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On Saturday Rory went into work. She still had some work on an article she wanted to finish, in order not to have to add it to her workload on Monday, so she went in early and turned on her computer. The office was nearly deserted, the only other person a guy called Sam who catalogued back issues, and they smiled awkwardly at each other as they sat down. Rory sipped the coffee she'd got at the vending machine. She was reminded of weekends at the newsroom at Yale, where few students bothered to come in and she'd been able to concentrate, albeit, as she wrinkled her nose, with far better coffee. Rory drank it all the same, appreciating that it was at least caffeine, and dutifully opened her article. She typed and typed, forbidding her mind to wander, and by noon had finished. Rory sat back in her chair, reading back what she had written and clicked to save the file. It still didn't seem perfect, somewhat run-of-the-mill, but it would do and Rory knew her boss would be happy with it. She stared at the screen a little longer, biting her lip, before saving it again and shutting the computer down. She was alone in the room now, Sam had left an hour ago, but Rory didn't know what to do with her day. The article was finished yet Rory still wasn't satisfied. She felt it was missing something but knew there was no use in opening it back up and starting again. She'd done all she could and it was hardly a bad article, simply not her best, and no one else would notice. Rory got up with resolution, grabbing her purse and crumpling her empty coffee cup in hand. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she wasn't going to spend the rest of the weekend in her office chair and she said goodbye to the receptionist, walking out into the sunshine.
Rory blinked in the bright light, shading her eyes with her hand. It was barely afternoon and she wondered what to do with her Saturday. The sluggish feeling from the office was still washing over her and Rory sat down on a nearby bench. All week, all month, she'd had this dull, tired feeling when she went to work. She could write but she couldn't, it was fine but it wasn't. Maybe Jess was right. Maybe she had got everything out of her job that she could, maybe she did want to try something else. It was easy for him to say. It was easy, Rory thought bitterly, for herself to think when she was a kid, when she was a college student, that she was going to become a foreign correspondent and have this incredible line of work. It was different now. She was in her twenties, she had rent to pay, and bills, and food, and she could hardly just waltz into her work and announce she was quitting on account of wanting to find herself. She was lucky. She worked in New York City. A lot of people would kill for her job.
Rory was still angry about Philadelphia but what was she supposed to do? She couldn't tell her boss she'd made a mistake. She couldn't ask for another chance. These days, with this economy, she was lucky to even have a job, especially at a newspaper. It would be madness to walk away.
You want more than that. Rory closed her eyes. It's not that easy. She could already see Jess's face in her mind's eye, the slight nod he's give, the look in his eyes. He never looked away. He always waited for her to speak her thoughts.
Rory got up from the bench. Sitting here feeling depressed was hardly better than being in the office and Rory walked more briskly, standing more straight. I am not going to wallow. It was a bright, sunny Saturday and everyone was out, sipping drinks and chatting cheerfully. The sight of coffee in people's hands made Rory's mouth water and reminded her, in a nauseated way, of the weak coffee she'd got and had left a vile taste in her mouth. The need for real coffee, made fresh, was urgent, but Rory didn't want to go back to her apartment. Instead, she went to a coffee cart by a park and bought one and, as she drank, she pondered over where to go. Drinking coffee always made her think of one person and Rory already envisioned their Saturday: a trip to Luke's, triple strength cups of caffeine and giggling at whatever madness Taylor was trying now. Rory smiled at the thought of Lorelai's face but in the same moment she had the same, pushing thought. She didn't want to go. She wasn't upset with her mother, she hadn't done anything wrong, but Rory didn't want to tell her what was on her mind. It wasn't that Lorelai wouldn't understand. It was that Lorelai would understand too well. She wouldn't understand Rory's predicament. She'd never been tied down. The moment she could crawl, she had no longer belonged to Emily and Richard, never just been their daughter and, from the second she had gone into labour with Rory, it had been Us and Them. She'd run from that life, found one of her own and made it work like she always could. Lorelai had always laughed at her daughter's seriousness and Rory still remembered the strange, stunned expression on her mother's face when she'd told her she'd enjoyed golfing with her grandfather. Lorelai insisted she was glad that Rory was close with her grandparents but Rory could tell it saddened her, somehow, that she was more like their daughter than she and one day, when Lorelai didn't know Rory was there, she overheard her say to Sookie, she's so stoic. So much like Dad.
Rory had bit her lip and gone back to her room. Was stoic bad? Did it seem cold? Rory didn't think she was cold, she just didn't enjoy sharing her feelings. Lorelai did it enough for both of them, which the two of them laughed about at times. Rory loved her mother deeply, as her parent and as her friend, but sometimes it seemed that that was something they couldn't share. She couldn't explain to her mother why she was that way and Lorelai couldn't understand how she was. There were times when Rory loved going to her grandparents for Friday Night dinners. Richard would have a new first edition of a book Rory couldn't find anywhere and he would surprise her with it, holding it up triumphantly in his study. They would laugh together, Rory hugging him, and then Richard often had even more by the author or a critic. Then they would sit in comfortable silence as Rory flicked through, before they had go to back to the table, smiling at each other. There was no need to talk.
Rory finished her coffee and started back to her apartment with a plan. She decided to spend Saturday with her grandfather.
The drive to Hartford was smooth, apart from the odd stretch of traffic. Rory almost automatically turned for Stars Hollow before stopping herself with a sense of guilt. She shook herself, staring ahead, and the look on Richard's face when he opened the door took all her doubt away.
"Rory! What are you doing here?"
"I came to see you," Rory said and he beamed, wrapping her into a hug. It was a little stiff, like all his hugs were, but Rory hugged him back, stepping inside.
"Is Grandma here?"
"No, she's with the women from the DAR," Richard said. "Do you want to come back later?"
"Actually, I wanted to see you," Rory told you. "Are you busy?"
"Never too busy to see my granddaughter," Richard said proudly. "Come in, it's much too hot outside. Can I get you a drink of anything? Iced water? Lemonade? Estelle has made a simply marvellous pitcher."
"I would love some coffee," Rory said fervently and he chuckled, indicating to the maid.
"Just like your mother," he said. "And her mother, for that matter. I dread to think how many bags she goes through in a week. Thankfully, my attention is on work, not our grocery bill."
Rory giggled, sitting on the sofa. Despite the hot day Richard was dressed in a full suit and tie. Rory was uncomfortable in her skirt and blouse and she couldn't help asking,
"Grandpa, aren't you dying in that? It's so hot."
"Is it?" Richard asked absently, glancing down. "I suppose. I've worn a suit every day for twenty years, I'm used to it. I did some work this morning."
"But you work at home," Rory pointed out. "It's not as if anyone would know if you didn't wear a tie."
"I would know," Richard said severely. "And besides, I like to be properly dressed."
In that moment the maid brought over a cup of coffee and Rory sipped thankfully, only sorry it was such a shallow cup. Richard waited for her to finish and then asked,
"So what have you been doing with your morning?"
"I went into the office," Rory replied. "I had to finish up an article."
"Like grandfather, like granddaughter," Richard grinned. "And are you pleased with it?"
"I'm pleased I've finished it before Monday," Rory hedged. She knew her grandfather would not be happy if she said it was simply good enough. Richard nodded and then said,
"So what brings you all the way to see me? You didn't come last night because your grandmother and I had a function. Did you miss the food too much?"
"No, Grandpa," Rory laughed. "I missed you. I wanted to see you."
Richard smiled but didn't say anything and Rory asked anxiously,
"If that's okay?"
"Of course that's okay!" Richard exclaimed, getting to his feet. "I'm thrilled you're here, Rory. Come into my study, I've just remembered that I've found some first translations of Voltaire. I discovered them last night and thought of how much you would like them. Do you want to see them?"
"That sounds great, Grandpa."
Richard nodded and then said,
"Rory, please let Estelle pour you some lemonade. It's most refreshing."
"Lemonade it is," Rory agreed, trying not to sound amused, and took the glass from the maid. She followed Richard into the study and sat in the chair opposite the desk. The study never looked different in all the years Rory had been to the house and she sat back against the leather. Richard delved beneath the desk and appeared with the volumes, dust on his hair and a smile on his face. Rory did laugh this time.
"Grandpa, you've got fluff in your hair."
"Do I?" Richard asked and, as he brushed with his hand, "So I do. The maid must have forgotten to dust down here. We won't tell Emily. I dread to think how many maids she's got rid of this year."
They chuckled guiltily and Rory took the books from Richard. She turned them over in her hands, feeling the weight and wondering when she'd have time to read them. She looked up to see Richard smiling and said,
"Thank you, Grandpa."
"You're very welcome, Rory."
Richard sat up straight in his chair, looking, as he always did, at home and at peace in his study and Rory asked,
"Did you always know what you wanted to do?"
"What do you mean, Rory?"
"Working," Rory explained. "Did you always know you wanted to be a businessman?"
"Oh, yes," Richard said seriously. "I never wanted to do anything else."
"Anything?"
"Anything," Richard assented. "I knew from the age of ten that I wanted to get up each day, put on my suit and go to work, just like my father. Then I wanted to come home to hopefully a beautiful wife and drink brandy. Well, it all worked out, apart from when Emily has decided I've had enough brandy for the week."
He winked at Rory who asked hesitantly,
"And you never wanted anything else?"
"Well, the beautiful wife came later," Richard said. "When I was ten I thought girls had – what is the word – cooties."
Rory laughed to hear her grandfather sound so childish but she pressed,
"But you always wanted to be a businessman? What about before you were ten?"
"Before I was ten I wanted to be a pirate," Richard said seriously. "Or a cowboy. Unfortunately, being a pirate is not entirely fashionable these days and, as I discovered on a trip to a farm, the smell of hay makes me feel sick, so I was never destined to be a cowboy."
Rory smiled but didn't reply and Richard frowned.
"Why all these questions?" he asked. "Why would I want to be anything else? I like wearing a suit, I like doing a fine day's work and I like owning a wonderful house with an even more wonderful wife. I like being secure and the time when I retired was the most disagreeable of my life."
"What about having fun?" Rory asked and then blushed at how silly it sounded. Richard stared and let out a chuckle.
"Fun? There's a time and a place for everything, Rory. I do enjoy having fun, when I've finished work, but after the age of ten, the idea of spending all day eating cotton candy and flying kites loses its appeal."
"I know – that's not what I meant."
Her grandfather looked at her curiously and said,
"Are you worried about me?"
"No," Rory floundered. "I mean, I want you to be okay – I know you're okay –"
"I'm more than okay," Richard assured her. "I'm happy."
"Then I'm happy too, Grandpa," Rory said sincerely. Richard smiled at her.
"How about you, young lady?"
"Me? I'm fine."
"You are? Everything is going well in New York? Is your job still there?"
"Of course my job is still there."
"And it's going well?"
"As well as it always has."
Richard smiled fondly.
"Rory, I hope you know how proud I am," he said. "I know it may seem that your grandmother and I were disappointed about Logan Huntzberger –"
"Grandpa –"
"But I assure you we are not upset with you," Richard continued, as though Rory had not interrupted. "We couldn't be more proud of you. Working on a newspaper in New York couldn't be a finer job and we know you work your hardest at it. They are lucky to have you and I don't want you to forget it."
Rory smiled, ignoring the twist in her gut. Over her grandfather's shoulder she could see the portrait of herself as a young girl. The picture looked a little ridiculous, the girl in it had a dress and expression Rory never wore, but she had a book in her lap and a certainty Rory remembered. She'd been sure of where her future lay.
"Rory? Are you alright?"
Rory jumped, seeing her grandfather's concerned expression.
"I'm fine," she said quickly. "Thank you, Grandpa. It means a lot."
Richard smiled but said in concern,
"You look a little flushed."
"It's just the heat, Grandpa."
"Drink your lemonade," Richard said firmly. "It's very cooling."
Rory did so and smiled at him, her eyes still drawn to the portrait.
"You're right," she told him. "It's very refreshing."
Emily came home soon after that and the three ate lunch on the patio, or rather sandwiches with iced tea, which Emily considered suitable food to eat outside. Rory answered endless questions about New York and her week and was just bracing herself for a long afternoon when Emily got a headache from the sun and went to lie down. Rory kissed Richard goodbye, guiltily relieved, and went to drive back. She decided to send her grandmother flowers to allieve her conscience and backed out of the drive, the water from the fountain making rainbows in the sun. Rory slowly drove out of Hartford, her mind still caught on her grandfather's words. Why did everyone else seem to know where they were and what they wanted? Her grandfather had known what he wanted to be since he was ten. Lorelai knew what she wanted since she could form words and her grandmother did everything with grace. Rory thought about going to Stars Hollow and decided against it. She didn't feel like making awkward conversation with her friends. Lane's life had taken a detour but she seemed happy. She had two children, soon three, and the band when there was time. There was never any doubt about Paris and her ambition and Jess – the guy who said he'd go wherever, do whatever, was doing something spectacular and making her distracted. Rory thumped her hands against the steering wheel. She hadn't felt this off since the summer she'd quit Yale and Rory's heart took a lurch. She knew how that had turned out.
Her cellphone rang, making her jump, and Rory pulled over to answer it. It was Jess.
"Hi," she said uncomfortably, wishing she'd checked to see who was calling.
"Hey," Jess said. "What are you doing?"
"I'm actually just driving back from Hartford."
"From Hartford?" he echoed. "I thought you went to dinner there on Fridays."
"I do – I just went to see my grandfather."
"Right," Jess said, making Rory picture his nod. "You're not stopping off at Stars Hollow?"
"Clearly," Rory said, making him chuckle. "What's up? I thought you were in Philadelphia all weekend?"
"My supplier got sick," Jess explained. "My big book delivery has been postphoned and I finished up everything else. Do you have any plans for when you get back?"
"Not really," Rory said honestly. "Do you want to do something?"
"Only if you do."
"I do," Rory decided. "What do you have in mind?"
"You still owe me a book date."
"A what?"
"You said I hadn't seen your books yet," Jess reminded her. "I'd like to see them, see if I can borrow any, or lend you some, both. I figured we could go get pizza, hang out in some pretentious bookstores."
"Oh, like yours?" Rory teased and Jess laughed out loud.
"Exactly like mine. I was hoping to find one with a coffee machine. I'm still working on that for ours."
Rory grinned, her gloomy mood starting to lift.
"Sounds like a plan, Kurt," she said. "I'll be back in an hour."
"I'm waiting, Courtney."