Disclaimer: So, still not mine.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"This was my worst idea ever," said Rory Gilmore on the phone.
Emily hesitated, aware that she agreed with Rory, but also wanting to know what else Rory might reveal.
"I know, Logan, but it's easy in theory. Then you get them in a room together."
Emily pursed her mouth. Gathering early in December, to allow Rory a family dinner before her London holiday, sounded simple and pleasant. Thus far, Emily had only found it simple. Pleasant was merely a word in a dictionary.
"Gotta go, someone's waiting."
As the door opened, Emily stepped back two quick paces, raised her eyebrows, pursed her mouth. "You're allowed to have conversations on the phone, Rory, but one typically doesn't use the bathroom. Privacy is available outside, for example."
Rory's face reddened. "I didn't think I should leave the combat zone."
"Why, Rory! We've all behaved very well, I believe."
Before Rory could reply, Lorelai appeared. "Hey, kiddo. Hey, Mom. Is the bathroom free?"
"Why?" asked Emily sweetly. "Do you need to make a telephone call?"
She'd baffled her daughter, who muttered, "Okay, weird," and disappeared into the bathroom.
"C'mon, Grandma, we should get back to Grandpa."
"Why?" queried Emily brightly and patted Rory's hand as it came to rest on her arm. "Do you think he'll steal the silver?"
"Oh my God," moaned Rory under her breath. "I should've listened to Paris."
"I'm certain she had an opinion, yes," agreed Emily, and stopped by the drinks cart. The mansion had changed a great deal since Richard moved out. The drapes and upholstery were now silk, in softer colors, and the artwork was less ornate, less burdened by the weight of history and expectations and inheritances. Much of that, Emily had sent to a storage facility at Richard's expense, as it came from his family. The drinks cart, however, she kept. She doubted that Richard knew it technically qualified as his.
"Refills?" she trilled.
"Please," said Richard grimly.
Her reflex to scold him for drinking arose, and she fought it down. "Of course. Rory?"
"Definitely."
"I can safely assume Lorelai will want more alcohol."
"Grandma, I know dinner's ready, I booked the caterer, can't we go into the dining room and start?" begged Rory as a fresh glass of wine came her way. "All I wanted was a dinner, with my family, sort of combine Thanksgiving and Christmas, and maybe remember that we all love each other!"
Emily shot back, "Speak for yourself, Rory, I find very little to love in your mother."
A tiny pained gasp hit Emily's ears exactly as her drink reached her lips. She meant it as a pause, not a full stop, but it was too late to rewind Time. As well, realized Emily, as her sentence was meant to end in a gratuitously spiteful, "…or in your grandfather, these days."
"Wow. Good to know," said Lorelai, face pale and voice wobbly. "Y'know, I always knew you didn't love me, but I gotta give you credit, you finally admitted it." She walked to the couch, kissed Rory's forehead. "Talk to you later, kid. Okay?"
"Mom…"
"I shouldn't be where I'm not welcome," said Lorelai, and Emily's heart twisted. Why did she do this? Why did she never stop? "Have a good time with your grandparents."
"Mom, no, you can't go, you…"
Rory was left staring at a space where her mother had been. Emily noted that the girl looked stricken, but did not follow Lorelai. Neither did Richard.
"Now," said Emily briskly, "I do believe our meal is ready."
Rory's big hopeful eyes locked Richard into place. Emily smiled slightly. With Lorelai gone, she might be able to remind these two Gilmores of her importance in their lives. And, perhaps, theirs in hers.
They filed into the dining room, subdued, and Richard politely pulled out the chairs for Rory and for Emily. Pleased, Emily gave him a beaming smile, as a woman in all black with a white apron came forward to deposit warmed plates before each of them.
"It smells delicious, and you chose an excellent menu, Rory," she complimented. She meant it. While roasted chicken was a rather dull fowl, the choice of asiago polenta gave it interest, as did the mushrooms tossed in truffle oil. The grated kohlrabi, drizzled in olive oil, pepper and salt, added a lovely complement in texture.
"Sookie helped," said Rory shortly. "I'll tell her you like it."
"Sookie is an excellent chef," agreed Richard a bit too heartily. "Dessert?"
"Pineapple sorbet drizzled in mango vinegar."
"Interesting," said Emily in hopes of being included. "Sookie's idea?"
Rory said steadily, "No, the caterer."
Richard smiled as if pained. "Well done to them, I look forward to it."
Emily put her foot down, so to speak. "No soup, no salad… An unusual approach."
"It's a family dinner," gritted Rory, poking a mushroom as if it offended her. "I didn't think we needed five courses." After she ate the mushroom, she added, "Of course, I didn't think we'd survive five courses around each other, either, and wow, we didn't even get past drinks."
"Rory," chided Richard softly. "Let us enjoy as we can."
"Sure. Mom eats alone in the jeep, we live it up in the palace."
"Rory!" scolded Emily in shock, setting down fork and knife. "Your mother left of her own accord."
Rory sawed at the chicken, which didn't require such aggressive tactics, and then slammed down her flatware. "What is your problem? Oh, wait, I know, Mom wasn't a perfect angel, well, neither am I!"
"Oh dear," sighed Richard. Emily reddened when she saw he was focusing on his food as if he feared the plate would be taken.
"Rory, lower your voice at table, please."
Rory stood. Richard set down his fork. Emily stiffened.
"What is wrong with you?" shouted Rory, startling both grandparents, and the caterer hovering with the wine bottle. "You just told your only kid you don't love her, and you're worried about my table manners!"
"You're far too young to understand."
"I'm gonna graduate Yale," snarled Rory, leaning forward slightly. "Try me."
"Your mother was born with a… Well, some sort of disorder that they have no name for."
"A personality?"
"Enough!" said Richard curtly, and rose majestically to his feet. "Rory, whatever our parenting mistakes, we tried to rectify them with you, and while that seems quite unfair to your mother, bear in mind that your mother is a very stubborn woman."
"Wonder where she got that from," Rory muttered, and folded her arms.
"Emily," said Richard, and she looked hopefully at him. He hadn't defended Lorelai. That had to mean something.
"Emily," he repeated, "I have placed the family name and reputation over my child. I have let anger and disappointment rule too many actions when Lorelai is involved. Never, even in the worst moments, have I ever even thought there was little in her to love. I do not always understand or approve of my daughter, but I do love her, Emily, and I think a nice hot chocolate would be a much finer dessert than sorbet. Rory, if you would join me, please?"
Richard as peacemaker was not new. Richard as peacemaker and leaving Emily to stand alone?
"Richard," she said brokenly. "Rory!"
"I am too old to center my life around what ifs," Richard told her sadly. "It is time to live what is."
They continued away from her. Why did everything go wrong? If only Lorelai hadn't reacted that way! If only…
Emily's mouth crumpled. She clutched a napkin to her face, and bit out, "Get out, you pesky overpaid voyeur!"
The caterer took the bottle of wine with her. Emily wanted to scream.
GG GG GG
The bells chimed. They made that noise.
Luke spun, heart pounding.
Skin too pale, eyes horribly dead, Lorelai stood in the middle of the diner. She was wearing a blue dress he thought he recognized, and her winter coat, and looked so awful that he yelled, "Everyone out!"
The three people finishing their desserts went, Kirk taking his plate along.
Luke turned the sign to "Closed", asked harshly, "Is it Rory? What's wrong? Sit down. What happened? Was there an accident? Is it your dad's heart? Lorelai? Say something!"
"Chocolate," she whimpered. "You're all that's open and it's all wrong and I don't know where to be."
His heart somehow broke again.
He guided her to a table, gently unbuttoned her coat, and hung it on the chair he pulled out for her. "Chocolate," he promised.
He rushed into the kitchen, where Cesar was cleaning the grill. His brain pounded. Chocolate. He had to get her chocolate. He had no cookies or pie or donuts. What did he have?
He grabbed milk, baking chocolate, a sugar shaker, and vanilla. He didn't make many desserts from scratch, but beverages he often did. And it being winter, he knew very well what people wanted.
He whisked sugar, vanilla, milk, and fine-chopped semisweet chocolate in a saucepan, muttering at it, "C'mon, c'mon!"
"Boss, it won't get hot any faster."
"Cesar…"
"Right, shutting up, going home."
"Thanks."
Cesar grinned and gave him a thumbs-up.
Luke poured the hot chocolate into the mug, threw a dollop of no-fat whipped-cream-like topping on it, and carried it to her table.
Tears were standing in her eyes.
He left her to the hot chocolate. He knew this was the week, more or less, she'd attend the family dinner Rory planned. Lane and Jackson both mentioned it where he could hear, not that he made a point of listening. Simply, nobody in Stars Hollow edited their conversation around him anymore. Lorelai was no longer a topic they avoided. It hurt, strangely, to think that they assumed he'd moved on and along and past the issue of Lorelai. Or, worse, that they thought he didn't care.
April clattered downstairs, into the diner, eyes alight. "I smell hot chocolate! Can I have a hot vanilla? I want to see if the flavor compounds are as intense as… Oh."
He gave April a one-armed hug. "I'll bring it upstairs."
"It's okay," said Lorelai dully, "I'll go. I shouldn't be here."
That was a look, a routine, that began at his own insistence. Guilt and grief gnawed at him.
April blurted, "Don't. Please?"
"She's right," said Luke, amazed he found the ability to speak. "You come here with that face when your mother did something."
"Her mom?" asked April, in that straightforward, naïve way.
"My mother doesn't love me. Or like me." Lorelai's smile looked like a crack in glass. She shrugged into her coat. "I kinda knew that, but tonight she said it. There's very little to love in Lorelai. And I…"
April broke free of Luke and ran around the counter. She threw her arms around Lorelai, pinning Lorelai in place. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I mean, I know you don't blame me for all this other stuff, but I'm sorry! You should be able to have hot chocolate wherever you want, and your mom shouldn't be mean to you, and I'm so sorry she is!"
Luke's pride lit him from bone marrow outward. That kid was at least genetically his, and she was awesome.
Lorelai hugged April back, rather awkwardly. "Thank you, April. You're a great kid. Your parents are lucky to have you."
"Yeah, well," said April, abruptly abashed, and pulled away. She shoved at her eyeglasses unnecessarily. "I got lucky, too. Mom and I argue sometimes, but she'd never say something like that. Not even the time I was trying to run a double-blind on mold growth rates in the cupboard under the bathroom sink."
Luke choked. Maybe he was glad to have missed a few of those precious parenting moments.
"Well, I'm not such a great kid," said Lorelai, with a brittle tension that Luke knew far too well to be dangerous.
"Dad, make me a hot vanilla?"
Once, Lorelai would have sniggered a quiet, "Dirty!" Now she tried to detach April's hands from her sleeve.
April tugged her back to the table. "Sit. Drink. Health class said you need warmth and fluids if you're in shock, and you look kinda shocky."
"No idea where you get it, kid," he said without thinking. "Nobody ever claimed me or your mom are the warm and fuzzy types."
"You can be, Dad," said April carelessly, the single syllable thrilling him all over whenever he heard it. "When you think no one is watching."
Embarrassed, Luke retreated. Having no idea how to make a "hot vanilla", he added thrice the vanilla, none of the chocolate, to heating milk and sugar. When he emerged, April was chatting amiably at Lorelai about the chemistry of food. That, she explained, was this year's science project. Having found her father, and his owning a diner, inspired her to look at the thermodynamics and chemistry of cooking. She made it sound interesting.
He gave his daughter her hot drink. He watched from afar, as he cleaned the counter and coffee makers. Finally, Lorelai said she'd finished her drink, and should go. She walked to the register.
Luke said gruffly, "First time is on the house." He added, in daring hope, "Mimi."
She handed him three dollars. "Lorelai," she corrected stiffly, and lowered her voice. "Why did you leave the inn? That day?"
"I didn't have anything new to say." He passed over her change.
"Okay." She tucked the money into her coat pocket. "Good night, April!" she called, and went out into the cold.
"Go!" urged his daughter. "Go talk to her, do the romantic declaration!"
Luke turned his back, muttering, "Those aren't my thing."
"How's that working?" retorted his daughter. "Oh, and hot vanilla milk sucks."
She went back up to the apartment.
Luke sat down, head in hands. He reached over and sipped from the mug April left behind. She was right. It was terrible.
He pulled out his order pad. He wrote on the back of a page, I forgive you. I forgave you. For the hokey-pokey dance and yelling and being right and anything else. Real forgiveness. Can you forgive me? Did you? How can you?
He tore that off, and began a new slip, printing carefully to save space. If April wasn't here and a teenager, I'd chase you home and make you see your mother is wrong.
He hollered, as if he could see his daughter, "Stop texting and finish your homework!"
"Oh my God, Da-aaad! Ugh! It was just to Jeremy!"
"I'll get a signal jammer," he shouted up to her.
"You know I'd get around it!"
"April!"
"Okay, geez, don't be so Taylor."
"Nice try, young lady, now finish the book report!"
He heard a quieter, more disgusted, "Ugh!"
He finished the note to Lorelai with a rueful, But she's texting some boy. April, I mean. Not your mother. If you need me, call.
Satisfied, he folded the two bits of paper into his wallet, and got back to shutting down the diner for the night.
AN: Hot vanilla milk is a thing in my family. My grandma made it.