Fic: Home - Chapter Seven, General (GG)
Jun. 2nd, 2004 03:03 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.
It is morning. Still early, dawn just beginning to wake the sky. Moody blue colors the window, heavy and loathsome. Rather fitting, all things considered. Around her, the house is impossibly quiet. Not a tick or creak to interrupt the silence. The house used to wake her up at night, when they first moved in; it was only a few years old and was still settling, easing into the earth. Tonight, even Luke’s snoring is hushed and she didn’t have to wake him to turn on his side.
So she finds herself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, studying it with a bleary intensity. Long shadows walk across it, a great migration of bizarre silhouettes. Some are lean with little spikes, plantlike, waving to and fro. Others are fat and oddly shaped, like blobs of ink spilling from an overturned well.
With her hours of long contemplation (since sleep is not in the cards), she has experienced an epiphany of sorts. She has come to the conclusion that life is complicated. She’s always known it, of course. Only now, it seems “Life” has taken up a stick and is beating her over the head with it, and there’s cackling – B-movie, bad-guy-with-a-surefire-evil-plan kind of cackling.
At this point, she could really do without the cackling.
Rolling onto her side, she concentrates on Luke, sending mental wake-up calls at his forehead. He is – of course, of course! – safely tucked away in dreamland. His face is slack. She doesn’t have the heart to wake him. Instead she lies there, taking in the view. Watching him is usually her remedy on those few nights sleep eludes her. Monitoring the even rise and fall of his chest, listening to the way the air whistles as he exhales. Used to be, she never could quite imagine that it would be comfortable to share a bed with a man. They were awfully big and took up so much space. Now she can’t imagine it any other way, cramped beside Luke, his smell seeping into her as they sleep.
Hard to believe he’s going to be fifty next month. Sookie is already preparing the menu for his surprise party. Nothing big, as Lorelai’s getting too old for her usual fanfare (though she’d never admit it out loud), just family and friends. A cake, some balloons. He’ll be gruff for the first fifteen minutes or so, over the fuss they’ve made out of his birthday, but then Emma will climb into his lap, and push her face up close to his, which will lead to the first of many of his Luke Smiles. Lorelai stacks her hands, prayer-style, under her cheek, grinning. He’s going to love it, whether he likes it or not.
Then come April, she’ll turn forty-seven. Forty-seven! She flops onto her back. When she was a kid, she lived for her birthday – the presents, the spotlight solely trained on her, but now it’s a reminder of time lost. She’ll look at Luke through the glow of birthday candles, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiles just for her. Or she’ll spy Will and Emma, the two of them wearing those pointy paper hats, giggling uncontrollably, high on too much sugar and soda. It’s jarring to realize how full her life has become.
In her more wistful moments, she wonders what might have been had she and Luke gotten their act together sooner. How different might her life have been? Would Rory be more stable, less like her when it came to men? If they’d had a family sooner, would Rory feel a part of it, and not separate from it?
She used to watch him with Rory, the gentle expression on his face. She always thought he would make some kid a great father, as he was more than adequate as a surrogate. Sometimes, she would go a step further, imagine that he was her husband and Rory’s father, and they were coming home to him. Not stopping by for dinner or breakfast or a quick cup of coffee. That when he nagged her about all that caffeine, he would pull her into his arms and kiss her on the cheek, saying he only did it because he loved her.
He was nineteen, almost twenty, when Rory was born. Strange to think she didn’t even know him then. He was probably skinny, long and spare, but she can’t be sure. In his perfectly reasonable Luke-logic, he didn’t keep a lot of photographs from his childhood. (“I was there. Why would I need pictures?”) Just a few remain, mostly of his parents – their wedding; his mom, clean face and shiny eyes, holding a newborn Luke; a two-year-old Luke standing in his mother’s hospital bed, his arms protectively locked around his mother’s shoulders, in just his socks, as he stared down uncertainly at his new baby sister, cradled against his mother’s breast.
There was just one of him and Liz together, without their parents; they were dressed up, Luke in a suit, Liz in a frilly dress that was so full- skirted it nearly stuck out sideways from her hips. Luke’s hair was slicked into a deep side part, but he was smiling, holding his sister’s hand. She found it right after they moved into the new house, in an old shoebox. Lorelai asked him once why he kept that one in particular. “None of us even knew she was sick when this was taken,” he replied after several minutes, fingers over his mouth. He sat down at the kitchen table with her, a faraway smile on his face. ”Do you know, I can’t remember a day when Liz and I didn’t fight about something? Except this day. Dad even mentioned it to Mom, this sort of awe in his voice.” He shrugged, still smiling, and handed her the photo.
She had it framed and it sits on the mantle among other photographs. Luke and Lorelai at their wedding reception in one of the rare moments she wasn’t crying. The pregnancy hormones had taken control, and she (and Luke and the whole town) was simply at their mercy. Emma, standing with Luke outside Miss Patty’s before her first dance recital, grinning madly in a bright pink tutu and combat boots. Will, in a coat and tie, with Richard, as he celebrated winning the Spelling Bee in third grade. Emily holding a newborn Emma, squeezed into the hospital bed with Lorelai. They were both red-faced from crying, but Lorelai can’t remember a more perfect day.
For the longest time, that mantle only showcased Rory. After she had Rory, Lorelai feared she would never have a life beyond her child. She never said the words out loud, to anyone. She wondered if a man out there existed that would take her, quirks, daughter, and all. After awhile, she truly began to doubt she would grow old with anyone and she embraced her solitary life. Maybe this was why she and Rory grew so close. Only sometimes she wonders if it didn’t do more harm than good for the two of them. Was it ultimately her fault they were both so screwed up?
Guilt cuts through her anew, leaving her stinging. It was always the two of them; that was why they worked. Yes, she was Rory’s mother, but also her best friend, and when her best friend needed her most, she bailed. Lorelai pursued a new life, a new family; supplanting her best friend with a husband. No matter that it was completely unintentional; she still was the one who broke the pact. It was now Luke who knew all of her secrets, who knew her sighs better than anyone, who could read her looks and know she was feeling restless, or she wanted blueberry pancakes.
Tears burn her eyes. She wants so badly to take her baby, her first baby, into her arms and soothe away every hurt she ever gave her. However, that would entail Rory actually coming out of her room, joining the world. Last night was the first time she ate dinner with them, and Lorelai can only guess it was because they ate here at the house. What made it all the worse was she felt strange not eating with Jess and Wren, and that only made her guilt over the present situation expand.
With a grumpy harrumph, she kicks her legs free of the covers, a warm flush crawling up her body, and sits up. Should have given up hours ago, she thinks sourly. Luke doesn’t make a sound and she shoots daggers at his back. A good husband would wake up at a time like this, instinctively knowing his wife needed him. She grabs her robe from the hook on the back of the bedroom door and yanks it on. On her way out the door, she snatches her glasses from the dresser.
Her feet are quiet, muted by a pair of Luke’s socks. No destination in mind, she wanders the hall, finally stopping outside Emma’s room. Pastel colored, bubbly letters spell out her name across the door. A sun peeks over the first ‘m’, a cheery smile to greet her. Pressing her palm flat against the cool wood, she turns the knob. It gives a protesting squeak and she is reminded of that honey-do list. She sighs mentally and pushes the door open, tip-toeing into her daughter’s room. Emma is curled up, an oblong ball under her layers of quilts, only the top of her head visible. Her breathing is soft, sweet puffs of air. Lashes lay dark against her cheeks, springs of hair surrounding her pale face. She will be a very unhappy girl in the morning. Lorelai groans. All those knots!
“Hey, sweets,” Lorelai murmurs. Bending over her daughter’s bed, she smoothes away the tangled ringlets and presses a kiss on her forehead.
For a second, she stands there in the middle of her daughter’s room. Her desk – Emily’s when she was a girl – stands in front of the window. Wilbur, the stuffed giraffe Will won for Emma at last year’s Winter Carnival, sits in the desk chair, staring at Emma’s spelling homework. When Emma was three she announced she didn’t need her nightlight anymore because she was a big girl. Luke broke his toe the first week, when he ran into the leg of her chest of drawers after tucking her in for the night.
Now everything is so familiar in the dark. Lorelai could walk in here with her eyes closed and not bump into a single thing. Her baby has never known any other place and she won’t until she leaves for college years down the road. Emma’s world is within these walls. There is such safety in this knowledge. It was so different when Rory was Emma’s age. Yes, there was Mia, a whole family of friends, but sometimes she would wake at night, heart thumping, throbbing inside her. In the morning, she could ignore the pangs of doubt, hide them behind a big smile and lose herself in work.
How is it she survived? She was a runaway, with a year old baby. She was so young, but she can remember how old she felt then. Part of what drove her was pure stubbornness, a determination to prove her parents wrong. The rest of it was blind luck. Too busy being brave to sweat the truth that failure happens, that it could possibly happen to her. Lorelai sags with relief. Perhaps it is now that she is older that she realizes that all of it, the panic, the fear, had little to do with her situation and everything to do with being a mother. She will always be terrified of what may lay ahead. No matter her age or her children’s ages, she will always be scared witless, aware that disaster looms around every corner. A weary half-laugh, half-sob knocks around her ribs, stifled behind her hand.
Emma stirs, groaning softly, mumbling something unintelligible, ending with, “Um...puppy.” Shaking her head, Lorelai watches as she shifts under the covers. She’s been hinting for weeks now. Every chance she gets, Emma drags them to Joe’s Pet Shoppe. “See, Mama, isn’t he cute? He won’t get very big, Daddy. Not at all,” she says, suddenly an authority on dogs, tapping the glass with her fingernail.
Luke avoids any sort of response, finding a wall more interesting if it means not looking into his baby girl’s eyes, but Lorelai is losing the fight. Hell, she can barely stop from jumping up and down and begging Luke herself. “Can we please? Pretty please?” Hand at her throat, she blinks several times, a grin stretching her face, her fractured nerves retreating.
“Mom?”
She jumps, muffling a cry with her knuckles. Turning, she finds Will leaning against the doorjamb, one foot propped against the inside of his other knee, looking like one of those ridiculous pink flamingoes people put in their front yards. He is all shadows, his face indistinct. She nods, index finger pressed to her lips, and ushers him out into the hall, closing the door behind them.
“What are you doing up?” she whispers, tucking her hair behind her ears with both hands. She bends forward a little at the waist, leaning close to her son’s face.
He only shrugs and she rolls her eyes at his monosyllabic tendencies. It must be in the Danes’ DNA. From the many stories she’s heard about Luke’s father, he certainly never uttered an unnecessary word. She loops an arm around his neck, tugging him into her side. He struggles to get free as she trails her fingers along his neck, his most sensitive tickle spot. He makes faces as he tries not to laugh out loud, his breath popping out of his mouth in quick, startled bursts.
“Teach you to scare me half to death,” she tells him, biting back a giggle.
“I give! I give!” he pleads, hands in the air. He hiccups softly.
She relents, breathless. “Good,” she says smugly, squaring her shoulders.
“I’m hungry.”
“Then let’s go to the kitchen. The second I step foot in there, your father’s alarms should go off and he’ll be down in a jiffy to make breakfast.”
Will nods and she pulls him close again, lets his presence settle over her, soothe her as they stroll down the hall toward the back stairs.
The kitchen is washed in shades of faded blue, weak morning sunlight scattering across the countertops. Will opens the fridge and leans in to rummage. He comes out with an apple and takes a loud, smacking bite. It sounds too noisy, still too early for such a racket. She shoots him a look and he gives her a sheepish grin, still eating. Ignoring him, she concentrates on making a pot of coffee, while Will watches, sitting at the table. As soon as she hears the familiar hiss and answering rumble, she pulls out a chair opposite him, sinking into it with a tired sigh. She would give anything to go back to bed for a few more hours; of course, it’s a moot point since she can’t sleep.
“Are you getting Emma a puppy?”
“What?” Lorelai shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She feels like she’s walked into a conversation halfway through, having missed the important lead-ins.
“Are you?” Will persists, shaking the hair out of his eyes. She reaches across and sweeps it off his forehead. She never tires of looking at him; he is so much his father. Her chest feels tight and she blinks her eyes several times. Groaning inwardly, she lays her head on the table, pressing her cheek into the cool wood. At this rate, I’m going to pick up the phone and have a heart-to-heart with my mother before the day is over. This menopause thing is starting to truly bite.
She sits up, resting her chin on her forearm. She traces wobbly circles on the tabletop. “Probably,” she admits softly, watching her finger.
She looks up as he nods, hiding a smile behind his half-eaten apple. His glance falls almost shyly, cheeks flushed all of a sudden. Thoughts cross his face, but he doesn’t invite her in. Someday, he will have secrets and no matter their pact, she will never be privy to them. Maybe he’ll go to Luke, or even Jess, but eventually she will lose him, lose those days when he would come rushing into her office at the Dragonfly, talking so fast she could barely keep up. She would pull him onto her lap and he would divulge every detail of his day while she ran her hands over him, missing his familiar bulk against her, in her arms, cupping his head for a kiss hello.
Rory was the same way. Always coming to her, still linked in that invisible way all children are to their mothers. Then, at a certain age, they all seem to break free of it. Only, it seems in her limited experience, boys cut that sooner than girls, taking off to conquer the world. Restless, Lorelai hooks her feet over the rungs of the chair. She doubts her son will want her to stick around an extra day when he first moves into the dorms. But everyone always tells her Rory was different; she and Rory were something special.
As if he can feel Rory’s presence, he meets her eyes. “How long is she staying?”
“I don’t know,” she replies honestly. She leans back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, squeezing her elbows. This is the conversation she has expected and dreaded.
He looks away, outside. “Did she come back because of him?” There is a subtle hardness to his tone.
“Will,” she pleads, reaching out for him. She takes his hand, but he doesn’t respond, his fingers warm but lifeless. “Of course not, baby. She didn’t even know he was here.”
“Oh.”
“She’s missed you.”
“Not that you could tell.” He is angry now. Eyes glittery, he opens his mouth to say something further but stops himself. She is reminded of Jess. Of that old Jess who disappeared somewhere along the way back here.
“What are you two doing up so early?”
Luke shuffles over to the stove. She watches as he turns the knob to ignite the starter, listens to the familiar clickclickclick until blue flame spills out, beneath the dark metal grate. He sets the teakettle on to boil then wanders over. His face is crinkled, red lines along the left side. Eyes half-closed, he is still waking up. He falls into the chair beside her, leaning into her. She cups both cheeks and presses her mouth to his. It used to drive her nuts, kissing him in the morning, before she had a chance to brush her teeth. Now, all she wants is to pull him closer.
-
“Come on, everyone in the car in five minutes!” Luke yells up the stairs for the sixth time. She watches with an amused smile on her face, from the kitchen. He tries, he really does; she has to give him that.
“Babe!!”
She jumps, dropping her eyes to the paper spread out before her. She can’t recall what she was pretending to read last. Arts and Leisure? The comics? His eyes bore into the top of her head and she scrunches up her face, trying to concentrate. Finally, she glances his way, oozing nonchalance as she picks up her mug and takes a long sip of coffee.
He gives her a look. Shoulders bunched up, hands open at his side. She opens her mouth, then promptly shuts it tight. “I am not getting in the middle of this,” she tells page 2A.
“Every time we have to go to some ridiculous town event, we go through this,” he starts, pointing at her, “and you, you always sit by, pretending to do something, anything but help me corral the troops and get this whole doomed mission going.” He pauses, but she can tell by the way his whole body quakes as he stands there, he is far from finished. If it were up to him, they would forgo all of it, but she insists they attend as family. “...and today, you actually expect me to buy that you’re reading the paper –”
“How ridiculous!” she argues, snapping to. “I am currently enjoying this here, um, comic strip.”
“Well, okay there, chatty, since you just finished the arts and leisure section, what new play is debuting this weekend?” He smirks at her, a smug look on his face as he leans against the railing. Suddenly he has no place to go.
She refuses to cheat. “It’s uh, you know, that one...” She snaps her fingers, nodding her head. “The one where they get all dressed up...and get on stage and pretend to be other people for two hours. It’s very modern, you know, and um, Kathy Tuddlemire says it’s a must see. Two thumbs up.” Lorelai squirms, voice wavering. “Two thumbs way up.”
“A Christmas Carol.”
Lorelai smacks the table. “Foiled by Charles Dickens!”
Luke waves his hand, as if wishing her away. He checks his watch, muttering under his breath. Just as his foot hits the bottom stair, Will bounds around the corner with Emma close on his heels. Will leaps the remaining stairs, feet landing with a loud smack on the wood floor. Emma flies past Luke, following her brother into the living room.
They zigzag through the living room. “Give it back!” Emma screams furiously, her face flushed. Lorelai’s impressed she still has enough air in her lungs.
Will shrugs. “Nah.”
Emma’s entire body vibrates as she eyes her brother. Curiosity is killing Lorelai. She glances at Luke and he seems equally intrigued.
There’s a brief knock at the door before Jess steps into the foyer. Will, momentarily distracted, turns just a bit to call hello. “Hey, Jess.”
Seeing this as her moment, Emma scales the couch, leaning across the back. Her brother catches the movement out of the corner of his eye and takes a step back, watching her hand swipe uselessly at air. Emma stands there, amidst sinking cushions, with as much dignity as she can muster. Lorelai doesn’t have the heart to tell her to get off the couch with her shoes on.
Jess grins as he enters the kitchen. “Lorelai, Luke,” he greets cheerfully. “What has my little cousin up in arms this morning?”
Luke shrugs, scrubbing his face tiredly. “No clue.”
Lorelai rolls her eyes. “I’m going out on a limb here, but I think – again, just guessing – Will has absconded with something of Emma’s. Hence the disturbance.” She turns slightly in her chair. “Do you want coffee or tea this morning?”
“Coffee, please.”
“There’s still some fresh in the pot.” She returns her attention to the goings on in the living room.
Will is laughing at Emma. Frowning, Lorelai opens her mouth to intervene when she spots Wren creeping up behind Will. She watches as the little girl sticks her finger in her mouth, giving it a good slobbering lick. Her son is completely oblivious. Wren, chewing her lower lip in concentration, closes the distance on silent feet, and shoves the wet finger into his ear, wiggling it around as Emma belts out triumphantly, “Wet willy!”
Will jerks away from her and folds over, covering the side of his head. He grabs the tail of his shirt and swipes away every last bit of spit from his ear. Each whorl is given a careful swab. As he stalks past her towards the kitchen, Emma holds out her hand and he drops something into her palm. The set of sparkling hair clips Wren bought for Emma last week.
Lorelai returns her attention to the paper. Luke hides his face with both hands, but his shoulders are shaking. Jess stares intently out the window over the sink, sipping from his mug, but Lorelai is sure she heard a snort coming from that direction just a second ago.
Will plops down into the chair beside hers and tugs on his earlobe. He looks a little stunned.
For a moment, she hesitates, then, “Did you –"
“Mom.”
“Okay, okay,” she sighs, hands up. Glancing at her watch, she remembers more pressing matters, debating whether or not she should go upstairs.
All of them hear it – the steady thump-thump of footsteps in the stairwell. “Mom, have you seen my –“Rory stops at the foot, face turning red. Lorelai watches as Rory and Jess look at each other. It would be funny, the expression on Jess’s face, if it wasn’t for the whole mess. He is as clueless as every other man on the planet and his bewildered look does nothing to endear him to Rory, who quickly averts her gaze. Painful silence blooms outward until even the girls quiet down in the living room.
Lorelai laughs, a nervous giggle erupting out of her mouth. It’s like random gunfire, startling everyone. “Okay. I think it’s time to get a move on or we’re going to miss the opening speech.”
Luke grunts. “I think we’ve all heard Taylor blather on enough about Thanksgiving. We could stand to miss a few minutes.”
Lorelai glowers at him as she pulls Will up by his collar. “Kids, get on your boots and coats. Mufflers and hats will be necessary!”
-
“...and that, ladies and gentlemen, means we have surpassed last year’s Let Us Share Our Thanks Thanksgiving Food Drive record by more than twenty-six percent!” Taylor finishes, giving the podium several sharp raps with his fist, his chin jutting out with clear self-satisfaction. He scratches his bald spot, fixing several people in the first two rows with his beady eyes.
There is a smattering of applause, which is nearly drowned out by the squeaks of people squirming in their chairs. “And now, everyone, I ask that you make your way towards the gazebo for the Thanksgiving Day Parade, which will start its procession in ten minutes.”
A noisy chatter commences as people spill out onto Main Street. Taylor and Miss Patty confer with Louise Longly, the Parade Committee Chair. Lorelai looks around. She has known most of these people since she was a teenager. Most have become close as family to her. They have seen all of her major accomplishments, her lowest lows, and everything in between.
“Hey, Lorelai, honey,” Babette calls in her craggy voice. “Ooh, looks like you have the whole family together! Morey, get over here! Rory’s finally decided to come out of the house.”
Lorelai groans.
Rory flushes, but she manages a genuine smile for Morey. He gives her a sympathetic one in return. “Hey, Rory.”
Babette was the first person to know about Lorelai and Luke and it was all a matter of location. One morning, as she was grabbing the morning paper, she caught Luke as he was leaving Lorelai’s. It was far too early for anything but a sleepover and naturally it was all over town by noon. Miss Patty, having been out-scooped for the first time, was depressed for a full month afterward.
After the initial shock of them finally getting together, it was like they became the town’s pet project. They were the It Couple of Stars Hollow. Lorelai glances around, catching several curious looks, others obviously meant with affection. If anything, she thinks the town may feel like all of their hard work has paid off.
As soon as Babette finishes her inquiry, Rory slips away, moving further from their clump. Lorelai watches. She tries to keep up her end of the conversation with – who is this? She should know this couple, she’s sure of it. Edna! And her husband Jim. Edna is one of the new maids at the Dragonfly. Eventually, they decide to join the rest of the town in the square and Lorelai is free.
She turns to her family and finds them still in the process of getting everyone back into coats and scarves and hats. Luke helps a lethargic Emma into her coat, while Will fumbles around with his gloves, flapping them in the air.
“Will, put them on your hands, son,” Luke urges, “and put your hat on.”
“So, tell me, is it usually that long?” Jess asks, rolling his shoulders. Wren leans against him, yawning loudly. She is the only one with all of her winter gear on.
Will pushes his jacket sleeve up and glances at his watch, replying, “Actually last year, he went on for nearly twelve minutes longer. Consider this a Thanksgiving Day blessing.”
Jess grins, ruffling his hair. “How many years have you kept a tally?”
“This will be my fourth year.” Will shrugs, trying to hide his smile. “It gives me at least one thing to look forward to.”
They drift towards the door. The parade will be starting soon and Taylor detests stragglers. Lorelai stays behind to keep Rory company. “Hey there,” she says softly, smiling.
“Mom, you don’t have to wait for me, you know.” Rory looks a little surprised at how harsh she sounds. “Sorry.”
They don’t say anything as they trail behind. Lorelai can’t think of anything to say, and she’s starting to resent it. This is her daughter. Frustrated, she turns to Rory. “Look, when you’re ready to talk about this, you let me know, okay?” She rushes ahead and loops her arm through Luke’s.
-
Rory roams through the crowd, trying to find a spot where she can see but won’t be bothered. If it was all in her mind before, she is certain now that she is truly an outsider in her own family. Not that she can blame them. She feels like a petulant child, and she’s not sure she’s been acting much better than one since she got home.
The Stars Hollow High School Marching Band starts playing "Come, Ye Thankful People Come" as they come around the corner. Midmorning sunlight reflects off of the shiny tubas and trombones, bouncing around the square. She squints, shading her eyes with her hand. A smile creeps across her face as she watches the first float drift by. It’s for Doose’s market. Kirk is the centerpiece of a cornucopia of various fall and winter fruits and vegetables. Several children surround him, dressed as squashes and apples, ears of corn. He acts like the king of a very strange kingdom, which truly only Kirk could pull off.
Suddenly, she is five years old again, bouncing around with impatient happiness. She really has missed this place.
All told, the parade has a brief route, for one so carefully planned. (One year, Taylor started work on his float a year in advance). Just one trip around the center of town and back. The parade usually tops out at an hour, closing with the Thanksgiving Day Princess cruising around in a cherry red ’57 Ford Fairlane Gypsy restored about six years ago. Rory watches her and is glad to have those days behind her. She feels a pang of regret that she didn’t enjoy those days more.
Most of the townsfolk stick around for at least an hour. A table is set up with warm beverages – apple cider, hot chocolate, coffee, different teas – and everyone mills around, chit chatting before they return home to finish their holiday meals. It is one of the few traditions she has always enjoyed.
She heads towards the table, the idea of hot, dark coffee too tempting to pass up, no matter how much she would like to blend into the background. A pair of girls, giddy bubbles of light, skips by her, and she smiles at their backs. Only to falter when she realize its Wren and Emma. They’re holding hands, identical grins on their faces. It is the first time she notices they are wearing scarves, knit caps, and gloves in the same shade of green. Their hair is plaited into long pigtails that swing as they move. It is startling to see how much life has passed in the short time Jess and Wren came to Stars Hollow. Wren and Emma act more like sisters than Rory and Emma ever have. Part of her knows this is natural – she was nearly twenty-four when Emma was born.
Glancing away, she looks directly at Jess. He is watching her, in that way he always has. Figures, she thinks sourly. Rory shoves her hands deeper into her jacket pockets and waits. He is beside her in a matter of minutes.
“Hey.”
Groaning, she rolls her eyes at him. “Jess, your monosyllabic tendencies are grating this morning. Could you at least say hello, or good morning, like a civilized human being?”
His eyebrows shoot up, but he grins. “Good morning, Rory. How are you on this fine winter day?” He pauses, a wicked grin quirking his mouth. “More to your liking?”
She’s laughing, despite herself. “You are an ass, Jess. I swear,” she mutters, shaking her head. It’s been so long since she saw him, even longer since she could call him her friend, and yet she finds herself keenly aware how much she’s missed it, missed him. There have been few people who could make her laugh or challenge her. Make her love them in spite of their more asshole-like tendencies.
Sobering a bit, she studies him. He is happy in their silence, but he always was. Jess was a man made for quiet, for solitude, which was what made his fatherhood so startling. Children were built for noise and mess, and that never seemed in the cards for him. Kids meant sticking around, and that was another thing Jess never grasped. It’s like her heart is being squeezed inside her chest, breathing no longer necessary because she’s sure she stopped the second she heard there was a Wren and she was ten. Her lip quivers ever so slightly and she clamps down on it with her teeth. Why can’t she just hate him for it and never speak to him again? Then she wouldn’t have to come face-to-face with a living reminder of someone who was good enough to stick around for.
But he wouldn’t be here if not for Wren, if not for the changes she (and Shelby, of course) wrought in him. She wants more than anything to be illogical and unfair. To kick him in the shin and run away. Sighing, she rubs her forehead, already feeling a headache starting behind her eyes. “So the other day.”
“Hmm?”
“I –" She licks her lips. They suddenly feel so dry. Taking a deep breath, she tries to tell him. She really does. But the words echo inside her head, unspoken. Why her? Why was she good enough? Why wasn’t I? Tears burn her eyes and her throat aches.
“Rory?”
Flushing, she coughs nervously. “Uh –“ She is so sick of feeling left out. Should she just let it go? “I’m sorry. For my behavior. It was rude.”
He shrugs, but he meets her eyes, meaningfully. "We're good, Rory."
There's more, but he doesn't continue. For a fleeting moment, she's sure he knows, and she is happy he chooses not to push the issue. She relaxes, listening to him breathe, and lets her mind wander as she looks around the square. Lorelai is with Luke and Miss Patty, and while the two women converse, Luke is busy watching his wife, an expression on his face that leaves Rory a little breathless. Anyone else would say Lorelai is oblivious, but Rory knows better, has seen the roles reversed. She has seen Lorelai's eyes glow with that same look.
“I was surprised, when I came home,” Jess comments, and she turns to him.
“What?”
He nods at Luke and Lorelai. "They were together. They had kids." He rubs the back of his neck, amazed. "I never thought it would happen."
She smiles, remembering. “My sophomore year, I knew something was up. Mom was even more distracted than usual. But, wow. One minute they were Luke and Lorelai. And the next, they’re inseparable. It’s really no wonder she got pregnant so quickly.”
Jess snorts. “You didn’t –?”
“More than once.” Rory grins, flushing.
He looks a little green, shifting from foot to foot. Wren and Emma flit into view and the two make a beeline for Jess. “Dad!” Wren sings out. “You have to try the hot chocolate!” She shoves the cup in front of Jess’ face. “It’s so good!”
“Yes!” Emma agrees whole-heartedly, shivering with excitement.
Rory keeps her eyes on Wren, though. She’s not sure if she’s looking for Jess in there, or if she’s looking for clues about the woman that was her mother. Wren’s gaze drifts up to meet hers. A shy smile lifts the corners of her mouth and Rory smiles in answer.
Jess clears his throat and lifts the cup to his lips, taking a healthy gulp. It is serious business, (dad business) Rory realizes with a kind of shock. He rubs his belly in appreciation. Flustered, Rory’s eyes are drawn by the movement. She used to know that belly intimately. “Bird, let’s go get us another cup of this,” Jess croons, and Wren claps her hands happily. Almost as an afterthought, he turns back. “Rory?”
Feeling brittle, she meets his eyes. “Hmm?”
His voice is soft and his bare hand is brilliantly warm as it grazes hers. “You’ll tell me, right?”
Caught, she lets out a breath of surprise. “What?”
Jess lifts an eyebrow. “When you’re ready?” He motions to Wren. “When you’re ready for us?”
Swallowing, she nods. “Sure.”
“Good. We’ll catch up later.”
Emma moves to stand directly in front of Rory, waiting. She smiles up at her, and it’s amazing how this little girl can do that. Rory leans down and grabs her up. Long, spindly legs circle Rory’s waist, and arms are locking around her shoulders with zeal. Emma puckers up her mouth for a kiss and Rory obliges.
“I missed you!” Emma exclaims, as if this is a newfound concept. She is the first to experience this emotion and it is devastating.
“I missed you too, girly-girl,” Rory replies solemnly, a hitch in her throat. “So much.”
Emma tucks her chin in close to her chest, looking up at Rory through her lashes. She scrunches her nose, delighted by this news. “You did?”
“Well, of course!”
They are silent, just staring at each other. “You need to stay here all the time. Then we won’t have to miss each other.”
For a moment, Rory doesn’t say anything, gazing into her little sister’s blue-blue eyes. Finally, she whispers, only for Emma to hear, “Okay.” It is the easiest answer. The only one anymore.
-
By the time they start back for the house, Lorelai has cooled off and approaches her again. “Hey.”
Rory feels nearly on the verge of tears. She slips her arm through her mother’s and leans her head on her shoulder, afraid to speak.
“I missed you, kid,” Lorelai whispers, pressing a kiss on her forehead.
“Missed you too,” she mumbles.
-
Wren loves Emily Gilmore. She is unlike any grandmother she has have ever known. Nana was what she would call a typical grandma. She baked cookies, helped her with her homework, and could bandage up any hurt faster than anyone Wren knew.
Emily Gilmore is a grandmother of an entirely different sort. She dresses up, even on a Wednesday. She has someone on staff to cook. When she took Emma and Wren to tea a week ago, she introduced them to all of her friends and treated them like proper young ladies. Wren never thought she would like that sort of thing, but she loved how her father smiled as she came down the stairs in one of her nicer dresses.
“Wren, dear, you look beautiful today,” Emily says approvingly, decorating her cheek with a perfumed kiss.
Blushing happily, Wren smoothes the front of her dress with her hand. Emily hangs her coat on the rack and sets her purse on the foyer table. “It smells delightful in here, child,” she remarks, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.
The house is full of delicious cooking smells. Sookie and Luke went all out. There will be turkey and ham, three different kinds of stuffing, cranberry sauce made with real cranberries and orange zest (Sookie let her scrape the peel.), sweet potatoes made with marshmallows and cinnamon, four kinds of rolls. Mashed potatoes with turkey gravy. Wren’s stomach gurgles loudly as she leads Emily into the dining room, which makes her companion laugh conspiratorially. Emily leans in close. “I’ve been holding out all day!”
“Hey, Mom,” Lorelai calls, entering with a basket of rolls.
“Hello, Lorelai.” The two women kiss hello, and Emily carefully wipes away the smudge of lipstick from Lorelai’s cheek, asking, “Can I help with anything?”
Lorelai shakes her head. “Nope, everything’s finished. Everyone is washing up at the moment. Did you want to?”
Emily nods. “Yes, please.”
Lorelai pauses, thinking of logistics. “You better use the guest bathroom. I think only Will and Emma are in there.”
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
-
Her father’s family was never a strong presence in her life. Birthday cards, phone calls on the holidays, but mainly her entire world resided in her parents and Nana. Wren liked her small world, the closeness of it. It felt claustrophobic and comforting all at once.
Now as she looks around the dining room, she feels the weight of her new, big world. Will sits beside her, but he is saying something goofy to Emma, who holds her belly and laughs her delicate laugh, like the tinkle of glass. Lorelai and Sookie giggle like schoolgirls beside them, as they mock Michel. He chooses to seek solace in his glass of wine, but Wren notices his slight grin as he mutters something in French. Luke and her father are talking in their strangely similar way, tossing a word back and forth every few minutes, but enjoying the noisy din more than anything. Jackson is entertaining Davey, his hands wave in the air, his voice the loudest at the table, and Davey’s expression is a mixture of two things: half-embarrassed, half-amused. Emily and Rory are last, sitting directly across from her, and they are quiet and intense, but they seem easy in each other’s company.
So many people fill her world now. It doesn’t scare her as much as she thought it would.
chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four
chapter five | chapter six | 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.
It is morning. Still early, dawn just beginning to wake the sky. Moody blue colors the window, heavy and loathsome. Rather fitting, all things considered. Around her, the house is impossibly quiet. Not a tick or creak to interrupt the silence. The house used to wake her up at night, when they first moved in; it was only a few years old and was still settling, easing into the earth. Tonight, even Luke’s snoring is hushed and she didn’t have to wake him to turn on his side.
So she finds herself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, studying it with a bleary intensity. Long shadows walk across it, a great migration of bizarre silhouettes. Some are lean with little spikes, plantlike, waving to and fro. Others are fat and oddly shaped, like blobs of ink spilling from an overturned well.
With her hours of long contemplation (since sleep is not in the cards), she has experienced an epiphany of sorts. She has come to the conclusion that life is complicated. She’s always known it, of course. Only now, it seems “Life” has taken up a stick and is beating her over the head with it, and there’s cackling – B-movie, bad-guy-with-a-surefire-evil-plan kind of cackling.
At this point, she could really do without the cackling.
Rolling onto her side, she concentrates on Luke, sending mental wake-up calls at his forehead. He is – of course, of course! – safely tucked away in dreamland. His face is slack. She doesn’t have the heart to wake him. Instead she lies there, taking in the view. Watching him is usually her remedy on those few nights sleep eludes her. Monitoring the even rise and fall of his chest, listening to the way the air whistles as he exhales. Used to be, she never could quite imagine that it would be comfortable to share a bed with a man. They were awfully big and took up so much space. Now she can’t imagine it any other way, cramped beside Luke, his smell seeping into her as they sleep.
Hard to believe he’s going to be fifty next month. Sookie is already preparing the menu for his surprise party. Nothing big, as Lorelai’s getting too old for her usual fanfare (though she’d never admit it out loud), just family and friends. A cake, some balloons. He’ll be gruff for the first fifteen minutes or so, over the fuss they’ve made out of his birthday, but then Emma will climb into his lap, and push her face up close to his, which will lead to the first of many of his Luke Smiles. Lorelai stacks her hands, prayer-style, under her cheek, grinning. He’s going to love it, whether he likes it or not.
Then come April, she’ll turn forty-seven. Forty-seven! She flops onto her back. When she was a kid, she lived for her birthday – the presents, the spotlight solely trained on her, but now it’s a reminder of time lost. She’ll look at Luke through the glow of birthday candles, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiles just for her. Or she’ll spy Will and Emma, the two of them wearing those pointy paper hats, giggling uncontrollably, high on too much sugar and soda. It’s jarring to realize how full her life has become.
In her more wistful moments, she wonders what might have been had she and Luke gotten their act together sooner. How different might her life have been? Would Rory be more stable, less like her when it came to men? If they’d had a family sooner, would Rory feel a part of it, and not separate from it?
She used to watch him with Rory, the gentle expression on his face. She always thought he would make some kid a great father, as he was more than adequate as a surrogate. Sometimes, she would go a step further, imagine that he was her husband and Rory’s father, and they were coming home to him. Not stopping by for dinner or breakfast or a quick cup of coffee. That when he nagged her about all that caffeine, he would pull her into his arms and kiss her on the cheek, saying he only did it because he loved her.
He was nineteen, almost twenty, when Rory was born. Strange to think she didn’t even know him then. He was probably skinny, long and spare, but she can’t be sure. In his perfectly reasonable Luke-logic, he didn’t keep a lot of photographs from his childhood. (“I was there. Why would I need pictures?”) Just a few remain, mostly of his parents – their wedding; his mom, clean face and shiny eyes, holding a newborn Luke; a two-year-old Luke standing in his mother’s hospital bed, his arms protectively locked around his mother’s shoulders, in just his socks, as he stared down uncertainly at his new baby sister, cradled against his mother’s breast.
There was just one of him and Liz together, without their parents; they were dressed up, Luke in a suit, Liz in a frilly dress that was so full- skirted it nearly stuck out sideways from her hips. Luke’s hair was slicked into a deep side part, but he was smiling, holding his sister’s hand. She found it right after they moved into the new house, in an old shoebox. Lorelai asked him once why he kept that one in particular. “None of us even knew she was sick when this was taken,” he replied after several minutes, fingers over his mouth. He sat down at the kitchen table with her, a faraway smile on his face. ”Do you know, I can’t remember a day when Liz and I didn’t fight about something? Except this day. Dad even mentioned it to Mom, this sort of awe in his voice.” He shrugged, still smiling, and handed her the photo.
She had it framed and it sits on the mantle among other photographs. Luke and Lorelai at their wedding reception in one of the rare moments she wasn’t crying. The pregnancy hormones had taken control, and she (and Luke and the whole town) was simply at their mercy. Emma, standing with Luke outside Miss Patty’s before her first dance recital, grinning madly in a bright pink tutu and combat boots. Will, in a coat and tie, with Richard, as he celebrated winning the Spelling Bee in third grade. Emily holding a newborn Emma, squeezed into the hospital bed with Lorelai. They were both red-faced from crying, but Lorelai can’t remember a more perfect day.
For the longest time, that mantle only showcased Rory. After she had Rory, Lorelai feared she would never have a life beyond her child. She never said the words out loud, to anyone. She wondered if a man out there existed that would take her, quirks, daughter, and all. After awhile, she truly began to doubt she would grow old with anyone and she embraced her solitary life. Maybe this was why she and Rory grew so close. Only sometimes she wonders if it didn’t do more harm than good for the two of them. Was it ultimately her fault they were both so screwed up?
Guilt cuts through her anew, leaving her stinging. It was always the two of them; that was why they worked. Yes, she was Rory’s mother, but also her best friend, and when her best friend needed her most, she bailed. Lorelai pursued a new life, a new family; supplanting her best friend with a husband. No matter that it was completely unintentional; she still was the one who broke the pact. It was now Luke who knew all of her secrets, who knew her sighs better than anyone, who could read her looks and know she was feeling restless, or she wanted blueberry pancakes.
Tears burn her eyes. She wants so badly to take her baby, her first baby, into her arms and soothe away every hurt she ever gave her. However, that would entail Rory actually coming out of her room, joining the world. Last night was the first time she ate dinner with them, and Lorelai can only guess it was because they ate here at the house. What made it all the worse was she felt strange not eating with Jess and Wren, and that only made her guilt over the present situation expand.
With a grumpy harrumph, she kicks her legs free of the covers, a warm flush crawling up her body, and sits up. Should have given up hours ago, she thinks sourly. Luke doesn’t make a sound and she shoots daggers at his back. A good husband would wake up at a time like this, instinctively knowing his wife needed him. She grabs her robe from the hook on the back of the bedroom door and yanks it on. On her way out the door, she snatches her glasses from the dresser.
Her feet are quiet, muted by a pair of Luke’s socks. No destination in mind, she wanders the hall, finally stopping outside Emma’s room. Pastel colored, bubbly letters spell out her name across the door. A sun peeks over the first ‘m’, a cheery smile to greet her. Pressing her palm flat against the cool wood, she turns the knob. It gives a protesting squeak and she is reminded of that honey-do list. She sighs mentally and pushes the door open, tip-toeing into her daughter’s room. Emma is curled up, an oblong ball under her layers of quilts, only the top of her head visible. Her breathing is soft, sweet puffs of air. Lashes lay dark against her cheeks, springs of hair surrounding her pale face. She will be a very unhappy girl in the morning. Lorelai groans. All those knots!
“Hey, sweets,” Lorelai murmurs. Bending over her daughter’s bed, she smoothes away the tangled ringlets and presses a kiss on her forehead.
For a second, she stands there in the middle of her daughter’s room. Her desk – Emily’s when she was a girl – stands in front of the window. Wilbur, the stuffed giraffe Will won for Emma at last year’s Winter Carnival, sits in the desk chair, staring at Emma’s spelling homework. When Emma was three she announced she didn’t need her nightlight anymore because she was a big girl. Luke broke his toe the first week, when he ran into the leg of her chest of drawers after tucking her in for the night.
Now everything is so familiar in the dark. Lorelai could walk in here with her eyes closed and not bump into a single thing. Her baby has never known any other place and she won’t until she leaves for college years down the road. Emma’s world is within these walls. There is such safety in this knowledge. It was so different when Rory was Emma’s age. Yes, there was Mia, a whole family of friends, but sometimes she would wake at night, heart thumping, throbbing inside her. In the morning, she could ignore the pangs of doubt, hide them behind a big smile and lose herself in work.
How is it she survived? She was a runaway, with a year old baby. She was so young, but she can remember how old she felt then. Part of what drove her was pure stubbornness, a determination to prove her parents wrong. The rest of it was blind luck. Too busy being brave to sweat the truth that failure happens, that it could possibly happen to her. Lorelai sags with relief. Perhaps it is now that she is older that she realizes that all of it, the panic, the fear, had little to do with her situation and everything to do with being a mother. She will always be terrified of what may lay ahead. No matter her age or her children’s ages, she will always be scared witless, aware that disaster looms around every corner. A weary half-laugh, half-sob knocks around her ribs, stifled behind her hand.
Emma stirs, groaning softly, mumbling something unintelligible, ending with, “Um...puppy.” Shaking her head, Lorelai watches as she shifts under the covers. She’s been hinting for weeks now. Every chance she gets, Emma drags them to Joe’s Pet Shoppe. “See, Mama, isn’t he cute? He won’t get very big, Daddy. Not at all,” she says, suddenly an authority on dogs, tapping the glass with her fingernail.
Luke avoids any sort of response, finding a wall more interesting if it means not looking into his baby girl’s eyes, but Lorelai is losing the fight. Hell, she can barely stop from jumping up and down and begging Luke herself. “Can we please? Pretty please?” Hand at her throat, she blinks several times, a grin stretching her face, her fractured nerves retreating.
“Mom?”
She jumps, muffling a cry with her knuckles. Turning, she finds Will leaning against the doorjamb, one foot propped against the inside of his other knee, looking like one of those ridiculous pink flamingoes people put in their front yards. He is all shadows, his face indistinct. She nods, index finger pressed to her lips, and ushers him out into the hall, closing the door behind them.
“What are you doing up?” she whispers, tucking her hair behind her ears with both hands. She bends forward a little at the waist, leaning close to her son’s face.
He only shrugs and she rolls her eyes at his monosyllabic tendencies. It must be in the Danes’ DNA. From the many stories she’s heard about Luke’s father, he certainly never uttered an unnecessary word. She loops an arm around his neck, tugging him into her side. He struggles to get free as she trails her fingers along his neck, his most sensitive tickle spot. He makes faces as he tries not to laugh out loud, his breath popping out of his mouth in quick, startled bursts.
“Teach you to scare me half to death,” she tells him, biting back a giggle.
“I give! I give!” he pleads, hands in the air. He hiccups softly.
She relents, breathless. “Good,” she says smugly, squaring her shoulders.
“I’m hungry.”
“Then let’s go to the kitchen. The second I step foot in there, your father’s alarms should go off and he’ll be down in a jiffy to make breakfast.”
Will nods and she pulls him close again, lets his presence settle over her, soothe her as they stroll down the hall toward the back stairs.
The kitchen is washed in shades of faded blue, weak morning sunlight scattering across the countertops. Will opens the fridge and leans in to rummage. He comes out with an apple and takes a loud, smacking bite. It sounds too noisy, still too early for such a racket. She shoots him a look and he gives her a sheepish grin, still eating. Ignoring him, she concentrates on making a pot of coffee, while Will watches, sitting at the table. As soon as she hears the familiar hiss and answering rumble, she pulls out a chair opposite him, sinking into it with a tired sigh. She would give anything to go back to bed for a few more hours; of course, it’s a moot point since she can’t sleep.
“Are you getting Emma a puppy?”
“What?” Lorelai shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She feels like she’s walked into a conversation halfway through, having missed the important lead-ins.
“Are you?” Will persists, shaking the hair out of his eyes. She reaches across and sweeps it off his forehead. She never tires of looking at him; he is so much his father. Her chest feels tight and she blinks her eyes several times. Groaning inwardly, she lays her head on the table, pressing her cheek into the cool wood. At this rate, I’m going to pick up the phone and have a heart-to-heart with my mother before the day is over. This menopause thing is starting to truly bite.
She sits up, resting her chin on her forearm. She traces wobbly circles on the tabletop. “Probably,” she admits softly, watching her finger.
She looks up as he nods, hiding a smile behind his half-eaten apple. His glance falls almost shyly, cheeks flushed all of a sudden. Thoughts cross his face, but he doesn’t invite her in. Someday, he will have secrets and no matter their pact, she will never be privy to them. Maybe he’ll go to Luke, or even Jess, but eventually she will lose him, lose those days when he would come rushing into her office at the Dragonfly, talking so fast she could barely keep up. She would pull him onto her lap and he would divulge every detail of his day while she ran her hands over him, missing his familiar bulk against her, in her arms, cupping his head for a kiss hello.
Rory was the same way. Always coming to her, still linked in that invisible way all children are to their mothers. Then, at a certain age, they all seem to break free of it. Only, it seems in her limited experience, boys cut that sooner than girls, taking off to conquer the world. Restless, Lorelai hooks her feet over the rungs of the chair. She doubts her son will want her to stick around an extra day when he first moves into the dorms. But everyone always tells her Rory was different; she and Rory were something special.
As if he can feel Rory’s presence, he meets her eyes. “How long is she staying?”
“I don’t know,” she replies honestly. She leans back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, squeezing her elbows. This is the conversation she has expected and dreaded.
He looks away, outside. “Did she come back because of him?” There is a subtle hardness to his tone.
“Will,” she pleads, reaching out for him. She takes his hand, but he doesn’t respond, his fingers warm but lifeless. “Of course not, baby. She didn’t even know he was here.”
“Oh.”
“She’s missed you.”
“Not that you could tell.” He is angry now. Eyes glittery, he opens his mouth to say something further but stops himself. She is reminded of Jess. Of that old Jess who disappeared somewhere along the way back here.
“What are you two doing up so early?”
Luke shuffles over to the stove. She watches as he turns the knob to ignite the starter, listens to the familiar clickclickclick until blue flame spills out, beneath the dark metal grate. He sets the teakettle on to boil then wanders over. His face is crinkled, red lines along the left side. Eyes half-closed, he is still waking up. He falls into the chair beside her, leaning into her. She cups both cheeks and presses her mouth to his. It used to drive her nuts, kissing him in the morning, before she had a chance to brush her teeth. Now, all she wants is to pull him closer.
-
“Come on, everyone in the car in five minutes!” Luke yells up the stairs for the sixth time. She watches with an amused smile on her face, from the kitchen. He tries, he really does; she has to give him that.
“Babe!!”
She jumps, dropping her eyes to the paper spread out before her. She can’t recall what she was pretending to read last. Arts and Leisure? The comics? His eyes bore into the top of her head and she scrunches up her face, trying to concentrate. Finally, she glances his way, oozing nonchalance as she picks up her mug and takes a long sip of coffee.
He gives her a look. Shoulders bunched up, hands open at his side. She opens her mouth, then promptly shuts it tight. “I am not getting in the middle of this,” she tells page 2A.
“Every time we have to go to some ridiculous town event, we go through this,” he starts, pointing at her, “and you, you always sit by, pretending to do something, anything but help me corral the troops and get this whole doomed mission going.” He pauses, but she can tell by the way his whole body quakes as he stands there, he is far from finished. If it were up to him, they would forgo all of it, but she insists they attend as family. “...and today, you actually expect me to buy that you’re reading the paper –”
“How ridiculous!” she argues, snapping to. “I am currently enjoying this here, um, comic strip.”
“Well, okay there, chatty, since you just finished the arts and leisure section, what new play is debuting this weekend?” He smirks at her, a smug look on his face as he leans against the railing. Suddenly he has no place to go.
She refuses to cheat. “It’s uh, you know, that one...” She snaps her fingers, nodding her head. “The one where they get all dressed up...and get on stage and pretend to be other people for two hours. It’s very modern, you know, and um, Kathy Tuddlemire says it’s a must see. Two thumbs up.” Lorelai squirms, voice wavering. “Two thumbs way up.”
“A Christmas Carol.”
Lorelai smacks the table. “Foiled by Charles Dickens!”
Luke waves his hand, as if wishing her away. He checks his watch, muttering under his breath. Just as his foot hits the bottom stair, Will bounds around the corner with Emma close on his heels. Will leaps the remaining stairs, feet landing with a loud smack on the wood floor. Emma flies past Luke, following her brother into the living room.
They zigzag through the living room. “Give it back!” Emma screams furiously, her face flushed. Lorelai’s impressed she still has enough air in her lungs.
Will shrugs. “Nah.”
Emma’s entire body vibrates as she eyes her brother. Curiosity is killing Lorelai. She glances at Luke and he seems equally intrigued.
There’s a brief knock at the door before Jess steps into the foyer. Will, momentarily distracted, turns just a bit to call hello. “Hey, Jess.”
Seeing this as her moment, Emma scales the couch, leaning across the back. Her brother catches the movement out of the corner of his eye and takes a step back, watching her hand swipe uselessly at air. Emma stands there, amidst sinking cushions, with as much dignity as she can muster. Lorelai doesn’t have the heart to tell her to get off the couch with her shoes on.
Jess grins as he enters the kitchen. “Lorelai, Luke,” he greets cheerfully. “What has my little cousin up in arms this morning?”
Luke shrugs, scrubbing his face tiredly. “No clue.”
Lorelai rolls her eyes. “I’m going out on a limb here, but I think – again, just guessing – Will has absconded with something of Emma’s. Hence the disturbance.” She turns slightly in her chair. “Do you want coffee or tea this morning?”
“Coffee, please.”
“There’s still some fresh in the pot.” She returns her attention to the goings on in the living room.
Will is laughing at Emma. Frowning, Lorelai opens her mouth to intervene when she spots Wren creeping up behind Will. She watches as the little girl sticks her finger in her mouth, giving it a good slobbering lick. Her son is completely oblivious. Wren, chewing her lower lip in concentration, closes the distance on silent feet, and shoves the wet finger into his ear, wiggling it around as Emma belts out triumphantly, “Wet willy!”
Will jerks away from her and folds over, covering the side of his head. He grabs the tail of his shirt and swipes away every last bit of spit from his ear. Each whorl is given a careful swab. As he stalks past her towards the kitchen, Emma holds out her hand and he drops something into her palm. The set of sparkling hair clips Wren bought for Emma last week.
Lorelai returns her attention to the paper. Luke hides his face with both hands, but his shoulders are shaking. Jess stares intently out the window over the sink, sipping from his mug, but Lorelai is sure she heard a snort coming from that direction just a second ago.
Will plops down into the chair beside hers and tugs on his earlobe. He looks a little stunned.
For a moment, she hesitates, then, “Did you –"
“Mom.”
“Okay, okay,” she sighs, hands up. Glancing at her watch, she remembers more pressing matters, debating whether or not she should go upstairs.
All of them hear it – the steady thump-thump of footsteps in the stairwell. “Mom, have you seen my –“Rory stops at the foot, face turning red. Lorelai watches as Rory and Jess look at each other. It would be funny, the expression on Jess’s face, if it wasn’t for the whole mess. He is as clueless as every other man on the planet and his bewildered look does nothing to endear him to Rory, who quickly averts her gaze. Painful silence blooms outward until even the girls quiet down in the living room.
Lorelai laughs, a nervous giggle erupting out of her mouth. It’s like random gunfire, startling everyone. “Okay. I think it’s time to get a move on or we’re going to miss the opening speech.”
Luke grunts. “I think we’ve all heard Taylor blather on enough about Thanksgiving. We could stand to miss a few minutes.”
Lorelai glowers at him as she pulls Will up by his collar. “Kids, get on your boots and coats. Mufflers and hats will be necessary!”
-
“...and that, ladies and gentlemen, means we have surpassed last year’s Let Us Share Our Thanks Thanksgiving Food Drive record by more than twenty-six percent!” Taylor finishes, giving the podium several sharp raps with his fist, his chin jutting out with clear self-satisfaction. He scratches his bald spot, fixing several people in the first two rows with his beady eyes.
There is a smattering of applause, which is nearly drowned out by the squeaks of people squirming in their chairs. “And now, everyone, I ask that you make your way towards the gazebo for the Thanksgiving Day Parade, which will start its procession in ten minutes.”
A noisy chatter commences as people spill out onto Main Street. Taylor and Miss Patty confer with Louise Longly, the Parade Committee Chair. Lorelai looks around. She has known most of these people since she was a teenager. Most have become close as family to her. They have seen all of her major accomplishments, her lowest lows, and everything in between.
“Hey, Lorelai, honey,” Babette calls in her craggy voice. “Ooh, looks like you have the whole family together! Morey, get over here! Rory’s finally decided to come out of the house.”
Lorelai groans.
Rory flushes, but she manages a genuine smile for Morey. He gives her a sympathetic one in return. “Hey, Rory.”
Babette was the first person to know about Lorelai and Luke and it was all a matter of location. One morning, as she was grabbing the morning paper, she caught Luke as he was leaving Lorelai’s. It was far too early for anything but a sleepover and naturally it was all over town by noon. Miss Patty, having been out-scooped for the first time, was depressed for a full month afterward.
After the initial shock of them finally getting together, it was like they became the town’s pet project. They were the It Couple of Stars Hollow. Lorelai glances around, catching several curious looks, others obviously meant with affection. If anything, she thinks the town may feel like all of their hard work has paid off.
As soon as Babette finishes her inquiry, Rory slips away, moving further from their clump. Lorelai watches. She tries to keep up her end of the conversation with – who is this? She should know this couple, she’s sure of it. Edna! And her husband Jim. Edna is one of the new maids at the Dragonfly. Eventually, they decide to join the rest of the town in the square and Lorelai is free.
She turns to her family and finds them still in the process of getting everyone back into coats and scarves and hats. Luke helps a lethargic Emma into her coat, while Will fumbles around with his gloves, flapping them in the air.
“Will, put them on your hands, son,” Luke urges, “and put your hat on.”
“So, tell me, is it usually that long?” Jess asks, rolling his shoulders. Wren leans against him, yawning loudly. She is the only one with all of her winter gear on.
Will pushes his jacket sleeve up and glances at his watch, replying, “Actually last year, he went on for nearly twelve minutes longer. Consider this a Thanksgiving Day blessing.”
Jess grins, ruffling his hair. “How many years have you kept a tally?”
“This will be my fourth year.” Will shrugs, trying to hide his smile. “It gives me at least one thing to look forward to.”
They drift towards the door. The parade will be starting soon and Taylor detests stragglers. Lorelai stays behind to keep Rory company. “Hey there,” she says softly, smiling.
“Mom, you don’t have to wait for me, you know.” Rory looks a little surprised at how harsh she sounds. “Sorry.”
They don’t say anything as they trail behind. Lorelai can’t think of anything to say, and she’s starting to resent it. This is her daughter. Frustrated, she turns to Rory. “Look, when you’re ready to talk about this, you let me know, okay?” She rushes ahead and loops her arm through Luke’s.
-
Rory roams through the crowd, trying to find a spot where she can see but won’t be bothered. If it was all in her mind before, she is certain now that she is truly an outsider in her own family. Not that she can blame them. She feels like a petulant child, and she’s not sure she’s been acting much better than one since she got home.
The Stars Hollow High School Marching Band starts playing "Come, Ye Thankful People Come" as they come around the corner. Midmorning sunlight reflects off of the shiny tubas and trombones, bouncing around the square. She squints, shading her eyes with her hand. A smile creeps across her face as she watches the first float drift by. It’s for Doose’s market. Kirk is the centerpiece of a cornucopia of various fall and winter fruits and vegetables. Several children surround him, dressed as squashes and apples, ears of corn. He acts like the king of a very strange kingdom, which truly only Kirk could pull off.
Suddenly, she is five years old again, bouncing around with impatient happiness. She really has missed this place.
All told, the parade has a brief route, for one so carefully planned. (One year, Taylor started work on his float a year in advance). Just one trip around the center of town and back. The parade usually tops out at an hour, closing with the Thanksgiving Day Princess cruising around in a cherry red ’57 Ford Fairlane Gypsy restored about six years ago. Rory watches her and is glad to have those days behind her. She feels a pang of regret that she didn’t enjoy those days more.
Most of the townsfolk stick around for at least an hour. A table is set up with warm beverages – apple cider, hot chocolate, coffee, different teas – and everyone mills around, chit chatting before they return home to finish their holiday meals. It is one of the few traditions she has always enjoyed.
She heads towards the table, the idea of hot, dark coffee too tempting to pass up, no matter how much she would like to blend into the background. A pair of girls, giddy bubbles of light, skips by her, and she smiles at their backs. Only to falter when she realize its Wren and Emma. They’re holding hands, identical grins on their faces. It is the first time she notices they are wearing scarves, knit caps, and gloves in the same shade of green. Their hair is plaited into long pigtails that swing as they move. It is startling to see how much life has passed in the short time Jess and Wren came to Stars Hollow. Wren and Emma act more like sisters than Rory and Emma ever have. Part of her knows this is natural – she was nearly twenty-four when Emma was born.
Glancing away, she looks directly at Jess. He is watching her, in that way he always has. Figures, she thinks sourly. Rory shoves her hands deeper into her jacket pockets and waits. He is beside her in a matter of minutes.
“Hey.”
Groaning, she rolls her eyes at him. “Jess, your monosyllabic tendencies are grating this morning. Could you at least say hello, or good morning, like a civilized human being?”
His eyebrows shoot up, but he grins. “Good morning, Rory. How are you on this fine winter day?” He pauses, a wicked grin quirking his mouth. “More to your liking?”
She’s laughing, despite herself. “You are an ass, Jess. I swear,” she mutters, shaking her head. It’s been so long since she saw him, even longer since she could call him her friend, and yet she finds herself keenly aware how much she’s missed it, missed him. There have been few people who could make her laugh or challenge her. Make her love them in spite of their more asshole-like tendencies.
Sobering a bit, she studies him. He is happy in their silence, but he always was. Jess was a man made for quiet, for solitude, which was what made his fatherhood so startling. Children were built for noise and mess, and that never seemed in the cards for him. Kids meant sticking around, and that was another thing Jess never grasped. It’s like her heart is being squeezed inside her chest, breathing no longer necessary because she’s sure she stopped the second she heard there was a Wren and she was ten. Her lip quivers ever so slightly and she clamps down on it with her teeth. Why can’t she just hate him for it and never speak to him again? Then she wouldn’t have to come face-to-face with a living reminder of someone who was good enough to stick around for.
But he wouldn’t be here if not for Wren, if not for the changes she (and Shelby, of course) wrought in him. She wants more than anything to be illogical and unfair. To kick him in the shin and run away. Sighing, she rubs her forehead, already feeling a headache starting behind her eyes. “So the other day.”
“Hmm?”
“I –" She licks her lips. They suddenly feel so dry. Taking a deep breath, she tries to tell him. She really does. But the words echo inside her head, unspoken. Why her? Why was she good enough? Why wasn’t I? Tears burn her eyes and her throat aches.
“Rory?”
Flushing, she coughs nervously. “Uh –“ She is so sick of feeling left out. Should she just let it go? “I’m sorry. For my behavior. It was rude.”
He shrugs, but he meets her eyes, meaningfully. "We're good, Rory."
There's more, but he doesn't continue. For a fleeting moment, she's sure he knows, and she is happy he chooses not to push the issue. She relaxes, listening to him breathe, and lets her mind wander as she looks around the square. Lorelai is with Luke and Miss Patty, and while the two women converse, Luke is busy watching his wife, an expression on his face that leaves Rory a little breathless. Anyone else would say Lorelai is oblivious, but Rory knows better, has seen the roles reversed. She has seen Lorelai's eyes glow with that same look.
“I was surprised, when I came home,” Jess comments, and she turns to him.
“What?”
He nods at Luke and Lorelai. "They were together. They had kids." He rubs the back of his neck, amazed. "I never thought it would happen."
She smiles, remembering. “My sophomore year, I knew something was up. Mom was even more distracted than usual. But, wow. One minute they were Luke and Lorelai. And the next, they’re inseparable. It’s really no wonder she got pregnant so quickly.”
Jess snorts. “You didn’t –?”
“More than once.” Rory grins, flushing.
He looks a little green, shifting from foot to foot. Wren and Emma flit into view and the two make a beeline for Jess. “Dad!” Wren sings out. “You have to try the hot chocolate!” She shoves the cup in front of Jess’ face. “It’s so good!”
“Yes!” Emma agrees whole-heartedly, shivering with excitement.
Rory keeps her eyes on Wren, though. She’s not sure if she’s looking for Jess in there, or if she’s looking for clues about the woman that was her mother. Wren’s gaze drifts up to meet hers. A shy smile lifts the corners of her mouth and Rory smiles in answer.
Jess clears his throat and lifts the cup to his lips, taking a healthy gulp. It is serious business, (dad business) Rory realizes with a kind of shock. He rubs his belly in appreciation. Flustered, Rory’s eyes are drawn by the movement. She used to know that belly intimately. “Bird, let’s go get us another cup of this,” Jess croons, and Wren claps her hands happily. Almost as an afterthought, he turns back. “Rory?”
Feeling brittle, she meets his eyes. “Hmm?”
His voice is soft and his bare hand is brilliantly warm as it grazes hers. “You’ll tell me, right?”
Caught, she lets out a breath of surprise. “What?”
Jess lifts an eyebrow. “When you’re ready?” He motions to Wren. “When you’re ready for us?”
Swallowing, she nods. “Sure.”
“Good. We’ll catch up later.”
Emma moves to stand directly in front of Rory, waiting. She smiles up at her, and it’s amazing how this little girl can do that. Rory leans down and grabs her up. Long, spindly legs circle Rory’s waist, and arms are locking around her shoulders with zeal. Emma puckers up her mouth for a kiss and Rory obliges.
“I missed you!” Emma exclaims, as if this is a newfound concept. She is the first to experience this emotion and it is devastating.
“I missed you too, girly-girl,” Rory replies solemnly, a hitch in her throat. “So much.”
Emma tucks her chin in close to her chest, looking up at Rory through her lashes. She scrunches her nose, delighted by this news. “You did?”
“Well, of course!”
They are silent, just staring at each other. “You need to stay here all the time. Then we won’t have to miss each other.”
For a moment, Rory doesn’t say anything, gazing into her little sister’s blue-blue eyes. Finally, she whispers, only for Emma to hear, “Okay.” It is the easiest answer. The only one anymore.
-
By the time they start back for the house, Lorelai has cooled off and approaches her again. “Hey.”
Rory feels nearly on the verge of tears. She slips her arm through her mother’s and leans her head on her shoulder, afraid to speak.
“I missed you, kid,” Lorelai whispers, pressing a kiss on her forehead.
“Missed you too,” she mumbles.
-
Wren loves Emily Gilmore. She is unlike any grandmother she has have ever known. Nana was what she would call a typical grandma. She baked cookies, helped her with her homework, and could bandage up any hurt faster than anyone Wren knew.
Emily Gilmore is a grandmother of an entirely different sort. She dresses up, even on a Wednesday. She has someone on staff to cook. When she took Emma and Wren to tea a week ago, she introduced them to all of her friends and treated them like proper young ladies. Wren never thought she would like that sort of thing, but she loved how her father smiled as she came down the stairs in one of her nicer dresses.
“Wren, dear, you look beautiful today,” Emily says approvingly, decorating her cheek with a perfumed kiss.
Blushing happily, Wren smoothes the front of her dress with her hand. Emily hangs her coat on the rack and sets her purse on the foyer table. “It smells delightful in here, child,” she remarks, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.
The house is full of delicious cooking smells. Sookie and Luke went all out. There will be turkey and ham, three different kinds of stuffing, cranberry sauce made with real cranberries and orange zest (Sookie let her scrape the peel.), sweet potatoes made with marshmallows and cinnamon, four kinds of rolls. Mashed potatoes with turkey gravy. Wren’s stomach gurgles loudly as she leads Emily into the dining room, which makes her companion laugh conspiratorially. Emily leans in close. “I’ve been holding out all day!”
“Hey, Mom,” Lorelai calls, entering with a basket of rolls.
“Hello, Lorelai.” The two women kiss hello, and Emily carefully wipes away the smudge of lipstick from Lorelai’s cheek, asking, “Can I help with anything?”
Lorelai shakes her head. “Nope, everything’s finished. Everyone is washing up at the moment. Did you want to?”
Emily nods. “Yes, please.”
Lorelai pauses, thinking of logistics. “You better use the guest bathroom. I think only Will and Emma are in there.”
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
-
Her father’s family was never a strong presence in her life. Birthday cards, phone calls on the holidays, but mainly her entire world resided in her parents and Nana. Wren liked her small world, the closeness of it. It felt claustrophobic and comforting all at once.
Now as she looks around the dining room, she feels the weight of her new, big world. Will sits beside her, but he is saying something goofy to Emma, who holds her belly and laughs her delicate laugh, like the tinkle of glass. Lorelai and Sookie giggle like schoolgirls beside them, as they mock Michel. He chooses to seek solace in his glass of wine, but Wren notices his slight grin as he mutters something in French. Luke and her father are talking in their strangely similar way, tossing a word back and forth every few minutes, but enjoying the noisy din more than anything. Jackson is entertaining Davey, his hands wave in the air, his voice the loudest at the table, and Davey’s expression is a mixture of two things: half-embarrassed, half-amused. Emily and Rory are last, sitting directly across from her, and they are quiet and intense, but they seem easy in each other’s company.
So many people fill her world now. It doesn’t scare her as much as she thought it would.
chapter five | chapter six | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten
