did she? Rory felt confused yet reading it again didn't make it any clearer, and she was certain Jess had never told her anything about reading a self-help book She folded the letter, slid inside Slaughterhouse Five and put it back in the drawer before picking up her phone, calling the doctor's and making an appointment.

The next day Rory went to Emily's. Lorelai still went there for dinner every Friday but Rory had been excused since her marriage. Since moving back she and Logan had gone over a few times but it had been somewhat intermittent and Emily didn't seem to mind. It had always felt a little awkward going back after Rory had moved out but her marriage to Logan had wiped the slate clean and Emily welcomed her granddaughter joyfully, pulling her inside before she had gone through the door.

"Hello, hello!" she said cheerfully. "How was the drive?"

"Oh, fine."

"No traffic?"

"It's only ten minutes –"

Emily wasn't listening. She led Rory into the living room, where the drinks were ready to serve, and patted the couch for her to sit down. Rory did so and Emily said,

"Rory , those earrings are simply beautiful!"

She was wearing the diamonds Logan had bought and told her grandmother,

"They were a present from Logan."

"He treats you very well. Rory, would you like to indulge in a coffee with me? Or shall we be bad and have a glass of wine?"

"Oh, I –"

"I did hope we could drink outside on the patio," Emily said sadly. "But it just looks as if it will rain any minute. I hope I don't get a tension headache."

"I hope not, Grandma."

"Let's start with coffee," Emily said firmly, pouring them each a cup. "We can always drink wine later."

Rory thanked her and sipped the steaming liquid. It was surprisingly good.

"Grandma, this coffee is great!"

"I only demand the best," Emily said simply. "As all women should."

"I'll drink to that," Rory said, holding the cup to her mouth. Emily chuckled and did the same.

"So tell me," she said, putting her cup down. "How's married life?"

"It's fine."

"Are you enjoying being back here?"

"Oh, yes."

"And Logan?"

"He's getting used to it," Rory admitted. "He misses California."

"Well, it takes getting used to. We simply must invite you two over for dinner sometime. Richard told me you joined the club, I think that's wonderful news. It's the proper thing to do, you can meet the right sort of people and maybe some day your own children can –"

"Grandma, please."

"Oh, Rory, I'm not suggesting right now. I just mean that someday, when the time is right, you can bring your own children there. With Logan's hair and your eyes they'll be the envy of everyone. Marcia Lewis's granddaughter has a squint."

"Grandma, that's a terrible thing to say!"

"Well, she does," Emily said unapologetically. "I'm sure your children wouldn't have that problem. Don't look at me like that, Rory. I'm not making fun of Marcia. I know how it is to have the whole club whisper about you – it took more than ten years for that to die down."

Rory didn't know what to say. She drank her coffee, feeling embarrassed, and Emily added,

"Though even if your mother hadn't found herself...in trouble she would never have joined the club. Lorelai never did follow procedure."

"I wasn't sure about joining," Rory admitted. Emily stared at her.

"Why not? It's a place to make connections, make friends and, don't tell your grandfather this, but a place you can send your husband if he's getting on your nerves. If I ever want some space I send Richard out to play golf and I have the place to myself for hours!"

Rory smiled weakly and Emily frowned.

"What is it?"

"What?"

"You look uncomfortable. Has something happened? Have you and Logan had a fight?"

Rory stared at her, wondering how her grandmother was able to ferret information from a single facial expression.

"Logan and I had a disagreement," Rory said carefully. She had learned that that was a less loaded phrase years ago in the DAR. It did not fool Emily.

"A disagreement or a fight?" she asked critically. Rory blushed. "It was a fight. What did you fight about?"

"Nothing."

"It must be something if you look this miserable over the mention of his name! Rory Gilmore, you are as a bad a liar as your grandfather. Tell me what this fight was about."

Rory looked at her hands, curling them tightly around her cup.

"It was nothing," she said eventually. "It doesn't matter, we made up."

"I'd like to know, all the same," Emily badgered. "If you don't mind."

The latter didn't seem to matter. Rory took a deep breath.

"We argued about a friend," she said finally. "I started seeing a friend and Logan got annoyed."

"What kind of friend? A male friend?"

"Yes, but – Grandma, we really were just friends. I explained to Logan but he got angry and said I couldn't see him again."

"Men will get jealous."

"It was unfair, wasn't it?" Rory asked tentatively. Emily looked at her pointedly.

"Marriage is about compromise," she said firmly. "Sometimes we have to make agreements we're not happy about to show that we're willing to do what it takes."

"But –"

"Rory, I named your mother Lorelai," Emily said in disgust. "I named her after a woman I loathed because it meant so much to your father that his only daughter have the name of his beloved mother. I compromised, I knew how much it meant to him, and we gave her the name I chose, Victoria, as her second. He told me I could choose the next one's name and, well, that never happened."

Emily sounded sad. Rory bit her lip.

"I know you have to make sacrifices," she said slowly. "But getting married doesn't mean – shouldn't you be able to make an agreement where you're both happy?"

"Life doesn't always work that way," Emily said shortly. "That's a lesson your mother never learned. I told her, at the beginning, marriage is compromise and she didn't listen. I want you to listen, Rory. A good marriage is almost as important as a good education and you've made an excellent marriage with Logan. I don't want you throwing that away because you're being stubborn like your mother."

"Grandma, I love Logan, but I don't want to give up my friendship. Shouldn't he trust me?"

"Rory, men and women can't be just friends after a certain age," Emily said crushingly. "Not unless one is gay, or – even then it looks odd. You may be friends with married couples and enjoy their spouse's company but even then, it would look odd for one to be dining with each other alone, wouldn't it?"

"I don't know," Rory said uneasily. "I'm friends with my best friend's boyfriend and it's not weird, and Mom –"

"Yes, well, your mother has her own world," Emily sniffed. "Rory, you married into this world and this world has its own set of obligations. I dare say it's different in Stars Hollow where you all seem to be best friends but this place is different. There are rules, there are expectations and if your spouse doesn't live up to them they can expect not to go back to the club, at the very least."

Emily's voice was filled with pride and Rory squirmed uncomfortably, remembering the incident of Pennilyn Lott and how her grandfather had lived in the poolhouse for several months. She had been a fool to expect Emily to understand.

"Rory, I would hate for you to make a mistake," Emily said, leaning forward. "You've done so well, even after the...Yale incident and even now, the ladies at the DAR adore you. You've made a sound marriage, your husband has a wonderful job and we all know what to expect next."

"Grandma –"

"Yes, I know. I won't say another word about it but please don't ruin it now. As a matter of fact, the DAR ladies are asking about you. They're simply dying for you to come back, Rory. What do you say? No one could throw a function like you."

Her grandmother was looking at her expectantly and Rory hid her face in her cup.

"I don't know about that, Grandma."

"Suit yourself," Emily said with a sniff. "Tell me, what are your plans for next week?"

"Nothing, really," Rory said, putting down the cup. "I have a doctor's appointment on Monday, but that's the only –"

"A doctor's appointment?" Emily asked sharply. "What kind of appointment?"

"It's nothing to worry about, I promise."

"I'm asking what kind of appointment it is," Emily said in frustration. Her eyes lit up. "Is it – do you think -?"

Rory stared at her and Emily explained,

"Could you be expecting?"

"No!" Rory exclaimed forcefully. "It's not for that!"

"Well, what is it for?"

"Just a general check-up," Rory lied, her heart pounding. "They want new members to have one when they register.

Thankfully Emily seemed satisfied with this. She nodded, drank her coffee and then suggested slyly,

"You don't know what they'll find when they check up."

"That's not possible."

"Isn't it?"

Rory's cheeks went red and she got up. It felt very disturbing for her grandmother to allude about sex, even if she was married.

"I'm going to put this away."

"The maid can do that," Emily protested but Rory put the cup on the side anyway. She caught sight of her grandmother's writing desk and wandered over to it, admiring the cream writing paper.

"I've just been catching up on my correspondence," Emily said, joining her. Rory smiled.

"Do you write a lot?"

"Usually once a fortnight. I keep in touch with women I knew in college."

"For this long?" Rory wondered out loud. "Wow. Grandma, could I have some writing paper?"

"Why, of course!" Emily exclaimed, thrilled. "Here, take a whole pack!"

"Seriously?"

"I think it's wonderful that people still write letters," Emily sad happily. "Children will forget how to write their names soon. Tell me Rory, who are you writing to?"

"Someone I knew in Stars Hollow," Rory said truthfully. Emily nodded in satisfaction. "Thanks, Grandma."

"You're very welcome. Would you like a glass of wine?"

"I should get going," Rory said, trying to sound sorry. "Logan will want dinner soon and –"

"Say no more," Emily said graciously. "You know, you should really hire a chef and maid. You may not need one just yet, but –"

"I'll think about it," Rory said, putting the paper away. "Thanks."

Emily nodded and Rory held her purse tightly to her side, feeling the weight of the paper inside.

When she got home there was no time to write. Logan was home, early again, and in his hand were two tickets.

"What are those?"

"Plane tickets, first class."

"First class for where?" Rory asked warily.

"Martha's Vineyard!" Logan exclaimed. "I know it's a little early in the season but I figure we could both use a break."

"Logan –"

"The beach house is still mine, whenever I want it," Logan said happily. "And I want it. What do you say, Ace, two weeks of just you and me?"

"Two weeks?" Rory exclaimed. "What about work?"

Logan waved a hand impatiently.

"I can work from the beach," he chuckled. "It's just what you need."

"It is?"

"You said you were feeling kind of low, so we'll get away. I got on the phone, made arrangements and we can leave next Friday."

Rory was lost for words. She stared at her husband, who looked so happy, the tickets tight in his hands, and slowly put her arms around him.

"Thank you," she whispered. The diamonds felt heavy in her ears.

"We'll start over," he said into her ear. "Just us. We'll have time just for each other. What do you think?"

Rory's stomach turned over as she said in a hushed voice,

"It sounds great."

Logan nodded, kissed her and took her purse.

"That weighs a ton – what have you got in there, rocks?"

"No, writing paper."

"Writing paper? It's the twenty-first century! Who are you writing to?"

"No one. Grandma gave it to me."

"Well, you won't need it," Logan said, taking it out and dumping it on the table. "You won't have time for writing letters, all your time will be with me. Sounds like a dream, right?"

"Right," Rory nodded. They went out for dinner, went to bed early and Logan fell asleep instantly but Rory lay awake, locked in her nightmare. She wondered what her husband saw when he looked at her.