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I guess that's love
I can't pretend
-Tom Odell, "Can't Pretend"
She really had meant to tell him. That wasn't just something she had been telling herself to make herself feel better. It was the truth. She had wanted to tell him, but she couldn't find him anywhere and then she left. And that was that.
She had returned just in time to walk down the aisle with her mother, out of breath from the running, but also from the shock of what she had just done. She had kissed Jess. She had kissed Jess.
Her thoughts were so clouded, she didn't even notice the obvious distress her mother was in. She hadn't even realized until she had realized her mother was missing from the reception, and found her crying in the ladies room.
She had let a tear or too slip, but she didn't let herself believe it wasn't for the same reason her mother was crying.
She contemplated telling Dean that it was over right there at the wedding, to get it over with as soon as possible, but she took one look at Sookie and Jackson, at how happy they were, and immediately pushed that idea out of her head. Today would be a happy day. If Lorelai could put on a brave face, so could she.
That didn't mean she didn't feel dirty, dancing with Dean. Laughing with Dean. Letting Dean kiss her.
It all felt so wrong. But at some point, she realized that it had felt wrong for a long time. Even before Jess had arrived. After she had gotten home, even though she was utterly exhausted, she hardly slept a bit.
-
The next day, she went on a mad dash around Stars Hollow looking for Dean. She could not go all summer having Dean think she felt… that way about him. But she couldn't break up with him through a letter, or even worse, over the phone. She had already dragged him around enough these past few months, that was just out of question for her.
Finally, she found him sitting on a bench, reading some sort of tabloid magazine. She took a deep breath and walked up to him before her adrenaline left her and took her courage with it.
“Dean!” she forced herself to say, walking towards him swiftly. He looked up smiling, but her face gave her away and he quickly frowned.
“Rory,” he said, putting the magazine down on the bench next to him, standing up to meet her. “What… are you, is everything okay?”
“Yes. No. I…” Rory said, rubbing her eyes. “Oh, God. Uh. Dean…”
“Rory, what is it?” he said. Rory could only look down. “Hey…” he said, softer, reaching his hand up to brush her cheek.
“Dean!” Rory said, stepping away from him. Dean‘s face fell. “I can’t… I can’t be with you anymore. It's not your fault. I just… I just don't feel the way I used to. I don't know…. I guess…” she trailed off, finally looking into his eyes. “And now, I'm going away for all of summer, and I just, well. Yeah.”
“Rory, I… I don't understand. Everything seemed fine yesterday... ” Dean sat back down on the bench. Rory sat down on the opposite side and put her head in her hands.
“I'm sorry,” she said finally. She said it with her whole heart. She wished she could have loved him like he wanted her to, like she wanted to, she wished she still felt that blind love, the fairytale attraction she had felt when they had first gotten together, when everything was exciting and new. But she couldn't, and she had to stop fooling them both.
“I think you should go,” Dean said, barely meeting her eyes.
“Yeah…” she got up from the bench. “Um, have a good summer.” He just blinked. Rory forced a smile and walked away.
“There you are!” Lorelai said, rushing towards Rory as soon she entered her house. “Come on, get your stuff. We have to leave in, like, negative three minutes.”
God, how long was I out for? Rory thought to herself, before glancing at the clock. Tracking down Dean must have been more time consuming than she thought.
“Um, can we stop at Luke‘s before we go to the airport?” Rory said, going into her room to grab her carry-on bag, her suitcase already in the car.
“No time, sweets. You took your time on that walk of yours,” Lorelai said, grabbing her purse.
“Just for coffee?” Rory said hopefully, hoping she didn't sound too desperate. To her disappointment, she was met with a “They have coffee at the airport!” and then a “Get your tush in the car before I throw you in there myself!” as Lorelai walked out the door.
Rory could only sigh and shake her head before pulling the front door closed behind her.
-
“We‘ve never been apart like this before‚” Rory said into her mother's shoulder, giving and receiving what would probably go down in history as the fiercest hug ever recorded.
“I‘ll call you all the time. And you can pretend that you‘re annoyed with me when you answer so that you don‘t lose any street cred for talking to your mommy,” Lorelai said, giving her one last squeeze before stepping back.
“I‘m not embarrassed to admit I love talking to my mommy,” Rory said, grinning. Her smile faltered. “Mom, I need to tell you something.”
“Hon, what is it?” Lorelai said, worry clouding her eyes. The call was made for passengers to start boarding.
“IbrokeupwithDeanwhileIwasoutonmywal,” she said as quickly as possible, searching for any sign of reaction in her mother's eyes. Surprise flashed over them for a split second, but it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared.
“Alright,” Lorelai said. “Tell me all about it when you get to D.C. I love you, baby.” Rory smiled, and walked away.
-
The entire summer, two words were burned into her brain. Dear Jess, Dear Jess, Dear Jess, over and over, written in her handwriting at the top of a lined piece of paper. Every time she had tried to write anything more than that, fear overtook her and she slammed the binder shut. What if she had been imagining his feelings. Even worse, what if she hadn‘t, but he had gotten tired of waiting?
The feelings plagued her, causing a dull ache in her chest that never truly went away, even with all of the distractions the summer, and Paris, had provided. Talking with her mother, and her letter to Lane lessened it, but she still went to bed with a pit in her stomach every night?
Is this what love feels like? she had thought absently on one of her last nights in Washington D.C. She couldn‘t quite be positive, but it sure felt a lot more like it than it had ever felt with Dean, and she wasn’t even with Jess. The not knowing was the worst, but she couldn‘t make herself write that damn letter. It felt like her heart completely depended on Jess’ feelings. I guess that's love, she said to herself, a bitter sort of half smile on her face before she rolled onto her other side and forced herself to sleep.
After being woken up early the next morning by her mother begging her to pick apart her dream, she once again tried to start the letter, but once again, it was fruitless.
Later that night, Rory tried to keep Paris from having a meltdown over her date with Jamie. After going on and on about zigats and restaurants and wing-its, Paris exclaimed ”I cannot date! I'm not genetically set up for it!” Rory tried to tell her that wasn‘t true, but Paris continued on. ”I get no pleasure out of the prospect, or the preparation. I'm covered in hives, I've showered four times, and for what? Some guy who doesn't even have the brains to buy a zigat so we don't wind up in a restaurant that's really just a front for a cocaine laundering ring?”
“Sit!” Rory said, exasperated.
“It's a dare. He was dared to take me out. I bet Trent Lot was behind this,” Paris said, settling down on the bed.
“Trent Lot did not dare Jamie to take you out,” Rory sighed, sitting down next to her. “Close,” she said, referring to Paris’ eyes. “Jamie likes you, and he asked you out because he likes you. Now look up.”
“Maybe I shouldn‘t go,” Paris said. “I mean, what if I fall for him, and he doesn’t like me?”
“Then you‘ll find someone else!” Rory said, still applying makeup to Paris’ face.
Paris's eyes widened a little bit. “But what if there is no one else?”
“Then you‘ll buy some cats,” Rory joked.
“I wish I knew if he was right for me, you know? So I don't put myself through this for nothing? I mean, women fall for men who are wrong for them all of the time, and then they get sidetracked from their goals. They give up careers and become alcoholics, and if you’re Sunny von Bulow, wind up in a coma completely incapable of stopping Glen Close from playing you in a movie,” Paris rambled.
“I think you should wear your hair down,” Rory remarked.
“How do you know if a guy is right for you?” Paris asked.
“You just have to feel it,” Rory said, taking the hair tie out of Paris‘ hair.
‟All I feel is my back breaking out,” Paris mumbled.
‟You‘ll know, okay?” Rory said, smoothing out Paris‘ hair. “You just have to let it happen! And then, probably when you‘re not looking, you‘ll find someone who... compliments you.”
“Meaning?”
“Someone who likes what you like. Someone who reads the same books or listens to the same music, or likes to trash the same movies. Someone compatible.”
“Okay…”
“But not so compatible that they’re boring,” Rory said, now holding a brush.
“Someone who's compatible but not compatible,” Paris said.
“Yeah, kind of. I mean, you respect each other‘s opinions, and, you can laugh at the same jokes, but, I don’t know, there’s just something about not quite knowing what the other persons gonna do at all times that's just really… exciting,” Rory exclaimed. Her smile suddenly faltered. ‟Look, just have a good time, you’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah, I hope I figure it out fast. Before I throw up…” Paris mumbled. A knock on the door echoed through their room.
“That's him,” Rory said. “Turn around?”
“Well?”
“Perfect.”
“Promise?”
“Swear.”
“Thanks. Now get in the closet.”
“What?” Paris had had her moments, but this was by far the strangest thing Rory had ever heard her say.
“If he comes in here and sees you he won't want to date me anymore.”
“Paris, that's crazy, he's seen me for weeks.”
“Yes, in conferences! Crowded lecture halls, badly lit banquet rooms with crappy food smells. Not at night, when it's dating time, and he's thinking about dating, and you're standing there looking all datable!”
“I'm not looking datatable!”
“Please?” Paris begged. “I can't risk it. At least if there's nothing to compare me to, then I've got a fighting chance. Please.”
Jamie knocked again, and Rory sighed. “Okay. When you get home, you need to get a new therapist because the one you have is really not working.” Rory grabbed her binder and a flashlight and walked into the closet, Paris shutting the door behind her.
“Thanks for helping me get ready.” Paris said.
“Anytime.”
Rory sat down quietly in the closet, listening to Jamie and Paris talk about reservations and zigats. She smiled a little bit, before opening her binder.
She was going to write that letter, damnit.
-
Dear Jess,
First of all, I'm so sorry I left you hanging all summer. I wrote “Dear Jess” the first week I got here, and then I couldn't bring myself to write anything else, no matter how much I wanted to. So again, I am so, so sorry.
I guess I should just cut to the chase. I broke up with Dean, right before I left. Like, right before. I went out, found him, came home, and drove to the airport with my mom. I tried to get her to stop at Luke's first, but we were already so late and, well… yeah.
It would have been a lot easier to just pretend that the kiss didn't happen. But it did, and I can't pretend it didn't. It wouldn't be fair for either of us, or Dean, for that matter.
There was a lot wrong with my relationship with Dean, but none of that mattered until you came to Stars Hollow. You helped me open my eyes to what I was actually living through. And you didn't even really do anything. You just made me realize. So, thanks for that.
I still don't know if you feel the same way I do, or if I just saw what I wanted to see. If that's the case, we can pretend this letter was never written (at least we don't go to the same schools).
But if you do feel the way I do, please let me know. I don't even think this letter will get to you before I get home. But either way, I will feel the same way when I land as I do right now, in the coat closet Paris shoved me into (I'll go further into that in person).
I missed you this summer, Jess. It kind of killed me.
Yours,
Rory