Fall is for Funerals and Vonnegut

She wrapped her numb fingers around the hot paper cup of coffee, feeling the burn and only half minding. The coffee cart at the funeral parlor in New Haven would get the job done well enough today. She didn't even feel like she could taste coffee, to be honest, but she wanted the heat, and something to calm her wringing hands.

It was a wet, chilly day. The autumn leaves stuck to the soggy pavement, drifting in the cold wind. The sky was gray and expansive, pressing the color out of the fall foliage, dripping down the back of her collar and making her hands clammy and cold. Movie-perfect day for a funeral. Hollywood glamour, and Emily Gilmore, would approve.

She was wearing work clothes, because she got the notice so late and just flung herself on a train to get to Hartford. But she was too late. Her grandfather died while she was passing through the ghostly Connecticut night, the trees already turning to skeletons that rattled as the train passed by. So, separated from her wardrobe in her New York City apartment, she was stuck with her black pencil skirt and a borrowed black blouse of her mom's. She tied her hair in a knot, so she probably looked perfectly presentable, but she felt like she had been wearing the same pair of tights for three days and that even though she wasn't wearing any mascara, if she cried, her face would probably run anyways.

"Hey, kiddo, service is starting soon."

She started at the sound of her mom's voice, but then quickly turned and handed her mom the second cup of coffee. "Okay, ready."

"Luke will meet us in there," Lorelai exhaled, rubbing her temple. "Better go sit with mom."

"Yeah," Rory agreed. Her mom's eyes were very red, and though she was clearly trying to stay upright and functional, for the sake of Rory's grandmother, Rory could tell she was hurting.

They walked into the echoing, expansive church, following the stream of crisp black outfits that piled into the pews. Lorelai pulled her up to the front row where Emily was sitting ramrod stiff and expressionless.

"Hey, Grandma," Rory sat next to her.

"Hello, Rory," Emily gave her granddaughter a brief smile, then returned to looking straight ahead. "I'm glad at least they got the flowers right. Richard would have been furious if they hadn't have listened to me today. But the flowers are exactly perfect."

Lorelai had a witty comment, but choked on it. Rory reached beside her and held her hand tightly.

Emily, after absorbing the silent pause, shook, ever so slightly, hardly betraying emotion. Rory reached for her hand too.

The three Gilmore women sat, linked together, as the pews filled and as the solemn music filtered through the cavernous arches. Rory worked in the world of words as an assistant editor for the international news section of the New York Times, but she had no words for this moment. She felt the sorrow, and the grief, and the magnified pain of the two women on either side of her.

She clasped their hands and looked upward, at the stained glass that illuminated the space. Her grandfather's casket seemed small beneath it.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see Luke, uncomfortable but handsome in a black suit. He had his other hand on Lorelai's shoulder, his thumb rubbing back and forth. Her mom's eyes were closed, eyebrows pinched.

"You doing okay?" he asked, half whispering, half gruff.

Rory nodded. "We found the coffee."

Her mom's lips twitched.

Luke gave her a bracing squeeze on the shoulder, and then returned his attention to Lorelai. Rory could sense the comfort that it brought her mom to have Luke there, all of his warmth and logic scraping some kind of clarity into the blustery wet Autumn day. Instinctively, she gave her grandmother's hand a squeeze. Emily's source of warmth and logic was gone.

The service was dignified and proper, perfectly lovely really, but Rory was relieved when the last note of music faded and the church filled with the echoes of a hundred people rising to their feet. Her grandmother quickly disappeared to play the role of hostess, graciously accepting murmured condolences and shared memories. Luke went to get Lorelai more coffee. Rory stood, tiptoeing slightly in her tall black heels, overlooking the crowd. She knew almost everyone in the room from her DAR days, but couldn't find a word to say to a single one of them.

When she knew her mom was safely back with Luke, she disappeared through a side exit and returned to the wet afternoon, feeling the cold drizzle drip against her coat. A few drops hit her face, but she remembered she wasn't wearing make up and let it happen. It was quiet in the little stone courtyard, rain tapping against the stones.

No words, still. She felt exhausted, aching, and empty. The list of things to do at her grandmother's house was a mile long. She was tired from playing the emotional support for the last few days. The coroner, the hospital, the church, the reception. Her cell phone had rung incessantly with vendors and relatives, well-wishers and funeral arrangers.

She rocked forward, pressing the sodden leaves into the pavement with the toes of her shoes. The dreary wind moved through the rattling branches above her. She sighed.

When the formal reception at the country club was over, and when Lorelai and Rory had finally put Emily to bed after a gin and tonic and repeated promises to come over in the morning, they finally drove back to Stars Hollow. Luke had already gone back, excusing himself from the intimate sadness at Emily's house. Rory didn't blame him. She wouldn't want to be around to put a grieving widow to bed either.

"God, Dad would have loved that," Lorelai groaned, stretching her arms against the steering wheel, "So many cigars. And insurance people! And brandy."

"Just his cup of tea," Rory agreed, "Grandma did great."

"She always does great."

"Weirdly composed."

"Until the day she puts on sweatpants and moves in to our spare bedroom."

Rory nearly smiled. "You won't let her move in."

"Oh but she will," Lorelai snorted, "blessed duty of being the only child. Accept your parents into your home when they choose to formally quit caring about things like eating regular meals or getting dressed in the morning or not using the sofa as a toilet."

"Grandma is a ways away from that," Rory disagreed. "Years."

"Oh but it'll come," Lorelai tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, "it'll come."

It was a mark of their exhaustion that the conversation did not go much further than that, besides a few quips about the ugly hats that the DAR women wore to the funeral and snarky comments about the reverend's occasional irreverent remarks. Rory felt herself melting into the seat, her body exhausted from the work of the week.

"When are you leaving?" Lorelai asked, as they neared Stars Hollow.

"I took the week off, so probably Saturday morning," Rory yawned, "I want to be able to have final say on some of the Sunday edition."

Lorelai smiled, "I'm glad you're staying for a couple more days."

"I want to be here," Rory said simply.

They pulled into town, and Rory saw that Luke's was all lit up, the door open and people milling about outside.

"What's going on?" she asked, concerned. "Was there an accident?"

"I don't know," Lorelai quickly parked, peering at the diner, "I doubt it. He would have called."

The two women got out and slammed the doors of the Jeep shut behind them. As they got closer to the diner Rory saw just about everyone in town crammed onto different chairs and benches, talking and laughing.

"It's for us," Rory realized.

"Yeah," Lorelai breathed.

Most of the people inside were wearing black. Rory saw Kirk in a black kilt, and Miss Patty without her usual array of colorful scarves. Luke was still in his suit pants but had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, clearly working on the catering aspect of the whole affair. She saw him yell something at Cesar, gesturing at a plate on the counter.

Lorelai, always more outgoing than Rory, gathered her energy, tossed her hair back, and walked in. She let the town surround her, clasping Babette's hand, and awkwardly hugging Kirk. Rory trailed her, but dodged the crowd and headed straight for Luke.

"Wow, Luke, did you do this?"

"I had some help," Luke shrugged off the credit, "but yeah. I figured you all needed some detoxification from the Hartford social scene. And everyone, and I mean everyone, wanted to see you both and make sure everything was fine."

Rory turned, leaning against the counter and watching as the town engulfed her mom. Even Taylor was touching Lorelai's shoulder, an affected expression of grief on his solemn face. He was shaking his head slowly, responding to the flow of conversation, but Rory thought he looked a bit like an overdone actor.

"Do you want some food?" Luke asked.

She turned back towards him, and then took in the sheer amount of food that was lined up on the counter, potluck style. She recognized over half of it as Sookie's delicate gourmet fare, with just about the entirety of Luke's menu thrown in. It was weirdly comforting to see the cheeseburgers side by side with the artichoke canapés, Sookie's beautiful crème brulee cozied up to Luke's uneven doughnuts. A whole tray of bacon seemed to be there specifically for her and her mom.

"Wow Luke," she nodded in appreciation at the counter, "You guys outdid yourselves."

"I told Sookie I didn't need her to help," Luke frowned, "but you know how she is. Just has to cook everything she's not asked to."

"Well, me and mom appreciate it," Rory grabbed a paper plate, handing it to Luke, "a little bit of everything? I'll bring it to her."

He took it, "Coming right up."

Rory leaned against the counter, doing her best to fade into the background. The noise buzzed around her, and she felt warm in the bright, overcrowded diner. She appreciated their presence, but she didn't have it in her to talk to anyone just then. When Sookie caught her eye from across the room Rory gave her a small smile and a wave, and Sookie seemed to understand. She gave her a warm smile but stayed where she was, close to Lorelai, joining in on reminiscing about all the catering jobs she did for the Gilmores.

"I'll bring it to her," Luke reappeared, holding three paper plates overflowing with food instead of just the one, "uh, do you want to sit behind the counter? Quieter back here."

She felt a warm rush of affection. "Yes please."

Luke dragged a stool back behind the counter, up against the wall, just far enough removed from the crowd to discourage conversation. Rory perched on it gratefully and watched as he moved through the crowd towards her mother. Lorelai flashed him a bright smile – the first Rory had seen her make in days – and kissed him on the cheek. He stayed right by her side, fending off Kirk for her, an arm around her shoulders.

For a brief moment, she wondered if he had shuttered the diner for the last few days. He had been right there with them in her grandparents' house, running errands, calling florists, writing surly thank you notes for the dozens of flowers that showed up at the door. Maybe this was why the whole town had showed up. They wanted to support Lorelai and Rory, sure, but also Luke's had probably been closed, so had they seen each other at all the last few days? Where did everyone congregate and gossip and air their grievances if Luke's was closed?

Luke came back to the counter for a brief moment to grab the pot of coffee. Without asking he filled up a mug and handed it to Rory as he passed, grabbing an extra mug for Lorelai.

"Oh hey, Luke," Rory stopped him for a second, "did you close the place over the last few days?"

"Nah," Luke jerked his head back toward the kitchen, "I had some help."

"Cesar and Lane?" Rory smiled, "that's great."

He shrugged, and then kept moving.

She cradled her coffee, crossing her legs on the stool. She felt stiff and tired in her funeral work clothes, excited to go home and change into flannel pajamas and sink into bed, or on the couch with a series of bad movies. She still didn't have words. She needed someone else, an author or a screenwriter, to find the words for her.

The bell clanged and the door opened. A familiar head of messy dark hair and pair of hunched shoulders sidled into the crowded space, arms laden with grocery bags. She watched, her breath catching, as he circled the opposite side of the counter and disappeared in the back, eyes down, not making eye contact with anyone.

Of course Luke's had stayed open, if Jess came back to help out.

She felt slightly self-conscious, re-crossing her legs and grasping her mug and watching intently as Babette and Miss Patty teased Kirk over his kilt.

She had seen Jess irregularly a handful of times over the years, primarily in accidental encounters whenever he was in Stars Hollow visiting Luke and she happened to be in town to see Lorelai. They talked briefly, always perfectly cordial, friendly, and interested in career updates and superficial news. But she always backed away rather quickly, uncomfortable and guilty with how she had ended things the last time she had seen him in Truncheon. He usually had more confidence, matching her gaze rather expressionlessly, unafraid to say hello or ask pointedly blunt questions. "You working at CNN yet? What's with the pantsuit? Published a novel yet?"

If she thought about it, Rory hadn't seen him in probably over a year or two. Somehow they had unintentionally slipped into a pattern of coming home for different holidays. Rory knew he came back for Thanksgiving, with Luke, but she always went to Hartford to see her grandparents. She had also heard Luke let slip that he spent Christmas back in California, with his stepmom and stepsister. Those words always felt strange, grasping to her. She couldn't imagine Jess with a little stepsister, reading books or teasing her or buying her ice cream and Christmas presents. But then again she didn't know him anymore. They hadn't spoken properly in years.

He was a successful author, she knew that. His name appeared every couple years on her own paper's best seller list. She owned all of his books, stacked neatly in a corner of one of her bookshelves, but she hadn't been able to read any of them since Subsect. It always felt too invasive, as invasive as when she read the little notes he used to scribble in the margins of her books, scraps of thought that bared his inner self.

"Rory," Lorelai waved to her, "Rory come here."

She sighed, but stood, straightened her skirt, and then wove her way through the crowd towards her mom.

"Rory, Rory, do you remember when Dad was here in Stars Hollow and spent the day with us, and drove us crazy, and yelled at Dean for making you that car?" Lorelai tugged at her sleeve, "do you remember?"

Rory half smiled, "Yeah I do."

"He was always so worried about Rory," Lorelai turned back to the group, holding court with her mug of coffee, "he loved that girl so much."

Miss Patty said something, to great peals of laughter, but Rory wasn't paying attention. She scanned the diner, catching sight of Mrs. Kim, offering up her own vegan potato salad to anyone who wanted it, and Michel, arguing with somebody. The noise swelled around her. Her feet hurt in her heels, and she could feel her hair starting to become undone, tendrils escaping around her face.

Jess came back from the kitchen and stood near the register, fingers interlaced on the counter, watching the crowd in the same way that she was.

She was surprised, if she was honest with herself, at how young he still looked. He was still wearing a button up and black jeans, but he had a fitted blazer over the familiar ensemble, dressing it up to what she knew would be considered cool in the literary world. His hair was still messy, complimented by a shade of five o'clock shadow that made his jaw line sharper than usual. If he seemed older, it was in his confidence. He leaned against the counter without the usual defensive posture, without dark eyes that flashed anger. He seemed perfectly content to be there, watching Luke, calm and collected.

After a moment, he glanced at her. She returned the gaze, too tired to care if it was strange that she was observing him like that.

If he was surprised at seeing her, or affected at all, he didn't show it. Instead, his dark eyes serious, he raised an eyebrow and gave her the slightest of nods.

You okay?

She tipped her shoulders a few centimeters. Okay enough.

Jess maintained the gaze for a brief second, taking in her sloppy hair and work attire, and then returned to working, picking up empty plates and tossing them in the trash. Rory returned to watching Mrs. Kim hawk the vegan food.

She was too tired, too overwhelmed, too distracted to think about Jess. She avoided thinking about him as a rule, the never-quite-resolved, first, passionate, all-or-nothing love affair that had intermittedly consumed her over the years. It was a childhood relationship that she missed when she watched bad romantic comedies, or read one of her books that still had the scribbles of his neat, purposeful handwriting. But she didn't know him anymore. She had never really gotten to know the new, grown up version of Jess, the successful literary artist that ran an independent book store in Philadelphia and cultivated culture with his equally artistic work buddies. He had tried to show her, when he showed up in Hartford and gave her his book, but Logan had ruined their chance to catch up. And later, when she visited him in Philly, so misguided and selfish, she had gotten to see a glimpse of someone that intimidated her. He was as brilliant and intellectual and capable as she had always imagined. It was odd to see him in a blazer, directing a literary event, a published author.

She went on dates and built relationships and ended relationships without really thinking about him, only remembering his searching half smile and leather jacket when she saw glimpses of him in town. Her last relationship, Rodger, had lasted for a year or so, but ended in the early summer when Rory felt as if the spark was lost. Maybe, at twenty-eight years old, she was being naïve, but she still wanted some fireworks and chemistry in the mix.

Thoughts wandering, Rory pulled herself back into reality. She appreciated Jess' concern, his evident, quiet support for Luke, and therefore for her and her mom, during these last few days. But she quit thinking about both the past and her failed romantic life and just kept her chilled fingers wrapped tightly around the hot mug of coffee. She could retroactively psychoanalyze her relationships all she wanted, but she still didn't have the words, or the thoughts, to figure out how to express how she felt today.

When Lorelai finally announced that it was time for them to head home, and Luke offered to drive them both in his truck, Rory followed wearily. Jess had long ago disappeared through the curtain, up the stairs into the old apartment.

She thought of her grandfather's casket, nestled in the damp earth, scattered with soggy leaves. Her grandmother asleep in bed. Her mom's head leaning on Luke's shoulder as he drove one-handed, his arm around her shoulders.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she sat in the backseat and watched the houses flit by. Fall was usually a happy time for her and her mom, full of the promises of harvest festivals and family time and scarves. But, as a professional adult, overcome with grief and exhaustion, she found the whole season decidedly depressing.

The rain continued to patter softly throughout the night. She flicked the light on, reading her old, worn Vonnegut copy, needing to slip into someone else's apathy and horror. Finally she began to find the words that had been escaping her all day. "How nice – to feel nothing and still get full credit for being alive." She sank into Vonnegut's surreal emotional emptiness, and gradually, as the sun rose, slipped into slaughterhouse dreams.

On Saturday morning her mom took her to Luke's for breakfast before driving her to the train station in Hartford. "Hey, thank Jess for me, for letting me have you for the week," Lorelai said, holding out her mug for more coffee.

Luke filled her mug up, "No problem. He's already back in Philly. I told him to swing by during the holidays sometime."

Rory listened absently. Her thoughts were on her laptop tucked in her purse, full of dozens of emails that she needed to go through on the train. She had a hundred things to edit before they went to print tomorrow. She was already tired thinking about the commute.

"I'm actually gonna visit him, in a few weeks," Luke continued, rolling his eyes, "he's moving apartments so I offered to help. He said no about twenty times but I don't trust his dumbass roommates to help him with the heavy lifting."

"Are the dumbass roommates coming with him?" Lorelai grinned, "nothing like moving with the cast of dumb and dumber."

"No, that's the point of moving. Leaving the dumbasses," Luke sighed, "moving closer to the girlfriend."

Rory's head was still wrapped in the emails that she had skimmed through that morning, but she did catch the words Jess, moving, and girlfriend.

Lorelai wrinkled her nose, "I still don't like her. Too moody. They're moody together. All they do is mood."

"You've met her?" Rory asked, confused at how much her mother seems to know about Jess' perennially mysterious, withdrawn Philadelphia life.

"He's been coming around more lately," Lorelai explained, "And Luke goes up there to visit so sometimes I tag along to take advantage of all of the cheap shopping that Philly has to offer. Jess loveees having me there."

Luke just grunted.

"He's getting better at the family thing," Lorelai conceded, and then dropped her voice to a whisper, "They miss each other."

Luke grunted and vanished back into the kitchen. Lorelai smiled after him. "I think he's really enjoying the whole Dad thing."

Rory thought about Jess, confident, leaning against the counter, dark and a successfully published author. He didn't seem like he needed a Dad necessarily. But then again Luke didn't need a son. Maybe it was more of a Lorelai-Rory relationship, something resembling friendship and support and bantering (or bickering). She tried to imagine Jess visiting Luke, bringing some equally moody and artistically talented girlfriend with him, Luke probably disapproving while Jess shot back equal disapproval about the puppy-dog expression that Luke wore every time Lorelai walked in. She couldn't picture it.

"Alright kiddo," Lorelai stood up, patting Rory's back, "let's go to the train. Time for you to get back to the New York grind."

Rory groaned, "I don't want to."

"Real life awaits," Lorelai waited, patiently, "You know how proud your grandfather would be that you're headed back to work, making your mark on the Sunday edition of the uppity New York Times, living in your uppity uptown apartment and taking advantage of that shiny Yale degree."

"Yeah I know," Rory buttoned her coat, "he would be."

"I'm proud too," Lorelai squeezed her.

On the drive to Hartford Rory watched the fall foliage flash by, Connecticut brighter and more beautiful than it had been on the day of the funeral. The sun was filtering through the leaves. It was still cold, a brisk wind whirling the leaves over the road, but it felt warmer than it had a few days earlier in the dreary church courtyard.

Rory glanced at her mom. The ring on her finger was glinting in the weak fall sunlight.

"Mom, when's the next date?"

Lorelai looked at her ring too. "Oh I think we're going to wait until sixty. Senior wedding. I heard it's way more fun with bridge and shuffleboard."

Rory snorted. "No, really."

"Not sure, sweets," Lorelai fluttered her fingers, "haven't talked about it."

The date had been in October, right around this same time, two years ago. But when her grandfather got sick Lorelai and Luke postponed, canceling the event reservations and the caterer and the florist and the invitations. Rory had helped her mom phone everyone, making fresh pots of coffee every time her mom put her head down on her folded arms. Luke had taken the delay stoically enough. They spent Friday nights and Tuesday nights at the Gilmore house every week, attending family dinners even as Richard grew weaker and paler. The ring stayed on Lorelai's finger but it looked lonely, forgotten, especially now in the pale light filtering through the tree branches.

"Maybe that's what you do next," Rory suggested, "make a new date."

"Maybe," Lorelai glanced over and gave her a quick smile, "but I think we'll wait until the holidays are over. Get mom through the season. Clean up the house, move her out into a smaller place. Hire the next fifty maids for her to fire at will, line 'em up execution squad style."

"She loves planning weddings," Rory pointed out.

Lorelai watched the road, casually tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. "That's very true. Hey guess the shiny Yale degree really is working out, huh?"

Rory smiled.

She kissed her mother goodbye at the train platform and found a seat by a window. As the train wound its way south, through the thick Connecticut fall foliage, sun splaying across the keyboard of her laptop, she put everything that had happened in the last week on the back burner. She read through every email, every article, tapping out razor sharp comments and responses and sending each opinion out into the internet ether. She finished her coffee as the skyscrapers of Manhattan loomed in the distance, growing larger. When the train disappeared into the dark underbelly of the island, into the secret underworld of platforms under Penn Station, she felt her adult self quickly coming back.

She departed the train, heels clicking on the platform, her rolling suitcase behind her and her laptop tucked into her oversized purse. When she surfaced on 34th street she hailed a cab, climbed in, and let it zoom her uptown. Back in the fast pace of the city, removed from the sleepy, timeless quiet of Stars Hollow, she felt as if the week never happened at all.

But in true Vonnegut style, it came back to her in surrealist bits and pieces. And nothing hurt, she told herself, stripping out of her filthy work clothes and stepping into the nearly scalding water of the tiny shower in her tidy apartment.

When she finally wrapped herself in a robe and crawled into her bed, snuggled in the comforter, seeing the city lights twinkle out the window of her apartment, she opened Slaughterhouse Five and saw one of Jess' rare annotations in a Vonnegut novel. He didn't write much in Vonnegut, he told her, because most of what he had to say was already written.

And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep, wrote Vonnegut.

Beside it, in that familiar script, Jess had wrote, "The present is ours to lose."