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“Need another one, guys,” Lorelai calls as she enters the kitchen. Sookie and the rest of the staff are painstakingly preparing more finger foods to distribute to the attendants of the memorial service they’re hosting at the inn.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got one ready here,” her friend replies, taking in Lorelai’s slumped shoulders beneath her impeccable professional attire.
“Thank God. I have to go change for my shift, so Mia will handle things from here.”
“How are you holding up?”
Lorelai edges her way toward the coffee maker as she thinks about her answer. “Well, it’s been a hard day. I never thought it would be so difficult to be around other people’s grief. I feel so guilty that I don’t feel any myself, and I guess I hadn’t expected that.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s tough,” Sookie empathizes. Lorelai nods distractedly, barely concealing her more surface emotions. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ here, hon,” her friend adds.
Lorelai grins a little, something she’s been fighting throughout the conversation. “Mia told me just now that everything went so smoothly today she’s going to give me more responsibilities.”
“Yay!”
“Yay is right, my friend. We’ve been climbing our way up that ladder, Sook. I want to be able to save up for a house for me and Rory so damned bad.”
“And I’d like a car that doesn’t stall every time I brake at a stop sign.”
Lorelai lifts her freshly poured mug of coffee in salute. “To our version of the American dream.”
“Here, here!”
Running away with Rory was probably the riskiest thing Lorelai had ever done, riskier than having unprotected sex at the age of 15, riskier than actually being pregnant and giving birth. But it was something she’d had to do, an inevitability in the course of her life.
It hasn’t been easy, but she finds she relishes in hard work. And nothing is better than coming home to her daughter’s sweet and smiling face after an insane shift. Rory’s continued happiness and light is enough for Lorelai to bear the weight of the world on her shoulders any day.
It would be nice to have a regular schedule, though, and today has been a big step in that direction. They’re hosting a memorial service at the inn, something they don’t normally do. Mia knew the man, apparently, a fellow local business owner, and wanted to attend as a guest rather than an event coordinator. So she let Lorelai, who has been helping out and shadowing her for months, take over for the morning.
She spent the day dressed in a real business suit (an old thrifted item she modernized and tailored) checking in vendors, managing the event hands, and generally making sure the entire thing was set up smoothly. Now that the actual service is about to begin, though, her work is done, and she has to rush out to the shed to get ready for her housekeeping shift.
Once she’s donned her uniform, Lorelai heads to the second floor with her cart and begins the methodical, monotonous task of cleaning guest rooms. She often brings her Walkman so she can listen to music or books on tape (keeping up with her daughter’s reading list is quickly becoming her personal white whale). Today, though, her mind has enough to occupy it without extra stimulant.
Going from being a maid to an event planner and manager has been Lorelai’s dream ever since she saw the first wedding Mia put on at the inn that summer she started work there. It had been a beautiful reception for a couple on a budget—elegant but playful. It was the first time she’d seen a function that actually considered personality in the design. Lorelai loves the idea of transforming a space, of creating a unique atmosphere the way Mia can, and she feels she has become quite good at it herself. If everything continues according to plan, she and Rory could have their own house within the next five years.
After about twenty minutes of cleaning and freaking out, Lorelai begins to calm and really get into her cleaning rhythm. She goes to work quickly and efficiently, and her mind quiets.
She is very rudely jolted out of this concentration, though, by a crash that comes from one of the supply closets between rooms. Immediately deciding that the cause was their new hire improperly restocking the shelves in there, Lorelai stomps over in annoyance and rips open the door.
She is right on one count, at least: the items in the fully stocked closet have toppled over. However, it wasn’t the new hire’s fault at all. There on the floor of the tiny space is a large, fully grown man, his knees pushed up to his chest. Clean towels are unfurling at his shoulders, and individually wrapped toilet paper rolls are pooled at his feet.
It is an odd situation that only gets odder when Lorelai realizes that this person, this trespasser, is angry at her. “You know,” he all but growls, “you really shouldn’t put so much stuff on these shelves. It’s a death trap waiting to happen.”
She looks him up and down pointedly. “Yes, I’ve heard that being crushed by towels is the second-leading cause of death in America, right between cancer and heart disease.”
He seems to know she’s mocking him—which not everyone does, so that is to his credit—but he trudges ahead with his perturbance. “Well, any of those cleaning bottles hits someone’s head in the right spot, and boom: permanent brain damage.”
“Have you heard of the Princess and the pea? I think you’d like it.”
“What I’ve heard of is insurance claims bankrupting small businesses.”
“Well, when you’re getting ready to sue, I’ll make sure to remind your lawyer that you were knowingly occupying a restricted area. And that it was towels that fell on your head, not our excess supply of evil, head-clobbering Windex.”
“Please. I’d never hire a lawyer. They’re vultures. It was just a little friendly advice if you’re looking to take it.”
“Well, here’s a little friendly advice for you: don’t go squatting in random supply closets. We maids don’t take kindly to being surprised like that.”
“what are you gonna do,” he asks in confusion more than anger, “dust bust me to death?”
“You can do amazing things with broomsticks these days. Like shoving them up places where they don’t belong.”
A strangled sort of huffing noise comes out of his mouth, and Lorelai is surprised when she realizes it’s a laugh. She watches with interest as he then seems to calm down, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
“Alright,” he sighs a moment later, “I’m goin’. Sorry for bothering you and breaking into your closet. I’ll just pick this stuff up and get out of your way.” He manages to get onto his knees in the small space, where he begins gathering up all the toilet paper he’d knocked over. The more full his arms get of the individual rolls, though, the more trouble he has holding them all. Every time he picks one up, another in the stack falls back to the floor. After this happens for the third time, he loses it. “Dammit!” he yells, bringing his hand to his face to collect himself.
It is a far more anguished reaction than Lorelai feels the situation warrants, and it causes her to examine this guy more closely. He’s on the younger side, probably not too much older than her. Good-looking in a rugged sort of way. And what’s more, he’s wearing a full suit, complete with a tie, which is dangling from his chest as he hunches over on the floor of the closet, taking deep, controlled breaths.
A pang of sympathy shoots through her as she realizes what is likely going on. “Um,” she starts, hesitant, “don’t you need to be getting back?”
“Back to what?” he asks distractedly, still trying unsuccessfully to pick up after himself.
“The funeral.”
He turns his head completely away from her and speaks in a hollow voice. “Yeah. Guess I do.”
“Here, I’ll take you back. You don’t have to worry about that stuff. I’ll get it later.”
He looks down at the pile of towels and toilet paper dispassionately for a few beats. “I feel bad. I’ve made a huge mess.”
“Really, it’s fine. I’ll just say a raccoon got in or something.”
“No, no. I’ll tell Mia it was me so you don’t get in any trouble.”
His casual use of the name surprises her. “You know Mia?”
“Well, she knows my dad. Knew,” he corrects immediately in a quiet voice. “Knew my dad.”
Lorelai has no idea what to say to that. No clue how to respond to the heartache she sees in him plainly now that she knows what she’s looking for. She’d just been talking to Sookie about how strange she’d felt being around mourners, but that was nothing compared to the storm of emotion she feels coming from this guy right now.
For better or worse, she has to say something, and the only thing that comes to mind is the Miss Manners response her mother spent fifteen years beating into her. “I-I’m so sorry for your loss,” she tells him shakily, feeling the inadequacy of the sentiment even as the words are falling from her mouth.
It doesn’t seem to upset him, though. He thanks her quietly, and she gestures for him to follow her to the nearby elevator. He walks obediently alongside her. As they descend toward the lobby, she sneaks a peak and finds him slumped against the wall, his head pointed toward the ceiling. He doesn’t budge when they reach the ground floor, and Lorelai has to hold the door with her arm and clear her throat for him to look up. “Um, it’s this way.”
He allows her to lead him out into the lobby but stops short when the dining room, where the attendees of the memorial are gathered, comes into view. It looks like the actual service is over, as the room is full of people standing and chatting quietly. The guy spends seconds just staring at the area like it’s his own personal firing squad. “Okay, well,” Lorelai interjects awkwardly, “this is where I leave you.” He doesn’t look toward her, doesn’t move any muscle at all, in fact. “I have to get back to my shift now, you know. Keep the boss happy. Check for any more closet burglars.”
She’d feel rotten for being so flippant in the face of this guy’s obvious grief, but she’s almost certain he doesn’t hear a word of it as he continues to remain rigidly in place. That is, until one of the mourners in the dining room crosses the threshold into the lobby. Her breaking and entering suspect bolts at the movement, sprinting unthinkingly toward a potted Ficus in the corner and trying to hide his large frame behind it.
Lorelai follows him over there slowly, like she’s approaching an animal that’s quick to spook. “Wow,” she remarks kindly when she’s at his side once more, “you really don’t want to go back in there, do you?”
He finally seems to hear her this time, his head swiveling toward her. His eyes, when they meet Lorelai’s, are swimming with something tortured, something desperate. His breathing is shallow and labored, as though he’s about to hyperventilate. “Maybe you should just go home,” she suggests, though it almost comes out as a plea. “I mean, things will be wrapping up here pretty soon, anyway.” His only response is to look away from her again, training his eyes back on the ceiling above.
She needs to get back to work, can feel the time slipping away from her every second that passes. And yet she cannot leave him like this, cannot bear to abandon this apparent open wound before her. So there she stands, almost as paralyzed as him, wracking her brain for a solution.
And suddenly, one hits her.
With no time to consider how bad an idea it could be, Lorelai reaches for the edge of the guy’s sleeve and tugs. He again follows willingly, trailing behind her like a ragdoll. She drags him in the opposite direction of the dining room, through the hallway that leads to Mia’s office, out the back door, and around the pond.
It isn’t until she’s unlocking the shed that the man speaks. “Where are we going?” he asks, finally seeming aware of his surroundings again.
“Here,” Lorelai explains as she swings open the door. She looks back to see him taking in the space.
“Well, that certainly clears things up,” he says dryly.
“I don’t have time for the Reader’s Digest explanation of where we are, let alone the War and Peace version. So just accept that we are in a place that exists somewhere on the space-time continuum. Can you do that for me?”
“I guess.”
“Great.” She continues tugging him toward her and Rory’s little loveseat and pushes him down into the cushions. He doesn’t take kindly to the man-handling, looking up at her in suspicion.
“Are you gonna kill me?” he questions, and Lorelai can’t help but laugh at the sincerity in his voice.
“Yes, that’s it—I’ve lured you to my converted garden shed to shear you to death.” He just continues to stare at her, silently questioning her motivation for bringing him here. “Look,” she begins, “I’ve never lost anyone close to me, so I can’t say I know how that feels. But I do know what it’s like when you feel like you’ll explode if you have to spend even another second making polite chitchat with people. So, you can wait here until you’ve decompressed and are ready to go back. Just try not to break any of my stuff. On second thought, don’t even touch anything that you don’t have to.”
She turns to go.
“Wait,” he calls, “you’re leaving?”
“I have to get back to work. You know, that thing I was doing when I was rudely interrupted by the great supply closet avalanche of 1991?”
“Right…”
“And don’t make me regret this,” she adds icily, pointing what she desperately hopes is a menacing finger in his direction. “You seem like you’re not a creep or a thief, but you never know with people, do you? So just understand that if anything gets broken or taken or even messed with more than I deem appropriate, I will find you, and you will pay.”
“Broomstick up the ass,” he acknowledges quietly. “I remember.”
“Among other forms of torture,” Lorelai promises with a satisfied smile before making her way back to the door. “Later.” She doesn’t wait to hear whether he answers her goodbye.
As the afternoon wears on, Lorelai becomes increasingly nervous about her choice to allow the sad guy to squat in the shed. After all, he’s a stranger, and that’s her home. Hers and Rory’s. They’re so lucky to have it at all, to have somewhere to stay rent-free while she saves up for a real place. It’s their little sanctuary, just perfect for the two of them. If anything were to happen to it, Lorelai doesn’t know what they’d do. How could she jeopardize their security like that? And for someone she doesn’t even know. Someone who’s reckless enough to break into the second-floor supply closet, no less.
But then again, he hadn’t exactly been doing anything nefarious in there. Just sitting on the floor. And she can’t help but feel a little better when she recalls how he’d seemed so defeated while unsuccessfully trying to clean up his mess. The way his weight had dragged listlessly behind her as she led him out of the inn. How his voice had broken when speaking of his father in the past tense.
This is probably one of the worst days of this guy’s life, she reasons. He could use a little kindness.
Even so, it goes against Lorelai’s usual modus operandi. Ever since she embarked on this new life with her daughter, she’s been greedy, and purposefully so. Strangers have offered her kindness, friendship, material goods, and she’s had to accept it all. It’s not just about surviving, either, but thriving. She wants her little girl to miss out on nothing. That includes everything from a roof over her head to all the toys she could want and family and friends to rely on.
Lorelai has been especially happy to bring in new people along the way. They’ve already found great friends in Mia and Sookie and Miss Patty, the dance instructor in town, not to mention so many staff members at the inn. Every person they collect makes their life fuller and more stable, contributing to a strong (if a little non-traditional) support system that she hopes will allow them to go the distance.
And that’s the problem with this situation. Lorelai needs to accept kindness and generosity—she can’t afford to show it to others. Certainly not in ways that could risk her and Rory’s livelihood. She shouldn’t get complacent right when things are going so well at work and she might really be on track to do better for them.
She’s basically at war with herself all day over the whole thing. When she’s finally off, Lorelai rushes out to the shed, sure she’s going to find it ransacked or the guy still there and refusing to leave. She pictures having to tell Mia about her rash decision—or worse, her parents. How naïve they'd think she'd been. How immature and thoughtless.
But it turns out her worries are for nothing. The space looks exactly the same as it had that very morning, with nothing out of place and no men in sight. She makes sure to check the secret spot in Rory’s toy box that has her supply of emergency cash, and everything’s still there, down to the dollar.
Sinking down onto the floor in relief, Lorelai begins to accept that maybe she’s come out of this one unscathed. Now, the only thing left to worry about is that the guy knows about this place. He hadn’t seemed stupid; certainly he figured out eventually that they live here. Who knows what he might do with that information?
But with the immediate threat gone, she feels light and happy once more, and the whole thing becomes a worry for another day. Her most pressing concern at the moment is that she’s late to pick Rory up from the Kim house, which could quite possibly have a far scarier outcome than a strange man showing up at their door. As Lorelai turns to exit the shed again, she sends a prayer up to the house gods that Sad Guy doesn’t come back and try to kidnap them or sell them a bible or whatever.
And then she’s off to get her daughter.
Sad Guy does come back, but it’s not to kidnap or sell anything.
Three weeks after Lorelai had given him refuge in their home, he shows up at the front door with a toolbox and other materials at his feet. It’s a Saturday morning, and she and Rory are about to head out to see Sookie in the inn’s kitchen, where she’s just finishing up with the breakfast shift. She doesn’t hear the knocking at first; Rory is the one who tells her that someone is even at the door. They both assume it must be Sookie, so Lorelai tears it open without thought. But it’s not Sookie. It’s some guy in a flannel shirt and jeans, and for some reason his back is to the door.
“Hello?” she greets in confusion.
He whirls around, clearly startled to find her there. “Uh, hi.”
“Can I help you?”
“Yeah, um. Sorry, do you not remember me?”
She doesn’t at first. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been dressed in formal wear. “You do look familiar, I think…”
“A couple weeks ago you let me hang out in here for a while…” he prompts.
As recognition sets in, so does panic, and that horrible thing happens to her where her brain and her mouth get disconnected from each other and she says the worst thing possible. “Oh! Right. Sad Guy.”
His face immediately falls, and guilt replaces anything else she’d been feeling. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. That was so incredibly insensitive of me. My mother always tried to get me to put my foot in my mouth, but let me tell you, that was one lesson—of many, actually—that never stuck. Sorry, I—sorry.”
He looks just as baffled by her apology as he’d been hurt by her flippant comment. “Really,” he’s quick to reassure, waving his hand in dismissal, “it’s fine. I was, you know, sad. And more than a little nuts. And you were nice. That’s sort of why I’m here. I—"
“Really, no thank yous are necessary,” she cuts in, wanting to wash her hands of this whole thing.
“Look, you live here, right?”
She stands a little taller at the question, daring this stranger to pass judgment on her situation. “Yes.”
“And you have a kid, right?”
“So what?” she asks with narrowed eyes. It’s not surprising to her that he’d been able to deduce this. Little girl things are scattered all over.
“Well, I just thought you could—”
“There’s nothing wrong with this place,” Lorelai interrupts, voice hard and unyielding. “It’s perfectly safe, and my daughter has everything she needs.”
He shrugs, and his brows knit in confusion at her outburst. “Well, yeah. I mean, you gotta live somewhere, right? And it must be nice that it’s so close to your work—no commute.”
Her anger deflates a little. “Yeah, it’s actually been really great.”
“I just noticed when I was here the other day that there were a few things you could do to weatherproof the place a bit more. Fortify the windows and the roof. It’d keep it a lot warmer in winter for you guys.”
It's Lorelai’s turn to be confused. “You came all the way here to fortify our house for winter?”
“Um, yeah,” he answers, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “If you’re worried about it, I do know what I’m doing. I grew up helping out in my dad’s hardware store, and I’ve been working construction jobs since I was in high school.”
What the hell is this guy’s deal? she wonders. “I don’t have any money to pay you.”
“Oh, there’s no need. I already had all the materials I needed anyway.”
Okay, so that’s not what he’s after. She gives him a good once over, noting again that they’re both of an age and he’s not exactly a troll, even if he could use a shave. Regardless, that’s certainly not something she wants to get into.
“I’m also not interested in dating or sleeping with you,” she warns with a smile, hoping he can hear the steel behind her outwardly pleasant tone.
He isn’t phased by this, either, simply raising a lazy eyebrow at her. “My girlfriend will be glad to hear it.”
“Oh, well…” she trails off, searching for some other excuse to reject his offer.
“Look,” he begins, purposely interrupting her thoughts, “I know it’s a little weird, me just showing up like this. But all I’ve been able to think about for the past few weeks is how much my dad would have kicked my ass for the way I talked to you that day. I was way out of line.”
His temper flare-up had been baffling to say the least, but it was harmless. She'd known nothing about him, but that much had been obvious after about the first two minutes of speaking with him. “You weren’t that bad,” she reassures sincerely.
“I was a huge jerk. I yelled at you. I made trouble for you by knocking everything over in that damned closet. And then I squatted in your house!”
“Wow,” she laughs, “when you put it like that, you’re right. You sound like some kind of irredeemable monster.”
“I know!” he agrees, clearly distressed.
“I was kidding.”
“Well I wasn’t.”
“It’s really okay,” she reassures with a shrug. “I could tell you were having a bad day.”
“It’s not okay. Not to me. And I’d like to make it up to you. It’s the least I can do.”
“Well, my daughter and I were just on the way to the inn for a bit to meet my friend Sookie.”
“Oh, Sookie St. James?”
“Yeah, you know her?”
“She was a couple years behind me in school. I’d heard she went to chef school and was working here.”
She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the whole small town thing. “Yeah, so anyway, we won’t be here.”
“Oh, everything I need to do is outside. So if you don’t mind, I can get to it while you’re gone.”
“I guess that’s okay…” she tells him, once again finding herself tempted to let this guy break all her rules when she really knows nothing about him.
“If you’re worried, you can ask anyone. Everyone here knows me. Knew my dad, too. All the old cranks in town probably even remember my mom’s dad.”
“Wow, you have a true Stars Hollow pedigree. That’s so nice.”
“Yeah, we’re the last great American dynasty,” he snarks. It makes her smile. Lorelai can appreciate all sorts of wits, but there’s something especially satisfying about one that's dry as dust.
“Well, it sounds nice to me. I’d have killed to grow up here.”
“Trust me, it wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Rory, who’s been hiding behind Lorelai’s legs throughout the conversation, finally feels emboldened to pop her head out. “I'm growing up here,” she shares, “and I love it.”
Sad Guy jumps back in surprise before eyeing Rory warily. “Uh, hi. Didn’t know you were there.”
“Hi, I’m Rory,” she greets, shy as ever but brave enough to put out her hand.
“Um, Luke.” Instead of offering his whole hand in return, he completes the shake with only two fingers to keep from completely engulfing her.
“Oh, and I’m Lorelai.”
He nods at each of them in turn. “Nice to meet ya. Both of you.”
“Did you fix our table leg?” Rory asks suddenly.
“Rory, honey,” Lorelai cuts in with a slight laugh. This has been a friendly debate between them lately, and there’s no need to get into it with someone they barely know.
But Luke’s eyes light up in recognition. “Oh. Yeah, that was me.”
“It was?” Lorelai asks, mouth dropping open in shock.
When they’d first moved into the shed, Mia had given the two of them a small rickety dining table. The one leg had been a little unstable when they got it, but every year it’s gotten more and more wobbly. Then suddenly, just about three weeks ago, actually, it stopped wobbling. She had never even considered that Sad Guy—no, Luke—might have been behind it.
“I know you told me not to touch anything,” he rushes to say, and Lorelai is proud to see that her threats had been at least somewhat successful. “And I didn’t mean to. I was getting up to leave and accidentally bumped into it, and the thing shook for like an hour. I had to fix it. It was really easy, too. Didn’t even need any tools.”
Rory looks up at Lorelai smugly. “I told you it wasn’t the table leg fairy.”
“Well, how should I have known? I thought only a magical creature could have pulled off such a noble deed.”
“Now my cereal doesn’t spill anymore!” Rory announces, looking to Luke with a happy smile.
He’s uncomfortable at the display but gives her a slight nod. It’s such an oddly solemn gesture to make to a little kid, and Lorelai can’t help but find it endearing. “I’m glad to hear it,” he tells her.
“Mom, let's go get cookies now.”
“Right, right,” she says to Rory before glancing back up at Luke. “We have a cookie date with Sookie. Will you be here for a while?”
“You don’t mind if I do this, then?” he asks, shuffling his feet unsurely.
“What, make my house safer and more livable free of charge? No, knock yourself out.”
“Good, good. And uh, I figure it’ll take me a couple hours is all. But I can come back another day if that works better.”
“No, I just wanted to be able to tell you bye before you left.”
“Let’s bring him back some cookies,” Rory suggests, apparently already deciding, as Lorelai has, that he seems like an okay sort.
“Great idea, babe.”
“Oh, no,” he protests, seeming overwhelmed by the abrupt change from suspicion to warmth. “I don’t need any cookies. Really.”
Rory ignores his protest and looks at Lorelai mischievously. “I call dibs on the biggest, most under-baked snickerdoodle,” she challenges. And then she takes off running toward the inn’s kitchen door.
Lorelai exits the shed, closing and locking it behind her before beginning to jog backwards in Rory’s direction, still facing their unexpected guest. “There’s no point in fighting it, Luke,” she tells him with a grin. “You’re getting cookies.” Looking over her shoulder, she calls, “that snickerdoodle is mine!”
With a final care-free shrug at Luke, Lorelai turns and sprints after her daughter. Just before she rounds the corner of the inn, though, she glances back to find him still staring after them with a decidedly deer-in-the-headlights sort of expression.
Well, this is going to be fun, she thinks, having the strange feeling that they might have just collected yet another addition to their odd, wonderful life.