- -
She thought of how he would react when she brought his world crashing down on
him, as hers had done on herself. All because the stick turned blue.
Blue, like the colors reflected from the sun catcher. A blue and purple
butterfly hung in the air on the inside of Rory's bedroom window, swaying in the
slight wind, exposed to the air through the opened glass. Sighing with
satisfaction, Dean stepped back from hanging the butterfly himself, making his
way back to Rory's bed to sit beside her.
"A butterfly, for our baby," he said.
Rory clasped her hand in his, looking at the blue reflection on the walls and
the ceiling around them. The sun splintered the light into all kinds of
directions, and the wind kept them moving and swaying, constantly. "For our
baby," she agreed.
Rory was in one of her better moods, Dean was happy to detect. Earlier that
day, it all hadn't seemed so simple. He sat back, holding Rory to his chest as
he slouched against the pillows and the headboard, remembering.
--
"We are not naming our baby Priscilla!" raged Rory, tearing her way out of
the kitchen and making a beeline for the couch. She began gathering up the
sheets that Dean had slept in, burrowing them into a ball.
"Why not?" Dean followed her into what was his current bedroom.
"It's prissy! She'll be teased. They'll say she thinks she's a princess."
"Because of her name?"
"Yes, because of her name. Names are everything, Dean. They define you. They
become your permanent adjective. Anything you're associated with will be because
of your name."
Dean's shoulders slumped. He had no idea why she was suddenly so upset.
"But... she will be a princess. She'll be my little princess."
Rory dropped the bundle of sheets suddenly, and broke into a grin. "Aww,
that's so sweet." She thought about it. "But no."
"Why not?"
"Dean, do I have to explain this again? I just told you!" Oh, she was mad
again.
"Fine, what about Dean Jr.?"
"Ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! No! Dean. No!"
"Why? Your mom named you after her, didn't she?"
"My mom was drugged, okay? She was high on Demerol. Her greatest fantasy
consisted of a bath with a Greek slave to feed her ice chips. Her wardrobe
consisted of the thin, scratchy hospital garment that would barely fit her
bloated form! She was not thinking clearly, and neither are you."
"Fine." Dean put his hands up to his chest, backing away slightly. "Fine, I
give. What do you think we should name our baby?"
Well, Rory hadn't thought of that. She suddenly found herself unprepared, and
she hated to be unprepared. She gathered up the bundle of sheets and began
walking with them to the laundry room. Dean followed her, relentless, wanting to
solve this problem in one day. As if it could be solved that quickly. What could
be solved in a day? Multiplication tables, maybe. Great, so he was thinking this
would be as simple as third grade math! What had gotten into him?
"Uh... Rory?" Dean prodded, folding his arms over his chest and leaning on
the edge of the open doorway.
"I don't... I don't know," Rory finally admitted, shoving the sheets into the
washer and measuring out the soap. She'd been doing laundry since she was ten.
Mom used to give her coffee only if she did chores that Lorelai didn't feel like
doing. She was so rude, hoarding it that way. What was so wrong with a ten
year-old drinking heated caffeine?
Oh, God. Rory had to sit down. What was the matter with her? Why was she so
worked up over nothing? Rory Gilmore was an even tempered person. She avoided
confrontations with almost everyone. She made her way back to the living room
and sat down on the couch.
"Dean, what is wrong with me?" she asked, placing her head in her hands. "One
minute I want to kiss you, the next I want to repel you with super-human
powers."
"Hormones," Lorelai happily chirped on her way down the stairs. "Hormones,
children. It's like menopause, with weight gain and plenty of Demerol promised
in the future."
"Wait, wait." Dean was trying to get a handle on things. "Is she going to be
this way -- hot, cold, hot, cold -- throughout the entire pregnancy?"
"Welcome to my world, Mommy and Daddy," Lorelai said so cheerfully that Rory
wanted to tackle her and pull out five -- no, six! -- strands of her hair.
"Mom, you are so happy and calm about this, I could strangle you!"
"Oh yeah?" Lorelai swears she had a whole response ready, but just then, the
phone rang. "Well. I'll kick your ass another time, Gilmore. Your ass is grass."
Rory rolled her eyes and crossed one leg over the other, sulking in her seat,
falling into the softness of the cushions that, as it turned out, weren't so
soft.
Lorelai hit a button on the cordless phone and answered, "Hello?" Instantly
she rolled her eyes in an exact imitation of Rory. She brought a hand to her
forehead and seemed like she wanted to slam said head into the wall. "Uh huh...
Yeah... I don't know... No... Um... Well... Just -- "
"Who is it?" Rory asked curiously, unfolding her arms and sitting forward.
Lorelai rolled her eyes again and put the conversation on speakerphone.
"...and who knows where he could be by now. He could have traveled miles and
miles -- he could be in another country!" Emily Gilmore's voice, brash and
impatient, was in their faces.
"Mom, he's not in another country," Lorelai assured her.
"Hi, Grandma!" said Rory.
"Rory. Hello. How is it you're both talking to me? Where is your mother?"
"I'm here, Mom. It's called speakerphone."
"Oh. Yes, of course. We had that installed a few years back, but hardly ever
use it."
"Who's in another country?" asked Rory, wanting to be interested in something
other than her thoughts of how she would fail as a mother.
"Your grandfather. He's taken off! He's no longer in the pool house, he's not
answering his phone, and I don't know what to do!"
"Steal his underwear," Lorelai suggested.
Emily sighed. "Could you just once take something seriously? I need to
know where he is!"
"Why, Grandma?" Rory asked. "He could just be away on business."
"But he always tells me when he's going away on business."
Dean stood in the corner, listening without being a part of this, feeling
lost in the world of all these Gilmore girls.
"But you're not together anymore, are you, Mom?" asked Lorelai. "He could
have flown to a different state to get away."
"I just figured he'd gone somewhere that has no phone access. Someplace
nobody goes, like Ohio."
"Which is a state," Lorelai put in.
"Oh, dear." You could actually hear Emily bringing a hand to her face,
stricken. "What if he never comes back?"
"He'll come back, Grandma. Or we'll all be worried," assured Rory. "Be
strong!"
"Let's all thank The Rock for that advice," said Lorelai.
"But I..." Emily sighed, so sadly, and Dean felt sorry for her in that
moment. "I've never been alone... this long..."
Emily's defeated and almost frightened tone of voice was lost on loopy
Lorelai. "Think of it as a vacation," she suggested. "You two obviously could
use some time apart."
"Yes... Yes, that's true. Perhaps you're right."
"Of course I'm right. I am always right. If you believe you're right, then
you must be wrong, for I am right, and therefore you cannot be. For I -- "
"We'll call again soon, Grandma," Rory cut in, standing up to be nearer to
the phone. "We'll call later tonight, to see how you're coping. And we'll be
there for dinner again tomorrow night to keep you company."
"And to keep the booze company," Lorelai put in.
"Yes," said Emily, sounding somewhat more assured. "Yes, of course. I'll talk
to you then."
"Take care of the booze!" Lorelai shouted, just as Rory cut off the call.
There was so much silence while Rory thought of her poor grandmother, all
alone in a house so big; while Lorelai thought of the booze without company.
Dean's tongue worked all along his teeth, counting them, reveling in their
cleanliness. His mind was a jumble of thoughts, none of which seemed appropriate
after such a phone call.
But, finally, Dean spoke up, when it seemed that the silence would eat away
at their brains. "What about Duchess?"
Lorelai sighed and let the booze dreams go. "Duchess? What?"
"For our baby," Dean clarified.
Rory, no longer grief stricken for her family, now switched back into
outraged mode. "I'm sorry, when did our baby become a purebred cocker spaniel?"
"Come on, Rory!" Dean called, turning to follow Rory, who had disappeared
into the kitchen. His voice echoed through the small hallways and welcoming
foyer. "If she's going to be a princess, she might as well be the right breed!"
"I am not laughing," Rory informed him, her voice deadly, her tongue ready to
lash. She then set to work in her task: finding something to eat. Lo and behold,
but the numerous countertops had been wiped clean some Thursday ago, and the
cabinet doors, so easily unhinged, held back nothing but dishes they never used.
"Mom!" Rory sang out, interrupting something Dean was trying to squeak out.
"Baby?" Lorelai sang back, following the holler into their seldom used
kitchen.
"I'm hungry," said Rory. "We have no food."
"Well that's because we keep it at Luke's, dear girl. Did you throw up your
brain last night?"
"She threw up everything else," Dean muttered from behind his hand. He had to
give himself something. This whole not fighting back thing was indeed his forte,
but it was getting old.
Rory narrowed her eyes, turning her attention to her lover, the one whom she
loved, the one who would love her for the next eight tragic months of pregnancy.
If he was lucky enough to survive that long. "Mom," she said, instead of
something to poor Dean. For some reason, Lorelai didn't seem to annoy her the
way he did with every. little. thing. he said. "Let's go to Luke's!"
"Can I come?" Dean asked politely. He was hungry, too. All of this arguing
made a throat go dry and empty of all residue.
"Of course, darling dear," said Lorelai, who was so happy when food was a-comin'.
"You're paying."
"With what?" Dean asked as he followed his two girls out the front door into
the hot June sun.
"Oh, God, Dean, it's just a saying." Rory folded her arms underneath her
breasts and huffed. Why did he not get any of their jokes? Why did he only laugh
at inappropriate times? Why did he want a cocker spaniel for a daughter?
Dean frowned and then got an idea. In the instance where he might have
slugged a guy for getting on his nerves, he tackled Rory gently to the grass.
When she screamed like being hit by cold water, he laughed and helped cushion
her fall against the grass. While she struggled against him, fighting him off
like a wildcat, he pinned her arms over her head and leaned forward to place a
pouty kiss on her closed lips with a loud, resounding smack, and a big fat, "Mmmwah!
-- I love you."
Lorelai laughed politely behind her hand, loving these kids more every
moment, warming up to Dean again, as she always tended to do. She watched as
Dean tickled under Rory's arms, where laughter needed to be freed, and she heard
the giggles from her daughter who had given up on stalking Dean to his death for
the moment. Mood swing over, Angel Rory back in business. Check.
"I... AHH!" Rory was laughing so hard, her stomach ached. The ache was dull
and became duller as Dean's fingers magically found the place just below her
belly to caress in that horribly ticklish way. "AHH! I love -- stop it, you
butthead! I... I love you, too."
Dean laughed along with her and finally stopped tickling to pull her upper
body close to his, freeing her from the grass that stuck in her silky hair. He
hugged her to him, tightly, but not too tightly, for she was fragile these days.
He just wanted her to know that his words were true. And perhaps he wanted to
make sure she meant hers, too.
It was a sweet moment, one where the two children should have been left
alone. But Lorelai would have none of it. "All right, dog pile!" she yelled in
warning before jumping onto the both of them so they could all three roll around
on the grass and get it in everyone's hair.
"There's something so wrong about, ahh!" Dean stopped to laugh and shove a
hand away from his chest. "Something so wrong about wrestling with two women,
one of whom could be your future mother-in-law."
Rory stopped tickling her mother, stopped before she could move upwards to
frizz Lorelai's hair. Mother-in-law? Oh, God. Did that mean that Dean had
thought about... Was it just because... Did he mean it when...
"Get used to it," came from Lorelai as she disentangled herself gleefully.
"You're living with the Gilmores now. None of us act our age or social
standing."
Rory was frowning again. She bopped Dean cruelly on the head. "Don't shock me
with things like that ever again!"
"Owe! What?"
She wasn't done bopping. "You can't just say things like that, right out of
the blue! She's not your mother, she's mine, now just leave it!"
Dean was back to laughter within seconds, both from the confusion and the
eventual grasp of Rory's anger. It was going to be a long final eight months...
but he was going to enjoy it. The longest journeys always had the best
rewards... and the most vivid memories.
"Dean!" Rory fired. She looked to Lorelai for help. "He's laughing at me!"
"Oh, stop accusing him of everything, and let's go eat already!" Lorelai
stood up and brushed off her jeans, then reached down offering a hand to each of
her two teenagers. Really, she considered them both hers now, what with creating
her grandchild and all. Dean, that poor kid on a sucker stick. He was a
hyphenated-Gilmore now, man or not. They would stick with him and forever follow
him home, which was just fine considering they all shared a home.
The rest of the way to Luke's, Dean and Rory listened contentedly to Lorelai
rambling about how she couldn't wait to be crowned World's Youngest Grandmother,
to have a tiara put upon her hair ("I could be one of those Nice 'n Easy girls,
you know? 'Always covers grey... not that I have any.' Wink."), silver and
shining even despite the passifiers glued on. She wondered aloud on what her
thank you speech would be about, other than those unforgettable drunken nights,
or perhaps they were stoned nights, when Rory may have been conceived, therefore
tunneling the way toward the grandchild. Rory listened intently, her mood
seeming to simmer so much that midway to the diner, she even let Dean slip his
hand into hers and threaded her fingers through his affectionately.
"Will you be there to support me in distasteful drag, Dean?" Lorelai was
saying, still speaking of the banquet on her night-of-nights as, yes, we've all
heard by now, World's Youngest Grandmother.
"Depends on the dress," Dean put in, pulling Rory in through the doorway with
one arm as the other held the diner door open. The jingling of the bell signaled
their entrance and brought Luke running quickly enough.
"Oh mah," Lorelai drawled, "there don't seem to be any tables here, mista."
Luke rolled his eyes and set about wiping off a nearby recently used table, the
only one there were even plates on, for the rest of the place was empty. It was
three o'clock in the afternoon, a dead time for a diner -- halfway between
dinner and lunch, and no one came for lunner anymore unless Kirk had a day off
from his "jobs". Truthfully, Luke enjoyed the peace and quiet, though he would
trade it for Lorelai's face looking into his just so, annoying hick accent or
not. She grinned at him, showing all of her teeth, bobbing her head slightly
from side to side in a "nah-nah-nah" sort of way before placing her butt in a
chair right near the door.
"Sit down, children, and child-to-be," Lorelai ordered her two young ones.
Luke looked startled. He stopped rubbing the wet dishcloth along the table
before him and looked piercingly at Lorelai's eyes, before his own traveled to
Rory's sparkling blues. "Child-to-be?"
Lorelai nodded with ease. "I believe that's what I said. I told you about it.
Don't act so surprised, mista."
Luke sighed, resigned. So now Rory knew that he knew. "You remember that, do
you?" He tried to ignore the way Rory's eyes fled from his as much as his did
from her.
"Of course I remember telling you about Rory's pregnancy. You turned so
red."
Luke was now the one to nod. "Then you called me Elmo."
"Right, that was fun. Hey, should I have called you Mario instead?"
"I always preferred Luigi." Luke regretted the quip as soon as it had left
his mouth, for he knew something irritating was coming.
"You played Nintendo?" Lorelai asked, bluntly surprised.
"Once," Luke allowed.
"You were a 20-something Nintendo geek, weren't you?"
"I played it once," Luke maintained.
"Why ever would you stop?" Lorelai was interested. There was no stopping her
now.
"I didn't like the whole idea of controlling some creature through a handheld
remote. It was like, 'Hey, I'm pushing your buttons.'"
Lorelai was ready for fire, and quite convinced already: "You sucked at it,
didn't you? Luigi died, didn't he?" She gasped. "You were a video game loser."
Luke paused for a sickening death glare. "Whatever you say."
"It's always whatever I say."
"Or whatever I don't say."
"In those rare moments when I stop talking." Yes, even Lorelai was aware of
her conversation skills.
"Your words are missed," said Luke. Though his sarcasm was not missed.
Lorelai cocked her head to the side, grinning. "I love how genuine you insist
on being at all times."
Luke grunted. "Me too." He dared another look Rory's way. She gave him a
small smile. "So, what'll you have?" he asked of them all, though his words
seemed directed at her. It was his way of asking what, of anything in the world,
he could do for her in this time of need and floundering.
"I'm okay, Luke," Rory said, wanting to define the closeness the two were
sharing by bringing their stares out into words. "And I'll have the tuna melt."
She smiled at him, and her smile was returned.
"Me, too," said Dean, thinking that easiest for everyone.
Rory turned to him, disgusted. "You're just getting the same thing I am so
you can gloat tomorrow morning when your lunch doesn't come back up again!" She
was so annoyed that she barely noticed the way Lorelai and Luke's fingers
ghosted along one another as Luke put his order pad in his back pocket and
headed toward Caesar in the back.
--
The blue of the swaying butterfly swirled its color all over Rory's bedroom
wall. Her hand, laced in Dean's, gripped his tightly as she, too, thought back
on the day of many fights that was merely a preview of what was to come. She
hated hormones. She closed her eyes and sat back against Dean, who was slouched
against the headboard of her bed.
"Are you tense?" asked Dean, concerned. "You feel tense."
"I guess." Rory was tired. Dean sat in silence, wanting to do something for
her, for their baby. Something to calm everyone down. Before he could carry out
his plan, Rory's breathing seemed labored, and she appeared to have fallen
asleep.
No matter. It would be easier to do this without an audience, anyway. Dean
placed a tentative hand over Rory's flat belly, rolling up her tanktop slightly
in order to feel skin-to-skin, to get as close to the fetus as possible. And
then he began to sing.
"The strands in your eyes that color them wonderful,
Stop me and steal my breath,
Emeralds from mountains thrust towards the sky,
Never revealing their depth..."
Rory snuggled close in her sleep, and he inhaled the soft scent of her
breath. He closed his eyes and prepared to drift off to sleep as well, to follow
her into the land of dreams. And while he was drifting, he sang some last
words...
"I'll be your crying shoulder,
I'll be love suicide,
I'll be better when I'm older,
I'll be the greatest fan of your life..."
Before long, both teenagers were asleep on the bed, with the prism of blue
shining directly in their closed eyes, pulling them to dreams of blue skies,
pink babies, and everything in the world making it worth it to be a fan.
- -
to be continued...
