.

Summer is for Kerouac and Kindling

Summer hit New York in a flurry of pop up restaurants, sunscreened tourists, and warm, beautiful evenings, the parks full and chattering under the broad, leafy trees. Women returned to wearing short summer dresses and big sunglasses, children shrieked as they played on the jungle gyms, freed from the sticky classrooms. The hot dog guys cursed the heat but appreciated the tourists, Midwestern moms taking photos of their matching kids eating true New York City hot dogs, kids!

Rory felt an unfamiliar itch, a need to move, to escape the sweltering heat of the city and travel. Her mom's wedding was next week, which would at least allow her the reprieve of Stars Hollow. But she needed something more. Her life had settled into a dull routine of editing, take out, and lonely nights watching movies on her laptop. She needed something to snap the life back into her.

Her office was calm, baking quietly through the doldrums of summer. When she requested a week off for her mom's wedding, her boss hadn't minded at all. "Better than maternity leave, Gilmore," he said, gruffly. She had furrowed her eyebrows at his off-color comment, but took the week without complaint.

She picked up Kerouac because summer in New York always reminded her of Kerouac, of hypothetically jumping on a bus or a train, or in a beat up old car, and heading into the sweet smelling natural landscape that stretched from New Jersey to California. Of course Rory would never do anything so stupid or spontaneous, but she liked living vicariously through Sal Paradise, imagining taking the leap and leaving the crowded, concrete city for some kind of great wide open. She also picked up Kerouac because, like Hemingway, Kerouac always reminded her of Jess. And these days, to her growing surprise, her head was quite full of Jess.

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.

And Rory was beginning to understand what the old beat meant. She left former boyfriends because they had no spark, because they were not mad to live, mad to do anything. But Jess, as she was realizing through their occasional phone calls and texts, was mad for everything he did. He burned constantly, his words challenging her and examining her, his questions alighting sparks somewhere deep in Rory's subconscious. She enjoyed the debates, enjoyed playing with the fire that was Jess Mariano and his literary opinions. And she felt a growing urge to stoke the flames, to continue to banter with him and challenge him, to see how long he could go on burning for until something sapped the oxygen.

She had not heard from him for a while after their night together in the early spring, the night with the Moroccan restaurant and the grungy Village bar and the alleyway that flitted through her memory in gin-scented bits and pieces. But she knew he was busy with the kick off of his book tour. She saw him on the news occasionally, doing talk shows and always looking far too cool to be talking to the overly peppy blonde hosts. Her own paper did a quick bit on him, and a literary review, but Rory hardly skimmed the lines. She was too busy, too swamped with her own work, and besides she did not pine for his attention or want some kind of resolution or understanding. As an adult, she liked to think that she was beginning to understand that sometimes, sex was just sex.

In late April, when she was at a coffee shop reading on a lazy Sunday afternoon, he had called her. She answered, and was genuinely surprised to hear his voice.

The wonderful thing about Jess was that he didn't pretend to attach drama to anything. He had not lowered his voice, meaningfully, to ask if she missed him, or how she was doing, or anything of that sort. Rather, he ignored pleasantries and small talk, or any kind of emotional gravity, and asked for her opinion on a newly released book by an author that they both liked and that Rory was just finishing over a cappuccino. She had laughed at the coincidence.

They fell into easy conversations, every week or so, usually brought on by some book or other. If she saw something interesting in the news she would text him a short byline or question, and he would respond with either a dark, flippant literary quote (Wilde or Orwell or Vonnegut) or a heavily sarcastic opinion. They talked not regularly, but often enough.

In the late Spring he came back into the city twice. The first time, in May, they grabbed coffee during her lunch break and walked around the lower half of Central Park, talking comfortably, proposing different ideas for Luke and Lorelai's respective bachelor and bachelorette parties. Then he had had to run to a formal dinner with his publisher, his agent, and some of the money-makers of the publishing house, and gave her a book and a one-armed hug before disappearing down the stairs to the subway. She had taken the book back to her apartment that evening, ordered Chinese food, and spent a highly enjoyable night eating lo mein, reading the book, and texting him snarky opinions of it while she was sure he was bored out of his mind at the dinner. Later that night, when he was on a train to Boston, he texted her: Impetuous woman.

The second time he visited, after a few weeks of severely limited communication because she had had to fire one of her assistants and he was busy working events in Chicago, he came to town for an all-day literary event at one of the public libraries in mid-June. He called her, exhausted, at 10pm. "Hey, sorry for the short notice, in the city, you have time for a drink?"

She was already in bed, but it was a Friday night and she didn't have an early morning excuse. She met him at the bar below her apartment. They were both sleepy, Jess looking appropriately socially drained after speaking with strangers all day. Their conversation was slow and languid, relaxed, propelled by the whiskey and gin. After one too many gin and tonics, when she was tired and drunk and too distracted by how long his dark eyelashes were, she tugged Jess up from the bar stool and pulled him up to her apartment, pushing him onto her bed, letting him make short work of her dress and pull her into a hazy, drunken state of sexual bliss. She fell asleep wrapped up with him, her head buried in the crook of his neck, and woke to an empty room and an apologetic note, reeking of Kerouac and a hint of Jess' cologne, scribbled and placed on the pillow next to her: 8am flight. "My manners, abominable at times, can be sweet. As I grew older I became a drunk. Why? Because I like ecstasy of the mind."

She smiled, and did not bother to text him because she knew he had an absurd schedule for the next few days. The next time they spoke on the phone they both alluded subtly to their second one-night-stand, but Rory kept the conversation light and Jess seemed to have no need to delve into anything more. They bantered and laughed, making no affirmations, seeking no promises, explicitly avoiding both the future and the past.

Rory began to lightly wonder if maybe drinking and seeing Jess was a bad combination. The alcohol made the chemistry spark too much, made her think dirty things about his sharp jaw line and his smirking lips. She couldn't remember much about their nights together except for how insistent, how demanding his body was, as if he was never close enough even as his hands yanked her waist into him, or cupped her face as he kissed her, deeply, impatient. Jess was not calm or sweet, like her former boyfriends had been. And she could sense, in his ragged breathing and frantic heartbeat, and in the alcohol on both of their lips, that he wasn't thinking about consequences or the future either. In that moment he wanted all of her, demanded everything that she could give, but during the next morning, without the influence of whiskey, he regained his control and the half-smile that created boundaries and distance. When they drank coffee, they wanted each other's minds. When they drank alcohol, they wanted something else.

She had no hopes or plans, no childhood romance fantasies to act out. But she was beginning to come to a few, quiet, subconscious conclusions. She didn't mind that alcohol made them seduce each other. And she didn't mind that she enjoyed their phone calls and texts. They were friends, officially. And sometimes, in dark New York bars under the influence of alcohol, they explored their unspoken benefits.

.

.

In July, a week before she was supposed to go to Stars Hollow for her mother's wedding she walked home from work, enjoying the light breeze and the golden light that filtered through the smog and the leaves of the trees to lay patterns on the sidewalks. She wore a professional, light blue sheath dress and a pair of beige flats, her papers tucked into her beige satchel. Kerouac lay paused in the bottom of her bag, but she could feel his insistence through the handle, his desire to move and travel and leave and love and do all the ridiculous spontaneous things that Rory had spent years purposefully avoiding. She ignored him, passing the food vendors and the storefronts, stepping quickly and purposefully up Fifth Avenue towards her apartment somewhere in the mid sixties.

She felt her phone buzz. "Hello?" she answered.

"I'll believe that you're reading On the Road when I see it," Jess said, dryly.

Rory grinned. She had texted him an innocuous little photo of the cover of the book a few days ago, unsure whether she was trying to surprise or impress him.

"Hit the road, Jack," she said, "summer is always the time for Kerouac."

"Unless you're stuck in Baltimore purgatory signing books and wondering if the owners shut off the air conditioner to try to get you to leave sooner," Jess said, "I think my agent is punishing me by keeping me here."

"Probably, because I'm sure she's quite sick of you by now. Authors are such primadonnas."

"Indeed," Jess sighed, "when are you getting to Stars Hollow?"

"Next Saturday," she replied, "early morning train. My favorite."

"I'll be there after you," he said, "I have an event Sunday. TJ wants me there for 'Monday night madness' which I've gathered involves something with excessive drinking and football. Did you condone that?"

"Yes, consider it a pregame for the Bachelor's party," Rory said cheerfully, "Mom needed Luke out of her hair for a night of bridal prep. You're obligated to cheer for the sports and hand Luke beers when he runs out. I'm told it's a very important best man duty."

"Great. I'll practice my cheering."

"Also beer-opening."

"I think I have that one down," Jess snorted.

Rory waited at the light to cross Fifth and head towards her apartment. "Oh right, former bartender and current functioning alcoholic. I forget."

"Not an alcoholic," Jess disagreed, "just a guy with occasional alcoholic tendencies. For literary flair, of course."

"Of course," Rory crossed the street and walked down one of the quiet, residential streets on the Upper East Side. "Where are you until the wedding?"

Jess sounded tired. "Baltimore until tomorrow, then Atlanta, then a quick stop in DC and then back up to Connecticut."

"Are you filthy rich now after working so hard?"

"You know it," she could hear his half-smile behind his words, "speaking of, I'm off to go make more money. Gotta make sure Luke has all the singles for the Bachelor party."

"Good luck," Rory said, reaching for her keys in her bag, "Make sure you specify 'payment in singles' on your next book advance contract."

"Already done. See you next week, then," he paused, and she could hear noise in the background. "Save a night for me and dinner or drinks in Stars Hollow."

Rory smiled. "I don't think we behave very well with drinks."

Jess was quiet on the other end for a half-beat, and Rory realized she had partially breached their mutual nonchalance. But he recovered seamlessly. "Misbehavior maybe, but misbehavior that I can deal with. Besides, I'm pretty sure you're the root cause of it, not the alcohol. See you next week."

He hung up, chuckling, before she could protest. Rolling her eyes, but smiling all the same, she managed to get her door open and head up to her apartment.

When she changed into her sweatpants and curled up with a book and take-out sushi, she felt that new itch, the urge to shake something up, to startle her predictable, professional life. She loved the coffee and the editing and the containers of greasy food and her neat little apartment. But Kerouac demanded her attention and encouraged her to feel discomfort with her comfort. She glanced at her phone. It's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.

.

.

A week or so later Rory found herself in Stars Hollow in the midst of wedding madness, caught between her mother and her grandmother and a hailstorm of details. Saturday evening was spent dealing with a daisy crisis at the flower shop, and Sunday morning with a panic about Lorelai's wedding dress, which Emily swore had been sized perfectly but was simply not zipping up properly. "Mom," Lorelai snapped when Emily insinuated that her eating habits had finally caught up with her. Then she ripped a seam and fixed the whole thing herself while Emily called the dressmaker in New York in near hysterics and Rory snacked on chips, watching the whole thing, wide-eyed.

Sunday evening, thankfully, was spent taste-testing Sookie's menu. Even Emily had to struggle to find things at fault, and Rory privately knew that even though her grandmother made a few sneering comments it was only out of habit and not out of actual criticism. Sookie and Jackson's kids ran screaming through the house while the four women snacked on appetizers, gossiping about the fresh Stars Hollow drama. Kirk and Lulu's kid was the star of the upcoming school production of Hair, and Miss Patty's new batch of ballerinas had gotten into three separate fistfights already. Dean was now a co-owner at Doose's.

Monday morning featured a full lay out and walk through of the wedding set up in the town square, and a lot of agonizing over seating charts. "Lorelai, you know you can't just throw people into chaos by not assigning seats," Emily snipped, "people need social order, they appreciate being told what to do."

"Mom, no one here cares who they sit by," Lorelai groaned, pushing the seating chart off the coffee table, "let them have chaos! Let them make new friends. Or new enemies. I don't care. Wedding drama is great."

"Here," Emily picked the bride and groom's table primly, "let's start with your table. This is easy. Me, Rory, Sookie, Jackson, for your side, and then on Luke's side his sister and her awful husband. Is Luke's daughter coming?"

"Yes, add April to the table," Lorelai said, "and Jess, Liz's son. Also the best man."

"Oh right, him," Emily sniffed, "there, your table is perfect. Ten exactly."

"What about the kids?" Rory asked, "Doula and Sookie and Jackson's kids?"

Emily smiled and grabbed another table, "Perfect, Rory, now we'll assign the kids table. Any other young hooligans attending?"

The seating chart charade continued until Emily was satisfied that the Stars Hollow residents would be seated at an appropriate distance from her high society friends that were attending, and ended with Lorelai gleefully assigning Taylor to the kids table. "My wedding gift to Luke," she exclaimed, writing Taylor's name in bold print next to Kirk's odd kid.

The walk through and furniture appraisal lasted until five o'clock, and then the three women trooped into Luke's. The diner was nearly empty, with most of the chairs up and a closing early sign taped to the door in TJ's messy handwriting. Luke stood behind the counter, cleaning off the appliances with a damn rag.

"Honey, look what I did for you!" Lorelai hurried to the counter, showing off the seating chart with her best Vanna White impression.

Luke squinted. "Put TJ at our table? Great. Thanks."

"No, no," Lorelai nudged the kids table, "check it out."

Luke found Taylor's name and broke into a smile. "I knew I was marrying you for a reason."

Rory felt her phone buzz. She glanced down at it.

It was a message from Jess: Arrived earlier today but I'm already stuck on beer duty at TJ's. If you see Luke, tell him if he doesn't show up in ten minutes I'm gonna kill him.

Rory grinned. She joined her mother at the counter. "Well Luke, I think you'd best get to TJ's, you have important things to do. Sports and beer await you."

"Also TJ," Luke grumbled.

"Hence the beer," Rory pulled her mother's elbow, "stay there until at least 10 Luke, we don't want to see you until all the sports are good and finished. I hear that you are violently missed over there so you should really get going."

"Yes, make sure that all the points are scored and the nice ball boys put the balls away good and proper," Lorelai grinned, "oh, and overtime! Encourage overtime. Call the teams and tell them to do overtime."

"You can't – Lorelai, overtime only happens if the teams are tied, they can't just do it," said Luke, exasperated.

Rory continued pulling her mom out the door, where Emily waited, tapping her foot. "Nike says they can just do it!" Lorelai called, "Tell them, Luke!"

Luke waved them off, and the three Gilmore women headed back towards Lorelai's house. Rory texted Jess as she walked: Sent him your way. No guarantee he'll actually get there.

He replied: You're useless. See you soon?

She smiled, and gave him Kerouac: Sure baby, mañana.

His response was lightning quick: It was always mañana. Later Gilmore, I have some beers to open.

They arrived back at Lorelai's house, and within a few minutes were joined by Sookie. Emily quickly ordered the living room cleared of "all of this useless clutter" and rearranged the furniture to accommodate all of the necessary girls' night bridal prep festivities.

"What's on the agenda, Grandma?" Rory asked, settling on the couch next to Sookie.

"The two girls from my salon will be here any minute for manicures and pedicures – although Lorelai I don't see why we are doing this five days before your wedding, I'm sure you will just chip all the paint between now and then – and then my stylist is going to fix your mother's hair, and anyone else who wants it," Emily glanced briefly at Rory's disheveled ends, "and then of course, the usual, champagne and strawberries."

"The usual," Sookie repeated, grinning, raising her eyebrows at Lorelai.

Lorelai rolled her eyes and collapsed backwards into an armchair.

Rory was impressed by how quickly her grandmother and her team were able to transform the living room into a passable version of a salon. The friendly, chatty stylists rolled out large plastic mats, to save the rug, and came equipped with foot tubs, mirrors, and all the necessary accessories for an appropriate beauty parlor. Emily was typically snappy and demanding, but within an hour all four women were settled with their feet in warm, bubbly water, gossiping about life and flipping through magazines to make fun of celebrities. Emily was prim as ever, watching like a hawk as the women worked, but occasionally snipped something haughty and rude about whichever celebrity was under discussion.

Rory squirmed as her feet were scrubbed and polished, and picked an appropriately boring and professional taupe color for her nails. Her grandmother approved, but Lorelai snorted. "Come on, Rory, it's a wedding, not a work conference."

"I think it's elegant," Emily said, "well done, Rory, it'll go well with the bridesmaid dress."

"Thanks, Grandma," Rory shot her mother a told-you-so look.

Lorelai picked a shocking fire-engine red in retaliation, to which Emily just sighed. "Everything matches with white, mom," Lorelai reminded her cheerfully.

The time flew by, and Rory was shocked when she checked her watch and it was already nearing 10:00pm. Her mom had received some subtle highlights to bring depth to her dark hair, and Rory had allowed the stylist to snip off her own split ends and sharpen the neat lines of the locks that brushed her shoulders. She refused any kind of dye, and her grandmother harrumphed but allowed it.

The stylists packed up and left with hefty tips (from Lorelai, who apologized a hundred times for Emily forcing them to make a house call) and Emily busily set up the champagne and strawberries and told Lorelai she wasn't allowed to touch anything except the stem of her champagne glass until the paint on her nails had dried for at least two hours.

Rory sipped her champagne, occasionally tossing a forbidden strawberry to her mother when Emily wasn't looking, and listened as the three older women chatted about weddings. Sookie and Emily kept bringing up their own weddings, and Lorelai seemed happy to provide snide comments about Emily's taste and the typical behind the scenes mess ups that happened at Sookie's wedding. Rory, her fingers twisting the stem of her champagne glass, didn't remember much from Sookie's wedding except for utterly losing control of herself and kissing Jess for the first time when she saw him standing by the river bank. Looking back at her incredibly young, teenaged self, she couldn't really blame herself for what had happened. Jess had toyed with her for months, and seeing his dark profile loitering in the sunlight, his hands behind his back, unaffected and casual and absolutely waiting for her, was more than her hormones could take. When she kissed him he reacted so immediately, so expertly, drawing her body into his. She should have known then.

"Rory," her mother repeated, and Rory snapped out of it.

"Yeah?"

"Sookie's leaving, can you help your grandmother go to bed?" Lorelai jerked her head towards Rory's room dramatically, twice.

"Oh yeah, of course," Rory unfolded her legs and placed her empty champagne glass on the coffee table. Emily was already on her way to Rory's room, so Rory waved goodbye to Sookie and then hurried to make sure her grandmother had a glass of water and everything she needed. Emily, clearly exhausted, had the lights off and the door closed within a few minutes.

Rory returned to the living room and found her mother refilling both of their champagne glasses and digging into the remaining strawberries, nails be damned. "Sit, kiddo," Lorelai patted the couch cushion next to her.

"So, did you want the red or was that just to annoy Grandma?" Rory asked, accepting the glass and curling up next to her mom.

"Both," Lorelai flashed a grin, "go big or go home, right? Besides, I've been told it's 'whore-ish' in the past and you know how much I like to make a scene."

"Ah yes," Rory nodded, "you scarlet woman, you."

"That's right," Lorelai held her hand in front of her, examining the nails, "besides, it'll go with your dress too. Blue goes with everything."

"American flag themed," Rory observed.

"Well you know how patriotic me and Luke are. He wanted doves to be released when we finished our vows and I said, no, doves are cliché, but you know what's patriotic? A bald eagle."

"A bald eagle?"

"Yes," Lorelai sipped her champagne, "for America. And for love."

Rory chuckled and felt her phone buzz. She pulled it out of her pocket and checked the screen.

It was Jess: I like drinking better with young brunettes. Any idea why Luke cursed your mother to hell when the game went into overtime?

Rory let out a snort. Lorelai leaned over to peer at her phone. "Who ya talking to?"

"Jess," Rory replied thoughtlessly, typing a quick reply.

"Jess?" Lorelai repeated, and Rory glanced up. Her mother's eyes were narrowed, the corners of her lips raised behind her champagne glass.

Rory felt the champagne bubbling somewhere where her usual restraint was located. She set down her phone without responding to the man on the other end. "Yeah, you know, the best man."

"Oh right, that one, the tall dark stranger who will be next to Luke at the altar. Pray tell, why is this stranger texting you?" Lorelai popped a strawberry in her mouth and waggled her eyebrows.

"We're friends," Rory shrugged.

"I thought you were friendish?"

"Yeah, friendish. Or friends."

"Since when does he text you?"

"Since he's stuck opening beer for Luke and TJ and watching sports," Rory said. Even to her, as she drank her champagne quicker than usual, the answer sounded hollow.

Lorelai gave her an all too knowing look. "So when did the texting start? Approximately four hours ago when the sports and beer opening started?"

Rory glanced down at her glass of champagne. There was about two inches of liquid left, so she raised her glass and drained it. Then she handed her mother the empty flute and motioned towards the bottle for a refill. "Since he came to New York for a work event and we got dinner a few months ago."

"Aha!" Lorelai quickly obligated and refilled her daughter's glass, "And? Give me the dirty details, sister. You know how much I love details. The dirtier, the better."

Rory remembered the gritty alleyway behind the bar in the West Village, the way Jess's body had instantly pressed into hers like a magnet when their lips touched, they way he had lifted her against the wall and the delicious bruises that lingered on her back for a week. Dirty was certainly a word to describe the details of what happened.

"There may have been some inappropriate activities," Rory accepted the glass back delicately, "but nothing is happening. We talk about books occasionally – no set schedule or anything. I saw him a couple more times in the city."

"And?" Lorelai tapped her foot impatiently.

"And nothing," Rory protested, "it's really casual. We're friends."

"With benefits?" Lorelai demanded.

"With very occasional benefits," Rory relented.

Lorelai giggled, draining her own glass and quickly refilling it. "I had a feeling this may happen. Once I heard that he broke up with the moody girlfriend. He kept staring at you at Christmas."

"Did he?" Rory asked, startled.

"Well, no, not overtly, but women have their wily ways," Lorelai grinned, "I could tell. He's very smooth, this adult Jess. But not subtle enough for your mother. Oh no, I am a bloodhound with these things."

"We've only done anything twice," Rory protested, "over the span of months. It's more like … we text when new books come out, and a couple times we may have possibly drank too much and ended up doing things that mothers don't like to hear about."

Lorelai shrugged off the qualification. "So is my wedding just another excuse for a drunken hook up?"

"Mom!" Rory exclaimed.

"Kidding," Lorelai said, "but actually, where is this headed?"

"Nowhere, I don't think," Rory said.

"You're not into the broody James Dean ex?"

Rory shrugged, "I don't really know. He's different now."

"He is," Lorelai agreed, "new Jess is much better. Less likely to set fire to buildings. Uses words more often than grunts. Calls Luke before he leaves or shows up out of the blue."

"Yeah, he's definitely grown up," Rory nodded.

Lorelai analyzed her daughter, her expression thoughtful. "You know, you can use my wedding as an irresponsible hook up excuse, I really don't mind."

"Mom."

Lorelai raised her hands in self-defense, "I'm just saying, he's not the worst moody hipster I've ever met, I actually enjoy having him around, for Luke's sake, and I always imagined you ending up with someone who was an equal book worm. The man is a famous author now, for goodness sake. You guys can grow old and become librarians together."

"Mom, we're not dating!"

"Okay, but if, all I'm saying is that you'll have to invest in a lot of sturdy bookshelves and bedside reading lamps. You have to think about the logistics, sweetheart. Do you want that many bookshelves? Can your apartment's interior design energy handle more literary clutter? What if your kids like reading too? Can the structure of the house support that much paper weight? Isn't it a fire hazard to have that much paper in one place?"

Rory ate a strawberry, silent, her thoughts processing her mother's unsolicited approval. She felt her phone buzz again, and glanced at Jess's message: Out of beer and out of sports. Tell Lorelai to expect him home soon.

"Drunk Luke is incoming," Rory announced, cutting off her mother's rambling.

Lorelai sighed, "Better clear the pathway from the door to bed."

As Rory cleared the table, her mother got in one last comment. "He was the only boyfriend that you never gave a proper ending to, sweets. Sometimes it's nice to find out where the story leads."

Before Rory could respond there was a heavy knock on the door, and Lorelai hurried to help a gruff, stumbling Luke up the stairs.

Rory typed back to Jess: Cargo safely arrived.

But behind her casual text to Jess and her exasperated response to her mother, Kerouac's truths floated through her bubbly thoughts. We tiptoed around each other like heartbreaking new friends.

.

.

The next few days passed in a whirl of last minute wedding preparations. Rory helped Sookie grocery shop and Emily oversee flower vase bow tying, and made sure to grab coffee for her and Lorelai from Luke's at least four times a day. She ran into Jess more than a few times, each of them always busily doing something for the wedding. He would shoot her a knowing look, his dark eyes twinkling, as they ran into each other in the café, or crossed paths in the sunny town square holding various parcels and packages for the wedding event.

Once, when she hurried to Luke's for an emergency coffee run as Emily and Lorelai bickered at home over the "absolutely hideous" vintage shoes Lorelai was planning on wearing for the ceremony, Rory saw his familiar, slender frame by the gazebo. He was with Doula, who had her hair in pigtails and was trying to hoola hoop. Jess, laughing, kept catching the hoop before it fell to the ground and spinning it around her once again, as she raised her arms and tried to figure out how to make her hips find rhythm. Rory paused, charmed, observing a carefree, younger side of him that she rarely saw. Doula, though clearly frustrated, still let out peals of laughter as Jess encouraged her on.

Jess noticed Rory, and winked. She smiled back, distracted, and then forced herself to turn and go to Luke's. Lorelai's caffeine boost couldn't wait when she was fighting with Emily.

Thursday was the day of the fateful bachelor and bachelorette parties, and Rory felt only slightly nervous that her event wouldn't go as planned. However, with Miss Patty and Babette's help, she was sure that the event would be appropriately raunchy for her mother. They set up in Miss Patty's dance studio, and Rory blushed at some of the posters that the two older women shamelessly tacked onto the walls. Miss Patty regaled them with tales of her many bachelorette parties as they filled the coolers with ice, set up various naughty games (pin the tail on the what?) and arranged chairs for optimal girl talk and (though Rory flinched) the stripper that she had built up the courage and called and booked.

Rory had assurance from Jess that the boys were heading to New Haven, so she did not feel too exposed having the event in such a central Stars Hollow location. "No, I'm just taking them to a perfectly normal strip club and sports bar and putting the tab on my card," Jess had rolled his eyes, "I am not planning or hosting anything."

Unfortunately, Rory didn't have that luxury, and she closed the door to the studio quickly behind her when she left to retrieve her mom. Lane and Sookie were approaching together, holding cardboard boxes of pizza. Sookie looked thoroughly unhappy to be holding the offending fast food items.

"Thanks for picking up the pizza," Rory said, relieved to see both of them, "I'm going to grab my mom – Babette can show you were to put that."

"Oh heavens," Sookie exclaimed when the door opened. Lane burst out in giggles. Rory shook her head and hurried away.

The men were congregating at Lorelai's house, but Rory, already feeling jumpy and exposed, started when she saw Jess on the front porch, pointedly ignoring TJ. Luke was begging Lorelai to let him stay home and watch football.

"Oh no," TJ said, "no, no, you will not ruin our fun, no sir. Get in the car!"

"Having fun yet?" Rory asked Jess quietly, sidling up next to him.

"Oh yeah, loads," Jess said sarcastically, his arms folded, "once I get some whiskey in him he'll be fine."

"I may need some of that," Rory said weakly. When he glanced at her, she elaborated. "Babette and Miss Patty have made the dance studio x-rated."

Jess smirked, "Delightful."

TJ finally dragged Luke towards the truck, and Jess gently squeezed her hip and moved past her towards the car, keys jangling. She jumped again, as if burned by the friendly contact.

"Is it just the three of you?" Lorelai yelled after them, "lame bachelor's party!"

The car disappeared, and Lorelai looked Rory up and down. "Really, you're wearing that?"

"What's wrong with this?" Rory asked, surprised. She looked down at her skinny jeans and black tank top.

"Where is your boa? And the sparkles? And the pink? Haven't you ever seen a proper hen's party?"

Rory sighed, "All accessories are currently on location. I was going to change into fancier shoes, will that satisfy you?"

Lorelai clapped, "Oh yes!"

Rory switched her sneakers for a pair of tall red heels (in honor of her scarlet mother) and then turned off the lights, closed the front door, and walked her mother towards the dance studio. Lorelai babbled the whole time, overly-excited, guessing at the various naughty things that would happen at the party. By the time they arrived, Rory was almost relieved that Babette and Miss Patty had helped her inner naive Chilton schoolgirl adultify the event.

"It's perfect!" Lorelai cried when the door opened.

The women inside gave a cheer. "Lorelai!"

Rory saw what seemed to be the entire adult female population of Stars Hollow sipping on Babette's famous pink cosmos and chattering around the studio. She made a beeline for Lane, accepted the bright pink drink her best friend handed her, and tried not to look at the graphic image on the wall next to them.

"They outdid themselves," Lane said, nodding in appreciation at the space, "and I am so grateful you told me to tell my mother that there would be no vegan food here."

"Yes, Mrs. Kim would not have handled this well," Rory said fervently.

"What about your grandmother? Is she coming?"

"She was invited," Rory tipped her shoulders, cringing at the idea of Emily walking into the space, "but my hope is that she uses tonight to fix everything about the wedding that she believes my mom has neglected. She'd be so much happier doing that."

To Rory's great relief, Emily did not decide to attend the bachelorette party. As the night went on, she wasn't sure what image would be the most traumatizing for her: Gypsy successfully pinning the tail, the young firefighter stripper treating Lorelai to some brief fun and then being monopolized by Miss Patty, or the raucous game of truth or dare that developed near the cake. At one point she texted Jess a helpless S.O.S., but he didn't respond and she assumed he had his hands full with the older men in his charge. She knew Jess was the designated driver for the group, so undoubtedly he was helping to coax them into all sorts of bad decisions.

Eventually, as the night wore very late, the women began to head home. Lane and Sookie used their kids as excuses to avoid one last cosmo, and left at the same time as the stripper, who Rory tipped and apologized to profusely on behalf of Miss Patty.

Rory was unsurprised to find her mother sufficiently inebriated by the time the last women waved goodbye and left. Morey showed up out of nowhere to help Babette home, and Miss Patty waved off all assistance and went off humming into the warm summer evening.

"Wow kiddo, can you believe this night!" Lorelai laughed, unsteady as she slid to sit on the front steps of Miss Patty's dance studio, carefully balancing her cosmo, "did you see Babette do that dare?"

Amused, Rory perched next to her mother. "Yes, yes I did. Never forget."

"And Miss Patty! Oh that poor sweet clueless stripper. You don't think we have a lawsuit coming there do you?"

Rory shook her head, "No, he's fine. Probably will never come back to Stars Hollow. Ever. But he's fine."

Lorelai threw her head back, laughing. Rory steadied the drink in her hand, breaking into a smile at her mother's utterly carefree, happy state of mind.

"Mom it's after midnight," Rory checked her watch, "you're officially getting married tomorrow. How does that feel?"

"Like it's about damn time," Lorelai sloshed her drink, "been waiting for that man for .. for years. And years."

"Yeah," Rory smiled, watching her, "I think he has been too."

"I'm glad at least I got married before you," Lorelai sighed, "boy, Emily never would have let that one go. Thanks for waiting, child of mine."

"No marriage in sight," Rory promised.

"If you elope to Vegas tomorrow with that stripper I will be annoyed with you," Lorelai warned tipsily.

"Noted."

A car pulled to the light, and then drove around the square towards them. The headlights flashed on the steps and Lorelai covered her eyes, spilling her drink slightly in the process. Rory recognized Jess' car.

"It's Luke!" Lorelai grinned, standing, her pink feather boa off-kilter around her shoulders. "Luke!" she called.

The car's headlights went dark and the two men climbed out. Luke, like Lorelai, seemed slightly more unsteady than usual, and Jess was quick to grab his arm before he tripped getting out of the car.

"Did you lose TJ?" Rory asked, perplexed.

"Yes," Luke grunted.

"No," Jess corrected, "just dropped him off at home first."

Lorelai tripped going down the stairs, but regained her footing and fell into Luke, giggling. "You will not believe what happened in Miss Patty's tonight."

"I don't think I want to know," Luke said, his eyebrows raised, taking in his fiancée's boa and the glitter dust in her hair.

"How is he?" Rory mouthed to Jess. He gave an unconvincing thumbs up.

Within minutes though, Rory could tell that Luke was significantly more sober than Lorelai and was at least able to keep both of them upright and talking. He had a sensible looking water bottle sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans, and had the good sense to tip out Lorelai's drink when she wasn't paying attention.

"Hey Luke, think you can get her home?" Rory asked, "I gotta clean up this mess."

"I can help," Jess offered, quickly.

"Yeah, I got her," Luke put his arm around Lorelai's shoulders, shooting Jess a look, "come on, Lor, let's go."

"But Luke! You know what right now calls for? Pancakes. Pancakes and coffee. Irish coffee. Can we have both?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Luke steered her towards her house, waving back at Jess and Rory, "at home, let's go."

Rory watched as Luke escorted her mother out of the square, and then turned to look at Jess. He was smirking, eying the confetti that had spilled from the studio, down the stairs, and was already making its way into the lawn.

The night was warm, and Rory was suddenly aware of how quiet the town was after midnight. The crickets chirped somewhere in the grass, and the night felt full and velvety and sweet. The street lamps would shut off soon, she knew.

"So. Clean up?" Jess asked, his hands in his pockets.

She glanced at the dance studio, thinking of the sticky, confetti-covered mess within, and then sighed. "In a minute?"

Jess smiled. He went up the steps quickly, shut off the lights, and closed the door behind him. "Procrastinate until the morning?"

She realized how tired she was. "Maybe," she admitted.

He stepped down, eyeing her. His dark eyes swept her bare shoulders, her jeans, and then reached her risqué choice of heels. "No boa?" he teased.

"Lost it in the haze of the night," she said, dryly.

"I like the look," he gave her that knowing half-smile, "very city chic, Gilmore. If you tap those three times I think you'd have the option to go to Kansas."

"Ha," she placed a hand on his shoulder to balance and removed her right heel, and then the left. When she stepped down he suddenly seemed much taller.

"Walk with me?" he suggested.

Although she was barefoot, and it was after midnight, and she felt exhausted after the busy bachelorette party, she said, "Sure," before any of those reasons sparked an objection on her tongue. Kerouac whispered spontaneity somewhere in her bloodstream.

Jess walked slowly, allowing her time to pay careful attention to where she stepped. It was a beautiful night, with bright stars and a three-quarter moon that helped to illuminate her way. She avoided pebbles, preferring the soft grass in the square, and let him lead on this midnight walk. Kerouac, the master of starry nights and open-ended evenings, would have loved this night, full of flexible uncertainties.

She wasn't surprised when they ended up at the bridge, because it was peaceful and beautiful and, in her hazy teenage memories, a place she always associated with Jess. The dark water rippled silver in the moonlight, and the crickets were even louder. Jess settled on the wooden boards, his shoes dangling over the edge, leaning back on his hands, effortless. She joined him somewhat less gracefully.

"So how many dances did TJ get?" she began, conversational.

Jess snorted, "Too many."

Rory smiled, "Miss Patty monopolized our guy."

"Can't say I'm surprised."

"And you? How many did you get?" she asked, partly teasing, partly challenging.

He shot her an unamused look, and did not answer.

They lapsed into quiet, Rory comfortable in the warm night, listening to the cacophonous symphony of the nighttime insects. Jess stared at the water, occasionally touching the surface with the toe of his sneaker to make the ripples dance.

"So do you have a date for the wedding?" Rory ventured, after a while. She could feel herself pushing the limits of their mutual nonchalance, but she was not afraid of offending him. She felt brave, on the same bridge where, in the early dawn of their first relationship, she had demanded him to refute Dean's allegations of their mutual connection. In that moment, as she hated herself for being a terrible girlfriend to Dean, she felt no shame in forcing Jess to acknowledge the part he played, and the emotions that drove him. If she was going to go down with that ship, Jess was damn well going to go with her.

Here, she felt that same sense of shameless courage. Maybe she was pushing boundaries, but she felt safe in their complicit game. Or, maybe the only cosmo she had drank five hours ago was stronger than Babette had promised.

He shot her another look. "No. You?"

"No," she shook her head.

She began to feel acutely aware of the tension between them. The casual manner that they had cultivated so carefully over phone and text seemed stretched, thin, in the heavy summer night air. She could feel herself forcing the friction, but could not come up with an adequate reason why. Kerouac, a whirl of energy and passion and indecision, would not have needed an adequate reason. He would have pushed, demanding the world to bare their souls, to connect, to feel the energy of the night and embrace it in a howl of alcoholism and reckless behavior. Rory wasn't reckless, or drunk, but she could hear the howl in the distance and she didn't feel like running.

"You alright?" she asked, after another tense, quiet, lingering moment.

He gave her a raspy rendition of Kerouac. "I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you."

"What stars are you caught between?"

He flashed his half smile, "Ideals, I suppose."

"Such as?"

He appraised her. "Independence. Freedom. Mobility. One night stands that leave me aching the next day."

Her breath caught, but she stayed steady, her eyes locked on his. She imagined the delicate gray twilight of their mutual nonchalance shot through with a beam of sunlight. The tension recoiled, thrown into the light, made visible and obvious.

She realized, abruptly, that this was the first time that the tension was unbearable without the influence of alcohol. They were both sober, grounded on the bridge, able to see the stars above them and hear the crickets and process language without the alcohol haze of bias or fantasy. His eyes were inscrutable as he watched her for a reaction.

"We're breaking this," she said.

He nodded.

The tension was pulsing now. Rory's thoughts flitted to Manhattan, to her little, white apartment uptown, to the office that acted more like her second home in midtown, to the careful, lonely life of take out Chinese food and movie marathons that she had created. She thought of her independence, of her free weekends and evenings, of all of the time that she had that was accountable to no one but herself. She thought of the isolation that sometimes suffocated her, the way that a phone vibration could snap the loneliness to pieces.

There was a crease in Jess' shoulders now, taking away some of his carefree affect. His eyes were very serious, examining her face, waiting, patient.

"Why didn't it work, when were kids?" she asked absentmindedly.

He shrugged. "Bad timing. Immaturity. By the time I had figured out that I was really ready for you, you were off making bad decisions of your own. I think we needed to lose each other on purpose for a while."

She remembered him at her Yale dorm years ago, breathless, a vision of Kerouac in a leather jacket asking her to come away with him. She had seen him standing there, offering his heart, offering his recklessness, but her focus was on another ex boyfriend and a marriage that wasn't hers to ruin. She ruined it anyway, ruined everything, sent Jess off into the night and shattered Dean's home life.

If Rory was honest with herself, she was the root cause of most of the bad timing and immaturity after Jess' ill timed, badly communicated teenage runaway trip to California. She let Logan humiliate Jess when he was clearly getting his life together and being successful, and embarrassed herself when Jess forced her to see what a mindless wasp she had become. The last time, when she went to Philly seeking retribution for Logan's betrayal, Jess had seen through her entire charade. He had offered her his sacrifice, even as she incoherently babbled about Logan and revealed how truly childish and selfish her thinking was. Rory cringed just thinking about it.

"I think we needed to lose each other on purpose for a while too," Rory agreed, slowly. "I needed to grow up."

"We both needed to grow up," Jess amended.

Rory looked at him, helpless, "Yeah, but I treated you terribly Jess. I am really sorry."

He shrugged, "I've been through worse. Didn't treat you well, either"

They fell quiet again. The tension had a streak of ugliness now, a hint of a reminder of the ways they had cruelly mistreated each other when they were young and in love and selfish. Rory felt uncomfortable with this breach. Her head spun. Perhaps this would have been easier in a rowdy bar with background noise and alcohol to fill the heavy silences. Here, on the quiet bridge, they were utterly bare to one another. His eyes never left her.

He murmured Kerouac, as if offering an olive branch, "Most of the time we were alone and mixing up our souls ever more and ever more till it would be terribly hard to say good-by."

"It would be, wouldn't it?" Rory said idly. She could not really imagine saying goodbye to Jess now, ending the fragile alliance of texts and phone calls that she felt had inextricably wrapped to the cords of her emotions.

The night swelled around them, warm and humid, the noises of the crickets drowning out Rory's scattered thoughts. Jess returned his gaze to the ripples in the water. Both of them were stuck in their own thoughts, pulsing the tension, existing side by side in comfortable discomfort.

Eventually, when she was sure it was very late, he stood and offered her his hand. "Walk you home?"

She accepted, and he pulled her up. She felt the loss when he let go of her hand, but made no motion to recapture it. She felt as if they were on no-man's land right now, their easy mutual nonchalance broken into pieces but a new common ground formed under them. They could be aware of the tension, and not yet do a thing about it.

They moved quietly through the dark town, eventually reaching Lorelai's house. He came to a stop. "See you tomorrow?"

"Sure baby, mañana," she replied, half joking, her voice unsteady.

He smiled briefly, appreciating Kerouac's ways. They stared at each for a moment.

Jess leaned forward, brushing her hair behind her ear and kissing her lightly on the cheek. Then he stepped back, hands in his pockets, offering a crooked smile. "Beat it."

She lingered for a moment, the tension pulling her, but then smiled back and turned towards her house. The screen door creaked, and when she turned around Jess had already disappeared into the night.

.

.

The day of the wedding dawned warm and sunny, a typical Stars Hollow July day that smelled like the fresh, grassy green of summer. By 10:00am Rory and Lorelai together had already polished off a box of poptarts and two pots of coffee, and were starting the third when Emily arrived to whip the bride and bridesmaids into shape.

Rory had not seen Jess the day before, and she felt a nervous tingling in her stomach that she was sure had nothing to do with her mother's upcoming nuptials. When her thoughts strayed towards Jess she tended to snap herself out of it, thinking of the mountain of work emails that were surely waiting on her laptop, or the editorial that she was supposed to be writing on the new foreign policy plan just put forth by the State Department and supported by the UN. She could feel the mutual tension stretching from Luke's upstairs apartment all the way to her house, but she felt a sense of serenity about it. Although Jess had let her see a flashing glimpse of his feelings towards their affair, she could sense his calm patience, his hesitance. Like Rory, he seemed unwilling to break their friendship so quickly. We're breaking this, she had said, but that didn't have to mean right here, right now.

She wrapped her fingers around the mug of coffee, willing the caffeine to solve the two sleepless nights that she had had since their midnight conversation on the bridge. Her yawns came frequently, even as her mother tapped her fingers on the table, counting down to Emily's arrival like the countdown to doomsday.

The front door opened with a bang. "Girls, my god, have you even showered yet?" Emily demanded, appearing in the kitchen.

Lorelai and Rory exchanged looks. "Uh, getting right on that Mom," Lorelai said weakly.

"Well hurry!" Emily exclaimed, "The ceremony is in six hours, what do you think this is, some kind of common garden party? Get moving! Lorelai, we're running out of time to do your hair and make up."

"Hair and make up does not take six hours," Lorelai groaned. She poured herself a cup of coffee and stomped up the stairs.

Emily raised her eyebrows at Rory, "You too. It's going to take half an hour at least to get those bags out from under your eyes."

Rory examined her reflection in the back of a spoon. Her grandmother was right. She looked close to death, pale and drawn and ghostly. Sighing heavily, she followed her mother's suit, refilled her coffee, and prayed that a hot shower would wake her up.

The wedding preparation felt like being caught in the crosswinds of a hurricane. By the time Rory was dried off and wearing a neutral pair of sweats and a t-shirt, Lorelai and Emily were already yelling at each other over the sound of a hair dryer. Emily had brought her stylist again to do their hair and make up, and it became immediately evident to Rory that her mother and grandmother would not agree on a single aspect of any of it. On this one, Rory sided with her mom. It was her wedding day. So she did her best to distract Emily, asking her grandmother to help her pick out jewelry to go with the short, simple navy blue bridesmaid dress.

"You and Sookie should match," Emily said, decisively. "Call her and tell her to wear gold, not silver."

"I think she's a bit busy with the catering, Grandma," Rory replied.

"Well heavens, she shouldn't be a bridesmaid and a caterer," Emily snapped. Rory grinned, and then caught her grandmother's attention again to ask for help with shoes.

In the late afternoon, when the light was starting to become golden and beautiful, Rory hurried to the town square to help with the very last second preparations. Liz, Babette, and Patty had done a beautiful job. Simple white chairs were lined up facing the archway that Luke had constructed, which was laden with daisies. Flower petals lined the walkway. It wasn't fussy or overdone, exactly what Lorelai and Luke wanted. Already, half the town was milling about, saving seats and getting ready for the ceremony to start. Everyone was dressed in their best, or in their wackiest, and Rory's heart felt full seeing the community that had helped her and her mom through so much.

"Oh Rory, sweetheart, you look beautiful!" Miss Patty exclaimed, reaching forward to grab Rory's hand.

"Thanks, Miss Patty," Rory smiled. The dress was simple, and Emily had chosen a pair of nude pumps and some delicate gold jewelry to round it off. Her hair was pulled back into a loose knot, with a single flower tucked into the mess. Unfortunately they hadn't been able to solve the bags under her eyes. She knew she still looked tired and far too pale for this late in the summer. She blamed her Manhattan office and the window that faced in a direction that the sun never seemed to shine.

"We'll start in fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes people," Taylor announced, using his megaphone, "Has anyone seen the happy couple?"

"I'll go get Mom," Rory called. Taylor waved her on, and quickly returned to barking reminders into the megaphone.

Rory collected the bridal bouquet from Liz, made sure to find Sookie and check that she was dressed and ready to duck away from the kitchen for the ceremony, and then asked Babette and Miss Patty to make sure everyone started finding the seats, and that someone wrestle the megaphone away from Taylor and hide it or Luke might end up committing murder on his wedding day.

When she returned to the house, Emily and Lorelai were preparing to step into the carriage. Rory smiled when she saw both women, both radiant. Lorelai's impromptu tailor job on the dress was impeccable. The dress fit like a glove. Emily was perfectly proper in a suit jacket and skirt and a matching hat pinned to her hair.

"How matronly do I look?" Lorelai swished her dress, her eyes dancing.

Rory handed her the bouquet of flowers. "Younger than me. With better fashion sense."

"Princess Buttercup would have been an adequate response too, but I'll take it," Lorelai checked her nail polish with the flowers, "See mom, told you it would match."

Emily sighed, and stepped daintily into the carriage.

Although Rory could not quite believe it was already the hour, the carriage jolted to life and they made their way to the town square, the horse clip-clopping through the beautiful, late afternoon summer light. When they pulled towards the square, Rory saw the whole town seated, all eyes expectantly turned toward the carriage. She could see Luke and Jess standing near the altar, and Sookie standing near the aisle, behind the chairs, waiting for the bridal party with a beaming smile on her face. Emily harrumphed, "There is flour on Sookie's dress."

"Shh, Mom, look at how amazing it looks," Lorelai beamed at the square, moving her hand to rest on Emily's.

The troubadour began playing something mellow and pretty on his acoustic guitar, and Rory leaned forward and kissed her mom on the cheek. "Love you, Mom. Knock 'em dead."

Lorelai cupped Rory's cheek, her eyes full, and then helped her open the door to step out. Rory waved at Sookie, and smiled at the blur of faces turned towards her. Carefully, as Emily had instructed her, she began walking up the aisle, her hands clutching a small bouquet of flowers.

At the far end, Luke stood looking calm and handsome in his best suit. Rory gave him a big grin as she neared the altar, and he returned it, nodding to her. Then, without meaning to, her eyes slid to his right.

Jess smirked at her, looking remarkably young and dark and handsome in his suit. His hair was a typical dark mess, and his posture was relaxed. He kept his eyes on her, unabashed, letting his gaze sweep her figure as she walked to stand on the left side of the arch. When she reached her position she couldn't help but glance at him sideways, and nearly blushed when she caught him toss her another crooked smile.

Sookie and TJ walked up the aisle next, both of them already nearly crying. When Sookie reached Rory she clasped her arm, shaking her head with emotion. Rory saw a handkerchief already crumpled up in one of her fists.

And then, the troubadour changed the melody slightly, and Lorelai, a vision in white, began walking up the aisle, holding arms with Emily.

Rory felt a deep, panging sadness, as the gaping emptiness left behind by her grandfather hit her all at once. But Emily, the picture of strength, walked her daughter firmly up the aisle, patted Luke on the arm, and then took her seat in the front row, back straight and legs neatly crossed.

The ceremony was quick, and Rory found herself fighting back tears next to Sookie by the end of it. When Luke and Lorelai exchanged rings and sealed the deal with a kiss the town exuberantly stood up, clapping and cheering, congratulating the happy couple. The troubadour changed the tune to something jauntier, and the neat order of the ceremony quickly dissolved into an unorganized mess of happy tears and congratulations and photographs. Sookie squeezed Rory's elbow, and then disappeared back to her house to finish the food and set up the outdoor catering. Lane came up to Rory with her twins and gave her a big hug.

Rory stood still for a moment, watching the town envelop Luke and Lorelai, feeling a great tenderness for the whole community. Then Emily caught her attention, and she snapped back into action, helping her grandmother and some townspeople rearrange the chairs, clear the dance floor, set up tables, and get the reception party started.

Evening settled slowly over the party as the sky turned shades of purples and blues, and strings of lights twinkled over the reception. Rory gave a toast that ended in her mother laugh-crying, and Jess gave a toast that made Luke pull him in for a gruff hug. Sookie's food was delicious but Rory hardly tasted any of it, enjoying the warm evening and the noisy conversations and the bubbly feeling of optimism that seemed to rise from the champagne glasses and infuse the flower-scented summer night air.

Eventually, the dance floor became crowded with couples enjoying Lorelai's eccentric playlist. Rory sat with her grandmother, tapping her foot, watching Luke beam as he danced with Lorelai.

"Your mother looks exceptionally happy," Emily observed.

"Yeah," Rory agreed, feeling warm and content, "she really does."

Night fell, the cake was cut, and the songs began to quiet to slow, romantic, drowsy melodies, couples revolving together under the lights. Rory stood near the edge of the dance floor, watching her mother and Luke sway to a slower Bangles song. She felt a hand on her shoulder. "Care to dance?"

She glanced back and saw Jess, his usual smirk playing across his lips. "If we must," Rory said, sharing his smile and accepting his hand, guiding him further from the chatter of the guests. They ended up in a corner of the dance floor, next to a tree lit up by twinkle lights, just far enough from the rest of the couples.

Carefully, he drew her towards him and rested both his hands on her waist. Feeling bold again, she moved even closer and placed her arms around his neck, their eyes only inches apart. If Jess was surprised by her forward move he didn't show it, and matched her gaze evenly, his dark eyes appraising her.

"You look nice," he said.

"So do you," she said, honestly.

They revolved a few times, gently, and then he quoted Kerouac. "It was a fine night, a warm night, a wine-drinking night, a moony night, and a night to hug your girl and talk and spit and be heavengoing."

"I'm not sure either of us are particularly heavengoing," she remarked, smiling.

"And I'm not drinking wine," he added.

"I don't plan on spitting," she warned.

"But it is a fine night," he smiled.

"It is," she agreed, shifting even closer, laying her head against his chest and hearing his heartbeat. She saw the other couples swaying, but she blurred her vision, letting herself feel as if they were the only ones on the floor.

We're breaking this, she had said, and in this moment, holding Jess close to her, she could feel the tension cracking around them, pieces falling away.

"We're breaking this," he said, quietly, almost like a reminder.

She raised her head, meeting his intense eyes, watching his face for any sign of a change. Jess was calm, measured. She nodded, "I know."

"I don't want this to end again," he said almost off-handedly, but his gaze was fixed, focused on her. "Not sure my bitter alcoholic heart could take it."

"Not even for literary purposes?" she asked, teasingly.

"Only for literary purposes," he half-smiled.

Rory evaluated him, the lights glittering behind him as they revolved. He looked softer in the warm light, and she felt that same sense of complicit courage. "I don't want it to either."

Jess looked at her briefly, and then raised his hand to cup her cheek. He drew her in for a slow kiss, one hand on her waist, one hand tangling into her hair. She pulled him closer, reciprocating, feeling his smooth lips and the sharp stubble of his five o'clock shadow.

He rested his forehead on hers, and then pulled her back, resuming swaying, as if nothing had changed, nothing had just shattered into bits around them. Their façade of friendship, built with texts and phone calls and careful light tones, crumbled in an instant. Rory felt like his girl, in this fine, moony, heavengoing night. She held him tighter, for an instant, and he kissed the top of her head, continuing their slow, steady revolution.

When the wedding began wrapping up Rory saw her mom and Luke off, promised her mom that she would be fine sleeping at Lane's, and helped everyone cheer and throw petals as the newlyweds departed. Jess stood behind her, his hand catching hers, fingers entwining in the dark.

The festivities continued, even after half the guests had departed. Rory waited until Lane left, and made sure to catch Jackson and Sookie before they went home. When the party disintegrated into sloppy dancing and tight circles of people, intensely wrapped in conversation, she found Jess and took his hand. They slipped away, back to Luke's, locking the door and heading up the stairs to an apartment that was now exclusively, and rarely, inhabited by Jess. She curled up on the bed, watching him undo his tie and drape his jacket over the back of a chair. He offered her a t-shirt but she shook her head. She kicked off her heels and placed her jewelry on the bedside table, feeling warm and cozy in the sheets and the soft fabric of her dress.

"Staring is rude, you know," he told her casually, unbuttoning his dress shirt.

"Unless you've earned the privilege," she raised her eyebrows.

"Earned or stole?"

"A little of both," she smiled.

He tossed the shirt at her. Then, smooth as ever, (he was always the smoothest operator out of all her ex boyfriends), he used an arm to vault himself over her and wrap their bodies together, his arms turning her towards him, lips finding hers, softly, gently, slowly.

While neither of them was drunk, and Rory was perfectly content to stay cocooned in the sheets, kissing him sweetly, fingers laced together, they did not stay slow and gentle for long. Jess could smolder, but sooner or later he burned, his skin hot, his lips furious. They sped up, demanding, wanting, pressing into each other, discarding unwanted articles of clothing. She felt herself melting into the heat of his body, forgetting her usual inhibitions, her exhaustion, and the small, outer-body part of her thought process that could not believe how permanently she was breaking her truce with Jess. We're breaking this, she reminded herself, but quickly forgot even that as he expertly worked his way down her body.

For the first time they were truly with each other, able to feel the heat that simmered between them, undistracted by the sounds from the gritty village bar or the sweet exhaustion that wrapped them in a haze the second time in New York. Here, above Luke's, she could trace the contours of his back and memorize the pressure points on his neck that caused his kisses to become more brutal, his breath shakier. He gathered her wrists and raised her arms above her head, pinning her slightly, the pressure of his body delicious on hers.

When she felt brave, the complicit courage and the sexual tension surging through her, she flipped him over and straddled him, enjoying the temporary surprise and appreciation in his eyes. She kissed him, sweetly, and worked her way down until he could no longer stand it and whirled her around, her back pressed into the mattress, his hand cupping her face and fiercely claiming her lips. The fire burned between them, and she quenched it with kisses until Jess' expertise and energy made her breathless. Was it a spark she had been looking for? Clinging to him, panting, she felt as if she had stumbled into the inferno.

Much later, in the deep night, with the lights shut off and his arms wrapped tightly around her as they both drifted off, Rory imagined Kerouac giving her a nod of approval. We wandered in a frenzy and a dream.

In the darkness, she drowsily laced her fingers through his. He pulled her closer, half-asleep, whispering into her ear.

They had broken everything, and Rory felt both dazed and fully cogent, as if her life was continuing along its natural course but with hazy, brief, delicious moments with a dark haired author that chose to no longer take his eyes off of her. Luke and Lorelai departed quickly for their honeymoon, so Jess and Rory had an extra day to be in Stars Hollow and try to neatly tie off the frayed ends of their decision. It came out sooner or later that Jess was actually already planning on moving to New York, that he and his "dumbass friends," or business partners, wanted to expand to two new locations in Greenwich Village and in Brooklyn. They had all made the decision that Jess should make the move months ago, but he had held off telling her.

Rory absorbed this, reaching for his hand. He shrugged. "I can look for bigger apartments if you'd like to live together."

She imagined her neat little apartment uptown, her space that always smelled like greasy take out and felt like a shrine to her professional career, her mobility, her success in New York. And she smiled, feeling as if perhaps, now that she was older, she was outgrowing the apartment. "Let me know when you find a place."

When Jess dropped her off at the train station he kissed her, once, twice, fiercely. "I'll let you know when I'm up there next. I'm sure I can find an excuse. The move should come together next month."

She kissed him back, "Deal."

"Here," he pulled a tattered paperback out of his back pocket, "This is for you. My old copy that I've had forever. Good luck reading through the scribbles."

It was an old edition of On the Road. Rory grinned. "Thanks."

He kissed her again, holding her close, and then released her and watched her board the train. Roy found a seat, and waved at him through the window. When the train pulled away she saw his dark figure standing there, and then turn to return towards the car. Her heart panged at the loss.

She flipped open the pages of the book, examining the incredible lines of his thin, narrow, slanted handwriting that filled every margin, occasionally crossing over the text itself. The handwriting was different, as if he had returned in different years to amend and add to his previous commentary.

On the inside cover, he wrote Rory – and a page number.

She turned to the page, and saw a quote thickly underlined. We agreed to love each other madly.

Below that, in his familiar handwriting, he had written, quite simply, We agreed to love each other madly.

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A few notes for friends and readers -

First, thank you for your feedback, for your reviews, and for your support. I appreciate all of it so, so very much.

This was inspired by news of the reboot, but as I'm sure you can tell, it was conceptualized and mostly written before any spoilers of the reboot leaked. So, my seasons are out of order, characters show up more and less frequently than they are supposed to, among other canon inconsistencies.

I am also aware that my timeline, when scrutinized closely (or not closely) does not quite match up to the canon either. Bear with me. Read it like the fiction it is.

I am sorry for the long gap between the first three chapters and this final one. I hope the final chapter does the first three justice. It feels cathartic for me, as a fan, to give Rory and Jess the ending that I think they deserve. And, as a writer, I enjoyed the exercise of delving into Rory's mind and attempting to recapture a tablespoon of the wit in the original series.

Thank you for reading! I hope this story gave you what you were looking for :)

UPDATE 11/26, post-revival

Well, now we know how it all ends - but there's some beauty in the lack of resolution.

I hope that this fic can give some of you the Literati ending that you were hoping for!