Fic: Home - Chapter Four, General (GG)
Jul. 1st, 2003 02:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rubykatewritingTITLE: Home
AUTHOR:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rubykatewriting
PAIRING: This fic features Lorelai and Luke in an established relationship with children; Sookie and Jackson are still doing what they're doing; and Jess is a widower; it will eventually end up Rory/Jess.
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: Now he can’t imagine calling any other place home. Jess returns to Stars Hollow.
DISCLAIMER: Luke Danes, Lorelai Gilmore, Jess Mariano, Sookie St. James, Jackson Belleville, Emily and Richard Gilmore and Rory Gilmore belong to others. I am only borrowing them. No harm intended.
WARNING: Major character death pre-fic, which is discussed and dealt with through remainder of fic.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Multiple chapters.
Jess lies in bed, one arm folded beneath his head, with his other hand resting on his bare chest. He loves this time of day best. The quiet hour or so before the world wakes up and begins its daily travails all over again. Shifting comfortably, sighing with a rare sense of contentment, he watches the sunlight dance against the ceiling. Brief snatches of memory flitter through his mind and he remembers the night Shelby dragged him to this show at the Alley Theater. A friend of a friend was performing with his dance troupe and Shelby ended up with two tickets to see the show. Despite his initial hesitation, he found himself quite enjoying the performance. The dancers were so uninhibited, completely lost within the strange rhythm of the music, their movements scattered, wild.
They came home afterward and made love for hours. He can still remember the sound of her husky laugh as he chased her up the stairs, neither caring if they woke up the whole house. That was how he always was with her: so besotted he barely noticed anything or anyone else.
Closing his eyes, he forcibly pushes aside all of those thoughts, regretting this trip down memory lane. Sometimes he wonders if he will ever be able to think of Shelby without feeling like he has just been sucker- punched in the gut. Easing out from under the comforter, he stretches and swings his feet to the floor. Elbows on his knees, he hunches over and covers his face with his hands, scrubbing away the bad mood he feels lingering just behind his eyes. He has to wake up Wren in a minute and he doesn't want her to see him like this.
He stands and pads across the apartment. Lorelai and Sookie found a couple of decorative screens to close off Wren's half, to give her a semblance of privacy. One of them has little spaces for pictures and she has spent the last few weeks carefully perusing the numerous albums for photographs she will place in the four-paneled screen. So far, only two have made it.
Squatting down, he looks at them - one with only he and Shelby, the other with the two of them and Wren. Kathy, a friend of Shelby's from work, took them. She was an amateur photographer with a pretty good eye; no one would have guessed the photographs weren't taken by a professional. His thumb grazes Shelby's smiling face and he chews his lower lip. Their wedding wasn't traditional in any sense of the word. They married in her grandmother's backyard lit with dozens of candles (citronella to ward off the mosquitoes) and cheap multi-colored Chinese lanterns they found in a shop in Rice Village. She wore a simple dress Nana made (it was lacy and it fell all the way to her feet, her bare toes peeking out only when she took a step) and carried a bunch of wildflowers tied together with one of Wren's hair ribbons.
Mostly, he remembers her eyes. And the feel of her hand in his, their fingers laced, hanging between their bodies. She squeezed his fingers gently as the minister started the vows and he looked at her. A smile trembled on her mouth and he knew she was crying. Then she touched his cheek, her fingertips cool even in the heat, and he realized he was crying too.
Groaning, he wonders idly, if he really is a glutton for punishment. Rising, he turns and glances at Wren. She is laid out on her belly, hair spun out like a golden halo around her head, with her pillow long-since shoved up against the headboard. Her feet hang off either side of the bed, the sheets tangled around her thighs and torso, and her arms are tucked under her chest, her head cradled in her hands. Ever since she was a baby, she has slept like this.
Taking care not to wake her, he sits down on the edge of the mattress and watches her sleep. With a grimace of concentration, he carefully brushes the hair from her face; she's been having the nightmares again. Dark shadows sit below her closed eyes, startling even against her olive skin. It's because of the move, he's sure, but any time he brings it up, she shrugs it off and disappears, usually with Will and Emma. Used to be, she told him everything and now...well she's acting entirely too much like him. Old habits back to haunt him.
She stirs, barely a fraction of an inch. "Daddy?" she mumbles, yawning. Her eyes flicker open, then slide closed with sleepy abandon. She has never been one to jerk out of sleep; it has always been a gradual process.
"Morning, Bird, time to wake up," he tells her, his voice thick. "Time to get ready for school. Outdo your old man." Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he turns away from her and goes to the window, drawing the curtains to either side. Sunlight falls brilliantly across her bed, and she burrows deeper under the covers, grumbling something unintelligible. Looking back at her, he warns, "Wren..."
She flops onto her back, but tugs the sheet up to her chin defiantly. "Why does school have to be so early?" she groans, yawning again.
He grins and shakes off his melancholy mood once and for all. Maybe he is more affected by this move than he first thought. "It's a conspiracy against the youth of America," he mocks. "Now hurry up. I don't want you missing breakfast. Your teachers will kill me."
She is already drifting back to sleep.
"Wren Claudine," he barks. "Up and at 'em or I start singing."
No movement. She thinks he's bluffing.
"Hmm...maybe I'll start with "Good Morning" from Singing in the Rain?" he ponders aloud.
"I'm up, I'm up," she pleads, jerking up in bed too quickly. She tumbles over the side, legs flying over her head.
He snorts. "Smooth."
"Oh, shut up," she mumbles from the floor.
-
Jess washes his face and brushes his teeth at the kitchen sink because Wren needs to take a shower. It is the first time they've ever had to worry about sharing a bathroom and they are still working out the kinks in the schedule. He hurries over to Shelby's old armoire and grabs his daily uniform: jeans, thermal shirt, and a short-sleeve button-down. He glances at the clock again and curses under his breath. His little pity-party has put him severely behind and Luke is probably already downstairs with most of the morning chores finished.
Standing at his dresser, he buckles his watch onto his wrist and tucks his wallet into his back pocket. He gives his hair a quick finger comb and makes sure no strands are standing straight up, at attention. All in all, it's only taken him fifteen minutes, but it is fifteen minutes he didn't have. Shaking his head, he thinks back to those long ago days, spending fifteen minutes just getting his hair all waxed and perfect. But that was when he had Rory to worry and fuss over.
It catches his eye as he turns toward the bathroom. A simple silver chain with an equally simple silver band, but he hesitates only a second before he slips it over his head. Nana used to say it was not the appearance but the affection, the love, behind a wedding band that gave it meaning. He sticks it down the front of his shirt and gives it quick pat. The ring is cool against his skin from lying out all night. He meets his eyes in the mirror. Eventually you will have to stop wearing it, he thinks to himself.
Wren is in the shower, singing something about how funny her man is; she takes after her parents, warbling loudly and off-key. He stands at the bathroom door, smiling. "Hey, Bird, what do you want for breakfast this morning?"
All he hears is the sound of the water for several minutes as she mulls it over. "Pancakes?" she says, sounding unsure. "No! French toast and make sure Quinn doesn't skimp on the cinnamon this time!" she answers, shouting over the water.
"Coming up. Don't take too long!" He heads to the door and makes sure to lock it behind him. Taking the steps two at a time, he hears Luke through the walls, banging around. Most likely brewing coffee since Lorelai will be coming in any second. Pushing through the curtains, he gives Luke a nod of greeting. Glancing around, he notices the chairs are still stacked seat- down on top of the tables. He looks under the counter and sees Luke has already set up the bleach bucket. Steam rises up from the hot water and Jess thinks how he has always found the smell of bleach water homey. He grabs a rag and starts wiping down the tables.
They work in near silence (Quinn's radio murmurs softly from the kitchen) until the door chimes, announcing Lorelai's arrival, just as Jess starts the last table.
She walks in, a smile on her face. "Husband," she greets, stepping behind the counter. Luke quits counting the till and pulls her into the circle of his arms, kissing her hello. Neither of them cares who sees them and it is something to see. Years of friendship and now ten years of marriage and two kids have produced a tangible force between them, even if they're across the room from each other. They belong to each other and they show it in their bodies; when they are together, they glow with electricity.
Jess shared the same physical awareness with Shelby. How easily it became habit to reach out and know a person was there, to feel their familiar warmth and to expect it to always be there. It took him one night to get used to sharing a bed with her, and two years later, he is still trying to break himself of the habit.
"Morning, Jess," Lorelai calls in a sing-song voice. He knows without looking she is already pouring herself a huge mug of coffee, can almost hear the dark liquid splash hotly against the ceramic. What most people use for cereal bowls, she uses for coffee, but then, most people would be jumpy for days on the amount of coffee it takes simply to sustain her through the day.
Grinning, he gives her a silent wave, heading back behind the counter. He drops the rag back into the bucket and goes to the window to place Wren's order with Quinn. "Oh, and extra cinnamon," he adds, taking one of the order pads and stuffing it into his back pocket.
-
Luke is sliding the cash drawer into the register when Will and Emma burst through the door, chattering away like birds. Lorelai sits on the first stool, talking to Sookie about some shipment that either did or did not come in late last night. Both kids go to her first and she gives them each a quick peck on the mouth in greeting. Shifting, she holds the impossibly tiny cell between her shoulder and her ear, and relieves Emma of her backpack, letting it drop with a mighty thunk to the floor. She reaches out and tries to straighten Will's hair, but he has wavy hair just like his cousin Jess - contrary and obviously sent to test her patience.
Leaning against the counter, Luke watches with a smile on his face. A family he never really thought he would have (he was never the daydream sort) has literally sprung up in what feels like the blink of an eye. Sometimes he has to sit back and enjoy it for a few seconds before the kids start yelling about something or Lorelai begins a rant about something ridiculous.
And though he has never been a very religious man, he makes sure to send a few words of thanks to the man upstairs every so often.
"Mom, I swear no matter how many times you wet your hand and run it through my hair - which, I know for a fact is very unsanitary - it is going to remain exactly like this," Will argues, fruitlessly of course, his head bobbing under the force of her ministrations.
"Hold still just a second longer," she begs, tugging her fingers through it again, her brows drawn together in concentration. She tucks her chin in towards her chest and says into the phone, "I'm still here, Sook."
Emma sidles up next to Luke, leaning her full weight against his leg, watching as he closes up the moneybag for the bank drop. He glances down at her, then presses a quick kiss on the top of her head. She wraps her gangly arms around his waist and tilts her head back to look at him with her mother's eyes. He held her in his arms only seconds after her birth, all purple and wrinkly, and he thought to himself, if he were in her position, he would have been screaming his head off. Not Emma, she calmly lay in the crook of his arm while the doctors and nurses tended to Lorelai, and watched him with the opaque cerulean eyes of a newborn. He couldn't get over how much she reminded him of Rory - forever the eye to her mother's hurricane.
"Hey, Em," he whispers, cupping the back of her head. She is still so petite and her head fits perfectly in the curve of his palm.
"Hi, Daddy," she replies in her tiny voice.
"What do you want for breakfast this morning?" he asks and she is quiet as she mulls it over.
"What is Wren having?" she inquires, eyeing him through her lashes. A self- conscious grin curves her mouth and her face flushes a delicate pink. Luke bites back a smile. She has become quite impressed with her cousin in these passing weeks. Every other sentence involves some exotic new secret she has learned about Wren. It is the first time she has been so enamored of a friend.
"I don't know." He turns to the window. "Hey, Quinn, what is Wren having this morning?" he asks, careful to keep his voice low.
Quinn glances up from the griddle, shoving his glasses up on his nose. He wipes his forehead, already dotted with perspiration. "Uh, French toast," he answers, then his brow furrows. "She didn't change her mind, did she?"
Luke shakes his head. He crouches down in front of Emma. "French toast?"
She smiles again, nodding. "Yep."
"Coming right up, Em." To Quinn, he calls, "Make a half order for Emma, too." He knows Emma will not be able to eat as much as Wren; she was not blessed with her mother's appetite, or her bad dietary habits. She has always been a picky eater like him, preferring more healthful foods.
Lorelai ends her call and walks over to Luke. "I have to locomote. Apparently the order of new mattresses did not arrive as expected," she informs him, taking a long sip of her now-cool coffee. She scrunches her nose and sets it down.
He nods, pouring her a to-go cup. "Are you going to eat breakfast there or do you want me to bring something by after the morning rush?" He presses the lid on tightly and hands it to her.
She smiles beatifically, eyes shining. "I knew there was a reason I married you!" she exclaims teasingly, pressing a kiss to his mouth. "But actually, I'll just take a donut with me if you have one?"
Luke makes for the kitchen to get Lorelai her donut, but stops and glances back into the dining area. Will occupies Lorelai's vacated seat, fully absorbed in the book Wren was reading last week. "Will, what do you want this morning?"
He looks up, eyes unfocused. "What? Oh. Pancakes." His attention returns to the book.
Luke waits. "You're sure?"
"Yeah," Will replies, sinking further down into his seat, more fully hidden by the book in hopes of ending this conversation.
Luke grabs the book and bends over to stare his son directly in the eye. "You've eaten those every morning for the past week. You wanna try for something a little healthier?"
Will grabs the book back, easily finding his place again. "I think a few pear slices would go nicely," he replies, avoiding his father's penetrating gaze.
Luke nods his head affirmatively, as he pushes through the kitchen door. "Okay, coming right up."
-
Wren appears at the curtain, scrubbed shiny. Her hair is plaited into long pigtails, still darkly wet from washing. She carries her bookbag, stuffed with both her school books and any recreational reading she thinks she may need for the day. She drops it into the nearest chair, then climbs up onto the stool next to Will's. Emma soon follows, sitting beside Wren, and Quinn appears with their food minutes later, setting it, with flair (he is really great with kids) before them. He whips out forks and knifes like a gunfighter for each of them and is rewarded for his efforts by claps and giggling. When he turns around to go back to the kitchen, he is walking a little taller, shoulders squared.
Lorelai hugs each of the kids goodbye, one by one. "Take care, kiddos. Do not torture your teachers. Play nice with the other kids. I will see you after school," she tells them and they nod solemnly without comment. Passing Jess, she gives him a wave. "See you later," she adds. The bell chimes over the door as she slips outside, purse in one hand, coffee and bag with donut in the other.
Luke brings out a couple of plates of food and Jess sits with him at their usual table. It is slow enough they can eat a quick bite before the morning rush hits. Since he is not usually required to provide conversation when he eats with Luke, he studies Wren as she eats and chatters with her cousins. Her face is vibrant and he feels a pang in the pit of his belly. She looks so much like her mother - her eyes glowing with some inner fire, mouth a little 'o' as she listens to Will talk.
For the first time, he notices her outfit: baggy overalls (tan corduroy), a dark red long john top and her white Chuck Taylor's. It is basically the same thing every day - pants or overalls, shirt, and her Converse; it is only the colors that change. While she was never a girly-girl, she used to wear dresses and skirts every once in a while, if for no other reason than to please her mother and great-grandmother. He makes a mental note to buy her some thick tights if she decides to wear them this winter and he hopes she will.
"Did you call the realtor yesterday?"
Jess nods. "She's going to send over some listings within my price range later today." He chews a piece of sliced pear slowly, staring blindly at his plate. The thought of moving again fills him with dread, but he wants Wren to be in a house of her own.
"I heard Lorelai's old house is up for sale. Dale - you met him a few days ago? - was transferred back to Los Angeles," Luke offers, watching Jess' face.
"That would be the perfect size, but a bit strange." Jess meets Luke's eyes and shrugs. "I know Wren would love it. I don't know. Maybe."
-
Those first few months in Venice Beach were blurry, nothing penetrating the thick fog he seemed immersed in. He was so afraid, a fear like none he'd known before clutching at him, snaking its way through every limb from his torso out, its grip tightening with each passing day. Since as far back as he could remember, he'd felt some sort of fear but never had he felt this kind of fear. He was scared he would never outrun his old self, the Jess who made fucking up an art form, so careless, whimsical with the way he went from one accident to another. He was so afraid of turning out like his parents he was paralyzed to do anything to avoid it.
His days were routine: work, bookstore, Jimmy's. The only one he really talked to was Lilly. Sometimes he took her with him to the beach, but most of the time, she was happy to follow him around. They would go to this bookstore on the boardwalk and wile away the hours amidst the tall stacks of new and used books. Usually they stayed until dinnertime, when Lilly would drag him home. He hated dinnertime at Jimmy's house; it always left him feeling even more bereft, more a visitor in his own life. He would watch Jimmy and Sasha and Lilly act like the family they were, forever the outsider looking in.
He can't pinpoint the exact moment he noticed Shelby. Was it his third or fourth trip into the bookstore? Only one day, he glanced up and spotted her leaning against the counter behind the register, reading. She met his eyes, but she didn't smile. Understanding bloomed in her eyes; she nodded a little, her chin dipping down a fraction of an inch. Then she returned to her book as if nothing had happened.
A few days later, she was behind the register when he came to check out, alone for the first time. He told himself it was only because he didn't want to wait for Lilly to get out of school, but as he stepped inside, he found himself looking for her. She rang up each book (mostly used, a fraction above looking completely battered, but it was all he could afford) without a comment. No idle chit-chat, not even (again) a smile. He liked that immediately. As he dug in his jeans pocket for cash, he felt her watching him, and he glanced up, momentarily struck immobile. Her eyes, up close, were almond brown, like warmed honey, rimmed with coal. There was no lightness in them, as if they'd known only sadness, but as they moved over his face, deliberate in their perusal, he felt something more.
"You don't smile much," she commented, her tone matter-of-fact. Her expression was curious, delicate black brows drawn together, her head tilted to the side.
"Yeah," he agreed without thinking, more surprised than insulted. He colored slightly as he looked away, uncomfortable, but she was oblivious.
"That's what I hate most about this place," she continued, holding out her hand for his money. He dropped the coins and crumpled dollar bills high above her hand, strangely afraid to touch her. She didn't notice or didn't comment, automatically flattening the bills out; she even straightened them so they all faced the same direction. "Too much smiling. Everywhere you go, people are smiling as if the beach is a giant dose of happy or something." She shook her head as she hit a button on the register and the drawer popped open. She tossed the change into each individual slot, the sound loud as the coins hit the hard plastic; she flipped the cash holder up and slipped the bills into the first slot.
He tried to keep quiet, chewing the inside of his cheek, but curiosity got the better of him. "Where are you from?" he inquired as she bagged the books into a little paper bag. She had a subtle accent, something southern. He liked her voice.
She seemed surprised. "Houston," she replied, eyeing him again. Handing him the bag, she smiled for the first time and their fingers grazed as he grabbed hold of the flimsy-looking straw handles. Tapping her badge, she introduced herself, "I'm Shelby."
He felt a spark of something at the contact, hardly hearing her name. After a long, awkward pause, he realized it was his turn to speak. Coughing into his hand, he shook his head, "Jess," he told her, his voice rough sounding.
They stood there for several minutes, staring at each other, then a customer behind him cleared her throat, breaking the spell. Flushing again, he nodded his head at Shelby and made a dash for the door. As he pushed the door out, he couldn't help himself, he looked back at her. She was chatting with the customer, but she glanced his way quickly, a bemused smile on her face. He swore to himself he would find a new bookstore.
Months later, as they argued over a book (The Secret History), Jess found himself watching her as she told him why the novel was brilliant, a "stunning" debut. He wondered when he'd become so comfortable with her, why he felt compelled to be around her as much as possible. How had he come from that first day to here? Again, he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment, only that he was there, her body so close he could reach out and touch her. And for the first time, he did...
He sits in the car, waiting for the kids. The elementary school let out classes fifteen minutes ago; the flow of departing students has slowed from the first initial mad-dash to a trickle, a student here or there. Wren has always been one to wander her way out.
He is glad for once. His wallet lays open on the seat beside him, and he stares at her picture. He stuck it into a side pocket a few months ago; he could barely bring himself to open his wallet, knowing she would be smiling up at him. She took it herself, holding the camera above them, the two of them grinning widely. It was the first night they kissed. She pulled out her camera (it was always in her purse) and said she wanted to photograph the moment. In the middle of the boardwalk, they stopped and took it.
He catches sight of Wren and Emma, holding hands, with Will following just behind reading as he goes. Jess grins despite his mood and honks the horn, and all three look up at once. They run to the car and clamber in, loud and boisterous.
"Hi, Daddy," Wren greets, sliding into the backseat behind him. She wraps her arms about his shoulders, giving him a brief squeeze, then settles back into the seat. Her eyes meet his in the rearview mirror, and he sees understanding. She smiles encouragingly and he hears her voice in his head, whispering, "It's okay."
He lets out a pent-up breath and turns around in his seat. He looks each of them in the eye, one by one. "Okay, we have four houses to see. The realtor is meeting us at the old Leonard house, first, then we'll see Lorelai's old place last." They nod, and he continues, "Here is the one rule: be cool. Do not let the realtor think you like the house or they know they have you. Got it?"
"Got it," they all whisper in unison, their faces solemn, resolved. He almost laughs because they look so serious.
"Alright, here we go," he says, turning the key in the ignition. The engine turns over immediately, and with a quick glance at traffic, he pulls onto the street and drives towards the first house. It's over on one of the tree streets. More evidence this town is a little funny and he smiles as he goes, the kids already busy discussing their day.
chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter five
chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten
AUTHOR:
rubykatewritingPAIRING: This fic features Lorelai and Luke in an established relationship with children; Sookie and Jackson are still doing what they're doing; and Jess is a widower; it will eventually end up Rory/Jess.
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: Now he can’t imagine calling any other place home. Jess returns to Stars Hollow.
DISCLAIMER: Luke Danes, Lorelai Gilmore, Jess Mariano, Sookie St. James, Jackson Belleville, Emily and Richard Gilmore and Rory Gilmore belong to others. I am only borrowing them. No harm intended.
WARNING: Major character death pre-fic, which is discussed and dealt with through remainder of fic.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Multiple chapters.
Jess lies in bed, one arm folded beneath his head, with his other hand resting on his bare chest. He loves this time of day best. The quiet hour or so before the world wakes up and begins its daily travails all over again. Shifting comfortably, sighing with a rare sense of contentment, he watches the sunlight dance against the ceiling. Brief snatches of memory flitter through his mind and he remembers the night Shelby dragged him to this show at the Alley Theater. A friend of a friend was performing with his dance troupe and Shelby ended up with two tickets to see the show. Despite his initial hesitation, he found himself quite enjoying the performance. The dancers were so uninhibited, completely lost within the strange rhythm of the music, their movements scattered, wild.
They came home afterward and made love for hours. He can still remember the sound of her husky laugh as he chased her up the stairs, neither caring if they woke up the whole house. That was how he always was with her: so besotted he barely noticed anything or anyone else.
Closing his eyes, he forcibly pushes aside all of those thoughts, regretting this trip down memory lane. Sometimes he wonders if he will ever be able to think of Shelby without feeling like he has just been sucker- punched in the gut. Easing out from under the comforter, he stretches and swings his feet to the floor. Elbows on his knees, he hunches over and covers his face with his hands, scrubbing away the bad mood he feels lingering just behind his eyes. He has to wake up Wren in a minute and he doesn't want her to see him like this.
He stands and pads across the apartment. Lorelai and Sookie found a couple of decorative screens to close off Wren's half, to give her a semblance of privacy. One of them has little spaces for pictures and she has spent the last few weeks carefully perusing the numerous albums for photographs she will place in the four-paneled screen. So far, only two have made it.
Squatting down, he looks at them - one with only he and Shelby, the other with the two of them and Wren. Kathy, a friend of Shelby's from work, took them. She was an amateur photographer with a pretty good eye; no one would have guessed the photographs weren't taken by a professional. His thumb grazes Shelby's smiling face and he chews his lower lip. Their wedding wasn't traditional in any sense of the word. They married in her grandmother's backyard lit with dozens of candles (citronella to ward off the mosquitoes) and cheap multi-colored Chinese lanterns they found in a shop in Rice Village. She wore a simple dress Nana made (it was lacy and it fell all the way to her feet, her bare toes peeking out only when she took a step) and carried a bunch of wildflowers tied together with one of Wren's hair ribbons.
Mostly, he remembers her eyes. And the feel of her hand in his, their fingers laced, hanging between their bodies. She squeezed his fingers gently as the minister started the vows and he looked at her. A smile trembled on her mouth and he knew she was crying. Then she touched his cheek, her fingertips cool even in the heat, and he realized he was crying too.
Groaning, he wonders idly, if he really is a glutton for punishment. Rising, he turns and glances at Wren. She is laid out on her belly, hair spun out like a golden halo around her head, with her pillow long-since shoved up against the headboard. Her feet hang off either side of the bed, the sheets tangled around her thighs and torso, and her arms are tucked under her chest, her head cradled in her hands. Ever since she was a baby, she has slept like this.
Taking care not to wake her, he sits down on the edge of the mattress and watches her sleep. With a grimace of concentration, he carefully brushes the hair from her face; she's been having the nightmares again. Dark shadows sit below her closed eyes, startling even against her olive skin. It's because of the move, he's sure, but any time he brings it up, she shrugs it off and disappears, usually with Will and Emma. Used to be, she told him everything and now...well she's acting entirely too much like him. Old habits back to haunt him.
She stirs, barely a fraction of an inch. "Daddy?" she mumbles, yawning. Her eyes flicker open, then slide closed with sleepy abandon. She has never been one to jerk out of sleep; it has always been a gradual process.
"Morning, Bird, time to wake up," he tells her, his voice thick. "Time to get ready for school. Outdo your old man." Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he turns away from her and goes to the window, drawing the curtains to either side. Sunlight falls brilliantly across her bed, and she burrows deeper under the covers, grumbling something unintelligible. Looking back at her, he warns, "Wren..."
She flops onto her back, but tugs the sheet up to her chin defiantly. "Why does school have to be so early?" she groans, yawning again.
He grins and shakes off his melancholy mood once and for all. Maybe he is more affected by this move than he first thought. "It's a conspiracy against the youth of America," he mocks. "Now hurry up. I don't want you missing breakfast. Your teachers will kill me."
She is already drifting back to sleep.
"Wren Claudine," he barks. "Up and at 'em or I start singing."
No movement. She thinks he's bluffing.
"Hmm...maybe I'll start with "Good Morning" from Singing in the Rain?" he ponders aloud.
"I'm up, I'm up," she pleads, jerking up in bed too quickly. She tumbles over the side, legs flying over her head.
He snorts. "Smooth."
"Oh, shut up," she mumbles from the floor.
-
Jess washes his face and brushes his teeth at the kitchen sink because Wren needs to take a shower. It is the first time they've ever had to worry about sharing a bathroom and they are still working out the kinks in the schedule. He hurries over to Shelby's old armoire and grabs his daily uniform: jeans, thermal shirt, and a short-sleeve button-down. He glances at the clock again and curses under his breath. His little pity-party has put him severely behind and Luke is probably already downstairs with most of the morning chores finished.
Standing at his dresser, he buckles his watch onto his wrist and tucks his wallet into his back pocket. He gives his hair a quick finger comb and makes sure no strands are standing straight up, at attention. All in all, it's only taken him fifteen minutes, but it is fifteen minutes he didn't have. Shaking his head, he thinks back to those long ago days, spending fifteen minutes just getting his hair all waxed and perfect. But that was when he had Rory to worry and fuss over.
It catches his eye as he turns toward the bathroom. A simple silver chain with an equally simple silver band, but he hesitates only a second before he slips it over his head. Nana used to say it was not the appearance but the affection, the love, behind a wedding band that gave it meaning. He sticks it down the front of his shirt and gives it quick pat. The ring is cool against his skin from lying out all night. He meets his eyes in the mirror. Eventually you will have to stop wearing it, he thinks to himself.
Wren is in the shower, singing something about how funny her man is; she takes after her parents, warbling loudly and off-key. He stands at the bathroom door, smiling. "Hey, Bird, what do you want for breakfast this morning?"
All he hears is the sound of the water for several minutes as she mulls it over. "Pancakes?" she says, sounding unsure. "No! French toast and make sure Quinn doesn't skimp on the cinnamon this time!" she answers, shouting over the water.
"Coming up. Don't take too long!" He heads to the door and makes sure to lock it behind him. Taking the steps two at a time, he hears Luke through the walls, banging around. Most likely brewing coffee since Lorelai will be coming in any second. Pushing through the curtains, he gives Luke a nod of greeting. Glancing around, he notices the chairs are still stacked seat- down on top of the tables. He looks under the counter and sees Luke has already set up the bleach bucket. Steam rises up from the hot water and Jess thinks how he has always found the smell of bleach water homey. He grabs a rag and starts wiping down the tables.
They work in near silence (Quinn's radio murmurs softly from the kitchen) until the door chimes, announcing Lorelai's arrival, just as Jess starts the last table.
She walks in, a smile on her face. "Husband," she greets, stepping behind the counter. Luke quits counting the till and pulls her into the circle of his arms, kissing her hello. Neither of them cares who sees them and it is something to see. Years of friendship and now ten years of marriage and two kids have produced a tangible force between them, even if they're across the room from each other. They belong to each other and they show it in their bodies; when they are together, they glow with electricity.
Jess shared the same physical awareness with Shelby. How easily it became habit to reach out and know a person was there, to feel their familiar warmth and to expect it to always be there. It took him one night to get used to sharing a bed with her, and two years later, he is still trying to break himself of the habit.
"Morning, Jess," Lorelai calls in a sing-song voice. He knows without looking she is already pouring herself a huge mug of coffee, can almost hear the dark liquid splash hotly against the ceramic. What most people use for cereal bowls, she uses for coffee, but then, most people would be jumpy for days on the amount of coffee it takes simply to sustain her through the day.
Grinning, he gives her a silent wave, heading back behind the counter. He drops the rag back into the bucket and goes to the window to place Wren's order with Quinn. "Oh, and extra cinnamon," he adds, taking one of the order pads and stuffing it into his back pocket.
-
Luke is sliding the cash drawer into the register when Will and Emma burst through the door, chattering away like birds. Lorelai sits on the first stool, talking to Sookie about some shipment that either did or did not come in late last night. Both kids go to her first and she gives them each a quick peck on the mouth in greeting. Shifting, she holds the impossibly tiny cell between her shoulder and her ear, and relieves Emma of her backpack, letting it drop with a mighty thunk to the floor. She reaches out and tries to straighten Will's hair, but he has wavy hair just like his cousin Jess - contrary and obviously sent to test her patience.
Leaning against the counter, Luke watches with a smile on his face. A family he never really thought he would have (he was never the daydream sort) has literally sprung up in what feels like the blink of an eye. Sometimes he has to sit back and enjoy it for a few seconds before the kids start yelling about something or Lorelai begins a rant about something ridiculous.
And though he has never been a very religious man, he makes sure to send a few words of thanks to the man upstairs every so often.
"Mom, I swear no matter how many times you wet your hand and run it through my hair - which, I know for a fact is very unsanitary - it is going to remain exactly like this," Will argues, fruitlessly of course, his head bobbing under the force of her ministrations.
"Hold still just a second longer," she begs, tugging her fingers through it again, her brows drawn together in concentration. She tucks her chin in towards her chest and says into the phone, "I'm still here, Sook."
Emma sidles up next to Luke, leaning her full weight against his leg, watching as he closes up the moneybag for the bank drop. He glances down at her, then presses a quick kiss on the top of her head. She wraps her gangly arms around his waist and tilts her head back to look at him with her mother's eyes. He held her in his arms only seconds after her birth, all purple and wrinkly, and he thought to himself, if he were in her position, he would have been screaming his head off. Not Emma, she calmly lay in the crook of his arm while the doctors and nurses tended to Lorelai, and watched him with the opaque cerulean eyes of a newborn. He couldn't get over how much she reminded him of Rory - forever the eye to her mother's hurricane.
"Hey, Em," he whispers, cupping the back of her head. She is still so petite and her head fits perfectly in the curve of his palm.
"Hi, Daddy," she replies in her tiny voice.
"What do you want for breakfast this morning?" he asks and she is quiet as she mulls it over.
"What is Wren having?" she inquires, eyeing him through her lashes. A self- conscious grin curves her mouth and her face flushes a delicate pink. Luke bites back a smile. She has become quite impressed with her cousin in these passing weeks. Every other sentence involves some exotic new secret she has learned about Wren. It is the first time she has been so enamored of a friend.
"I don't know." He turns to the window. "Hey, Quinn, what is Wren having this morning?" he asks, careful to keep his voice low.
Quinn glances up from the griddle, shoving his glasses up on his nose. He wipes his forehead, already dotted with perspiration. "Uh, French toast," he answers, then his brow furrows. "She didn't change her mind, did she?"
Luke shakes his head. He crouches down in front of Emma. "French toast?"
She smiles again, nodding. "Yep."
"Coming right up, Em." To Quinn, he calls, "Make a half order for Emma, too." He knows Emma will not be able to eat as much as Wren; she was not blessed with her mother's appetite, or her bad dietary habits. She has always been a picky eater like him, preferring more healthful foods.
Lorelai ends her call and walks over to Luke. "I have to locomote. Apparently the order of new mattresses did not arrive as expected," she informs him, taking a long sip of her now-cool coffee. She scrunches her nose and sets it down.
He nods, pouring her a to-go cup. "Are you going to eat breakfast there or do you want me to bring something by after the morning rush?" He presses the lid on tightly and hands it to her.
She smiles beatifically, eyes shining. "I knew there was a reason I married you!" she exclaims teasingly, pressing a kiss to his mouth. "But actually, I'll just take a donut with me if you have one?"
Luke makes for the kitchen to get Lorelai her donut, but stops and glances back into the dining area. Will occupies Lorelai's vacated seat, fully absorbed in the book Wren was reading last week. "Will, what do you want this morning?"
He looks up, eyes unfocused. "What? Oh. Pancakes." His attention returns to the book.
Luke waits. "You're sure?"
"Yeah," Will replies, sinking further down into his seat, more fully hidden by the book in hopes of ending this conversation.
Luke grabs the book and bends over to stare his son directly in the eye. "You've eaten those every morning for the past week. You wanna try for something a little healthier?"
Will grabs the book back, easily finding his place again. "I think a few pear slices would go nicely," he replies, avoiding his father's penetrating gaze.
Luke nods his head affirmatively, as he pushes through the kitchen door. "Okay, coming right up."
-
Wren appears at the curtain, scrubbed shiny. Her hair is plaited into long pigtails, still darkly wet from washing. She carries her bookbag, stuffed with both her school books and any recreational reading she thinks she may need for the day. She drops it into the nearest chair, then climbs up onto the stool next to Will's. Emma soon follows, sitting beside Wren, and Quinn appears with their food minutes later, setting it, with flair (he is really great with kids) before them. He whips out forks and knifes like a gunfighter for each of them and is rewarded for his efforts by claps and giggling. When he turns around to go back to the kitchen, he is walking a little taller, shoulders squared.
Lorelai hugs each of the kids goodbye, one by one. "Take care, kiddos. Do not torture your teachers. Play nice with the other kids. I will see you after school," she tells them and they nod solemnly without comment. Passing Jess, she gives him a wave. "See you later," she adds. The bell chimes over the door as she slips outside, purse in one hand, coffee and bag with donut in the other.
Luke brings out a couple of plates of food and Jess sits with him at their usual table. It is slow enough they can eat a quick bite before the morning rush hits. Since he is not usually required to provide conversation when he eats with Luke, he studies Wren as she eats and chatters with her cousins. Her face is vibrant and he feels a pang in the pit of his belly. She looks so much like her mother - her eyes glowing with some inner fire, mouth a little 'o' as she listens to Will talk.
For the first time, he notices her outfit: baggy overalls (tan corduroy), a dark red long john top and her white Chuck Taylor's. It is basically the same thing every day - pants or overalls, shirt, and her Converse; it is only the colors that change. While she was never a girly-girl, she used to wear dresses and skirts every once in a while, if for no other reason than to please her mother and great-grandmother. He makes a mental note to buy her some thick tights if she decides to wear them this winter and he hopes she will.
"Did you call the realtor yesterday?"
Jess nods. "She's going to send over some listings within my price range later today." He chews a piece of sliced pear slowly, staring blindly at his plate. The thought of moving again fills him with dread, but he wants Wren to be in a house of her own.
"I heard Lorelai's old house is up for sale. Dale - you met him a few days ago? - was transferred back to Los Angeles," Luke offers, watching Jess' face.
"That would be the perfect size, but a bit strange." Jess meets Luke's eyes and shrugs. "I know Wren would love it. I don't know. Maybe."
-
Those first few months in Venice Beach were blurry, nothing penetrating the thick fog he seemed immersed in. He was so afraid, a fear like none he'd known before clutching at him, snaking its way through every limb from his torso out, its grip tightening with each passing day. Since as far back as he could remember, he'd felt some sort of fear but never had he felt this kind of fear. He was scared he would never outrun his old self, the Jess who made fucking up an art form, so careless, whimsical with the way he went from one accident to another. He was so afraid of turning out like his parents he was paralyzed to do anything to avoid it.
His days were routine: work, bookstore, Jimmy's. The only one he really talked to was Lilly. Sometimes he took her with him to the beach, but most of the time, she was happy to follow him around. They would go to this bookstore on the boardwalk and wile away the hours amidst the tall stacks of new and used books. Usually they stayed until dinnertime, when Lilly would drag him home. He hated dinnertime at Jimmy's house; it always left him feeling even more bereft, more a visitor in his own life. He would watch Jimmy and Sasha and Lilly act like the family they were, forever the outsider looking in.
He can't pinpoint the exact moment he noticed Shelby. Was it his third or fourth trip into the bookstore? Only one day, he glanced up and spotted her leaning against the counter behind the register, reading. She met his eyes, but she didn't smile. Understanding bloomed in her eyes; she nodded a little, her chin dipping down a fraction of an inch. Then she returned to her book as if nothing had happened.
A few days later, she was behind the register when he came to check out, alone for the first time. He told himself it was only because he didn't want to wait for Lilly to get out of school, but as he stepped inside, he found himself looking for her. She rang up each book (mostly used, a fraction above looking completely battered, but it was all he could afford) without a comment. No idle chit-chat, not even (again) a smile. He liked that immediately. As he dug in his jeans pocket for cash, he felt her watching him, and he glanced up, momentarily struck immobile. Her eyes, up close, were almond brown, like warmed honey, rimmed with coal. There was no lightness in them, as if they'd known only sadness, but as they moved over his face, deliberate in their perusal, he felt something more.
"You don't smile much," she commented, her tone matter-of-fact. Her expression was curious, delicate black brows drawn together, her head tilted to the side.
"Yeah," he agreed without thinking, more surprised than insulted. He colored slightly as he looked away, uncomfortable, but she was oblivious.
"That's what I hate most about this place," she continued, holding out her hand for his money. He dropped the coins and crumpled dollar bills high above her hand, strangely afraid to touch her. She didn't notice or didn't comment, automatically flattening the bills out; she even straightened them so they all faced the same direction. "Too much smiling. Everywhere you go, people are smiling as if the beach is a giant dose of happy or something." She shook her head as she hit a button on the register and the drawer popped open. She tossed the change into each individual slot, the sound loud as the coins hit the hard plastic; she flipped the cash holder up and slipped the bills into the first slot.
He tried to keep quiet, chewing the inside of his cheek, but curiosity got the better of him. "Where are you from?" he inquired as she bagged the books into a little paper bag. She had a subtle accent, something southern. He liked her voice.
She seemed surprised. "Houston," she replied, eyeing him again. Handing him the bag, she smiled for the first time and their fingers grazed as he grabbed hold of the flimsy-looking straw handles. Tapping her badge, she introduced herself, "I'm Shelby."
He felt a spark of something at the contact, hardly hearing her name. After a long, awkward pause, he realized it was his turn to speak. Coughing into his hand, he shook his head, "Jess," he told her, his voice rough sounding.
They stood there for several minutes, staring at each other, then a customer behind him cleared her throat, breaking the spell. Flushing again, he nodded his head at Shelby and made a dash for the door. As he pushed the door out, he couldn't help himself, he looked back at her. She was chatting with the customer, but she glanced his way quickly, a bemused smile on her face. He swore to himself he would find a new bookstore.
Months later, as they argued over a book (The Secret History), Jess found himself watching her as she told him why the novel was brilliant, a "stunning" debut. He wondered when he'd become so comfortable with her, why he felt compelled to be around her as much as possible. How had he come from that first day to here? Again, he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment, only that he was there, her body so close he could reach out and touch her. And for the first time, he did...
He sits in the car, waiting for the kids. The elementary school let out classes fifteen minutes ago; the flow of departing students has slowed from the first initial mad-dash to a trickle, a student here or there. Wren has always been one to wander her way out.
He is glad for once. His wallet lays open on the seat beside him, and he stares at her picture. He stuck it into a side pocket a few months ago; he could barely bring himself to open his wallet, knowing she would be smiling up at him. She took it herself, holding the camera above them, the two of them grinning widely. It was the first night they kissed. She pulled out her camera (it was always in her purse) and said she wanted to photograph the moment. In the middle of the boardwalk, they stopped and took it.
He catches sight of Wren and Emma, holding hands, with Will following just behind reading as he goes. Jess grins despite his mood and honks the horn, and all three look up at once. They run to the car and clamber in, loud and boisterous.
"Hi, Daddy," Wren greets, sliding into the backseat behind him. She wraps her arms about his shoulders, giving him a brief squeeze, then settles back into the seat. Her eyes meet his in the rearview mirror, and he sees understanding. She smiles encouragingly and he hears her voice in his head, whispering, "It's okay."
He lets out a pent-up breath and turns around in his seat. He looks each of them in the eye, one by one. "Okay, we have four houses to see. The realtor is meeting us at the old Leonard house, first, then we'll see Lorelai's old place last." They nod, and he continues, "Here is the one rule: be cool. Do not let the realtor think you like the house or they know they have you. Got it?"
"Got it," they all whisper in unison, their faces solemn, resolved. He almost laughs because they look so serious.
"Alright, here we go," he says, turning the key in the ignition. The engine turns over immediately, and with a quick glance at traffic, he pulls onto the street and drives towards the first house. It's over on one of the tree streets. More evidence this town is a little funny and he smiles as he goes, the kids already busy discussing their day.
chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten
