Chapter XXI
Dean thought about it, of course. Who wouldn't? He thought about storming in there, confronting them. He felt sick by the vocabulary, but – he'd 'caught them in the act', hadn't he? If the act meant sitting together, laughing together, and watching a film together.
Dean reminisced outside that hospital door. He thought about Rory's laugh, and how he missed it. He thought about movie nights with Lorelai, and how it had been a while. He thought that this jealousy in his stomach would be the end of him, and then he remembered what his Nana said.
When Dean had hung up the phone at his grandmother's house, when he informed Rory that he was coming home early, his Nana had been standing beside him. She'd seen his face change when he put the receiver back.
"All right, dear?"
He had looked up at her from where he sat next to the phone. He'd felt like a child again looking up at her, even though he now surpassed her petite frame by more than a foot, pushing two. And he'd wanted to tell her everything, like he used to. No. I'm not alright. It feels off. It feels fake. It feels like she's lying to me. Am I lying to her?
"Nana… when you and Granddad… separated… how did– well didn't it feel…" Dean had felt terrible bringing up the past. It'd been over a decade. Both his grandparents were transparent about it, but he had felt guilty nevertheless.
She'd finished his question with raised brows, "Like a mistake?"
Dean had been ashamed to even nod, but she'd taken the silent affirmation.
She had looked down at her hands intertwined, then at the photos on the wall. Her eyes had traced the decades of their romance, of their family, of the life they'd built. "Some days, sure. Some days, we thought to ourselves, we should have tried harder. We shouldn't have put our families through that. But still, how could we have ever learned the lessons we needed to if we stayed side by side?"
She'd then turned to look at the piano. Dean's mother had told him once that Nana didn't start playing again… until they separated. But… Wasn't it better to have somebody to play for? Dean swallowed, then attempted, "Couldn't you learn together?"
Isn't that what love should be? Any obstacle can be overcome, as long as you stick together?
His grandmother had smiled as she stared at the keys fondly. "Maybe two other people could have. Not us, though. We… needed to learn how to stand on our own again. It was hard work, but it was important work. I have no regrets, dear."
Dean thought he understood. He knew he could stand on his own. He wanted to be with Rory and take care of both of them. All of these could be true, at once. He wanted them to be the two other people. Who could learn together, could grow together. Side by side.
What is the right question? He thought, standing in the hospital corridor, taking a last glimpse of Jess and Rory. Jess seemed to be dozing off, but Rory's eyes were glued to the screen. The whole situation appeared less nefarious than it had before. He saw two teenagers in a hospital room. He moved away from the door and leaned his back against the wall. Dean wasn't choking on jealousy anymore. He considered feeling angry, embarrassed, or maybe sad, but really, he couldn't feel anything. He felt empty. If he stopped breathing, it would be because his brain forgot to tell his lungs to function.
So no, he did not go in. Instead he walked back to the parking lot, got into his car, and took a look in the mirror. What is the right question? he asked his reflection. He thought he knew, but what he knew for sure was that something needed to change. Dean didn't want to have any regrets.
"It's only because it's a really bad sprain," Luke tells himself as he pulls Jess's clothing from the drying machine. A pair of boxer briefs drops to the floor. Luke groans half in annoyance and embarrassingly enough, half from the ache in his back, as he bends down to grab it.
As far as roommates go, Luke has had worse than his nephew. Neither of them are the cleanest people, but they keep their items confined to their own space. They wordlessly do their own laundry, silently wash their own dishes. Luke swears that some days when he comes up in between diner shifts, the floor has been swept and the windowsills dusted. He never dared ask Jess about it, since he would deny it for contrary's sake, then cease such activity altogether.
Yep, fortunately for Luke, Jess usually does his own laundry. However, having not anticipated being in a somewhat severe car accident, Jess left some dirty clothes in the basket. After that unproductive conversation with his nephew in the hospital, in which he'd told Jess to gather his own stupid stuff, he resigned himself to doing it himself. He started with the books and music. He put the shoes in a box, had to look around the apartment more upon realizing there were only 3 pairs, he supposed 4 with the shoes worn to the hospital. Even Luke had more than 4 pairs of shoes. He emptied Jess's dresser into his duffel bag. After an hour of packing, there was nothing left to do except the basket of dirty laundry. And after a couple of days of arguing with himself about being too indecisive, Luke got tired of looking at it. Eventually, he determined that Jess would have struggled on his bad foot, taken at least double the time, and Luke would have been too frustrated at his slowness to enjoy watching him struggle.
Some people may pack dirty laundry and wash it when they get there, but seeing as walking to a laundromat in New York is Luke's personal definition of hell, he took pity on Jess and threw the clothing in the wash.
Luke doubts that Liz's house habits have changed after all these years. Keep a tidy space to keep a tidy mind, right? Something like that. Jess is a relatively tidy teenager, and it must be in the pursuit of being unlike his mother, or out of the pure necessity created by living with her. Liz thrives in chaos, in unpredictability, always had. It was a spontaneity and carefreeness that Luke envied at points, then realized that trying to be spontaneous was pointless. Defeated it. So Luke embraced regimen. He wakes up at the same time, follows the same routine. He takes joy in sameness, and in small pockets of difference. He'd leave spontaneity, fake or otherwise, to his sister.
He pushes Jess's clean clothes into a garbage bag, not bothering to fold them. The kid doesn't own real luggage, which isn't a surprise. He rarely left New York, so wouldn't need more than his one duffel, which is holding the rest of his clothing.
Taking Jes in had been one of the most spontaneous things Luke had done in a while. It created a chain of unpredictability. Trying to clean up after Jess while the town lashed out at him was one thing. Buying an apartment, doing a renovation, and opening a bank account are another.
Be grateful, you little twerp. Maybe a near-death experience will make you screw your head on straight. Luke thinks as he ties the bag shut and places it next to the box of books. He doesn't usually let intrusive thoughts like this in, but Luke is frustrated. It feels wrong.
It feels wrong, and so Luke thinks about Lorelai, about the shift he's seen in her since that late night in the hospital. He thought she hated him for bringing in Jess, for letting him get close to her daughter. Maybe she really had. She apologized though. Luke takes apologies seriously, as he is not one to say he is sorry and not mean it. He doesn't think she is either.
She told him that he knows what's best for them, told him to keep fighting the good fight, so to speak. But… Luke doesn't know what the good fight is anymore. He took a lot of heat for the things Jess has done, he argued with a lot of people he'd gladly argue with any day, but now he feels like he doesn't have a leg to stand on, not now that Rory got hurt and Jess is taking the initiative to get out of town.
He takes the invitation she gave him off the fridge. The cardstock has a nice weight to it. She must have had only a small batch printed, maybe used the printer at the Inn to print on thicker paper. He feels honored just to be holding it. And embarrassed to admit that, even to himself. He wonders if he should get her a gift, or flowers. What should he wear for such an occasion? He doesn't really know anyone that graduated college, so he's never been to a college graduation ceremony before. His own high school graduation feels like eons ago, and on that day, his father helped him tie his tie. For Luke does not wear ties, and did not have the expertise to do it himself by memory. Maybe now he could, as he has since tried to memorize a lot of things his father did, even insignificant things, and has since been to a few funerals.
Luke pins the invitation back to the refrigerator with a magnet. Lorelai said to talk to Jess, to make a decision together about how to move forward. Lorelai has Rory, though, so maybe she just doesn't understand. Maybe Gilmores can have conversations like that, not people like him and Jess. He turns to glare at the bus schedule on the table, crossing his arms over his chest. The only decision he and Jess had managed to make together was selecting a ride time when Luke went to the hospital, after consulting with the doctor. Jess had no desire to linger in town after his release, said it would be annoying to deal with. Luke meant to stop at the station to buy a ticket on early pricing at some point. He didn't go, though. Similar to how he meant to withdraw Jess from school, but returned with a list of missed assignments rather than a transcript.
What is wrong with him? Why can't he just take the out? He thinks about what Lorelai would have said. That woman never takes the easy way to anything. He chuckles a bit to himself and looks at the invitation again. He hopes she wears her degree like a badge of honor. He hopes it will bring her everything she is hoping for.
Damn it, he thinks as more intrusive thoughts enter his head. He moves across the room, gathers the pile of belongings into a tighter pile, for no reason, except to do something with his hands. Stop it. That's enough.
Luke envisioned helping Jess with his tie, on his graduation day. Here. In their apartment.