Fic: Home - Chapter Eight, General (GG)
Aug. 10th, 2005 03:21 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.
Nana’s house was much larger. A two-story brick built back in the fifties complete with large front and back porches, and a balcony that swept the entire side of the house. Not to mention the six large bedrooms (the one he and Shelby took over was a suite). It was by far the biggest house he had ever seen, especially for one little old lady with two bad knees and an achy hip. Unfortunately, Nana had spent the better part of a decade caring for Shelby’s ailing grandfather, and the years following his death, the house was left in virtual shambles. It wasn’t until Nana fell and broke her arm that Shelby decided to return to her hometown. Within a week, she was gone with Wren.
When Shelby told him she was pregnant he was terrified, but also strangely intrigued by the idea. Sure, he’d never planned on it. It didn’t mean he had to stick to that plan. He moved out of his father’s house and in with Shelby, into her tiny garage apartment. He started making a new plan, one starring him as a natural, loving father, who stuck around, even through the hard stuff.
He knew he was in love with Shelby, loved watching her body change as she carried his child, but more than that, he loved the sameness of their life. Every day was exactly as the day before.
When she took off with Wren, he planned to never see either of them again. It hadn’t been long after Wren’s birth that he realized he was kidding himself; he was no one’s father. Shelby took to motherhood as if it was in her blood. She may have had her moments from time to time, but for the most part she eased through the scrapes. He would watch them together and hate her for being what he could not. Staring at himself in the mirror, he would shake his head at his reflection. He was a joke. He barely survived his own childhood; what made him think he was cut out to take on the burden of someone else’s?
The one thing he didn’t count on was his daughter. There were nights after Shelby left he would wake up, hearing Wren crying. Would swear to it on a bible, only to remember he was all alone, again, so he followed them to Houston. He drove straight through, wondering the entire way if she would even take him back. They had fought before she left and he had said things he regretted the second they were said. Back then, he wounded so carelessly. He called her from a gas station just outside of El Paso, and asked if she still wanted him.
“Come home, Jess,” was all she said. And he did.
As he slips quietly down the stairs of his new home, Jess Mariano feels the same sense of homecoming as he did that early morning long ago, standing outside of a worn looking house. Shelby had come out on the porch then, Wren on her hip, and to his surprise his daughter held out her arms to him. It hit him like a rock square in the chest: these two women loved him no matter what. It is the same now: a family he abandoned has welcomed him back without condition.
If he were anyone else, he might whistle a cheery tune, but he hasn’t changed that much over the past decade – although he can certainly name more than his share of Disney songs. As he flips on the light in the kitchen, he hears a noise from Wren’s room. At first he thinks he’s caught her, once again, staying up too late reading. He pauses, listening closely. It’s not that, but something else. He lets out a soft curse as he hurries to her door and pushes inside.
Within moments, he is at her bedside, gently pulling her free of the covers, cooing softly. She fights him at first, still lost, but soon her eyes flicker open. She looks at him, desolate, tears slipping into her hair. She lets out a shuddering breath. “Daddy.”
She never calls him that anymore. “I’m here, baby. I’m here,” he promises.
“She’s gone, Daddy,” she sobs, her entire body shaking. She covers her face with both hands, lying there. His heart splits open; he is helpless; it is always the same dream.
“I know, baby.”
“I miss her,” she admits, looking at him again.
He nods. “Me, too.” Her nose is running. He grabs a tissue from her nightstand and holds it for her as she blows, which she hasn’t let him do in years. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks.
Wren shakes her head and her eyes slide away. She sits up carefully, pulling her legs under her. Any other time, he would smile at her stalling tactics. She excels at it, able to put off just about anything until she is ready and willing. But this is different. Something is going on in that head of hers and he wants to know what.
“Bird?” he presses quietly.
“It was like before,” she mumbles, still avoiding his gaze. “We were back at the old house, back home, and Mom was cooking dinner with Nana. You had just come home from work and I ran to meet you. You gave me a hug and a kiss, and then went over to the stove to give Mom a kiss. Only when she turned around, it was Rory. Not Mom.” She meets his eyes, tears trickling down her face.
“Bird –"
“She was there though. Mom – she was watching, from the doorway. She looked so sad, like she might cry; only when she caught me looking at her, she smiled. She waved at me and turned to leave.”
Jess can’t speak. He stares at his daughter and can’t find one thing to say. Words fail him. “Wren –"
She shakes her head, and he stops. She tucks her hair behind her ears, lost to her thoughts. Finally, she comes back, straightening her shoulders with resolve. “Did you love Rory like you love Mom?” The words quake with the unspoken.
If he was hoping for something easier, this is not it. This question is fraught with peril, and he risks his daughter’s heart. To hear her voice filled with doubt, about her life, about everything she has known – he feels ragged. “No,” he answers truthfully.
“How then?”
“It was different, Wren. I was different. Your mother –" He meets her eyes. “She was something special.”
“Do you still love Rory?”
He swallows, stomach roiling. “In a way, I suppose. She was the first girl I ever loved, and I don’t think you ever truly get over that person, no matter how far you go away from them, or from who you were when you were with them.”
She stews over this for several minutes, twirling her hair around her finger. “Did Mom know about her?”
“Of course, Bird. Your mother knew all my secrets.”
Wren nods, still eyeing him. “I found something,” she admits.
His stomach twists. “What?”
She reaches down beside the bed, pulls a book from the top of the pile stacked there. It falls open in her hands and he spies a postcard tucked between the pages. Her hand shakes as she holds it out to him. Confused, he takes it and turns it over. Scrawled across the back is the word “heaven.” It’s in his handwriting.
“What does it mean?” she asks delicately. Her eyes meet his. He was wrong before. There is far more treacherous territory, and it seems his daughter is intent on exploring it all in one night.
“Your Mom was reading this book. The concept of heaven plays a big part in the plot –" He pauses, catching sight of the cover. The Lovely Bones. A reluctant smile lifts the side of his mouth. Aw, Shelby, he thinks, and Shelby smiles at him, filling his head with that Shelby-smile of hers. “She asked me what my heaven would be like, but I couldn’t answer. For the longest time –" He stares at his hand, afraid to go into too much detail about his youthful offenses. “– well, I didn’t think any sort of heaven was in the cards for me. Then I found this postcard and it reminded me of Stars Hallow, and I knew. I gave this to her. She made me promise that we’d come here one day. She wanted to meet your Uncle Luke mostly, but also she wanted to see this place.”
“Is that why we came here?” Wren’s lower lip wobbles. Fresh tears cling to her eyelashes.
“Maybe that’s a part of it, Bird. I don’t know really. All I know is Stars Hollow was the first place I ever called home. That it was more than just my idea of Heaven. And then your Mom died, and Nana – I needed to come back here. To be able to give this to you?” His voice cracks, and he tries to clear his throat. “After everything, Wren, I wanted to give you a family again.”
Her face scrunches up as she begins to cry again. She shakes her head as if she can’t believe how silly he is. “Daddy, you are my family. I love Will and Emma and Uncle Luke and Aunt Lorelai. I love all of them, but I didn’t need them to create a family.” She is in his arms, hugging him tight, and he holds her close.
“I love you, Wren. You know that, don’t you?”
She nods vigorously, her face in the curve of his throat. “I love you too.”
-
“Hey.” Lorelai carefully tugs the door shut behind her. She holds one mug and has the other tucked between her forearm and her breasts. Rory immediately jumps up from the porch swing. “Mom, let me help! You’re going to burn yourself!”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Lorelai remarks. She holds out a steaming cup of coffee. “Here.”
Grateful, Rory accepts it, taking a hearty sip. Warmth spreads inside her chest, thick, like a blanket, and she sighs contentedly, shoving her free hand deep into her jeans pocket. “This is positively sublime, Mom,” she says contentedly. “God, I can’t believe you made coffee at one in the morning.”
Her mother raises an eyebrow. “I can’t believe you can’t believe I’d make coffee at one o’clock in the morning.”
Rory snort-laughs. “When you finally figure out what you just said, you get back to me, okay?”
“Ha, ha. Don’t make me confiscate your coffee.”
“You wouldn’t, and even if you tried, you couldn’t take me.”
“I could.”
“You’re out of shape.”
Lorelai scoffs, pointing at her. “Ha! I’ve always been out a shape, but I have looks that can kill.”
Rory closes her eyes, sighing wanly. “You’re kidding right?”
“These here eyes are dangerous. Just a look and people do my bidding. I could be a Jedi.”
“For the sake of everyone here – meaning me – I’m not going to argue the point.”
“These are not the 'droids you're looking for,” Lorelai urges.
Rory rolls her eyes, but doesn’t encourage her mother any further. She keeps quiet, watching the snow. This is her favorite part of winter, the silence that permeates everything when the flurries start coming down. Everything stops for a little while.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lorelai whispers.
Nodding, Rory motions for her mother to join her on the swing. She scoots over, lifting the quilt, and Lorelai sits, tugging it over her legs. Rory relaxes, listening to her mother’s breathing and the whirl of snow. Luke built this swing for the house; took him over a year, with a newborn and a toddler. The wood has aged well over the years and feels smooth beneath her fingers. They let the slight wind rock them, with the coffee and the heavy quilt to keep them warm.
These have become Rory’s reflective hours, a habit borne when she returned. Every night it is the same. She wakes up close to midnight and comes out here to think. There is so much to consider. She has a story nearly two weeks overdue. There’s the apartment. Paris’s wedding in a few days. A very full schedule awaits her in New York. She has commitments to friends, to co-workers. Yet, no matter how hard she tries, she can’t do it, she can’t leave.
As if sensing the direction of her daughter’s thoughts, Lorelai turns to Rory. “So what’s the game plan, kid?”
“I haven’t a clue.” Rory smiles, almost sadly. “It doesn’t scare me anymore, not knowing.”
Lorelai slips her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “I’d say that’s definite progress.”
Still smiling, Rory studies her mother’s profile. Lorelai Gilmore has aged much as her mother before her and as Rory would wager she herself will. At forty-six, Lorelai is vibrant, lit up with an inexhaustible supply of energy, but now there is a softness about her. Three babies, two of them so late in life, have given her a fuller figure; she is not so whipcord thin. Never one to agonize over her weight, she doesn’t seem to mind it in the slightest. There is a satisfied look about her, a sureness of her place in the world.
Not too long ago, Rory felt that same assuredness, knew where she belonged and who she was. It’s startling now, because she realizes she no longer wants any of it.
-
“There’s still this much candy leftover from Halloween?” Rory unwraps another Snickers miniature and pops it into her mouth.
“Luke hides it,” Lorelai explains around a mouthful of Dots, making a sucking noise as she speaks. “The kids get to choose three pieces each night for dessert so it lasts forever.”
“But you found his hiding spot.”
“Of course.” Lorelai points at her nose. “You can’t beat this nose.”
“How does he not know?”
“Oh, he knows. He just can’t prove it.” Lorelai leans forward conspiratorially. “I always buy an extra bag of mixed candies and hide it. When I need a little late night pick-me-up, I simply replace what I’ve taken.”
Rory mimics her mother’s movement. “Why don’t you just eat the stuff you buy to replace it instead?”
“You are missing the point, grasshopper. He knows and I know he knows, and he probably knows that I know he knows.” She straightens, opening another box of Dots. She shrugs. “It’s our game.”
Rory stares at her mother. “The joys of marriage, eh?”
Lorelai smirks. “It does keep the juices flowing, if you know what I mean.”
Rory arches back, as if struck. “Mother! If you continue any further, I make no promises I will spare you when I throw up.”
“The idea of me making love with my husband of nearly tens years is vomit-inducing? God, Rory, you are such a prude!”
Hands over her ears, Rory shudders. “When it comes to my mother and father having sex, then yes. Call me a prude. I don’t care!” she whispers loudly.
“He likes that, you know.” Lorelai acts nonchalant, perusing the remaining selection, but her eyes are searching as they meet her daughter’s. “Luke. When you call him your dad.”
Rory tucks her hair behind her ears, blushing. “He is my dad. In every way that mattered, anyway.” Her shoulders rise as she tugs her sweater-sleeves down over her hands. She smiles nervously. “Really? He likes that? It doesn’t make him uncomfortable?”
“Of course not, Rory! He always thought the sun rose and set on you. That you think him worthy enough to be your dad?” Lorelai smiles wistfully. “He loves you. Has always loved you.”
“I want to move back here, Mom,” Rory blurts out.
“What?”
“I want to live here, in Stars Hollow,” she repeats, then rushes on before her mother can say anything else. “I have money in savings, as well as some stock Andrew talked me into a couple months ago. He said it would make me lots of money, and so far, it has. I could sell my shares and get a small house here.”
Lorelai runs her fingers through her hair, clearly agitated. “It seems you have it all figured out.”
“I’ve been thinking about it since Grandpa died.”
“You never said anything.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise at first. Then I went back and got swept back into my life. It occurred to me that if I told you, I would have to follow through, and it terrified me, giving up everything I’ve worked so hard for.” Rory tugs on her earlobe, uneasy. “But I’m not terrified anymore.”
Lorelai starts cleaning up the empty wrappers. Stopping, she catches her daughter’s gaze. “Does this have anything to do with Jess?”
Rory’s eyes widen. “Mom! God, no! This was something I’ve been wanting to do since before he came back.” She pushes back from the table noisily. “I can’t believe you would think that, after everything.”
“I’m sorry!” Lorelai cries, reaching for her daughter. “I’m sorry. Please, sit back down. Talk to me.”
Rory folds her arms over her chest, holding her elbows tight. For a full minute, she stands there, unwilling to give in, eager to hold onto her anger. She is not doing this because of Jess. She stopped being doormat girl long ago. But it’s not like her mother doesn’t have cause to worry. She looks at her mother, her shoulders drooping. “I’m sorry, too. To unload all of this on you – just like that.”
Frowning, Lorelai moves to the chair right next to her. “Well I didn’t help matters by reacting the way I did. I’m still in processing mode.”
Rory feels exhausted all of a sudden. It presses into her back and neck, makes her lids heavy. She leans on the table, pressing her face into her hands. “Don’t worry about it, Mom. It’s –" She can feel tears starting in the back of her throat. “–I’m still processing it myself. I’m just jumpy.”
Lorelai glances at the clock over the stove. “Two-thirty, already. I better get back to bed.” She turns to her daughter. “Are we okay?” Her eyes move over her daughter’s face. “Are you okay?”
Rory manages a genuine laugh. “Of course. Go to bed.”
Lorelai stands. “Aren’t you coming?”
“In a little while,” Rory promises.
Bending close, Lorelai kisses her on the forehead. “I love you, Rory.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
“See you in the morning.”
“Okay.”
-
The headlights blind her as the truck turns the corner. For several seconds she is trapped in the twin beams and she nearly trips, an unsettled feeling catching in her chest. It’s ridiculous and she shakes off the nerves crawling up her spine. Too many years away from Stars Hollow. She continues to run and the truck passes her without incident. Grinning at her silliness, she slows her pace, crosses over Peach, and doubles-back along Plum. It’s been nearly a full half-hour and her lungs burn from the bitter cold. She has missed too many days. Her stride is only now beginning to smooth out, but it’s worth it for just this small piece of quiet. A moment all her own, no appointments to rush off to.
She hears the engine before she notices the lights casting her in shadow on the sidewalk. Surreptitiously, she glances over her shoulder and spies the same truck creeping along a few houses behind her. Part of her hopes the driver is searching the street numbers, but then the New Yorker in her kicks in. Fight or flight? Predictably, Rory chooses flight. Breath labored, her feet heavy on the pavement, she spurs herself forward at even greater speed.
“Rory!”
She skids to a stop, nearly falling on her ass. That voice – she knows – “Jess?” Rolling her eyes, she jogs towards the driver side. “I’ve been living in New York for nearly eight years, Jess. You might want to rethink your approach.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving her off. “So when did you start running?” He sounds more than a little skeptical.
“An ex. He was a fanatic. Somehow he talked me into going on a run with him one morning. (The early flush of romance, I guess.) Long story short, the habit has outlasted its inspiration.”
“Well, I was half-convinced it was sleep deprivation,” he teases. “Hence the lurking.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she mimics, glancing at her watch. Nearly five-thirty. Forty-five minutes – not bad. She pulls her foot up behind her butt, stretching. “What are you doing up so early?”
“Had to pick up an order in Hartford,” he replies, scratching his forehead. He fumbles, as if he can’t make up his mind, then gestures towards the passenger side. “Do you want a ride back to your Mom’s place?”
She lets go of her foot. He’s nervous. She hesitates. “Uh...sure.”
He leans across the bench seat and opens the passenger door. She walks around the front and slides in. The heater is blasting. She rubs her frozen hands together, holding them up to one of the vents. She wants to look at him, wants to sit back and watch him. Instead, she tries for conversation. “They open this early?”
“The place opens up at four. I figured Luke would want to sleep in, what with Wren being over there last night.”
“Ah, yes, the sleepover.” Rory chuckles.
“How did it go?”
She grimaces, looking back at her hands. “They were just going to sleep when I left.”
Jess groans. “You’re kidding.”
“Well they found the stash of Halloween candy. By the time Mom and Luke discovered them they had gorged themselves. Emma threw up, then Will, and finally Wren. Mom gave them some Pepto, and got them to lie down in front of the TV.”
“They ate all of it?”
“Yep. There were just wrappers left.” Her eyes glaze a bit. “Everywhere.”
“But they’re settled?”
Rory nods. “Nodding off to Mary Poppins as I was leaving.”
“Good.”
He still looks worried, his fingers tight on the steering wheel. She can’t help but smile. He still can make her giddy, her belly jumping, as if she is once again that seventeen year old girl, and she has to resist the urge, sometimes, to lean forward and kiss him, just like old times. He isn’t that boy anymore.
Minutes later, Jess pulls in behind Lorelai’s SUV. There are lights on throughout the house. He is first out of the truck, but waits for her at the foot of the path leading up to the house. She follows him. He’s wearing a thick denim coat, like the ones sold in catalogs for ranchers. It goes all the way past his butt. He always had a nice ass. Her head tilts to the side, remembering the few times she worked up the courage to let her hand slip down low.
“You coming?” Jess smirks, as if he can read her thoughts.
Flushing, she nods mutely and steps inside. He shuts the door behind her. He is close, his shoulder brushing her back. She stands completely still, frozen. His hand grazes hers, fingertips tracing the lines of her palm.
“Rory, is that you?”
They jump away from each other, like a pair of teenagers. Rory takes a deep breath, but she still feels deprived. Jess meets her eyes and he takes her hand again, squeezing it, as if promising more to come. He heads into the kitchen. Luke is at the stove, stirring something in a huge pot. Wren is at the table, quietly reading. Her legs swing in the shape of a figure-8. She wears pink long johns and a fluffy white robe. To Rory’s surprise, she doesn’t look the least bit tired, nor does she seem to be feeling the affects of her tummy upset.
Luke spoons some hot cereal into a bowl and sets it in front of her. “Here you go, kiddo.”
“Thanks, Luke.”
“How is it possible she can eat after all that?” Rory wonders aloud.
“She has an iron-clad stomach. Shelby used to joke it was the Filipino in her.” Jess walks into view and Wren leaps up to greet him. “Hiya, Daddy!”
Jess pulls her up into his arms. “Hiya, Bird.” He doesn’t look back at Rory. Was it all in her head?
Watching him with Wren doesn’t hurt anymore, or at least, not as much. He knows a world so far removed from her own that it seems as if she will never truly meet him halfway. She doesn’t want to think about how much she wants to be a part of them, to know him again, to share Wren with him. She rubs her neck, unable to look at them any longer. It is like a steady thrum inside her chest, an echo of her heartbeat. Turning, she strides back through the foyer towards the living room. Rory finds Lorelai lying out on the couch, Emma stretched out along Lorelai’s body, passed out. Will is curled up on the floor, a pillow hugged tightly to his chest. He snores softly.
“You know what I realized?” Lorelai whispers as Rory carefully sits down between her legs. “Mary Poppins is a player. When she’s finished what she’s come to town to do, she just leaves poor Bert high and dry. Also? I get the feeling that’s not the first time, and he’s not the only one.”
Rory grins, pulling her knees up. “I can see your point. Not sure that good ol’ Walt would necessarily agree with that interpretation, nor would Travers, but it’s not as if either of them is up for a debate.”
“I love winning by default. Saves you all that unnecessary research.”
Rory covers her heart, gasping dramatically. “The journalist in me just died a little.”
“Is it like with fairies? If I say I do believe in research, will it resuscitate you?”
“Did you watch Peter Pan, too?”
“Yeah, the PJ Hogan version. Will prefers it because it hews closer to the books. His words, not mine, by the way.” Lorelai groans, stretching her neck. “Even though he agrees that the Sumpter kid sucked.”
“Atta boy,” Rory crows.
-
They stand in a clump, huddled against the cold. Emma is closest and raps lightly against the window with her tiny index finger. The puppies squirm and wriggle, mouths gaping, as they play, oblivious to their audience. Wren spies him in the back – he’s the laziest one, always sleeping. She’s not sure about his name, but she figures she’ll have it by the time she talks her father into buying him for her.
“So have you asked Jess yet?” Will inquires, spying the one he likes best at the front. She (at least he thinks it’s a she) is always playing. Even when the rest are asleep, she can usually be found in the corner, amusing herself. He’ll be sure to point her out to his parents when they come to pick out Emma’s Christmas present.
Wren shakes her head, glancing back at her puppy. As if he knows she’s there, he rolls on his back, proffering a fat pink belly covered in fuzzy black hair.
“What are you going to say?” Emma is still trying to convince her parents to get her one and she is eager for any tips that might work. Looking them over, she would be happy with any one of them, really. All she wants is a puppy.
Wren watches her cousins. They are nearly mesmerized by the fidgeting litter. It is nice being the oldest; it also doesn’t hurt that she loves spending time in the kitchen with Uncle Luke while he cooks. He let it slip the other day that there would be two puppies joining the Danes’ household this year. Smirking, Wren shrugs when Emma finally tears her eyes away from the window. “I’ll just tell him I want a puppy,” she replies.
“That’ll work?” Will asks, brows drawn together. He looks a little like her father when he does that.
“We’ll see.” Glancing over towards the school, Wren adjusts the strap of her book bag on her shoulder. “Let’s go. The first bell’ll be ringing any minute now.”
-
“You know what I think?” Wren unwraps her chicken salad sandwich. “I think my dad likes your sister.”
Will grunts, stuffing a handful of chips into his mouth. He’s already reading, which means he’s on autopilot.
Wren stops. “I’m serious. Will, put the book down.”
He glances up, but it takes him a full minute to focus. “What?” he asks irritably, carefully placing a bookmark and closing the book.
“I said, ‘I think my dad likes your sister.’”
“Rory?”
“Did you think I meant Emma?”
“Gross!”
“Okay, okay. Yes, Rory.” Wren sighs heavily. “They used to date, you know. In high school.”
“They did?”
“Yeah. But then he left, so they broke up.”
Will ponders this for several minutes, while Wren eats her sandwich and chips. The cafeteria is noisy as usual. Most of their classmates are busy catching up with their friends. Some even have boyfriends and girlfriends, and hold hands, or talk cutesy-talk to each other. Wren still cannot comprehend this; no one at her old school dated anyone, as far as she knew.
It isn't that she's oblivious to boys, or even one boy in particular; it's just impossibly strange how comfortable they are about it. Yes, most are a grade above her, in sixth, but how much can a year change things, really? But when she crosses paths with Jamie Bueller, she knows, somewhere inside herself, that this is the beginning. Already, she knows the taste of words lost forever on the tip of her tongue. The zippy whirl of butterflies in her stomach. How do other girls manage it? Staring at a group of them the next table over, she notices the way they’re dressed – short jean skirts and thick tights, cropped sweaters. They care little for the weather. Wren feels awkward in her long john top and blue jeans. Sometimes she wishes she had a girl friend that was her age to talk about this with, or her mother, because her father would flip out and Will would never understand.
“Wren?”
She snaps to. “Hmm?”
“What if Rory likes Jess, too?”
“I think she does, but you need to find out for sure.”
Will makes a face. “Why me?”
“Because you’re her brother. No, wait.” Wren chews the inside of her mouth. “She wouldn’t talk about that with you.”
“Emma?” Will offers, unsure.
“Would you tell your six year old sister about your crush?”
Will blanches, his face lit up with horror. Wren giggles, nearly choking on a carrot stick. “I’ll take that as a no.”
He nods, unable to speak.
“Well, we’re at square one, then. I can at least get started on my dad.”
“You want them to get together?”
Wren shrugs one-shouldered. “He’s different now that she’s back. He seems happier, even more so that when we first moved here.”
“But won’t it be weird?”
“Why?”
“He’s my first cousin, and she’s my sister.”
“Well, she’s your half-sister, so they’re not related, technically.”
“Sure, but it’s still weird.”
“That goes without saying, but everything adults do seems pretty weird to me.”
-
“Do you want us to walk you to the bus stop?” Lorelai leans in the doorway.
Rory turns, smiling. “Sure.”
“How long will you be?”
Rory slings her bag over her shoulder. Lorelai takes the other one. They head down the hallway towards the staircase.
“Only a few days. I already called Murray and faxed him my resignation. I think he’s more pissed that he has to reassign the story, but I gave him all of my notes to pass along to my replacement.” She precedes her mother down the stairs. “Paris’s wedding is on the 20th, and I’ve already posted an advertisement for my apartment, but I won’t hire the movers until I have a definite offer. If I don’t have a house by then, I can put my stuff in storage.”
“Good to know the old Rory is still in there. Planning every step of the way as always.”
Laughing, Rory shrugs. “Yes, but think how smoothly it will all go because of it?”
Rolling her eyes, Lorelai nods. “I know, I know.”
“Thanks for letting me stay here, Mom.”
“Hey, you’re my girl. My partner in crime. I couldn’t let you go homeless.”
“Still.” Rory looks into her mother’s eyes. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
They join Luke and the kids in the foyer. “Ready?” Luke asks.
“Yep.”
“Here, give me those bags.” Luke relieves her and Lorelai ofthe luggage.
“Thanks, Dad,” Rory whispers, kissing him on the cheek.
Luke flushes, grinning for the briefest of moments, but doesn’t say anything. He gestures at the open door, saying something about letting in the snow and cold air. Rory and Lorelai lead the way, Will and Emma walking together, with Luke bringing up the rear.
chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four
chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | 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.
Nana’s house was much larger. A two-story brick built back in the fifties complete with large front and back porches, and a balcony that swept the entire side of the house. Not to mention the six large bedrooms (the one he and Shelby took over was a suite). It was by far the biggest house he had ever seen, especially for one little old lady with two bad knees and an achy hip. Unfortunately, Nana had spent the better part of a decade caring for Shelby’s ailing grandfather, and the years following his death, the house was left in virtual shambles. It wasn’t until Nana fell and broke her arm that Shelby decided to return to her hometown. Within a week, she was gone with Wren.
When Shelby told him she was pregnant he was terrified, but also strangely intrigued by the idea. Sure, he’d never planned on it. It didn’t mean he had to stick to that plan. He moved out of his father’s house and in with Shelby, into her tiny garage apartment. He started making a new plan, one starring him as a natural, loving father, who stuck around, even through the hard stuff.
He knew he was in love with Shelby, loved watching her body change as she carried his child, but more than that, he loved the sameness of their life. Every day was exactly as the day before.
When she took off with Wren, he planned to never see either of them again. It hadn’t been long after Wren’s birth that he realized he was kidding himself; he was no one’s father. Shelby took to motherhood as if it was in her blood. She may have had her moments from time to time, but for the most part she eased through the scrapes. He would watch them together and hate her for being what he could not. Staring at himself in the mirror, he would shake his head at his reflection. He was a joke. He barely survived his own childhood; what made him think he was cut out to take on the burden of someone else’s?
The one thing he didn’t count on was his daughter. There were nights after Shelby left he would wake up, hearing Wren crying. Would swear to it on a bible, only to remember he was all alone, again, so he followed them to Houston. He drove straight through, wondering the entire way if she would even take him back. They had fought before she left and he had said things he regretted the second they were said. Back then, he wounded so carelessly. He called her from a gas station just outside of El Paso, and asked if she still wanted him.
“Come home, Jess,” was all she said. And he did.
As he slips quietly down the stairs of his new home, Jess Mariano feels the same sense of homecoming as he did that early morning long ago, standing outside of a worn looking house. Shelby had come out on the porch then, Wren on her hip, and to his surprise his daughter held out her arms to him. It hit him like a rock square in the chest: these two women loved him no matter what. It is the same now: a family he abandoned has welcomed him back without condition.
If he were anyone else, he might whistle a cheery tune, but he hasn’t changed that much over the past decade – although he can certainly name more than his share of Disney songs. As he flips on the light in the kitchen, he hears a noise from Wren’s room. At first he thinks he’s caught her, once again, staying up too late reading. He pauses, listening closely. It’s not that, but something else. He lets out a soft curse as he hurries to her door and pushes inside.
Within moments, he is at her bedside, gently pulling her free of the covers, cooing softly. She fights him at first, still lost, but soon her eyes flicker open. She looks at him, desolate, tears slipping into her hair. She lets out a shuddering breath. “Daddy.”
She never calls him that anymore. “I’m here, baby. I’m here,” he promises.
“She’s gone, Daddy,” she sobs, her entire body shaking. She covers her face with both hands, lying there. His heart splits open; he is helpless; it is always the same dream.
“I know, baby.”
“I miss her,” she admits, looking at him again.
He nods. “Me, too.” Her nose is running. He grabs a tissue from her nightstand and holds it for her as she blows, which she hasn’t let him do in years. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks.
Wren shakes her head and her eyes slide away. She sits up carefully, pulling her legs under her. Any other time, he would smile at her stalling tactics. She excels at it, able to put off just about anything until she is ready and willing. But this is different. Something is going on in that head of hers and he wants to know what.
“Bird?” he presses quietly.
“It was like before,” she mumbles, still avoiding his gaze. “We were back at the old house, back home, and Mom was cooking dinner with Nana. You had just come home from work and I ran to meet you. You gave me a hug and a kiss, and then went over to the stove to give Mom a kiss. Only when she turned around, it was Rory. Not Mom.” She meets his eyes, tears trickling down her face.
“Bird –"
“She was there though. Mom – she was watching, from the doorway. She looked so sad, like she might cry; only when she caught me looking at her, she smiled. She waved at me and turned to leave.”
Jess can’t speak. He stares at his daughter and can’t find one thing to say. Words fail him. “Wren –"
She shakes her head, and he stops. She tucks her hair behind her ears, lost to her thoughts. Finally, she comes back, straightening her shoulders with resolve. “Did you love Rory like you love Mom?” The words quake with the unspoken.
If he was hoping for something easier, this is not it. This question is fraught with peril, and he risks his daughter’s heart. To hear her voice filled with doubt, about her life, about everything she has known – he feels ragged. “No,” he answers truthfully.
“How then?”
“It was different, Wren. I was different. Your mother –" He meets her eyes. “She was something special.”
“Do you still love Rory?”
He swallows, stomach roiling. “In a way, I suppose. She was the first girl I ever loved, and I don’t think you ever truly get over that person, no matter how far you go away from them, or from who you were when you were with them.”
She stews over this for several minutes, twirling her hair around her finger. “Did Mom know about her?”
“Of course, Bird. Your mother knew all my secrets.”
Wren nods, still eyeing him. “I found something,” she admits.
His stomach twists. “What?”
She reaches down beside the bed, pulls a book from the top of the pile stacked there. It falls open in her hands and he spies a postcard tucked between the pages. Her hand shakes as she holds it out to him. Confused, he takes it and turns it over. Scrawled across the back is the word “heaven.” It’s in his handwriting.
“What does it mean?” she asks delicately. Her eyes meet his. He was wrong before. There is far more treacherous territory, and it seems his daughter is intent on exploring it all in one night.
“Your Mom was reading this book. The concept of heaven plays a big part in the plot –" He pauses, catching sight of the cover. The Lovely Bones. A reluctant smile lifts the side of his mouth. Aw, Shelby, he thinks, and Shelby smiles at him, filling his head with that Shelby-smile of hers. “She asked me what my heaven would be like, but I couldn’t answer. For the longest time –" He stares at his hand, afraid to go into too much detail about his youthful offenses. “– well, I didn’t think any sort of heaven was in the cards for me. Then I found this postcard and it reminded me of Stars Hallow, and I knew. I gave this to her. She made me promise that we’d come here one day. She wanted to meet your Uncle Luke mostly, but also she wanted to see this place.”
“Is that why we came here?” Wren’s lower lip wobbles. Fresh tears cling to her eyelashes.
“Maybe that’s a part of it, Bird. I don’t know really. All I know is Stars Hollow was the first place I ever called home. That it was more than just my idea of Heaven. And then your Mom died, and Nana – I needed to come back here. To be able to give this to you?” His voice cracks, and he tries to clear his throat. “After everything, Wren, I wanted to give you a family again.”
Her face scrunches up as she begins to cry again. She shakes her head as if she can’t believe how silly he is. “Daddy, you are my family. I love Will and Emma and Uncle Luke and Aunt Lorelai. I love all of them, but I didn’t need them to create a family.” She is in his arms, hugging him tight, and he holds her close.
“I love you, Wren. You know that, don’t you?”
She nods vigorously, her face in the curve of his throat. “I love you too.”
-
“Hey.” Lorelai carefully tugs the door shut behind her. She holds one mug and has the other tucked between her forearm and her breasts. Rory immediately jumps up from the porch swing. “Mom, let me help! You’re going to burn yourself!”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Lorelai remarks. She holds out a steaming cup of coffee. “Here.”
Grateful, Rory accepts it, taking a hearty sip. Warmth spreads inside her chest, thick, like a blanket, and she sighs contentedly, shoving her free hand deep into her jeans pocket. “This is positively sublime, Mom,” she says contentedly. “God, I can’t believe you made coffee at one in the morning.”
Her mother raises an eyebrow. “I can’t believe you can’t believe I’d make coffee at one o’clock in the morning.”
Rory snort-laughs. “When you finally figure out what you just said, you get back to me, okay?”
“Ha, ha. Don’t make me confiscate your coffee.”
“You wouldn’t, and even if you tried, you couldn’t take me.”
“I could.”
“You’re out of shape.”
Lorelai scoffs, pointing at her. “Ha! I’ve always been out a shape, but I have looks that can kill.”
Rory closes her eyes, sighing wanly. “You’re kidding right?”
“These here eyes are dangerous. Just a look and people do my bidding. I could be a Jedi.”
“For the sake of everyone here – meaning me – I’m not going to argue the point.”
“These are not the 'droids you're looking for,” Lorelai urges.
Rory rolls her eyes, but doesn’t encourage her mother any further. She keeps quiet, watching the snow. This is her favorite part of winter, the silence that permeates everything when the flurries start coming down. Everything stops for a little while.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lorelai whispers.
Nodding, Rory motions for her mother to join her on the swing. She scoots over, lifting the quilt, and Lorelai sits, tugging it over her legs. Rory relaxes, listening to her mother’s breathing and the whirl of snow. Luke built this swing for the house; took him over a year, with a newborn and a toddler. The wood has aged well over the years and feels smooth beneath her fingers. They let the slight wind rock them, with the coffee and the heavy quilt to keep them warm.
These have become Rory’s reflective hours, a habit borne when she returned. Every night it is the same. She wakes up close to midnight and comes out here to think. There is so much to consider. She has a story nearly two weeks overdue. There’s the apartment. Paris’s wedding in a few days. A very full schedule awaits her in New York. She has commitments to friends, to co-workers. Yet, no matter how hard she tries, she can’t do it, she can’t leave.
As if sensing the direction of her daughter’s thoughts, Lorelai turns to Rory. “So what’s the game plan, kid?”
“I haven’t a clue.” Rory smiles, almost sadly. “It doesn’t scare me anymore, not knowing.”
Lorelai slips her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “I’d say that’s definite progress.”
Still smiling, Rory studies her mother’s profile. Lorelai Gilmore has aged much as her mother before her and as Rory would wager she herself will. At forty-six, Lorelai is vibrant, lit up with an inexhaustible supply of energy, but now there is a softness about her. Three babies, two of them so late in life, have given her a fuller figure; she is not so whipcord thin. Never one to agonize over her weight, she doesn’t seem to mind it in the slightest. There is a satisfied look about her, a sureness of her place in the world.
Not too long ago, Rory felt that same assuredness, knew where she belonged and who she was. It’s startling now, because she realizes she no longer wants any of it.
-
“There’s still this much candy leftover from Halloween?” Rory unwraps another Snickers miniature and pops it into her mouth.
“Luke hides it,” Lorelai explains around a mouthful of Dots, making a sucking noise as she speaks. “The kids get to choose three pieces each night for dessert so it lasts forever.”
“But you found his hiding spot.”
“Of course.” Lorelai points at her nose. “You can’t beat this nose.”
“How does he not know?”
“Oh, he knows. He just can’t prove it.” Lorelai leans forward conspiratorially. “I always buy an extra bag of mixed candies and hide it. When I need a little late night pick-me-up, I simply replace what I’ve taken.”
Rory mimics her mother’s movement. “Why don’t you just eat the stuff you buy to replace it instead?”
“You are missing the point, grasshopper. He knows and I know he knows, and he probably knows that I know he knows.” She straightens, opening another box of Dots. She shrugs. “It’s our game.”
Rory stares at her mother. “The joys of marriage, eh?”
Lorelai smirks. “It does keep the juices flowing, if you know what I mean.”
Rory arches back, as if struck. “Mother! If you continue any further, I make no promises I will spare you when I throw up.”
“The idea of me making love with my husband of nearly tens years is vomit-inducing? God, Rory, you are such a prude!”
Hands over her ears, Rory shudders. “When it comes to my mother and father having sex, then yes. Call me a prude. I don’t care!” she whispers loudly.
“He likes that, you know.” Lorelai acts nonchalant, perusing the remaining selection, but her eyes are searching as they meet her daughter’s. “Luke. When you call him your dad.”
Rory tucks her hair behind her ears, blushing. “He is my dad. In every way that mattered, anyway.” Her shoulders rise as she tugs her sweater-sleeves down over her hands. She smiles nervously. “Really? He likes that? It doesn’t make him uncomfortable?”
“Of course not, Rory! He always thought the sun rose and set on you. That you think him worthy enough to be your dad?” Lorelai smiles wistfully. “He loves you. Has always loved you.”
“I want to move back here, Mom,” Rory blurts out.
“What?”
“I want to live here, in Stars Hollow,” she repeats, then rushes on before her mother can say anything else. “I have money in savings, as well as some stock Andrew talked me into a couple months ago. He said it would make me lots of money, and so far, it has. I could sell my shares and get a small house here.”
Lorelai runs her fingers through her hair, clearly agitated. “It seems you have it all figured out.”
“I’ve been thinking about it since Grandpa died.”
“You never said anything.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise at first. Then I went back and got swept back into my life. It occurred to me that if I told you, I would have to follow through, and it terrified me, giving up everything I’ve worked so hard for.” Rory tugs on her earlobe, uneasy. “But I’m not terrified anymore.”
Lorelai starts cleaning up the empty wrappers. Stopping, she catches her daughter’s gaze. “Does this have anything to do with Jess?”
Rory’s eyes widen. “Mom! God, no! This was something I’ve been wanting to do since before he came back.” She pushes back from the table noisily. “I can’t believe you would think that, after everything.”
“I’m sorry!” Lorelai cries, reaching for her daughter. “I’m sorry. Please, sit back down. Talk to me.”
Rory folds her arms over her chest, holding her elbows tight. For a full minute, she stands there, unwilling to give in, eager to hold onto her anger. She is not doing this because of Jess. She stopped being doormat girl long ago. But it’s not like her mother doesn’t have cause to worry. She looks at her mother, her shoulders drooping. “I’m sorry, too. To unload all of this on you – just like that.”
Frowning, Lorelai moves to the chair right next to her. “Well I didn’t help matters by reacting the way I did. I’m still in processing mode.”
Rory feels exhausted all of a sudden. It presses into her back and neck, makes her lids heavy. She leans on the table, pressing her face into her hands. “Don’t worry about it, Mom. It’s –" She can feel tears starting in the back of her throat. “–I’m still processing it myself. I’m just jumpy.”
Lorelai glances at the clock over the stove. “Two-thirty, already. I better get back to bed.” She turns to her daughter. “Are we okay?” Her eyes move over her daughter’s face. “Are you okay?”
Rory manages a genuine laugh. “Of course. Go to bed.”
Lorelai stands. “Aren’t you coming?”
“In a little while,” Rory promises.
Bending close, Lorelai kisses her on the forehead. “I love you, Rory.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
“See you in the morning.”
“Okay.”
-
The headlights blind her as the truck turns the corner. For several seconds she is trapped in the twin beams and she nearly trips, an unsettled feeling catching in her chest. It’s ridiculous and she shakes off the nerves crawling up her spine. Too many years away from Stars Hollow. She continues to run and the truck passes her without incident. Grinning at her silliness, she slows her pace, crosses over Peach, and doubles-back along Plum. It’s been nearly a full half-hour and her lungs burn from the bitter cold. She has missed too many days. Her stride is only now beginning to smooth out, but it’s worth it for just this small piece of quiet. A moment all her own, no appointments to rush off to.
She hears the engine before she notices the lights casting her in shadow on the sidewalk. Surreptitiously, she glances over her shoulder and spies the same truck creeping along a few houses behind her. Part of her hopes the driver is searching the street numbers, but then the New Yorker in her kicks in. Fight or flight? Predictably, Rory chooses flight. Breath labored, her feet heavy on the pavement, she spurs herself forward at even greater speed.
“Rory!”
She skids to a stop, nearly falling on her ass. That voice – she knows – “Jess?” Rolling her eyes, she jogs towards the driver side. “I’ve been living in New York for nearly eight years, Jess. You might want to rethink your approach.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving her off. “So when did you start running?” He sounds more than a little skeptical.
“An ex. He was a fanatic. Somehow he talked me into going on a run with him one morning. (The early flush of romance, I guess.) Long story short, the habit has outlasted its inspiration.”
“Well, I was half-convinced it was sleep deprivation,” he teases. “Hence the lurking.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she mimics, glancing at her watch. Nearly five-thirty. Forty-five minutes – not bad. She pulls her foot up behind her butt, stretching. “What are you doing up so early?”
“Had to pick up an order in Hartford,” he replies, scratching his forehead. He fumbles, as if he can’t make up his mind, then gestures towards the passenger side. “Do you want a ride back to your Mom’s place?”
She lets go of her foot. He’s nervous. She hesitates. “Uh...sure.”
He leans across the bench seat and opens the passenger door. She walks around the front and slides in. The heater is blasting. She rubs her frozen hands together, holding them up to one of the vents. She wants to look at him, wants to sit back and watch him. Instead, she tries for conversation. “They open this early?”
“The place opens up at four. I figured Luke would want to sleep in, what with Wren being over there last night.”
“Ah, yes, the sleepover.” Rory chuckles.
“How did it go?”
She grimaces, looking back at her hands. “They were just going to sleep when I left.”
Jess groans. “You’re kidding.”
“Well they found the stash of Halloween candy. By the time Mom and Luke discovered them they had gorged themselves. Emma threw up, then Will, and finally Wren. Mom gave them some Pepto, and got them to lie down in front of the TV.”
“They ate all of it?”
“Yep. There were just wrappers left.” Her eyes glaze a bit. “Everywhere.”
“But they’re settled?”
Rory nods. “Nodding off to Mary Poppins as I was leaving.”
“Good.”
He still looks worried, his fingers tight on the steering wheel. She can’t help but smile. He still can make her giddy, her belly jumping, as if she is once again that seventeen year old girl, and she has to resist the urge, sometimes, to lean forward and kiss him, just like old times. He isn’t that boy anymore.
Minutes later, Jess pulls in behind Lorelai’s SUV. There are lights on throughout the house. He is first out of the truck, but waits for her at the foot of the path leading up to the house. She follows him. He’s wearing a thick denim coat, like the ones sold in catalogs for ranchers. It goes all the way past his butt. He always had a nice ass. Her head tilts to the side, remembering the few times she worked up the courage to let her hand slip down low.
“You coming?” Jess smirks, as if he can read her thoughts.
Flushing, she nods mutely and steps inside. He shuts the door behind her. He is close, his shoulder brushing her back. She stands completely still, frozen. His hand grazes hers, fingertips tracing the lines of her palm.
“Rory, is that you?”
They jump away from each other, like a pair of teenagers. Rory takes a deep breath, but she still feels deprived. Jess meets her eyes and he takes her hand again, squeezing it, as if promising more to come. He heads into the kitchen. Luke is at the stove, stirring something in a huge pot. Wren is at the table, quietly reading. Her legs swing in the shape of a figure-8. She wears pink long johns and a fluffy white robe. To Rory’s surprise, she doesn’t look the least bit tired, nor does she seem to be feeling the affects of her tummy upset.
Luke spoons some hot cereal into a bowl and sets it in front of her. “Here you go, kiddo.”
“Thanks, Luke.”
“How is it possible she can eat after all that?” Rory wonders aloud.
“She has an iron-clad stomach. Shelby used to joke it was the Filipino in her.” Jess walks into view and Wren leaps up to greet him. “Hiya, Daddy!”
Jess pulls her up into his arms. “Hiya, Bird.” He doesn’t look back at Rory. Was it all in her head?
Watching him with Wren doesn’t hurt anymore, or at least, not as much. He knows a world so far removed from her own that it seems as if she will never truly meet him halfway. She doesn’t want to think about how much she wants to be a part of them, to know him again, to share Wren with him. She rubs her neck, unable to look at them any longer. It is like a steady thrum inside her chest, an echo of her heartbeat. Turning, she strides back through the foyer towards the living room. Rory finds Lorelai lying out on the couch, Emma stretched out along Lorelai’s body, passed out. Will is curled up on the floor, a pillow hugged tightly to his chest. He snores softly.
“You know what I realized?” Lorelai whispers as Rory carefully sits down between her legs. “Mary Poppins is a player. When she’s finished what she’s come to town to do, she just leaves poor Bert high and dry. Also? I get the feeling that’s not the first time, and he’s not the only one.”
Rory grins, pulling her knees up. “I can see your point. Not sure that good ol’ Walt would necessarily agree with that interpretation, nor would Travers, but it’s not as if either of them is up for a debate.”
“I love winning by default. Saves you all that unnecessary research.”
Rory covers her heart, gasping dramatically. “The journalist in me just died a little.”
“Is it like with fairies? If I say I do believe in research, will it resuscitate you?”
“Did you watch Peter Pan, too?”
“Yeah, the PJ Hogan version. Will prefers it because it hews closer to the books. His words, not mine, by the way.” Lorelai groans, stretching her neck. “Even though he agrees that the Sumpter kid sucked.”
“Atta boy,” Rory crows.
-
They stand in a clump, huddled against the cold. Emma is closest and raps lightly against the window with her tiny index finger. The puppies squirm and wriggle, mouths gaping, as they play, oblivious to their audience. Wren spies him in the back – he’s the laziest one, always sleeping. She’s not sure about his name, but she figures she’ll have it by the time she talks her father into buying him for her.
“So have you asked Jess yet?” Will inquires, spying the one he likes best at the front. She (at least he thinks it’s a she) is always playing. Even when the rest are asleep, she can usually be found in the corner, amusing herself. He’ll be sure to point her out to his parents when they come to pick out Emma’s Christmas present.
Wren shakes her head, glancing back at her puppy. As if he knows she’s there, he rolls on his back, proffering a fat pink belly covered in fuzzy black hair.
“What are you going to say?” Emma is still trying to convince her parents to get her one and she is eager for any tips that might work. Looking them over, she would be happy with any one of them, really. All she wants is a puppy.
Wren watches her cousins. They are nearly mesmerized by the fidgeting litter. It is nice being the oldest; it also doesn’t hurt that she loves spending time in the kitchen with Uncle Luke while he cooks. He let it slip the other day that there would be two puppies joining the Danes’ household this year. Smirking, Wren shrugs when Emma finally tears her eyes away from the window. “I’ll just tell him I want a puppy,” she replies.
“That’ll work?” Will asks, brows drawn together. He looks a little like her father when he does that.
“We’ll see.” Glancing over towards the school, Wren adjusts the strap of her book bag on her shoulder. “Let’s go. The first bell’ll be ringing any minute now.”
-
“You know what I think?” Wren unwraps her chicken salad sandwich. “I think my dad likes your sister.”
Will grunts, stuffing a handful of chips into his mouth. He’s already reading, which means he’s on autopilot.
Wren stops. “I’m serious. Will, put the book down.”
He glances up, but it takes him a full minute to focus. “What?” he asks irritably, carefully placing a bookmark and closing the book.
“I said, ‘I think my dad likes your sister.’”
“Rory?”
“Did you think I meant Emma?”
“Gross!”
“Okay, okay. Yes, Rory.” Wren sighs heavily. “They used to date, you know. In high school.”
“They did?”
“Yeah. But then he left, so they broke up.”
Will ponders this for several minutes, while Wren eats her sandwich and chips. The cafeteria is noisy as usual. Most of their classmates are busy catching up with their friends. Some even have boyfriends and girlfriends, and hold hands, or talk cutesy-talk to each other. Wren still cannot comprehend this; no one at her old school dated anyone, as far as she knew.
It isn't that she's oblivious to boys, or even one boy in particular; it's just impossibly strange how comfortable they are about it. Yes, most are a grade above her, in sixth, but how much can a year change things, really? But when she crosses paths with Jamie Bueller, she knows, somewhere inside herself, that this is the beginning. Already, she knows the taste of words lost forever on the tip of her tongue. The zippy whirl of butterflies in her stomach. How do other girls manage it? Staring at a group of them the next table over, she notices the way they’re dressed – short jean skirts and thick tights, cropped sweaters. They care little for the weather. Wren feels awkward in her long john top and blue jeans. Sometimes she wishes she had a girl friend that was her age to talk about this with, or her mother, because her father would flip out and Will would never understand.
“Wren?”
She snaps to. “Hmm?”
“What if Rory likes Jess, too?”
“I think she does, but you need to find out for sure.”
Will makes a face. “Why me?”
“Because you’re her brother. No, wait.” Wren chews the inside of her mouth. “She wouldn’t talk about that with you.”
“Emma?” Will offers, unsure.
“Would you tell your six year old sister about your crush?”
Will blanches, his face lit up with horror. Wren giggles, nearly choking on a carrot stick. “I’ll take that as a no.”
He nods, unable to speak.
“Well, we’re at square one, then. I can at least get started on my dad.”
“You want them to get together?”
Wren shrugs one-shouldered. “He’s different now that she’s back. He seems happier, even more so that when we first moved here.”
“But won’t it be weird?”
“Why?”
“He’s my first cousin, and she’s my sister.”
“Well, she’s your half-sister, so they’re not related, technically.”
“Sure, but it’s still weird.”
“That goes without saying, but everything adults do seems pretty weird to me.”
-
“Do you want us to walk you to the bus stop?” Lorelai leans in the doorway.
Rory turns, smiling. “Sure.”
“How long will you be?”
Rory slings her bag over her shoulder. Lorelai takes the other one. They head down the hallway towards the staircase.
“Only a few days. I already called Murray and faxed him my resignation. I think he’s more pissed that he has to reassign the story, but I gave him all of my notes to pass along to my replacement.” She precedes her mother down the stairs. “Paris’s wedding is on the 20th, and I’ve already posted an advertisement for my apartment, but I won’t hire the movers until I have a definite offer. If I don’t have a house by then, I can put my stuff in storage.”
“Good to know the old Rory is still in there. Planning every step of the way as always.”
Laughing, Rory shrugs. “Yes, but think how smoothly it will all go because of it?”
Rolling her eyes, Lorelai nods. “I know, I know.”
“Thanks for letting me stay here, Mom.”
“Hey, you’re my girl. My partner in crime. I couldn’t let you go homeless.”
“Still.” Rory looks into her mother’s eyes. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
They join Luke and the kids in the foyer. “Ready?” Luke asks.
“Yep.”
“Here, give me those bags.” Luke relieves her and Lorelai ofthe luggage.
“Thanks, Dad,” Rory whispers, kissing him on the cheek.
Luke flushes, grinning for the briefest of moments, but doesn’t say anything. He gestures at the open door, saying something about letting in the snow and cold air. Rory and Lorelai lead the way, Will and Emma walking together, with Luke bringing up the rear.
chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter nine | chapter ten
