Disclaimer: For crying out loud… Not mine.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was a charity gala of which Emily was not an organizer. This once, she welcomed the opportunity to be a guest, no more, no less. It was a rather formal event, true, for something titled Men Who Cook, but this particular incarnation of the concept was manned by the elites of Hartford. There was another version, with disgusting food, at a low-income high school gymnasium the following weekend, to raise funds for the United Way. This, held in the grand hall of the Fox Building, required black tie and at minimum a cocktail dress, but preferably a formal evening gown.

It was also a rare event to which a woman or man could arrive alone, and cause no comment. Tables were made up of friends, and with the men cooking, or at least standing behind silver chafing dishes of something cooked by someone at some point, the women could enjoy a good gossip.

The concept of going about, banquet style, to load up on food cooked by Hartford society husbands, had been adorable when suggested a year earlier. After a glimpse of the satin, silk, and similar, Emily wondered if perhaps the dry cleaners of Hartford had subversively sponsored the entire thing. The potential for disaster was high, particularly when Emily considered the wine bottles at each table.

She adjusted her grip on her clutch purse. At her throat, pearls. Over her arms and covering the flowing A-line skirt of her gown, the finest possible chiffon only a shade lighter than her deep green satin dress with its classic squared-sweetheart neckline. Pearl-diamond earrings and bracelet completed her ensemble. She'd had her hair recently and subtly highlighted, as well, to enhance its warm color.

Richard Gilmore was a cook tonight, and Emily Gilmore would be damned if he didn't regret letting her go.

She heard his booming laugh, turned her head slightly the other way, as if scanning the room for her nearest friends. She knew her table number (one, of course) and its location (nearest the French doors overlooking a garden full of new-bloomed tulips). It was a ploy, no more.

She let her gaze skim around, and there was Richard, big and tall and wearing a new suit jacket size. He looked idiotic with the eponymous Men Who Cook apron covering his shirtfront and tied about his waist, and had his arm around some woman. Heat flashed through Emily, followed by ice. Tall, thin, too much skin exposed, and wearing either an honest-to-God 1930s Chanel sequin dress (Emily guessed it to be early 1930s, probably sequins and fine silk tulle, by the drape) or the best replica Emily had seen in over a decade. The sleeveless gown showed most of the woman's back, and her profile as she turned showed a bow tucked in at the bust, and a Chanel gored-to-flare elegance from mid-thigh. Emily nodded to herself. A replica. Coco would have had a second bow, no doubt of it, and the sequins were a touch too modern. All in all, Emily seethed, it was a lovely dress of a color not quite known in English, a blue with a rich gray undertone. Her mind supplied the word saxe, but her emotions screamed sexpot bitch before she realized the brunette was wearing a necklace once owned by Trix. She had left it for Lorelai, but Emily never had gotten around to passing it to her daughter, reasoning that someone in Stars Hollow would steal the loops of dainty gold chain finished by a silly gold-bead tassel.

The woman laughing with Richard was Lorelai. Who, somehow, had obtained that necklace.

Emily burned with unidentifiable emotion. That was her decision to make, if Lorelai received the necklace. Hers.

From somewhere else, Rory emerged in a tasteful pink satin sheath, and dangling diamond earrings that had been a Christmas present to her from Emily.

She worked her way through the crowd in time to see a photographer snap an image of Richard, grinning with an arm around each of what Emily heard him call my girls.

"Thank you for coming to support the old man," said Richard to them.

"Dad…"

"Grandpa, you said that like twenty-eight times."

"Then it's twenty-nine."

One sniff told Emily what Richard had cooked. His ludicrous casserole, idiotically named Johnny Machete. What it truly began as, Emily had no idea, but it involved horrendous amounts of egg noodles, beef, sausage, tomato slop, mushrooms, and orange cheese. It was a gourmand rule of thumb, in Emily's opinion, to never touch any cheese colored remotely orange, or even deep yellow.

"Wow, Dad, that looks… Well, edible, no offense."

Richard snorted. "Thank you for that, Lorelai, but for the record, I found out it's really some form of goulash, apparently, and Miss Cartman was kind enough to enlighten me as to a few of its finer points."

Lorelai took a tiny taste off a tiny plate, and blinked. "Wow, I mean, wow, Dad!"

Rory purred, "Ultimate heavy-duty feels-bad-for-you food."

Richard gave a silly smile. "I discovered I shouldn't use creamed soups, and it required celery and garlic."

"Girls!" Emily sang, opening her arms wider than her smile. "My goodness, you're stunning, Rory! And Lorelai, is that Trix's charming old thing?"

The slam was meant for the long-departed Trix, but Lorelai's eyes tightened. "Yeah, it was Gran's necklace."

"And the dress is from, um, what do you call it, a vintage boutique?"

"Mom made it," said Rory a little too sharply for Emily's liking. "She saw a picture of a Chanel and Miss Patty gave her the sequins for free."

"Good heavens," said Emily in honest awe. "You stitched each one by hand?"

"Long winter," shrugged Lorelai verbally. "I can't knit very well, but I like sewing. You look very nice, too, Mom."

"Yes, Emily, you look quite nice," agreed Richard. He smiled, and moved behind his cooking station. "What a wonderful turnout."

"Yes," confirmed Emily blandly. "Do you know what on earth this is raising funds for? I've been so busy I haven't even had time to check."

"But you'll write a check," muttered Lorelai, then flushed, to Emily's great satisfaction. "Sorry. Dad?"

"Restoration, again, or replacement, I can't recall, of the Founders Monument."

"Oh, the big phallic symbol of the people who started Hartford," said Rory with such tactlessness that Emily knew the girl was not drinking water. "Pink granite again or still or what?"

"Oh, pink granite, I'm sure, now to your table, we have to endure the opening speeches while our food congeals!"

The Gilmore girls sat, at the table directly next to Richard's station.

Emily nodded politely at Richard. She swept off, greeting a dozen ore more people as she walked, and joined her dearest friends (or nearest enemies, as the moment dictated) exactly one moment before the tedious speeches began.

She read the program through her lashes as two old men and one squeaky-voiced young woman went on at length about how vital it was to have the names of the Hartford Founders preserved in stone grandeur. She did not doubt a moment that Richard had paid for Lorelai and Rory, given the price of the tickets, and there were friends of Rory's from Yale at their table, as well. Olive or whatever her name was, and that other girl. They all seemed quite at ease with one another.

When the tables were invited to begin making the rounds of the stations to try and taste all the so-called "wonderful food", Emily rose as if joining the queue. Then she slipped away, toward the restroom, and took several cooling breaths. Pride demanded she stay. It also demanded she leave. Even as she stared at her reflection, she knew, that table of friends would be whispering about the divorce and the terms of it and how she looked and how Richard did.

The door creaked open. Both Rory and Lorelai entered. The latter locked the door.

"Ah, I'm a hostage," Emily said lazily. "To what…"

"Hey, Mom," said Lorelai, fidgeting with the tassel of the necklace. "I didn't mean to sound, okay, well, I wanted to, but, the point is, I apologize for before. If you'll feel more comfortable if I leave, then I can go."

Had she sounded like a martyr, Emily would have pounced. She simply sounded worn, and sad.

With a heavy sigh, Emily said, "Oh, Lorelai, nobody is comfortable. Not in this situation, and certainly not facing that horrible food."

"You sure you're okay, Grandma?" asked Rory anxiously, her cheeks matching her dress.

"I am fine, Rory, I am perfectly well, and it will be a lovely evening. I do hope you won't drink if you're driving?"

"Dry as the Sahara," said Lorelai solemnly.

"Not driving," said Rory cheerfully.

Emily fumbled for conversation. "Miss Patty had the sequins?"

"Lots of old costumes," said Lorelai, "and a lot of patience."

The insight into how often alone her daughter must have been, to accomplish that dress, gave Emily a chilly pang. She searched for something more to say, and found only, "Well, my table will miss me. If I may?"

Rory unlatched the restroom door. Emily left, regal, calm, and quite certain she'd somehow mucked it all up.

In the corridor, she snapped at someone carrying an ice bucket, "For pity's sake, pay attention, you're dripping!"

The startled young man leapt back, stammering.

Emily did not feel one bit better.

GGGGG

"So my mother's entire life, her medical care, all of that has to change, because you can't stay out of our lives!" screeched Anna.

April hovered between them. "Mom," she said.

Luke stepped away, snapped, "Keep your voice down! We're in the middle of town!"

"Well, it's not your town, what do you care?"

Fighting anger, Luke leaned on the rail of the courthouse steps they'd moments ago descended. The custody arrangements were finalized, the judge handing down the decision. Per his request, he had April every other weekend, alternate holidays, and four weeks of her summer break from school. At April's request, visitation was whenever their schedules allowed. Anna's demand to be able to move out of state, however, was denied. The judge had said, with marvelous indifference, "Miss Nardini, you prevented him from knowing his child for over a decade. I think it's safe to say there's a high risk you'd use relocation to the same end." While Luke found that justified, Anna had not.

"How dare you?" Anna spat, red-cheeked and murder-eyed. "I don't have the money for this!"

"What the hell is with you and money?" erupted Luke, dimly aware that this was a fight they'd had well over a decade earlier. He'd been pricing items for the diner menu. He understood profit, but Anna had been downright greedy, as he recalled. "April's schools are here, her friends are here, her family is here, your mother can get good doctors here, what the hell's your problem!"

"Dad," said April helplessly.

"My problem is you ruining our lives!"

"Mom, Grandma can have my room and…"

"She cannot, she can't walk upstairs!"

April tried to interrupt again. "Then we'll…"

"I can add a room, at my expense!" roared Luke. "Will that shut you up?"

Nobody was paying attention, in that way people paid no attention while avidly enjoying the show, which partially motivated Luke's offer and insult. He hated gossip, he hated being watched, and he hated that he'd failed to keep his temper. All three at once left him sweating pure frustration.

"I don't need your money!"

Luke forced himself to sound quieter, no matter how loud he felt. "Then what do you want?"

"For you to leave us alone."

April squalled, "Shut up!"

Suddenly, the onlookers became passers-by, and the show ended.

Confused, Luke stared at his daughter. "April…"

"Mom, I didn't want to move, you know that, you didn't care! All you wanted was to take me away from Dad! Again!"

Luke almost smiled. His kid was on his side!

April whipped around and said furiously, "And we don't need your money! We need my grandma to be okay!"

Anna's flashing smile of triumph died mid-birth.

"Oh my God," said April in despair that cut Luke's heart. "You're both so stupid and selfish! You!" Her finger jutted accusingly at Anna. "You didn't want me to have a dad!" She whirled back, the same finger wielded sword-like at Luke's nose. "And you never told me I could've had a little brother or sister!"

All warmth fled Luke. "How did you know that?" he growled.

April rolled her eyes and shoved her glasses back into place. "Lane told me. When I asked why everyone stopped coming to the diner. She didn't know that I didn't know, that's not her fault."

"What's she talking about, Luke?" shrilled Anna, but quietly. Her face no longer matched her crimson lipstick. "What little brother or sister?"

His bones were lead. Frozen lead. He managed a dull, "Lorelai was pregnant, we broke up when she told me."

April gasped, and recoiled physically from him. "Then it's true! That is why you broke up with her! How could you?"

"See, April?" he heard Anna say smugly. "I told you that he wasn't…"

"Shut up, Anna, just…" He loosened his tie, one Lorelai had chosen so long (so near!) ago, with shaking fingers. "You don't know…"

"I told them you'd never do that! When they said you broke up with her because she was pregnant, I told them you'd never do that!" April cried, and her shoulders hunched. "Because you love me, so you wouldn't leave someone because of a baby! Was Mom right? Was she right?"

A tiny spark of hope helped Luke speak. April had believed better of him. That was vital. That was all. "No! No, Anna wasn't right. I, we, me and Lorelai… We… She doesn't… And I don't…"

April's reprimand struck like ice. "Words, Luke, try words!"

He pulled his daughter to him, in a hug, though she was board-stiff and unyielding. "I freaked out. Then she freaked out. We both freaked out. I love you, April, that's not ever a question, I'd always love you. I…" His chest clenched and he momentarily wondered if he'd suffer the fabled widowmaker heart attack, before recognizing that April was squeezing him. "I didn't tell you because I thought that was protecting you. If you didn't know about the miscarriage, you didn't have to feel bad."

"You're an idiot," sobbed April into his coat.

"Yeah, I'm an idiot," agreed Luke firmly, and patted her back awkwardly. He chanced a look at Anna, dreading some sort of contempt, but saw only confusion on her face. "And I'd spend anything to keep us together, okay? If your grandma needs her own room, then we build her a room, because you need that, and I can't fix anything, but I can make your grandma have a room."

"I still think you're…" began Anna.

"Yeah, join the club," Luke replied between waves of contradictory emotions. "I think there's a waiting list."

"I won't let you buy your way out of…"

"April needs her house to have a room for her grandmother," sighed Luke, glad to feel April's sobs ebbing to hiccups. "And if it keeps you from dragging this back to court, then it's worth it." He stroked April's head once, tentatively, unsure how his teen daughter felt about having her hair mussed. "For her sake."

Luke wished Lorelai was there. She'd make a bad joke or irritate Anna or cajole April into a smile, yes, but first and last, Lorelai would understand.

GG GG GG

AN: I've no idea about custody or divorces. The laws vary wildly state to state in the USA. My guideline is what I know from my in-laws and their marital and custody woes. Apologies to Connecticut natives for my errors. I own the errors. And this dreadfully overblown fic. Yeesh. It's cheaper than therapy, at least…

Men who Cook is real. My husband participates. Formality and charity vary by location. (Ours went high-brow and we quit going.) The Hartford Founders' Memorial obelisk is also real. I chose "Fox Building" as a compromise between a real Hartford venue and an imaginary one. Johnny Machete, btw, is probably a noodle-meat dish similar to Americanized goulash. Its name is (we think?) Johnny Marzetti, and it seems to have started in the US Midwest, so why Richard knows it remains a mystery. Then again, he ate "Turtleneck Soup", too.