47 - A Drawer Full of Doubts
I probably could've handled that better, thought an emotionally exhausted Rory Gilmore, her impassive observation of the crew going over their final preparations doing nothing to distract the journalist from the memories of three hours earlier.
The reporter had awoken much earlier than her boyfriend had with the intention of making coffee the way she preferred it, which was stronger than Marty usually brewed it, and Rory had successfully done so when she got the inexplicible and sudden inspiration to attempt cooking breakfast in bed for the still slumbering man upstairs. The man who'd captured her heart.
A lone tear trickled down her cheek before Rory silently swept it aside with the back of her hand, her gaze still glued to the now departing ground crew outside the plane. The captain announced that they'd be on their way shortly, which relieved Rory to no end. The sooner she arrived in Hartford, the sooner she could help in planning her best friend friend's wedding and distract herself from this morning's events.
Until then though those memories continued to dominate her mind, their assault on the downtrodden journalist unrelenting and merciless. It was a miracle in itself that Rory was not a blubbering mess right now.
"I so could've handled that better," she whispered under her breath, blue eyes now closed as the airplane began its ascent. This would not be happening if I had only checked the drawer closer to the coffee machine for the spatula instead on the one near the fridge!
After the plane levelled out a few minutes later, Rory felt herself slowly succumbing to her exhaustion. As slumber finally washed over her, those events which had been dominating her conciousness took form in her dreams.
Several letters lay on the table in front of Rory, many of them already read then placed aside in favor of the next. Rory knew what she was doing was wrong, a blatant invasion of privacy that would probably endanger her relationship with Marty, but she couldn't help herself. Like the cat in the proverb, curiosity had gotten the better of her. It was the curse of her profession, and oh, how Rory was paying for it now.
The journalist didn't know how long she'd been sitting there reading these sickening sweet reminders of the woman who came before her, but it must have been a while because when Marty finally arrived in the kitchen, he was freshly showered and ready to drive her home for her luggage.
"Rory? What's going on here?"
"Maybe I should be asking you that, Marty," she accused, the letter in her hand held up like it was damning evidence in a trial. The reporter briefly wondered at his apparent confusion, then furrowed her brow in anger at his next words.
"Oh, crap," he muttered.
"What the hell is all this, Marty?" Rory demanded, now having risen out of her chair to stand in front of her boyfriend. She held the letter still in her grasp out to him. "Well?"
"They're letters, notes that Andy and I wrote each other," Marty answered honestly, taking the offered letter from her.
"Oh, I can see that, Captain Obvious," she rolled her eyes. "But why do you still have them?"
"And what am I supposed to do with them, Rory? Burn them?" he countered. "Hell, I didn't even know if they were still in there!"
"How do you not know something like that, Marty?"
"Because I had hoped Andy took them with her, okay?"
"And it never even occured to you to check?"
"I was afraid to check, alright? Is that what you want to hear, Rory?" Marty admitted. "I was afraid to check that damned drawer after she came in here and cleared out all her crap!" He brought a hand up to his face in order to rub his jaw before dropping said hand down again, his expression visibly more calm. "What does this even matter anyway?"
"It matters because, once again, it looks like I'm your second choice!" Rory shouted, completely frustrated by his cluelessness. "And I refuse to be your consolation prize, Marty Harrison!"
"Goddamn it, Rory," he swore. "How many times do I have to jump through this hoop until you realize that I chose you. Not Andy. You!"
"But have you really chosen me, Marty? Have you?" Rory cried, gesturing towards the still open drawer. "Because that drawer, that fucking drawer full of these letters, these notes to another woman is telling me otherwise! It tells me you're still clinging to the past, still clinging to Andy!"
He shook his head in denial. "I am not clinging to the past, Rory. I just never got around to cleaning it out!"
"I want to believe that," she rasped. "I really, really do, but what am I supposed to think when the man I love practically has a shrine to the woman who came before me? The same woman who left him standing at the altar?" Rory snatched the nearest letter from the table and crumpled it up before tossing the offending paper at him, her voice rising to an almost shrill volume. "What the hell am I supposed to think? Can you answer that, Marty? Can you?"
"You're being irrational," her boyfriend stated with obviously forced calm.
"You're damn right I am," she snapped, fed up. "And I think I have every right to be since I'm the one who's been lied to for the last two months!"
"I have never lied to you the entire time we've been together," retorted Marty, once again losing his temper. "In fact, I've bent over backwards for you! I went out of my way to make sure you didn't feel like the rebound! What the hell, Rory?"
"You may not have outright lied, but you hid things from me," the reporter admitted, desperately trying to rein in her emotions. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing, their gazes meeting, her azure blue on his hazel-green. "You retreated into your shell and you shut me out. What do you think that tells me?"
"Oh, for God's sake," he muttered under his breath, turning away to lean against the breakfast nook. The argument was going in circles and they both knew it. Yet neither knew what to do or say next without exacerbating the situation. In the end though they chose to do and say nothing for what seemed like an eternity. The oppressive silence lasted for several moments until Rory finally decided to break it.
"My plane leaves in less than two and a half hours," she reminded him in a flat tone. "I need to head home and grab my luggage."
"Did you need a ride?" Marty asked stiffly, his back still to her.
"I don't think that's a very good idea right now," Rory answered honestly. "I'll take a cab there, then to the airport later."
"At least let me drive you home, Rory," he insisted, turning to face her. She was tempted to protest but decided against it.
"Fine," she relented with a resigned sigh.
Following a short but tense ride from Marty's place to her apartment building, the couple found themselves at another impasse. One that neither of them wanted to voice. This time it was Marty who broke the silence.
"Are you sure you don't want a ride to the airport later?"
"Yeah, I'm sure," she nodded, then added. "I think this time apart might be exactly what we need."
"Ror-" he began.
"And during this time apart, I want you to get in touch with Andy," the journalist interrupted, uncertain that she'd have the strength to continue if she stopped right then. "Either get some closure." She turned to face him, an earnest expression on her face. "Or get back with her." Rory reached over to lay a hand on his cheek. "Okay?"
"Rory, I lov-" Marty began, only to be cut off again. This time by a kiss.
"Hold that thought," she whispered when they separated. "Save it until later, when I know for sure you mean it."
He whispered. "I do mean it."
"I know that you think you do," she rasped back. "But I want no doubts and that can't happen until you cleared things up with Andy," Rory pulled him closer to kiss him again. "I know this is completely unfair of me to ask but do this for me? Please?"
A clearly disappointed Marty closed his eyes and let out a trembling breath, then nodded his relunctant acceptance.
"Thank you," the broken hearted journalist whispered before exitting the vehicle without a backwards glance.
"Miss? We've arrived in Hartford," a young woman's voice informed from out of nowhere, startling the journalist awake with jolt.
A still groggy Rory glanced back and forth at the nearly empty plane in confusion. "What?"
"We've arrived in Hartford," the flight attendant repeated with concern. "Are you okay, miss?"
An uncomprehending Rory stared at the other woman for a long moment before suddenly bursting into tears, quickly clutching onto the flight attendant like a lifeline.
"Shh, it's going to be okay, miss," the flight attendant whispered, her voice full of patience and compassion. "Whatever it is, it'll to be okay."
No, it won't, despaired a sobbing Rory, the implications of what she may have given up completely decimating what little emotional control she had left. I've lost him, haven't I?