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Three knocks at the door, the reveal of a crying toddler attached to the hip of a blue eyed teenager. The other side, a frail old woman worn out from tending to her own sleeping granddaughter. They embrace, oh Lorelai, you're going to be okay. It is decided over cups of tea and ginger cake that she should stay, until she is on her feet.
Three Knocks at the door, a teenager that refuses to remove herself from the car. Her fingers etch the word bitch on the car window. The blue eyed girl now grown and her nosy neighbours raise their eyebrows. This is bullshit, I am not living with strangers! They're not strangers Dominique, they're family. Her mother knows this is the last straw before she loses her completely, her last hope is to place her in the gentle care of another.
. . .
Dominique Seo Brown had thought that once she had left her birthplace of Connecticut at the grand age of seven, she would never return. Seattle was her home now, even when she left briefly, it felt like a part of her soul was removed, detached from her body; well, technically it once had, Dominique always felt like this now, ever since her Grandmother had passed. Trapped in a permanent state of grief, her body was on the ground moving but her brain was elsewhere, lulling over their last conversations, how she always smelt of cinnamon, how her mother's rice and peas would never compare to hers.
It was the same state that led to her disappearing night after night. She'd emerge in the morning, eyes sullen from lack of sleep and still smelling of the cheap vodka, passed from person to person before doing god knows what. Her parents grow more fearful that this isn't just a short phase when the daughter they know has been replaced with a stranger who lies like its her second nature and smashes glass until her hands are covered in cuts. A change of scenery is needed; Lorelai and Stars Hollow.
Corey Kim had thought his mother's love would suffocate him to his death before he could ever experience real romantic love. He was tired of being told how he would live his life; what job he would employ, what religion he'd follow, who he'd marry. He no longer wanted to lie to her face about the friends he kept and why his clothes smelt so faintly of tobacco. Nor of where his sister was, when he knew perfectly well that she hid in the solitude of a bedroom closet just to listen to David Bowie. His life felt over before it could even start.
