A sign is to be found, won't come looking for you. - Deep Sky Diver, Husky
October 2017, Stars Hollow
Something happens in New York. Or has already happened. Something shifts. It's not dramatic, on the surface everything is the same. It's more like finishing a book, which you do with a word, one of so, so many. For one thing, he started having his phone on when he's not with them, that's one of the many words before the last one. And he misses them, that's several sentences, on getting used to being with rather than without.
But he has to work. There's a number of meetings with a bigger publishing house who wants to reissue some of their books, and Chris has tried dealing with this stuff but has called on the verge of tears - manly tears, okay? - because people are such pricks when it comes to money and why can't they just pay what it's worth? Jess is better at this, he's scary, he can make people cry using no words, it's like dark magic.
So, fine. He goes and stays with Paris for a couple of nights. He's done it before, the two of them get on surprisingly well and her kids seem to like him for some reason. And he thinks about Jimmy and then swears to himself, might even mumble 'stop being so stubborn' and directs his thoughts to James, who he's talked to a few times since the funeral, and it helps.
Anyway, he does his thing, effectively, and he goes for walks and reads and writes between meetings but still feels a bit like the only living boy in New York when he's away from them and vows to train Matt and Chris to do this or to practice himself at communicating deadening silence over the phone, or in a damn email, he's a writer after all, how hard could it be?
It's Thursday evening and he gets back to Paris's at seven and she meets him in the hallway.
"Rory called. She and Will are coming for dinner tomorrow, so you don't need to rush packing up if that was your intention." She hands him the wireless phone. "She said she'll call again after she puts Will to bed, oh, and she said to tell you to start living in the twenty-first century and turn you damn phone on."
He sighs.
"She did not, Paris."
"She meant to, reactionary." She bites.
"Can it. And I didn't turn it off, my battery ran out."
"So? What modern man doesn't keep a charger with him? You have a kid now, you know. You can't just not be available."
It's just Paris over-reacting again, but she has a point. He must look guilty too, because she reaches into a drawer, pulls out a cordless charger and hands it to him.
"Load it, use it." She says.
"Thanks," he says. "Do you want me to say g'night to the kids?"
"Please," Paris sighs. "Those little monsters have forfeited any right to any treat tonight. They're going straight to bed."
"Okay." He heads for the stairs. "I can make breakfast tomorrow if you want though, I've got an early start."
Paris smiles, in that way of hers that makes it seems she's a bit annoyed about it.
"Thanks, that's nice."
"I'm a nice person."
She takes a step towards the kitchen but turns before entering it.
"I'm watching The Late Show in a bit you can muster it."
He nods.
"Sure, I'll be down later."
He walks upstairs to the guest room, and drops his stuff in the corner. Gets on the bed and plugs in the phone as well as the charger, picks up his book and waits for his son to fall asleep back in Philadelphia. The phone only has time for one ring when she calls.
"Hi."
"Hi."
The sound of her voice makes him smile.
"He was good tonight." He says. It's not a question, Will's routines are pretty rigid by now, and it's earlier than he usually falls asleep.
"Very. Katey was here earlier with Luna. He's all socialized out."
"Sorry for not picking up earlier."
"Don't worry about it, why would you even-" At first she sounds surprised, then the amusement is audible by the skip in her voice. "Did Paris give you a hard time about that?"
"A bit." He admits.
"And you actually listened? That's cute."
"Shut up."
"You can't make me," she teases.
He changes the subject.
"So, you're coming here."
"Yes. I'm in a New York state of mind. I had this craving for the AMNH."
"Really?"
"If I could explain it I would. It was probably the first thing I ever visited in the city, so now that I'm spending every waking moment channeling Will I'm probably regressing." She laughs.
"Well, my last meeting is tomorrow morning, but I'll probably be done by ten thirty."
"We can meet there."
They go on talking a while longer. She asks about the meetings and tells him about lunch with Katey and gossips about Matt's latest oversight. The couple is hanging in there but seems incapable of communicating clearly. Strange, since they had no problems in that department before they had kids, no apparent ones anyway. It would make him uncomfortable listening to complaints about Matt if he wasn't sort of indebted to Katey for her inconspicuous advice before Will came along. There are things he'll never fully understand about that particular piece of human experience, about being a mother, but he could try, and at least not being a total klutz about it.
Then they hang on for a little while to a quiet line. It might be impossible using hard silence as a tactic in business negotiations, but the silence of separated lovers speaks volumes. He thinks he might write something about it. They say goodbye. They hang up.
The next day he spots them outside the museum. She's pacing with Will in her arms, speaking to him by the movement of her mouth, some soft nonsense. The love evident in her face, the way she grazes the baby's head with her lips as she talks. Will holds his head, his blue eyes darting around the place in incoherent curiosity. He grabs hold of his mother's hair for support and she smiles, broadly, but a bit uncomfortably in response, and tilts her head trying to adjust his viselike grip, while he works to fit his other fist in his mouth. She's pale and looks tired, from three days without backup. She throws glances over her shoulder supposedly looking for him. There's a tug in his chest and his feet wants to move forward, but he remains standing, staring at them for moments, while something falls into place for him. She's there, baby in arms, and he sees her mother in her place, hell, even Liz flashes before his eyes. Lonely and strong, or strung out depending on who you picture, looking, waiting for someone. They're locked in their own obviousness, imperfect and real and he sees himself entering that too. He's part of the picture. He's supposed to be. He finally closes the distance. She looks up as he approaches and smiles at him.
"Hey you."
"Hi." He swallows and reaches for Will before he's slowed to a halt. She hands him over with relief evident.
"Oh, thank goodness!" She exhales. "He's extremely handsy today."
He chuckles.
"Hi guy." He says. "I missed you."
Will responds by grabbing his hair and neck with strong hands armed with sharp but soft nails pulling himself closer, like a baby-monkey.
Jess puts his lips against Will's head and breathes though it. And he understands Jimmy, and Christopher too, knows they ran, stayed away because of how scared they felt, but he's neither one of them. He won't. And it's possible that understanding that is a little bit like forgiveness. He puts his free hand around her neck and pulls her into a kiss, her hands sneak around his waist. When they part her eyes are happy. Both more awake and relaxed at the same time. She smiles.
"I wanna see the whale."
"Okay."
And then there's Philadelphia; A couple of days later they're back home. He's putting Will to bed and thinks that this is the best part. Possibly of his entire life. There's a natural annoyance in getting Will to sleep. He has what his name implies after all and is stubborn. He'll keep his eyes wide open and move around when he's dozing off in order to stay awake. And just when you've given up and accepted the idea of never getting your arms back and you stare at the wall, there's this mood that gets you, a good twenty to thirty minutes into the thing, a meditative state that grabs you, and it's like magic, because the kid feels it too, and drifts off. And then, there's peace.
He loves her, no question of that, there's only her, but he's rarely at complete peace with her, even when they share quiet union, there's a shimmer at the edge of things that keeps him awake to it. But with Will, after he's fallen asleep on his chest, everything is so clear, so calm. He sits longer than he has to, and often volunteers even when it's her turn. Repeats Katey's words about there being things she can't not do, to explain it, and it's true, but that's not why he does it.
He does it because he feels meant to. It's a newly articulated feeling. Belonging in a role, in a place, and he's sometimes baffled that this is it. Being a parent. Always assumed he would suck at it, that he would be doomed to repeat his parents' disastrous mistakes. That it would take all his willpower all the time to keep up with Rory. Instead it's obvious, these days. Simple, easy, not because it doesn't take work, but because it's absolute purpose, no doubt. Becoming what you need to be is one thing, becoming what you needed... it's a surprise.
After a while he gets up and inches Will into his crib and walks over to the door. It seems no matter how well his son sleeps in either parent's arms he'll wake up at the wrong creak of the bedroom door, or the floor right by it. As Jess widens the crack in the door, two voices, just before only audible as a murmur through the wall, becomes clear.
"-they are so close-minded! Like we can't do surf music because we're an east coast band!" Lane's voice crackles through the phone on speaker Rory keeps next to her while she folds laundry and hums in response. He halts and turns to see if the increased sound has any effect on Will. "It's ridiculous! Zack is such a dude, like the original kind! If he'd been born out there that's all he'd play."
"And he'd be dissing Lou Reed." Rory confirms.
Will turns over, so Jess remains at the door, waiting, watching, listening.
"Speaking of California – how's Jess doin' with everything?"
He wouldn't eavesdrop if he could help it. But now he's stuck.
"Not sure." Rory's voice lowers. "I mean, he seems stable." She falls quiet.
"You think he's not?"
A moment passes before Rory responds.
"It's obvious that he's processing stuff, so I'm sort of afraid of jumping to conclusions. Before the funeral, I was so worried about him 'cause he was just killing himself with work and not talking, but now..."
"He mutated into a regular chatty-Kathy? We should probably alert the media." Lane quips.
"He smiles more." Rory says.
"No!" Lane's voice is an incredulous whisper.
"He's calmer, and-" Rory falls quiet.
"What?"
There's a pause.
"Better!" Rory says. "And it almost seems wrong to say it because his dad died, I just don't know how to explain it."
"Closure can do a world of good."
"I didn't feel better after my grandpa's funeral." Rory's voice is low, monotonous.
"I know." Lane comforts. "But not everybody handles that stuff the same way."
"At the ceremony, he was a mess." Rory goes on. "But it's weird, that just reminded me- Like, him being broken then made it obvious how together he is these days."
Lane chuckles.
"Well, your boy is sort of an enigma at times, but I'm betting you know him better than anyone, if he seems like he's better he probably is."
"And I can't help it; I feel better." Rory says after a few seconds. "In California... I could help him."
"I'm pretty sure you're helping him all the time." Lane interjects.
"Maybe, but I never feel like I know what I'm doing."
"It's not rocket science, you just support each other. That goes a long way."
"That's what they say." Rory mumbles, and when she speaks again it's a bit louder, quicker. "I guess I just have an easier time seeing what he brings to the table, and I know that guys get twice rewarded for a woman's work and if you breathe a word of this to Paris we're gonna have a problem, but... He's great, not just on guy-scale." There's relief, a song in her voice. "He's so good with Will. And with me. And I'm not even surprised, because, y'know, it's him." She pauses, laughs on an exhale. "And I knew he was. Even when we were kids. It's just, my concept of what that could mean was so limited, but I knew then what I know now." She sounds breathless. "I knew it."
The elation in her voice vibrates in his chest too. He swallows to keep it there. Lane laughs.
"Y'know I used to think that maybe you had your head stuck so deep in the sand regarding his feelings about you because it was sort of uneven between you, like maybe he loved you a bit more than you loved him. But... You shoulda heard yourself just now."
There's silence. His heartbeat rings inside his head. Then Lane's voice again.
"Feels good being right, doesn't it?"
Rory's smile beams through her voice.
"Yes."
The floor boards creak and Jess winces.
"I gotta go." She says. "Bye." There's a beep when she ends the call.
He quickly turns his head towards the crib to check for signs that Will is waking up again, but it's still. He turns back and is face to face with Rory who's peeking in through the crack in the door. They're inches apart and she smiles a little, expression searching.
"Is he waking up?"
"No. I think we're okay." He exits the room, but they remain outside the door for a few extra seconds. She listens for Will, but throws glances his way, cheeks a bit pink. Mostly it's a well-needed piece of acceptance that slides into place inside him, right in that tiny, mundane moment, the relief causing him to feel almost euphoric. Becoming, no, being what you want to be; What she wants. Being enough. He smiles at her without giving anything away, at least not to his knowledge. But that's not saying much when it comes to her. She might be different from him in a lot of ways, but she knows him, better than anyone. She's about to move when he puts an arm around her waist and kisses her, slowly, keeping their faces together, breathing the same air as her. Maybe she catches on at that if not before.
Lorelai calls. In a distracted moment right after Will was born she promised Taylor the Inn to host a party for the presidents of all the county's, or if it was the entire state's, beautification committees and promptly forgot about it. To add insult to injury she's given large parts of her kitchen staff the weekend off to compensate for late fall's upcoming rush. She's managed to get Luke to do the food and will double as concierge and waitress herself but still needs kitchen staff and is desperate enough to ask them.
"Pretty please with all the cherries!" She whines through the speaker on the phone. "It's partly your fault, you know! Your kid distracted me and now I'm screwed if I don't fix this. Liz and Doula will watch Will, or you can keep him in the kitchen like a little mascot, and I promise I'll never ask you to do anything else ever, just help me out here!"
Rory's feeding Will and just laughs.
"I'm not the hard sell missy- or is it mississy these days? Huh. You gotta convince Jess."
"Why?" Lorelai grumbles. "Can't you just boss him around like a normal Gilmore woman? 'You gotta convince Jess' - Like he'd have a choice if you put your foot down!"
Jess is changing the mattress in the crib and shakes his head with a smile at Lorelai's word.
"Okay." He says. "We'll do it."
There's a pause on the other end. Then:
"Really?"
"Sure." He says. "I was gonna say no, but since you asked so nicely."
Rory stares at him with an expression she imagines Lorelai shares three states over.
"What?" He says.
"Nothing." Rory responds quickly. "Guess we'll be there mom."
They drive up early the day in question. Rory's at the wheel for once while Jess is in the back with Will. She looks at them in the rearview mirror occasionally and smiles. It's truly amazing how ordinary things like driving a car, going to get groceries, having an hour to yourself to clean feels like freedom these days. If she didn't do that her arms would always be full. Hence the willingness to drive even if she hates it at longer trips. Will sleeps for a large portion of the drive, but when he wakes up, it's necessary to have a servant ready and waiting. Jess will hand him toys and stuff to chew on to keep the peace; They learned that tactic through trial and error.
They arrive at noon and park at the house. Lorelai exits it onto the porch, waving and skipping a bit in excitement. Rory waves back and gets their overnight bag from the passenger seat. Jess gets out of the car and undoes the belt holding Will's seat in place in the back. She makes a mental note to get a new one, he's getting too big for this one.
With both son and chair in hand Jess walks up to Lorelai and pecks her cheek. Lorelai doesn't have a poker face, more of a joker face, she can smile through anything. And she does now too, but her eyes widen at the touch, and she shoots Rory a perplex stare as Jess passes her heading indoors. Rory returns the look and shrugs in response. She walks up to her mother and repeats Jess's move.
"What was that?" Lorelai hisses and gestures after Jess.
"Would you like to file a formal complaint?" Rory raises her eyebrows at Lorelai who's lower lip drops.
"Of course not- It's just..." Her words falter.
"New." Rory fills in. Pauses, then: "But good, right?"
"Obviously." Lorelai responds. "I'll just have to think of appropriate responses."
Rory sighs.
"Please don't turn this into something. Not everything needs to be balanced. Just, accept this good thing, come on mom! I believe in you." She shoves her mother gently and she nods in reluctant acceptance before they both head inside.
They have a late lunch a little while later and go over the menu and plan for the event; A three course meal with luckily just a few of the participants staying at the Inn for the night.
"So, Jess, what have you been up to lately?" Lorelai asks when they've wrapped up what they need to.
It's rare that she in particular asks him in particular so exclusively what's going on and Rory blushes a little at the knowledge that her mother is prodding him for the reason his demeanor to her has changed. If Jess notices the same thing he makes nothing of it.
"I've been writing. A lot. Changed the outline for my project, it's still the same story, but the theme is different." His answer is direct, and Rory smiles at him.
Lorelai looks at him curiously.
"What's the theme?"
"Parenthood. Or lack thereof. Sort of." He smiles a little but looks away, a bit embarrassed, like he figured out right then that he was giving away something flawed and unfinished. She grabs his hand under the table. Lorelai doesn't ask any more questions.
They finish lunch and Luke heads to the Inn to start preparations for the evening. Lorelai goes for a walk.
Will winds up taking his afternoon nap on blankets on the living room floor with Rory and Jess on the couch. He has his head in her lap, and she reads sections aloud from her book to him. There's a knock at the door after a while and he gets up to let Liz and Doula in. The simple fact that Liz babysitting was an option is definite proof of something being different in him. He shows them where everything connected to Will is, including the list of his general schedule. Then they sit and talk in the kitchen for a while waiting for the little guy to wake up before they can leave. When Will wakes up Rory feeds him before handing him to Doula. After that she and Jess walk to the Inn.
They hear Taylor's voice as soon as they arrive. It's still hours until his dinner, of course he is here.
"I was led to believe that there would be a Saint-James level of culinary discourse when I booked the Dragonfly, and I find you here-"
They exchange a glance and pick up their pace.
"If I wanted to offer a slice of Americana I'd certainly bring my guests to Luke's, with a stop at the Soda Shoppe to finish with. But that was not what I had in mind at all. Where is Lorelai? I need to discuss this with her right away."
Taylor has Luke trapped in the dining room close to the kitchen entrance, and the latter looks like one would be expected to under those circumstances.
"Taylor, do you honestly think that I'm incapable of cooking anything but burgers?" He objects. "I've worked here on and off for years and people don't seem to notice the difference between me and whatever fancy name currently on the payroll, except that the fries are better when I'm in charge."
"Fries?" Taylor sneers. "Luke, these people won't be impressed by the best French Fries in France! They are expecting Dauphinois, Papas Arrugadas, Hasselbacks. I've certainly never seen these dishes in your diner!"
"Because it's a diner, Taylor!" He's definitely losing his patience.
"He's not throwing you with all those names, uncle Luke?" Jess says, amusement clear as he walks into the room.
"Don't encourage this, please!" Luke growls, without looking at him.
Taylor turns around, frowning at the sound of Jess's voice, but tilts his head and smiles when he sees Rory.
"Rory! What a lovely surprise." He glances to Jess and drops the smile momentarily, managing a curtly nod before returning his attention to Rory. "What are you doing here?"
"We're working your dinner, Taylor!" Rory says sunnily, innocently, with a hint of sadism from the pleasure of delivering the terrible news that she hopes is only noticeable to those who know her well.
Taylor's smile fades even if he tries to maintain it.
"We needed a break from changing diapers." Jess adds deadpan and flashes a smile when Taylor looks at him, panic visible.
"I sure could use a chat with your mother." Taylor tries.
"I'm pretty sure she was gonna keep her phone turned off for at least another hour," Rory says, "it's important that when you're off the clock, it's really off, you know?"
She pats Taylor's shoulder and heads into the kitchen, but Jess stays. She knows a not so small part of him enjoys seeing Luke rubbed the wrong way, especially on those occasions when he ends up going nuclear on the townies. She stops right inside the doors to keep listening, peeks out through the glass in the door. Taylor pulls out his phone and taps the screen, pensive.
"I suppose I could go find her-" He starts.
"Oh, give it a rest, Taylor!" Luke bursts out. "You're getting this event at the friendliest of discounts! And if you bother my wife on her time off I'll be sure to fry every fricking Hasselback tonight!"
"Oh man!" Jess puts a hand on Luke's shoulder. "Messing with the kitchen will get you into some gnarly situations. Especially when you're dealing with high cuisine. I have this buddy working as a scullion at this Michelin-place, told me about this one guy ordering Swiftlet nest-soup, sent it back because it 'tasted funny', like he had vast experience with the dish-" He chuckles. "Let's just say, bird-spit would've been a welcome ingredient in what he got back. He thought it tasted great though." Luke stares at him and Taylor's gone white. Jess drops the smile, like he just figured out who was present, and turns to Taylor, serious, defensive hand-gesture. "Not that I'd ever do anything like that."
Taylor backs off. He can't handle Luke with backup. He puts away the phone and walks out into the lobby instead. Luke follows him, supposedly to make sure he doesn't get any ideas. Jess turns and walks into the kitchen snickering to himself. Rory pokes his side as he enters.
"What buddy?" She says.
He turns to regard her, she raises an eyebrow, and crosses her arms.
"Who's your scullion-buddy?" She repeats.
He smiles.
"No one of substance."
She shakes her head but smiles in return.
"A good story's a good story." He shrugs.
After a few moments Luke bursts through the door, muttering to himself.
"Awaiting your orders, sir." Jess says.
Luke turns and glares at him.
"Thanks." He says caustically.
"Hey, that guy is the personification of 'asking for it'."
Luke ignores the comment and steps into the role of chef instead. He points to Jess.
"You get started on the potatoes," he gestures to Rory, "and you can set the tables."
"Ay-ay, sir." Jess goes without missing a beat. She stifles a giggle and salutes Luke.
"You're a handful today." Luke sighs.
"I'm a delight." Jess retorts and winks at her as she exits the kitchen, still smiling.
She goes over the guest-list, moves tables together and sets them, folds napkins and places the cutlery next to each seat, polishes the glasses and pushes the chairs all the way in. When she gets back in the kitchen Luke is prepping the first course while Jess is sliding plates of different potato-dishes into the oven. The radio is on and turned to the local station claiming to feature classic rock - the term applied generously as the selection is way wide and what normally would be considered classic rock has just been banished, possibly to plain classical. The songs range from eighties punk and nineties hair-rock as well as the popularized subgenres of art rock, mostly ballads, and they insist on playing Don't Stop Believing every hour on the hour. She makes eye-contact with Jess who shrugs.
"Don't look at me."
She turns to Luke.
"It's your mother's station of choice!" He goes, hands up.
She smiles.
"Fair enough. What's my next mission?"
"You're on salad."
She gets the ingredients from the fridge and starts chopping.
Lorelai arrives, already in her work clothes. She pecks Rory and Luke on a cheek each and pats Jess on the head after a second of hesitation. Rory chuckles silently and her mother shoots her a defensive look before strapping on an apron and disappearing into the dining room.
Rory's worked these types of events before with her mother and is aware of the rhythm; The busiest time is up until the main course gets served, then it slows down. They load the entrees onto the plates while the president of the presidents holds a welcoming speech, and Lorelai serves them on her own. Luckily the main course will be served as a buffet, so it only takes them a few minutes to get it ready once it's cooked. They all help preparing the deserts, but it's at least an hour before they're bound to be served, so Lorelai goes to clean out the reception and Luke to feed the horses. Rory does the inventory in the kitchen - any excuse to make a list - and Jess chops fruit for the desert.
Joan Jett's Crimson and Clover comes on the radio and he actually starts humming along. She folds over in laughter.
"What!?" He protests. "Philly-pride!"
"Wynnewood!" She laughs.
"Exclusionist!" He sticks out his tongue at her. He goes back to chopping, but she keeps looking at him with a broad smile.
"You're in a good mood." She says.
He freezes for a moment before putting down the knife and turning to her, guilty expression.
"I've been grumpy." He slowly goes.
She doesn't lose her smile but shoots out her chin and steps closer to him.
"Grumpier. And only for the better part of a year." She says lightly. "It's okay, though. It's understandable. And I didn't choose you for your sunny demeanor." She reaches out and briefly strokes his hand.
"I've been worried." He admits.
"Really?" She's trying not to be sarcastic, but it is sort of their thing.
He doesn't seem to fall into that trap today though.
"Afraid, really." He expands. "Still am. But, I've been sort of ignoring it, like, taking one day at the time, trying not to think about what's at stake."
"Everything, all the time." She fills in, earnest by now.
"Right," he nods, "and that's been my tactic since we got together." He pauses. "But it hasn't really been sustainable since Will was born, so I've been looking for something different, some way I could be braver."
She smiles, tender at once.
"You're funny."
"I assume not as in ha-ha?"
She takes another step towards him.
"You know what they call people who go around doing stuff even if they're scared to? Brave."
He chuckles.
"Well, maybe I'm shooting for a more professional bravery, getting so used to it that I don't have to ignore it."
She tilts her head.
"Get to the point."
"Fine." He looks her in the eyes to hold her attention, then diverts his gaze, like he does when he has to focus on the talking thing. "I stopped ignoring it. Since Jimmy died. I'm talking to Will about it."
Her smile is broad and unstoppable.
"You talk to Will?"
"Just a little. A few minutes a day."
"You talk to Will?"
"He doesn't seem to mind either way."
"You talk to Will?"
"Stupid, I know, I should probably talk to the plants instead, give them a boost." He talks quickly, probably hoping it'll be over sooner.
She puts a hand over her mouth, not sure why, then starts gesturing to emphasize her words.
"Okay, first: that is the most adorable thing I've ever heard, and second: It's good that you're talking to our infant. He may not get it yet, but he's gonna-" She pauses and tries getting rid of the smile, so he'll take her seriously. "Communication is important. He should get the boost." She finishes.
He sighs with a slightly relieved smile and turns back to his task. She's about to get back to hers when she notices he isn't getting started. He bites his lip and she looks at him searchingly for a moment. Then he turns back to her, opens his mouth and speaks.
"Why did you?"
"Why did I what?"
He swallows.
"Pick me. You could've had someone else. Anyone else."
She laughs, somewhat tensely.
"You're full of it! Anyone can fit with anyone if you cut off enough pieces." She shrugs. "Besides, there's not one answer to that question."
He nods. Looks back to his chopping board. She tilts her head closer to his to regain his attention. Doesn't want to lose the connection. It's the first time he's actively asked for any kind of affirmation, confirmation, and she likes that he did, likes getting asked by him instead of a myriad of skeptical minds. Likes that he's asking for what he needs. He's the only one she feels she wants to convince, to tell, anyway.
"I could still try to answer, if you like me to?" She offers.
He doesn't respond with words but puts down his knife again and turns to her, expression tentative.
"I went to the lake so I didn't have to adapt what I felt to anyone, thought I had to be alone for that." She starts. "But I wasn't. And it was you who were there, like you'd been waiting for me. And maybe I got ready then, because someone or anyone weren't offering what you were."
"Which was?"
She thinks about it for a second.
"All of it. All of you. I didn't want bits and puzzle pieces anymore. And I wanted to be intact. Not sure I knew that then, but I do now." She pauses. "I want the whole enchilada." She laughs a little to herself. "Hardly surprising, but I think I deserve it." She looks at him and he smiles at her when she does, takes a step closer to her, and she gestures to show she's not finished. "But listen, the truth is that it didn't really feel like a choice. And that was sort of what I liked about it."
He smiles, eyes warm.
"Thank you." He puts an arm around her, pulls her closer. Their lips are an inch apart when Can't Fight This Feeling comes on the radio. He lets go of her and winces. "Ah geez! Top five musical sins of the eighties."
"Not that bad." She objects.
"'Throw away the oars, forever'? Come on!"
"Aw, you know the lyrics."
"Nice spin, you should work for Trump."
She gapes at him, eyes wide.
"Take that back! Immediately! Or we're breaking up!"
He winces.
"Alright! That was taking it too far."
She shakes her head at him.
"Too scary... oh, listen, the drums!"
She hits air drums with some pretty impressive accuracy if she may say so herself, but fumbles with the pen and it drops to the floor. He gets down to get it, and then, sort of freezes in the moment.
"Hey." He reaches for her hand and she provides it, grabbing his as if to help him up. He doesn't make any attempt at getting up, however, but puts her hand to his forehead. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, come on! I was just kidding before!" She laughs. "Well, not about working for Trump, I'd rather peel off all my skin and jump into The Dead Sea, or attend anger management with Paris, or coach debutants for the DAR, or give up coffee, or, you know, be dead, but I wasn't gonna break up with you over a stupid joke."
She smiles triumphantly at her own wittiness. He chuckles, but stays where he is, doesn't let go of her hand. She frowns.
"What do you have to be sorry about?" She says, tilting her head.
"About the wedding, how I asked you." It takes a couple of seconds for the reference so sink in, and by then his expression is serious. "It wasn't honest."
Her heart starts pounding hard.
"Jess-" She starts without any clear direction, but he obviously has one.
"Like an idiot I've been racking my brain, trying to think of a way to prove to you- and that was it, and I couldn't even do that properly. So, you were right to turn me away 'cause I offered it up like it was some favor when it should've been what it is."
She's thirty-two but there's no way she's not thinking about when she was twenty-two right now. Comparing notes.
"Ror, I love you." He lets it hang in the air for a second and she's unable to think of a response that makes any sense when he's on his knees in front of her. "I keep doing that, every version of you, I haven't stopped since I started and that's a long time ago. So, maybe that means that it was made for people like me. And I don't need you to marry me to keep it up, I lived without you for so long and still did, but I do need to ask so that you know that it's not some sacrifice or some convenience..." He takes a breath. "It's how I feel."
She's thirty-two and the father of her child, not like any father she's known before, actually asks her to marry him, no weapons of any kind involved. No plurals except duos. There's no way he planned this because then he wouldn't be on his knees on a greasy kitchen floor with no ring and the possibility of his uncle or her mom walking in at any moment and she wouldn't be dressed in jeans and t-shirt. But he did ask before, sort of, they did graze the subject, so he has thought about it, without telling anyone, probably.
"So, I'm gonna ask you, and it doesn't make any sense. But I think that's exactly why I should." He looks at her shoes. "Because I know you've been scared too, 'bout me leaving and I could insist all I want that I won't but as big as you are on words I don't think they're enough, for neither one of us. And this thing, this unpractical, stupid, symbolic, thing -" He looks back to her face. "- it's as close to an action that I'm gonna get."
She's thirty-two and some might argue the love of her life proposes in front of no one. Not because tradition demands it, or to save the relationship, or to build something new. Because of what they already have.
"This is it for me. I'm yours. And if you don't wanna, it changes nothing for me, but if I'd had half a brain I would have asked you before, one or two years ago, or earlier even, and I wouldn't- Because that's what I've always felt. That's what I meant when I said we're supposed to be together."
She's learned by now that the storybook endings aren't endings but starts of new chapters in the same old story, and if she'd known that when she was twenty-two she might have answered differently, but she's far from sure it would've made a difference in the long run. During the years before her grandfather died, she thought about saying no, a lot, regretted it sometimes. Now she's happy, because she gets to have this instead.
She gets on her knees too, twisting her hand from his grip and grasping his wrists instead.
"Don't do this to me!" She says, voice shaking.
"What?" He looks distinctly vulnerable.
"Don't make this stupid song part of the record."
He laughs in a breath, smiles broadly going on wicked.
"It's to REO Speedwagon or not at all."
She laughs too and looks at him, searching.
"Wait, I'm confused. Was this you asking me now or-"
He drags a hand through his hair, shaking his head.
"I suck at this. I should've planned this better, laid better groundwork."
"Isn't that why you're on your knees?" She jokes.
He looks taken by her words.
"Sure." He laughs and is about to speak again when footsteps approach.
He gets up quickly and pulls her with him and they're on their feet just as Luke enters the kitchen again. They look at him and he looks back, frowning. She smiles, a bit too broadly at him, but when she turns to get back to work catches the same smile in Jess's face. And it doesn´t go away. She feels it the remainder of the evening while they work. And every time she looks at Jess it's back with him too. His eyes are shining, and she feels her cheeks ache a little.
Even as they head home it stays: an electric thread between them. They stay close to each other while they walk, while they thank Liz and Doula for their help and send them on their way, and when they check on a contently sleeping Will. She's aware of their shoulders against each other as they brush their teeth and she feels like a cat, stroking herself to his side. She slips in between him and the sink and starts unbuttoning his shirt with breaks for pushing her face against his neck, he strokes her hair. When she looks at him her chest aches, but it's from happiness this time, from feeling in sync, open, and knowing the feeling is mutual. In bed they lock together firmly and softly at the same time. Entwined, they face each other. He's hard against her thigh, and she feels her pulse like lapping waves between her legs, but there's no haste, nothing veiled between their gazes, they're still all there, and the smile keeps travelling from one to the other. She finds herself thinking that she's safe. And it's his words that have made her feel that way. They're invincible right now, and maybe even from here on out, so she asks.
"Since when have you loved me?" She whispers through a giddy smile and feels both exhilarated and vulnerable at the same time. It takes him a second to respond, his eyes glittering in the murky room.
"Uhm... early. Probably started the moment you called me Dodger." She smiles and feels slightly dazed while his expression gains resolve. "But I didn't know it then, I just felt it. Then after the Basket-thing I'd feel it when you weren't around and then-" he pauses. "When you asked me to make friends with your mom I knew what it was and after the accident I admitted it and when you came to New York I... accepted it." She's taken by the words, feels out of breath. "When you stepped out of that car at the lake-" He smiles and shakes his head. "I thought I was hallucinating." She wets her bottom lip and swallows. "And now I'm gonna do you a solid and not ask you the same question." He finishes, and if she didn't know better she'd say he was blushing.
"Would you settle for knowing that it was early for me too?" She says on a breath.
"I'd settle for anything you." He whispers. He puts his forehead to hers. "Do you wanna know something weird?"
"Yes."
"You know I'm happy, right?"
She chuckles.
"I figured."
"Well, even now, I sometimes dream about then. We'll be eighteen and I'll stay, talk. I'll wake up feeling hoarse from all the words. Or we'll be nineteen and you'll come away with me, we'll just drive. Or we'll be at Truncheon that time you came, and we'll kiss, and we won't stop. And it's like, those dreams were part of me for so long I can't shake 'em even when I don't need 'em anymore. And now I'll wake up and you'll be here and Will and I'll have to realize that none of that happened. This happened."
She thinks about it for a while.
"Oh, I don't know. I certainly imagined those things happening too. So maybe they're real. In a way. Maybe that's the truth. Maybe them not happening is just a technicality."
He shakes in a quiet laugh.
"I love you."
She's surprised at feeling happy at the simple words, after everything, and at once an equally devilish, dangerous and exciting impulse fills her up.
"Hey, Jess?"
"Yeah?"
"I'll marry you if you want me to."
He kisses her before anything else, nodding.
"I do." Not even one second has passed, and his answer is spoken in the motion he makes against her lips, mouth shaking. "But..." His breath is sharp through his nose. "You couldn't wait for me to ask you properly?"
She laughs into his mouth.
"Since when are you the guardian of propriety?" She pushes back in the kiss. "And no. This happened instead." His lips tighten as he smiles. "Besides, who does the asking at this point is nothing but a technicality."
"Somehow I think Emily might disagree."
"Well, we don't have to tell her how it went down. We could make up some crazy story about you asking me on the dirty kitchen floor of the Dragonfly, stained by food, with no ring, no witnesses or preparation."
"Touché. And taken."
They fall asleep just a little while later and before she drifts off she thinks how she didn't have the chance to say an actual yes, how no has always been her word of choice, but also that sometimes actions speak louder than words and that she can hold on to this new word of hers and use it well in the next chapter, which by the way is part of the same old story, so the transition is simple.