Disclaimer: So sick of saying this. I hate my life, I hate this fic, so who'd want to sue me over it?

AN: THIS CHAPTER WILL BE POSTED WITH CHAPTER NINETEEN, SINCE THE END OF THIS FLOWS DIRECTLY TO NEXT. Brace yourselves for a long chapter full of Luke trying to articulate and everyone wishing Emily wouldn't!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

There would be no party, no grand farewell. Rory had a chance, and any opportunity must be seized at once. It was the way of the world that Emily didn't understand anymore.

She listened, her sobs unable to escape around her need for composure, as Rory said fervently, "I'm so sorry, Mom, please, it's just, it's, y'know, and besides, Logan… I just… It's go time, and I can't wait. I want to wait, but I can't wait. Oh no, I'm crying again!"

"So am I," sniffled Lorelai, cradling Rory in a hug. "It's okay, sweets. Time to spread those wings. You're gonna do great."

"Mom," wept Rory. "I'm going to miss you. So much."

"Call every day."

"Every hour."

"Every ten minutes."

"Okay, then I'll never get anything done," sniffed Rory, stepped back, and beamed tearfully. "My stuff…"

"Is safe and sound in the attic, I'm holding it hostage!"

"Send me pictures for proof of life?"

Emotions roiling, Emily exploded. "Can the two of you take nothing seriously!"

The dual glares, from near-identical blue eyes, told Emily how badly she erred. They did take it seriously. They simply did not cope as she did. Lorelai and her damn humor, like Trix and her damn tricks, had rubbed off on dear, sweet Rory. The marks on her granddaughter could never be erased. Lorelai's perversity, sass, should not have happened in Rory. Those should not be matching expressions.

"I should have raised her, I should have tracked you down and taken her home, where she belonged, away from you!" Emily spat viciously at Lorelai. "Gotten police, lawyers, whatever it took, but no, your father was too soft, he had to say he didn't want to cut off all chance of seeing you, well, if I never had, and it meant Rory was raised properly, then good for me, and good riddance to you!"

Lorelai's skin paled, but her back and jaw went tight. "Mom. Don't…"

"Oh for God's sake, Lorelai, you're a train wreck, you have been for thirty years! Selfish, thoughtless, irresponsible, always treating life like a big joke at someone else's expense!"

The words were gone, out, along with the frustration and sorrow. Emily felt a stinging satisfaction in the silence that descended upon them. Truth being complex, she had, like Richard, never wanted to lose any chance to see Lorelai. She's been more aggressive about it, in fact, but one of the joys of divorce was being able to blame Richard without having to face consequences for it.

Suddenly, all of the Hartford airport seemed to look at her with disgust and dismay.

She adjusted her bag (Vuitton, classic) and smiled brightly at Rory. "Now, have a good flight, and be certain to let us know you've made it to Iowa in one piece." Arms open, she stepped toward Rory, and threw a sidelong smirk at Lorelai. As she expected, Rory gave her a hug. Nothing could take Rory from Emily, no matter how Lorelai tried, no matter how life tried.

"Better go, kiddo," said Lorelai softly when Rory embraced her again. "I wish we'd had more time, but hey, a US Senator calls, you go."

"Well, more like a website that took pity on me, but yeah," agreed Rory, biting her lip a moment. "Mom?"

Lorelai closed her eyes. Emily watched, frowning slightly, as the two clung to one another, and Lorelai murmured, "I know. It's not easy but it's okay. Text, call, write, e-mail."

"Smoke signals," affirmed Rory, and then picked up her carry-on, and walked to the security checkpoint as if her feet weighed too much. When she turned, on the other side of the checkpoint, she waved at them. Lorelai gave a loud cheering, "Go get 'em!"

Rory simply waved again, and then hurried out of view, her gray Yale t-shirt vanishing her into the crowd.

Outside, on the pavement, Lorelai paused, a hand to her chest near the words Yale Mom in white on a red t-shirt. Emily scowled. "Are you all right?"

"Oh good, Jekyll's back," sighed Lorelai, and shook her head in a way Emily knew but could not immediately identify. "I get it, y'know." Lorelai's eyes were sad, and compassionate. Somehow, it frightened Emily, who put a hand to her throat, touching her pearls. They were cool, and smooth, a reminder of youth, when her world was all promises not yet broken. "Emotions have to go somewhere and then it's all yuck, gross, kerblooey."

Emily's mouth worked, soundlessly. Tears stung her eyes.

Lorelai shook her head again. In it, Emily saw, to her surprise, her own mother. "Everyone does it. Booze, drugs, rants, stupid jokes, insults, whatever, we screw up and we can't fix it sometimes, and I just… I wanted you to know…"

A small jet streamed smoothly overhead. Emily glanced up, noting it was a Lear, not Rory's commercial flight. She returned her attention to her daughter.

"What you said? In there?" Lorelai's eyes flicked to the air terminal. "You can't fix that. You can't excuse it. You can't take it back. You can't say it was being stressed out or upset or any crap like that, okay? Because you've done that for over twenty years, and that's not a mistake, that's a hobby. So, just, y'know, we're done, okay?"

"You cannot cut off your own mother!"

Lorelai's expression was soft, pitying. "No, I mean, we're done. I'm done thinking you'll ever think I'm worth anything, and maybe you can be done thinking I'll ever turn into your perfect daughter. We're not getting some Oprah ending, or a big warm fuzzy hug, but maybe we can at least stop turning bad days into worse. We'll get along for Rory's sake like we did at graduation, and no more Hallmark fantasies."

Color scorched through Emily's cheeks, ebbed away. "I see," she replied. "Now what?"

"I go watch my kid's plane take off safely, and you go do whatever, and we see each other for birthdays and holidays. Take care, Mom."

Watching Lorelai walk away, to the parking lot, Emily drew breath to demand that Lorelai return, apologize, and let the air escape in a lonely little, "Oh."

She fumbled in her purse. She pulled out her phone. Richard picked up immediately. "Emily? Are Rory and Lorelai all right?"

"Yes, of course, Richard, I merely wanted to…" And Emily stopped, not certain what she could say that would be sincere, accurate, and remotely helpful.

"Emily?"

"I'm watching Rory's plane take off. So is Lorelai. I thought perhaps you'd want to know…" Again, Emily found herself unable to find the proper words. "She was excited, but sad. Rory, I mean. I'm sure you saw yourself. She mentioned something about having a very early breakfast with you."

"Yes, we did. Abominable timing, but I can't command my own body, it seems."

Emily cleared her throat. It was painful, to not butt in, fuss, as she had for so many years. "Well, according to Lorelai, a day or two in bed is purely precautionary."

"One little dizzy spell," grouched Richard. "Their own fault, deciding that if a low dose works, then a higher dose will work better, and it says right there on this obnoxious orange label, may cause dizziness."

Emily's face crumpled. Why did she ever wonder where Lorelai's rambles and asides came from? They'd been there, all along, in Richard, in herself. "I'm glad it isn't serious, then."

"The final court date is set. You heard?"

"Yes. I'll see you then, Richard."

"Of course. Good-bye, Emily."

It was odd, that anger could stop sustaining her exactly when she most needed energy to defy the pain and disappointment and irritations of life. Yet it did, and it was a stranger who asked her, "Ma'am? Do you need help?"

"No, no," she said quickly, flatly. "I'm waiting for my driver to bring the car around."

"Oh, um, okay. Have a nice day."

The stranger entered the terminal. Emily wondered why on earth she had lied. She had no driver.

A commercial jet drew her attention, perhaps because of instinct, or the faint sound of Lorelai's "I love you, Rory!" yelled from the parking lot. Shoulders sagging, Emily turned toward a hurrying valet, and asked for her car. By rote, she said, "Don't scratch it," and cringed from her own voice.

GG GG GG

Luke rang the doorbell.

He felt ridiculous.

He felt sad.

He felt panicky.

He felt sweaty.

Basically, he felt too damn much, and he hated it.

That unstoppable inner-Luke pointed out, It's your own fault, pal.

He knew. That was why he hated feelings. These feelings. Any feelings.

The cheerful red door opened.

In a ratty t-shirt and shorts, hair up in a loose tail, Lorelai still plucked strings deep in his heart that he wished would just break and be done. It happened with everyone else. Why not Lorelai?

Her voice, like his sister's, his daughter's, asked the same question in his memory: Why not?

He shoved a flat square box at her. "Boysenberry. Because." He longed to scratch his neck and wipe at the sweat trickling by his eyes. What idiot wore flannel in June? "Um. Rory. And stuff. Geez, this was easier in my head."

That inner Luke pointed out, unhelpfully, that he hadn't really rehearsed it until he got out of the truck.

"So. Um."

Lorelai continued to stare at him, frowning.

"Say something. You're freaking me out."

Behind her, the dog growled, then fled into the fireplace behind the decorative screen.

"He growled at me," said Luke, taken aback, saddened, to a degree he'd never have predicted.

"Long time, no see," said Lorelai. "Rory left last week, my parents' divorce is final next week, what's the occasion?"

At that, Luke barked, "What do you think? Fourth of friggin' July!"

"That's a couple of weeks away, and you have no reason to celebrate Father's Day with me."

Luke dropped the box holding the boysenberry pie. He'd never expected it to hurt him on this date. June third had been a little weird, but with April and Anna and renovations, he'd been able to stay busy enough to ignore the calendar. After all, the wedding date hadn't been that after a certain point, and so forth and so on.

I suck at lying to myself these days, his head told him. Helpfully, that time.

Voice thick, Luke croaked, "But I should."

Lorelai exhaled hard, the way someone did if struck by ice water. "Okay. Fair enough. Don't worry about Paul Anka. C'mon on in. Invited, even."

"Okay, fair enough," echoed Luke, and edged into the living room. It was tidy, other than the coffee table. That was a reassuringly familiar wreckage of pop culture magazines, a bowl of popcorn, and six wrappers from fruit-nut bars. "What's with the dog?"

"You smell wrong," said Lorelai casually.

Even for a dog as infamously neurotic as Paul Anka, that sounded extreme, in Luke's opinion. "What?"

"Okay, you usually smell like diner and sometimes cleaners, and usually coffee, but you're all…" Lorelai shrugged, gestured at him, then folded her arms in front of her again. "No offense, you smell like vanilla. I mean, I can smell it. And, y'know, vanilla…" She drew a breath, blushing hot pink to her hairline. "Vanilla makes me upset, and me upset can make him growl sometimes."

Wondering when vanilla turned into a problem, Luke naturally asked the sensible question. "Why does vanilla get you upset? It's just a flavor."

"You'd come by the house last year, after being at Anna's, and she's got that vanilla fetish, and you'd say something like bread delivery or whatever, and leave really quick, and I'd cry, so I guess he decided vanilla upsets me and he's showing solidarity."

The fact she babbled was wonderful.

What she babbled made his stomach turn.

"It was that bad?"

She shrugged, and started cleaning up wrappers. He glanced at the television, which was showing a movie he didn't recognize. Something involving someone reading from a notebook to a woman who obviously didn't care.

That hit too close to home.

"She can't remember, so he reads their story to her," said Lorelai to him, back turned, as if she had read his mind. "So he can relive their love with her even though she's not there anymore, not really."

Luke recoiled and slammed the remote control. The TV blinked off. "That's morbid!"

"Well, it's called wallowing, not happy dancing," Lorelai snapped in return. "Look, I have to clean a pie off my welcome mat, and I hate this day, and this month, and you smelling like last year is not helping."

Luke sat down, uninvited, on the couch, and removed a magazine offering advice on Easy Meals for One from under a pillow. "I smell like last year?"

Her face was too blank, and her voice was frighteningly level. "Y'know. April's pool chlorine. Anna's store vanilla."

A sob held back for a year finally emerged, in a coughing noise. He stared at the floor. Even his smell had gone off-course. He had smelled like someone else. He had smelled like his kid's mother. What would he have felt, if he smelled, over and over, the stink of cologne worn by Rory's father? However innocent the circumstances?

"Oh my God," he said in horror, watching tears dribble onto his clenched hands.

He felt a light touch on his arm, and saw a box of tissues appear. "Do you want something to…"

"No," grated Luke, gulped, and scrubbed his eyes and nose clean with a fistful of tissues. He sucked in oxygen, barely, around the grief in his chest. "I should've been holding your hand, and crying with you, and asking you to help with April and Anna, but in my head, you were going to leave anyway, and you did."

"I didn't know I was allowed to stay."

He twisted his hands around tissues until they became a knotty mess. "Yeah. That."

"This last year. You, uh, you said a lot that made me think we could… And then you, uh…" Lorelai's voice cracked, steadied. Luke didn't dare look at her. He'd fall apart, and he was already falling apart. "Swim coach. Renovating another house with another woman. It's your life, not my business, and I have to apologize again. I… It…" Her voice broke and spiraled down into a whisper. "I wanted it with you. And you didn't. And it hurts, and it sucks. I'm nearly forty, God, I hate saying it, but I'm nearly forty, y'know? I can't kid myself."

Luke risked a glance at her. She looked delicate and yet determined. He missed that. Her ability to be both. With him, anyway.

"My biological clock isn't ticking anymore, it's wound down, and that's… It's… I just need to cry, y'know?"

Luke pushed his elbows down on his knees and shoved his forehead into his palms. "You were the exception," he rasped. "You. You were the exception. That's why. You understood. You saw. So I didn't let you stay. It meant too much. I kept you away, and you push and you try, and then I push and try, and I tell myself the right time will come, but there's never a right time, for anything, ever! When the hell is anyone ready for kids or marriage or exes or in-laws?" He found he was on his feet, gesturing, pacing. "I say I can't jump, I'm not ready, when the hell is anyone? My parents didn't plan on Liz, she happened, they loved her! Hell, you get in over your head by jumping, and I need that, and you need me to keep you from jumping that way you do…"

"Head-first instead of feet-first?"

"That too," he agreed angrily, and shucked his flannel. The green t-shirt underneath bore sweat-stains. "And what adult wears flannel in summer? What the hell? Do I think a golf shirt's gonna kill me? Or one of those hen shirts."

"Henley," supplied Lorelai calmly.

"Whatever!" said Luke in a blind rage. "And now the dog hates me because I smell wrong. I smell wrong! So messed up that you can't stand vanilla! You love vanilla! It's in whipped cream! It's ice cream! And now you don't drink coffee, either! And you haven't been near Al's for a year!" He pointed in the general direction of her kitchen. "You. Salads!"

"New truck," said Lorelai quietly, "and you sold your dad's boat."

Luke tripped over his own rant. He stumbled to a verbal halt. "Uh. What. Yeah. How?"

"I still go to town meetings, Sookie tells me everything Jackson knows, which is everything, and I can see your truck is new from here. Pretty color. I mean, green, of course, but a different green."

"The old one was sucking oil and gasoline, total waste of money, and they don't even make some of those parts anymore. And not enough seats for April and her gear and her friends who need rides, I bought an extended cab! I hate those! Why the hell am I a taxi service?"

"You're a parent," said Lorelai blandly. "Old truck got sold?"

"Euthanized. I loved Dad. I loved that truck. After the lawyers and these renovations to keep Anna from contesting the custody agreement, but yeah, the truck… The boat… I don't need them to remember my dad." He pointed at her TV. "I don't need notebooks to remember I love you."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"Or how I screwed up. Or how we screwed up. You tried. To get me to see. People can't just keep waiting. Taking time. Processing. Alone. What am I saying?"

"I think you're apologizing and explaining some more," offered Lorelai gently. "The way I was. Luke, this is not a good day and tomorrow's the real Father's Day, I'm spending it with my dad, I need today to wallow, and…"

Luke dropped to her couch, folded his arms, and snapped, "Well, I'm wallowing. With you. Like I should've. Crap!" He ran a hand over his thinning hair. "The more I talk, the worse it gets."

"Welcome to my world."

"Hate me tomorrow, if you want, but today, can we… Can I…" Luke stared up at her, hopeful, hurting. "We lost our should-have-been."

"I know," sniffled Lorelai. "I won't hate you. I can't. I screwed up so bad."

Exhaustion swamped Luke. "I know. You said. I said. We've all said. No more talking. Not right now." He put out his hand. "Wallow?"

Lorelai violently shook her head. "You're doing this when I'm vulnerable. That's not fair."

"None of this was fair."

She sat gently on the couch. "No, it wasn't. My mom told me I'm a train wreck in the middle of the airport when Rory was leaving."

"Anna thinks her mother needs her own kitchen, too."

"What does April think?"

"She's at science camp, she thinks it's great."

"I meant about the kitchen."

"Haven't told her. She's fighting with Anna enough as it is. I'm trying not to get in the middle, and it's impossible."

"Pretty much," agreed Lorelai. "One thing about my parents, when I was a kid, it was two against one, no questions asked which two and which one. And Rory gave me Rory eyes whenever Chris showed up."

"I'm getting April eyes. All she has to do is use those and say my name instead of Dad, and I can't even breathe right."

"The joy of parenthood."

From his soul, Luke shared, "Our kid would've been great."

"Yeah," came Lorelai's husky reply.

The words scraped his throat as he spoke them. "I'm sorry. I should've been with you months ago, we should've never broken up, I should have asked you out when you wanted to learn to fish for that Alec or whatever it was."

"That was why I wanted you to teach me," sighed Lorelai forlornly, and folded her legs under herself. "Hint-hint, I'll learn to fish if you want. Too subtle, I guess."

Luke's jaw dropped. He thumped his own skull. "Actions. I'm always saying actions, and I…"

"No more rants. Okay? Can we… I dunno… Just sorta sit here?"

Stricken, Luke merely nodded. And he sat, and in the quiet grieving, he discovered yet again that Lorelai was the exception, and he wished he'd made her the rule instead.

GG GG GG

AN: Hartford's Bradly Airport does have valet parking. I've no idea what else they have.

If you recall, Richard was placed on a beta blocker many chapters ago. That class of medication can, in fact, cause dizziness. I suck at airports, but I'm very careful on medical matters.

Yes, the Ls keep sending mixed signals. What else is new?