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1.
“Hi, Jess. It’s Rory.”
“Hi…”
Rory pressed her phone closer to her ear, hoping that it would give more clarity to his tone. Was he angry? Curious? Not interested at all?
“Sorry if this is random. It’s just…” She ran her hand through her hair, and snagged her nail on a knot. “I have this job where I’m in a bus, traveling the country, writing for this internet newspaper. And I kinda made friends with this one girl I’m traveling with. We got to talking about movies, and it turns out she’s never seen ‘Almost Famous.’ So we rented it -- and isn’t it sad that movie rental stores are a dying business? How we will find the weirdo movies of the past now?”
“Rory --”
But she didn’t stop. It was like she was tripping downhill, and she needed to get this all out in the tumble it was.
“And it made think about how we rented it like a thousand times back in high school --”
“An exaggeration.”
“Which made me think about this article I read about this underground music scene in Philadelphia and whether you’ve seen any of these shows. And if you haven’t, you really should. Which made me think about --”
“Rory--”
“Yes?”
“I miss talking to you too.”
2.
Rory dodged an icy patch on the sidewalk as she rounded the corner and almost collided straight into him. They both stopped and staggered. He steadied her with a grip at the shoulder of her wool coat.
“Jess!” she said, surprised. It wasn’t that it was so odd to see him, but to see him here, in Stars Hollow. The last time she had, had been that fateful Firelight Festival when he chased her through the square.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked. “Not that you’re not allowed to be here. But you never seemed to ever be here willingly. I mean --”
“Rory,” he interrupted her. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she said. Her breathe was a little cloud in the air.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” he said. “And my entire family lives in this Stepford Wives town, for some reason.”
“Right,” she said. “But one third of your family lives in my mom’s house, so…”
“I just got in this morning. Actually, I was just visiting Liz and…” He made a concerted effort not to crack up. “Doula.”
“Right. I heard about that,” Rory said. “You’re a big brother now. What’s it like?” A chilled breeze pushed snow off the bare-armed tree above them, dusting their shoulders with the fluff.
“Well, I’m old enough to be her father,” Jess said, tucking his hands back into his coat pockets. “And I live in a different state. So, it’s doesn’t exactly feel…”
“I get it. I sometimes I forget I have a little half-sister out there, existing in the world.”
“What strange, parallel lives we lead,” he said.
They fall into a walking pace with each other, even though they had been going in different directions.
“I can’t believe Luke didn’t tell me you’d be here,” Rory said. “But I did just get in yesterday myself, and my mom’s been talking nonstop since then.”
“Sounds about right.”
They stop in front of Luke’s Diner, the lights out, the closed sign flipped towards them.
“Luke’s letting me stay in his old apartment because he knows that if I stayed in the same house as TJ there would be a murder-suicide.”
“That would put a damper on the holidays.”
“Exactly.”
They lingered there, on Luke’s Diner’s front stoop.
“Do you want to come in?” Jess threw a thumb over his shoulder at the door. “I could make coffee. We could catch up. Or catch one of the A Christmas Story marathons?”
“I’m actually on my way to visit Lane.”
“Tell her Merry Christmas. I’m not sure she actually wants to hear anything from me, but…”
“I’ll pass along the sentiment.” She let out a big breathe, a sigh. It was another ghost. “I guess I’ll see you around before you leave town?”
“One third of my family is living in your mom’s house.”
“Right.” She leaned across the space between them to give him a brief hug. Pulled back, she caught sight of something else. She pointed upward and laughed. “Look.” A sprig of mistletoe hung above their heads.
“Luke’ll be pissed.”
Across the square wreaths decorated every door, twinkle lights lined roof ledges, and garland was twisted down lampposts. Luke’s was bare of any decoration.
“Probably Taylor,” Rory said.
“It is his town. We’re all just living in it,” Jess aid. The tip of his nose was going pink from the cold.
They had already said farewells, and yet they were stuck there, as in force-fielded in spot. The air around them had that icey-crisp smell to it, the smell Lorelai called the smell of snow. It was a sharp smell, one that reminded you that your were alive.
“I know it’s silly,” Rory said. “But it’s a tradition.”
“A stupid tradition.”
“It’s sweet,” she said.
Jess shook his head, amused. “You can take the girl out of the small town, but you can’t take the small town out of the girl.”
“Damn straight.”
“Fine,” he said, and he kissed her on the cheek. “Does that fulfill your fixation?”
“Merry Christmas, Jess.”
“Merry Christmas, Rory.”
3.
“Scoot over,” Rory whispered into the dark room. All there was to see by was the city light through the blinds of the single window, casting stripes across Jess’ face. She poked him in the shoulder. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”
He squinted one eye open, then the other, nose wrinkled up in confusion. She was kneeled on the edge of the mattress, hovering over him.
“What time is it?” he asked
“I don’t know,” she said. “Scoot over.”
“What? Why?”
“Your couch sucks.”
He ran hand through his hair. “I told you that. That’s why I offered you the bed. I was trying to be a gentleman.”
Rory snorted, but she was grinning. She had been passing through Philly, in between writing gigs, and she had called him up and asked for a place to crash for a night. She was working freelance currently, which was sometimes great and sometimes meant a negative balance in her checking account.
“I’m already imposing enough,” she said. “That’s why I turned it down.”
“I offered five times. I insisted, in fact.”
“You were very gentlemanly, but I am not sleeping on that couch. You’re not sleeping on that couch. That couch is a torture device against the Geneva Convention. Now scoot over.”
Jess scooted over. Rory pulled back the duvet and slithered under. It was already warmed underneath from Jess’ body heat.
They had never done this. They had never shared a bed.
Rory mushed her head in the downy pillow, blinking up at the ceiling, and said, “This doesn’t have to be awkward.”
“...It’s awkward.”
“It’s not awkward unless you make it awkward.”
“It’s awkward.”
“It’s a queen size mattress. We don’t even have touch.”
“Should we paint a line down the middle like we’re in a 90s sitcom?” Jess asked.
“That always ends with a wacky life lesson,” she replied.
She turned her head, caught his eye. The pillow smelled like whatever kind of shampoo he used, some fresh and earthy scent they gave men’s hygiene products instead of florals and fruits.
“Thanks for letting me stay.”
He grinned that little crooked grin of his. “Good night, Rory.”
Morning found her head on his shoulder, his arm looped over her waist. They rolled apart when they regain consciousness, a car alarm on the street below waking them up as effectively as a rooster. They decided, together, wordlessly, not to make a thing of it.
Jess made pancakes.
“I didn’t know you knew how to cook,” Rory said, pouring too much syrup over the generous stack Jess placed in front of her.
“Luke taught me a few things.”
She stuffed a portion large enough to choke on in her mouth with one forkful. She was a starving writer, at the moment.
“And fluffy too,” she added, after swallowing. “What?” Jess had pegged her with a raised eyebrow kind of stare.
“I thought that I exaggerated that Gilmore appetite in my memory,” he said.
“Oh, it’s real.”
“I can see that.”
“We’re stuff of legends.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
The cadence they fell back into -- the beat, the rhythm -- was easy. Almost too familiar for friends who see each other rarely. So few people are able to keep up with Rory, in her world.
“Fluffy too,” she added after the second mouthful swallowed.
“High praise coming from a connoisseur like you,” Jess said, sitting opposite her across the round table. There knees bump as she shifts to cross her legs.
“Is there coffee?”
“Of course.” He stood to get it.
But there was a difference, too, to their banter. Jess had less snap to him then when he was a teenager, angry and guarded. Rory, as well, had grown confident with adulthood.
After breakfast, she changed clothes in the cramped apartment bathroom. When she stepped out, the TV was on a dull hum of morning news. Jess, sitting on that god-forsaken couch, had a paperback split open in his fingers. He stared too long at the page to be reading.
She cleared her throat. “I should be going. Long drive yet.”
Jess hopped up from the couch. “I’ll walk you out.”
He saw her safely to her car. She touched the paint chip at the top corner of the door, felt the rivet under her fingertips. This was the same car her grandparents gave her when she graduated high school. It had a lot of miles on it now.
She unlocked the door, but didn’t open it. She turned around to face him.
“Jess,” she said. “After everything that’s happened between us, I’m glad we’re able to come out of it as friends.”
He squeezed her elbow in an act of commiseration. “Me too.”
4.
“Here, have you read this?” A book was shoved between her plate of Luke’s fries and her face. She dropped a fry and grabbed it gleefully.
“No,” Rory said. “But I’ve been wanting to.”
“Well, read it,” Jess said, leaning on the counter next to her, “And call me the second you're done, because I need to talk to someone intelligently about it.”
Rory fanned through the pages. “Already annotated, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll have to read it twice now.”
“As long as you're chop chop about it.”
Jess disappeared from the counter beside Rory, back to the table he had staked out in corner of the diner.
It was one of those mid-morning lulls, after breakfast and before lunch, and there were only three people patronizing the dinner: Rory, Jess, and Lorelai. Luke would probably refuse payment from all them. Luke, who was currently creating the background music with his loud argument with Caesar in the stockroom.
Lorelai sipped her coffee, turning on her stool to glance at Jess at his table, hunched over a notebook, scribbling out something.
“It’s still weird,” Lorelai said, to Rory.
“What?” Rory already had the novel pressed open to the first chapter on the countertop, eating with her free hand.
“Hearing him speak in complete sentences,” Lorelai said, dripping with sarcasm. “Just, the two of you. Reconciled. Friendly.”
“People can change.”
“I know. You’ve told me. Luke’s told me. It’s still strange to see. It’s like he’s body snatched.” She set down her coffee mug under Rory’s scrutinizing gaze. “Look, I’m happy for him. For you. For both of you. Actually...” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Back last Christmas, I heard him say ‘thank you.’ Sincerely, no less.”
They both glanced over to him. Jess looked up.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re talking about me,” he called across the diner.
“Because we are,” Rory said.
“About how you’ve gone soft,” Lorelai added.
“Yeah, well don’t spread it around town. Taylor doesn’t know yet.”
5.
“This is some shindig,” Rory said, raising her cocktail glass, a piece of plastic stemware. She was at Truncheon Publishing and the hour drew close to midnight.
“It’s… something,” Jess said. It was clear -- from the hunch of his shoulders, the weariness in the back of his throat -- he was uncomfortable with being the center of attention, with all the hand shaking and question answering. He’d rather he skulking in a corner, reading, like she had been.
She lifted up his new novel with her free hand. “I’m already halfway through.”
“Great. You’re that much closer to telling me that I hit my second book slump.” He downed whatever amber liquor was in his glass and clinked it down on the elbow-height bookcase lining the wall beside them.
“I won’t think that,” Rory said.
“You haven’t read the second half yet,” Jess said. “You don’t know.”
“Well, I believe in you.”
“At least one of us does,” he said, with a slight slant of his mouth. He tugged at his collar. It was a little stuffy in the room from too many people.
“Come get another drink with me?” he said. “And keep talking to me so no one else does.”
Another drink turned into two, and then a third, and then a blur of fourth and fifth. The crowd dispersed as the night grew later, until only a few, dedicated, lingered. Rory was laughing hard at something, but she couldn’t remember what once she finally stopped, clinging hard to Jess’ shoulder to remain standing.
When she straightened up, they were nose-to-nose. “Oh.”
It only took a slight tilting of the head, and all was clear for thier mouths to collide. It was a bit sloppy, but with no lack for passion.
At some point earlier, they had relocated to a hallway, where the lights were dim and the space empty. A hallway Jess knew, because he remembered the door behind his back, knew to turn the knob, to let them slip into a coat closet where they could continue undisturbed.
His mouth tasted like the scotch he’d been drinking. Everything else was old patterns. His hands on her waist, in her hair. The shift of his shoulders under her gripping palms. The only difference, he no longer had the lingering smell of cigarettes on him. He had quit smoking years ago.
They were interrupted by the door being opened, and then reshut a second later. “Sorry,” called out a voice, one of Jess’ publishing partners. But it was enough of an interruption to knock them both back into their sense.
“Why do we always do this?” Rory said. She still had an arm wrapped around his shoulders, and he still had a firm grip on her waist.
Jess brushed the tips of their noses together, before letting go, and stepping back in what little space was provided him. “Because we know we’re good at this part.”
6.
It takes Rory three months to read the rest of Jess’ book. The morning after, she stuffed it into the bottom of her overnight bag and was off to the train station. One night was all she could spare in her schedule.
After that, she was jet setting across the world, had deadlines to make, people to meet, other books glaring at her from the windows of every bookshop she passed in every city she traversed through.
She didn’t forget though. She was just good at making excuses to herself. Jess’ book stayed in the bottom of her oversized purse. It was a slim paperback, not adding much weight or taking up much space. But every time her fingers grazed the edge of the pages or the gloss of the cover, she grew embarrassed from the inside out.
There was nothing distasteful about kissing Jess in the abstract. He was a good kisser, a good-looking man, neither of them were in relationships.
But that was exactly the problem. Last time she had kissed Jess, she had been in a relationship. Perhaps she had never been properly embarrassed about that kiss, where she had wronged Logan and Jess in a single, ill-conceived revenge plan.
When she did pick up Jess’ book again, she started over from the beginning and finished it the length of a trans-Atlantic plane ride. Once she landed, she was back in Jess’ timezone. She opened up on contact list on her phone, stopping at his name, wanting to gush, but feeling wrong somehow in doing so. She relocked her phone. Later, she’d write all that gushing into a review online, unofficial and unprompted, and wondered if he’d ever see it, the words from his number one fan.
7.
Rory’s fingers skimmed through the records, until she plucked one from the row. As she stepped back to get better look at the cover art, she backed right into someone else.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, turning instinctively. “Jess! What’re you doing here?” She clutched the record she still had in her hands to her chest.
“What am I doing here?” Jess said, looking as every inch surprised to see her as she was him. “I showed you this place.”
“I know you did. That’s why I’m here.” She laughed, breathy, heart still pounding from shock. The air in the narrow little shop was dusty, smelled old and important and special. “I’m here on an assignment. Had some downtime. I don’t know the last time I had downtime when I was in New York. Thought I’d try some old haunts.”
Jess leaned back on the record rack behind him. “Well, it’s good to see you, Gilmore. It’s been awhile.” Since the drunken make out. Between they and this accidental meeting now, they hadn’t gone so long in a mutual silent treatment since she was still in Yale. Before the make out they had engaged in constant, peppering of communication, something just in voicemails, every few months, recommending this book or that CD to each other. That had disappeared.
“A long, long while,” Rory said. “It’s funny. We haven’t crossed paths in Stars Hollow for years, but here we bump into each in the city that never sleeps when neither of us lives here.”
“It is funny,” Jess said.
“Fateful, even,” she added. She shifted her weight between feet.
“You going to buy that?” Jess said.
“What?”
He nodded down at the record still clutched in her hands.
“Oh… no.” She turned around to put it back in his spot. He moved beside her, to flip thru the record selection there. They bumped shoulders, accidently.
“So what’re you doing in New York?” Rory asked.
“There’s this, um, indie publishers thing.”
“Thing?”
“Conference.”
Rory snorted. “You’re at a business conference. I never thought I’d see the day.”
They bumped shoulders again. This time it was Jess’ purposeful doing.
“It gets worse,” he said. “I’m on a panel.”
“What happened to you?” she teased.
“I don’t know,” he said fondly. “I don’t know where I went wrong.”
They got to the end of their rack. There were no more records to look at if they didn’t want to squeeze past each other.
“I have a little bit more free time, if you want to go get a coffee or something,” Rory said, throwing the option out into the air.
“Actually,” Jess said. “I have get back. I’m responsible now and all.”
“Right…Well, you have my number. I have yours. We can always meet up for drinks or dinner or whatever --”
“Coffee?”
“Or coffee. Right.”
Although Jess was the one who had said he needed to leave soon, Rory was the one backing herself out of the shop, away from Jess and the awkward situation.
“See you later,” Rory said. “That is, maybe.”
They never meet up for drinks.
8.
“I wanted to talk about to you about book number three?”
“You read it?”
“Of course I did… Brilliant, as always.”
“You’re too generous… I’m actually halfway satisfied with this one.”
“So, you’re improving.”
“Or I’m lowering my expectations. I don’t know.”
“You need to work on your confidence.”
“What can I say, I’m a humble soul… What part of the country are you in now?”
“California.”
“California… enjoy the overly friendly people.”
“That depends on what part of California you’re in. I’m sure I can find a few grumps. I can’t believe that you lived here for a while. It seems too… sunny for you.”
“It was what it was… So, I read that article you had published in the Times, a few months back.”
“You read that?”
“Of course I did... And it was brilliant, of course.”
9.
After a prolonged, phone-held argument about the discography, Jess asked, “Hey, whatever happened to that blond guy?”
“Logan?” Rory said. For a moment, she had forgot they had met. Of course, they had, cataclysmically. But the paths that Jess and Logan had lead her in life were otherwise quite separate. For example, she still talked with Jess.
“Sure,” Jess said, the distaste evident in his tone. “Let’s call him that.”
“We broke up, my last year at Yale,” she said. Rory tucked a curl behind one ear, as she thought of saying more.
She did: “He proposed.”
“Shit,” Jess said. The rest was obvious. Rory wasn’t married, had never been married.
“Yeah,” Rory said. “At my graduation party, publically. He wanted me to move to San Fransico with him, settle down. I wanted to get on a bus and follow Obama around.”
“He wanted you to settle down,” Jess repeated. “Did he know you at all?”
“I haven’t settled down yet.” It was (time) in London, but she had just flown in yesterday, and her internal clock had yet to reset.
She rolled over onto back, the hotel mattress springy under her, if only she could fall asleep on it.
“It was a hard decision,” she said, cradling her phone close to her ear as she lowered her voice for this secret. “But in some ways it wasn’t hard at all.”
“Yeah?”
“I love my job. I love seeing the world. I would’ve resented giving that up, but…” She sighed. “I really did love him.” Since Logan, she really hadn’t another relationship that was a relationship . Scattered dates, noncommittal flings, drunkenly making out with Jess in a coat closet.
Jess was quiet on his side of the line. But she could make out enough of his breathing to know he was still there.
Was this wrong for her to confide in him? They were friends, but they were also exes. Was doing so painful to Jess, or was she selfish and prideful to think that after all these years he hadn’t healed up and moved on just like her?
“You realize,” Jess said, words said slow, unlike their banter, “Growing up that love isn’t always enough. Or the only thing.”
“To make a relationship work,” Rory added on. “Yeah. Not if two people aren’t traveling in the same direction.”
“Like if one person is traveling to Yale, for example. And the other to Venice Beach.”
Rory laughed. How strange it was to able to laugh about it now. It had been devastating at the time. And the year following when he kept popping back into her life. Even when she had been glad to see him, when he had showed her his book while she was dropped out of Yale, she didn’t she’d have able to laugh at this, a reminder of heartbreak.
Perhaps this was a sign. She was healed, she was over it, she had forgiven. Or perhaps it was Jess who had changed, and the role in her life. He had become so much more than that, his worst moment.
“Yes, like that, for example.”