Chapter Eight

        I am craving my childhood, something I never thought I would do, but here I am lying in a strange bed wishing I were five years old again.  Back before Dad began traveling so much, back before I tasted the kind of freedom Rory had at her house, back when I was content to spend my evenings in Mom's lap as she read to me from a book of bible stories that her mom had read to her as a little girl.

        My eyes are nearly swollen shut and prying my eyelids apart only reminds me that my surroundings are unfamiliar- Dave's bedroom.  I begin crying, or did I ever really stop?  Dave's pillowcase is crusty, not soggy, evidence that at some point the crying at least paused.  I keep my eyes open long enough to read the clock- 6:27 a.m.  My head throbs with dehydration, stress, and lack of sleep.

        Merry Christmas.

        I hear a shuffle out in the hallway, tiny feet scuffling toward my door.  Then Dave's reprimanding voice.

        "Chris!" he hisses. "Let her sleep."

        "But Mom says we have to wait for her to open presents."

        "Then we wait, we don't wake her up."

        "But-"

        "Chris."

        "Okay," he says, deflated. 

        I roll to the side of the bed and struggle to sit up.

        "Did you hear that?" Chris cries. "She's awake, Dave, I think she's awake!"

        "Shh," Dave reminds him. "Go back downstairs, I'll check on Lane."

        The sounds of Chris scampering off bleed through the door and I wrestle with the sheets that have somehow bound my feet together.  Dave cracks open the door.

        "Come on in," I say, voice thick and grainy. 

        "How you doing?"

        "I feel like crap," I say. 

        "Well, you look beautiful," Dave says.  He sits on the edge of his own bed and touches my swollen face. 

        "I'm scared," I confess. "I wasn't last night, but I am now."

        "I'm right here for you, Lane," Dave says. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

        "What if she won't take me back in?  What if I'm homeless?"

        "You aren't homeless.  You can stay here as long as you like, so it's okay if she won't take you back in."

        "It's not okay!" I cry, standing. "She's my mother, Dave!  She's my family!"

        "Shh, Lane calm down.  You have to trust me that everything is going to be fine."

        "What, are you omniscient now?  You don't know that everything is going to be fine!"

        "Yes I do!" Dave argued, standing up. "Because we love each other and we have each other and that is what matters.  Your mom wouldn't accept it, so you left.  I realize it happened fast and that this wasn't exactly the way we thought things were going to go, but what's important is that we can be together now."

        I begin crying and he pulls me up against his chest, smoothes my gnarled hair.  The feel of him soothes me.

        "Part me still wants to be a little girl," I blubber. "Before all the fighting with mom over boys and God and music.  I wanted to be independent, but I didn't expect to become independent overnight."

        "I know, babe," he says.  The term of endearment makes me smile.  It reminds me of grade school when Rory and I made fun of old movies and threw popcorn at the women who caved into whatever their husbands wanted.

        "She has a name," Rory, already the budding feminist, would yell at the TV.

        We didn't realize back then how wonderful guys could be, how nice it was to be held and assigned cute names.

        "Dave!" an impatient Chris yells from downstairs.

        "Just a second!" Dave answers.  He smiles at me.

        After pulling my hair back and splashing cold water on my face, I clatter down the creaky steps and walk in on the Rygowski family all seated around the Christmas tree.  The whole downstairs is filled with the smell of fresh baked cinnamon rolls, coffee, and hot chocolate.  I pause on that last step, overcome with emotion as I see the four of them laughing and enjoying each other.  Mr. Rygowski catches sight of me first.

        "Lane," he says. "Merry Christmas."

        "Come on, come on," Chris cries, bouncing up and down, beckoning for me to join them.

        So I huddle beneath the tree with my new family.

*      *      *

        I drive Dave's Blazer over to the Gilmore household that afternoon, sporting a red and cream striped scarf and matching hat that Mr. and Mrs. Rygowski gave me.

        Despite the snow, Rory is waiting for me on the front porch.  Before I can even get my seatbelt off, she has the car door open.

        "I'm so sorry!" she cries, hugging me. "I've been the worst recently."

        "The worst what?" I ask, caught off guard.

        "You name it.  The worst everything.  The worst daughter, the worst best friend, the worst girlfriend, the worst ex-girlfriend, everything."

        "Calm down, it's fine," I say.

        "I never meant to shut down like that on you," Rory says, not calming down.  She pulls out of our hug and looks me in the face.  I see that she has been crying.

        "It was fine, I just wanted to help more," I tell her.

        "I just got so crazy over the whole Lindsay thing.  Let's go inside, it's freezing," Rory says, pulling me along with her.

        "The Lindsay thing?" I ask.

        "Lindsay Saint.  Dean's new girlfriend."

        "Dean is dating Lindsay Saint?" I cry. "Are you okay?  Are you jealous?  Mad?  Regretful?"

        Rory and I used to make fun of Lindsay for how perfect she was, mostly because both of us were a little jealous.  Both of us wanted to be blond.

        "Okay, we'll get to the Lindsay thing in a minute.  Tell me what in the world was going on last night," Rory says, opening the front door. "Do you want coffee?  Mom made her Christmas special, coffee with peppermint stick stirrers."

        "I heard my name!" Lorelai calls from her room. "Ouch!"

        "What happened?" Rory yells.

        "Stickers scratched me!"

        "Stickers?" I ask Rory.

        "We have a kitten."

        "Oh my gosh, since when?"

        "This morning.  I gave it to Mom for Christmas," Rory says.  She lowers her voice before saying, "I wanted her to have something to keep her company when I leave for college."

        The two of us thunder up the creaky stairs to find Lorelai on her bed taunting a beautiful white kitten with her fingers.

        "It bit me," she says without turning to us.

        "Well, you're dangling your fingers in front of its face," Rory says. "If I were Stickers I'd do the same thing."

        Lorelai turns to face us, looks right at me.  She asks, "How are you doing?"

        "Fine," I say.  My face is still puffy and I know it's obvious to her that I spent the night crying.

        Lorelai, Rory, and even Stickers look at me with expectation.  So I launch into the story.  The kiss.  The kicking out.  The drive to Dave's.  This morning around the Christmas tree.

        "You know, if something happens with Dave and you, you're always welcome here," Rory says when I finish.  At this moment I am filled with jealousy, that she has a home to offer.  I feel tears well up in my eyes again and Lorelai beckons for me to sit beside her, which I do.  She puts her arm around me.

        "You know, Lane, your mom is just trying to do what is best for you," she tells me. "I don't think I understood that when I left home."

        "I know," I say.

        "She called here last night."

        "My mother?"

        Lorelai nods and says, "She just wanted to know where you were staying.  I told her you were at Dave's."

        "Did she freak out?" I ask, squeezing my eyes shut, not even wanting to imagine what my mother thought of me spending the night at a boy's house.

        "Actually she took it very well," Lorelai says. "I think, for whatever reason, that she assumed as much."

        Stickers weasels between Lorelai and me, places her front paws on my sweater.  Her eyes are big and blue, just like the Gilmore girls.

        "What do you think I should do?" I ask Lorelai.

        "I think only you know that, Lane," Lorelai says.  This is what makes her such a cool Mom, her willingness to stand by and hold your hand as you figure things out for yourself.

        "I need to talk to her," I slowly say. "But I want to know what I want before I do."

        "That sounds good," Lorelai says. "You know what else sounds good?"

        "What?"

        "Christmas Coffee."

        This is how I spend the rest of my Christmas, warm and cozy in the Gilmore house, Lorelai relaying anecdotes about Luke and the hotel business, Rory groaning about Paris and Chilton, and me laughing so hard and long that my stomach ached.  This is what holidays are designed to be, a break from your everyday life.  A chance to giggle and appreciate what you have.  A window of time where you don't need to worry about having a paper due, that girl who is mad at you, or your parents marital problems.

        Somewhere between the Christmas Coffee, reheated pizza, and genuine laughter, it becomes clear in my mind what I want to tell my mom; that more than anything, I want a real relationship with her.  I'm tired of lying about music, boys, and my eating habits.  And I'm tired of the impersonal things I know about her.  She sells antiques.  She goes to church.  She eats healthy.  All bits of information that anyone could know about her. 

        I want to know her as Marie.

        And I want her to know me as Lane.

A note to my readers: Oh my goodness, I'm so so sorry about how long it has taken me to update.  There has been so much personal drama going on in my own life that I couldn't really find the strength to update Bible Kiss Bible.  Thank you so much for the e-mails I received prodding me to add the next chapter.  Without those, I honestly would have just abandoned it.  Also I apologize for how short this chapter seems.  I'm getting back in the swing of things, please be patient with me.