Tick tock stubborn clock. Tock tick. - Inside Your Head, Eberg
January 2017, New York
Week 15
He's behind the wheel, and Rory's in the passenger seat. Your Move is playing and there's a pull, to turn his head and look at her. He tries to keep his eyes on the road but the more he focuses, the more he feels it; she's looking at him, and he has to see her. So, he turns his head. Their eyes meet and lock, and he can't look away. It seems the entire air is vibrating from the tension, and it makes his skin tingle. He looks down and sees she's pregnant, just a girl, her cheeks fuller, blushing, her expression brave and vulnerable at the same time, just a girl, a child really. Pleasure turns to panic in his chest as he feels the car swerve, and its news is captured.
Does he wake from his phone ringing or from the dream? It's still dark outside the window. It rings again and Rory kicks him softly on the calf while groaning in discontent. He picks it up and blinks at the screen. It's an unknown number and he declines it out of principle. Sometimes he takes the time to look up the numbers but it's way too early for it, barely four in the morning and who the fuck calls this early? He mutes the phone and puts it back, screen down, on the bedside table. He turns his back to it and inches closer to Rory, slings an arm over her body and closes his eyes.
He's in a place where he doesn't really get to sleep but enters some sort of half-meditative state. It's the best he's been able to hope for lately if he wakes up before he's supposed to. He lies there, thoughts moving between reality and dream, and by the time his phone rings again, this time vibrating loudly against the table, it seems he hasn't slept at all. Of course, by now it's light outside. He reaches for it. It's Chris. He answers to silence it. Chris' voice immediately starts falling out of the phone.
"Hold on." He yawns as he exits the bedroom. He shuffles into the kitchen, puts the phone on speaker and starts making coffee.
"If that's the coffee maker count me in, I'm outside your door as of... now. Buzz me up."
"What are you doing here?" Jess says, slightly whiney as he makes way into the hallway.
"I have an early lecture at Montgomery, and I have to drop some stuff off."
"What stuff?" Jess asks and presses the button while he unhooks the lock on the door. "What stuff?" But Chris has already hung up.
"You look horrible!" Chris says as he enters the kitchen a few minutes later. "Are you sick?"
"Just tired. I haven't slept very well the last week."
"Well, in that case it pains me to say this, friend;" He sticks his hands into his bag and slaps a stack of paper on the kitchen table. "I need you to take over the editing for Miller's book."
"What? No." Jess growls.
"Yes! It needs to be done in a couple of weeks and I got seminars that I can't skip."
"Being brought up on welfare doesn't mean I know anything about the foster care system. Can't Matt do it?"
"Why? 'Cause his upper middle class background makes him an expert?" Chris snorts. "I already asked, and he implied that Katey's divorcing him if he spends more time outta town."
"Outta town?"
"You're going to New York for a meeting with our consultants."
"Consultants?" He's starting to feel like a parrot.
"Night and Day, or at least the latter. They are your experts. And as a bonus; your friends." Chris pours himself a cup of coffee. "You're welcome." He puts a piece of bread into the toaster. "I wouldn't ask but if you expect me to pull most of the weight around here while you and Matt are off being dads, I'm gonna need to finish this course."
Jess sighs. Chris is right. No way around that.
"Fine." He concedes and takes a sip of coffee. "Divorce? Really?"
"He's been gone a lot."
"I didn't think about it like that."
"Yeah, neither did he. I think that's part of the problem."
The toaster pops the bread, and Chris smears butter and jam on it.
"When's the trip?" Jess asks.
"This weekend."
"Dammit, Chris!"
"It's not my fault!" Chris says. "Look, just drive up early. Or bring Rory and make it a weekend. Or Skype, do whatever, just, y'know, do it."
"Just do what?" Rory asks while walking into the kitchen in her robe and blinking at the light. "Hi, Chris." She gets on her toes and pecks his cheek.
"Hey, Ror," Chris responds with a smile, "I was talking your boy into taking you to New York this weekend."
"With purely selfless motives, I'm sure." She says dryly.
"Actually, yes, they are!" Chris goes, eyes wide with indignation. "The course that will enable me to take on basically all of the duties of Truncheon while Jess here stays at home with you is demanding my attention for a few weeks."
Jess snorts.
"You don't have to use the big guns, Chris. Just mention school, and she'll have your back."
"School is important!" Rory lectures. "And you shouldn't just focus for a few weeks, endurance and routine in the long run is key."
"Thanks, miss Gilmore." Chris says sweetly.
"You're welcome, Christian. New York's no problem, I'll call Paris."
A few days later they're in the car, on their way. He's driving as usual, and she's picking music, chatting randomly and keeping an eye on their phones. Usually he enjoys this, but the dream a few nights back as well as his lack of sleep makes him uncomfortable, lingers behind his eyes. Sure, she might be an adult, and her expectancy doesn't show yet, but in his periphery the shape of her could be any version of her. It's distracting, and he has to focus on driving. He manages no more than to confirm her remarks with one-syllabic sounds and small smiles. After a while she stops talking and just listens to the music, looking out the window. She's used to his moods, but it's been a while since he's been in one; He's been careful to keep them at bay since she got pregnant.
"You're ringing." She says.
"Who is it?"
"Doesn't say."
"Then I'm busy."
She tilts her head with an amused smile.
"What's the point in you even keeping this thing on?"
"Don't know. Turn it off."
She does, with a dramatic gesture and he smirks.
Unfortunately, Luke's statement about him being a fast reader has made no difference to his intake of baby-literature. He knows it's real, but it feels still distant. And she seems to be in no hurry to binge either. The books they've bought on the subject so far seems to corroborate their disposition, with the so-called nine months neatly separated into 40 weeks, meant to be taken on or in chronologically, one at the time. He supposes it's to avoid shocking the parents-to-be and reminds himself that's him.
They read the sections separately, repeatedly, to have the words make sense. She reads aloud when she finds parts particularly interesting and seemed relieved to find that the clinginess that she's said she experienced, and that has been evident, sort of, has a scientific explanation. In theory it's comforting; In reality he's oddly haunted by her needing him. He can't picture Lorelai needing her teenage-boyfriend even as a girl herself, Liz needing Jimmy on the other hand... And yes, he knows it makes no sense.
Paris opens the door and ushers them inside. She has her hair up in rolls and seems more than a bit distracted. She actually did have plans this weekend but insisted they come and stay over anyway because it'd save her a babysitter-fee. Vague and not so vague shrieks and thumps drizzle down from a few floors up where the kids are. Rory smiles a bit too broadly at her.
"Hot date tonight?"
Paris glares at her.
"Oh please. Strictly ceremonial, trust me. Only reason I agreed to it was to keep my neighbors from gossiping about my sexuality or lack thereof."
Rory laughs and slides out of her coat.
"You coming in for a while?" She asks him.
He considers it but feels too restless to oblige her. He theatrically looks up towards the thumps and yelps.
"No, I better get outta here before the halflings catch whiff of me."
Paris smiles at the remark, but Rory looks slightly disappointed, like she has lately, at all prospects of their separation. She still kisses his cheek.
"Okay. Give my love to Day, and Night, if she's there."
"Yup. See you later."
He takes the subway and turns on his phone. Two missed calls. One from an unknown number and one from Liz. He winces at the screen and quickly puts the device away trying to forget he saw it.
The Carling sisters have an apartment in Williamsburg. The stable and tight nature of their relationship has enabled them to pool their resources and hold onto it since their late teens when they came into their inheritance. They've had many tenants during the years, but always kept the furnished attic for themselves, even when Night tried spending more time in Philadelphia. He walks the stairs to the top floor and rings the doorbell. Day opens the door after a few beats and pulls him through the common areas, introducing him hastily to the two tenants in the kitchen. They climb the spiral stairs to the loft. The sisters have tried making it as independent as possible, with a sort of hallway of its own, a pantry, as well as a microscopic water closet, installed when Day made the possibly tactical decision to date a HVAC-technician a few years back.
As soon as they're upstairs she turns and hugs him.
"Hi." He says.
"I'm glad it's you instead of Chris, the guy's been driving me crazy lately."
"Well, he's working on driving himself pretty crazy right now, no wonder it's contagious."
"Probably has nothing to do with great life-altering things among his friends." Day remarks.
"Yeah, yeah."
"Tea?"
"Sure."
He takes a turn around the loft. It's been years since he's been there. Things are comfortingly unchanged; strings of colored lights stapled across the tilting ceiling, illuminating what the pale, blue winter-light can't through the few and small loop-holes; Boards sticking out of the walls at random cluttered with books, DVD's and CD's, whenever they'd run out of shelves they'd simply nail up another board, where they could make the space; Rag rugs laying in trails over the bare, uneven wooden floor to dampen sound and help keep the warmth, and, of course, since it's January, an extra heater plugged in, its red light glaring at them from the corner of the room. Things are mostly the same. Except...
"Where's Eris' bowl?"
Day tilts her head at him, pinches her lips before responding.
"She died about four months back."
"No."
"To be fair she was a thousand years old, sustained only by the souls of her outlived enemies in the end."
He chuckles even if his chest aches, it's true, but heartbreaking just the same.
"I'm sorry." He says.
She shrugs.
"I should've texted you."
"You don't owe me anything, Day."
"It's not about debts, Jess." Day lifts the kettle off the cooker and pours boiling water into two cups, adding teabags to both and honey in one of them. "So, what's the deal with the book? I thought it was meant to be fiction, what do you need me for?"
"A reality check. Author went above and beyond with the research and is now worried it's overly factual, hyper-correct."
"Oh boy. But at least I am getting payed. This is the kind of labor you can discuss in terms of debts, incidentally." She walks up to him and hands him the cup.
"Yeah, yeah."
They sit down in the corner couch, and he unpacks two sets of manuscripts and places them on the table consisting of a flat coffer covered in old cigarette-burns and candle wax. He places a pen on one and pushes it towards her. She picks up the stack and starts turning the papers. He tells her which sections to focus on and they fall silent as they read. He wants to ask what Night is up to but is a bit worried it might be a sore subject, so he forces himself to stay quiet.
The extra edit doesn't seem to be useless, though. After a while Day starts muttering to herself, frowning as she crosses out entire sections from the manuscript, sometimes pausing to write a note in the margin.
"How harsh should I be?"
"Say what you want, Day, it's not your job to sugar-coat it, it's mine."
"I'm having a hard time picturing that." Day chuckles.
"Really? I did it with your book."
She exhales indignantly, then scrounges up a page and tosses it at him.
"That's a darling fit to be killed." She says and points to it. He laughs quietly and picks it off the floor.
They work for almost two hours, before ordering take-out and arguing over what album from last year should be deemed best. As usual their criteria are vastly different but it's a time-honored tradition.
The staircase starts creaking and Day gets up.
"Great timing! I'll go pick up the food, see you in a bit."
He has no time to respond before Night's head appears from the opening in the floor.
"Hey, Jess." She steps up into the loft and Day kisses her cheek on her way down.
"Hi." He smiles from the sheer familiarity of seeing her, and quite a bit from relief that she's okay. She returns the smile and walks over leaning into a hug.
"Heard about her Strifeness, I'm sorry." He says.
"Yeah me too, she was a good fur-baby." She clears her throat and gives him a bit of a wicked look. "Heard you knocked your girl up."
"Thanks for the accurate and eloquent summary." He quips, and his chest tightens at the reminder.
"I'd say congrats, if you looked it."
He snorts and shakes his head.
"No, you wouldn't! You used to refer to kids as weeds."
She shoots out her chin.
"Fair enough. But I'm a very empathic person," she weighs from one foot to another, speaks at a softer tone, "and, if the prospect made you happy…"
He finds himself annoyed by the conversation. Here they are, in the apartment where they used to spend so much time, where time seems to have stalled, and she is acting all cautious, polite by her standards, around him, like she didn't know better.
"It's not about being happy. It's about purpose." He says, rather biting. "It's about not being a worthless piece of shit, and unfortunately, I'm predisposed to that particular trait. So, it means staying sharp."
She loses the hint of sardonic smile she's worn this far.
"Are you okay?"
He feels exasperated from speaking, hasn't voiced any of this before, hardly even to himself. He takes a breath before speaking, tries to slow down so that he doesn't unload on his ex-girlfriend who might've asked, but still doesn't deserve to be cast as the psychiatrist.
"I'm a bit tired from worrying about it, probably why I'm not tap-dancing. And-" He hesitates, doesn't want to blow this up, or dismiss it, she knows him too well anyway and would see through such a maneuver. "People keep insisting congratulations is the thing to say like this is some kind of unlocked achievement. The way I see it that's all ahead of us, if we manage not to fuck up the kid there's cause for celebration."
Night raises her eyebrows.
"You writing anything lately?" She asks, tone light.
He sighs.
"No, been busy."
"Huh." She pauses and nods silently, then sits down on the armrest next to him. "Look, seems you got this strong, silent type thing going. But let me tell you about that type: he carries shit 'til he can't anymore, and when that happens..." She stares intently at him. "He breaks. Himself or others. Violence can be patient. So, if you're sticking with this tactic, you're right to be scared."
Shit. She always had a dramatic streak, that's the reason she has more trouble than her sister rolling with the punches.
"Night-"
"No, you should be. Do you think my dad was scared?"
He blinks at the mention of her father, is out of practice of handling his presence in conversations.
"Night-"
"Answer the question."
He takes a breath and answers, it's only fair.
"I don't know, maybe."
"Answer is it doesn't matter; We were scared of him. You think yours was?"
He swallows.
"Yes."
"And he ran. And if you had to choose, yours was the good guy. It's good that you're handling your fears, but you should see a girl about reinforcements."
He grows impatient again, and slightly angry that she would take it that far.
"Night, get to the point or drop this."
She sighs sharply.
"All parents screw their kids up, one way or another, so you might as well wave the white flag right now. Point is there's no possible way you stoop to their level. No way. I know you. You gotta cut yourself some slack." Her expression softens at her last words. That's their go-to-expression. They used it frequently while threshing their issues. He's not ready to hear it though.
"And how do I do that? By entertaining the idea that it's okay to fail this kid? To pull a Jimmy? Or a Liz? None of those are options."
She places a hand on his arm.
"But you don't have to be perfect either! If that's your standard then you are going to fail. You must see that." She pauses, looks around, goes on. "You're thinking about this all wrong – you don't start at the polar opposite of what your parents were, you just vow to do better than they did."
"Well, the bar ain't exactly high."
"So, it'll be super-easy, great!" Her smile returns.
"You sound like Day." He sighs.
"I'm serious. Set the goal to 'be there' and 'no substance abuse'. Perfect parents make sociopathic kids, true story."
"Must be why we're such high-functioning individuals." He finally manages to return the smile and feels a little better.
"We're not perfect, but that 'll serve your kid well." Her expression turns wary. "Have you talked to her about this?"
"Uh-uh." He shakes his head again. "No way. She doesn't need this right now, there are enough issues there without me bringing mine."
"You have to talk to her. It concerns you both." She bites her lower lip. "Remember when I would tell you I was having a bad day?"
"Yeah." It costs her a lot to bring up the past, he's sure. They already have too many sad stories between them to start acknowledging their relationship as another. Isn't that in a way why they kept sleeping together even after they broke up? Why anyone might? To not have to classify it as a complete failure. To keep something good between you. To get to keep hoping for a happy ending. And isn't that why he never got up the nerve to call Rory during those years? Sometimes unresolved is better. There are possibilities in that. An open ending. She continues.
"It didn't save anything but it made me feel better to just say it. You don't need to have some grand solution, just vent a little. I'm sure she's tougher than you think."
Day returns and they eat. Day plays him some new music and she and Night sit on the couch, heads together, lowly discussing Day's comments on the manuscript. He picks a book off one of the shelves and alternates between skimming its pages and looking at the sisters, trying to decipher what they agree on. He wonders what it would be like to have a sibling like that. It's not a new thought, but it's been a while. There's support there, the guaranteed kind. Sometimes it seems his position in relation to everyone he cares about is either protectiveness or self-preservation. He wonders what he would have been like had he had someone so consistently by his side.
After another hour they compose a summarized comment and hands the manuscript back to him. Night goes to get a bottle of wine and uncorks it by the pantry.
"Please!" Day hoots.
"Jess?" Night asks.
He glances at the clock on the wall. It's close to seven. He's tempted to stay and talk, but remember Rory's look before he left, so much for a weekend in New York if she's stuck baby-sitting all night on her own.
"I better not, Rory doesn't seem to fond of my absence these days."
"'These days...'" Night chuckles.
"It's the pregnancy." Day says. "Maggie had the same thing, remember?" She turns to Night.
"Rather than her undying love for me, you mean?"
"I'm sure that's part of it too." Night says overly placating. He smirks and shakes his head.
"Yeah, yeah."
She puts down the bottle and picks up his coat, walking over and handing it to him.
"Guess I'll go be there." He says as he puts it on.
"Good boy." Says Day.
He puts an arm around Night and gives her a squeeze, and waves to Day.
"Thank you."
"Anytime." Night and Day responds simultaneously.
He arrives at the house and is about to ring the doorbell when he remembers that the kids probably are in bed already. He walks down the stairs and looks up to the kitchen window, to see if he can see and contact Rory that way.
She's leaning over the sink rinsing a coffee cup. It's relief that washes over him at the sight. He's surprised. Has struggled keeping it together for her the last week and it's strange to experience that sensation when seeing her again – Experiencing the reason he does the work rather than the work itself.
His thought from before returns. She may not have been consistently there for him through the years, but she did try. Wasn't that why he fell so hard for her in the first place? Her stern expression, involuntary smile, how she bossed him around, or tried. Like they owed each other something from the beginning. She was always so connected to everything, everyone, and he'd never felt connected to anything, anyone, except her.
She looks up and spots him. She smiles with her entire face at him and he returns the smile from the inside out, has no way of stopping it, even if he wanted to. She walks away from the window, and he climbs the stairs again. She opens the door with a finger to her lips. He traps it between their mouths in a kiss. Steps inside locked in the embrace, then pulls back.
"Hi."
"Hi."
She takes a step back, then:
"What?"
"Feels good to see you."
"Really?" She walks into his arms again, putting her face to his neck. He feels her lips move against his skin as she mumbles. "I've been feeling like such a handful lately."
He shivers. Okay, so maybe it's not so much about accepting who you are, or at the very least, not all about that; Maybe it's about who you want to be. This has been true before, when he first met her he might have had the potential of who he is now inside, but he was nowhere near it at the time, and he never would have gotten this far if it wasn't for her, if it wasn't for him trying to better himself for her. He doesn't need to weigh her down, doesn't need to tell her anything, just this.
"Liz called me." She says, still against his neck. "Said Jimmy had tried calling you."
He goes cold and pulls back. Those incognito, and thus ignored, calls.
"What'd you tell her?"
"I took his number, said you'd call if you were up for it."
"Rory," he drags a hand across his forehead, "You can't just- You have to let me handle my parents. You cannot speak for me with Liz, especially not when it comes to Jimmy. I haven't seen him-"
"You haven't seen him in ten years, I know." She frowns. "And you don't want me speaking for you, except for pleasantries, and random chit-chat, or anything to fill the time while you just wait to leave-" Her voice sharpens as she speaks, and he tries cutting her off.
"I did not ask you to do that!"
"I know you didn't, but I cannot build a relationship with your mother on the same premises that you have, if you want it to be civil then I will have to talk, and with the talk you get to know someone and then she calls – me – to ask why you are not picking up..." She gestures vividly while she rants, raises her eyebrows. "Jess!" She locks eyes with him and slows her pace, articulating her words like a kindergarten-teacher. "If you want to handle the relationships with your parents yourself, you're actually going to have to do that!"
She reaches into his coat pocket, pulls up his phone and sticks it in his hand. Then she crosses her arms and actually taps her foot. He'd smile if he wasn't upset. Instead he glares at her.
"Fine!" He turns on the phone and calls Liz back. Rory disappears back into the kitchen while he walks into the living room. Liz picks up on the second ring.
"Hi honey."
"I hear Jimmy called you." He goes, skipping the greeting.
"Yeah, he was trying to get a hold of you as a matter of fact."
Even now he struggles to keep aggression out of his voice. It's the thing to do, but he's learned that for most people the absence of anger doesn't register unless you actively try to sound friendly at the same time.
"Then why call you?"
"Your number isn't listed, genius-"
"So beside the point." He mumbles while she goes on, unfazed.
"-and he doesn't have the best track record with Luke."
"He doesn't have the best track record with any of us. You forget that?" Definitely angry now.
"You're too stubborn, hun." Liz says. "Sometimes you just have to let bygones be bygones."
"Easy for you to say, you should try another tactic one of these days."
"What's that supposed to mean?" There's still humor in her voice, there mostly is these days, but it's not without sharpness now.
"That you could stand to rehash the past occasionally."
She sighs, and her voice goes annoyingly soft again.
"It weighs you down, sweetie."
"Don't call me that." He raises his voice some, but corrects it before going on, to not wake the kids. "Why'd you give him my number?"
"Common sense. How bad could it be? He probably wants to reconnect, what with the baby and all."
"Great. I feel so special."
"He didn't know about it when he called."
"You broke the news. Wonderful." The passive aggressive feels so unworthy, he's ashamed of himself for a moment before going back to being pissed.
"Well, how else would he know?"
He loses what little control he has of his voice and hisses into the phone.
"He wouldn't. Don't tell him my business, don't give out my number, in fact, don't pick up the next time he calls. Let him make his own way in the world, that was your motto regarding me, so why not your grown-ass ex?"
There's a pause on the line, a quiet sigh. Then Liz speaks again, voice low.
"I'll keep that in mind in the future, but it is your future I was thinking of, and your baby's. Don't you want a grandpa for the kid?"
"And that's supposed to be him?" He says, trying to cover up the bitterness with something resembling amusement, failing miserably. "I've had no choice. He's my fucking father. But he's never made use of that. D'you know what I want? I want for him to not claim vacant titles. He doesn't get to get to create that hole in my child."
Another pause, and he doesn't miss that this is the first time he's used that word for the baby they're expecting, the first time he's expressed some kind of protectiveness of someone who isn't even here, someone he doesn't even know yet.
"Alright, Jess. I'm sorry." Her voice is dampened.
"Fine." He manages, doesn't want to hang up in anger but he has no real words to offer her as a tranquilizer, hasn't had since he was a kid, can't forgive one slight without forgiving all.
He hangs up. Takes a few breaths before turning his phone off again and walking back into the hallway. He takes off his coat and hangs it on the hall stand, before walking into the kitchen. Rory's leaning against the kitchen-table, eyes to an open magazine, but she looks up when he enters. She tilts her head, face sympathetic.
"What made him think he'd be welcome?" He mumbles. "In what deluded part of his head did he imagine that I would be happy about this?"
She sighs.
"Maybe it's not about you." She says. "And maybe it's an opportunity for something new, Jess."
He's about to protest, when the lock on the door rattles. They walk into the hallway as Paris enters it through the front door.
"Oh, thank god! Appropriately friendly faces. Faces in which the friendly and familiar match!" She climbs out of her coat.
He ducks back into the kitchen and pours her a glass of wine, holding it out for her when she enters, closely followed by Rory.
"How was your date?"
Paris grabs the glass from his hand and perches herself on one of the stools before taking a sip.
"Strictly ceremonial as far as I'm concerned. I might have been able to enjoy it too, the food and wine were great, if he hadn't been all up in my business for validation we could've made it to dessert. Men are such girls."
"You know, Paris, validation is sort of what most people go on dates for." Rory says.
"Oh, please! You might go hoping for it but there is none guaranteed. Every girl with half a brain knows this. A grown man should know of better ways for acquiring appreciation than flashing his paycheck, especially around a woman who can match him in that respect."
"Oh, honey! Did he talk about the knot-capacity of his yacht?"
"Like I care, right? Especially since I get seasick within a square-mile of a dock. I even tried slipping that into the conversation, but apparently it made no difference."
"So, no chance to discuss Kerouac?" Jess interjects, slightly amused.
"I wish. It would've been so much better if he was some uninformed beats-fanboy, no offense-"
"None taken."
"-I would've gladly engaged in lively discussion about the food, even if, great as it was, food is for putting into your mouth, not having seminars on." She bites her lip, staring at her wine. "I miss Doyle."
"Can't you call him?" Rory asks softly. Paris looks up.
"That's not the issue. I'm sure he would relish an emotional booty call from me, I just don't think he deserves one. We were a unique fit, but that didn't stop him from riding into the smoggy sunset. And he even had the gall to try to blame it on me. Said that my negativity smothered him. Like that's news! I'm not a sweet person, I was never a sweet person. It's not like it was some new facet of my personality suddenly appearing, and even if it did it shouldn't really matter because we had a life together and expecting a person to stay the same through an entire life is just... unfair." She sighs, frustration clear. Then goes on, lower. "So maybe he changed, changed his mind, and maybe I should give him a break over it. But he's so far away. And, there aren't many other candidates out there for me." She frowns, face stern again. "So, I might be stuck missing him, but I don't think I could take him back. I think I would be worse for it, if that's even possible."
Rory walks up to Paris and puts her arm around her. Paris leans her head on Rory's shoulder.
"Sorry." She mumbles.
"Shut up." Rory retorts.
Jess weighs between feet. He and Paris do better in verbal spars.
"Hey, uhm, you wanna watch a movie or something?" He tries.
"God yes." Paris says. She grabs her wine glass and slides off the chair, grabbing the bottle off the counter while heading into the living room. Rory slowly follows her. Jess reaches for her when she's passing him.
"Rory."
She turns to him.
"You were right. It's none of my business." She says.
"Forget about that!" He's regretful in an instant. "It is your business. It's our business. But I was wrong to have you pull all the weight. I won't do that anymore."
She squeezes his hand and smiles slightly. He goes on, quickly, before Paris starts missing them.
"I don't want us being in this situation where we try to run different ships because we can't figure out one issue. I don't want that space between us, I don't need it, it's not good for anything except filling with shit."
Her smile grows with amusement and tenderness, and she chuckles. She runs her thumb over his palm.
"I appreciate the sentiment, but you do need it. And I'm guessing I will do too once I evict this tenant of mine. Just, everything in moderation." She leans in and kisses him, mumbles against his lips. "Except that."