Chapter Text
You can hear your heart thumping in your chest as she walks in your direction. This couldn’t have been more awkward. When she sits by your side, you’re suddenly very aware of how close she is to you. Her arm brushes gently against yours and you’re glad you’re wearing a jacket because you’re sure that if the touch had been more direct, it would have burned you. It’s suddenly a little harder to breathe.
“I thought you took an earlier bus,” you break the silence. You try to sound casual, hoping she won’t notice the personal hell you’re going through. She doesn’t, you think. Or she’s been raised too politely to kick you when you’re already down. That’s more likely if you had to be honest.
“My first class got canceled today,” she replies. Her voice is sad and as much as you know how crazy she is about school, a sentiment you could never relate to, you know it has nothing to do with her education and everything to do with yourself, sitting by her side, acting like a jerk, a few minutes away from breaking her heart, walking away from her life for good, leaving again without saying goodbye, refusing to talk about anything real.
“So, what’s been going on?” You ask. Prime example of beating around the bush, you think to yourself. But at least the question is open enough for her to pressure you a little bit if she wants that. There’s a small part of you that wishes she would.
“Nothing much... Fran died...” she says instead.
“I’ve heard.” You reply quickly.
“I went to her funeral yesterday,” she’s babbling.
“Luke went, too,” you’re babbling too.
“I saw him there,” she continues and you wonder how long you both can endure this tango from hell. How long will it take until the torture of talking about the subject surpasses the torture of ignoring it?
“Yeah?” You raise your eyebrows and nod.
“Jess, where are you going?” The question throws you off. She’s not following the script. You can’t answer her immediately. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. The bus halts and you see a window of opportunity you decide to seize.
“Isn’t that your stop?” You ask and your voice breaks a little, giving away how nervous you feel right now.
She turns around, as if she needed to check it for herself. She probably wonders how you could even remember that, given that she only mentioned it once, when you were driving to a book fair in Hartford and she casually mentioned it as your car drove past it. She has no idea how much you pay attention to everything she says. How much you care. She probably never will.
When she locks eyes with you again, she’s not sad anymore. Or maybe she is, but there’s this look of determination, a fire in her eyes, a fierceness you had only seen in her when she talked about her college plans up until that point that surprises you.
“It would be, if I was going to school.”
You frown. Sure, she has ditched school once, to follow you to New York. But this was different. This was before, when everyone still thought you weren’t past the point of no return, when she still thought that she could love away everything that was broken in you. Before you had disrespected her boundaries. Before you had punched perfect Dean back.
“Where are you going?” You ask, feeling a little bit stupid. Like your brain can’t process words fast enough for you to stay calm.
“I believe I asked you first,” she replies and crosses her arms.
You avoid her gaze, but in doing so, your eyes fall on the duffel bag on your side, it looks back at you, as if it is mocking your dumb attempt at an Irish goodbye. When you turn to her again, you notice she sees it too.
“Nowhere,” you reply and with your foot you try to kick the bag under the seat.
“You were really leaving without saying goodbye...” she says barely audibly. She’s talking to herself more than to you. “Again...”
“Rory...” it’s the only thing you can muster to say, but she’s already turning around again.
The bus door opens and she walks out. Before you know, you pick up your bag and follow her. You don’t have a plan, not really. Not since your eyes met on the bus when she was supposed to take an earlier one, but her class got canceled. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was the universe giving you another chance not to screw this up. Or maybe the universe is forcing you to face your mistakes at least once in your life.
“Rory,” you call her again, a little less hesitant this time. She’s the one who falters. She stops walking but she doesn’t turn around. You can’t see her face, but you know there’s pain there, probably hurt, hatred... hopefully not hatred.
“Luke kicked me out,” you continue. You feel that she wants to see where this is going. It isn’t a lie. It’s not the whole truth either. If you can only buy time, maybe you’ll get to the whole truth eventually.
“Because of the fight?” She asks, her head hanging lower, she picks a loose thread at the hem of her skirt.
You don’t answer her, not directly. You’re not ready to talk about the party yet.
“I can’t go to the prom. I couldn’t get tickets,” you say instead.
“I didn’t think Stars Hollow High prom was that popular,” she replies deadpan. You feel almost relieved that she is being sarcastic. She turns around, you can’t read her expression... frustration maybe?
“Look, if this is about money, I told you I could pay for my own. I can pay for yours, too.” She says. “Why do you have to be so macho, I-am-the-provider about this?”
You almost smile at that. You wish it were that simple. You wish you could just blame it all on your fragile masculinity, your inability to rely on others, your stoic tendencies. Systemic failure would get you off the hook more than admitting to personal flaw ever would.
“I’m not,” you say instead, in a rare moment of honesty. “I’m not graduating. They wouldn’t let me buy the tickets and that’s why Luke kicked me out.”
“Why are you not graduating?”
“I missed too many classes, they won’t let me do summer school. I’m not going back, so I can’t stay with Luke.”
You watch her as she processes all the information you’ve just dumped on her. The bag feels heavy on your shoulders but you just adjust the weight a little. You deserve discomfort after everything you’ve done.
“You said you were going enough,” she says after a while. She looks at you for a moment, but her eyes drift away soon, like she can’t bear to look at you at the moment. “You said you had it under control. You lied to me. You made me lie to my mom.”
You swallow. Words are betraying you right now.
“Are you going back to New York? You were going without even telling me? For how long? Are you breaking up with me? Should I wait for you?”
Her blue eyes are shining. You know she’s about to cry. You hate yourself for making her cry again, but you also convince yourself that this is the exact reason why you should leave. That she would be better off without you. That the world would be better off without you.
“Jess, are you angry because I wouldn’t have sex with you?”
This catches you completely off guard. She finally starts crying and you feel like an even bigger jerk that she even considers that. Some people walking near you slow down and you just want to scream at them for not minding their own businesses.
You close your eyes. It’s hard to keep your own tears at bay.
“I could never be angry at you, Rory. Not about that.”
“Then why did you yell at me? Why are you leaving without saying goodbye?”
You want to reach out to her. You want to take her hand, kiss her like you’ve never kissed her before. You want her to feel how much you love her even though you can’t say the words right now.
“I’m going nowhere,” you finally say. “I have nothing, Rory. I’m not graduating, I can’t stay with Luke, I have a dead-end job and I’ve just hurt the only person who has ever cared about me. I don’t know how to stop spiraling and I can’t drag you down with me. I won’t do this to you.”
She just stares at you. You can see how she’s about to say something but decides against it. You carry on.
“My father came to Luke’s diner the other day.” You hadn’t planned to say this. It slips out before you can bury it. “I thought... maybe I could crash with him for a while, just so I can figure out what to do next.”
She’s quiet for a moment. You watch her process it. There’s a slight furrow between her brows and she chews on her bottom lip. When she finally speaks, her voice is careful, measured.
“Where does he live?” She asks. She doesn’t sound like she believes you, but maybe she’s tired of arguing. You know you are.
“California.”
“For how long?”
You shrug, trying to look like it doesn’t matter. Like nothing matters. Like you’ve just announced you’re moving to a couple blocks instead of literally the other side of the country.
“For as long as he takes me,” a bitter laugh escapes you. “My mom could stand me for 17 years. Luke gave up after 2. At this pace, I’m guessing until summer is over.”
You expect her to say something. To tell you that Luke hasn’t given up on you, that you’re being dramatic. That you’re the one who pushes people away. She does nothing of the sort. She doesn’t give you the reassurance that you need. Instead, she says, so quietly you almost miss it:
“Maybe... maybe we could take a break.”
You look at her. You want to say no. You want to grab her shoulders and shake her and tell her that a break is just a slower way of breaking up. But you don't. You wait because part of you needs to hear what comes next. What's her plan, since you're just stumbling around in the dark without a map.
“I’m traveling around Europe with my mom in a few weeks. You’ll be in California. We could use this time to... figure things out.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, the question a little sharper than you intended.
“It just means what I said,” she replies and unlike you, she seems composed, put together like a weathered veteran in time of crisis. “We’ll use this time to figure out what we want, where we’re going. If this… Whatever this is… still makes sense.”
“Okay…” you reply. The thought of weeks without her, of not knowing if she's thinking about you, of waking up in a strange state with no claim on her at all. It makes your stomach turn. But you also don't like the idea of letting her go completely. Of saying goodbye forever when you're not ready. So you hold onto this. This thin rope.
“What are the rules?”
“Rules?” She blinks, like the question hasn't occurred to her.
“Yeah.” You take a half-step closer without meaning to. Your body keeps betraying you. “Like, are we allowed to talk to each other?”
“I guess…” She looks down at her hands, then back up at you. “But you don’t even have a cellphone, Jess. How would I contact you?”
“I can get one. Or I can give you my father’s home number in California when I get there.”
“We could also exchange letters, emails…” She's warming to the idea now. You can see it in the way her posture relaxes, just slightly.
“Okay…” You hesitate. Your heart is pounding again, that same stupid thumping from the bus. “Am I allowed to kiss you?”
She tilts her head, confused. “Like… from afar?”
“No, like right now…” You gesture vaguely between the two of you. The space that keeps shrinking no matter how hard you try to maintain it.
“Oh…” Her cheeks flush. She looks away, then back. “Uh… maybe it’s better if we don’t… It’ll be harder to say goodbye.”
The silence stretches. You should leave it there. You know you should. But your mouth keeps moving.
“Are we allowed to see other people?”
The question lands like a stone in still water.
“Do you want to see other people?”
You exhale, running a hand through your hair. “My life is a mess right now, Rory. I can’t even keep the girl that I want, but Friends was already awful before that whole stupid plotline.”
She laughs at that. A real laugh, short and surprised, and the sound of it makes something in your chest loosen. You didn't know you needed to hear her laugh until just now.
“I don’t know… Maybe?” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking. “As long as it’s not like… serious… you know. It’s one thing to go out with someone but if it turns into a relationship…”
“Okay…” You nod slowly, trying to trace the lines she's drawing. “And are we supposed to tell the other about it?”
“I don’t want to know… would you? Like to know if I went out with someone?”
“Only if it meant that it’s not a break anymore. If you’re moving on with this person…”
“I don’t want to think about you seeing other people,” she closes her eyes, like it physically hurts to imagine another girl by your side. You hate that imaginary-you is just as much of a jerk as the real you who’s standing right in front of her.
“I don’t want that either,” you say quickly. “I’m just trying to be realistic. I’ve never done this before, Rory. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, how I’m supposed to feel.”
“I’ve never done this either,” she opens her eyes. You can see she’s tired. You’re tired too.
“So, is that it?” You ask, and your voice cracks on the last word. You clear your throat. “We're on a break. I'll be in California, you'll be in Europe. We'll talk when you get back and we've figured things out.”
“We’re being really mature about this.”
“You’re missing the part where I’m controlling myself not to ask you to run away with me to California so we can start over.”
She smiles. It's small and sad and beautiful, and you memorize it. “I’d say this self-control is very mature too.”
The humor fades. The air between you shifts. You think about the duffel bag at your feet, the plane ticket in your pocket, the thousands of miles that are about to stretch between you.
“I'm sorry I was going to leave without saying goodbye,” you reply.
You take a step closer. She does, too. Like magnets. Like you've never known how to do anything but move toward her.
“And I’m sorry about what happened in Kyle’s bedroom. I could wait a thousand years, Rory, if that’s what would take.”
She shakes her head slowly. “I don't want to wait a thousand years,” she says. Her hand reaches for you. “I just didn't want my first time to be like this. And I don't want it to be now, when we're about not to see each other for months.”
“I get that,” you nod. You look down and notice that your fingers are curled up around each other's. You have no idea how this happened, when this happened. Who reached out to whom. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was her. Maybe you both just needed something to hold onto. You squeeze her hand just a little.
Since you’re not allowed to kiss her, you want to memorize her touch. The warmth of her palm against yours. The way her fingers fit between your knuckles like they were made to be there. The way it feels to have her hand pressing yours, like she's trying to tell you something neither of you can say out loud.
You don't know how long you stand there, holding her hand on an empty sidewalk, but it's not long enough. It will never be long enough.
Before you know, her forehead is touching yours. The contact is soft at first, like she's testing whether this is allowed. Then she leans in more fully and you feel her lips brushing against yours. Not quite a kiss. Not quite anything. Just the ghost of one, hovering there, asking permission. Her breath is warm against your mouth. Her cheek is wet where it presses against your skin. You close your eyes and let yourself feel it: the weight of her, the nearness of her.
She had said you weren't allowed to kiss. That it would make things more complicated. You're already breaking the rules. How this isn't a train wreck bound to happen is beyond you.
She's the one who pulls away first. She always is, while you're always the one who wants to make these moments last a little longer. You wonder if she knows that. If she can feel you leaning in even as she leans out.
“I… I think I should go to class,” she says quietly.
You want to ask her not to. You want to tell her that class doesn't matter, that none of it matters, that the only thing that matters is standing right in front of you. But you've already taken too much from her today. You've already asked for more than you deserve.
So you just nod. "I have a plane to catch."
"See you, Jess," she says. But she doesn't move. Her feet are rooted to the sidewalk, like she's waiting for you to say something that will change everything.
"See you, Rory," it's what you end up saying.
Not because you're a coward. Not just because you're a coward, but also because nothing you'll say could possibly change what has already been decided.
You hold her gaze for as long as you can. Then, you force yourself to look away because if you don't, you won't be able to let her go and she won't be able to let you go either.
She turns first. Of course she does. You watch as she walks down the street, her footsteps slow at first, then faster, like she's made herself a promise not to look back. She doesn't look back. You watch until her silhouette grows smaller, until she's just a smudge of blue in the distance, until she disappears around a corner and the world goes gray without her.
You turn on your heels just as a bus to Hartford’s Terminal leaves. The next one will arrive in twenty minutes. So you take a seat, reach for a book in the duffel bag and start reading.