Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Tristan rubbed the back of his head as he squinted in the mid-afternoon sunlight. He glanced around the small town, unfamiliar even though he’d been here a couple of times. The buildings had been cloaked in darkness, illuminated only by twinkle lights and a few open storefronts when he was here last. He could make out the small market in the distance, flowers cheering up the produce stand on the sidewalk. He should probably steer clear. He was just passing through, no need to get into a confrontation today.

He wondered if Rory still dated Dean. That would be crazy. No one in high school dated one person that long. Then again, she had said things were going well before Tristan was sent away, so she probably was.

“It’s your carburetor. It has to be replaced.” The woman bent over his car engine, the hood propped open. Her black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. The sign over the garage said ‘Gypsy’. This, apparently, was the eponymous woman herself. “It’ll be two to three hours.”

“Great,” Tristan said glumly, thrusting his hands in his pockets. “Is there anything to do here?”

Gypsy gave him a piteous look. “You’re not from around here, huh?”

He shook his head. “Hartford. Though, currently, North Carolina.”

“There’s not much to this town, but we do enjoy our festivals and events. You got lucky today. It’s Bid a Basket day over at the gazebo.”

“What’s that?” He glanced in the general direction she indicated.

“Women prepare picnic lunches that are auctioned off for charity. Men buy the baskets and have lunch with the basket maker.”

Tristan stared at her for a moment. “Are you serious?”
“We do not kid about town events here. It’s a time honored Stars Hollow tradition.”

“Then why aren’t you there?”

“It’s obviously an antiquated tradition,” Gypsy said.

“Well,” Tristan said with a sigh, “I guess I could go watch if that’s the only thing going on.” He gave Gypsy his pager number and she gave him directions to the center of town–as though directions were necessary. Tristan joined the outer edges of a crowd gathered around the gazebo where a bearded man was at a lectern auctioning off the baskets.

“This next one is small,” the man said, holding the basket up to inspect. “Shall we start the bidding at three dollars?”

“Five!” a teenaged boy bid.

Tristan’s eyes scanned over the people until he found the person bidding. His heart sank when he caught sight of the Beav himself. That must be Rory’s basket. Tristan wasn’t sure how small this town was, or if she participated in this kind of stuff. But if Dean was bidding, it must be on Rory’s basket.

Tristan had a strong urge to make a counter bid, but knew it would cause trouble. A lot of trouble. Rory would not welcome him to her town with open arms. She would not be impressed if Tristan outbid her boyfriend just because he could. He didn’t have time to think much before another boy unexpectedly upped the bid. Tristan didn’t know who he was looking for this time. It was when the guy doubled his own bid that Tristan spotted a dark haired boy his age wearing a tan jacket. Who the hell was he?

It was like the world had kept spinning when Tristan left and someone else took his place in antagonizing Dean. It wasn’t right. 

Tristan listened to the boys make competing bids as he scanned the crowd quickly. He spotted her. Rory was standing next to a tall brunette who must be her sister, looking surprised and uncomfortable. Dean was obviously mad. The other guy just looked smug, like he was playing a clever game and winning.

The bids increased from five dollar increments to ten, then the mysterious interloper jumped to seventy-five, apparently just because he could. He really wanted to have lunch with Rory.

This was getting out of hand.

Tristan glanced at Rory to see if she indicated what outcome she wanted. She was looking at Dean, concerned. They were up to eighty dollars. Dean hesitated. Tristan felt kind of bad for him. He reached for his own wallet in his back pocket. He shouldn’t, she wouldn’t be impressed. He opened his wallet to pull out the bills to see how much he had, then he quickly glanced at the other guy, trying to gauge how much more money he had on him. Tristan didn’t want to play the game. He wanted to end it.

The bidding was up to ninety dollars. He really wanted to wipe the smirk off that guy’s face.

“Going once, going twice. . .”  

She was going to be so mad. Tristan wouldn’t have to go back to military school at the end of the weekend because Dean was going to kill him today.

Tristan lifted his hand anyway. “One hundred and ninety.”

A few spectators whispered and turned back to him. Some people closer to the lectern up front gawked to the back to see who bid.

“We have a new bidder,” the bearded man said in surprise. He frowned deeply, questioning the sanity of all three of the teenage boys. “Can you see how tiny this basket is?”

In Tristan’s peripheral, Dean turned his head sharply. Rory and her sister turned to stare in horror. The dark haired guy wasn’t smirking anymore as he gave Tristan a dirty look.

“One-hundred and ninety dollars, going once, twice, three times. Sold to the deep pockets in the back.”

XXXXX

“What is he doing here?” Dean seethed, pacing near a tree where Rory caught up with him. “I thought he got kicked out of Chilton. How long has he been back? You forgot to mention it.”

“He isn’t back,” Rory said. “His parents sent him to military school.”

“Well then what is he doing here, Rory?” Dean demanded. “First Jess is messing with me, just to make me crazy, and now this guy shows up and I’m supposed to believe he just popped up out of nowhere? Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“No! I swear, he did just randomly show up,” she said. “I have no idea what he’s doing here. The last time I saw him was the last time you saw him. At Romeo and Juliet,” Rory said. Just when she thought this day couldn’t be any more of a disaster, Tristan Dugray showed up to prove her wrong. “I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.”

Tristan approached them then, carrying Rory’s basket by the handle. She thought he looked unsure of himself at first, almost timid. But she must have imagined it, because he flashed a grin.

“We meet again.”

Dean scowled at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I was passing through and I had car trouble.” He jerked his head back toward Gypsy’s garage. “It’ll be a few hours. Luckily there was some local entertainment,” he said. “I’ll even get lunch out of it. And right when I was getting hungry.” He pointed a thumb where Jess had been. “Did you see that guy? The nerve. Who does he think he is?”

“Who do you think you are?” Dean said. “You got your lunch, now go eat it.”

Tristan glanced at Rory and then addressed Dean again, “Gypsy said the buyer eats the lunch with the basket maker.”

“You must be kidding.”
“I don’t kid about picnics.”

“She’s not going with you.”

“Is that right?” Tristan asked. He had to tilt his head back to look up at Dean. The taller boy was towering over him. They at least weren’t in each other’s faces. 

“It is.”

Tristan looked at Rory again for confirmation or denial. He raised a brow.

“Well,” Rory started.

Dean glared at her. “Well what?”

“It’s tradition. Mom and I do this every year.”

“Who cares?”

“Come on,” Rory said. She reminded him of the time Taylor got mad at her for missing the turkey-calling contest.

“This isn’t another school project where you two get paired up together,” Dean argued.

“Don’t make a big deal about this,” Rory pleaded. “We’ll eat, he’ll go back to military school, and it’ll go back to being like he doesn't exist. He doesn’t exist!” she said. She couldn’t see Tristan’s shoulders drop a little.

“No.”

Tristan cut in, “What do you think is going to happen? She had her chance with me, but she picked you.”

Dean looked back at Rory. “Then pick me now.”

“Dean!”

“Forget it,” Dean relented, stalking off.

Rory mournfully watched him leave. “What are you doing here?” she said angrily, rounding on Tristan. He took a step back, he was so startled by the outburst. “You’re supposed to be at military school.”

“Like I said, I had car trouble,” he said. “I was on my way home for the weekend. Gypsy told me about the basket auction. To be honest, I thought she was joking.” He added, “I saw you looked panicked with two guys bidding on your basket.”

She glared at him. “So you thought being a third would help?”

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “I saved you.”

“You think this is saving me?” she asked incredulously, gesturing with her arms out. “You made things a hundred times worse.”

“I saw that guy bidding against Dean and it got my adrenaline pumping. I thought I’d shut them both down.”

“Well excuse me if I don’t thank you.” She started walking and Tristan had to hurry to keep up. “You’re supposed to be in military school. How could you show up in my town out of nowhere like this?”

“I’d explain the car trouble again, but it doesn’t seem to be sinking in,” he said. “Maybe I should have gotten a note from Gypsy to prove it. Trust me, I wasn’t planning on getting stuck in this podunk town today. I was almost home.”

“Gypsy can’t fix your car soon enough.” She was aimlessly storming off.

“So are we going to eat whatever’s in this basket?” he asked, holding it up. “Dean is already mad at you for upholding a silly tradition–that you defended quite adamantly. So we might as well have lunch.”

Rory exhaled, frustrated and defeated. “Fine.” She beelined for an empty bench in a grassy area at the end of the town square. There were other couples spreading out blankets on the lawn. They all looked much happier about their companions than Rory.

“Who was that guy, anyway? The one bidding against Dean?” Tristan asked, sitting a respectable distance away from Rory on the bench, the basket between them.

Rory had her arms crossed, still hostile toward him. “Jess. He’s Luke’s nephew.”

“I don’t know who Luke is.”

“He owns the diner. Luke’s Diner,” Rory said. “Jess was getting into trouble, so his mom sent him to Luke.”

“Hmm, a troubled youth was sent away from home, where have I heard that before?” he asked wryly.

She frowned at him. At his pointed look, she said, “Oh. Right. Weird coincidence. And Stars Hollow isn’t exactly military school.” She said, “Jess lives here now, so I wish he and Dean would get along.”

Tristan grinned at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

She knit her brows. “No. Why?”

“Your boyfriend and the guy who’s trying to steal you from him will never be friends,” he said. “Dean wants to be friends with him as much as he wants to be friends with me.”

“Jess isn’t trying to steal me from Dean,” she argued.

“Rory, you cannot be that naive.” Tristan said, “Jess wants to be your boyfriend.”

She looked at him for a moment, quietly letting it sink in. Then she shook her head. “He does not. He’s just a friend.”

“I’m kind of an authority on this, and he does,” Tristan said. “He’s not done.”  

She sobered. “Dean is my boyfriend. And he will always be my boyfriend. Forever.”

“Not forever.”

“Yes he will. I’m not going to date anyone else—not Jess, not you. Just Dean.”

Tristan’s eyes lingered on her for a moment but he didn’t argue anymore. “Okay. For the record, I’m not trying to date you. I live in North Carolina. That’s five states away. And with those two fighting over you in your hometown?” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t want that kind of stress.”

“Jess and Dean aren’t fighting over me.”

Tristan shrugged. “Okay. Seems like a jerk move though, to bid on another guy’s girlfriend’s basket.”

“You bid on another guy’s girlfriend’s basket,” Rory said. “What does that make you?”

“A jerk,” he said simply. “It takes one to know one. I’m king of the jerks.”

She eyed him warily. “Jess isn’t a jerk.” She admitted, “Okay, he doesn’t get along with everyone, he doesn’t like many people. But he isn’t a jerk to me.”

Tristan watched her. She fidgeted just a little under his gaze. He looked away and nodded in understanding. “Flattering.”

“What?”

He turned back to her. “I can see how that would be flattering—to be liked by someone who doesn’t like anyone else. Makes you feel kind of special, doesn’t it?”

She scowled at him. “No. It isn’t like that. You don’t know the situation.”

He just shrugged again. “If you say so.”

“And Jess doesn’t like me. We’re just friends.” Rory had to calm Dean, and persuade her mom to give Jess a chance. She did not need to defend her friendship with Jess to Tristan of all people.

“Again, the whole bidding on your basket to basically win a date with you suggests otherwise.”

“This is not a date. You did not win me.”

Tristan held up his hands in surrender. “Can you please pretend you’re talking to someone else, and not me? Just for a minute? I don’t live here anymore. I don’t exist, remember? Just pretend like you’re having a normal conversation with a normal person,” he said. “I’m a neutral third party.”

Rory considered this. Then, “We’re just friends—me and Jess. We talk about books and music. That’s it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“We do,” she insisted. “He makes good book recommendations. He’s really smart, but he doesn’t apply himself.”

“Alright, fine. He’s just a friend,” Tristan relented, still sounding doubtful. They both sat in silent thought, giving up the argument. 

Tentatively, Tristan changed the subject. “So you, uh, grew up with Dean then? In Stars Hollow?”

Rory looked at him strangely. No boy in town had ever looked at her twice before Dean. “No, he moved here right when Chilton accepted me. Actually, I almost didn’t go to Chilton after I met him.”

Surprised, Tristan said, “Really?”

She grinned at the memory. “Yeah. He saw me reading a book in the courtyard when this big chaotic scene broke out. I think someone got hit in the face by a ball or something. I didn’t notice a thing. That’s why Dean wanted to meet me.”

“Mm,” Tristan said with a nod. “Being new at school sucks.”

“Oh really?” Rory said dryly.

“Yeah. Nobody knows you or even wants to know you.”

“You don’t say.” Rory watched Tristan forlornly stare into the distance, completely lacking in self-awareness.

He looked at her, noticing her unsympathetic tone. “What?” He thought for a moment. “Oh. Right. Sorry. I apologized for that. And if it makes you feel any better, when the other guys found out I’m just some pampered rich kid from Connecticut, it did not endear me to them.”

“Karma’s a bitch, huh?”

He sighed heavily. “It seems so.”

Rory peered at him thoughtfully. He really didn’t exist in her world anymore. She never wondered how he was getting along at his new school. “Things with Paris have gotten better. I wouldn’t call us friends, but sometimes she needs help studying and Madeline and Louise aren’t her first choice.” She added, “It helps that you aren’t around.”

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome.”

She asked, “Have you heard from any of your friends from Hartford since you’ve been gone?”

He shook his head slowly. “Nope.” He hastily added, “But I didn’t leave an address for anyone. They don’t know how to find me, or I’m sure the letters would be pouring in.”

Rory’s eyes lingered on him. She didn't believe him. He didn’t sound convincing. It must be hard, going from the most popular kid in the class to being a nobody. And on top of it, none of his old friends cared. She at least still had Lane and her mom to come home to. She never thought Tristan might be lonely, or have trouble fitting in.

He admitted, “Maybe they weren’t really friends to begin with.”

“Someone will give you a chance,” she said encouragingly. “If you aren’t a jerk.”

“I’ll work on that,” he said self-deprecatingly.

“Really, you have a lot going for you.”

He gave her a doubtful look. “Oh yeah? Like what?” he asked. “I’m calling your bluff. You’re just trying to be nice.”

“I never feel the need to be nice to you,” she argued. She thought for a minute, and considered Paris’s long-time crush. If someone as intense and driven and smart as Paris could like Tristan, there must be some good in him. “You’re smart,” Rory finally said. “I never saw you with a backpack and you barely took notes in class. But you still got good grades. I have to take meticulous notes and study for hours. How do you do that? Do you even study at all?”

“When I need to.” He added, “I took notes. You just weren’t paying attention to me.” 

“I wish I could say Chilton only let you in because your parents could afford it,” she said. “But you deserved to be there. And you’ll be accepted to a great college, where you’ll probably make all kinds of friends. Better friends.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She remembered something else. “Oh, you have soft skills. I can’t make small talk to save my life. That’s going to come in handy one day.”

“I’m surprised you could come up with anything.”

“Me too.” She grinned at him and he smiled back.

They were quiet for a minute. Her initial anger had faded and they were able to contentedly sit in each other’s company. Maybe he could be okay sometimes. Now she wondered if his family kept in contact much. Jess’s mom didn’t, but Jess at least had Luke. Tristan didn’t have anyone in North Carolina. Rory couldn’t even imagine living that far from Lorelai. Who were Tristan’s other friends, besides Duncan and Bowman? She couldn’t recall. Not that he needed to keep in touch with either of those two. It must be hard for someone as sociable as him to not have anyone to talk to.

Tristan finally opened the basket and took out a plastic container. He opened it and offered her some first. When she wrinkled her nose and jerked her head away, he asked, “What’s wrong?” He smelled it and jerked his head away too. “What is this?”

“I’m not sure. It was in the refrigerator.”

“This is what you brought for Dean?”

“He wouldn’t have eaten it.”

Tristan put the container back in the basket. He wasn’t interested in anything else from the basket. “Now I really am hungry. Is there somewhere we can go?”

“Usually I would say Luke’s, but Jess might be there. I’d rather skip another confrontation,” she said. “There’s Al’s Pancake World.” She got up as she said it. “We could get a pizza.”

“From a pancake place?” he asked, standing up to follow.

She waved a hand. “He serves all kinds of food. Come on.” As they crossed the street to the sidewalk, she said, “I guess it is good you bought my basket.”

Tristan frowned, surprised and confused. “Really? Why?”

“Because you’ll disappear later. You’ll be out of swinging distance,” she said grimly.

XXXXX

Tristan plopped his tray down on the long table at lunch time. Everyone had assigned seats in the cafeteria at military school, which he would have hated at Chilton, but was actually grateful for here. It hid the fact that he wouldn’t have anywhere to sit. He was just as thankful that there weren’t cliquish groups, because he would not get an invitation to the cool table. So he didn’t mind that he could sit and eat without anxiety that he was missing out.

He was getting to lunch late. For the third time in the few months he’d been here, one of his instructors pulled him aside to tell him he wasn’t at prep school anymore–like he needed a reminder. Ten years at private school had ingrained an individualistic mindset. He didn’t have to be out for himself, his teachers kept telling him. They said his schoolmates had his back, if he’d just have theirs. After his last pair of friends, it was hard for Tristan to believe. And these guys didn’t know him. They had no reason to look out for him.

There were four long tables in the cafeteria, one for each grade. It was an all-boys school. That was actually the worst part of it here. His dad knew how to hit him where it counted. The structure and discipline he could adjust to. The uniform he was used to. But there were no girls in sight. He missed their pleated skirts that showed off their legs. He missed the creative ways they put effort into their hair and makeup—something they could control and show their personality even while wearing a uniform like all the other girls.

Tristan didn’t have anyone to make out with between classes. He just . . . went to class. It was excruciating.

Sean, the boy who sat in the next seat, sat down and started eating without a word. He was pretty quiet, and didn’t bother with pleasantries. Tristan supposed he was a bit shy. He wasn’t sure how to break the ice with people who weren’t sociable. Sean did talk to him on his first day though. He had compared the cafeteria to the dining hall at Hogwarts when Tristan first got here. Tristan didn’t understand the reference. Sean said it was from Harry Potter.

Maybe Tristan should start reading Harry Potter. Then he’d have something to talk about with at least one person. They probably weren’t the kinds of books that would impress Rory Gilmore. But she wasn’t here to impress.

The cafeteria monitor was handing out mail to the students, as they usually did during lunch. It was a surprise when Tristan heard ‘Dugray’ called out. He reached for the single envelope and flipped it to the side with the address.

In the left hand corner, the return address said Rory Gilmore, with her Stars Hollow street address printed in neat, even handwriting. She wrote her address right there, like an open line of communication. It was addressed to the school, attention Tristan Dugray. He hadn’t told her the name of the school. She must have looked it up, or asked the secretary at Chilton where his transcripts were sent. He set down his fork and turned the envelope to rip it open.

Dear Tristan, it started. I’m only writing to you because you’re pathetic and I pity you. Tristan slowly grinned. I just wanted to reassure you that it’s okay to not have a lot of school friends. A few months ago the school counselor ambushed me at lunch. She and Headmaster Charleston thought I was a loner, like the Unibomber or something. So I sat at a random table, with Francie Jarvis and her posse. Oh, no, that’s not a random table. Don’t sit there.

He continued to  read, amazed that Rory had taken the time to share something about herself with him. She gave him a peek of her life with her mom in Stars Hollow, and her long time friend, Lane. He was starting to think the woman he saw Rory with at the basket auction was her mother, rather than a sister. Before he knew it, lunch was over and he’d only eaten half, as he pored over his letter instead. He gathered his things and picked up his tray. With a spring in his step, he headed to his next class, his head full of things he needed to tell her about in his response.       

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

“Go hide in the closet,” Paris demanded, pointing to the door in the corner of the room.

“What?” Rory exclaimed with a frown.

“You can’t be out here, looking all dateable for Jamie to see.”

“Paris, I do not look dateable.”

“Get in the closet,” Paris said again, pointing.

They were in Washington DC for student council, and Paris was going on a first date with Jamie. For the first time in the history of Paris Gellar’s life, a boy was interested in her and was taking her out to dinner.

Rory made a guttural sound of disgust and did what she was told. She slid down to take a seat in the closet, pulling a notebook on her lap. She sat aside the many envelopes from Dean and opened the blank page dressed to Jess. She’d done this many times all summer. The stack of letters from Dean grew while the unwritten letter to Jess was as blank as ever. She couldn’t put anything into words. All words sounded stupid and trite.

Jess, was as far as she’d gotten. It had been weeks since she kissed him and ran away. She didn’t know what to say to him. What was she supposed to say? She needed to say something. There was a reason she’d kissed him as soon as she saw him. But words weren’t coming. Where should she start? What did it mean to her? What did it mean to him? She could only guess. What did she hope it meant to him? She hoped it meant something.

She stared at the blank page for five minutes. She barely even heard Paris and Jamie leave, but they were gone. And still, Rory sat hidden in the closet. It felt like a safe space to be alone with her thoughts. No one was around to ask questions about what she was writing. Or rather, what she wasn’t writing.

She heaved a sigh of frustration with herself and flipped to the next page in her notebook and started writing.

Dear Tristan,

Hypothetically, if a girl kissed you and ran away after, what would you want her to say to you?

I guess that’s pretty cryptic. I kissed Jess. It was at Sookie’s wedding. I didn’t know he was back from New York, and there he was. I didn’t think at all. I just saw him and kissed him. And then I ran away. I told him not to say anything, and I ran away. Literally, I ran away to DC. I’m sitting in a closet in DC. I’m not hiding. Paris didn’t want her date to see me. Yes, Paris has a date, don’t look so surprised.

I don’t know what to say to Jess. I’m still with Dean, for the record. That’s pretty terrible, isn’t it? I just don’t know what to do. I need perspective. A guy’s perspective.

Anyway, I hope your summer is going better than mine.

Sincerely,

Rory

XXXXX

Was she kidding him with this? Tristan tossed Rory’s letter aside with a scowl. Did she not remember that he wasa guy she kissed and ran away from? Her mind must really be in a jumble, to not have the self-awareness to know this was her MO.

She might be able to communicate with Tristan when she couldn’t with Jess, but he took little pleasure in it. Tristan hated that guy. Even more than Dean, because he was managing to do what Tristan couldn’t. He was prepared to sulk for the rest of the day, but took a deep breath. He was in North Carolina. He was not in this triangle. He was a neutral third party, and she was asking for advice. He was the only guy perspective at her disposal. Even her sage mother didn’t have experience as a teenage boy. So he needed to put his personal opinions and feelings aside and be helpful.

Later, though. For the time being, Tristan had to focus on rowing. He was at a camp in Massachusetts, which he went to immediately after making up two of his classes over the summer. There were a couple of subjects he had fallen behind in when he was out on multiple suspensions at Chilton. His parents didn’t need much persuading to let him stay at school and then go to camp. They were all too happy that he was keeping himself occupied and out of trouble.

It was evening when he had time to sit down and reread Rory’s letter. Normally, Tristan would stick to the formula he had found effective. His letters had three important elements: an update about him—classes, activities, friends he’d made, college applications; commentary about what she’d written; and, importantly, questions for her. The last was crucial, because they had to be engaging questions that would force her to respond. It didn’t matter too much what they were about, as long as they were open ended so she was forced to provide lengthy explanations. Asking questions was the key to keeping up the correspondence.

Dear Rory, he started.

Neither of these two matter. Break up with Dean. You’ll have to do it eventually, anyway. He isn’t going to Harvard with you. And as much of an ‘intellectual equal’ Jess might be, a guy who needs tutoring in every subject isn’t going to Harvard either. None of this matters. These guys are not on your level. Neither of them share your academic values, and that’s a big part of who you are. They have no ambition. Forget them both.

Tristan read what he’d written and tore the paper out of his notebook. He balled it up and tossed it in the trash. Sometimes he needed catharsis.

Dear Rory, he tried again.

I sincerely hope you weren’t the one to set Paris up. In my experience, it does not end well.

So running away after you kiss guys is just something you do, huh? Now I know not to take it personally. You forgot we kissed that one time, didn’t you? At the party?

Tristan stopped writing. When he kissed her she just wanted to make sure they agreed it didn’t mean anything. And she didn’t want Dean to know. This was different. Because she liked Jess, he knew. God he hated that guy. He exhaled and kept writing.

Look, watching a girl I just kissed run away isn’t great. She must be running because I did something wrong, or she hates me, or I’m ugly. Or a combination of all three. 

Whatever you do, don’t say it didn’t mean anything. It’s crappy to hear a girl say kissing you meant nothing. It hurts, especially if you like the girl. It’s depressing and kind of heart breaking. It just really sucks, okay? Don’t do it.

Jess likes you. Why else would he be back? Why would he immediately seek you out?

To answer your question, ideally, I want the girl I kiss and like to like me back and want to be my girlfriend. Then we can kiss more. It’s pretty simple. 

You’re 17 years old, you are allowed to break up with your fist boyfriend and date a different guy. I did it all the time. You know, with girls. It gets easier. They hate you for a while, but there’s no point in staying with someone who isn’t making you happy, or who isn’t right for you. Even if he’s perfect, maybe he isn’t perfect for you anymore. 

In a year, none of this will matter. You’re going to Harvard and neither of them are going with you. If I had a girlfriend and we were going to different schools, I’d be making plans to break up with her before we go our separate ways.

The question is not who do you want to be with. It’s who do you want to break up with at the end of senior year?

Hope this helps,

Tristan

“P.S.,” he muttered as he folded the paper into thirds. “I hate them both. Just get it over with.”

XXXX

Dear Tristan,

I got home from DC this weekend, and there was Jess, in the middle of town, making out with some girl named Shane. What kind of name is Shane for a girl, anyway?

Good thing I didn’t pour my heart out about that kiss with Jess. It clearly meant nothing to him. I would have looked like such an idiot if I broke up with the perfect boyfriend for Jess. I wonder how long it took him to hook up with Shane. Five minutes after I left for the summer? I can tell she isn’t the brightest. She definitely isn’t his type.

I’ve spent all my spare time with Dean, and I made a list. He is the only guy for me, forever. The decision was easy, really. There was no decision. All that turmoil was for nothing. Sorry I wasted your time with that last letter.

Rory

Tristan pressed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. This was getting ugly. He moved his hand to rub the back of his neck. He picked up a pen and his notebook. He started to explain the games boys play to make girls jealous, and could not help but point out that Rory was often a boy’s name.

He was done with the Jess-Dean drama. He would not address it anymore, and he wouldn’t ask about them. From now on, he would only talk about school. It was senior year, and Rory needed to focus on getting into college, not these two clowns who wouldn’t matter in the long run.

XXXXX

Tristan set Rory’s latest letter down and stared across the cafeteria with a frown, lost in thought. Something was off. He checked the date she’d written it, and it had been a Friday night. It was after Friday night dinner at her grandparents. The letter before that was written on a Saturday, and included details about what she’d done that day. She was with Jess now, so what was she doing sitting at home at night writing letters to Tristan? Where was she finding all this free time? And these letters weren’t quick check-ins either. They were fairly detailed accounts of what was happening at Chilton—things with Paris had gotten bad again, courtesy of Francie Jarvis, but were thawing after the C-SPAN meltdown. Her mom’s inn burned down—well not down, but pretty badly. Fran died. And Rory got into every college and chose Yale.

He knew she didn’t tell him everything though. She definitely didn’t talk about Jess. She barely mentioned him after they finally got together. There was a Distillers concert. But other than that, mentions of the aspiring Hemingway were few and far between.

It was like when she listed Dean’s good qualities, at length, to reassure herself she still wanted to be with him. Tristan didn’t know why she thought he’d be interested in a dissertation on why Dean was such a mensch, until he figured out it was a case of raging denial. She needed to make excuses to stay with him—reasons why she definitely didn’t care that Jess was dating some other girl because Rory had it so good with Dean.

Sometimes Tristan wondered if she remembered she was mailing these letters to him, and not writing a private entry in a diary. Somewhere over the course of their correspondence he’d become something of a confidant. She told him how weird it was to have a little sister, even though Rory never saw Gigi. She even admitted how disappointed she was that her parents didn’t get together. He got the rough draft of the letter to Dean when she got into a car crash with Jess. She didn’t know how she was going to tell him, but by the end of the letter decided she’d write another one to Dean. Tristan thought Dean would kill Jess for the accident.

Rory claimed her mother and grandparents would support her no matter what she did with her future. But he had a feeling she was under the same pressure as him to go to a top university and become . . .  something. Something impressive and important. Since Lorelai Gilmore did not go to college, it was up to Rory Gilmore to step up and fulfill those expectations―without getting pregnant.

Tristan got his envelopes last month too, big and small. Luckily, there were more big than small. It was with great relief that he opened a big envelope from Princeton. Military school had worked and Tristan had lived up to family expectations. 

All of Rory’s sharing meant Tristan had to give too. He had to tell her his deep dark secrets, successes and failures. It was strange, but he could write it to her better than he could tell any of the friends he’d had at private school. She was happy to hear he had joined the rowing team when he heard they were short a man. He correctly thought he could endear himself to the other guys if he made himself useful. Once he believed that teamwork was important here, his newfound friends became like brothers. He felt oddly triumphant when one of his classmates said he forgot Tristan transferred in last year. It was like he’d been there the whole time.

It didn’t suck here as much as he thought it would while riding that plane when he was first exiled to North Carolina. The structure helped him stay on track. The friendships weren’t fake.

Tristan still missed girls though. 

By the end of the week, he got another letter from Rory. He wasn’t expecting it, as he hadn’t replied to her previous one yet. It was an outpouring of frustration with her relationship with Jess. He was always mad and he didn’t talk to her, she hated how she felt and the kind of girl she had become. There was a huge fight between Jess and Dean at a house party. Jess left. He was gone. 

Tristan breathed in and out. He knew she was upset, but he was relieved. It made him queasy to think that Rory was staying in Connecticut for college, so close to Jess. Not that it mattered. Tristan would still be two states away.

She only just told Lorelai all of this. She was embarrassed for being like this. At the end of the letter she lamented that she wouldn’t get to go to prom. She was planning to go with Lane, who miraculously got permission to go with Dave. Now Dave, he sounded perfect.

Tristan felt antsy. Rory wanted to go to prom and didn’t have anyone to take her. There was nothing he could do about Stars Hollow’s prom, but maybe . . .

Tristan stood up abruptly. He needed to make a phone call.

XXXXX           

“Mom sure knew a lot of interesting facts about the Wadsworth mansion tonight, didn’t she?” Lorelai commented on the drive home Friday night.

“She could give tours,” Rory said dryly from the passenger side of the Jeep. “Even if I was going to prom, I wasn’t going to Chilton’s. Didn’t she know that?”

“Do you really think that would matter?”

“It’s like she was rubbing salt into the wound.”

“You could still go,” Lorelai said sympathetically, glancing over at her daughter. “You don’t have to have a date.”

“If it was Stars Hollow, I could go and hang out with Lane and Dave. But I don’t really have friends at Chilton,” Rory argued.

“What about Paris?”

“We’re tentatively not enemies at the moment, I’m not sure I’m her best friend again.” She added, “And she was never my best friend.”

“Poor Paris.”

“I’d rather hang out at home with you. We can watch movies and eat tons of food.”

“Alright, we’ll wallow.”

“It won’t be wallowing,” Rory protested. “I don’t need to wallow.”

Lorelai dropped her head back. “Not this again. Come on, one boyfriend left, and the old one is getting married. That deserves a good long wallow.”

After parking the Jeep in the driveway, Lorelai went to get the mail before going inside. She divied up the envelopes and magazines into two stacks and handed Rory hers.

Rory flipped through and opened the envelope with familiar handwriting. If anyone had told her a year ago that she would be sharing the details of her life with Tristan Dugray—of all people—she would have thought they’d fallen and hit their head. Hard. But it was rotten that no one kept in touch with him. At first she did feel bad for him. But then senior year started, and he was going through the same thing as her.

Tristan understood the pressures of having a top choice school and wondering about the appropriate number of back up schools to apply to, and pleasing family. She helped him narrow down essay topics, insofar as strongly recommending that he not write about Hillary Clinton. He ended up writing an interesting essay about his grandfather and asked her to critique it, since she was the writer. She suggested he give a copy of the essay to Janlen as a present after he got in everywhere.

It was nice to have someone to talk about this stuff with—senior year stuff. Jess and Lane, and even Lorelai didn’t know what it was like. Paris did, of course. But Paris was a rival, even when they were friendish. Rory could mention SAT scores to Tristan. He wouldn’t get bent out of shape and make it a competition. She could tell him she applied to Yale. He wouldn’t have a meltdown. 

When Rory pulled out the paper and unfolded it, two strips of narrow cardstock fluttered out and onto the table.

“What’s that?” Lorelai asked, picking up what fell. “Prom tickets?”

Rory read Tristan’s short message aloud, “I’ll be in town this weekend. Let’s go to prom.” She looked at Lorelai dumbstruck and took the tickets from her. “Chilton prom tickets? This came from North Carolina. How did he get these?”

“I don’t know,” Lorelai said with a shake of her head. “But you get to go to prom after all. What are you going to wear?”

“I don’t know,” Rory said, still processing this turn of events. She did mention she couldn’t go to Stars Hollow’s prom in that last letter. That wasn’t very long ago, though. How did Tristan pull this off so fast? She looked back at her mother. “How will I find a dress? You don’t have time to make me one—you’re good, but you don’t have a magic wand. And the dress shops, they’ll probably be out of anything close to my size.”

“Do you want to go?” Lorelai asked.

“It won’t matter if there aren’t any dresses. It’s this weekend.”

“But do you want to go?” Lorelai pressed.

Rory looked down at the tickets. She had been focusing on her bottomless end-of-year list so she wouldn’t have to think about how unhappy she’d been. She put prom behind her. It was just one of those high school experiences she wouldn’t have. But now there were two tickets in her hand and someone willing to take her. She looked back to Lorelai. “Yes,” she said in a small voice.

Lorelai smiled slowly. “Then you’re going to go.”     

XXXXX

Tristan came to a smooth stop at a red light in his mother’s car. She had been his accomplice, calling Chilton to buy prom tickets in Rory’s name and overnighting them to Tristan.

In the passenger seat next to him, Rory sat in her dress. She and Lorelai found a deep red dress with off the shoulder cap sleeves and an A-line skirt. She explained how it was the wrong size, but Lorelai spent all day cutting and sewing it to fit Rory’s form.

Tristan exchanged pleasantries when he picked her up, and Lorelai took their picture. Now they were on the thirty minute drive to the Wadsworth mansion in Hartford, and the conversation was not flowing. Tristan wasn’t sure what to talk about. Last time they saw each other, Rory complimented him for his soft skills, but he was at a loss. She seemed awkward too. He could count on one hand how many conversations they’d had in person when he was at Chilton. When exchanging letters, every response was delayed and thought out.

As they watched the cross traffic at the intersection, he sighed and leaned toward her. “I don’t know how to talk to you in person.”

“Oh god, me neither,” Rory said, visibly relieved.

“We could just pass notes across the table all night,” he suggested.

“We’ll write on the napkins,” she agreed with a grin.

Tristan drove up to the Wadsworth mansion and parked, but made no move to get out. Instead he looked up at the building, his eyes darting to see who was walking up.

“What’s wrong?” Rory asked.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I just haven’t seen these people in a long time. And I’m suddenly not sure I want to see them.”

Her shoulders dropped slightly. “Oh. You don’t want to go in?”

Realizing he came a long way to take Rory to her prom, he couldn’t back out now. “No, no, yes we’re going in. In a minute. What do you think they’ll expect of me?”

“Expect of you? They aren’t expecting you at all. They’ll be too blindsided to know what to think. Take a deep breath.”

Tristan did as he was told, taking a long inhale. Then he held it.

“Let it out,” she said urgently.

He exhaled with a whoosh. “Okay. Let’s go in.”

By the time they reached the entrance,Tristan’s classmates already knew he was there. People stopped to whisper and stare at them as they walked through the foyer.

“Oh boy, they’re all looking at us,” she said.

Tristan tilted his head toward her. “They’re not looking at me. They’re looking at you. You look really pretty.”

Rory shot him a smile as they walked into the ballroom. A camera flashed in their faces, catching them by surprise. They blinked until the spots faded from their vision. The ballroom was elegant and formal, with cloth covered tables bordering a large area for dancing at the front of the room.

Tristan saw at least three ex-girlfriends shoot daggers at Rory. She didn’t appear to notice though.

Rory grabbed Tristan’s arm. “Hey, you should meet Jamie. He’s a Princeton man, so you’ll know someone when you get there.” She lifted on her toes and craned her neck. “They aren’t staying long. They’re taking a helicopter to Martha’s Vineyard.” When she spotted them, she pulled Tristan along.

People who only now noticed Tristan gawked and stared. It was like they didn’t know if he was real or an aberration. Now he knew what it was like to be an animal at the zoo.

“Paris, hi,” Rory called as she approached Paris and her boyfriend. Paris looked great, in a long sheath navy dress and her blond hair in an intricate updo. “Look who I found,” Rory said, pointing her thumb back at Tristan.

Paris looked like she saw a ghost. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“He brought me to prom,” Rory said. She quickly caught Paris up. They exchanged a few letters since he’d been gone. Jess couldn’t get tickets, and wasn’t available.

Paris was scowling. “So he let you go to prom with Tristan?”

Rory fidgeted a little. “I don’t need him to let me do anything. And anyway, he left. He’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

Rory lifted her shoulders. She clearly didn’t want to talk about this and was regretting seeking Paris out. “He didn’t tell me. Or anyone. He just left.”

Tristan watched her carefully, vigilant for any sign of tears.

Paris looked from Rory to Tristan, a deep frown etched on her face. “So you’ve been pen pals this whole time?” she asked, incredulous. It was unclear how long she would hate Tristan because of her old unrequited crush. He wondered why she liked him so much. Her standards were impossible.

“She felt sorry for me,” he said quickly. “My popularity doesn’t extend beyond Chilton. I’m just a regular guy out in the real world.”

“I drop a line here and there,” Rory said. “It’s not a big deal. I know what it’s like to not have friends at a new school.”

Tristan steered the conversation back on track, “Rory thought I should meet Jamie, since he goes to Princeton.” He added, “I’m going to Princeton.”

“Yeah, remember, Paris? Your boyfriend,” Rory stressed the word, reminding Pairs she’d moved on and was very happy with her intelligent older boyfriend.

That older boy joined them, giving Rory a friendly smile. “Rory, it’s great to see you.”

“Jamie, hi. I wanted to introduce you to Tristan. He used to go to school with us. He’s going to Princeton this fall.”

Jamie stuck out a hand and turned his smile to Tristan. “It’s always good to meet another Princeton man.”

Tristan accepted his hand and told Jamie where he would be living on campus.

Paris watched them curiously and took Jamie’s arm tightly, standing up to her full height. “Jamie couldn’t stop thinking about me after last summer in DC,” she said defiantly, as though to prove to Tristan that she was desirable, if not to him. “He’s madly in love with me.”

Jamie grinned down at her.

Tristan smiled too, “That’s great, Paris. Will you be joining us at Princeton this fall?”

She gave him a withering look. “I’m not following a guy to college. I’m still undecided.”

They were interrupted by a familiar raspy voice behind them, “Oh my god, it’s true. You’re back.”

Tristan turned to see Louise in a low cut strapless red dress. Madeline was next to her in a somewhat more innocent blue dress. “Tristan, hi,” Madeline said brightly.

“Ladies,” he greeted.

“We heard you were the knight in shining armor tonight.”

“How did you hear that already?” Rory asked. She’d only told Paris two minutes ago.

“Word travels fast,” Madeline said. “How’s military school? I bet it’s awful.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Tristan said. “Totally sucks.” That was probably what they wanted to hear, right?

Rory glanced at him, a small grin on her lips. She knew it wasn’t so bad, and that it was maybe even good for him. He didn’t feel like getting into the details though. Not at the prom.

“Looks like Duncan heard you’re here,” Louise said, gesturing toward a cluster of kids.

When Tristan saw his old friend, his heart sank. “Oh.” His shoulders visibly fell too.

Rory, seeing his panic, grabbed his arm. “Hey, come on. I want to dance.”

He followed her to the middle of the dance floor, weaving around the other couples. She stopped and turned to him and put her hands on his shoulders. He put his hands firmly on her hips and pulled her slightly closer to dance to the Justin Timberlake song playing over the speakers. “Thank you. I didn’t realize this would be so stressful.”

“Neither did I,” Rory said. “I forgot everyone else hasn’t heard from you since you left. I didn’t think much, I was just excited to go to prom.”

He smiled softly. “Good, I’m glad. I can get through one night with these people.” They swayed back and forth to the song. “I am surprised Duncan didn’t get kicked out by now.”

“Oh, well Bowman did, but Duncan’s dad donated a bunch of money to the school to renovate the lacrosse field,” she said.

“Ah.” They swayed back and forth, Tristan focused on spinning them around rather than the people who were still glancing at him. “Jamie has all those Princeton girls, but he dates Paris.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Yes. Paris is smart and driven, any guy would be—”

“Right, right,” Tristan said, cutting her off. “I’ve heard about her good qualities, but I only like her as a friend, okay? I just meant that there are a lot of girls in the same city as him.”

“You don’t believe in long distance relationships?”

He lifted his shoulders. “When you’re 19, at a college full of new people? Not so much.”

“Well, Paris is special. Jamie didn’t want a Princeton girl.”

Tristan shrugged an ‘okay’ and dropped it.

After a minute, Rory asked, “So, what was going on this weekend?”

 “Hmm?”

“You said you’d be home this weekend, what’s happening?”

He remembered what she was talking about. His brief letter. “Oh, uh, a thing―family―a family thing.”

“Uh-huh. What kind of family thing?”

“Just, a thing, with family.”

He wrapped one arm around her and took her hand. He could see over her shoulder, so she probably couldn’t see his face.

“Did you just come to take me to prom?” Rory asked.

“Uh. Well . . . maybe.” At her stunned silence, he quickly added, “You seemed pretty upset about everything. And you worked really hard this year. This is one last hurrah before college. I thought you should go.”

Slowly, she said, “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.” She dropped his hand and gave him a hug. Tristan stiffened in surprise at first, then wrapped his arms around her. A slow song came on, so they stayed close.

“I’ve been thinking,” Tristan said, resuming their dance. “You need to find a Dave.”

“A Dave?” Rory asked, backing away from him enough to look him in the eye. “What do you mean?”

“You know, Lane’s Dave. If a guy won’t run a mile just to see you for two seconds or read the bible all night, you should just pass.”

The corner of Rory’s mouth turned up. “Dave is pretty cool.”

“Now, I can’t imagine staying up all night to read the bible. Unless JK Rowling wrote it. Then I definitely would.”

They swayed back and forth, and he adeptly turned them around. Rory rolled her eyes. “Oh no, don’t start on Harry Potter. I swear, when you finished Goblet of Fire it was like reading a fourth grade book report.”

The rowing team all went to the local cinema and everyone wanted to see the second movie. Tristan watched, without any idea what was going on. He finally succumbed and read the four books that were out. He was surprised how much he actually liked them.

He smiled broadly. “Hey, come on. I was just sharing some of my theories.”

“Yes, over four pages, front and back,” she said. “There was an entire page on why you’d be in Slytherin.”

He nodded, remembering. “I’d be Malfloy, for sure. You’re obviously Hermione.”

She laughed lightly. “I’m glad you found a way to make friends, but there are more grown-up books out there.”

“You’re just a book snob,” he said dismissively. “The Order of the Phoenix is coming out soon, and one of my buddies and I are going to wait in line at the bookstore to buy it at midnight.”

“And here I was excited about going to Europe this summer.”

“Hey, you should go to the train station in London,” he said. “Platform nine and three-quarters.”

Rory glanced around. “Should you be talking about this here? Don’t you have a reputation to protect?”

“Nah, I’m not going to see these people again.” Eagerly, he said, “You don’t have to run into the wall, but get a picture there. For me.”

She smiled. “We have a pretty full agenda, but I’ll see what I can do.”

XXXXX

Tristan pulled up to the Gilmore house at the end of the night. Lorelai was pretty cool about how late they could stay out. Although she did eye Rory and tell her to stay away from Miss Patty’s. Tristan didn’t know what that was about, but Rory rolled her eyes and said they would steer clear.

They didn’t come straight home after they left. The dinner at the mansion was good, but had small portions, so they were hungry by the time they left. He suggested Luke’s, since she ate there every day, but Luke was awkward around her lately. Tristan reminded her Jess was the one who left, and she didn’t have to feel guilty about going to her prom―even with someone else.

He told her to take a deep breath and let it out. Then he took her to a casual restaurant in Hartford that was open late. He knew the area, while even after attending school there for three years, she didn’t. They each ordered a burger and a milkshake and gratefully ate a second dinner.

Tristan walked Rory up to the front door, lit by the porch light. She held her hand to her mouth to cover a yawn as she stopped to face him at the front door. “Thank you for taking me to my prom. It was good not to think about . . . everything. I actually had a good time.”

He smiled back. “Good.”

“I didn’t mean that I wouldn’t. I just don’t hang out with Chilton people.”

“Yeah. I know.” Tristan looked down, then back at her. “I feel kind of different. Like I wouldn’t be able to fit in if I was back here. I wonder if it’ll be like this when I start college.”

“I’m sure you’ll fit in.” 

But would they stay in touch, if he wasn’t friendless? He wasn’t sure. It made him a little sad. “Hey, I got my school email.”

She brightened. “Tristan at Princeton dot e-d-u?”

“There are a few numbers in there. I’ll write it down when I get back to school.”

“I want to be the first one to send something to your Princeton email,” she said smiling.

Dodged that bullet.

Tristan let out a long tired exhale. He had to drive back to Hartford. It was probably time to say goodnight. Rory really did look pretty tonight. In fact, she looked prettier than when he went to school with her, and she was more sure of herself. It was a good thing he was at a school that eliminated distractions, or he’d be a goner here.

In a quiet voice, he asked, “So, have you cried?”

She looked at him strangely. “Cried?”

“Over your recent break up. Jess is gone. Dean is engaged.”

Exasperated, she said, “Oh my god, you sound like my mom. Just because I’m―”

Tristan cut her off by firmly pressing his lips against hers. She stiffened at first, but then softened into the kiss. He put his hand on her lower back to pull her closer to him and she put her hand on his shoulder..

She looked dazed when he pulled away, and she pressed her fingers to her lips.

It wasn’t a makeout session, but more than their tearful kiss at the piano. “I just didn’t want you to run away crying when I did that.”

“Oh.”

He straightened and let her go. “Goodnight, Rory.”

He was already headed back to the car when he heard her meekly say, “Goodnight.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

“Well, that was quite a weekend,” Tristan said. He walked beside Gretchen, a tall girl with honey blond hair, back inside the dorm. Rather than taking his hand and walking beside him like she normally did, she was a step ahead and not slowing down. It was late in the football season, and Yale played Princeton this weekend. Jamie had persuaded Paris to come for a visit, and Rory came along.

Tristan spent Saturday morning showing her around campus. She was genuinely interested in everything, as she’d never taken a tour of Princeton even though she had applied. She wanted to see where all of his classes were and his favorite library―as if he had one. He humored her and showed her the biggest one. Gretchen had tagged along all weekend. She and Rory got along well enough, as far as he could tell.

The weekend came to a resounding halt when Paris dumped Jamie. Tristan wasn’t that surprised. “She’s been sneaking around with a Yale professor,” he told Gretchen. “An old one.”

“Hmm,” she said, non-committal. “I’m pretty tired, I’m going to hang out in my dorm.”

Tristan touched her elbow to stop her. “Hey, you were quiet today. Are you okay?’

She pulled away from him to cross her arms. “You know? No. I’m not great.”

Concerned, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Rory’s just a friend, huh?” she asked. Before he could answer, she said, “You didn’t look at her like a friend.”

“What does that mean?”

“You looked at her like you’re in love with her.” Gretchen said it accusingly, like there was no room to argue. He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off, “And she was obviously disappointed to see me.”

“That’s not true. She was perfectly nice to you.”

“You’d have to be blind to not see that she was practically swooning until you introduced me as your girlfriend,” Gretchen protested. “And I felt like a third wheel all day.”

“Gretchen, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was leaving you out.”

“That’s because you only had eyes for Rory,” she said. “How did she know so much about what’s going on with you? She knew things I didn’t know.”

“We email back and forth. A bit.” He added, “We used to write letters—when I was at military school.”    

“Cute.”

“I’ve just known her longer.”

She averted her gaze, annoyed. Then she looked back at him. “So you tell her all about your life, but it was news that you had a girlfriend?” This time she wasn’t as mad. She was hurt. When he reached for her, she stepped away. “You know what, Tristan? I don’t think you should have a girlfriend right now.”

“Gretchen, come on,” he protested.

“No, you come on. If you want a place holder, find someone else. I don’t want to play second string to some girl in Connecticut.”

Tristan watched Gretchen walk away. He was good at watching girls walk away. But the reason this time—this was new.

XXXXX

Hey! Sorry we left so abruptly. I had a good time, Princeton is such a pretty campus! Thanks for showing me around. It was nice meeting Gretchen, she seems great. Rory.

Tristan scanned Rory’s quick email after his first class Monday morning. He took a sip of coffee and typed up a response. I’m glad you had fun, and that you got to come for the weekend. Gretchen is cool, but unfortunately, she decided she doesn’t want to be my girlfriend anymore.

He didn’t go into details. He wrapped it up and pressed send. He took another sip of coffee and stared out the window. It was a cold sunny day, the orange and yellow leaves had almost all fallen from the trees. Students hurried to their classes, either because they were late or wanted to get in from the cold.

Tristan had been happy to finally have a girlfriend after two years. He got to flirt and make out, etcetera, etcetera. Gretchen was smart and pretty. He met her while sitting outside his adviser’s office. He was there to change his major, and Gretchen was waiting to discuss her classes for next semester. They struck up a conversation and he convinced her to meet up later. It only took ten minutes. He still had it.

This was alarming. He dated lots of girls at Chilton, even though he tried to fight Rory’s boyfriend at a dance, even though he got caught staring at her in class. She didn’t go to school here. How could she cause him problems now, from over a hundred miles away?

He wasn’t hung up on her. She might be in the back of his mind, but she wasn’t at the forefront. He had other things going on.

Paris wouldn’t be coming to visit anymore, so it was safe to say Rory wouldn’t either. It would probably be in his best interest to not mention her around other girls in the future. So she wouldn’t be a problem. He wouldn’t let her.

XXXXX

Rory was really leaning into their new electronic means of communication. She also had a lot to vent about now that she was in college. It seemed she was having trouble adjusting. Her suitemates were loud and didn’t get along. Plus one was Paris. Rory couldn’t find the perfect place to study. Her editor thought her articles were boring, and she had to drop a class.

Adversity was coming at her from every direction. At least she got to see a naked guy. It may have been the first one she’d ever seen. Tristan couldn’t really say.

He wasn’t sure it made her more relatable as a person, or if he should be concerned that she was muddling through her first year of college. He knew it was hard for her to be away from her mom for the first time. Still, he hoped she’d adapt sooner or later.

He didn’t mean to brag, but his first year at college was going really well—other than changing his major before spring semester, and he wasn’t sure this one was going to stick either. It was no big deal though. The rowing team was having a good season so far, and the other guys were cool. Most of the people in the dorm kept their doors open, encouraging socialization, which was a welcome change from military school.

Maybe it was because he was used to being away from home, but Tristan was having an easier time adapting. 

XXXXX

Rory walked into her dorm room and started to unpack her book bag onto her desk. Paris was at her desk typing a paper for her anatomy class, so focused that she didn’t look up when Rory came in. It wasn’t until Rory had sat down and opened one of her books to get started on her reading that Paris spoke up.

“I guess you heard about Tristan’s grandfather.”

Rory looked over at her roommate. “What about him?”

“He died. Didn’t Tristan tell you?”

“No.” Rory opened her laptop and clicked on her email, disappointed that she was hearing about this from Paris. The last message from Tristan was earlier that week. She had already read it, but she clicked on it to scan one more time. “He didn’t mention it Monday.”

“It just happened yesterday,” Paris said. “My nanny heard about it from his nanny.”

“That’s terrible, he’s really close to his grandpa.” Paris didn’t say much more about it. She didn’t know any of the funeral arrangements. Rory sat dumbly for a while. She felt like she should do something, but had no idea what. She went back to her reading, anxiously listening for an email notification that never dinged. Of course she didn’t expect Tristan to be sitting around typing her a message. He was probably at home, in Hartford. Her eyes made it to the bottom of the page, but she hadn’t processed anything she’d read.

When her afternoon class let out, she went to her car and headed to the Dugray house. She knew he didn’t keep in touch with anyone else around here. She was his closest friend from high school. However, once she pulled into the driveway and looked up at the house, she wasn’t sure what she was doing here. Was he even here? Like her, Tristan received a new car for graduation last spring. But there weren’t any cars parked in the driveway.

She was already here, she couldn’t back out now. Besides, he came all the way from North Carolina as soon as he heard she wouldn’t get to go to prom. A friend in need was a friend indeed.

She took a deep breath and walked to the front door. When Mr. Dugray answered, looking stoic, she asked if Tristan was there. With a silent nod and a wave of his hand, he led Rory to the den, where Tristan was slouched on the couch, watching cartoons. He had on a flannel shirt and a blanket covered his legs.

Rory thanked Mr. Dugray and took a seat next to Tristan on the couch. He didn’t move, but his eyes followed her. “Hey, how are you?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said, monotone. “My grandpa died. He was sick.”

“I heard,” she said. “Paris’s nanny heard it from your nanny.”

He nodded his head once.

“I’m so sorry. I know you were close to him. I wanted to see how you’re doing.” She settled back into the couch. “What are we watching?”

“Rescue Rangers.”

“I used to watch this sometimes with Lane when her mom went to bible study. I don’t think I can remember any of the characters' names though,” she said. But then, “Well, I remember Gadget. She was the smart one. And there was the rat. . . Monty.” She thought some more. “Weren’t there a couple of little guys too? Squirrels or chipmunks?”

Tristan turned to her with a deep frown.

Rory saw the chipmunk in a brown leather jacket and fedora. The other wore a red shirt. “Oh, Chip and Dale! Now I remember.”

Dryly, Tristan said, “It’s Chip ‘n Dale Rescue Rangers.”

“That’s right.” She grinned. “Now it’s coming back to me.”

“Don’t forget the fly, Zip.” He shifted closer so he could offer half of the blanket to her. She accepted, the blanket was warm from his legs. They were close enough under the blanket that she could feel his body heat.

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes as they watched the team of rodents solve a crime masterminded by Fat Cat.

They watched three more episodes before Duck Tales came on. “I used to watch this stuff every day after school, when I was young,” Tristan said. Without lifting his head off the couch, he turned it to face Rory. “Surely you had too many books to read to watch TV.”

She turned in, their faces close. “I still watched TV. Mom and I have movie nights all the time. Trust me, I like to sit in front of the TV just like everyone else.”

“Hmmh,” he said, facing the television again. “I’m sure you have a lot to do. Do you need to get back to school?”

“I can stay longer, if you want company,” she offered. “And if you need anything, I can help. When Gran died I wrote the obituary. Grandpa didn’t think the paper did her justice, so I researched and rewrote it. Really, whatever you need.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He asked, “Do you want to cuddle?”

She gave him an amused look and laughed softly.

XXXXX

The next day, Rory was in the newsroom during a lull when there weren’t many staff writers around. Her eyes darted left and right to make sure the coast was clear, then she accessed the database. Tristan called her earlier, asking for her help. His dad asked him to speak at the funeral, and he needed help figuring out what to say. She surreptitiously printed everything she found and shoved it in her bag.

Back at the Dugray house, they dug into all the information. “He was in the Navy during World War II,” she read.

“Yeah, that’s when he met Grandma,” he said. “She was working with the USO.” He took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “I don’t know where to start. All this is great, but I don’t want to sound like I’m reading his biography.”

Rory rested the side of her face in her hand, her elbow on the dining room table, where they’d laid out all the research. “Well, you should talk about him as you knew him. Do you have personal anecdotes? Like from your childhood?” She pulled over a pen and a notebook opened to a blank page, ready to jot down whatever ideas that came to his mind.

“I think I should go over to his house. It’ll help if I’m surrounded by his stuff.” He asked, “Will you come along?"

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later he led her through the backdoor of his grandparents’ house. He introduced her to his grandmother, who was sitting in the living room listening to soft music as she looked through old photos. Like when Gran died, there were floral arrangements everywhere. But unlike the Gilmore house, Mrs. Dugray had thoughtfully placed them throughout the house.

Rory followed Tristan into Janlen’s study and sat across from him at the large mahogany desk. The room was similar to Richard’s. The walls were lined with full book shelves, it smelled of cigars, and there was a large world map on the wall behind the desk. On the desk there was an old wedding photo of Tristan’s grandparents, and another of the whole Dugray family. Rory studied all of his aunts, uncles, and cousins. They looked so preppy.

Tristan opened the top drawer of the desk and rifled through the contents. He closed the drawer and went through the others. He started talking about holidays here, and Rory picked up her pen. He talked about how he and his cousins played baseball out in the backyard, with Janlen as the pitcher. In the summers, he would take his grandsons on his sailboat, teaching them the finer points of sailing.

After a couple hours, Rory showed him a long list of stories he’d come up with. She flipped to a new page in her notebook. “Okay, so pick out your favorite stories to talk about, and we’ll arrange them so they flow.”

Tristan said, “How about I mention a bit of the biographical stuff first, like how everyone else knew him, and then my own stories—who he was to me.”

Rory nodded. “That’s good, I like that.” They bent their heads to write up an outline, Tristan rehearsing lines as they went.

“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “I think this is ready.” He looked at her from the other side of the desk. “Thank you for your help.

She smiled softly. “You’re welcome.”

He hesitated, then asked, “What if I choke up? You know, when I’m talking in front of all those people.”

“Just take a second to collect yourself and try to keep going,” Rory said gently. “It’s okay to show feelings. It’s a funeral.”

Tristan shook his head. “Emotions are embarrassing.”

She reached for his hand to give it a squeeze. “Don’t repress your emotions, it’s unhealthy.”

“I guess,” he said doubtfully. “You should probably get back to school, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Come on, I’ll drive you back to your car. I’ll just tell Grandma we’re leaving.”

XXXXX

Rory turned the page of her book and brushed her hair behind her ear. It was the end of the weekend, and in a rare instance of quiet in her suite, she was reading for pleasure. She hardly got to do that anymore, what with all her assigned reading for classes. Janice was at her boyfriend’s apartment and Paris was with Asher. Only Tanna remained, and she was with Chester.

Rory was surprised by a knock at the door. She found Tristan on the other side, in khakis and another flannel shirt. He pointed behind him with his thumb. “Tanna let me in. She and Chester were just leaving.”

“And then there was one.” Everyone had someone to be with, it seemed. Everyone but her. “How was the funeral?” she asked. Then, “Well, other than sad. Of course it was sad. Stupid question.”

He nodded his understanding. “I made it. There were a ton of people there, the visitation took hours. Your grandparents came through.” He lifted his other hand, which held a small bunch of white lilies.

She frowned. “What’s this?”

“Flowers. We had so many—loose flowers, potted flowers, windchimes. Mom said we should give the loose flowers away,” he explained. “And I’m on my way back to school, so I thought I’d bring you some. To thank you, for all your help.”

She held the flowers and bent her head to smell one. “It was nothing.” She glanced around, not knowing what to do with them.

“You don’t have anything to put those in, do you?” She sat them on her desk. She’d have to get a vase from Lorelai.

“No, really. I’d have been a rambling mess if you hadn’t helped,” he said. He stepped closer to wrap her in a hug. She snaked her arms around his broad shoulders to reciprocate. His hand moved up her back and stopped halfway. His thumb rubbed up and down and she could feel him realize she wasn’t wearing a bra. His breath hitched. “Are you in  . . . pajamas?”

“Mm-hmm. Is it too early?” she asked, pulling back, but not enough to escape his embrace. She had on a long sleeved Yale t-shirt and short shorts.

“It’s six,” he said, bemused. He gently pushed her hair behind her ear. “Your hair grew back out. Thank goodness.”

She put her hand over his and looked up at him. “You don’t like it short?”

“Mmm,” he said, nose scrunched. “It looks prettier when it’s long. Like it was at prom.”

Prom. They kissed after prom, Rory thought. That was the last time anyone kissed her. And it wasn’t a polite peck. She remembered he tasted minty, like he had been planning to kiss her and prepared beforehand.

Now, she licked her lips and looked at his. She lifted onto her toes to kiss him. He opened his mouth enough to let his tongue slide in. His hands slid down to her lower back so he could press her firmly to him. She inhaled at his touch when his hands felt the bare skin of her waist. She broke contact to breathe and look him in the eye. He moved closer to kiss her again.

She took a step so he’d move toward the bed, and he muttered her name as he kissed a line down her collar bone. He sat down on her bed, pulling her onto his lap, her legs open to straddle him. He cupped her breasts over the thin layer of her t-shirt. Her head dropped back, giving him access to her neck as his thumbs gently ran over the hardened tips of her breasts. She pressed her lips firmly to his again, only pausing to find the buttons of his shirt to undo them, kissing a hot trail down his chest.

“Rory?” His hands slid up her smooth exposed legs, stopping at the elastic band at her waist. “Should I . . .”

“Stay,” she said breathily. Her hands met his and she stood to let her shorts fall to the floor. “Stay here with me.”

He moved swiftly, taking off his own pants and pulling her shirt over her head. They fell into her bed together, and she spread her legs to allow him in between. He kissed her neck and returned to her lips. It hurt for a second, and then he was sliding in and out of her. She moved in rhythm with him until waves of pleasure washed over them.

She clung to him, as though afraid he’d leave if she let him go. She gave him reason to stay all night, kissing and stroking him, sliding him inside of her. She was his best friend, and she wanted to make him feel better.

He stayed all night, getting a few hours of sleep here and there. It was early morning when he quietly got up to collect his clothes. Rory sleepily watched him. “Leaving?” she asked softly.

He turned to her as he buttoned his shirt. “Mm-hmm. I have a class this morning.” He sat back down on the bed to put on his shoes, then he leaned over to kiss her goodbye. He got up to leave, but turned at the door. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said. He left and she snuggled back into her sheets. She had a few hours before she had to be at her first class.

XXXXX

Rory clicked away from the paper she was writing over to her email. Nothing new. It had been three days and she still hadn’t heard from Tristan. She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say. She didn’t even know what she should say. What was she expecting, really? They weren’t exactly in a relationship now, just because they’d slept together. She knew there were plenty of Princeton girls within arm’s reach. He’d made his opinion on long-distance relationships quite clear. They weren’t for him.

Then what was she waiting for? Maybe they couldn’t be friends any more. She would hate that. He was someone she could tell her troubles to. She and Lorelai couldn’t always connect, and Paris wasn’t her go-to when she needed a confidant.

She knew better than to expect Tristan to write her poetic prose, professing his undying love, and promising to transfer to Yale. That wasn’t going to happen. She certainly wasn’t going anyway. But she didn’t want him to brush it off and say it didn’t mean anything, either. He couldn’t do that. He said he loved her. And she said it back.

But there were different kinds of love. Like love for a friend. After all, Rory loved Lane dearly. Being in love was different. So what did Tristan mean? What did Rory want him to mean? Did she want him to make an exception for her? Did she want him to be her boyfriend? She’d never considered it before.

She did miss having a boyfriend. She hadn’t been single in a few years. She was alone in the dorm that night because all her suitemates had paired off. So, what then? He was sad and she was lonely, so they hooked up? That sounded pathetic. It was her first time, and it was with someone she cared about. It was special.

A tiny voice in her head said she didn’t have to wait around. She could be the first to make contact. Sitting around waiting had not worked out so well with Jess. 

Rory sat at her desk and lightly drummed her fingers next to her laptop. Instead of going to her email, she searched for sandwich shops in Princeton, New Jersey. She ordered soup to be delivered to the dorm and added a message, You should eat something, even if you aren’t hungry. Rory.

The gesture seemed to work, because there was an email waiting for her when she got back from her last class of the day. Thank you for the soup. You take good care of me.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. At least she broke the ice.

XXXXX

Tristan was lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Things had shifted with Rory. He definitely didn’t know how to proceed. He didn’t know what to say. It didn’t seem right to go on like nothing happened. He didn’t have friends who were girls. This never happened to him.

There was a girl in his macro economics class that he’d been flirting with this semester. She’d smile at him and laugh at his jokes. He was thinking about asking her out. But after class this afternoon she asked if he wanted to go get some coffee and he told her he had to study. He passed on a girl to study by himself. What he really did was stare at a blank email addressed to Rory for an hour, until he had to go to his next class. He couldn’t find the right words. It had been a week and he still couldn’t think of acceptable words. Thanks for the sex, buddy. He probably shouldn’t say that. But he had to say something.

He told her he loved her. What was that? He didn’t even say that to the girls he dated. He meant it though. He did love her. It just came out. 

He wasn’t one to suggest an interstate romance though. He saw how well that went for Jamie, the poor guy. And that was Paris. Guys literally fought over Rory Gilmore. Tristan would know, he was one of them. He hadn’t even been a contender.

He knew all this, and yet he had that restless feeling, like he needed to do something. He kept trying to ignore it, but he was having trouble sleeping. He didn’t even flip over to his stomach tonight. He’d just end up tossing and turning anyway.

New Haven was one hundred and thirty miles away. It was over a two hour drive. On top of the distance, they had lives. He had crew, she had the paper. They both had classes to go to and study for. They wouldn’t see each other much. In the meantime, she could meet someone else at Yale. Someone better. Tristan would end up fighting someone. He absolutely would. Probably in public.

But what if this was an opportunity? She was single and she didn’t kick him out of bed. Quite the opposite. So she was attracted to him and she didn’t hate him. She was notorious for not knowing when she liked someone more than a friend. This could be his moment. Maybe he wouldn’t get another chance.

He wouldn’t even be around Hartford all summer though. There was a very small window. She was retaking that class she dropped and he would only be in town for a while before the family went to their summer home, and then he’d head to school again.

Was it worth it when it could mess up what they had? She was a good friend. He didn’t want to lose her. It might be great. Or it could go badly. Then what? They wouldn’t go back to being friends.

Tristan exhaled heavily and rubbed his face before turning over to try to get some sleep.             

XXXXX

Rory checked herself in the mirror in her bedroom in Stars Hollow. She was wearing a skirt with fishnet stockings and a cute top. She had a date tonight. It was with a guy her grandma introduced her to, Graham, before they headed home for the summer. Emily had seen him in diapers—as a toddler. He presumably didn’t wear diapers now. Rory was not intimately privy to his boxer-brief-diaper situation.

Emily thought she should be dating a Yale man by now. Normally Rory would cringe at being set up by her grandmother, but she thought, what the hell? She didn’t have anything else going on. He didn’t seem like a serial killer, and he was nice so far. He went to Yale, so they had something in common.

It was just casual. Nothing serious. Rory’s freshman year had been a long hiatus from boys, which was good. She definitely needed a break from the drama, and the agonizing decision between two guys. When she looked back now, the conflict between Dean and Jess didn’t matter. A whole year went by and no one even considered dating her. There was that one date with Trevor, sure, but it was one date. Neither of them were interested in a repeat.

And then there was Tristan, of course. It wasn’t hard to figure out where they stood. He hadn’t been in touch as much the last few weeks of school. When he did touch base, it was a general update, nothing too personal. He was clearly at as much of a loss as she was.

Maybe they couldn’t be friends anymore. Billy Crystal was probably right, in When Harry Met Sally. They crossed the line and things couldn’t go back to the way they were.

So Emily introduced Rory to Graham, and Rory thought, why not? She couldn’t find guys on her own. And she was ready to get back out there.

It was ten minutes too early when she heard a knock at the front door. She gasped when she opened the front door. “Tristan.”

“Hey, I’m in town for two weeks. Are you doing anything?” He glanced down at her, registering her outfit. “You’re dressed up. You have plans,” he said, knowingly.

Rory smoothed her skirt. “Oh, yeah. I kind of have a date,” she said, her heart sinking.

“I’m sorry, I should have called—”

“Grandma set me up—”

“—I was at home and just hopped in the car—”

“—She knew him in diapers. It’s just a second date,” she said, trying to stress it was only some guy she didn’t know and not a big deal at all. “I wasn’t sure if you—.” She didn’t know the end of that sentence. “Well, I’ve been busy—finals, Mom’s inn—.”

“Right, me too. And we’re going to the Cape soon.”

“Maybe another time?” she asked, willing him to see she meant it.

“Sure,” he said quickly. “I should get out of your way.” He was already descending the stairs. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Rory watched him go before stepping back inside. She closed the door and leaned back against it. She had the horrible feeling in her stomach that something just slipped away.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Tristan walked through Richard and Emily Gilmore’s house, following the maid from the foyer to the sitting room. There were fresh flowers on the dining table, and soft classical music played throughout the first floor, creating a pleasing ambiance. The last time he was here was for a birthday party five years ago—to the dismay of the birthday girl. He may not be any more welcome today, as he was not invited. The maid stopped at the double patio doors and opened one for Tristan. He thanked her with a nod and walked out to the pool.

Rory was sitting under the large umbrella of the patio table, wearing a disappointing one-piece bathing suit. She had a book on the table, but it was closed and tossed aside. Instead of reading, she was staring at the water in the pool. At the sound of the door closing, she looked up. Tristan saw her surprise quickly shift to indignation at his surprise appearance. She definitely wore a confused scowl. But she kept her mouth firmly shut, watching silently as he pulled out a chair opposite her and sat down.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were staying here for the summer,” Tristan answered.

“Who told you that?”

“I heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend.”

“Just say Paris,” Rory said irritably. “Is that what she said? That I’m just here for the summer?”

Tristan looked out at the blue ripples of the water. “No. She says you aren’t going back to school this fall.”

“So she sent you to talk me out of it?” Rory asked defiantly. “I’ve barely even heard from you since . . .”  She stopped there, and it wasn’t because she didn’t remember. They both knew the last time they saw each other. He still had dreams about that night.

He wasn’t sure what to talk about in their formerly regular correspondence. It didn’t seem right to go back to the way things were. Like they were just friends. He didn’t talk to old girlfriends. He didn’t know how to talk to a best friend he’d slept with. It was uncharted territory. She tried a couple times to get back into the habit at the beginning of sophomore year, but he didn’t get back to her. He told himself he’d respond when he got the chance, and that she knew he was busy. He assumed she was busy too. 

But he didn’t make the time, and she gave up. No one wanted to be in a one-sided friendship. He did miss her. She was his friend before he made new friends.

“Since your grandpa died,” she finished. “And you think you can come here and—and what? Slap some senseinto me?”

“No. That sounds violent.” He lifted his shoulders. “I just came to see how you’re doing. I’m not here to talk you into anything. Or to judge. I am just here to support a friend.”

Rory scoffed at the claim.

“I’m sorry,” he said genuinely. “I got busy. School. Eating club. Crew.”

“Girlfriends,” she said resentfully.

He tilted his head to the side, conceding. “Girlfriends. You seemed pretty busy too, last time I heard from you. Following a secret society—for some reason.”

“It was for an article.” She bitterly added, “Not that I’ll be writing any more articles.”

That was ominous. Now they were getting to it.

“So, uh, what happened?” Tristan asked. Even Paris didn’t have the details, indicating Rory wasn’t talking about it.

“Nothing,” she said quickly.

Tristan squinted in the sunlight and let his eyes rest on Rory for a moment. She was hot and put out, glaring at the pool. She looked vulnerable too, like she was reliving whatever happened. She swallowed hard.

He looked out at the water too, not saying anything. He wished he’d brought his sunglasses. The midday sun was bearing down on him.

A couple minutes of silence passed by, neither saying a word.

“It was awful,” Rory finally said. “It’s so humiliating. I don’t want anyone to know.” 

He looked over at her, still not saying anything. He just waited. He pretended to be fascinated by Emily’s begonias that were planted around a tree off the side of the pool.

“The things he said to me.”

“Who?” Tristan asked, turning his gaze back on Rory. 

“The publisher of the newspaper where I did an internship this spring. He was only there for a couple of weeks and he thought he knew me,” she said. “I thought I was doing a good job, but he said I don’t have it.”

“Don’t have what?”

“It, I don’t have it. I told him about my goals and he said I’d make a better assistant than a journalist,” Rory said. “I don’t have what it takes to be a foreign correspondent. He said I don’t have the drive to actually do it.”

Tristan saw Rory’s throat bob, swallowing hard, pushing down a lump, no doubt. Very delicately, he asked, “Doyou, though?”

Rory’s eyes narrowed viciously. “You agree?”

“It’s just—your temperament, and since you got to college, you haven’t been, exactly . . . what I’d call—”

“Spit it out.”

He looked her in the eye. “Resilient.” He continued, “You needed your mom to stay with you the first night of college. You and Paris gave up on raising money for Burmese prisoners after sitting in the rain for five minutes,” he said. “You want to write about politics and war? Then why did Paris have to drag you to the International Relations Association?” he asked rhetorically. “You trapsed around New Haven looking for the perfect study spot. You run home to your mom at every minor setback.”

“I do not!” she protested. Her cheeks turned pink, angry that he knew all that, and probably regretting that she was the one who told him. “Not anymore. We aren’t even speaking now. She can’t accept that I need time. She kicked me out, practically. ”

“Okay.” He thought of another. “Hey, can you refresh my memory, how did you get Dean’s attention when he was new at school?” he asked. “It was a cute story, I just can’t remember.”

Rory looked away, thinking of the story. Grudgingly, “He was amazed that I didn’t look up from my book when someone got hit in the face by a ball.” She was silent for a beat. Then, “It was a huge scene, and I was oblivious.” 

Tristan sat back and raised a brow, waiting for some kind of rebuttal.

She lifted her shoulders. “So? What? You agree. How long have you thought I couldn’t do it? I thought you were my friend.”

“I am. Can’t friends be honest?”

“You’re honestly a jerk.”

“Rory, you immediately gave up because one guy said you don’t have ‘it’, and you don’t want anyone to convince you otherwise. Is he the villain because he’s right or because he’s wrong?” Tristan asked. “What do you want from me?”  

Rory twisted her hands in her lap and glared in his general direction. She looked away, her eyes screwed up in the sunlight. “I don’t want anything. I didn’t ask you to come here.”

At her silence, Tristan went on, gently, “Look, a lot of people think they know what they want to be and then change their minds.” She tilted her head to the side and rolled her eyes, not wanting the trite lecture. He went on, “It’s normal. You seem to like staying inside and reading. And that’s fine.”

“You don’t understand,” Rory protested. “I've been saying I want to be a foreign correspondent forever. My entire life has been working towards journalism.”

He nodded. “I understand. When I was little, I wanted to be a pilot because I thought I’d get to see my—.”

Rory noticed he abruptly stopped mid sentence. “See your what?”

He ducked his head. “My dad.” Bashfully, he added, “My dad traveled a lot for work. I thought the pilot saw him more than I did. So if I was a pilot . . .”

The corner of Rory’s mouth twitched. “That’s cute,” she said, softening.

“After that I wanted to be a scientist, then I got a dog and thought for sure I’d be a veterinarian.”

“That’s different, that’s when you were really young.”

“You've wanted to be a war correspondent since you were a little kid?” he countered. It just had seemed so unlikely.

“I’ve wanted to see the world. And write about it.”

“Yeah, but the worst part of it? War is awful, Rory. It’s awful.” He said, “You’re funny, and you can turn a phrase. You make boring topics interesting and moving. Even you won’t be able to make death and destruction inspiring.”

“I want to write about things that are important.”

He considered her a moment. “Yeah, war is important—for ratings and defense contractors,” he said cynically. “There’s a war ready and waiting. Which semester were you planning to take Arabic?”

She raised her shoulders. “I wasn’t.” She bristled. “Everyone has always told me I could do it. My mom, my grandparents, my teachers, my town,” she listed. “I don’t want to let them down.”

Tristan rested his elbows on the hot table. He rested his mouth behind his fingers that were laced together. He fixed his gaze on the brunette across from him. She wasn’t the girl he knew five years ago. She was a young woman, suffering an existential crisis. “It isn’t fair to you. It isn’t your responsibility to carry two generations of baggage on your shoulders.”

She looked over, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Your mom.” He tilted his head toward the big house where her grandparents resided. “You don’t have to make up for her disappointments.”

“Mom is doing fine, thank you. She finally owns an inn, and it’s doing great. Grandma and Grandpa have nothing to be disappointed about.”

“Still. You know what I mean.”

“I’m supposed to be the great white hope,” Rory said. “But I’m messing everything up.” 

“No you aren’t. Your life is yours, not theirs. Young people change their minds every day.” Tristan leaned toward her like he was going to share a secret. “I’ve changed my major three times.”

Rory’s brows furrowed. “You changed it again?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What did you change it to this time, general studies?” she asked, exasperated. “Tristan, you only have two more years, how are you going to fulfill your degree requirements if you keep changing your major?”

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?” He waved a hand dismissively. “I figure one of two things will happen when I graduate. Either I’ll keep living on campus like I’m a Noah Baumbach character, or I’ll go to my dad and let him decide what I should do. Honestly, it would be a lot easier if I was being forced into the family firm or something.”

Rory stared at him for a moment, stunned.    

Tristan just grinned and shook his head. “See? I’m not doing any better than you.” He sat back in his chair. “High finance seems like a good way to make a bunch of money. But then you get into it and it's just so dull.” He added, “Don’t take it personally, but I expect everyone to change their mind. We’re young, it’s what we do.”

Rory turned her gaze back out to the pool again. Tristan’s feet were burning in the sun, so he pulled them in closer to his chair under the shade. He really wished her swimsuit was a bikini—not that the one piece wasn’t working for him at all.

After a moment of thought, Rory said, “I can’t be at college without a purpose.”

“It’s Yale, not a vocational school. You aren’t there to learn a trade,” he said. “Unless you major in business, or law. Then they will gladly send letters every week begging for money. Do you have any idea how much mail my parents get from Princeton and Wellesley?”

“No."

He side-eyed her. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. It’s a lot.”

They were quiet again. He could almost hear the wheels in her head turning. Finally, she said, “After careful consideration of everything you’ve said, I’m still not going back.”

He grinned at her. “That’s fine. Take a year. Take two. Yale isn’t going anywhere. In fact, I should probably take some time off.” But after contemplating it, he said, “Nah, I’d never go back.”

She turned back to him. “Really?”

He nodded. “Hey, do you want to run off and join the circus with me?” he asked curiously, like he’d really do it if she just said the word. “I’ll learn the trapeze and you can grow a beard.”

A surprised giggle burst from Rory. She shook her head.

“Remember when Paris was moping around in bed for two weeks when she didn’t get into Harvard?” he asked. “You told her to go out and do something crazy. It’s your turn. Go out and do something fun and crazy.”

“I already did, that night, after I got my negative review.”

“Oh, yeah, what’d you do?”

“I had some brownies—edibles.” She said in a hushed voice, lest her grandmother hear, “They were laced with pot.”

He grinned easily again. “Oh boy, first time?”

“Yes,” she said, offended that he even had to ask. “I was as high as a kite. I got really paranoid. And hungry.”

“That happens.” They sat in companionable silence. “It’s hot,” he said, sitting up to pull his shirt over his head. Rory’s eyes widened in surprise. “I really want to get in the water. I should have worn my trunks.” He looked at her. “So what’s the plan?”

“The plan is there is no plan. I thought that was clear.”

He smiled again and gestured with his arms. “This is it? Sit poolside every day?”

Rory sighed. “Grandma mentioned something about going to Europe, just the two of us. She thinks I need to do Europe right.”

“Good, travel. Maybe you’ll find something to write about while you’re there.”

She made a scoffing sound. “Doubtful.”

“You have a lot to say,” he said confidently. “You just have to sit down with a blank page and you come up with soaring prose.” He sheepishly looked over at her and added, meaningfully, “Words fail me sometimes. Usually when it’s important.”

“I don’t always know the right thing to say, either.” It was a moment before she talked again, “We fell out of touch with each other.”

He slowly nodded. “We—I. I’ve missed you.” 

“Do you think we can get back on track?”

He locked eyes with her. He didn’t like not keeping in touch. It didn’t seem right. “I hope so. No one else knows me as well as you.”

“I’ve been busy too,” she said, the edge gone from her voice. “Classes. Studying. The paper.” At the sound of the patio door opening and closing, she looked over. “Colin? I didn’t know you were coming over.”

Colin had close cropped brown hair and was wearing a short sleeve button down shirt with shorts. He eyed them suspiciously as he approached. Rory stood up to give him a quick kiss. He glanced from Tristan—still shirtless—to Rory. “Your grandmother said you were in the pool. She didn’t say you had company.”

“The maid let me in. Emily didn’t see me,” Tristan said. He stood up and stuck his hand out. “Tristan Dugray.”

“He’s a friend from Chilton,” Rory explained.

Colin looked back at Tristan. “Always nice to meet a friend of Rory’s, though she’s never mentioned you. Colin McCrea, her boyfriend.”

Tristan knew it was a slight, to indicate his insignificance, but he wasn’t bothered. “My dad does business with a McCrea,” he said. “Andrew?”

“My father,” Colin confirmed. He glanced at Tristan’s bare chest. “Did I interrupt an afternoon swim?” His voice was tight, his annoyance thinly veiled.

Tristan shook his head as he reached for his t-shirt. “Nope. Just hot. I was actually on my way out.”

“Oh, okay,” Rory said. He couldn’t discern if she was happy or disappointed for him to leave, but he wasn’t about to hang out with her boyfriend. “I’ll walk you.” She told Colin, “I’ll be right back.”

Tristan led the way back inside the house. They stopped when they reached the front door. He could see the goosebumps on Rory’s arms and chest, her bare skin cold from the sudden burst of air conditioning.

At his smirk and twinkle in his eye, she asked, “What?”

“Did you find another jerk?”

She glared at him. “Colin isn’t a jerk. Most of the time. To most people.” When he raised a brow, she said, “You’re a jerk.”

Tristan chuckled softly, his smile growing. “Yeah, but you like jerks.”         

She opened the door. “Get out.”

He took a step and turned back to look her in the eye. “Keep in touch.”

XXXXX

Rory got back to the hotel before Emily woke up from her nap. She had been out on her own, checking out some of the cultural attractions in Italy. Her grandmother had scheduled tours everywhere they went, but Rory liked to go out on her own to explore. She was interested in some things her grandmother wouldn't like, such as the catacombs. Rory’s way was faster and funkier.

Since she had some time to spare, she pulled out her laptop for the first time since she’d been in Europe. She didn’t think she was going to need it. But after two years at college, it was a part of her, like an extra limb. Her eyes widened when her inbox populated all the emails she’d gotten in the past month. They were mostly from Tristan. She scrolled down to the bottom to click on the oldest message. It was a long, detailed message full of anecdotes he wanted to tell her about from sophomore year. A quirky professor, a tyrannical resident advisor, a change of major.

She clicked on the next message. It was his to-do list. The next one was short biographies of all the guys on the rowing team. By the tenth message, Rory understood he was making up for lost time. Perhaps even overcompensating, but she kept reading. It wasn’t until she got to a quick, to-the-point message that she wrote something to Tristan.

Paris gave me Terrance’s number. Remember him? Her life coach. Paris thinks I need a life coach.

The next day, she saw his response. Paris put a lot of pressure on herself since she was five to get into Harvard and was rejected. She needed help figuring out what to do with her life. I guess that is a lot different from you.

Rory rolled her eyes. I’m not calling Terrance, she wrote back.

The next day she told him about what she and Emily saw in Italy—the Medici Villa, the Vatican, the ruins, plus what she saw on her own.

I haven’t been to the catacombs, he commented. Are they worth seeing?

Yes, absolutely, she answered. Then she described what made them fascinating, and why everyone who hadn’t seen them needed to put them on their list when traveling to Italy.

This is good, it’s like I’m there. I will definitely go to the catacombs on your recommendation. But unfortunately I’m not paying for it, he responded. 

Why would you? I wasn’t expecting you to. She thought that was odd. Who would pay for her essay about the catacombs?

She wrote about other things she saw. She wasn’t sure if Tristan really hadn’t seen it all, or if he was playing dumb. But he would say, tell me more about that, and what’s so great about that, so she humored him. It was easy to do, it was like writing features. She was good at writing features. She wrote an ode to a triple espresso from an Italian sidewalk cafe at the corner of Bark and Cheese, where she had flashbacks of a tiny dog in a basket who barked the entire time. She advised visitors to be careful to pronounce cream correctly, lest the waiter bring them limburger cheese with their coffee instead.

Sometimes she wrote longer messages about where she was staying. Other times she quickly dropped a line while riding a train to their next country. She attached pictures of what she saw. She slipped back into her old habit of writing to him like she was journaling. Her pieces got longer. Sometimes she profiled citizens of the cities she visited.

When they were in Greece, Rory anxiously started pitching pieces to a few travel magazines. If Tristan wasn’t going to pay her, maybe someone else would. The worst that could happen was some editor she didn’t know might tell her, thanks, but no thanks. Well, that wasn’t true. The worst that could happen would be a faceless editor telling her to never write anything ever again because it was the worst thing he’d ever read.

Wanderlust Magazine, in Britain, took her bait. After her fourth letter and article, someone called her. They wanted her to do a roundup piece, her top five must-see attractions in Greece. She felt a rush of adrenaline. Someone was going to pay her to write.

While having lunch at an outdoor cafe on Corfu, Rory nervously pushed the food around her plate. Emily was talking about what they would squeeze in tomorrow before heading to the airport the following day. She enjoyed their time in Europe together, but was ready to sleep in her own bed.

“Grandma,” Rory started, putting her fork down next to her plate. “I was thinking that I’d like to stay.”

Emily frowned over her tea cup. “Stay? Our hotel reservations are only for the next two nights.”

“No, I mean, I’d like to stay in Europe a little longer,” Rory said. “I met some expats at a coffee shop when I was out and about the other day, and a few of them work in exchange for housing, and on the weekend they go out exploring.”

“I can’t possibly leave you here by yourself,” Emily protested. “If you want a job, I was talking with some of the ladies from the DAR, and we need an office secretary. You’d be perfect for the job. You would have to join the DAR, of course.”

Rory grimaced. “Mom would roll over in her grave.”

“Your mother is alive.”

“Joining the DAR would kill her.” Rory pressed on, “I want to travel a bit more, on my own.”

“If there’s more you wanted to see, you should have said something.”

“No, no, I’ve had a lovely time with you. It was perfect. But I think,” she said, pausing to decide on her words. “I think I’m very sheltered. I haven’t had to figure things out for myself. I let Mom do it. I want to see if I can make it.” She added, “We can transfer my ticket to another day. I promise I’ll come home then.”

Emily finally relented, insisting Rory take one of her credit cards, in case of emergency. Rory looked down at the card, tempted to take it. She pushed it back across the table. “No.”

“No?”

“I need to do it on my own. I have some money. If there’s an emergency, I’ll call and you can wire me some money.”

Emily very reluctantly slid the card back in her wallet.  

Rory heard about an apple orchard in Slovakia that was looking for a few workers, so she took a train to talk to the owners. She worked around five hours a day and went out exploring the rest of the time. It was the most time she’d spent outdoors in her whole life. She visited small towns and hiked to castles. She was just a train ride away from Budapest and Prague. A couple more travel publications accepted her pitches.

Rory was beginning to believe travel was, in itself, important. She met new people and immersed herself in the local culture. It forced her out of her comfort zone and gave her a new perspective. She had to work through any problems on her own—without Lorelai there to talk their way out of a pinch, without Emily’s connections and money to fall back on. In some ways, she learned more than she’d learned in the lecture halls at Yale. She needed the break. A break from studying, deadlines, and writing papers. It was all to please her teachers. Now, she was pleasing herself. When she did write, it was what she was interested in, not what an editor or professor wanted. Gone were the schedules and managing her time down to the minute, and always looking to the next test. 

At the beginning of October, she returned to Connecticut, as promised. Emily asked if she wanted to refurbish the pool house before she moved in. Rory said it wouldn’t be necessary. It was fine the way it was and she wouldn’t be staying long. She sent a short message to Tristan, and cc’d it to Paris.

I’m enrolling for spring classes. But less political science, more writing and foreign language. And history. And photography. Who knows, maybe I’ll even learn the metric system. If I take an extra class every semester and three next summer I should be able to graduate on time.

XXXXX

“Thank you, professor,” Rory said, ending her call and setting her phone down. She crossed off an item on her to-do list. She was almost ready to go home to see Lorelai. It had been four months. She would be just in time for them to go to Atlantic City for her twenty-first birthday like they planned.

Her laptop softly dinged with a notification behind her. A minute later, Colin asked, “Rory, what the hell is this?” He was sitting at the kitchen island, using her laptop to make reservations for a trip he was taking with his friends.

She looked over from where she was sitting on the couch. “What?”

“All these emails. Are they from that guy? There must be fifty just from this summer.”

She crossed the room to see her email account open. He had clicked on the folder labeled Tristan. “That’s private.” 

“Are you pen pals with that guy or something?”

“We’re friends.” Once she started emailing again, she just kept thinking of more things to tell him. Seeing him in person cured the funk they’d been in. He also helped fill the void left by Lorelai. Of course, no one could replace her mother, but she could bounce ideas off Tristan and he’d give his two cents, as someone who knew her well.

“Do you tell him every passing thought you have?” he asked. “How many times did I call you in Europe and you said you were too tired to talk?” He pointed to one of the messages. “It looks like you weren’t too tired to type to your best friend at eleven o’clock at night.”

Colin liked to stay on the phone after they’d exhausted conversation and lapsed into silence. He’d keep her on speaker phone, while she had to keep her cellphone pressed to her ear. She had things to do, and she couldn’t do it one handed. He always forgot she was still on the line anyway. It wasn’t how she liked to spend her evening.

“Calm down, Colin. It doesn’t mean anything. I was just showing him what I was writing in Europe,” she said. “I sent some to you, too, remember? You just said, ‘Yeah, that was cool when I was there’. You didn’t seem interested in the stuff you’ve already seen.”

She knew Tristan had probably seen it too. His attitude wasn’t been there, done that. He kept stressing that hewasn’t going to pay for her writing. 

“Why is it I never heard about this friend until he showed up at your grandparents’ house?” Colin asked.

She lifted her shoulders. “It never came up. And we lost touch last year. School got busy.”

Colin’s brows made a V. “So you’re just friends? Nothing has ever happened between you and him?”

She opened her mouth and shut it.

Surprised by her reaction, his face untwisted. “Oh? Do tell. Did you two date?” he asked, crossing his arms. “Were you high school sweethearts? Rock around the clock, two straws in the milkshake?”

She scoffed. “No. We never dated. I wouldn’t date him in high school.”

That didn’t calm Colin any. “Why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?” This was getting tiresome.

“Why the qualifier? In high school, you wouldn’t date him. But you would now, if you had the chance?”

“I didn’t say it like that,” Rory said, getting exasperated. “You asked if we dated, and we didn’t.”

Colin still wasn’t placated. “To be clear, you’re saying nothing ever happened between you and Tristan?”

Rory crossed her arms to have something to do with her hands, and to cover herself. Colin’s eyes widened, incredulous. “Something did happen. I think I deserve the truth.”

Images of her night with Tristan flashed across her mind. It took her all summer last year to stop thinking about it. Or at least, think about it less. “We spent the night together. But it was over a year ago, when his grandpa died. And it was just one night.” This time she did choose her words carefully. One night, yes. One time, no. 

He scoffed and turned. When he turned back, he asked. “Are you kidding me? There’s no one else you can be friends with other than a guy you’ve slept with?”

“I do have other friends,” Rory argued. “Paris and Marty. Maybe you forgot since we never hang out with them. You’ve never even met my best friend, Lane.”

“This is the first time I have ever heard you call Paris a friend. You always talk about her like she’s a hanger-on.”

Rory stammered something unintelligible, guilty. She was sure he was wrong, but couldn’t come up with an argument.

“You know what? Be friends with whoever you want. I need a break,” Colin said, the fight gone from his voice.

“A break from what?”

“A break from this. From us.” He gestured between them with his arms. “I was patient while you were out ‘finding yourself’, but I can’t look past this. I don’t even know who you are right now.”

Rory made a sound in her throat and rolled her eyes. Colin was being dramatic. But she didn’t stop him as he walked out the door.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Rory placed a neatly folded stack of shirts in a cardboard box and secured it with a long strip of packing tape. She labeled the box ‘clothes’ with a black sharpie on the top and a side, and then grabbed the next empty box. Remembering something, she set down the box and went to her to-do list to add two more items. She had a week to get everything together, and her mind kept thinking of more things she needed to do, needed to pack, people she needed to touch base with.

It was almost winter break, and Rory wasn’t coming back to Yale next semester, again. She’d be back to graduate, of course, but this fall was her last semester on campus. The day after Christmas, Rory was jetting off to Ireland to study abroad for the final term of her college career. Everything she needed to do, pack, and discuss with professors had to be done within the next 48 hours, because this was it.

Once she had the clothes in her dresser packed, she took another empty box and her list to the living room. She knelt down next to the television, concentrating on the movies on the shelf. She pulled off her movies. Most of the movies on the shelf were hers. Paris only owned three DVDs, and when Rory made the mistake of asking how that could be possible, she got an earful about how Paris had been serious about getting into Havard when she was younger and didn’t have time for frivolous things like movies. If it couldn’t be listed on a college application, Paris didn’t have time for it.

Rory was lucky Paris and Doyle let her live with them when she came back to school a year ago. It was the two bedroom duplex just off campus Paris had told her about. It was in a perfect location. When she got word Rory would be returning to school in the spring, she promptly kicked out their roommate, who was an oboe player who didn’t take advantage of Yale’s multimillion dollar music facility for her early morning practice sessions.

Paris could not, however, help Rory at the Yale Daily News. She’d handed out all of the beats to the reporters who bothered to show up on the first day of the fall semester. She couldn’t make an exception for Rory just because they were friends. Rory said she understood and would go to one of the school’s many other newspapers. Not allowing that, Paris said she would find something. Rory ended up filling in wherever more reporting was needed. When there was a spike in crime, she tag teamed with Glenn. When there was a heavy schedule at the performing arts center, she reviewed concerts and plays. Paris didn’t fully trust an underclassman to do her old beat justice, so Rory often wrote about religion. It kept her on her toes and out of her comfort zone. 

Doyle came out of their bedroom, followed by Paris. She eyed the list Rory had sitting on the small dining table. From the other side of the table, Rory’s laptop dinged. Paris glanced at the notification. “You’ve got mail. Tristan.”

“Oh, okay,” Rory said. “I’ll look at it later.”

Paris watched Rory move around the apartment. It wasn’t until Rory had her box of movies full that she noticed she was being observed. “What?”

“You’re never going to have a successful relationship as long as you’re friends with him,” Paris stated matter-of-factly.

Rory frowned at this unexpected declaration. “What?”

Paris tilted her head toward the laptop. “As long as you and Tristan are friends, you’ll never have a successful relationship. I don’t think he will either.”

“What are you talking about? Things with Paul are fine,” she said. Paul was a grad student. Rory met him at the library on campus. It seemed like a natural place to find someone perfect for her. He didn’t mind when Rory went on weekend mini excursions. She was writing freelance articles about New England destinations for a couple travel magazines. There was a lot in her own proverbial backyard that she hadn’t seen. Besides a handful of school field trips, most of her life had been confined to Stars Hollow.

Paul usually had papers to grade and his thesis to work on during the weekend, so Rory’s road trips were solo. Paul was nice and perfectly lovely company. He was . . . fine. Paul was fine. 

“And he’s been dating someone—a girl named Danielle.” He never actually mentioned her, except in passing once. He and Rory didn’t talk about significant others anymore. It was an unspoken agreement after they got back into the routine of writing to each other. They were friends again, they talked about everything else, but there was no need to talk about their love lives. Instead, they talked around it.

And there were other ways of looking into these things, so Rory knew Danielle was a Phi Beta Kappa student and vice president of the senior class at Princeton. Rory also knew that Danielle was gorgeous and leggy and had the shiniest long black hair. He had significantly leveled up from the girls he’d dated at Chilton. 

“I’m not in love with Tristan,” Rory said.

“No one said you were,” Paris said. “But it’s telling that you put it out there. Tristan broke up with that girl this week. You didn’t see?”

“I don’t stalk Tristan on the internet,” Rory said, taking a break from her packing to look in the refrigerator for a snack. “And we don't get into the sordid details of our relationships. So, no, I didn’t know.”

“I don’t know who dumped who, but they split,” Paris said.

“Well that’s too bad.” Rory asked, “But what does that have to do with me?”

Paris rolled her eyes. “Are you honestly telling me Paul is fine with you being in constant contact with Tristan, with the way he looks?”

“We aren’t in ‘constant contact’, and Paul doesn’t know about Tristan,” Rory said. When she did mention him, she only called him her ‘friend at Princeton’.

“What if Paul told you he was uncomfortable with your friendship with another guy and wanted you to stop being friends?”

Rory’s face screwed up at the absurdity of the hypothetical question. “I’ve been friends with Tristan for years.” He was also easily one of her closest friends. “I’m not going to cut loose a long-time friend for a guy I haven't known that long and won’t be with for long.”

“You’re already planning to dump Paul?”

“I’m leaving for Ireland soon. I’m not interested in a long-distance relationship.” They had always seemed temporary. She thought it would be good to try a different kind of guy. Someone safe and studious. And it was . . . fine. It was just fine. 

Rory made a mental note to add ‘break up with Paul’ to her to-do list. She’d add it later, when Paris wouldn’t be there to watch and scrutinize.

“So you admit Tristan is more important to you than the guys you date?” Paris asked.

Rory let the thought roll over in her mind. “I’m not saying anything. You’re putting words in my mouth. Being friends hasn’t affected my relationships.” Except Colin, of course, but she kept that to herself. No one needed to know about that.

“Paul isn't really your type,” Doyle said, taking a seat on the couch and turning CNN on quietly.

“What do you think my type is, exactly?” Rory asked. She quickly added, “And don’t say jerks.”

“Your type is more . . . edgy,” Paris said with a shrug.

“You don’t think Colin was a bit edgy?” Rory asked wryly. She met him while covering his secret society sophomore year. He had tracked her down and asked her out, without using the letter ‘e’. “He was always planning some stunt or prank.”

“He was a privileged white male,” Doyle said disapprovingly.

“You’re a privileged white male,” Rory countered. “And so is Tristan.”

After taking a break, during which Colin slept with several girls, he decided he wanted Rory back. And he decided to proclaim this in the middle of one of her classes. He burst in—mid lecture—to declare he was in love with her and he could get over what happened with her and Tristan. It was completely embarrassing. He made it sound like she slept with Tristan. Which she did, but not while she was with Colin.

If only it had been a stupid prank. 

“We—were on—a break,” Doyle said with a chuckle, shaking his head. “He insisted with no self-awareness.” After consideration, he added, “To be fair, Paul is better than the Australian media mogul. I couldn’t stand him.”

Ah yes, the media mogul. Rory dated him after returning to school in the spring. His father owned a cable news network. Unfortunately, they had heard how her internship went. “Dinner with his family was an unmitigated disaster.”

“That’s a little dramatic,” Doyle said.

“They accused me of dating him just to get a job in journalism,” Rory said, verging on a rant.

“Weren’t you?” Paris asked.

“No!” As though she’d be interested in someone because his dad impressed her. But he sided with his family and broke it off. They just didn’t trust her.

“Why else would you date that idiot?” Paris shook her head. “That was the only way it made sense.”

“I decided against political reporting. I didn’t want to work for their news channel, anyway. I dated him in spite of it, not because of it. “Who takes a girl they just started dating to meet the family, anyway?” she asked. “And who breaks up with the girl because their parents don't approve? If anything, I should have been more appealing.”

That left Graham. Rory dated him casually, and only for a summer. Perhaps she shouldn’t have agreed when Emily introduced them. If Rory was being honest, she’d dated Graham because she felt helpless after sleeping with Tristan, knowing nothing was going to happen on that front. At the end of the summer, Graham wasn’t interested in pursuing the relationship any further, which he explained, rather insultingly. He said she was irritable and aloof all summer, like she wasn’t really present. He didn’t see how her mood would improve once school was in full swing.

They had very little in common anyway, besides going to Yale. He liked sports, for Pete’s sake.

Okay, so when she sat down and really thought about it, she was two for four on Tristan affecting her relationships. “I guess I didn’t feel close enough to any of those guys to share everything.” She added, “I didn’t want them to ruin a good thing.”

Paris could have taken the opportunity to pounce, to point out that Rory did feel comfortable enough to share most of herself with Tristan. She didn’t, though. She just said, “Maybe you’ll find someone you can open up with, about everything.”

XXXXX

“Okay, is there anything else you want me to change?” Tristan asked, holding his phone in one hand and taking notes with his other.

“I think that’s it. I’ll let you know if I think of anything,” Tristan’s friend, Sean, said. “It looks great though. You did a better job than I thought you would.”

“Uh, thank you?”

The line was quiet for a moment, then Sean said, “So, another one bites the dust, I see.”

Tristan opened his laptop and was already focusing on the lines of code on the screen. He looked away, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Another one what?”

“Girlfriend. You broke up with another one.”

“Oh. Yeah. We just weren’t right for each other. You know how it goes.”

“Sure,” Sean said. “Girls who seem perfect never quite are,” he added dryly.

“She wasn’t perfect.”

“Hey, did you ever date that one girl?”

“What girl?” Tristan asked, choosing to play dumb. Sean sat next to him in the cafeteria at military school. He knew Tristan only got letters from one person.

“You know the one. The girl that wrote to you in high school. What was her name?”

Tristan put the cursor where he needed to re-write the code before answering, “Rory.” He opened one of his notebooks to make sure he was changing the code correctly.

“That’s right. Did you ever date her?”

“Nope. We’re just friends.” Tristan continued, “And she left for Europe two weeks ago to study abroad in Ireland next semester. I don’t think she’s going to be sticking around here after graduation. She will be globetrekking.” Rory had a new energy about her after taking a semester off last year. She had renewed motivation now that she had refocused.

“Hmm. Well, I always wondered why you didn’t date her.”

Because they weren’t in the same place. Because Tristan didn’t trust the other guys she was surrounded by. Because they’d hardly get to see each other. Because they’d have to play phone tag. Because who knew what would happen after graduation? There were many good reasons. Tristan had recited the list to himself for years. It kept him in the present moment. It kept him from fantasizing about things that would never happen.

“What are your plans after graduation?” Sean asked, bringing Tristan back to the moment.

“Nothing solid yet,” Tristan said. “I’m keeping my options open.”

“You’ll think of something,” Sean said. “How much do I owe you?”

“Owe me for what?” Tristan asked, sitting back and looking away from his monitor.

“For all the work you did. You had to learn how to do that. I owe you for your time and expertise.”

“I’m not an expert. I’ve been flying by the seat of my pants,” he said. “I was just helping you out.”

“You perform a service, you get paid,” Sean pointed out. “Dude, I get to write this off as startup fees.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well, think about it and send me an invoice.”

They ended the call and Tristan went to work immediately making the changes Sean wanted to his website. He checked the front end again to make sure he didn’t forget anything—or break the whole site—and logged off. He closed his laptop and picked up a postcard. It was from Rory, from her first destination in Europe. It was just a quick couple of lines. He had a feeling it was more to brag about where she was. He tapped the card on his desk a few times before pinning it to the bulletin board in front of him. He looked at the card thoughtfully as he sat back in his swivel chair.

“What am I going to do about you?”

XXXXX

Rory stepped away from her family, finished posing for photos. She assured them she’d meet them for dinner in an hour before making her way over to the library, where Tristan was sitting on the concrete steps, waiting for her. He looked handsome in gray slacks and a blue shirt that brought out his eyes. He already graduated yesterday, and came to Yale to lurk around campus until her ceremony was finished. He didn’t get a seat since she’d only been allowed four tickets. He thought the reenactment ceremony at Stars Hollow sounded perfectly reasonable.

Rory smiled as she approached him and took a seat a step lower than him, arranging her black gown around her. She took off her flat hat, careful not to disturb her soft curls.

Tristan picked up a bottle of champagne he’d brought and uncorked it. He held it over for her.

Rory accepted it and took a big sip. “Well it was touch and go, but I made it.”

“Yup.” He smiled at her. “We’re done.”

She sighed. “No, just beginning.” She had a job lined up. She was going to write travel and culture for a Condé Nast magazine. In a week, she was leaving. She had a one-way ticket to Bali. She doubled the number of articles she sold when she went to Europe to study abroad. By the time a fourth magazine was interested in her writing, she was confident she could be a travel writer. She started mailing out resumes as soon as the spring semester started. Studying abroad, without any ties holding her back, had been the best decision for her. Traveling solo, she had to figure everything out by herself. And she did it. Her mother and grandparents were unwaveringly proud.

Tristan put his hand on the bottle to take it back, but Rory took another gulp before letting him have it. “Cheers.” He raised the bottle and took a drink. “How was the graduation party last night?”

“Oh.” She pulled the champagne back. “Fine. Grandpa and Grandma sang.” She took a long guzzle at the memory.

“Sang what?"

“An original piece. It was about me.”

Tristan laughed softly.

“I don’t think I have a day to myself over the next week. Mom has movie nights and shopping plans. Grandma and Grandpa want me for lunch and a last Friday night dinner. Dad wants to hang out with me before I go, too. Lane and I are planning girls’ night.”

“Sounds like you’re booked out.”

She nodded as she put her lips around the bottle. She stopped the flow and almost choked. “Oh, I should check my schedule to see if I can squeeze you in. I’m sorry, I’m not used to being in the same state as you.”

He waved a hand and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Hang out with your family. I have things to take care of.”

Her shoulders fell. “Oh, okay. So, what are you going to do now? Rent a place on campus?” she teased.

Tristan leaned back, resting his arms on the steps behind him. He shook his head. “No. But I don’t want to get a job either.”

“Well what are you going to do? Go to graduate school until your trust fund kicks in?”

“That won’t be for ten years, and it’s not enough.”

“Not enough for what?”

“To live on.”

“What are you going to do then?”

“Remember when my buddy was starting a business and needed a website?”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

He had told her about it. He took some classes at the nearby community college during junior year and learned to build a website. He let Rory see it. It looked really professional. She didn’t believe he was the one who built it.

“I went to some networking events, and talked to some business owners who don’t have an online presence yet—it’s actually a lot—and told them why they should be online.”

“And you talked some into it?”

“Yeah, I have really good soft skills. They know they need to be on the internet, they just don’t know how to do it,” he explained. “And they referred me to their business friends. I have paying clients coming in every week. I had so much work, I barely had time to study for my finals.” He gave her the champagne. “I don’t need to get a job.”

Rory didn’t lift it to her lips though, she let it rest in her lap. “But—that’s . . .You’re going into business for yourself?” she asked, incredulous. “You’re starting a business, just like that? Right out of college—without a business degree or doing some kind of internship first?”

“Mm-hmm.” He tilted his head toward her. “I did major in business for two semesters. I think I know what I’m doing.”

“But, hold on. You’ve had the intellectual powerhouse of Princeton at your fingertips, and you started a business with what you learned from a few classes at community college?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Don’t be such an elitist.”

“I’m not.” She paused. “I am. That’s crazy.”

“Princeton still looks good on my resume. If I had a resume.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I don’t have a resume.”

Rory stared at him. She proofread and tweaked her resume every other day. She printed it so many times she knew how to change the paper and ink on the library copy machine. Some days her fingers were covered in bandages from all the paper cuts she got from stuffing envelopes.

“You can work from home in your underwear?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. He took the bottle back to take a swig. “Mm-hmm. Just take a second to picture that. Or the beach.”

“Or a cafe in Paris.”

“Or Bali.” He handed the champagne to her. She took it limply.

She opened her mouth, but words failed her. He lifted the bottom of the bottle until it reached her lips. She took a sip. Then, “You can’t go to Bali. It’s in Indonesia.”

“That’s why I couldn’t find it. I didn’t turn the globe far enough around.” He made a circling motion with his finger. He continued, “I have money coming in and can go wherever I want. I really want to date this girl, so I have to go to Bali.”

Rory took a shaky breath.

“I’ve been stuck in these important, name brand institutions since I was six. My stuff is in boxes, it’s time to be rootless and go on a big adventure,” Tristan said. “I promise I’ll still work in my underwear.” While she sat stunned, he said, “Do you want to go to dinner in a couple weeks?” He added, “On a date, to be clear. It would be a date.”

She found her voice to say, “But we’re such good friends. Dating could ruin that. I don’t want to lose one of my best friends.”

He shook his head. “The friend zone is the one hundred and thirty miles between Princeton, New Jersey and New Haven, Connecticut. We have only been friends because of that zone, and the zone no longer exists,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m closing the zone.”

She frowned. “I was in the friend zone?”

“Yes.”

“Girls can’t be in the friend zone.”

“You’re a girl, and you were in it,” he said simply. “I tried to get you out of it sooner. Did I ever tell you I applied to Harvard?”

Dumbstruck, she said, “No. You did?”

“Mm-hmm. I did not get in. But I applied.”

Rory’s heart was thumping harder than normal. “But why?”

He grinned and pushed some hair that had blown in her face behind her ear. “Why wouldn’t I try to be close to you? You were single—you finally had those other two knuckleheads out of your system. It could have been my chance.”

“Did you apply to Yale?”

Tristan sat back again. “No. I didn’t think you would come here. Harvard was just a shot in the dark.”

She thought about it some more, her heart racing. “But moving to a different country is huge. And we’re terrible at relationships.”

“Are we?” he asked.

“I would say so. I’ve dated . . .” she trailed off as she counted every guy she dated in college. “Four guys at Yale.”

“Stop dating jerks.”

“They weren’t all jerks. Paul wasn’t a jerk.”

“Who’s Paul?”

“Paul, you know, the guy I was dating before I went to Ireland.”

“No, I don’t know. You never mentioned him.”

She gave him a look. “You can find these things, if you look.”

He frowned. “Not if you don’t change your relationship status. Which, I’ve heard, means it isn’t even ‘official’.”

Her face mirrored his. “I didn’t?” She shrugged. “Eh, it doesn’t matter anymore.” She got back on topic, “What about you? You’ve had more girlfriends. What was it, five?”

His eyes looked up as he thought. “Five or six. That doesn’t mean I’m bad at relationships.”

“Well it can’t be the girls. They were all perfect, but you managed to find reasons to break up with them.”

“Some broke up with me,” he said. “And they weren’t perfect.”

She argued, “Yes they were. Every Princeton girl you dated was smart and beautiful, like they belonged on the runway or on the front of a magazine.” He started shaking his head, but she went on, “Caitlyn? Caitlyn is a Rhodes Scholar. And Heather? She fostered shelter dogs and built houses in the summer with Jimmy Carter.” She thought of his other girlfriends. “Oh, and Alissa. She was a National Merit Scholar. You could not have found anyone better,” she said. “No other girl could ever have a chance. They’re completely intimidating.”

There was a pregnant pause. “How did you know all that?” he asked.

She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s all out there.”

He turned in so he was facing her. He tilted his head and gave her a knowing look, the corner of his mouth started to curl up. 

“And you are so picky that none of them were good enough.” Tears started to well up in her eyes. “It really makes a person wonder what those girls could possibly be missing.”   

He cut her off before she could say anymore, lifting her chin to press his lips firmly to hers. Her hands cradled his face as she kissed him back, the champagne bottle forgotten.

She was breathless when he finally broke the kiss and gazed into her eyes. “If it doesn’t work out I’ll just move to a different country and we can go back to emailing.” He tilted his head and leaned back in, but paused, making Rory close the gap, which she did quite willingly. All thoughts evaporated, the only one remaining was that they would get to do this a lot more.  

She reluctantly pulled away. “Okay, we can go to dinner. In Bali. We’ll just . . . see what happens.”

Chapter Text

Epilogue

Summer 2017

Rory exhaled on a forward fold and put her hands down on her mat to vinyasa through to downward-facing dog. She inhaled as she lifted her right leg and exhaled to a low lunge. She flowed through warrior poses and did another chaturanga back to downward-facing dog to do the same poses on the left side. She finished her flow and ended in final savasana, lying on her back for a full minute. She’d never been much into yoga, until they lived in India for six months a few years ago.

She rolled her mat and sat it in the corner before going into the next room. It was small, with a crib and a changing table. “You’re awake,” she said to the baby girl, Charlotte, picking her up. “Oh, and you smell. You smell bad,” she said playfully. She crossed the room to the changing table to put a fresh diaper on the baby.

In the kitchen, Rory balanced Charlotte on her hip as she put a kettle on the stove to heat water. She bopped up and down to keep the baby from fussing. “Just a minute, just a minute.” She got a cup out and put a  tea bag in it before heating a bottle of milk that was ready and waiting in the fridge. She made herself comfortable on the couch and gave the fussy baby her bottle.

She turned the television on and found the news on BBC America. It took Rory a moment to understand what she was seeing on the screen. She was so engrossed in the coverage she almost didn’t notice the kettle whistling from the kitchen. She looked from the baby bottle, not yet half empty, to the stove.

“Shoot,” she said to herself, getting up and going to the kitchen. She set the bottle on the counter, which made the baby fuss again. “Just a minute.” The fussing turned to full-on crying. “Okay, okay.” She returned the bottle to Charlotte’s mouth while the kettle continued to whistle urgently.

The door just off the kitchen opened and Tristan poked his head out. “Do you need a hand?”

Rory turned to him gratefully. “At least one.”

He waved her out of the kitchen and poured her cup of tea. She returned to her place on the couch and turned the volume up.

Tristan sat her steaming cup on the lamp table next to her, in front of their wedding picture. Well, a picture of one of their weddings. It was from their small ceremony in Maldives. It was a beautiful sunny day on the island five years ago. It was small and casual, the perfect day.

The Connecticut nuptials were a three day extravaganza. Rory made Emily and Lorelai plan that one. To no one’s surprise, it turned into two parties. The Stars Hollow ceremony and party was first, and the formal church wedding and reception in Hartford was the next day for her grandparents and Tristan’s family.

While waiting for their third and final wedding ceremony to start, Tristan informed Rory, “I’m going to tell everyone I meet from now on that I’ve been married three times. And I’ll let them assume you had the poor judgment to agree to be my third wife.” He added that he did not mind at all that they were getting a third wedding night.

Tristan took the baby from Rory so she could sip her tea, and he sat on the couch next to her. “What’s going on?” he asked with a concerned frown, taking in the images on the television. There were men marching through the streets chanting and carrying tiki-torches.

“Neo-Nazis?” Rory answered. “In Charlottesville.”

He looked down at the baby to soothingly say, “Not you, Charlotte.”

Their baby girl, Charlotte Jane, was born the year following the Gilmore patriarch’s death. There weren’t any feminine variations of Richard though.

“Should we name a girl after two men?” Tristan had asked before the baby was born. “What if we have a boy in the future?”

“Then we’ll name him Lorelai,” she answered simply.

“Ask a stupid question,” he’s said with a conceeding tilt of his head.

That was the downside of living abroad—going back home and her grandfather not being there anymore. 

Rory took Charlotte back from Tristan, then settled further into the couch under the comforting weight of his arm around her. They watched as they had so many other times while watching news coverage of other atrocities—journalists getting their heads lopped off by ISIS, school shootings—huddled on the couch, Rory’s fingers pressed to her mouth, not envying the reporters covering the stories. She cradled Charlotte to her chest and snuggled closer to Tristan, glad to be here with her family in the life they made.

They were in South Korea, living in a small apartment in Ho Chi Minh City. Rory quit her travel writing job to teach English as a second language to Korean kids. She thought it would be a good idea to slow down and stay in one place for a couple of years while she had a baby. It wasn’t what she had ever imagined her life would look like, but now she couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Winter 2020

Tristan distractedly wiped off the small dining table after lunch, having just sent Charlotte off to play. Rory was supposed to leave for Thailand in a couple of days, and Tristan would follow later with Charlotte after packing up the house and finishing out their lease for the month. It gave Rory a chance to figure out the new place on her own before they joined her. It also gave them a chance to miss each other.

She was writing about geoarbitrage for a travel magazine—stretching their American dollars by living in countries with lower costs of living.

Rory was moving from one room to the next, collecting books she’d left all over the house. She was making difficult choices, deciding which books she couldn’t live without. Tristan made a deal with her after the fourth or fifth country. She could take whatever books she wanted when she left ahead of him, but the rest were being shipped back to Lorelai. He’d replace anything she needed on hand with a Kindle version, but he was not moving a constantly growing library across the world. 

He took a seat on the couch and turned up the TV, which he had kept on all morning, the volume down low. He had a lot to do. He had a list of things to do to close out the house. After several moves, he had it down to an art. He also had website development work to do. But instead he was anxiously watching the news while Rory played Sophie’s Choice with her books and Charlotte dragged her toys to the middle of the living room.

Before a move, he would systematically hide Charlotte’s less-played-with toys, just to see which ones she missed. If she didn’t notice after a week, it was safe to give it away. He and Rory did the same with their own things—not the hiding, but discarding things they could part with. It helped to have fewer possessions when they moved.

His mind calculating as he watched the news for another hour, he grabbed Rory by the wrist when she walked by and pulled her to the couch with him. He took her hands in his and gently said, “You can’t go to Thailand.”

Her face fell. “Why?”

He pointed to the television. “We need to go home. Now.”

“Home? Home-home?” she asked, reading the scroll on the bottom of the screen. “The virus? Do you think it’s that bad?”

“I don’t think we should sit around to find out.”

Fall 2021

Rory plugged in a strand of colorful lights that sprawled across the floor around Charlotte’s bed and were draped over Rory’s neck. It was a long strand of small round ball lights, and Rory wasn’t sure if they were intended for indoors or outdoors. She quickly glanced from light to light, making sure all were lit before looking up to survey the room.

“Mommy, can we put the lights on my ceiling?” Charlotte asked, excited for the decorations in her room. The four-year old had picked out her own outfit today, a light purple shirt with a unicorn paired with leggings. Her brown hair fell just past her shoulders. She flopped back on her bed. “Then I can look up at them at night when I’m in bed.”

Rory continued to drape the strand over a short bookshelf and then doubled back for a second layer. “No, there’s no way to hold them up there.”

Charlotte thought about it for a moment, then sat and held up a finger like she had an epiphany. “I know, we can use tape.”

“No, that wouldn’t be strong enough. They’d fall on your face,” Rory said. Plus, it would tear the paint off and then they’d have to repaint or forfeit part of their security deposit. They were renting a small house in Hartford that Tristan’s parents helped find when they abruptly came back home. It had three bedrooms, which they thought would be plenty of space, at the time. 

At the sound of a baby crying from the next room, Charlotte said, “Uh-oh, he’s awake. Daddy has that meeting today, remember?”

Rory took the light strand off her neck, setting it on the dresser. “Oh, sure, you can remember when you aren’t the one interrupting.” She headed for the door, but Tristan met her with a baby boy in his arms, handing him over.

They had been in lockdown. One evening Rory bragged about how she had all her copywriting clients organized on Airtable. She was even using it to keep track of her book list.

In response, Tristan had handed her wine and showed her how he moved all his client and project management from Asana to Clickup. Everything was so organized. He had templates for client onboarding and standard operating procedures. His whole team was on the same page. 

It was an aggressive seduction.

“Daddy, can we put lights up on the ceiling?” Charlotte asked, still sitting on her bed.

While he glanced up, Rory pursed her lips and turned to the little girl. “I already told you we can’t.”

“But maybe Daddy can do it.”

Tristan shook his head. “No. Mommy’s right. It’s going to look really good the way she’s doing it.”

“Can I get a little Christmas tree?” Charlotte asked. She stood in between her bed and the wall and pointed to the corner. “I can put it right here, and presents can go under it.”

“What presents?” Rory asked. “The presents you’re giving us?”

“My presents from Santa,” Charlotte explained. “He can put them in here with me.”

“If Santa brings you presents, he can leave them in the living room with everyone else's,” Tristan said. He picked the strand of lights up from the dresser and continued to the window, double layering as Rory had.

“He will,” Charlotte said confidently. “I’ve been really really good.”

“Really really good, huh?” Rory asked.

“Mm-hmm.” Charlotte listed, “I help with Elliott, and I clean up my toys.”

“What about when I asked you to say your months of the year?” Rory asked. “You didn’t do that.”

“Yes I did,” Charlotte said. “January, February, Tuesday—”

“Tuesday? Tristan asked. “I don’t think that’s right. Why don’t you go pick up those little toys you left in the middle of the living room so your brother doesn’t choke on the small parts.”

“I get to play with them when he takes his nap,” she reminded him.

“I know. But he’s awake now and if he eats one you’ll have to wait until he poops it out.”

“Ew!” she exclaimed, her face twisted in disgust.

“Quick, before Santa sees.”

The little girl darted out of the room.

“Were you still on your call?” Rory asked.

“I was just wrapping things up.”

Tristan had scaled his business. He had five people under him who did the same thing as him, as well as a team of web designers they worked with. He had a small team of copywriters who took care of writing website content, and he had an online business manager to help run it all. He had enough help that he was able to take a month off when the baby was born.

Rory did some copywriting for him when he was still starting out. He asked her to vet a few candidates, but since it was really important, she thought she should do it.

“You want to Dick Cheney the job?” he had asked. “I guess you can do it, if you have time.”

It was a good thing she had dabbled with copywriting on the side, now that no one was traveling. It kept her busy and she could continue to contribute to the family finances. She was considering hiring a few writers under her.

Finished with the lights, they went to the living room. Charlotte was putting her box of toys up. Rory put Elliott on the floor. “Here he comes.” He smiled as he quickly crawled across the room to his sister.

“What’s the matter?” he asked her when she stood back up. She wore a deep frown as she watched Charlotte play in front of the couch. 

She pointed at their daughter. “I’m worried Charlotte won’t be ready for kindergarten.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never heard her say the alphabet.”

Tristan argued, “She knows the alphabet.” Hesitantly, he repeated, “I’m sure she knows the alphabet.”

“You heard her, she thinks Tuesday is the third month of the year.”

He chuckled.

“It’s not funny. She acts like she doesn’t know her middle name.” Rory threw up her hands in frustration. “I was reading Norman Mailer when I was two.”

“Mmm,” he muttered skeptically. “Well, I didn’t read any of his books until I was seven. So when you split the difference, she’s fine.” He watched their daughter play keep away with her teddy bear as Elliott tried to grab it. Tristan rounded the couch to take a seat. “Charlotte, come here.” The little girl looked up and walked over. He lifted her to plop her on his knee. “I want you to listen to a song,” he said, then started singing random letters in the melody of the alphabet song.

Charlotte patted his arm. “That’s not right.”

He stopped to look at her. “Yes it is. You don’t know this song.” He continued to incorrectly sing the alphabet.

She shook her head. “No. Daddy, that's wrong.”

“This is how I learned it. I don’t think you know this song.”

“Mmm,” she said, like she was thinking hard about it. Her blue eyes narrowed at Tristan.

He finished with the traditional ending, inviting her to sing along next time. “How do you think it goes?”

She shook her head at him.

“I don’t think you even know it. Sing it for me,” he said.

“I don’t want to do anything I don’t want to do.” With that, she slid off his lap and scampered down the hallway to her room. Elliott watched his sister, but stayed in the living room. He triumphantly picked up the forgotten teddy bear.

Rory sat down on the couch next to Tristan. “See? She’s so obstinate! I don’t know why she’s so hard headed.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tristan asked. “She’s the one true Lorelai.”

Rory’s brows furrowed again. “She isn’t even named Lorelai.” Some people thought certain Lorelais set the bar too high and a kid shouldn’t have to live in that shadow. After all, she’d already be expected to go to Princeton because she’s a Dugray, and to Yale because she’s a Gilmore.

“She doesn’t have to go to Princeton or Yale,” Rory had argued. “She can go to Harvard.”

“That’s much better,” was Tristan’s wry response.

“I don’t think you have to be called Lorelai to be a Lorelai,” he said now. “It transcends the name.”

Rory crossed her arms, still frowning. “I already raised one Lorelai.”

Tristan put his hand around the back of her neck. “Who better to raise another?” He released her neck and draped his arm around her shoulders.

It had been a strange two years in Connecticut. It was odd to be back. Everything was familiar, but subtly different. Rory was different, too. She used to be perfectly content to find a comfy chair to sit and read for hours. Now that she had all the time in the world, she was itching to get out. She wanted an adventure, somewhere new to explore. 

Their family was welcomed with open arms in Stars Hollow when they first got back home, but a week later, the citizens of the small town turned on them. They couldn’t walk down the sidewalk without Kirk or Andrew quickly running to the opposite side of the street to avoid them. Babette evasively waved and shut herself inside her house when they went to Lorelai’s house.

Taylor had told everyone they had ‘brought Covid to Stars Hollow’. He wanted them to quarantine for a whole month.

“What about that town meeting you insisted on everyone going to?” Luke had argued.

“Yeah, it was probably a super-spreader event,” Miss Patty chimed in from her computer screen.

Town meetings were a mess on Zoom. Everyone talked over each other. Luke didn’t mind that he could mute Taylor, though.

It blew over, of course, as more people got sick. There was no point in blaming anyone. Even the quaint, quirky Stars Hollow wasn’t safe from a global pandemic. 

Tristan busied himself in the kitchen, heating water and milk to make them each a London Fog. He joined her at a small table for two on the side of the living room. They would sit there when they wanted to pretend they had some privacy, telling Charlotte they were on a date and she would have to figure things out for herself for thirty minutes. She often unilaterally decided she needed to tend to Elliott, changing his perfectly clean diaper, making a bottle, or running him a bath.

Now, Tristan sat across from Rory, with a stack of real estate listings between them. She rested her chin on her fists, her elbows on the table.

“Well?” he said, taking a careful sip. “Anything look good?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. There aren’t many choices. And they’re all so big and expensive.”

“Yeah, it’s not exactly a buyer’s market right now.”

“It’s hard to justify spending millions of dollars on a house when I know we could live for under a thousand dollars a month in Bucharest or Kuala Lumpur.” She paused to slowly drink some tea. “I just . . .”

“What?”

She grimaced. “I want to live abroad again, when travel is a thing.”

Tristan picked up the printouts of houses and tapped them on the table to line them up evenly before setting them aside. “I know, you’ve been complaining about how vegetables here don't taste like anything for two years.”

She argued, “I have not been complaining.”

He stopped his mug halfway to his mouth. “Making negative comments, then?” he said.

“Well they don’t!”

“I know, the food isn’t as good here. Everything tastes the same,” he said. “Bland.”

Rory yearned for Bulgaria, even if the drive for fresh produce was two hours. She still had dreams about the Vietnamese coffee she drank every day when they lived in Ho Chi Minh City. She wanted to take the kids hiking to see ancient castles. They’d been to at least 70 countries, but there was more to explore.

“Everything is so big here!” she said. “I swear, every time an SUV gets behind me, it’s like a tank. And we have so much stuff now. We used to be minimalists!”

It hadn’t taken her long to accumulate more books. Luke had built wall-to-wall shelves in her childhood bedroom. Of course, Lorelai’s organization was abysmal. Rory had to fix it when they got back to Connecticut. Since being stuck at home for two years, it was Rory’s personal library.

Luke built a couple large shelves for the house they were living in now in Hartford, too. One for the living room. One for the third bedroom where Tristan had his desk. And, well, now there was a crib in there too. They’d certainly spread out and made themselves at home here. Being back in America made Rory feel like she needed more stuff. She needed more clothes and makeup and gadgets. Here, they weren’t just citizens. They were consumers.

She sighed again. “I’ve just been worried that you won’t want to keep picking up to leave anymore. We’re in our mid thirties, we’re supposed to settle down, right? Give the kids some roots?”

He chuckled. “Mid-to-late thirties,” he said. “I’ll go wherever you want. Where do you want to go next?”

“I was thinking, I could teach again.”

“English?”

“English literature, not English as a second language,” she said. “We can’t go anywhere until the kids are old enough to get vaccinated. I could use the time to get credentialed. Then I could teach at an international school. We could have a home base and stability for the kids, but we could still travel around Europe on the weekends and summers. We wouldn’t be quite so . . .”

“Nomadic?” he finished.

“Yeah.” Elliott crawled over to Rory and pulled himself up to stand by her knee. He presented her with the teddy bear.

“I appreciate that,” Tristan said. “I am getting a bit old to keep packing everything up. I do have one request.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d prefer to live in a country where we can speak the language fluently.”

“Ah, so not Abu Dhabi?” she asked. She grinned. “I was thinking about Spain.”

“Sounds perfect.” He watched as she lifted the baby to her lap. “We really have accumulated a lot of stuff.”

She couldn’t argue with that. This was the longest they’d gone without KonMari-ing all of their belongings. It was the first time their parents could dote on their grandkids. “True. We have a lot to get rid of.” When the baby let out a brief fuss, she cooed, “Not you, we’ll keep you.” She smoothed his hair. It had been brown when he was born, but was getting lighter now.

Tristan narrowed his eyes, listening hard. He grabbed Rory’s elbow to get her to follow him. They quietly stopped near Charlotte’s opened door. Tristan’s brows were raised, indicating ‘see?’ as they listened to the little girl sing the alphabet correctly in the privacy of her bedroom.

Spring 2022

Rory stepped off the bus behind Charlotte onto the sidewalk in Stars Hollow. She took her daughter’s hand and started toward the Italian pizzeria and restaurant. In her other hand, she carried a basket.

“Rorino,” Pete greeted with a broad smile. “And your bambino!”

“Hey, Pete,” Rory said. “Can we get a couple meatball subs, please? And a cup of macaroni and cheese.”

Charlotte yanked on her hand. “Um, can I have a meatball on my noodles?” she asked, her eyes darting out the window.

“Sure,” Rory said. She stood back up to add to the order.

When they had their food, she loaded it into the basket and headed back outside. “Okay, next let’s go to the store. I used to do this with my mom, you know,” she told Charlotte. “They didn’t get to do it the last couple years.”

“Why not?”

“Because we all had to stay home, remember?” Rory said, holding the door to Doose’s Market open. They went to the snack aisle and Rory told Charlotte to pick out a big bag of chips. She carried a bag of cheddar sour cream and onion chips to the next aisle. “Okay, Twinkies or Ding-Dongs?” Rory asked. “Or Mallomars?”

“Twinkies,” Charlotte answered.

“Good choice.”

Their basket full, they headed to the gazebo, where a small crowd had already formed. The sun was shining and the temperature was pleasant. It was a good day for a picnic. They didn’t have to wait long before Kirk got the bidding started on the first basket. Rory glanced around anxiously. She picked up Charlotte, who wrapped her legs around Rory. “Do you see them?”

The little girl looked all around. “Nope.”

“Me neither.”

“What happens if they don’t make it?”

“Then we have to have lunch with someone else.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. She pressed her hands on both sides of Rory’s face. “Who?”

“Whoever pays the most money for our basket.” She bent down. “You’re too big for me.”

She glanced around again, now that Kirk had her basket on the podium. Rory waved her hand. “Hey, can you do that one later?” She glanced behind her shoulder.

“The baskets are auctioned off in the order we received them,” Kirk said. “That’s the rule.”

“I know, but can’t you make one exception?”

“I’m afraid not. This basket is up. This is the basket I’m going to auction off,” Kirk said, unyielding. He was a stickler for following the rules. “Let’s start the bidding at five dollars. Do I have five?”

When a man Rory didn’t know bid, Charlotte yanked on Rory’s hand urgently. Two more guys bid, and Rory’s heart was beating too fast. They hit a plateau at twenty-five dollars.

“I have twenty five, do I have thirty?” Kirk said, looking around the crowd. “Going once, going twice—”

“Two hundred and twenty dollars,” Tristan shouted from the back of the crowd.

Rory looked over, relieved.

Tristan approached her, handing Elliott over to her. “Sorry. I don’t want to point any fingers, but one of us needed a diaper change as soon as we got here.” He handed Charlotte a blanket he had in his other arm before going to the gazebo to pay.

“Come on,” Rory said, leading Charlotte to a grassy area in the town square. She gently put Elliott down to stand next to his sister and took the blanket to spread out.

Tristan finally joined them, taking a seat and putting the basket in the middle of the blanket. “I only had a fifty on me. I had to Venmo Kirk,” he explained.

“Why did you bid over two-hundred dollars?” Rory asked.

He shrugged. “Inflation. And I didn’t know how in demand you are in Stars Hollow these days.” He opened the flap of the basket. “There better be something edible in here.”

La la, la la. Laaa-la.

Fin