Spoilers: Let's be safe and say through "So…Good Talk."
Disclaimer: I'm a beatnik. I own nothing.
Previous work: I thought of it as a companion piece to De Facto, but it isn't really anything more than a play on words. You don't need to read that one to read this one, but if you'd like to, I won't stop you.
Enjoy!
38 years and 104 days.
He can do that much in his head. He's great at adding small numbers, rounding off decimals and calculating sales tax. It's one of the skills he's honed over the years working behind the counter.
It's how he knows that financially, it's better for Lorelai that she buys the largest size coffee he has to offer, but it's even better for him, in terms of wholesale costs. It's a fairly easy concept to understand, which is why he knows all about P/E ratios and stock returns and why he could so easily produce 30,000 at a moment's notice.
When it comes time to breaking it down into smaller fractions, he needs a calculator, and spends 40 minutes looking for the one with the oversized buttons that he uses every year at tax time. When he can't find it, he grabs the fancier scientific one he bought for Jess, and tries to ignore the trigonometric functions and log buttons above the numbers.
It's a pretty slow morning in the diner, and he stands behind the counter, crunching the numbers, letting Lane take care of most of the customers except the ones who stare at him expectantly.
He was born in 1966, and there have been a number of leap years, so he'll count each year as 365 days and ¼, instead of compensating later. That adds up to 13879.5 days plus the 104 he's been alive since his birthday, to give him a sum total of 13983.5. That's how long he's been here.
He's known Lorelai for 8 years, and he's dated her for about 6 months. He can't easily pinpoint the date, because he's not sure if he should count back to the day he kissed her, or the day he came back from Maine or the day they went on their first date and he promised her he's all in.
Six months is a good estimate therefore, and that's about 180 days, give or take.
And his fancy calculator tells him that he's dated Lorelai for 1.3 of his life.
He shit in his diapers longer than that. He had his baby teeth longer than that. His mother was dying for longer than that. He dated Rachel for longer, owned the diner for longer, hadn't eaten red meat for longer, had his truck for longer, worn his favorite green flannel checkered shirt for longer, lived with Jess for longer.
And yet this is the first time in his life that he feels completely lost. This is what people mean when they say "oh, that boy, he's just drifting in life." Like the littlest hobo, trudging along town to town without a home or a sense of direction.
The hobo had a purpose, he reasons. He still played a role and that's why thoughts of selling the diner only crossed Luke's mind for a quick moment before he determined that it was the only thing in his life he was ever really good at. Why should he have to give it up?
Besides, when he asked her for some time he thought it wasn't forever.
Of course, there was no way he could know that, but he thought it would pacify her temporarily. And to that end, it would serve its purpose. Except that she took it entirely differently than he meant it.
He continues to crunch the numbers in his head as people come up to the counter, ordering extra sides, asking for refills. That's when he remembers Lorelai being disappointed that the town wasn't more interested in them finally sleeping together, and he's more than a little surprised to find himself wishing the world would be different for everyone on account of his own pain. For Kirk, it's just another Tuesday and he's demanding maple bacon charred so it's almost black. He has no idea that Luke's been crunching numbers or that Lorelai hasn't slept in a week. At the school play, she looked better than the night she called him frantically, but he could see the dark spots under her eyes and how pasty her skin looked. God, he hopes she wasn't still staying in her bed half the time. He's ashamed he ever did that to her.
So he hands Kirk his plate of charred pig fat remains, and goes about his business as a good proprietor would. He won't turn Kirk's meager tip down, so he's not a great proprietor, but he's pretty good.
Customers come and go and he no longer looks up when the door opens. He's getting used to not expecting her in three times a day, and figures it's healthier not to get his hopes up.
It's probably why he's stunned when he smells expensive perfume in front of him, and even more surprised when he finds it belongs to her mother.
"Hello, Luke." She greets him in a perfunctory manner, looking around the diner.
He feels like a bit of an idiot just staring back at her, but there they are nonetheless. It's been a few weeks now and he knows Lorelai's not speaking with her, and he even knows Rory's stopped going over there for their weekly dinners, so he can't figure out why she'd be in Stars Hollow today.
"Would it be possible to have a minute of your time?"
Were it anyone else, he could do more than just gape at her with his mouth open.
"Now?" He finally asks.
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble." She replies evenly and then catches Babette out of the corner of her eye.
"Perhaps somewhere a bit more private?" She suggests.
That's how he finds himself in his apartment, on a Tuesday morning on the 13,984th day of his life, just a little before 9 o'clock with Emily Gilmore staring him down, her expression completely unreadable.
At first he wants to tell her this is a bad idea. Lorelai's not here and she wouldn't like this going on behind her back. He's got nothing to say to Emily anyway, and since he's broken up with her daughter, he no longer feels like he owes her any explanations anyway.
"I'm not sure what I can do for you." He says, politely, quietly, hoping she'd answer as briefly and get out of there.
"I'll be frank with you Luke – I didn't come here for the small talk. I don't believe either of us is interested in pleasantries at this point."
That's when it occurs to him that maybe he does have things to say, things that need to be said and must be said, because he's kept them inside for months, months now, and why should he hold back anymore? It's like two perfect strangers meeting for a duel. It's not personal, except of course that it is, but he shoves that thought to the back of his head as his anger builds like a crescendo.
"Listen, lady," he points his index finger square at her face, "I'm not going to stand here and listen to your crap again. So help me God, I've held my tongue over and over again and watched you win as I lost and enough is enough. I'm not going to stand here listening to somebody who hasn't worked an honest day in her life."
Luke watches her eyes widen, but it only spurns him on.
"That's right, you heard me right. You're a kept woman, Emily! I'm no Gloria Steinem, but even I think it's pathetic of you. Going to your guild meetings and getting your hair done aren't work. What your daughter did when she was a 17 year old kid changing sheets, that's work. So excuse me if I'm not going to be insulted by a woman who sits on her ass all day in a mansion that should house 40 people while some poor soul from Guatemala cooks and cleans for her making 30 cents an hour only so she can send 20 cents back to feed her 17 brothers and sisters. Oh, until you decide that she's gravely offended your sensibilities by offering you brie instead of camembert with your afternoon tea, so you have her deported and that's when she's got to spend the other 10 cents on second rate immigration lawyer who got his degree from an online school."
It occurs to him that Emily Gilmore has probably spent all of her 60 or so years on this planet without a single soul laying it into her like this. It occurs to him that she's never been shocked in this way and a little, teeny, tiny part of him wishes Lorelai was here so she could see it herself, for all those times Emily made her cry.
"Well, Luke, I'm not sure what to say to that." She admits finally, her eyes huge.
"No?" He spits out.
"I only wanted the best for Lorelai. I would think that's something you and I would see eye to eye on." She says, still shaken, but an icy resolve returning in her voice.
"You did, did you? Well, that's great, you should get a prize for that. A ribbon, maybe a red one, pin it right on your designer suit. Hey, maybe Christopher," he spits his name out, "could get the runner up ribbon. Wouldn't that be sweet?"
She just stares at him for a long moment, feeling her hands get moist with just a bit more sweat than is acceptable for a woman of her class.
"You really shouldn't be surprised at what happened here, Emily. After all, what can you expect from a classless lout such as myself? I thought I'd humor you, at least you get to feel like you've been right all along."
He's shaking now and he needs to get out of here, it's a pressing, desperate need, like the night of the wedding. It's the way these people get under his skin – he still doesn't have a handle on how to deal with it.
"I'm a busy man, I have to attend to my grease as it stands. So you'll have to excuse me. I'm sure you can let yourself out."
Emily's eyes scan over him quickly as he walks past her, the hardwood squeaking beneath the rubber soles of his boots. She hears him grab the door handle before swiveling around on her heels.
"I came here to apologize."
It's his turn to be shocked now. Completely, devastatingly shocked at her words. He has no idea how to respond to her admission at all, especially given that he's done anything but endear himself to the woman over the last couple of minutes.
"I don't get your family at all. The whole lot of you." He finally shakes his head before heading downstairs.
Because Babette saw them and because Babette has a mouth the size of the Suez Canal, he knows word will spread about this morning. And if there is one thing he's learned in the last month it's that you have to be honest on your own, before anybody forces your hand and makes you play catch up. That's why he finds himself on Lorelai's doorstep in the early afternoon, having seen her Jeep drive past the diner earlier. She's home, a bit earlier than usual, and he knocks on the door before he has a chance to lose his nerve.
"I came here to apologize." He blurts out, echoing Emily's earlier words before Lorelai's even had a chance to open the door completely.
"Luke!" She exclaims, shocked to see him.
"I'm sorry, is this a bad time?"
"No, it's not a bad time." She says, wanting to cry. He's come to see her. "Just me and Oprah here, two old friends, nothing special going on. I can get rid of her, poor thing might take it hard, she doesn't get rejected much these days…"
She knows she is rambling and she shouldn't do that or make jokes or make fun of things, because it must be so hard for him to come and say he's sorry. And what the hell is he sorry for?
"What are you sorry for?"
"What?" He's forgotten why he's come here in the first place. Why did she have to wear that t-shirt, the one that's just a tad too short and now he can see her belly button and her hair is curly and she's still in her glasses like the other day and so damn stunning.
"You said you came to apologize." She says softly, and then watches him step into her house, closing the door behind him.
"Oh, that, right. Well, ah," he rubs his face with the palm of his right hand, afraid of a confrontation, "I may have, at some point this morning - early - been exceptionally rude to your mother. By 'may have', I mean, I definitely was."
He looks at her sheepishly, embarrassed that he'd offended the woman who brought her into this world all the while thinking she had it coming.
"You told my mother off?" She repeats.
"In a manner of speaking, yes."
Luke watches her cross her arms over her chest and then she looks at him in wonder.
"Well, what did you say?"
"What did I say?" He parrots, confused. They're suddenly chatting like old friends and she's not kicking him out for his admission.
"This I have to hear, Luke. Details, please?"
"Oh, God, where do I start? There was a bit about her exploiting the third world labor force. Then the bit about how you were a maid and she's a lazy waste. Oh, oh, and something about her sidekick Christopher. Oh, man, Lorelai, I'm sorry."
He watches her face as a hundred emotions cross over it. Surprise melts into shock which turns into mild amusement.
"I guess you just had to be there." She finally says.
"Well thank God you weren't. Let's just say it wasn't one of my finest moments."
"Even so."
They stare at each other and he decides that he always loses this fight with her anyway, so what's one more.
"It's not every day that 98.7 trumps 1.3 of a hundred." He blurts out, totally confusing her.
"Excuse me?"
He looks around the house, as if he's making sure nobody else will overhear him and make an issue of this. When he's satisfied that nobody is lurking in the shadows, he looks her in the eye and she has a hard time remembering him look this vulnerable.
"I was, ah, I don't know – lonely?"
Her face softens but the heaviness in her heart only gets worse.
"Without you." He clarifies, as if it were necessary.
She understands then that it's important to him there is no confusion about why he's come here, even if he's rambling about strange percentiles and looking around like a skittish kitten.
"I think we've both been more lonely than you know."
"Have we, Lorelai? You seemed like you thought it was cut and dry. Let's sever all ties, it's neater that way."
She whips around, trying to suppress the rage that's building in the pit of her stomach.
"What?"
"I came here, and you just…like it was over."
"God, Luke, please tell me you're kidding. You've got to be kidding. Either that or you've got a very selective memory. If that's the case, let me refresh it for you – you broke up with me."
"I didn't break up with you!" He yells, exasperated. He's wanted to get that through her stubborn head since that awful day at Doose's and now he's had enough and if he has to scream until she starts to hear him, then that's what he'll do.
"What? 'I can't be in this relationship.' What the hell was that?"
Her blue eyes are flashing dangerously at him and he doesn't want to fight with her now, or ever, but he's learned that silence between of them isn't conducive to anything good, or even mediocre.
"You cornered me! In Doose's! The day before, I'm humiliated, by your parents, by your ex-something or other, we aren't really talking and then you just cornered me. And I didn't to have that conversation in front of everyone in this stupid town. I just wanted to get out of there. But you kept pushing me. I went home the night before and I didn't sleep a wink. I was tossing and turning and then it was morning and I turned over and you weren't there. For the first time in a very long time. That was the worst part. Do you know that you're the first thing I've seen when I woke up for weeks? I know what your shampoo smells like and what your hair feels like against my cheeks and that was gone. So I'm pissed off and confused and afraid to God that maybe kissing me back at the Inn months ago was a huge mistake because now I was too far gone. And the town, let's not forget the town, with their stupid ribbons and their stupid rumors. And then you! You just attack me and you won't let go."
He's out of breath and his throat is dry as he spits out those last few words. She watches him, heartbroken all over again, the anger slowly dissipating as she controls herself, as she tries to keep the conversation going.
"I had to fix things, Luke. I had to try."
"Things were already wrecked at that point, Lorelai. I know you wanted to undo the past, but you can't do that. That's not how it works. You can't undo what Christopher said or what you hid from me or what your mother did. It was done at that point."
"So that was just it, then? You couldn't forgive me and that's the final say?"
"No! It wasn't about forgiving you."
"It wasn't?"
He shakes his head, looking miserable. Like he almost wished it was that simple.
"Well then what was it about?"
When she asks the question, she is careful to adopt a gentle tone. It's not everyday that the love of your life, who has broken up with you and refused to speak with you decides to open up again, and she is sensitive to how big of a move this is for him.
"I don't know." He sighs and looks across her face quickly.
"Okay…"
"I wish I did."
"But you're here now." She says it suggestively, trying to get him to reveal the real reason he's shown up on her porch early Saturday morning with a box of iron screws and an expensive hammer.
"I miss you." He admits and a great weight lifts from her shoulders.
"I miss you too. I wanted to come to the diner. Maybe I should have?"
"You're always welcome."
She looks at him sadly, and they both know it's not that simple. There's also an ocean of distance between being welcome somewhere and being wanted and they're both acutely aware of it as they stare at each other.
"I miss my Mom." He says and it floors her.
"Oh, Luke…"
"I'm nearly 40 and I haven't, in a long time. Not on a daily basis anyway, usually it was during the holidays or on her birthday or when Liz laughs. They had the same laugh. But now I don't have you and I want her back. You have Rory, and Sookie, and even your parents. So I don't know, I just miss her. She used to make really good banana bread. And what the hell am I supposed to do without you?"
Her eyes sting with tears, her throat hurts with the ball of sadness that's coming up all over again, threatening to spill over.
"It's just that I've loved you for so long. I watched you and I loved you because there was this spark inside you and I was so arrogant. I thought only I could see it and that one day you'd realize that and see that I've seen it all along."
"Luke…"
"I didn't think we would break up. And now you're okay and I'm throwing people out of my diner and calling your mother a capitalist pig."
"I'm not okay." She tells him and sniffles, wiping her tears away with the palm of her right hand.
"Not even close. And I'm ashamed, Luke. I've never been more ashamed of myself. I feel this little right now."
She holds her index finger just a bit above her thumb so that he has to squint to even see the space between them.
"I did this to you, Luke. I made you turn into that 8 year old boy whose mother just died. I can't believe I did that. It's awful and it breaks my heart that I've hurt you like this."
"It's my fault also. I'm not some perfect guy, a shining knight who is going to sweep you off your feet. There was a time when I thought I might be, but that was just a fantasy. Up here." He taps his hand against his heart.
He's not trying to be a valiant gentleman; he truly feels that he has caused a lot of this mess and then exacerbated it further by not being willing to meet her halfway.
"You may not be perfect, but this one's on me. I'm sorry. I need to say that again."
"I know you're sorry. I'm sorry, you're sorry, Emily's sorry. Hell, we're all sorry."
Lorelai nods at him, her eyes still wet and red, and he finds himself drawn to them as he searches her face. It's only a slight surprise when he raises his hand to his cheek and feels her lean into him. Her skin is soft, with cool, sticky tear streaks he wipes away with the rough skin of his thumb. She nuzzles her face against his palm, closing her eyes slowly, eyelids fluttering as a long sigh escapes her lips. It's overwhelming, to have this closeness back, and she chokes back a sob, shuts her eyes tighter, trying to prevent a complete meltdown. But when her shoulders start to shake gently, he can't help himself and he pulls her into his body with his other arm, and the contact is too much for her. She shudders against him, crying terribly sad tears as she goes about forgetting about her embarrassment, forgetting that she screamed at him last week, forgetting that he told her he can't be with her anymore, forgetting her mother and Chris and the wedding reception, forgetting that she's broken his heart, forgetting about his mother probably hating her from the heavens above and most of all, forgetting that he wasn't her better half anymore.
He is afraid for her, afraid that she's a total mess and this isn't what she's usually like and he wonders if that spark he so loves will be back.
Then she's hiccupping and trying to control her breathing and whispering words against the thin skin of his neck.
"Really, really, really…"
"Hmmm?" He asks her gently.
"Really in love with you."
"Oh, Lorelai."
"I am. In love with you. Love you. Want you. Need you. Don't respect that you're out. Lied about that."
The words come out choppy through her tears as she continues to clutch him, arms tightly wrapped around his neck, face buried under his chin, moist lips on burning skin.
"Can I be in again?" He asks softly and waits for her to lift her face and eyes to his. Her eyelashes are long and beautiful, weaving a web over the sea of blue.
"I love you. I want back in. Please."
She takes a breath and exhales his name.
"Only if you stay forty years."
"At least." He replies.
"Well, what about fifty then?"
She asks and he sees that spark in her eyes again and then he knows he's been right all along. It's just for him.