Doula is, objectively, a very cute child. Willa is, also objectively, way cuter. Jess is aware that it's fucked up, how smug he is about that.
Liz has been trying very hard not to piss Jess off lately in a desperate effort to see her granddaughter, which does actually make him feel kind of bad, so he's started to bring Willa over, whenever they're in Stars Hollow. It's only ended in tears once, and that was mostly because T.J. accidentally impaled himself with a butter knife, so he doesn't think that counts. Mostly it's just yelling, mostly from Doula, who, to the shock and awe of literally nobody but Liz, is not happy about the new baby in everybody's lives. Jess is also aware that it's fucked up to be smug about that, too.
"She's doing it wrong," Doula says, standing guard in Liz's kitchen with her hands on her hips. For a five year old, she's got a hell of a voice. Jess has an flashback sense memory of being scolded by his eighth grade teacher every time she says anything that sounds remotely displeased, which for Doula, is a lot. "I'm not gonna play with her if she's gonna do it wrong."
"Honey," Liz says, "she's younger than you, remember? She's not as smart as you, yet."
Jess has to grip the edges of his chair to keep from literally, physically hitting her. It's a scary moment. "Why don't I just bring her in here?"
"No, it's," Liz says quickly, "we're eating, we're talking. Doula's been looking forward to playing with Willa all week, and - if we leave them alone, they'll work it out."
"I don't like her," Doula announces. "She keeps throwing stuff at me."
"Mom," Jess says pointedly.
"Doula, she's your niece, okay, remember we talked about this?"
"I still don't like her," Doula says stubbornly, giving Jess a side-eye. He tries to look non-threatening, which he knows never works. Especially with Doula, who has always regarded him with suspicion. "She stole my Barbie."
"Mom," Jess says, a bit more pointedly.
Liz sighs. "Whatever. Fine." She waves at him vaguely, her attention on Doula, and Jess seizes the opportunity before she changes her mind.
He finds Willa in the playpen in the living room, contentedly destroying one of Doula's Barbie dolls. Jess sighs, and extracts it from her grip as nicely as he can.
"Maybe you do need obedience training," he grumbles, swooping her up into his arms and putting a little extra swing in it to make her laugh, so she doesn't lose her shit about the Barbie. Thankfully, it works, and Willa loops her arms around his neck, forgetting the matter completely. "Come on, hurricane."
"Dadadada," Willa says, which is her version of 'Daddy.' Jess still feels like he's having a heart attack every time he hears it. "Doooma."
"Doula," Jess corrects.
"Dooma dooma," Willa insists, so Jess nods and concedes the argument. "Dooooooooma!"
"She'll get over it eventually," Jess comforts her. "Possibly."
"Dooma," Willa says sadly.
"Sorry," Jess tries. The frown on her face says that he wasn't all that convincing.
Liz and T.J.'s house is sort of confusing - the kitchen is actually the dining room, because for some bizarre reason they'd installed a sink and moved the fridge and all the appliances in there, as if the actual, functional, fully-equipped kitchen that the house already had was deficient, in some way. Most of the house is like that. Jess has never really listened that closely when either of them have explained it. The actual kitchen is where T.J. keeps his power tools.
"Hey there, peanut," Liz says excitedly, when they enter, rising to hold her arms out for Willa. Jess squashes the vindictive, petty part of him that wants to say no, and obediently hands her over. "I'm sorry, Jess, Doula's just kind of cranky today. But that's okay, isn't it, Willa?" She scrunches up her face playfully, bouncing Willa on her hip as she sways back over to the table, still laden with the variety of weird vegetables and grains that was their lunch. "You and me and Daddy will just hang out then, won't we? We can have fun anyway!"
Willa, who regards Liz with the same kind of skepticism she reserves for most adults who smile at her, frowns deeply.
"I sent her to her room," Liz tells Jess. "She's nervous about starting school - she's been so snappy all week. She'll play by herself for a couple hours and then be happy as a clam again."
Doula is kind of snappy in general, Jess has noticed. It's one of the things he likes about the kid. "She hasn't started already? It's almost October."
"Oh, I'm home schooling her," Liz says brightly. "You know, there's so many more options out there now than there were when you were a kid! I found this great program, based in Maryland. It's all online, you choose your own curriculum, and they have some great tutors, really. Doula's is this wonderful woman from Indiana. It's all on video calls and email, so she doesn't even have to leave the house!"
Jess sits back down at the table and very deliberately does not think anything judgmental. "Sounds great."
"I wish it'd been around when you were a kid," Liz says wistfully. Jess grips the edge of his chair again. "You should look into it for Willa."
"I don't think I'll have the time for something like that, Mom," Jess says. "Besides, she doesn't get to be around other kids very much. I don't want her to grow up to be one of those weird, hermit children."
Liz laughs. "Like you were?"
"I wasn't a hermit."
"You were a little bit of a hermit," Liz says, scrunching her fingers together in the air. She looks down at Willa, who is still watching her warily, dead silent. That, if anything, is a sign of her discomfort, and Jess forces himself to sit still, his entire body itching to reach out and snatch her back. He manages it, but only barely. "Just a little. His teachers all called him a 'loner.'"
His teachers called him a loner because they couldn't use the phrase 'arrogant dipshit' on a report card, but whatever. Jess doesn't want to fight. "That's probably because I never showed up for class, Mom."
"Well, when you were older, maybe. When you were a kid you loved school." Liz's face changes a little, gets a little sadder. "Straight As, every semester. They were talking about you maybe skipping a grade, right before - well." She shakes her head, seeming to realize that going down that road is not the best decision, if she wants to keep Jess and Willa in her house. "Anyway. We're a smart bunch, the Danes/Marianos. Willa will fit right in, won't you, peanut?" Willa, hearing her name, perks up a bit, relaxing enough in Liz's lap to lose the frown. Jess smiles at her, and she visibly relaxes even more. "You should see some of the stuff Doula's been reading, Jess. She's a mini-Rory!"
Jess sips his coffee, feeling awkward. He's not exactly the most attentive brother, and he's not sure whether that's his failing, or just a casualty of the entire situation. "That's great."
"She loved that book you sent her, the one about penguins." Liz beams. "She's a little - she takes a while to warm up to people, is all. She needs time to get used to you guys."
The hopeful, earnest look on her face is giving Jess actual chest pains. This is why he'd stayed away, if he's being honest with himself. It's not just that he was angry and resentful, it's that he can never keep it up very long when he's actually around her. She can't help it, is the thing. She never could. "Willa's the same."
"Yeah." Liz looks down at Willa fondly, who has unclenched enough to reach out and start playing with one of Liz's long, dangling necklaces. "I can tell. That's alright, peanut," she says softly, running her hands gently through Willa's thick, dark hair. "I don't mind. We've got plenty of time, don't we?"
Jess watches them silently, his heart throbbing.
"Dooma," Willa says quietly, and Liz's face lights up.
"That's right! Aunt Doula! Oh my gosh." She bends down and kisses Willa's nose. "You are so smart!"
"Dadadada," Willa complains, reaching out, clearly freaked out by the kiss. Jess gives her his hand, not wanting to offend his mom by picking her up, but Liz just keeps grinning madly, tears sparkling in her eyes. "Dadadadadaaa."
"Oh, Jess," Liz says. "Oh, my God."
"Yeah, she likes, uh," Jess says, leaning forward a bit more and brushing Willa's hair back, soothing her back into Liz's embrace. "Adding extra syllables to things."
"Does she talk a lot?" Liz asks eagerly, still visibly choked up. She keeps fluttering her hands around, touching Willa's shoulders, her back, her head. "Does she say any other words?"
"She said Luke's name once," Jess tells her. "Only once, though, and it was when she saw a picture of him, so he wasn't around. She says Matt's name, and Chris'. She calls April 'ape.'"
"Ape!" Willa says helpfully, and Liz laughs in delight.
"A couple others. 'Bed,' and 'no,' of course. Says that one a lot. And she makes a kind of hooting noise for this stuffed owl she has."
"Can you say 'Grandma'?" Liz asks, leaning down to make eye contact. Willa reaches out and grabs a fistful of her hair. Liz barely even reacts. "Grandma?"
"Ape," Willa says again, idly.
"Or maybe 'Liz' would easier, you can call me Liz if you want," she says. "Grandma might make me feel old. I dunno."
"Maaaaaaaah," Willa says suddenly, loud and slow, her eyes wide. She laughs when Liz jumps in surprise, and so of course, does it again, even more dramatically. "Maaaaaaaaw."
"Close enough! Oh, oh." Liz wraps her in a gentle hug, her hair falling across Willa's back like a cape. "Jess, she's so beautiful and smart and wonderful, I can't stand it."
"I know," Jess says.
Liz pulls back, wiping tears from her cheeks. She doesn't make eye contact. "We're so lucky, you know? I think about that sometimes. Especially with moments like this. We're so lucky to be here, and to have this."
Jess wraps his hands carefully around his coffee cup, watching his daughter bounce happily, yanking cruelly at Liz's hair. They look a little alike, Jess realizes. Around their eyes.
"Yeah," he says.
Willa zonks out at two o'clock on the dot every afternoon, without fail, no matter where she is, which is a blessing on Jess from some kind of God. Whichever one he hasn't pissed off yet. Liz doesn't let go of her until she absolutely has to, even carrying her out to Jess' car herself, cradling her gently, smoothing her hands over her hair, over and over again, before she finally pulls away.
"Jess, sweetheart," Liz says, after they've got Willa safely settled in, happily dead to the world in the car seat. "Look, um. I don't wanna - I don't wanna make you mad. I'm just...aw man. I'm so bad at this."
"Mom," Jess says uncomfortably.
"No, I'm not gonna...I just wanna say," Liz says, firming her chin, "I know you're probably only doing this because you were gonna see us at the wedding anyway, and that's - well, it's not okay, but I mean, I get it. Sort of."
Jess sighs, leaning against the car and trying not to look at her. She's going to start crying again; he can feel it. "Mom, that's not - "
"I just, I've been talking to Lorelai, and," Liz takes a deep breath, "and a therapist, and I know - I'm sorry if I made you feel like you weren't welcome here, because you are. It's not about - me and T.J. and Doula, that's like - okay yeah, we're a new family, and we kind of went incommunicado for a couple years, and that's on me. I know it's on me. I could've called, too. But I just don't know how to talk to you."
She's definitely crying again. "Mom."
"You're so intimidating sometimes, you know?" Liz says. Her voice is shaking, but she looks determined, the same combination she wore when they'd fight, when Jess still lived with her. Jess' stomach is churning; she would always say the nastiest things when he'd push her to the point of tears, which in retrospect was probably why she'd say them. As an adult, Jess can understand how that all went down a little better. He's starting to understand a lot of things like that, about his mom. "I know I wasn't the best...you know. But there has to be a way back. There's gotta be a way that we can be friends again. We used to be friends, didn't we?"
"Yeah, Ma," Jess admits sadly. "Yeah, we did."
"I know you didn't keep her away to punish me," Liz says, her voice cracking. "I get that. And I forgive you, for whatever the hell that's worth. But I don't want..." Liz gestures helplessly, her hands shaking. "This. I don't want this. I want it to be better."
"You can't just say that and expect it to happen," Jess says.
"I know that! I know." She wipes at her eyes angrily.
"But that's what you were doing before," Jess says. "Do you get that? That's why I had to stay away. I couldn't deal with how that was fucking me up, when I had so many other things fucking me up, too. You know?"
Liz nods, her eyes on the ground. Jess shakes his head, feeling like a piece of shit.
"I don't hate you, Ma," he says. "I don't."
Liz's face twists. "I know," she says, her voice breaking again.
"If we're gonna do this, if we're gonna figure it out, then we need to do it right. We owe that to our kids," Jess says. He rubs his face, feeling raw, like an exposed wire. He hadn't brought a jacket, and it's really too cold out not to have one. Because, of course it's cold. Of course. "You're my mom. I mean, shit. I don't want...you're intimidating too, you know that?"
"Oh, sweetheart," Liz says helplessly, reaching out and snatching his hand. Her fingers are freezing.
"I don't want to hate you," Jess tells her desperately. "But I did, for a long time. And I'm sorry. I'm really fucking sorry."
"Jess," Liz says, her face collapsing. She blinks, and sort of leans forward, her forehead pressed against his shoulder. Jess breathes deeply, trying to keep it even, and touches her hair. She's shaking violently, from the cold, or the crying, or both.
"I'm sorry," he says again. His voice sounds faraway, like it's coming over a distant phone line.
"I deserved it," Liz says, muffled against his chest. "I'm sorry too. I'm so, so sorry, baby."
Jess' head feels too heavy for his body, and he drifts downwards slowly without really realizing what he's doing. Liz brings her arms up, around his neck, and suddenly it's a real hug, the kind they haven't shared in years. She still smells the same, she still feels the same. He can almost hear the sounds of their old apartment, smell the mildew that they could never quite scrub out of the corners. He's twelve years old again, leaning against her skirt in the kitchen as she teaches him how to make homemade candles. He's fourteen, playing Scrabble at two in the morning, because neither of them can sleep. He's nineteen, standing on a beach and wanting to talk to her so bad his entire body aches.
She broke his heart, when she sent him away. Maybe that was what he was really angry about. Maybe he never really got over it.
"I'm so freaking proud of you," Liz says. Her face is in his neck, and her words tumble over each other, coming out jumbled against his collarbone. "You've grown into such a good man, such a good, strong man. You're such a good dad. You're so good, baby. And you did it all on your own, all by yourself. Even when I fucked up, when I wasn't there when I shoulda been, you did it anyway. That's on you, that's on how good you are, how strong and wonderful and smart."
"Ma," Jess says.
"I'm tryin' to do better with Doula," Liz says desperately, clenching her fists in his collar. "But it's not just about her, it's about you too. I wanted to show you that I could be good at it, that I'm better now. I wanted to deserve it." Her shoulders hitch. "I want you around, baby. I want us to be friends again, and I wanna watch your little girl grow up. I want it so bad, and I'll do anything I need to do to deserve that. I promise. I swear to God."
"Ma, please," Jess says, spreading his palm out against her back. Her shoulders hitch again. "Stop, stop. It's okay."
She cries for maybe a good thirty seconds, real, honest crying, and Jess feels every sob in every bone in his body. Then she takes one deep breath, and another one, and pulls away, smiling through the tears. "Okay, I'm done. I'm sorry. Done now."
Jess keeps his hands on her arms, and she leans into it, still shaking. They both really should be wearing jackets. "I didn't start doing this because of the wedding."
"Okay," Liz says.
"I mean it."
She nods, sniffling a couple more times. "Okay."
"If I'm strong," Jess says, trying to keep the words steady, to balance them on an even plane, so they come out right. "It's because of you. Everything good about me comes from you."
Liz bites her lip, her eyes filling up again.
"I mean, some of the bad shit comes from you, too," Jess says, and Liz barks out a loud laugh. "But you know what I mean."
"Yeah, no kidding," Liz says wryly, wiping furiously at her cheeks. Jess tries to smile at her, and she makes an attempt to smile back. It's a work in progress for both of them, probably.
"Let's just, uh," he says, "take it slow. I'm...getting there."
"Me too," Liz says.
"I do want you in Willa's life. I've always wanted you in her life. That was never, ever the issue."
Liz nods, reaching down to squeeze his hand again. "I know that. I think."
"Okay." Jess nods, and takes a deep breath. "Good."
"I love you," Liz says.
"Yeah," Jess says. "I know."
Willa wakes up halfway back to Philly and immediately starts throwing a tantrum. She hates being in the car more than she hates probably anything, excluding lullabies and Baby Genius DVDs, maybe, and waking up in one without any warning always pisses her off. So Jess pulls over at an IHOP and climbs into the backseat.
"C'mere, baby, it's okay," Jess murmurs, unhooking her from the complex machinations of her car seat. Willa keeps crying right up until she's in his arms, at which point she subsides into angry, resentful sniffling. "I know. Sorry, babe."
He probably is coddling her too much; Matthew keeps sending him parenting blogs and shit, and sometimes when he's feeling particularly panicky, he'll read them. Most of the advice is contradictory, but a common theme is that if you give in every time your kid wants something, they won't have any concept of boundaries. But Jess thinks he can wait on the boundaries thing for at least another year. He also thinks that any parent who can leave their kid alone to cry all night is obviously a sociopath.
"Did you have fun hanging out with Grandma?" Jess still feels weird calling her that. Willa scrunches up her face at him. "She's a lot to take in at first, I know. It's probably all that sage she burns. Makes her a little wacky."
"Dadadada," Willa says.
"Yeah, honey," Jess says. "What's up?"
"Dada," Willa says, clear as day. Jess sucks in a sharp breath. "Dadaaa."
"That's me," he says, leaning his head back against the seat. The world is in sharp, high definition all around him; the sun is bright, the road is clear. Nothing but blue skies and warm, rolling hills, from here to eternity.
"Dada," Willa says, whining. Jess hitches her up on his knees, and she waves her arms impatiently, grabbing the sleeves of his shirt and bunching them in her little fists.
"Have you ever had pancakes?" Jess asks. Willa cocks her head at him. "No, I don't think you have. I'm a horrible cook, I know."
"Dada," Willa says, cautiously optimistic.
"You're gonna love this," Jess says. "Trust me."
"Dada," Willa says. Jess surges forward and nuzzles her stomach, making her laugh. "Dada!"
"Yeah, you're talkin' to him," Jess says. "Come on. Let's try something new."
"Bah," Willa says, dismissive. Jess laughs. She'll come around.