"Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside–remembering all the times you've felt that way" - Charles Bukowski

Chapter Text

In the morning, it's raining. Pouring actually. He gets up and looks at his running shoes. He feels like they're taunting him. That old familiar weight is sinking his heart like an anchor. He gets back in bed, under the covers. Today's not happening. He should have known from the way he felt last night that this was coming, but even after thirty-eight years, he's not good at recognizing the signs that he's on a downswing until it's already swung. There's always an emotional whiplash after he spends time with his sister. He adores Doula, she's his favorite person on the planet, but she's also a constant reminder of how unwanted and unloved he was, is . He knows exactly how much she deserves to be loved and protected, he's known it from the first moment he held her in his arms when he was twenty-two, so why didn't Liz feel that for him? How can she choose Doula over and over again when she never once chose him?

He knows it's dumb to go down this rabbit hole. Gina, his therapist, would ask if this story is serving him. But it kind of is. He has to press on the bruise to see if it still hurts.

He texts Chris that he's sick but he'll try and check his email throughout the day. He takes his pills because he's allowed to have a down day, but he doesn't want to have another one tomorrow.

He gets back in bed and sleeps until he's awakened by his phone vibrating on his chest. Evil rectangle. "Hello?"

"Kid, it's noon,were you asleep? You sound like hell."

"Hey Luke," he pushes himself up on his elbows. "I'm just a little under the weather. What's up?"

"Just checking in, haven't heard from you in a few weeks."

"I'm fine, nothing to report, really. Working, writing, same old grind. You?"

"All good here. I'm doing some work on the house this weekend, I was wondering if you would want to come up and help me, but if you're sick forget about it, I can take care of it."

"No, no, I'm okay. I'll come up. What kind of work?"

"Part of the porch is rotten and I want to replace it before it gets hot outside.You sure you're good?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Listen, I gotta get back to work."

"Mm-hmm, okay, see you this weekend. Take care of yourself."

"You too."

Jess lies back on the pillows and listens to the rain. He wraps up in Luke's warm "Take care of yourself" like a blanket and closes his eyes.

When he finally gets up it's after five. So much for checking my emails. He opens his laptop and skims through his inbox but there's nothing going on that can't wait for tomorrow. He orders a Sicilian pie with sausage and watches To Wong Foo for the ten thousandth time and goes back to bed.

In the morning the weather is still foul, but he has it in him to lace his shoes and put on his rain jacket today. He runs up 10th past 6th Ave and he comes back down West 4th and through Washington Square. He thinks about Rory skipping school to come see him and his step picks up a little. He follows West 4th all the way down to C and makes his way home. It's a pretty short run by his standards, but the routine is the thing. Run, coffee, shower, pills, breakfast. Since the run was short this morning he's done with breakfast by seven thirty. He takes the extra time to clean up the apartment, take the sheets off the guest bed and put new ones on, break down the pizza box, put the records away, and wipe down the living room. He sits down at his desk a little before eight, not feeling refreshed by any means, but he's got enough momentum going now to carry him through.

He finally finishes editing Geddon's manuscript and shoots it over to him, PDF full of red handwriting, god bless his apple pencil. It's only four, he checks his email again. Nothing interesting there, he has five chapters from Chuck Alcock, but it's too late in the day to get into it. Now's as good a time as any to start writing the new thing. He grabs his bag and jacket and heads out. He posts up at the bar at Milano's with his notebook and a bourbon. He likes a classic dive for banging out the rough first draft longhand. The noise is the right level of distraction and the smell is comfortable and nostalgic. He works for a few hours and then calls it a night, taking a cab back home in the rain.

Thursday night, Jess looks up from his laptop and realizes it's after midnight. He's been so zoned in on his work that he lost track of time entirely. He stands up from his desk and stretches, taking a walk around the apartment to get his blood pumping again. In the kitchen he grabs a beer out of the fridge and his phone off the charger.

4 new text notifications

6:02pm Chris: hey man, got the chapters, looking good. Can I get the next five by Monday?

8:23pm Luke: Just checking in kid, you feeling better?

9:58pm Brandon: Did you see this on Twitter? Article Link

12:06am (718) 628-3127: Hey, It was good to see you at the reading the other night, want to grab drinks sometime?

He just stares at his phone. Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're trying to be so quiet.

He responds to Luke first.

Hanging in there. See you tomorrow. Luke won't see it until the morning, but that's fine.

He clicks the link Brandon had sent, a listicle of "summer reads we can't wait to take to the beach" which includes his upcoming novel, Baby Teeth .

He groans aloud. It won't even be out until August and it's not what he would call a fun beach read. He types back, cool, thanks man.

To Chris, sure thing, looking forward to your feedback.

Okay that just leaves Rory. If it's even Rory. But who else could it be? He leans on the kitchen counter, head in his hands.

Can't, sorry, on a tight deadline. Maybe some other time . Kind of true, but that's weak. It's not like he's writing twenty-four-seven, plus he wants to see her. It's masochistic but he can't deny it's there. He can't not want it.

He stares at it without sending, then presses the back arrow.

Definitely; what were you thinking?

No way, too thirsty. He deletes it. He saves her contact in his phone.

This beer is making him feel nauseated. When was the last time he ate? He opens the fridge. Mostly ingredients, too late to cook. He stands over the sink and eats two dry slices of fancy sprouted wheat bread from the loaf on the counter and chases them with the rest of the beer. Healthy living.

He looks at Rory's text again and then puts his phone face down on the counter.

He goes back into the living room. He puts Coney Island Baby on the record player and lays down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, eyes tracing the filigrees in the metal until they're too heavy to stay open any longer.

In the morning, run, rinse, repeat and then that fucking text is still waiting for him. He rereads it, once and then again, trying to look for the words behind the words. Geez, Mariano, sometimes a pipe is just a pipe . He shakes his head and types.

It was nice to see you too. How about Wednesday? You pick the spot. I'm on the LES, but I can meet you anywhere

That's good, right? Open, personable, not too eager. It's a weeknight, less date-y. Plus the spot she picks will establish a tone and it saves him the embarrassment of taking a classy lady to Welcome To The Johnsons (again).

He jumps right in on the Alcock chapters, and works on them until two when he has to jump on a call about their summer publishing lineup that lasts until three thirty. He pushes himself to get the chapters finished and back to Chuck with his notes before he throws some jeans and underwear in his backpack with his laptop and heads out to the car. Waiting until seven to get out of the city was the right call, would have been hell to try to leave at five and now Alcock's off his to-do list so he can just worry about his own chapters and Luke's porch this weekend.

It's after nine when he pulls up in front of the diner. It's slow, just a couple of tables of high school kids doing their Friday night small town thing. He crosses behind the counter and knocks Luke's ball cap off before burying him in a tight hug.

"Hey kid," Luke says, retrieving his hat.

"Hey, good to see you."

"You too. You hungry?"

"Yeah, haven't eaten since this morning. I was trying to tie up all the loose ends at work."

"You didn't have to come if you were too busy," Luke half yells from the kitchen where he's throwing patties on the grill.

"No, no, I'm good, just got myself a little behind this week and had to catch up."

"Oh yeah, you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, better, thanks."

Luke comes out of the kitchen, towel over his shoulder and pours Jess a cup of coffee.

"How's Lorelai?"

"She's good, she's in Brooklyn visiting Rory this weekend. So you can stay at the house if you want, might be easier than going back and forth every day."

"Sure, okay." He's grateful Lorelai won't be around. They have a truce for Luke's sake, she tolerates him on holidays and the occasional weekend, but he gets the feeling she'd rather not have him around. Which is fine with him. He's really good at not being around.

Luke makes him a cheeseburger with the works and a salad and he wolfs it down in a few minutes and then helps Luke close up. It's always so easy to fall back into the rhythm of diner work and he likes the rote tasks, something very zen about it. He suspects that's why Luke's still doing it after all these years.

The next morning Luke makes breakfast. They eat together after Jess' run and then head to the lumberyard in Luke's truck. The weather is warm and mild, perfect for this kind of work. They cut and prime all the new floorboards and then start pulling up the rotten ones.

They're mostly pretty quiet, only talking about the work when something comes up that needs discussing, but eventually Luke looks at him over the nail he's easing out of a dry rotted board and says, "You know, I've noticed that you always seem to come down with something after you spend time with Doula."

Jess feels his heart race, feels caught. "Huh," he says. "You know… kids," he finishes lamely.

"Yeah, she's sixteen, I don't think she's bringing you her kindergarten colds anymore."

Jess ducks eye contact.

"Kid," Luke says more gently, "What's going on with you? Everything okay with your sister?"

"Yeah, she's wonderful, the absolute best, it's just—

"You get depressed after she visits you because…"

"You know."

"I really don't."

"Because she's incredible and she deserves safety, and happiness, and love, and to feel wanted, and enough to eat, and a roof over her head, and heat in the winter, and sober parents who take care of her."

"And so did you?"

"Yeah," he says, swallowing. "I don't begrudge Dee Dee any of it, not for one second. But it's hard to watch Liz be that mom for someone else. Like she wasn't incapable of doing it, I just wasn't worth it."

"Kid—

"No, I mean, not worth it to her."

"Was it…was she…you've never really given me details."

Jess sighs and rocks from where he's kneeling onto his heels. "When I was seven or eight I had the flu, I was really sick, just like miserable you know? High fever, chills, throwing up, the whole nine, and she left me home alone to go on a date."

"Oh, that's—

"She didn't come back for a week."

Luke closes his eyes. "Jesus Christ."

"Jesus hasn't weighed in, but I doubt he'd be thrilled. Anyway, I don't really want to rehash my whole childhood, I'll just say that's one example out of a host of very similar examples of neglect and that's not even touching the stuff that I don't think I could tell anyone except my therapist."

Luke looks like he wants to ask a million questions, press Jess for details, blame himself, rail about how he should have known. Like he wants to step under the other side of the cross and help Jess bear it like Simon on the road to Calgary. What Luke says instead is, "I worry about you."

"I'm okay, really. I do everything you're supposed to do to take care of yourself. I eat my veggies, I exercise every day, I take my meds, I go to bed early, I see a therapist. I'm solid. It's just sometimes…"

"You have a dark day."

"I have a dark day, sometimes days , plural."

"And your meds are good? They work?"

"They work. Been on the same dose for years now and I never miss a day. Luke I'm good , really, maybe better than I've ever been. Where is this coming from? Why are you so worried about my meds?"

"I don't know, kid, it's just you know, it's spring, and it's coming up on ten years since…"

Oh right, since the attempt . The one Luke knows about, anyway, the one that landed him in grippy socks for a month. He remembers waking up in the hospital in Philly to Luke's face, grim and sorrowful. He rubs the back of his head, a little embarrassed. "I'm okay, Luke. I promise, I'm not going anywhere. I just, you know, still have a bad day every now and then. It's like- you have a bad back; and... you do everything, try every trick in the book to take care of it, but it ain't going to flex like it used to- some days you'll have to take it, stiffness and everything, no matter how careful you are."

Luke nods. "I know, I just…"

"You had to make sure?" Jess has a hard time keeping his voice under control.

Luke looks away, "yeah."

"How did you, you know, figure out the cause of my dark days?"

"Doula comes into the diner for breakfast every morning. She mentions she spent the weekend with you and that gets me missing you so I call you and you sound like shit. No big deal. Then it happens again and I say "huh, that's weird, what a coincidence." And then it happens again and I might not be a genius like you or April but I can pick up on a pattern."

"You miss me?"

"Sometimes. And I get jealous that you never treat me to a fun weekend in the city."

"Play your cards right and I'll let you come down and drive me to my colonoscopy next month." That one catches Luke off guard and has him giggling for the next quarter hour.

That evening Jess cooks for Luke, roasted chicken and Brussels sprouts with sweet potatoes. After they eat they sit in companionable silence while Jess works on the new thing and Luke watches that Ken Burns baseball documentary for the thousandth time, and then they go to bed early like the couple of old squares that they are.

Sunday afternoon Lorelai drives up as they're nailing in the last of the epoxied boards. Luke meets her at the car and lifts her up off the ground in an embrace. It's nice. It makes him happy to see Luke so happy. He waves at Lorelai and she waves back with a smile that seems reasonably sincere. Jess figures it's about time he gets back to the city but Lorelai insists he stay for pizza and to catch up. Their truce seems more friendly than usual and he wonders if it has anything to do with Rory and their plans to meet up this week, but he doesn't dare ask about Rory because Lorelai always gets weird when he asks about her and he's enjoying the current truciness.

He drives back to the city and is, as usual, relieved to be home. He walks slowly through the whole apartment like he always does after an absence, reassuring himself that everything is right where it's supposed to be. He unpacks and then works for a couple of hours before calling it a night. Chris will have to live with three chapters this week.

When he checks his phone before putting it on the charger there's a text from Rory waiting. He wasn't sure if she'd respond, he would have understood if she'd lost the initial nerve that drove her to reach out.

Wednesday is good. 7:00 at The Clover Club?