Of Family

"Are you really going to make her do this?"

Lorelai looked up. She was on her hands and knees in front of her closet, sorting through her shoes. She blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Rory, the woman would not leave me alone today. Not only did she critique my outfit, she eavesdropped on not one, not two, but three separate phone conversations and she chewed out two of my wait staff for their apparent inability to predict her tea preference and not having the lemon available at the exact moment she ordered her beverage." She stopped and took a breath. "And I'm not making her do anything. You can't make Emily Gilmore do anything—I swear, if she were the mountain, Mohammed would still be waiting."

Rory threw herself on the bed. "So you're saying she secretly wants to come to this dinner?"

Lorelai crawled deeper into the closet as she spoke. "I'm saying she knows she's going to have to talk to Dad sooner or later," she said. "Where the hell are my pink suede pumps?"

"When was the last time you wore them?"

She backed carefully out of the closet and kneeled. She furrowed her brow, thinking. "Oh, God. I haven't worn them since Dad and Digger went twelve rounds at the town meeting." She pushed herself to her feet and dropped beside her daughter on the bed. "Luke probably still has them."

"Why would Luke have your pink suede pumps?"

Lorelai turned her head. "You do realize that everything you've said since you came in the room has been a question."

Rory rolled her eyes. "That still doesn't explain why Luke would have your shoes."

"I gave them to him," Lorelai said. "It's—well, I guess it's not a long story. They were brand new, the ground was muddy, and I was about to run home, so I gave them to Luke so they wouldn't get ruined. And I was slightly hysterical, so it seemed like the absolute right thing to do at the time." She scowled. "I can't believe he's had them this whole time. Think of all the quality bonding time I've lost with those shoes."

"Poor shoes," Rory said. "They're probably shoved at the back of Luke's closet, crying, weeping, actually, from neglect."

Lorelai gasped. "Mean! Oh, my shoes." She sighed. "I'll just wear my strappy sandals instead. We've got to go get your grandmother." She rose, pulling Rory to her feet. "Who would have thought I would willingly be going to dinner with both my parents, fairly certain that the event would not involve any sort of entertaining humiliation?"

Rory shook her head. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"Just call me Kurt," Lorelai said.

"Why would I do that?" Rory asked, following her mother down the stairs.

Lorelai tossed a horrified look over her shoulder. "Clearly, babe, you've been gone too long. Your game is totally off. I was—"

"Sound of Music, I get it," Rory said. "It was just weak, Mom."

"Yeah? Well, uh, you're, ah—Yale sucks," she stuttered.

Rory put her arm around Lorelai's shoulders as they walked to the car. "Don't worry, Mom. A stack of magazines, a few hours in front of the TV, you'll be good as new. I've got you covered."

"I am touched by your condescension," Lorelai drawled.

Emily was waiting for them, standing on the front steps of the Dragonfly, her arms crossed over her chest. She was flanked on either side by two bellhops loaded down with shopping bags. Lorelai swung out of the Jeep and opened the back for them.

"What's with the cargo, Mom?"

"They're presents," Emily said curtly. "Let's just get this over with, now, shall we?"

The drive to Hartford was brief, and for the most part silent, though Lorelai would attempt, every few moments, to wheedle information from her mother and daughter about what sort of presents were in the bags.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Lorelai! Would you please just drive and remain silent for five minutes together? You'll find out what the damned presents are when you open them!" Emily cried.

Lorelai exchanged a look with Rory in the rear view mirror. "Sorry, Mom," she said quietly. "Just trying to ease the tension."

"There is no tension, Lorelai," Emily said. "It is only a dinner—isn't that what you said yesterday when you steamrolled me into this?"

"Steamrolled? Who steamrolled?" Lorelai said. "I merely suggested—"

Emily threw up a hand. "Please, Lorelai. I think you know I invented this game, and you will therefore lose, so it's better to quit while you are slightly ahead. Slightly," she added.

When they arrived at the house, the three women stood in front of the door a long moment.

"Should we ring the bell?" Rory asked. "Or do we just go in?"

"Ring the bell," Lorelai said. She put out her hand to ring the bell, but her mother grabbed her wrist.

"Wait," Emily said. "Just a moment."

Rory and Lorelai stood expectantly, their eyes on Emily. She was pale, shaking. She took a breath, smoothed the front of her dress, shook her hair slightly, seeming to collect herself. She reached out and pressed the doorbell.

"Good for you, Mom," Lorelai whispered.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Yes, Lorelai, ringing the bell to my own house is quite an accomplishment. Thank you for recognizing that. I don't know what I would have done—"

She stopped when the door opened and they were ushered inside. The maid was new, someone Emily certainly hadn't hired. Emily looked at Lorelai, aghast. "She's all of eighteen!" she hissed.

"She's got the bar set up," Lorelai replied. "I love her already. You should keep this one around, Mom."

The maid watched them seat themselves, hanging back in the entryway to the parlor. She told them Mr. Gilmore would be right with them and scurried towards the kitchen to check on dinner after she'd made sure there was nothing further they needed from her.

Rory sat back on the sofa. "She's good."

"Who knew Dad had such hiring skills?" Lorelai marveled.

"She's probably sneaking the good silverware out in her purse a piece at a time every night," Emily said darkly. "That's what happens when you hire them so young. He'll see. You'll see," she told them, pointing.

Lorelai rolled her eyes as she rose and moved to the bar, poked around in the ice bucket. "Gin, gin, gin," she murmured. "Where's the gin?"

"Lorelai, please let me take care of the drinks."

She jerked her head up as her father entered, instinctively backing away from the bar. Rory was out of her seat before he'd crossed the room, walking towards him with her arms open.

"Grandpa!"

He hugged her tightly. "Rory. Wonderful to see you." He stood back and studied her briefly. "You've grown," he said. He looked at Lorelai. "Lorelai, she's grown."

Rory shook her head. "Everyone keeps saying that. Do I really look taller?"

"Like a big, tall freak," Lorelai said. "Hi, Dad."

"Lorelai," Richard said, nodding his head. He seemed to hesitate a moment before turning, his arm still firmly about Rory, and bowing slightly in his wife's direction. "Hello, Emily. You look very well."

Emily remained seated, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Thank you, Richard."

Rory looked up at her grandfather, gasping slightly. "Grandpa! Your lip's bald again!"

He raised his hand absently to his face. "Yes, well. I thought perhaps it was time to relinquish my final grasp at youth. The maintenance was a terrible nuisance, as well."

"Well, sure," Lorelai said. "All the combing and trimming and whatnot."

"Whatnot?" Rory giggled.

"Whatnot," Lorelai replied.

Rory sat again as Richard went to assist Lorelai at the bar, mixing and pouring martinis for himself and Lorelai. He looked up, his hand poised to pour a third. "Emily, would you like a martini? Or perhaps something else—a whiskey sour?"

Rory thought she saw a whisper of a smile on her grandmother's face. "How nice of you to remember, Richard," she said.

"It is a difficult thing to forget," he told her, inclining his head slightly.

Lorelai looked from her mother to her father and back again, certain something was passing between them and not entirely sure what it was. Emily said that a whiskey sour would be lovely and asked Rory to come sit by her. She obliged, rising and crossing from one sofa to the other, and sat close to Emily, resting her head briefly on her grandmother's shoulder. Emily put an arm around Rory and squeezed her tightly a few seconds before taking the proffered drink from Richard's hand.

"So, Grandpa, what have you been up to while we've been gone?" Rory asked. "Besides getting so skinny? You went and got all Kate Moss on us."

He colored slightly as he sat in his regular chair. "Yes, well, I have been walking quite a bit."

"Walking?" Emily asked, one eyebrow raised.

He cleared his throat. "Yes. I still get up quite early and because I no longer have an office to go to, I have taken to going on rather long walks before breakfast." He looked into his drink. "I've been making some changes, you see."

"Well, you look great," Rory said. "Doesn't he, Mom?"

Lorelai nodded. "Oh, yeah, just fantastic."

"So, you get up, you go for a walk, then what?" Rory asked. "A little weight-lifting, maybe?"

Richard chuckled. "I'm afraid that's a bit beyond me. No, generally after breakfast, I work in my study for a few hours—I've retired for the most part, but I have retained a position as consultant at Floyd's company, and I do customer relations work for another firm as well." Though he spoke to Rory, it was clear his words were meant for Emily. "And in the afternoon, I go to the club or I read or watch television, go for a drive—I have found that a little leisure time is not necessarily as difficult to fill as I once thought."

"What do you watch on TV?" Lorelai asked.

"Excuse me?"

She swirled her drink, grinning. "You said you watch TV. What do you watch? You must watch something. CNN, MSNBC, CSPAN, Oxygen?"

He rose and busied himself making Lorelai another drink. "Oh, generally, just—usually the first thing that's on is what I watch."

"And what is that, Dad?" she asked, turning around in her seat, watching him with laughing eyes.

He sighed and gave her a dark look. "Please allow me a shred of dignity, Lorelai."

Emily turned to Rory, puzzled. "Have you any idea what is going on here?"

Rory shook her head. "None at all."

"I'm sorry, Dad," Lorelai said, "but it has to be done." She leaned forward as she spoke, her voice conspiratorial. "Dad has gotten really into The Young and the Restless."

"Soap operas?" Emily said, horrified. "Oh, Richard, really. And this is how you plan to spend your retirement? Watching stories?"

He drew himself up to his full height. "I rather enjoy it, Emily."

Rory bit her lips together, trying not to laugh. "Grandpa, I think that's great. Expanding your cultural horizons."

Richard sighed, passing a hand over his face. "I am being mocked in my own home," he said.

"I would have thought you'd be used to it by now," Emily said archly.

He looked at her, his eyes wide, held her gaze for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I suppose I should be," he said. "Shall we proceed to dinner?"

As Lorelai sat in her regular seat, her mother at one end of the table, her father at the other, her daughter across from her, she had the vague notion that it was the first time she'd done so while on almost-good terms with both her parents—she'd never thought it possible and found it slightly unfortunate that the two of them couldn't be on better terms as well. She let her father pour her wine and looked around her expectantly, though what she was waiting for, she wasn't sure. She turned her eyes to Rory, silently telling her to do something as the silence in the room was rapidly becoming unbearably uncomfortable. Both Richard and Emily fussed with their napkins, their silverware, adjusted the position of their wine glasses.

"So," Rory said. "I—uh—you know, Italy's great."

Lorelai began to giggle, covered her mouth with her hand as the giggle took on a life of its own. "Italy's great!" she chortled. "A year at Yale and a summer abroad and the best conversation starter she can come up with is 'Italy's great?'"

Richard leaned towards his daughter, his brow furrowed. "Lorelai, are you having some kind of fit?"

"Really, Lorelai," Emily said wearily.

Rory tucked her chin to her chest and said nothing, studiously avoiding her mother's gaze and taking deep, measured breaths. Lorelai cleared her throat and composed herself, muttering, "just another Gilmore family dinner."

"So, Rory," Richard said, tucking into his salad, "Emily—tell us about your travels."

As Rory charted their trip for her grandfather, telling him everything Lorelai had already heard about the places they went and the things they saw, Lorelai continued to watch her parents closely. Her father seemed chattier than usual, her mother more quiet and withdrawn. Richard spoke with an eagerness to please hiding just beneath the surface of whatever he said and there was a hopefulness in his movements, in the set of his face, that Lorelai had never seen before. Just having his wife show up, having her come back, even for a single meal—she knew he thought it must mean something; she knew he thought it meant there was a chance. She could see it written clearly in everything he did, from the way he poured the wine to the way he made sure to include her and Emily in the conversation. She found herself feeling a sort of sympathetic pity for him, knowing he was trying so hard and receiving so little encouragement.

Emily was impossible to read. She had an aura of watchfulness, of carefulness, as though everything about her was being analyzed, calculated, and catalogued for future reference. When she spoke her voice was, for the most part, neutral, though Lorelai noticed that time with Rory had given her a greater sense of irony and her remarks could be even more cutting than usual. She could honestly say that even after all the years of distance and chilliness, she'd never seen her mother quite this cool, this composed, this completely reserved and separate as she appraised the situation. She wondered how her father was faring. She knew Emily would be extremely pleased in knowing that he, himself, wouldn't have a clue, either.

The conversation had shifted towards Rory's plans for the remainder of the summer, and at the mention of working at the inn, Richard turned to Lorelai.

"I forgot to mention this when I spoke with you the other day, Lorelai, but I phone-conferenced with a young woman Friday morning who said she knew you," he said. "A lawyer."

Lorelai put her fork down and adopted a solemn expression. "I don't know what she told you, Dad, but what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Besides, they can't prove anything," she said. "I was nowhere near that nightclub."

Richard stared a moment, nonplussed. "Yes, well, in attempting to set up a dinner meeting for a few clients, I suggested the inn that my daughter recently opened as a suitable place and she seemed to connect everything. She asked after you, and so I told her the inn was doing splendidly."

"Well, thank you, Dad, that's very nice of you," Lorelai said. "What was this lawyer lady's name?"

Richard cut into his chicken, saying, "oh, a Nicole something or other."

Lorelai felt her eyes widen. "Nicole something, huh?"

"Leahy?" Rory asked. Lorelai shot her a look; she shrugged.

He looked up, pointed with the tip of his knife. "Excellent, Rory, that's it. Nicole Leahy. And how do you know each other?"

"Oh, you know, just, ah—uh—just—she's—she's—"

"She's a friend of Luke's," Rory supplied. "They just know each other through Luke."

"Through Luke," Lorelai echoed, silently thanking Rory for being more quick-minded than she. "We met a few times at the diner, that's all."

"Well, she congratulated you on the inn," Richard said. "I must say, I allowed myself to brag a little on your behalf."

Lorelai closed her eyes, shook her head, sighing. "Oh, Dad, I wish you wouldn't—"

"And why ever not?" Emily demanded. "It is a lovely place, Lorelai, the food and the help are excellent, it's comfortable, it's in a charming spot—let your father brag if he wants to. You deserve it."

Lorelai's mouth fell open. "Wow, thanks, Mom. I'm—wow. Thanks," she said again.

"I quite agree, Emily," Richard said. "I've enjoyed my few visits there immensely."

"Well, I think it stinks," Rory said teasingly. "Really, Mom. It's remarkably bad."

Lorelai narrowed her eyes, retorting, "Yeah? Well, you're a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Could we at least attempt to have a civilized dinner conversation without the juvenile commentary?"

"Where's the fun in that, Mom?" Lorelai asked, smiling brightly.

When the dinner was cleared and the desserts brought out, Richard brought conversation back to the inn. "How is your project for the biographer coming?" he asked. "When we last discussed it, you were encountering some red tape, I believe."

Lorelai sighed. "It's turning out to be a way bigger job than I thought. I think I'm going to have to sub-contract." She looked at her mother. "I was hired by some guests at the inn to oversee renovations to a house in town. There are six of them, they've been in the same home for years, and they decided to club in on a house together rather than sit around in a retirement community. They're really fantastic people, Mom. There's just so much work to do on the house and there's decorating and ordering and appointments, it's a little too much for me, with the inn just having opened and all."

"Then why would you take such a project on?" Emily asked. "Surely you didn't think something like this would be a small task."

She shrugged. "I signed on without giving it a whole lot of thought. I'm thinking I need someone to take over the little day-to-day stuff for me, someone to be in charge of all the projects and handle the buying and the hiring, stuff like that." She sighed, shaking her head. "I don't know who I'm going to find to do that."

Rory smothered a grin. "Grandma, I bet you'd be great at that."

Lorelai opened her mouth in an O of surprise. "What a great idea," she said. "Rory, you are so smart."

"I thought I was a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie," Rory said.

"Well, that, too."

Emily lifted her napkin from her lap and folded it beside her plate. "How long have you been rehearsing that?" she asked.

"Just in the car on the way to the inn," Rory said.

"What do you think, Mom? I just need someone to be my eyes around the house," Lorelai said. "I thought this could be something fun for you—a whole house to decorate and plan. You'll be my liaison to the construction crew and—"

"I will think about it, Lorelai."

"Do that, and let me know soon."

When the dinner had been cleared away, the four Gilmores returned to the parlor so that Rory could give out the last of the presents she and Emily had brought back from Europe. She gave her grandfather the bookends first.

He turned them over in his hands, running his fingertips over the carvings, marveling at the intricacies of the design. "These are quite something," he said. "I take it these are to replace the old brass ones?"

"It's time those things were melted down for scrap," Emily said, a trace of bitterness in her voice. "Wretched things."

"And so they shall be," Richard said. "They were a present as well, but it is time some things were disposed of. These are much more distinguished."

"I quite agree," Rory said, laughing.

The leather bag rendered Lorelai temporarily speechless. She held it in her hands, opening and closing her mouth, staring. It was a shoulder bag, rectangular and thin. The top flap closed to the bottom of the bag with thin straps of red leather to match the red of the design that had been worked over the front of the bag.

"This decides it: I need a new winter coat," she said. "I need a new winter coat to match my fabulous new bag. This is amazing. I love it."

"It's for work," Emily told her.

"It's perfect," she said, her smile sincere. "Really."

There were other gifts as well, Hermes handkerchiefs for Richard, a magnifying glass from a London antique book store, a pipe stand. For Lorelai, thin gold bracelets from Florence with a matching necklace, a sky blue Parisian scarf (with matching beret, which Emily said Rory had insisted upon), a set of nesting dolls painted to look like Vatican guards, an Italian movie poster for The Godfather. Emily surprised Rory with a new handbag and matching wallet, and she Emily with a set of glass dishes from Venice she'd snuck into her carry-on at the last moment.

Emily held the final two boxes on her lap. "These are fragile," she said. "Don't shake them."

Lorelai unwrapped hers first. Her face lit up as she unrolled the dancing girl with her wild hair from the sheath of tissue paper that encased her. "Oh, Mom," she breathed. "This is beautiful." She held the figure up to catch the light, laughing delightedly. "Thank you," she said. "This is just—I love it." She met Emily's eye. "Really, Mom." She looked at Rory. "Can I name her Lorelai, or is that just too much?"

Rory snorted. "She asks her daughter—named Lorelai."

Richard unwrapped his own figure and set it on the table beside the couch, studying it. He turned it around several times, peering over the sitting man's shoulder, examining his pipe, looking at the detailing of his chair. He tapped the glass head with a satisfied smile.

"Quite a work of art," he said. He looked at his wife, his expression slightly tremulous. "Thank you, Emily. It's very fine." He met her eyes for an instant before she looked away, smoothing her skirt over her lap. "I like it very much," he said stiffly. "We will have to find it a special place of honor."

Lorelai looked up to the clock on the mantle. "Can we do it at the next dinner, Dad? It's getting kinda late."

Emily rose at this and began collecting the debris from Lorelai's exuberant unwrapping. Richard watched from the couch as the women gathered their things together, tidied up, put things in bags and boxes and cleared the floor. He rose after several minutes of this and followed them as they headed for the door.

"Would anyone enjoy a nightcap?" he asked, his words hurried out as though he were afraid they would leave before he could say anything, even goodbye. "Emily?" he said, his face lifted with hope.

She smiled slightly. "Perhaps next time, Richard," she said gently.

"Ah, of course," he said. "Of course. Would you all come to see me again on Friday?"

Lorelai slung her bag over her shoulder, nodding. "I think we can just squeeze that in, Dad."

Rory hugged her grandfather tightly. "Thanks for dinner, Grandpa. I missed you!"

He kissed the top of her head. "I missed you as well." He stood behind them as they filed out the door. "Ah, Emily?"

She turned. "Yes, Richard."

"Might I—that is, would it be acceptable—could I perhaps—if you have the time, I wonder if we might, at your discretion, of course, have lunch? This week? At the Inn, if that is convenient?" he asked.

Emily paused a full moment before answering, sizing him up, watching him wait. "You may call me at the Dragonfly, yes," she said. "Good night, Richard."

"Good night, Emily." He didn't close the door until they had all climbed in the Jeep and driven beyond his sight.

The first few moments of the ride were again silent. Lorelai drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she drove, stealing glances at her mother from the corner of her eye.

"So," she said. "It was okay." Emily said nothing. "You're not going to make this easy on him, are you?"

Her mother looked determinedly out the window. "Really, Lorelai, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yeah, you do," Lorelai said.

Emily turned in her seat wearing an angry frown Lorelai knew well. "Why should I make it easy on him, Lorelai? Why? Have you any idea what the past year has been like for me?"

Lorelai sat up straighter in her seat, feeling chastened. "I'm sorry," she said. "He's just trying so hard."

"Let him try," Emily said. "Let him exhaust himself trying to please someone else, for once. Let him try and show me how often he talks to you, that he's trying to be an active part of your life. Let him retire, shave off that damned mustache, try and have a life that's not made up of work. If he wants to prove—"

"Prove what, Mom? That he loves you? That he misses you, that he needs you? Isn't that obvious?" Lorelai asked.

Emily crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. "Really, Lorelai, do not be so naïve."

Lorelai sighed. "Fine. You want me to stay out of it, I'll stay out of it."

"Thank you."

"Rory, babe, I'm going to drop myself off at Luke's—can you bring your grandmother back to the Inn and take the car home? I'll meet you back at the house later," Lorelai said, catching Rory's eye in the rear view mirror.

When they reached Stars Hollow, Lorelai pulled the Jeep to a stop in front of the diner and stepped out of the idling car. "Good night, Mom," she said quietly, ducking her head as she rounded the front of the Jeep.

"Good night, Lorelai," Emily said, her voice heavy and tired.

"I'll see you back at the house?" Rory asked.

She nodded and waved, standing on the sidewalk as they drove away.

Rory held her peace on the drive back to the inn. The silence was less tense than when her mother had been with them, more thoughtful, companionable. Familiar, Rory thought. She kissed her grandmother's cheek as Emily made to get out of the car.

"Grandma, are you okay?" she asked.

Emily hesitated before she answered. "I am just fine, Rory, thank you for asking."

"Okay," Rory said. "Good. I'll come see you tomorrow." She bit her lip, trying to decide before she spoke. "He loves you, Grandma."

Emily touched Rory's cheek with the back of her hand before she closed the door and turned towards her bungalow. "I know, my dear," she said. "Good night."

Rory pulled the Jeep into the drive and killed the lights when she got home, wishing that she and her mother had thought to leave a lamp or two on in the house. She had always hated coming back to a dark house in the evening; when she was young, she had imagined houses had personalities like people and that when the lights were out, houses were lonely and tired, sad shadows of their happy, homey, lit-up selves. Though it wasn't fully dark yet as she crossed the lawn, she shivered, dreading the moment she opened the door and walked into the empty house—she'd never quiet gotten over the sensation that the house was in some way waiting for her.

She saw movement from the corner of her eye as she put her key in the lock. She turned her head and jumped, putting her hand to her throat.

"God, Dean," she cried. "You scared me! What are you doing out here in the dark? What are you doing here?" she asked. She remained where she stood, her hand on the doorknob, the screen door at her back.

"I heard you were back," he said, and his voice was still thick and husky as it had been the last night she'd seen him. "I wanted to see you."

"Why?"

The question wasn't harsh or unfriendly—she spoke in an even, perfectly reasonable and curious Rory-tone, the same way she'd have asked him what he was reading. He looked at his feet.

"I just—I wanted to see you," he said again.

"Well, I understand that," she said, "but I'd like to know why."

"Rory," he said, and it was a plea.

She sighed, let her hand drop from the doorknob and fall to her side. "I don't want to do this with you, Dean," she said. "I'm sorry, I just—I don't." She stepped away from the door and let the screen slam shut.

"Do what?" he asked, looking up.

Rory felt a slight catch in her throat—when he looked at her that way, his chin down, his eyes barely visible through the shag of hair falling across his forehead, she was sixteen, she was carrying her books through the halls of Stars Hollow High and talking about round cakes. She swallowed hard and wrapped her arms around herself, clutching her house keys tightly in one hand.

"Whatever you're here to do," she told him. "I don't particularly want to discuss the last time we saw each other, and I don't really want to talk about what to do next. I don't want to get into how you feel about me and how I feel about you. I don't think that's going to do either one of us any good."

He began to pace, his breath coming more quickly. "So what do you want? Do you want to forget it happened? Pretend that we didn't—"

"I couldn't do that even if I wanted to," she said, her voice still level. "Because we did. And you know, Dean, we didn't really talk about it then, either, so let's just do the same thing tonight. I think that would be the best thing, I really do."

"Rory, I don't—I don't understand," he said. "If you don't want to talk, what are we supposed to do? How are we supposed to, you know, to be?"

She turned her face away as she spoke. "You go be Dean, and I'll be Rory."

"What the hell does that mean?" he asked. "And why did you just take off?"

"I didn't just take off, Dean," she said. "And you don't get to ask me questions like that, not after you're the one who ran out of the house and didn't call, didn't come see me, didn't even write a note after we slept together. You don't get to ask me questions like that."

"I tried to talk to you," he said. "I came to see Lorelai, and—"

She shook her head, snorting slightly in disgust. "Talking to my mother and talking to me isn't the same thing, Dean." Rory bit her lip. "This is exactly what I didn't want to do. I didn't want to—to rehash the whole thing. There's no point. We're not going to get anywhere." She sighed. "Dean, that night was—what we did? That's not the person that I am or the person that I want to be. It was wrong, and I feel—I feel terrible about it. I've spent the last six weeks trying to figure out how to stop feeling terrible about it and I'm still not sure. But I don't think—I can't go through this with you. I don't want to commiserate or come up with a plan or help you figure out what to do. I think it's best if we just—we can't forget or pretend or anything, but we can just—we can stay out of each other's way. Stay out of each other's lives."

Dean dropped down to the porch floor, squatting low, his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair. "And that's what you want."

"What else is there, Dean? You want to be friends?" she asked, closing her eyes. "Were we ever really friends?"

"I thought we were," he said. "I thought we were friends. I thought we were more than friends."

Rory hugged herself more tightly and leaned against the door frame. "More than friends isn't really an option either, Dean," she said. "You're still married."

"Yeah, but—"

"No, Dean," she cried, "there is no 'but' there. You're married. You're married to someone else, and that's all I need to know now. We can't—we can't just be in each other's lives anymore. It's all changed now," she said. "Everything has changed."

He rose and stepped towards her. "I know," he said. "I know that. And I don't—I don't know what to do. Things with Lindsay—"

Rory moved back slightly. "Dean, I don't want to know about things with Lindsay. That's your life. It's your business. She's your wife. Whatever—whatever you choose to do, that's what—it's your choice. But whatever it is, I just think it's better if we keep our distance."

"How long?"

She took a breath. "Permanently."

"Rory," he said. "Don't."

She reached for the screen door. "Dean, I just—this is what I need to do. I did something that made me just—made me question myself, made me miserable, and I'm trying to move forward, I'm trying to do what's best for me—and it's the right thing to do, Dean. Please, just…" she trailed off and opened the front door. "Please respect that." She paused. "I'm really sorry, Dean, for everything I put you through, and I'm sorry that things are so hard right now. I really am. Good night."

She shut and locked the door behind her, immediately fumbling to turn on a lamp. Sighing, she kicked off her shoes and collapsed on the couch, pulling a blanket over herself. She reached for the remote and turned the TV on, rolled onto her side, pushed her face into a pillow. She curled her knees towards her chest and let the tears that had been pushing at the base of her throat find their way out.

The door of the diner was unlocked but the lights were all off and Luke nowhere to be seen. Lorelai shut the door behind her and dropped her purse and coat on the nearest tabletop.

"Luke?" she called, wandering over to the counter. She leaned over the countertop, peering at the coffeemaker behind it. She rounded the corner and stepped behind the counter, searching for a light switch.

"Haven't we discussed the rules of the counter before?"

She looked over her shoulder to see Luke at the bottom of the stairs, his hands on his hips, his head tipped back. She smiled. "Hey, stranger." She gestured at him with the empty coffee pot. "I was just—"

"I know what you were just," he said, coming to stand behind her. "Let me do it."

She handed him the carafe. "Yours is better, anyway."

He pointed to the other side of the counter. "Out." She leaned up and kissed his cheek before obeying. "How bad was the dinner?"

"What makes you think it was bad?"

He looked at her, cocking an eyebrow. "You always come here after bad dinners with your parents."

"I do not."

"Yeah, you do," he said.

"Well, tonight, I just wanted to see you," she said.

"I'm flattered," he said flatly.

Lorelai crumpled a napkin in her hand and threw it at him. "Just pour the coffee, Mel." She sighed. "It wasn't—it wasn't bad. It was just weird. It was like my dad was auditioning, or something. He asked after you, by the way. I think he has a little hetero man-crush on you."

"Now, why do you have to say things like that?" Luke groaned.

She giggled. "I just do," she said. "My mom is really going to make him work to show her he's worthy."

Luke thought about this a moment as he reached for a clean cup and poured Lorelai her coffee, placing a donut on a plate for her as well. "Seems to me that's the way it is with the right person."

She crinkled her brow, took an enormous bite of the donut. "Say what?" she asked, her mouth full.

He laughed and brushed his thumb over her lower lip. "Crumbs," he said. "I'm just saying that the person you really want to be with is the one you've got to work the hardest for."

She stared at him over the rim of her coffee cup. "Are you saying I'm work?"

"I've already told you you're work."

"You're not exactly a pleasure cruise yourself, you know," she retorted.

Luke smiled and leaned down against the counter, putting himself at eye level with her. "I don't mind," he said. "I've never been afraid of hard work."

Lorelai put her coffee cup down and smirked. "You are so damned cocky, you know that?" She paused. "So, did you not have to work for other women? Did they just fall at your feet? Or did you have that spray like in Love Potion Number Nine that made women just swoon every time you spoke?"

He looked at her levelly and pointed from himself to her. "The progression of this relationship was not normal."

"You're really digging a hole, here, buddy."

"And you're deliberately being stupid," he told her. "And you know it."

She shrugged one shoulder and blinked innocently. "That's actually rather clever of me," she said. "But I know you mean. I did sort of give you a run for your money—"

"Sort of?"

"—and I had to get all my shit together, too. But for my parents—they already did all that. They know, you know?" she said.

Luke took her cup from her and placed it on the counter behind him. "Maybe they just have to learn it again," he said.

She pointed at her cup, her mouth open. "Bring back the coffee!"

He took her hand in his own. "Get up," he said, pulling her off her seat and towards the stairs, holding her hand over the counter. He led her up the stairs, opening the door for her.

She gave him a puzzled look as she passed him, and stopped short just past the kitchen table. "Oh, Luke," she said softly. "You didn't."

He shrugged and draped his arm over her shoulder. "Well, yeah. I did."

Lorelai put her arms around him and tilted her face up to his. "You bought a double bed."

"It's just a full bed."

She grinned. "It's a double bed. You bought a double bed." She paused. "Wait, should I be offended? Am I that easy?"

"I believe we just covered that," Luke said dryly. "Go try it out."

The bed was still unmade, the mattress bare and shiny. Lorelai sat lightly on the edge of the bed and scooted back a little before bouncing up and down slightly, testing it. She giggled.

"Firm, yet pliant—and oh, dirty!" she said. "Not too squishy. Very nice choice."

"I thought so," Luke said, throwing himself down beside her.

She lay down, pillowing her cheek with her arm. She wriggled across the mattress until she was nose to nose with Luke and closed her eyes. "It smells like the mall," she said. "Did you wash the sheets you bought yet?"

"I haven't bought sheets yet," he said.

Her eyes flew open. "No sheets? Do you at least have a mattress pad?"

"That the thing that goes between the sheets and the bed?"

"Yes, Luke, that the thing."

"Yeah, well, no," he said. "Didn't get that yet, either."

Lorelai rolled onto her back and propped herself up on her elbows. "Well, you can't sleep on this tonight."

"Sure I can," Luke said.

"No, Luke, you can't," she said. "You can't just sleep on a bare mattress. It's gross. And it still smells like the mall, and you hate the mall, and that just depresses me." She sat up and pushed him on his back, straddled him and placed her hands flat on his chest. "I am not letting you sleep on a sad, bare mattress. It's not right."

"I'll sleep on the couch."

She groaned. "That's ridiculous! Now you're deliberately being stupid. Just come home with me, would you?"

He covered his face with his hands. "Ah, geez."

Lorelai took his hands in hers and pulled him into a sitting position, locked her arms around her neck. "Tell you what," she said. "We'll take one of the old flat sheets from your twin bed and spread it out over the mattress, and if I find that's sufficient, I won't say another word. If, however," she continued, "I find it in any way lacking, you're coming home with me."

"What are the chances of you finding it sufficient?"

"Well, I won't know that until I try it," she said. "But, hey, take a second to enjoy the fact that you've got a lady in your lap, here."

Luke wrapped his arms around her and kissed her briefly. "You like the bed?"

She nodded, smiling. "I like the bed," she whispered. "Thank you. But when I said enjoy it for a second, I wasn't speaking literally, so—" He cut her off, tightening his hold on her as he kissed her again. After several moments, she leaned back, caught her breath, tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Okay," she said hoarsely, "let's go get that sheet."

"Right," Luke said, lifting her off her lap and jogging to the closet where he kept his towels and linen. "How's two?"

Lorelai kicked off her shoes. "Three is better than two," she said. "Two under, one on top." She looked at him. "Please tell me you own more than two sets of sheets."

He grinned. "Four: two for me, two for Jess."

She unfolded one of the sheets and gave an end to Luke. "Never thought I'd ever thank the gods above for sending Jess to this town," she said. "Here." She tossed him the end of another sheet and they spread it across the bed over the first. She kneeled on the bed and grabbed Luke by the collar, pulling him into another fierce, heated kiss.

"So," he said breathlessly, a few long moments later, "two sheets gonna do it?"

Lorelai reached her arms up towards the ceiling. "For now," she said. He slipped her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. She wound her arms around his neck, flipping off his hat, giggling a little against his mouth. "I think the third sheet will make it feel a little less tawdry," she said, laughing.

Luke rolled his eyes and stood, kicking off his shoes as he reached for the third sheet, opening it and letting it fall over the bed. Lorelai wriggled out of her skirt and stretched out under the sheet, still laughing.

"Let's break this baby in," she said.

"Very nice pillow talk."

"Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

He grinned. "Whatever you say."

Since her revelation in the gazebo, Lorelai had ceased to fear the intensity of feeling when they made love, no longer felt she was walking a razor's edge, and with nothing to hold back, nothing to make her cautious, she gave herself over to him completely. There was nothing hanging in the balance, no corner of her mind still pulling away—Luke filled her, obliterated everything but the present moment.

She lay in the curve of his arm, after, her cheek against his shoulder. He traced circles on her elbow with his thumb, pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I want to stay," she said.

"So stay."

"I can't. I told Rory I'd be home."

He sighed. "So, are you going to make me sleep on the crappy old sheets on the new mattress or let me come home with you?"

She dropped a kiss on his shoulder. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice. Come on," she said, pulling him with her as she sat up. "Hey, do you have my pink shoes?"

"They're on top of the fridge."

"I'm so wearing them home," she said, clambering out of bed. "Hey, dare you to walk me home wearing only what the good Lord gave you."

He was already sliding his jeans up over his hips. "Right."

"A girl can dream," she said.

They walked to the house, Lorelai hanging on Luke's arm, dangling her sandals in one hand. The night was warm, humid, the air heavy and sweet. As they wandered the streets of Stars Hollow, listening to frogsong and cricket symphonies, Lorelai thanked whatever higher power had thrown her this way when she was young and lost and in need of a place to belong. She looked up at Luke. She remembered telling him she liked her life, her stuff, her friends; it had been true, then, she'd been content with what she had. It was more than that now, with her hand solidly in his, his step slowed slightly to hers—she was close to something, now, with him, that she knew she'd always wanted even when she'd hated to admit it, and it wasn't a life limited to just what was hers.

She stopped on the porch, by the door. She dropped her sandals and tucked her hair behind her ears, closing her eyes a moment, savoring the smell of the night, the flush and heat still singing beneath her skin. When she opened her eyes she found Luke watching her. She put a hand to his cheek and guided his face to hers, kissing him softly, drawing him closer, remembering.

When he broke the kiss, she stepped back slightly, her eyes still closed. She opened them slowly, smiling. "You never did say anything official, you know," she said.

He looked at her questioningly a moment, then smiling ruefully, shook his head. "Ah, geez."

"At least this evening, we're assured there's no naked Kirk to disrupt us."

Luke's jaw tightened. "I could have throttled him with my bare hands." He put up a hand. "If you say it, I'm going home right now."

"I'm not saying anything," she grinned. "Well, I will say that was one of the most—possibly the most—surprising nights of my life. And for more reasons than one."

"Didn't quite end up the way I thought it would, either," Luke said.

"Oh? And how were you anticipating the evening to end?" she teased.

He shrugged. "I don't know," he said, honestly. "But kissing you wasn't really in the plan."

"And yet," she said.

"I just—I don't know," he said again. "I decided, and then I did it."

Lorelai took his hand and pulled him close again. "Good decision." She rested her forehead against his cheek. "Thank you, by the way."

"For?"

"Being patient with me this summer," she said simply. "You could have just Rhett Butlered your way out—I'm just—to say that I'm really glad you didn't is a gross understatement." She pulled back and met his eyes. "Thank you."

His gaze faltered. "I promised," he said. "I meant it." He looked up. "I can't help it. I just love you."

"I love you, too," she said, resting her hands in the crooks of his elbows, leaning up to kiss him.

They stayed on the porch some time, wrapped up in each other. Both started when the porch lights began to flicker on and off and pulled away guiltily. The front door opened a crack and Rory peeked her head out.

"Okay, you two," she said. "That's enough of that."

Lorelai narrowed her eyes. "You're very funny."

"I had to do it," Rory laughed, opening the door. "I'm going to bed." She stepped out onto the porch and put her arms around her mother, hugging her tightly. "Night, Mom." She brushed a kiss on her mother's cheek and made to step away, but Lorelai held onto her for a moment.

"Everything okay?" she asked, studying Rory's face. She put a hand to Rory's cheek. "You all right?"

Rory nodded. "I think I'm okay. I'll—tomorrow, breakfast? We'll talk?"

"Deal," Lorelai said, kissed her daughter's cheek. "Sleep tight, sweets."

"You too," she said. She turned to Luke and stood on her tip toes, saying "night, Luke," as she daintily pecked his cheek, so slightly that Lorelai, watching, wasn't sure she'd even made contact.

He reddened. "Night, Rory."

They watched her inside, Lorelai choking with laughter and fairly jumping on her feet with delight. Luke stood awkwardly in the same spot, seeming stunned. She put out her hand and laced her fingers through his.

"Come on, lover," she laughed. "Let's go to sleep."

"Don't call me that," he groaned, following her inside, "I beg you."

He closed the door behind them, locking it and turning off lights as he followed Lorelai upstairs.

In her room, Rory fell asleep among a pile of pillows, her copy of The Distance from the Heart Of Things open on the comforter beside her, her journal just beside it. She slept with the window open, the gauzy yellow curtains her mother made her just fluttering with the slight breeze, brightening the soft light from the nearly full moon. She dreamt of buttercups.

Lorelai had her curtains thrown open, her windows pushed up as far as they could go. Luke slept with his mouth slightly open, tasting honeysuckle and lavender on the night air. Lorelai was on her side, her leg hooked up over Luke's hip, the sheets tangled about their legs. Her hand rested on his forearm, and when he shifted in his sleep, twitched, she sighed and burrowed further into her pillow, closer to him. In her dreams, she could smell the flowers in Babette's garden. In her dreams, she was dancing.