TROUVAILLE ... l.danes (REWRITE)

chapter thirty-two; the present

HE WILL ALWAYS BE A MAYBE

two-thousand-and-three

LANE DRUMS her brand new drumsticks against the edge of the table Shelley, Lorelai and Olive are sharing. Her drumsticks beat in time to her complaints about her laziest bandmate, Zack, and Shelley cannot stop herself from watching. Tap-tap-tap.

Shelley's hand shoots out and wraps around the pair. "Stop. Lane, please, just for five minutes." Lorelai sends her friend a thankful glance as she washes two Advil down with water before passing the packet over to Olive.

"Sorry, nervous habit!" Lane twirls her drumsticks around her finger, over and over and over again. It's making Shelley dizzy. She takes the Advil packet from Olive's outstretched hand and pops two for herself, passing on the water that Lorelai pushes over the table. The young drummer jumps up with a shout as Rory and Autumn arrive at the dinner, thanking the three adult women for letting her sit with them before she rushes over to the other corner of the diner to sit with her friends and annoy them about her bandmates.

Olive mutters a "thank God" under her breath that makes the other two chuckle. Their heads boom at the sudden noise and they all groan in unison. Best not to make too many sudden movements.

Last night, they'd sat in the Gilmore house and drank enough red wine they promptly forgot everything they were talking about. All Shelley can remember is the name Christopher popping up, something about being lonely, and how much they all should have moved to the other side of the country. Her tongue still tastes of wine. No amount of teeth brushing could get rid of it.

The bell above the door tinkles again and in steps a familiar redhead. Fuck. She is too hungover to watch another rendition of Luke and Nicole being in love. They're so in love. Just yesterday, Luke unveiled his brand new menus, which had room for three more salads just to accommodate his girlfriend. He took off his blueberry pancakes. Sometimes, Shelley would get them just to feel a little healthier about her new eating habits – oddly enough, she was the only one in town.

That's not enough to keep them on the menu, apparently.

Nicole trots up to the counter in her glossy black heels – how are they always so perfect? – to lean over it and press a kiss to the awaiting lips of the diner owner. Shelley watches them with narrowed eyes.

She never should have come back here, but thanks to Lorelai and Olive, she's really got no other choice. They always want to eat here. Always want to get coffee here. They're always taking her up to the counter and trying to get her to talk to him. And every time she does, because she's nice, and because she misses him so much it feels as if every time she's reminded about Nicole, someone takes the closest knife and cuts off another bit of her heart.

She's an idiot.

She drops her head onto her arms and waits for the chance to escape from here.

Lorelai pours more coffee into the cup sitting by her hand – they'd stolen the coffee pot from behind the counter and had simply ignored Luke when he tried to take it back – and she grumbles out a thank you. She hates being hungover. She hates Luke and Nicole. She hates waking up in the morning. And, right now, she hates sunshine.

"You know, if we snuck out now, Luke wouldn't charge us."

Shelley snorts and lifts her head only slightly. "He knows where we live. Even if we made a run for it, he'd track us down." They all nod, their idea busted in mere seconds.