35 - The Mathematics of Regret
"No, Mom, I'm not going to make a move on him when he gets back," an exasperated Rory sighed aloud, her cellphone currently on speaker as the journalist drove towards her destination.
"And why's that, Babe?" Lorelai insisted.
"Because it's too soon," the younger Gilmore cried, completely fed up with having this same conversation for the last several days. Ever since Sarah let slip that the wedding had been a bust, Lorelai had been insistant that her daughter make a play on the now single Marty. So much so that it was getting really annoying. "I mean, he just got stood up at the altar by the love of his life! So, no, me trying to get together with him now in that context would be a terrible idea, Mom."
"But what if Andy comes back and they get back together? What are you going to do then, Rory?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Rory stated, her steady voice belying the terror of that scenario becoming reality. "So can we please drop this subject already?"
"I seriously think you're making a mistake, Sweets," her mother continued to press. "We both know you're in love with him, so I just don't get why-"
"Because I don't want to be Marty's consolation prize, Mom," Rory snapped, finally having had enough. "Don't you think I take after Dad enough as it is?"
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Lorelai asked in hurt shock.
"Damn it," she groaned, now realizing what her words implied. "That came out wrong."
"No, no, I get it. I've always suspected that's how you felt about me marrying your dad so soon after breaking up with Luke," the older Gilmore girl said in a strained voice. "But I honestly thought we were passed it, you know?"
"Mom, I'm sorry, I didn't-"
"Your brother is just waking up from his nap," Lorelai interupted, obviously lying. "Bye, Rory. I'll call you later."
"Damn it," Rory repeated in frustration at the now dead line, her mother already having hung up on the other end. "Way to go, Gilmore," she sarcastically congratulated herself. "I bet that 'Daughter of the Year' award is on its way in the mail as we speak."
Nothing I can do about it until later, she decided morosely while in the process of parking her Prius on the curb outside Marty's townhouse. As she fished the extra door key that Marty had lent her from her coat pocket before exitting the car, Rory continued to berate herself over how unbelievably cruel she'd been towards her own mother. In fact, Rory was so distracted by her mental self-flagellation that she didn't notice that something was amiss until she was actually standing in the foyer. Wait a second, I don't remember leaving the TV on last time I was here, she thought in a near panic, her wide azure eyes searching for something to use as a weapon before falling on an umbrella. She grasped its handle with white knuckles, then slowly crept into the living room.
"I thought I heard th-"
"Hee-yah!" Rory cried out in surpise, blindly swinging her makeshift weapon towards whoever it was that had spoken. The loud thunk of a body hitting the floor was quickly followed by the sound of an almost equally loud groan, which confused the reporter since the umbrella hadn't made contact with anything but the wall. Rory opened one of the blue eyes she'd shut during her swing, only to snap them both wide at the sight of a familiar looking man sitting on the carpet. "Marty?"
"Uh, hi, Rory," the architect greeted back from the floor, his surprised expression most likely a reflection of her own. "Nice swing."
"Um, thanks?"
"You going to put that down any time soon?" Marty pointed to the umbrella.
"Oh, right," she said with a sheepish little smile on her lips. "Sorry. Did I hit you?"
"Nah, I'm fine," he said, waving her off when Rory motioned to help him up. After he regained his feet, Marty walked back around the couch to sit down. "The wobbliness has nothing to do with your mad skills with the umbrella." She was about to ask Marty what he meant by that statement, but paused at the sight of him raising a bottle of beer up to his lips.
"How many of those have you had?" Rory frown in worry.
"I lost count after around the sixth or seventh one," he shrugged, one arm draped over the back in a relaxed pose. "Surprisingly, I'm not nearly as drunk as I should be."
"I guess that answers my next question," she sighed before taking the space beside him. "When did you get back?"
"About three or four hours ago," he answered, his gaze glued to the television screen.
"I hope you haven't been drinking that whole time," she frowned again, only this time in disapproval.
"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't," he shrugged.
"You shouldn't be self-medicating, Marty," chided Rory. "It's not healthy."
"I'm not self-medicating, Rory," he denied. "I'm just...trying to forget how messed up my life has become right now."
Although Rory was half-tempted to continue lecturing him on drinking his sorrows away, she decided against it and silently watched the flatscreen in front of them. About three or four minutes went by until she frowned in confusion. Why are all of the characters talking like William Shatner?
"What the heck are we watching?" Rory finally asked, completely lost with what was happening on the television.
"I don't know, but it's rivetting," he deadpanned, the bottle in his grasp brought up for another swallow. He glanced Rory while placing the now empty bottle back on the coffee table. "You want something to drink?"
"I'll have what you're having," she said distractedly, his footsteps being the only indication that her host had left. Rory removed her coat to make herself more comfortable, her gaze still on the screen. Marty had been right. Whatever the hell this movie was they were watching, it was rivetting despite all the actors' odd behavior and dialogue.
"What I miss?" Marty asked, handing her a beer.
"Okay, apparently, Parker Posey's husband was some sort of spy and Jeff Goldblum is a CIA agent who wants some notebooks or something that her husband wrote," she explained, still uncertain. "At least, that's what I got from the loads of exposition that happened in the last scene, I mean." She took a sip from the bottle. "Thanks, by the way."
"Beats drinking alone," he said with an ironic little smile.
"If you can't beat them, join them," she quipped back, returning the smile.
"Here, here," he nodded, their bottles of beer clinking together in a brief salute.
After Marty sat back down on his side of the couch, they continued to watch the movie unfold before them. Despite stating earlier that the film was rivetting, it didn't take long for Rory's mind wander back to the conversation with her mother and how hurt Lorelai had sounded when the younger Gilmore girl had lost her temper. And all because her mother had been cajoling her to make a move on Marty, a move that Rory wasn't ready to make yet. She wanted Marty healed and over his Andy induced heartache before telling him how she felt.
But what if her mother was right? What would Rory do if Andy suddenly came back and reconciled with Marty? Would she be willing to once again sit on the sidelines and watch her heart's desire ride off into the sunset with someone else? Or would she fight for Marty's affection instead? After all, Andy had more or less given up her dibs on Marty when she ditched him at the altar.
Of course, there was also the chance that Marty wasn't romantically interested in Rory to begin with either, which was actually the first of two huge reasons for her hesitation now that Rory was being honest with herself. Just because he liked her in college didn't necessarily mean that Marty would want her now. What if Marty had outgrown her like Rory had outgrown her fondness for rich self-centered wannabe bad boys? And even if that wasn't the case and he did decide to begin a romantic relationship with Rory, there would always be that nagging feeling of being the second choice, of being the consolation prize. That was the second huge reason for her trepidation, the second huge reason why Rory had decided to wait until Marty was completely over his runaway bride. She only hoped that while waiting for Marty's heart to heal that Andy didn't decide to come back. She also realized this was an extremely selfish thought, one that made Rory feel horrible about herself because what sort of person wants that for the person they claim to love?
Still, that didn't give me any right to throw Mom's failed marriage to Dad in her face like that, Rory thought, unknowingly releasing a sigh of frustration.
"You want to talk about it?" Marty asked, startling her.
"Not really," she answered glumly.
"I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours," he offered in that trademark deadpan manner.
"That's not exactly the fairest of trades, Mr. Harrison," she pointed out.
"It is what it is, Miss Gilmore," Marty shrugged. "Besides, it'll help take my mind off my own troubles now that the movie's over."
"The movie's over?" Rory asked, surprised that she'd only noticed that now.
"Whatever it is that's bugging you must be huge if you're that distracted."
The journalist furrowed her brow at Marty and wondered how she could explain what happened between her mother and herself without revealing the cause of that problem, which were Rory's feeling for the man seated on the other end of the couch. After another moment of awkward silence had passed, an obviously uncomfortable Marty scratched his unshaved cheek. This action caused Rory to take notice of the beginnings to an almost Luke-like stubble growing there.
"If you don't feel like talking about it, we can always look for another mov-"
"Before I came over here, I kind of got into an argument with my mom over the phone," she interupted, her desicion made.
He raised an eyebrow at her. "About what?"
"Well, ever since I turned down Logan's proposal at graduation, I haven't exactly been the biggest dater," Rory carefully explained, not wanting to spill the beans about her feelings towards Marty yet. "In fact between then and now, I haven't had a serious boyfriend at all. Sure, I've dated a couple of guys, but none them really kept me interested beyond a couple of dates, you know?"
He nodded, but remained silent.
"Anyway, to make a long story short, she kept pressuring me to start dating again and I just sort of snapped on her, told her I wasn't ready to take that plunge," she half lied, her gaze dropping down between them. "And I know that doesn't sound all that bad and it isn't really, but then I had to go and make that stupid comment about her and my dad." She sniffled despite the story being half a lie. "I hate fighting with my mom. Especially when I know I'm the one who screwed up."
"I'm sure she knows you didn't mean it, Rory," Marty assured, the sudden touch of his hands on hers momentarily startling the reporter. Her bright blue eyes fell on where their hands met and slowly travelled up towards his sympathetic brown eyed gaze. Rory suddenly found herself fighting against a strong and almost undeniable urge to kiss him, barely managing to contain said urge by slipping her hands from his grasp and burying her blushing face in them. "Rory?"
"You must think I'm some sort of idiot," Rory sighed after a moment, dropping her hands away from her flushed face. "A grown woman whining about an argument with her mommy? Yeah, I'm completely pathetic, aren't I?"
"No, you're not," Marty reassured with a soft smile, looking a little less inebriated now than a half hour ago. "Look, I know that you and your mom are extremely close, so you being this upset makes all sorts of sense. I wish I had someone in my family that I was that close to."
"You have Dan," she pointed out.
"Yeah, I guess I do, don't I?" Marty chuckled.
"How you been holding up?" she asked, her hand placed gently on his shoulder.
"Honestly, I've been better," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, in California, I was fine." Rory furrowed her brow to let him know that she knew that he was lying. He rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright, I was in denial. But when I got back..."
"But when you got back here, it hit you, didn't it?" Rory deduced.
"Like a sledge hammer to the temple," nodded Marty, his gaze dropping down like Rory's had earlier. His voice dropped to a rasp when he continued. "It wouldn't be so bad if every little damn thing here didn't remind me of her, you know? I mean, I bought this house thinking we'd...we'd..."
"I'm so sorry, Marty," Rory whispered, lithe arms drawn around him without a second thought. Her instinct to comfort the tall, curly haired man who'd captured her heart overriding her commonsense. He stiffened against her sudden embrace for a brief moment then relaxed in acceptance. They sat like that for what seemed like hours (though it was probably about five minutes at the most) before Rory pulled herself away enough to look him in the eye. The instant her eyes fell on Marty's face, Rory knew getting this close was a mistake. Even with this thought in mind though she couldn't pull away. The urge to kiss Marty had returned and it was much stronger than before.
He frowned at her, his expression perplexed. "Rory?"
"Andy's an idiot," she whispered, her hand reaching up to caress his cheek of its own volition.
"What?" Marty frowned, his obvious confusion deepening.
"Andy's an idiot," Rory repeated in a husky voice before lunging forward to capture his lips on her own, moaning deeply into Marty's mouth as their passion quickly escalated beyond the point of no return.
It was several hours later when Rory found herself staring up at the ceiling of Marty's guestroom, where they had spent those hours making love, that all the fears and doubts from earlier came rushing back to sour whatever joy this night had brought her. Rory stifled a sob before slipping out from under Marty's arm, berating herself for this massive error in judgement as she fumbled around for her clothes and hurriedly got dressed in the dim moonlight streaming through the drapes. Rory chanced one last glance back at Marty's prone form on the bed then headed downstairs and out the front door towards her Prius, once again berating herself for allowing her infamous but rarely used impulsive side to get the better of her at the worst possible time.
Looks like I really am the daughter of Christopher Hayden after all, Rory thought in disgust, not caring how her tears burned her cheeks as the cold winter wind froze them almost as quickly as they were shed.
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