July 12

5 Months, 1 Week, 4 Days

Size: Banana

"No, there was a big, big, BIG blow up at the house last night," Babette rasps, leaning forward over the table toward Miss Patty. "It started out pretty tame, Morey and I just got home from the Chat Club, when we saw the two were talking on the porch. They were obviously talking about a whole lot of something important, but then went inside when they noticed us. Later that night it escalated. Lots of barking and squawking. Feathers were flying everywhere! It was like the inside of a feather pillow exploding all ova the place!"

I feign disinterest to the degree with which the two town busybodies are pretending to be discreet. I know, and they know, this conversation is solely being made for me to overhear. I jam my screwdriver into the toaster, trying to pop the bottom plate off in order to fix the toaster while keeping a straight face.

"They're done?" Miss Patty asks.

"Oh they're done, alright!" Babette crows and then continues on, "I'm pretty sure it's for real this time, I think it'll stick. Something about different parenting styles and morals and stuff. Of course, I don't blame the Hen, the puppy is cute and has gotten better with trainin', less bite and all, but that Beagle isn't raising his puppy the way a puppy otta be raised!"

"He didn't really send his puppy off to Paris with the dog walker, did he?"

"That's the story! And something about the new baby chicks, but I'm not sure what exactly. But the Hen is fine, Sugah, she walked the Beagle out with all his belongins. The two stood on the porch and said a real good-bye. Tears. A long hug. Hushed words. The Beagle was more upset than the Hen, which is to be expected since the Hen wanted him out of her chicken coop. She's okay, although she didn't go to work this mornin'. I'm not sure what that's all about. You know the hen, she's usually running all ova the place like a chicken with her head cut off!"

Typically in these situations, I'm able to keep a blank face. But the realization that Lorelai and Christopher were able to have an actual adult relationship that ended on its own, causes my fingers to fumble. They're over. They're finally over and despite it feeling like it took too long to end, in actuality, it took less time than I expected. Knowing Lorelai, I half expected her to marry the guy and then realize her mistake. The screwdriver slips from my fingers and tumbles noisily to the counter. I try to follow it and grab it, but it rolls away and I'm so shook by the news that I can't get a hold of it. It rolls off the counter toward the two women.

Both women look to me with raised eyebrows, a smirk playing at the edges of their red lips.

"You okay, Sugah?"

"Yeah," I breathe out, placing the toaster on the counter as the diner phone rings to life behind me. I lift it, thankful to get away, and cradle it between my cheek and shoulder while taking the screwdriver back from Babbet. "Luke's."

"Luke."

I exhale at the sound of Rory's concerned voice and glance at the two busy bodies. They're staring at me like a golden retriever stares at a ball. I take a hold of the phone and stretch the cord into the empty kitchen to get some privacy.

"Hey. I just heard," I knock a knuckle on a counter, unsure how to proceed this new road with Rory. Ever since she was little, everything between the two of us has been light. We've had moments together, just the two of us, but they were typically me blowing up balloons and making her a coffee cake for her birthday. Or her calling me a softy. Or the two of us awkwardly hugging. She knows I care about her, and I know she cares about me. But this is a path we've only been down once before. This whole situation is hush-hush and the equivalent to me and Rory being the only two people in all of Stars Hollow concerned about Jess after that car accident. "Caesar will be back from his break in five minutes and then I'll head over there."

"Thank you. Call me later with an update?"

"You got it," I pause, overwhelmed by thoughts of Lorelai now being available. Of not being with that low-life. Of having the opportunity to win her back. "Do you know what happened? Anything I need to know beforehand?"

"No, I don't have a clue. I was in a meeting with a writer when Mom left me a message this morning, it was short and to the point. I've tried calling her multiple times, but she isn't answering. I called the inn and Michel says she took a personal day. I can't get away to check in on her. I thought of sending a pigeon, but even that would take too long. I'm worried."

"Well, according to Babette they had a big fight yesterday that ended with your Mom walking him out to his car with his things," I can hear a deep inhale on the other end of the line. Wanting to put her at ease, I share, "Babette said it ended with tears, a long hug, and hushed words. I think it ended okay, Rory. I don't think you need to worry."

"Thanks for that."

I bite my cheek and nod my head. "How's the internship?

"Luke!" Happiness pours out in that one single word. "I love it!"

"Yeah?" Grinning, I turn and lean back against the counter. "That's good to hear."

"Yeah! Everyday I get to read these amazing articles written by talented writers," she goes on, animated. "I get to read about local, national and world events. There are so many things going on in the world that I knew absolutely nothing about. These writers are young and excited about their work. They get to travel and take pictures and write about what they experience."

"That sounds exactly like it's up your alley."

"Yeah," she laughs and then turns quiet. "I just don't know that I'd be good actually doing it myself, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

A few papers rustle from her end as I glance back into the diner when the bells at the door chime. Gypsy makes her way into the diner and beelines her way to Babette and Miss Patty.

"There's a journalist here, Brad, who travels the world to write about indigenous people groups. His last article was about the Bribri in Costa Rica. He had to get there by bus, canoe, and then foot. And, as if that wasn't enough, when he was on the bus, it had to stop so everyone could get out and help in the removal of a fallen tree in the middle of the road! He slept on the ground, cooked over an open fire, went a week with no running water and bathed in a running river. That doesn't sound all that appealing to me."

"Last I checked, you weren't interested in writing about indigenous people groups."

"True. I'm just worried that what I planned for myself isn't realistic. I'm not sure I can be Christiane Amanpour or even Brad and rough it out to get the inside scoop for an article. Logan and Finn and Colin could, no problem. Even their girlfriends. But me?" She snorts a sarcastic laugh. "The closest I came to roughing it out was staying in hostels with Mom after I graduated, and even then, Mom did all the talking and charming. Men were lining up to carry our bags - all because she would flash her smile and do that hair twirl thing she does."

"Maybe you just haven't found your place yet," I point out, trying to push the powerful Lorelai image that would have any man line up behind her from my head. "Or maybe your plan will change or alter. It takes a whole team to make something happen. Maybe you're the one who takes these articles and polishes them and gets them out into the world while staying in a world with cars and plumbing. You still have time."

"Yeah, maybe. Thanks, Luke," she says seriously before chuckling. "You know, I should come to you for advice instead of Mom. Her solution would be to pack a coffee pot and then offer to Crocodile Dundee it with me. She'd find a cute thematic outfit and offer to carry my books. All just to make sure I make my dreams come true."

I snort, not missing a beat, "Can you imagine Lorelai on foot in the jungles of Costa Rica?"

"Her hair would be a mess."

"She'd hate the hiking boots."

"She'd do it though," Rory laughs at the visual. "You know she would. Lorelai loves hard. She'd do anything for those she loves, even if it's self sabotaging. She sometimes just gets too caught up in a moment and isn't thinking clearly and does something really stupid."

I go deathly still, knowing exactly why she said what she said and surprised by her saying anything at all. When I first met the girls, I learned that Lorelai was horribly bad at boundaries. She's not oblivious or clueless. The woman would not only see boundaries, but she'd acknowledge them, and then just hop right on over them, not a care in the world if I wanted her opinion - if she wanted to give me her opinion, you better believe that Lorelai Gilmore would be giving it to me. But Rory? She's always been good at them.

Until now.

And honestly, I'm not sure how I want to deal with our problems, but I do know that I don't want to talk to Rory about them.

The backdoor swings open and Caesar rushes in, panting and red faced. "Sorry I'm late, Boss!"

"You're just in time."

"Luke-"

"Caesar's back," I interrupt, happy with the excuse to end the conversation. "I'll head over there now."

There's a sigh of defeat on her end. "Thanks, Luke, for everything."

"You bet. Bye, Rory."

"Bye."

Swinging around the corner, I return the headset to its cradle and turn back to Caesar. "Hey, I gotta go out for a minute, you mind holding down the fort?"

"You got it Boss!"


Five minutes later, I screech to a halt behind Lorelai's Jeep. Not wanting to give myself any time to think, for fear of wimping out, I jog up the porch stairs, lift my hand and knock loudly on the door.

It takes Lorelai an insane amount of time to open the door, but when she does, I start talking nervously right away, quick to beat her to the task, "Who's here with you?"

"Luke?" Her right hand goes to her hair and she tries to tame the wild mess it is. "What?"

"You know the doctor said not to live alone, so who do you have living here with you? I heard Christopher moved out."

Why? What broke the two of you up? Was it just the parenting? Or was there something more?

Lorelai shrugs her shoulder closest to me nonchalantly before turning, and abandoning me at the open door. She doesn't seem all that bothered by my presence, so I close the door behind me and I follow her into the living room where a rumpled blanket lies abandoned on the couch. It's late morning, and yet, the drapes are pulled, ensconcing the entire room into its very own depressing cocoon. It's easy to see that not only has Lorelai been curled up watching some beloved black and white movie, but she has plans to burrow herself into the couch and not move all day.

A full pint of melted ice cream is sitting on the coffee table, untouched.

Glancing over and really looking at her for the first time, I find that she looks tired and worn down. Her eyes are puffy, her nose is red and her hair, which the woman spends countless hours and money on to keep tame, is pulled up into a messy ponytail, dark wispy curls falling out of the band. It's obvious she's been crying. A lot. And if her face didn't show it, the empty tissue box would.

And then it hits me, she's wallowing.

She's heartbroken.

I have to fight the annoyance and jealousy that brews up within me at the sight. How amazing is it that she's hurt and crying over her breakup with Christopher but the moment we were over she was ready for him? I guess our relationship didn't mean as much to her as it did to me.

I push these thoughts to the side.

Feelings will accomplish nothing. The facts remain, she can't live alone, I want to make sure the babies are safe, I gave Rory my word, and underneath it all, I love her so damn much. Plus, as an added bonus, this will get Tom and the crew off my back.

"Lorelai-"

"I'm fine, really Luke. I don't need anyone," She slinks back down onto the couch.

Listen, I'm no fashion guy. As far as I'm concerned, Lorelai could wear a brown paper bag, and I'd declare her the most beautiful woman in the world. Believe me when I tell you, the once well put together, fashion loving woman is not the same person sitting in front of me. Today, her outfit is loudly clashing. Nothing matches and as I take in the navy sweats and black rock and roll t-shirt that once upon a time hung loosely over her slender frame, but is now hugging her stomach, I'm not even sure if what she's wearing is clean. For all I know, she never got dressed this morning. She pulls up her legs and curls back into the cushions.

I've never seen her look like this.

"You know that's not true," I wait until she looks at me. Every nerve ending on my body comes to stand at attention at the sight of those crystal blue eyes looking up into my own. There's a vast, unending sea of sadness looming there. I hate that. I take a seat next to her on the couch. "Do you have someone coming to stay with you?"

"No," she whispers, looking away.

"Okay, spend the day packing your bags and make sure you're at my house by the end of the day. I had the locks keyed with the same key as the apartment. Just let yourself in-"

"Luke," she groans, sitting up and consequently lands closer to me, annoyed. "No! I'm perfectly fin-"

"You're not."

"I am!"

"You haven't cracked one joke!"

She looks away and swallows back tears.

I hate this. I really, really, hate seeing her this way.

"Listen," I reach out a hand and place it awkwardly on her arm in a failed attempt to comfort her. "I have to get back to the diner. I left Caesar there alone and the lunch crowd is going to show up any minute. I'm not going to sit here and argue with you or make you do something you don't want to do. You have choices. You can either come stay at my place or find someone to come stay with you - or tell me you want to stay here and I'll come stay with you here. I can sleep on the couch." She sighs and looks up at me and that stubborn ass streak of hers makes its appearance in her eyes and leads me to add on the last resort. "Or I can call your mom." she glares darts at me. "You make the decision, but you're not going to be alone. If I don't hear from you, I'll just assume I'll see you at my place tonight."

LORELAI POV

The day is coming to a slow, gentle end by the time I pull into Luke's driveway. It's an odd sensation to be pulling up to a house, rather than the diner, to be with Luke. I have no time to ponder this new reality because by the time I've killed the ignition, Luke is standing by my car door, confused.

"You're earlier than I thought you'd be," he says when I open the door.

"Didn't you tell me to come by the end of the day?" I ask stepping out of the Jeep. I keep my eyes away from him, the sight of him piercing into me, and instead grab my bag and Paul Anka's bag from the passenger side seat.

Remember that wave I told you about yesterday? Yeah. It crashed over me this morning, and let me tell you, it's pure torture to have the man you're mourning come to your rescue. Now I have to spend the next however many months in his house, reminded daily of what I threw away. Yes, yes, I could maybe have him back, but I don't want to get back together with him.

I don't think.

"Yeah, but it's Friday night. I thought you'd be at your parents for your dinner thing," he says reaching out and taking both bags from me. His eyes drift down, and though he does his best to keep a straight face, I can tell he's surprised I never bothered to change out of my outfit from this morning. I did, however, tame my hair. Sort of. Okay, fine, not really.

"I'm never going to Friday Night Dinner ever again. I'm done with my parents."

His eyes widen in surprise, and then he does the one thing he has always done - he lets me not add on. He lets me be.

Earlier today, he was so sure and confident of himself that I was convinced I was going to be the only awkward one tonight. But now, standing here with him, I can tell he's just as uncomfortable with this set up as I am.

Except that can't be true.

The moment I ended things with Christopher and the merry-go-round came to a complete stop, my heart broke into a million pieces. Not for Christopher, no, but for Luke. I stopped running from the pain of our breakup and our reality and instead gave in to it, allowing myself to face it head on.

I step to the side of my Jeep and motion for Paul Anka to hop on out. "I'm sorry, I know you don't care for Paul Anka, but I couldn't leave him home alone, and who knows what kind of Kevin McCallister mayhem he'd get into."

Paul Anka leaps out of the Jeep, landing at Luke's boots, whining and pawing and jumping at Luke, begging for attention. If my idea of payback was Luke being annoyed by the canine, the joke is on me.

"I like Paul Anka just fine," Luke crouches down, the bags resting next to him, as he gives him more attention in one moment than he has ever given the dog in the time that I've had him. "I have a large fenced in backyard. Tom and the crew just fixed it so there's no way he can escape. He'll love it. The previous owners even put in a dog door in the back so he'll be able to go in and out whenever he wants."

Well that didn't go as planned. It was almost as if he was planning on me bringing the dog.

At least one of us will have a good life here. I suppose if it's not me, it's good for Paul Anka.

I raise my eyebrows at his words and look around. Sure, I've begun glancing at the house as I drive to work everyday since I've learned he bought it, but I haven't actually studied the house because the idea of Luke moving seemed unreal. But here we are. It's a rough, dilapidated, flaking-yellow, two story Victorian house that looks like it could collapse at any minute. The idea of actually staying in it is hysterical. Didn't he tell my dad in the hospital that he wouldn't let me and the babies stay here if it wasn't safe? Judging by the outside, safe is the last word I'd use to describe it.

Even though the house is rough, the more time I study it, the more I can come to see its hidden beauty beneath all the years of neglect. It's not as proud and loud as the one I walked through with Christopher and my mother just yesterday, or even the Twickham house, but it's considerably larger than my own. There's a single two window dormer jutting out from the attic, looking out over Stars Hollow, and the many large windows on the second floor boasts of multiple bedrooms that must be spectacularly flooded with natural light.

The entire first floor of the house, as far as my eye can see, is covered by an impressive wrap-around porch. The front door sits slightly to the side of the porch and is balanced masterfully by a large set of bay windows on the other side, giving its appearance character and dimension. My eyes trip on the old pendant light that hangs from a single wire on the porch ceiling as images of beautiful light fixtures from magazines and stores begin to scroll through my mind as I begin to imagine what pretty light fixture we can hang there. I shake my head at the thought, realizing how sucked in I'm becoming even though I have yet to even step on the porch.

The reality is, if you can visualize past the flaking yellow paint, rotted siding and the dilapidated . . . everything, the house could be beautifully charming. Maybe. It's obviously a worksite with wood stacked on workhorses in the side yard covered by tarp. Buckets and wheel-barrels stacked next to it.

Luke's grandfather obviously took time and spent the resources to build it on prime real estate. The whole house is set off at the end of town, just a bit like my house is on the opposite side of town. It's as if it's off on its own, while not being so entirely.

"You ready to go in?" Luke asks softly. "It's really hot and humid out here and I don't want you to overheat."

Snapping out of my thoughts, I look up at Luke to find his eyes on me. I'm not sure how long I stood there staring at the house, but I can tell, without a doubt, that Luke was watching me take it all in. I nod and follow him up the porch steps, praying they don't collapse under my feet.

On the porch, Luke reaches out a slightly shaky hand, twists the doorknob, and pushes open the door.

Once inside, I stare dumbfounded at the interior. It's gorgeous. Absolutely breathtaking and I can't help the laughter that bubbles up and out of me in complete and utter surprise at the vast difference between the interior and exterior. It's one hundred percent safe for me and the babies here and I was right about the natural light. The entire house is flooded with it.

When you enter the front door, you enter into a small entry. A set of stairs leading to the second floor are to the left of the house with what looks to be a coat closet beneath the stairs. Rich hardwood floors span the entire first floor and up the stairs to the second floor.

"Your grandfather built this?" I ask, baffled, all my worry and hurt replaced with curiosity. "With his own two hands?"

"He drew it up himself, got the historic board's approval and built it for my grandma when she got pregnant with my dad," His hands go to his waist and then he shrugs. "I was just born when they passed. My grandfather left the house to my dad and he moved me and my mom in here. It was the three of us until they brought Liz home from the hospital."

"So this is your childhood home? This is where you grew up?"

"Yeah." Luke lowers my bags by the staircase and leads me into the adjoining room. A fireplace sits opposite the set of large bay windows and his apartment furniture rests in the middle of the room, small and comically out of proportion, facing the fireplace. If Luke and I were still on good terms, I'd tease him mercilessly about this. "So this is the living room."

And that's how the tour started and the first time since our breakup that we've been totally fine with each other. We allow ourselves to get sucked into the house and happily take the conversation topic to the extreme. I ask a million questions about the house and Luke happily answers them. The longer the tour goes on, the less intense things feel between the two of us.

Paul Anka and I trail behind Luke through the rest of the house, through the dining room with intricately inlaid hardwood floors, in through a set of beautifully stained French doors into a home office (his office furniture doesn't look too bad here), and finally to the renovated kitchen. The kitchen isn't much larger than mine, though it does have space for a working island and an informal eating area. It's easy to see Luke cooking here. He's never complained about my kitchen, but with this one, he has plenty of counter space for cooking and storage for his cooking utensils.

The more I see of this house, the warmer and cozier it feels. His grandfather had to have spent hours upon hours adding in all the detail work to load the house with old character, but not so much so that it feels old and dated. It's just beautiful. The house isn't so big that it has cold corners where one can feel lost and forgotten. And this is the difference between the house yesterday and this one. Yesterday's house was beautiful, yes, but it was so large, it would be a challenge to fill up. This house is warm and cozy and basically hugs you. It's a place where you want to be.

I look around in awe, his paint color scheme is perfection. A warm neutral covers the majority of the walls, begging for artwork and some funk to be added, but some rooms are painted blues and greens and all the colors compliment the floors. It's cozy and cohesive and totally unlike Luke and his typical selections. When we were going to paint my house, he had left the color decisions up to me, much to his regret due to my paint-color-thingy obsession, insisting that if he were to choose the paint colors, it'd consist of just whites or browns.

These colors aren't him at all.

"How did you pick out your paint colors?" I ask curiously as we make our way back to the staircase.

He lifts my bag and freezes for a second. His other hand raises and he nervously rubs the back of his neck, telltale signs that there's a story to my question, but by the time he turns toward me, he shrugs a shoulder nonchalantly and says, "I went and got my color fan and these colors sort of just fell into my lap."

He's lying.

I bob my head a few times, accepting his lie for now, and allow him to guide me upstairs.

"There's four bedrooms up here," he explains. "I'm going to have you take my room, you'll be more comfortable there than in the others. I changed the sheets and moved my clothes before you got here so it's ready for you."

"I'm fine with one of the other rooms."

"Nah," He waves my words away and opens the first door closest to the staircase. He enters the room, places my bags inside and turns to me. "Trust me, you'll be more comfortable here. Plus there's a full bathroom right there," He points to the ajar door just a few feet away from the bed. "That'll be more comfortable for all your pregnancy. . ." he motions to my stomach awkwardly and I have to battle myself to not give into the smile that wants to creep up my lips. I've always found awkward Luke cute. "Stuff."

When I pull my glance from him into the room, I don't see any part of the room other than the bed. Everything about it is exactly the same as it was when we were together. Apparently he didn't feel the need to burn his sheets and comforter the way I did to rid it of our memories. Rhetorically speaking, of course, I didn't really burn them. I just had to get rid of them.

"Honestly, Luke, I really can stay in the one of the other roo-"

He ignores my offer and instead steps out into the hallway and waits for me to follow after him.

"This is going to be the twins' room," he says slightly wearily, opening the door to the room closest to his. I cross my arms over my chest, glancing in to find the decent sized empty room painted a soothing green. He doesn't look at me as he continues, "I figured it'd be good for when you let me have them. If you let me have them. With their room being closest to mine, I'd be able to hear them."

The fact that Luke has already thought about the twins needing a room next to his touches me on a level I've never experienced before. Chris' solution to two more kids was to get a live-in nanny (or two), while Luke has painted their nursery, thinking ahead and making sure it's the room closest to his in case they need him.

Talk about polar opposites.

He guides me to the next room and I peek my head in. It's smaller and painted a deep rich turquoise. The bed is made and covered with a striped multicolored comforter and a desk is in the corner with a stack of science books and a microscope sitting atop it. A few unpacked boxes are stacked to the right of the bed.

"April's room?" I ask.

He nods stiffly without looking at me, doesn't say anything else and closes the door.

I'm still stuck on the idea of April and what we're all going to do when she comes to visit Luke and I'm here when he says, "A bathroom is there," he points to an open door to my left. "You shouldn't need it since you have a bathroom in your room, but you're welcome to it."

I glance in to find a typical full hall bathroom, though the tile and paint color, once again, is perfect. White subway tiles line the walls of the shower tub and three quarters of the way up the other walls. A relaxing blue green paint color is painted above it, contrasting beautifully against the white tile. Bright and clean.

There's one common denominator I notice the further along we get in the tour: the entire place is pretty empty. I suppose moving from a tiny apartment into a two-story house will do that. It'll be interesting to see how he shops and fills the house considering how much he hates to shop.

Finally, he leads me down the hall to the final bedroom. "When the twins need their own rooms, this will be one of theirs. For now it's a guest room. I'll be staying in here."

"Well perfect." It's far, far, far away from his room. We're separated as far apart as humanly possible in this house. Good. I'm glad he feels the need to have things that way too. "I'll stay here."

"Nah, this was my childhood bedroom, so I'll stay in it." He shakes his head and motions me back the way we came. "So there you go."

"What? I get to see all the other rooms, but not this one? What? Do you have a magic wardrobe in there that I'll stumble into that will lead me into Narnia? Talk about a cliffhanger."

"Eh, you don't wanna see it," His large hands land on my shoulders and a million sparks crackle on my skin beneath his fingers. He tries to push me down the hallway, but I dig in my heels, and stand stubbornly in my spot. Behind me, Luke sighs and removes his hands. "Fine. Go ahead."

"Smart man!" I turn in my spot, take a few steps, twist the doorknob, curiosity piqued, while opening the door. My mouth drops open, falling into a huge humorous smile that has no chance of holding up in battle.

"You have got to be kidding me!" I laugh, unable to hide the unrestrained amusement in my voice. I won't be able to go through this room without some teasing.

I kid you not - Luke's grandparents' bedroom set, cherubs, fun glass, sail boats and all is set up meticulously in this room. I instantly roll my eyes. "You told me you got rid of your grandparents' bedroom set!"

"I meant I got it out of your house."

"Getting rid of it and getting it out of my house are two different things!"

I enter the room and chuckle disbelievingly while running a hand over the carved bedpost and leaning in to view one of the wooden cherubs up close. They're creepier than I remembered. So much worse! When I turn back around to glance at Luke, Paul Anka is at my heels, his eyes lifted to one of the cherubs and a low growl vibrates deep in his throat. Petting his head, I laugh at the dog's disdain for the bedroom set and glance over at Luke. I stare at him, drinking in his familiarity. He traded out his warm flannel for his cooler summer plaid. His hat still sits backwards on his head. His hands are shoved in his back pockets while his head is dipped down guiltily and he's looking up at me through those dark eyelashes of his. A cute, sheepish, amused smile is painted across his lips and no matter how hard I try to fight it, I can't not grin back at him, because there he is. The Luke I knew may have disappeared for a while, confused about April and then upset about our breakup, but here he is - the man I fell in love with.

"Yeah, you're right, Paul Anka and I are not sleeping here."

He smiles warmly in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling softly, and it's here and now that I realize I'm in so much trouble.