GG Fic: Sometimes You Do 34/40

[faye_dartmouth]

A/N: Rory's getting closer to making her decision :) Review replies will be forthcoming hopefully today. Thank you!  Previous chapters here.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Another Friday night, another weekly interrogation.

Interrogation was probably too strong of word. After all, it was just her grandparents being invested in her future. They cared about her. They always had. They just didn’t really grasp the idea of allowing her some space.

Her mother’s only comfort was to take a bet as to when the barrage would begin.

Rory had glared, and wagered five bucks that it would be before they sat down to dinner.

Sadly, nothing was going her way tonight. They were part way through dinner before the inevitable topic came up, which meant not only did she had to answer the question, but she was out five bucks as well.

Her mother snorted and Rory blanched and her grandparents looked at both of them.

“Are you quite all right?” her grandmother asked, turning a pointed stare at her mother.

Lorelai nodded quickly, grinning a little. “Of course,” she said. “What was it you were saying?”

Her grandmother signed a little, shaking her head.

"I was just asking Rory how the job search is coming," her grandmother repeated, primly folding her napkin and dabbing at her mouth.

“Oh. I’m pretty sure she heard you,” her mother offered, not so helpfully.

Rory resisted the urge to glare. It wouldn’t help at this point. "It's coming," Rory offered vaguely, pushing her fork absently through the pasta on her plate. She may have seen this line of questioning coming, but that still didn’t mean she had an answer. Or one worth giving.

Her mother snorted. "It's coming? I swear, we have more stamps and envelopes at home than a post office."

Rory rolled her eyes. "It's not quite that bad."

"Not that bad?" her mother asked with more than a tinge of incredulity. "We could have our own post office box."

"That's fantastic," her grandfather interjected. "It shows your tenacity, which is something I've never doubted in you."

Blushing, Rory twirled some pasta on her fork. "I haven't heard much back."

"Yes, well, when you're sending things across oceans, it tends to take awhile," her mother said.

"So, you have definitely expanded your search internationally," her grandfather ventured.

Rory nodded. “I’m just trying to keep all my options open,” she said. “See what comes back. So I’m hitting up the major papers around the country and some select ones abroad. I’m pretty excited that the Times is hiring right now.”

“The New York Times?” her grandfather clarified, his voice hedging.

“The one and only,” Rory said. “It’s always been the one I’ve wanted more than the rest. Ever since I lost out on the internship, it’s sort of been like the pinnacle of success to me.”

Her grandparents exchanged pleased glances. Clearly, this suited them, and Rory felt a pang of regret that they wanted to know how it all would end up more than she did. “That is why we gave you the money,” her grandmother said. “To go and do great things.”

“Maybe if you’d given me twenty grand, I would have done great things, too,” her mother said. “Maybe we should find out.”

Her grandmother cast her a tired glare. “Lorelai, your idea of greatness was always to do exactly the opposite of what you thought we wanted.”

“Yeah, that sounds like me. But still. For twenty grand?”

“It is rather liberating,” Rory agreed. “There are so many things I’ve thought about and now I can really do them. I just don’t know what to pick.”

“Well, you’re a Gilmore,” her grandfather said. “You’re a Yale graduate. You can do anything you put your mind, too.”

Anything. Anything.

Rory smiled, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. Her entire life was anything. Only twenty grand was a lot more than a chance. It was a sign of trust, a sign of expectation, and suddenly Rory realized maybe why her mother had never wanted to take money from them to begin with.

Because she was grateful, she was. But anything. Anything was everything and sometimes she wondered if she just wanted one thing. One special thing. One meaningful thing. One real thing. If she only could say for sure what that was.

-o-

When the door shut behind them, Rory felt exhausted.

Not that that was a terribly uncommon feeling after a night with the grandparents. They were well-intentioned, she knew, though keeping on her best manners for an entire evening did tend to be a bit exhausting. Not to mention the sheer amount of conversation she was required to keep up--and not her usual brand of conversation which could be fast-paced and random. But conversation that was often deeply about her, which required a brand of self-reflection that didn’t tax her vocabulary skills but could easily wear her out from the sheer emotional task of it all.

Besides, eating that much food wasn’t easy for anyone, not even a skilled eater like herself.

It was one thing when she was able to talk about things she was proud of her. Her great accomplishments and whatnot. It was entirely another to try to speculate in a meaningful and substantive way her plans for the future. Her grandparents were looking for amazing things. Twenty thousand dollar things.

It was sort of hard to tell them that she just wanted to figure out an article for Saturday’s paper and new ways to trick Dean into a non-date.

Those weren’t twenty thousand dollar things. Those were Gilmore things.

So, she was exhausted.

“You okay?” her mother asked.

Rory realized then that her mother was watching her in that carefully astute way that only her mother could. “Of course,” she said.

Her mother nodded that mother smile that was an affirmation without being one at all. “Right, and I totally am not jealous of your twenty grand.”

“You’re jealous of the money?”

Her mother rolled her eyes. “More evidence that you’re so not okay,” her mother said. “You’re missing the point.”

“And that is?”

“That you’re not quite as cool and calm and collected as you want them to believe.”

“I’m totally cool.” Rory held out her hand. “Feel it.”

“Lack of body heat in your case is probably more related to poor circulation due to stress and excessive caffeine rather than being totally self-assured.”

“Okay, Dr. Phil, what is my problem then?”

“They told you that you can do anything.”

“Supportive family members--shocking.”

Lorelai just pressed on. “You know the hard part about being told you can do anything?”

“I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.”

Her mother smiled a little. “It means they expect you to do something wonderful. No one tells someone who they think can do the best things ever that they can do anything. Those are the kids they put into auto shop class and hope make it through high school. But being told you can do anything, well, that’s as much a curse as it is a blessing.”

“Rather negative of you, don’t you think?”

Her mother just looked at her. “Why do you think it took my parents so long to accept that I wasn’t getting married and that I spent years living in a one-room shack working as a maid?”

“Again, I’m getting the sense that you’re going to tell me.”

“Because I could do anything,” her mother supplied. “Anything at all. And they hated that I chose that. Because anyone could do what I did. They wanted me to do something that was difficult and amazing and it’s taken them a long time to realize that this is what I’m happy with. They’re this way with careers, lives. Men. Why do you think Luke still doesn’t come with us to these things?”

“I figured you wouldn’t want to subject him to the trouble.”

“Exactly. Because he’s not anything. To them, Luke is settling. Stars Hollow is settling. Sweetie, I just want you to know that when I tell you that you can do anything, I mean it. Anything. The Gazette, being a janitor, even trying to take the position of the new town troubadour.”

“The old one quit?”

“I heard he got in at some coastal town. Bigger and better things all around.”

“I liked him.”

“Me, too. He could even play the mandolin. How many troubadours can put that on their resume?”

“How many troubadours have resumes?”

“We have a town resolution about them so really, crazier things have happened. But seriously. Anything. Anything, Rory, from me has no strings attached. And that goes with the boyfriends, too.”

Rory felt herself blushing despite herself. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”

Her mother’s face blossomed into a smile as she pulled her keys out of her pocket. “Though twenty thousand, babe. That’s a whole lot of anything.”

“Don’t remind me!”

“Only you would actually be stressed over receiving money.”

“You just told me I should be.”

“And you listen to me?”

“Since when haven’t I?”

“Since you went to Yale, nearly married Logan then settled half a country away from me.”

“I thought you said I could do anything.”

“Again, my point stands.”

“Your point is ridiculous.”

“You wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Can we go home yet?”

“I’ve got my keys out.”

“We’re not walking.”

“Am I the only one with legs?”

Rory rolled her eyes and started walking.

-o-

The annoying thing was that her mother was right.

She supposed that really shouldn’t be so surprising. Her mother had, after all, unusual insight when it came to the Gilmore family, being as she’d been a member of it for sixteen years longer than Rory.

Rory had just never felt the pressure like she did now. Yes, things had been hard at Chilton and Yale and during all the other important events of her life. She had fretted over grades and extra curriculars and jobs and boys--but the thing was, and this really was the thing, she’d always been more worried about living up to her own standards rather than anyone else’s. True, her grandparents did have quite to-the-point expectations, but it was a rare day in Rory’s life when she was worried about pleasing them. Or even more, when they had doubted some decision she’d made.

They’d gushed about Chilton. They’d raved about Yale. They’d turned pink with delight about her internships, her jobs, all of it. She was the perfect daughter they never had because their own was too tired of expectations to appease them.

Now, she kind of understood why. It wasn’t that they didn’t love her or she didn’t love them, but twenty thousand dollars could buy her the world and she didn’t even know if she wanted to get out of her bedroom. And they would love her still, she knew that, just like they loved her mother.

But...

Well, she didn’t envy the looks her mother sometimes got from them. The little comments. It had gotten better, sure, over the years. But it still didn’t make it any more fun.

It was like the night she brought Dean over for the first and only time.

That look like she could do better.

She sighed, flopping back on her bed. That had been so long ago. Her own first falling out with them that had never been enough of a falling out at all. They had, after all, belittled Dean with him sitting right there. At their dinner table. At Rory’s request. And he’d been polite throughout it all.

She had hated the way they talked to him. Mostly, she had to admit, because of how it made her feel.

Rory-vision was what is was. She liked to think everyone was like that, that each person understood their life through their own experience of it. But she could still see the look on Dean’s face. The stoop to his shoulders as he turned and went home.

She had apologized. She had.

But...

It occurred to her with sudden clarity that maybe Dean had known it all along right then. Known that someday he’d be waiting outside her grandparents house, watching her with her other friends, her with her expensive clothes and makeup, and knowing that he’d never get invited inside again.

Rory had people telling her she could do anything.

Dean had people telling him he would never be good enough.

Her grandparents, Luke, the entire town.

Guilt churned in her stomach and she pushed herself to her feet. She needed to talk to Dean, to hear his voice, to make it better somehow.

Her cell phone was on her desk and she was dialing Dean’s number before she had the good sense to think about it.

“Hey,” he answered, and his voice sounded light. A little airy. He was smiling. He was happy to hear from her and he was smiling.

“Hey, yourself,” Rory shot back, sinking back onto her pillows.

“How was dinner?”

“How do you know I had dinner?”

“You always have dinner,” Dean replied. “Besides. It’s Friday. I sort of figured you still did the grandparent thing.”

Perceptive and right. “Yeah, it seems to be a habit for us.”

“That’s good,” he said, and she could tell he meant it.

Which, how could he mean it? After what her grandparents had done to him? How they had humiliated him? How she had humiliated him by never asking him back and indirectly saying they were right?

“Though, now the beer joke really wouldn’t work, would it?”

“It didn’t really work then, did it?”

He laughed a little. “No, not really,” he agreed. “So, what’s up? Don’t you have other stuff to fill your happening Friday nights?”

“I should be writing,” Rory mused absently. “I have a deadline.”

“No doubt another riveting Gilmore original.”

“You mock,” she said. “But they’re talking of rezoning the abandoned mini mart over on Crescent Street. If that thing goes residential, just watch out. Prime real estate for the taking.”

“I’ll be sure to take note.”

“It’s not much of a piece,” Rory admitted unnecessarily. “But I need the job.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“Well, I do like to write.”

“So, write something more important. Go to a bigger paper.”

“Been there, done that. Left on questionable terms.”

“What terms?”

“Quitting terms.”

“You just never really said,” Dean said. “Why you quit your job.”

It was a question she was actually surprised more people hadn’t been asking. In truth, it seemed like people were more happy that she was back to spend time questioning why she was. Ignorance and bliss, it would seem. “Oh, it’s kind of a long story.”

“You have someone else you need to talk to?”

“Okay, so it’s kind of a short story,” Rory relented. “It’s just not very interesting.”

“The more you avoid it, the more I’m pretty sure it’s more than that.”

She sometimes forgot how perceptive he could be. He knew her. He just knew her and he knew what to ask. He had gotten better at that in their years apart, and sometimes it amazed Rory that they hadn’t been talking all that time.

“I was writing a series of features about Detroit natives. Sort of homage pieces, capturing the diversity and strength of the city.”

“Sounds like you.”

“I know. And they were great to write. Deep, real interviews, good people. A widow of a civil rights activist, a teacher who spent his entire career in the worst schools, a girl who had singlehandedly spearheaded a campaign to save her neighborhood library.”

“So, what happened?”

Rory felt her throat tighten. She hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t let herself think about it. But she was always after Dean to talk, to be honest with himself. Maybe it was her turn. “My editor wanted a piece on a boy whose parents were both in jail. A real heartbreaking story about overcoming obstacles. So I met the kid, and talked to him, and had the best quotes. It was going to be a great article, maybe my best.”

“And?” Dean asked gently.

“I had let my editor see it and he loved it. But then I got a call from the kid, He changed his mind about the interview.”

“Why?”

“Because he loves his parents,” Rory said with a sigh. “And not in that abused child kind of way. In that they were his family and he owed them more than that. He wasn’t blind to what they’d done, he just didn’t want to add to their humiliation. An article wasn’t more important to him.”

“But it was to your editor.”

“He wanted to print it. I said no, he said yes. I said no way, and he said yes way or I knew where the door was. And I did. Know where the door was. So I told him that it was wrong, that we had to respect people and have ethics and walked out. And kept on walking until I ended up here.”

There was a pause and her resolve lingered between them. “You quit for a kid?”

“I had to,” Rory said. “You didn’t hear him. You didn’t see him. And it was like this kid has had enough bad breaks and all he wanted to do was to be there for his family and he didn’t need everyone else in the entire world trying to weigh him down because he had enough doing that already and it wasn’t worth it.”

And it occurred to Rory that that story wasn’t so singular. That it wasn’t just poor kids with parents in prison who were trying to do the right thing for their family. It was young men in small towns with a father who had just died. It was a sacrifice Rory had recognized in the kid, had defended, and maybe she owed Dean the same.

“So you quit,” Dean concluded softly.

“So I quit,” Rory said, feeling a little numb with realization. “There are some things more important that success.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “That’s a hard one to figure out.”

Hard, harder still to see that it wasn’t just about her.

Wow. And that was quite a moment. It wasn’t just about her. She’d walked out of a job on a matter of principle. Dean had walked out on every dream because it was what his family needed. Same sacrifices, only Dean’s came with a lot less prestige.

“I think that’s great,” Dean said. “I mean, not that you left your job, but that you left it for those reasons. Not that I would have doubted it for you. But, I mean, to have your dreams, to be writing for one of top papers in the world and come back home when you’ve got so much going for you--that takes courage.”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to say I thought about it more when I did it,” Rory admitted, staring at her ceiling. “It all just kind of happened.”

Dean offered a small laugh. “Life is like that.”

She sat up. “You would know,” Rory said. “I mean, you did the same thing. The job offers, your degree, everything you worked for--”

“It wasn’t a hard choice to make.”

“That’s just because of who you are,” Rory said. “I mean, I walked out in this weird fit of passion, like I was trying to relive some cliche scene from a movie. But you--you give it all up day after day and you don’t get anything for it.”

“Well, I got an ulcer.”

“You know what I mean.”

He sighed. “It’s okay.”

“It’s okay?”

“Isn’t it okay for you?”

“Well, yes,” Rory said. But she still had a million options. She still had her choices, her future. Dean had--well, what did Dean have? “It’s okay for you?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “It’s okay.”

“You sure? It doesn’t sound okay.”

“It is,” Dean said. “It’s just--”

“It’s just what?”

"It's funny," Dean said.

"What?" Rory asked, leaning back on the bed and twirling a finger in her hair.

"That this is the way my life turned out."

"You talk like you're done with it," Rory said. "I know you're staying here, but there's more to life."

"How do you know?"

That question made her pause. She didn't really know. There was no evidence. Just this sense she had. The way the first part of her life had always been. "Life always changes," she said finally. "You'll change and you'll grow. Look at where you've been. Where you thought you’d be. You can't think you're done yet."

He paused, too, and seemed to be thinking. "Maybe," he said. "But I think it's funny that this is what I figured I'd always be doing. You know, back when I was in high school. That I'd never amount to anything more than a kid working the family business, living in a small town he can't escape."

"But you did escape," Rory told him quickly. "You left and you chose to come back."

"I know," Dean said, and there was something different in his voice, something lighter, something proud. "That's what's funny. That I thought the only way to change myself was to get away but all that did was change where I was. It never changed who I was. Now that I'm here, now that it's really settled, I think I can make it work. It's not, you know, exciting. I don't have all the bells and whistles I dreamed about. But it's okay."

Okay had never been her aspiration. Okay had never seemed good enough. But the way he said it. After knowing all he'd gone through, all he'd done to get there, it suddenly sounded like the best thing ever. "You're really okay then?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "I think so."

"Nothing else in the world you want?" she asked, tipping her head back so she was looking at the ceiling.

"Well," he said. Then he hesitated. "There's always something I want. There's always something more that we all want. But you can't always get what you want."

And in his voice, Rory heard it for the first time since coming back home. She heard the possibility, the potential--the idea of them. She sat up straight, alert, not sure if she was making it up. "No," she agreed. "But, you know. If you try sometimes, you might just get what you need."

"I hope so," Dean said. "I really do."

And so did Rory.

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