December, 2000
The Juniper Nook, Stars Hollow
13:10
I SHOULD be decorating for Christmas.
I should be placing baubles exactly the same distance apart on the tree, making sure no two colors are next to each other, only using red and gold and white. I should be hanging silver tinsel over the fireplace with two embroidered stockings that will never be filled. I should be changing my candles to specifically winter smells – Christmas cookie, candy cane, red apple wreath, cinnamon stick.
Instead, I'm hauling boxes into a semi-furnished bungalow on the outskirts of Stars Hollow. It means I am now within walking distance of my sister. (Of Jethro – but that remains silent on my tongue as Evie points out how close we live now). I thought Lorelai would have shuddered at the apartment as we viewed it together, just a little way out of town, just enough to feel as if I'm living in the middle of nowhere. But, she had thrown herself down on the couch that comes with the apartment, looked out of the window and said it was not me at all. Which meant it was perfect. Which means I bought it.
Snow settles around my black boots as I stare up at the house in front of me. My house. All mine. It's a pale green, the color almost non-existent if not for the sunlight just barely filtering through the leafless trees hanging overhead. There are two windows facing me with shutters in a deep green. The shade of the forest. And there's a small porch with a rusty swing. I try to picture myself sitting on it in the summer, enjoying the cicadas chirping away in the grass, iced tea cooling the sweat dripping down my neck. I can't. I've never been able to relax like that.
The porch creaks a little under my weight. It feels lived in. It feels alive.
In one of the windows, my sister bosses around the three other helpers we've roped into lugging heavy boxes from car to house. One hand on her hip, the other pointing, laughing, head thrown back. Luke – who she'd grabbed this morning when Rory had claimed to be busy with a school project – pinches her waist as he walks by and she swats at him. Even from here, I can see her cheeks turning pink.
She twists away from him and catches sight of me standing out in the snow. She waves me in. I hold the last box. Once I take this inside, I am officially moved in. I am officially free of the house on Magnolia Avenue that my parents bought me. I am free of the gray walls and the high white ceilings. Of the loneliness beating like a heart beneath the floorboards. Of the eyes constantly staring down at me as I remember that it never really belonged to me. It was never mine.
I step inside. This house is mine. All mine.
Jethro cheers when I set the last box down in my new living room. Arms circle my waist and I am pulled into a soft, warm chest. His knitted sweater smells of cinnamon and it is better than any candle I could be relaxing with right now. I hug him back and try not to lose myself in the feeling of being touched by him. I was never the type of girl to crave a hug. My family never hugged, they simply didn't care for it and I never grew up with them – except for Lorelai. Always the black sheep. Always hugging me. And then, always pushing me away. But, I would remember the feeling of her arms around me even as I slept, missing her, missing the way she would crawl into my bed in the middle of the night and tell me a ghost story because she knew if I cried the maid would give us cookies.
How I craved ghost stories more than anything.
"You're officially a Stars Hollow resident."
"Welcome to the club!" Evie whirls out of the kitchen, holding a batch of cookies she'd baked last night and wouldn't let me see. She's plated them up – she must have taken a plate from my box of crockery on the kitchen table – and is now swinging them around for everyone to coo at. Luke ruffles her hair as she passes.
She holds them under my nose and for a second all I can focus on is the gorgeous smell coming from them. They smell like apple pie. For a moment, I'm transported somewhere else. A memory that doesn't feel like mine at all. So far away I can barely place it. I never had a childhood with apple pie in it, so Evie made me some a few weeks ago, horrified that I'd never tasted the sugary sweetness of the warm fruit in pastry. I'd melted with the taste and she'd promised to make me apple pies for the rest of my life.
I think of her every time I see apples in the store.
"Look!" I open my eyes and the cookies have been iced and set up perfectly to say WELCOME HOME in dripping white icing. Home. My home. All mine. The back of my eyes sting and I blink over and over and over until the pain disappears.
I am surrounded by people and I am happy.
Who would have thought?
We sit on the green velvet sofa that came with the house and eat the cookies. The boxes sit, mostly unopened, around us and it is a mess. When I moved into my old house, Harrison on my arm, everything had already been unpacked and put into position by the movers. We were not needed. It wasn't our home. We were just placeholders for a house, to keep the cold from getting in, to put on a show for watching eyes. We couldn't have filled that house with love, or children, or warmth even if we wanted to. It would have choked every single one of them to death.
I like the mess.
"You want us to help unpack?" Lorelai asks. Evie clears away the empty plate. I can hear the water running in the kitchen for a moment and then it stops, a little clatter as the plate is placed on the rack. I like my house being full of sounds. Full of people.
"No. It's okay. I'll let you get home."
I want to make it mine, all mine, with my own hands. I want to build it from the ground up. I want to place the beating heart beneath the floorboards and have it be mine.
So they leave, trickling out one by one. Luke leaves first, offering me a stilted smile and welcoming me, quietly, to the town. He's only here because my sister made him come. I get the impression that all she has to do is smile and he will drop everything to be at her side.
She deserves someone who will drop everything for her.
She leaves next, bundling me into a hug. "I'm still getting used to this," she whispers as she squeezes me close. I cling to her and hope she realizes I never want to let go. Lorelai pulls away first but I am not cold without her.
In this house, I don't think I'll ever be cold.
"I'm gonna buy you plants."
"I think I would kill a plant."
"I'll buy you fake plants."
I laugh and watch her leave and, for once, my heart doesn't sink. She'll be back. She waves at me from her car and I wave back and it is normal. It is a thing that we've always done. We've always been sisters who wave at each other, who hug, who buy each other fake plants.
A warm hand lands on my shoulder and I turn to Jethro.
"You sure you don't need any help?"
I shake my head. There are boxes sitting haphazardly everywhere. Just past his shoulder, I can see Evie placing kitchen utensils where they will be easiest for her to reach. I smile. I know I will barely use the kitchen, but, it will be nice to invite Evie over to try recipes, to make it smell just like her home.
It will be nice to have visitors.
Jethro nods and his thumb carves a pattern into my collarbone. I want it to brand me. To scar me. I want to hold the truth of you on my skin forever. I stare into his eyes and smile and realize I do not want to look away. I want to be held in your gaze for the rest of my life. I want to be reflected back at me forever.
He calls on Evie and they leave. One last hug each. A kiss on the cheek. I wave them out the door and shut it behind them once they disappear into his car. I am, yet again, alone. But, this time, it is not so lonely. It is not so quiet. It is not so dark in my mind to be left on my own.
I unbox the life I want to live.
After, I stand in the middle of my living room and take it all in. Breathe it in. Let it sink into my skin. I have never lived in a house that looks like this. The walls are cream, not shockingly white, not powder white, not ivory, not pearl, not snow. None of those colors that hurt just to stare at. Cream. Which is somehow warm, inviting. They're pretty bare for now except for the few paintings I liked enough from my last house, but I can buy posters. I can steal some of Jethro's he's yet to put up. I can put up shelves to hold things I don't have yet. I can make them walls worth looking at.
The floor beneath my feet is wooden, but with my shoes kicked off at the front door, my toes sink into the large, light gray rug my sister bought me from Kim's Antiques. It is freshly cleaned and soft. I have never felt anything this soft. I don't even own a cashmere sweater this soft. I want to lay down and sink right into it like a cloud. I want to be encompassed in the warmth that, for once, feels like home. I deserve this.
I do.
Don't I?
The L-shaped sofa is pushed against one of the walls, covered in mismatched pillows I found at a yard sale on the way here. I have a heavy gray throw haphazardly sitting on the pouf that matches the sofa and, for a moment, I picture myself curled in the corner, a cat on my lap, and a cup of coffee waiting to be downed. Across from the sofa is the fireplace, pushing out on a column-like wall, and hanging on the wall next to that is the TV. It is mostly hidden from sight, but, when I'm sitting on my new sofa, it's made just for me.
I've never really been a fan of Christmas movies.
Maybe, this year, I can finally sit down and watch them.
Below the TV is a dark brown wooden cabinet. I've strung multi-coloured lights across it and two white reindeer sit proudly between some candles. It has a few books and CD's poking out of it, but it still looks empty. I need more books. I barely read as is. Maybe, I can set aside some for Evie and Jethro and Rory when they come to visit.
Will they come to visit?
Will I just be as alone even though I've moved closer to them?
I try not to think about that. About the loneliness that still crawls up the back of my throat. I've just moved in, but I'm dreaming of a new life that is yet to belong to me. A life that doesn't feel so alone. A life that doesn't feel so stretched thin. I want the life that is messy and loud and cramped. I want the velvet couch that swallows me up as soon as I sit on it. I want the husband who hugs me when I'm not looking.
I want. I want. I want.
Will I ever get or am I still just kidding myself?
I rub my eyes with the back of my hands and step over a few unpacked boxes. More Christmas decorations that I have to hang up. My Christmas tree sits just by the front window, a tall, dark green plastic thing with baubles of all shapes, sizes and colors hanging wherever I could reach. It's completely different to every other Christmas tree I've ever had.
I love it.
The kitchen is at the back of the house and I can walk through straight from the living room, separated only by an archway. Evie had mentioned hanging something here, a beaded curtain, or a shimmering one, or she could try to make something out of scarves. I trace my finger along the inbetween.
I have always lived in houses with rooms separated by doors. A closing of one, an opening of the other. Slamming. Shouting. Everything I have ever known has happened behind closed doors. I step through an opening without a door and feel, somehow, different.
Across from me is a wall almost entirely made up of freshly-painted green cabinets, except for the oven and fridge. The wooden countertops are dark oak. The fridge is close to the window – it would look nice covered in fridge magnets, I think. I don't think I've ever had fridge magnets. Where do I buy those? I open it to see packaged food with a sticky note sitting on top. These will last 2 days. Heat at 392F and keep an eye on it. - Luke. Burgers. Fries. Nachos. There are a few different salads I can pick away at for lunch. Lorelai would never eat salad – unless it was mostly chicken and no lettuce.
The floor is light gray tiles, but directly beneath my feet, half-hidden by the fridge is a featured section of green and white mosaic tiles that the seller had told me the original owners had loved to show off. The other wall is cream and has a few shelves I can probably put spices on.
There is also a small circular table in the corner. Evie had brought over some seasonal tablecloths that had belonged to her boss, Sookie. I've never had anything but plain white tablecloths before. Should I be excited for this change? My heart thrums – I'm half convinced it's the start of a heart attack.
The large window on the left-hand side overlooks a part of the garden and beyond that I can see the trees. I've left a stool here to reach any high shelves, but maybe I'll just sit here and watch the day pass by. Hour after hour as I watch birds whistle in the trees. I've never really enjoyed nature. Maybe, I can change that.
I want to change that.
God. Is all this change really good for me?
I shake that away and go through another door into the hallway.
Small and skinny. More cream walls – warm, inviting. Maybe, it's a little boring now. The seller had passed over the keys this morning and told me to go wild. I can do whatever I want. I can paint the walls whatever color comes to mind. Maybe blue. Maybe green. Maybe go completely crazy and choose neon orange – or, maybe not.
I stare down the other end of this hallway, where my lightly-colored front door stares back at me. There is a shoe rack nearby and I've already found slippers to give to guests, and just above that is a mirror for me to spruce up my makeup before I leave the house. Just below that is a shelf with a key bowl. My new keys are already glinting inside. My keys. All mine.
There is an envelope sitting upright.
I cross over a deep red rug – Jethro had unrolled it as soon as we stepped inside and smiled proudly over his shoulder at me. I couldn't hate it even if I wanted to. – and reach for the envelope. My name is scrawled on the front in Jethro's familiar writing. My heart thumps against my chest. I trace my name with my index finger. I can hear him say it.
God. What am I? Sixteen?
I tear open the envelope and pull out the letter waiting for me.
Don't forget. Dinner's at 5. Neighbor ;)
I hold the letter to my chest. If this was a teen movie, I'd dance through to my bedroom, collapse onto the bed and kick my feet in the air. It is not. So, I stand there for a moment, staring at myself in the too-big mirror, gilded edges a little rusty.
The woman staring back at me is smiling and I don't recognise her.
Her face is fuller, her skin healthier, and her hair is shiny. How long has it been since she looked like this? Since there were no bags beneath her eyes? Since her cheeks weren't hollowed out by the exchange of food for espresso? Her cheeks were always blemished by pimples that broke free after the divorce and she always left herself scarred, unable not to pop even when she was a teen.
I don't shy away from my smile.
This house is mine. All mine. This life is mine. All mine. This face is mine. All mine. And I am, for once – maybe for the first time – completely, utterly, totally at peace.
I take the note through to my bedroom and sit the note on top of my bed. I inhale. Slowly. And look around. Exhale. Softly. The walls are sage green, soft, gentle, calming. I've never had colored walls. There are a few small shelves dotted around the walls, one above my bed, one across from it, one near the wardrobe. I can put plants there. Books I won't read. Antiques I'll collect and pass down to someone I like. There is a window, akin to the one in the living room, looking out onto the front garden. The window sill is wide enough for me to sit on. There is already a lamp sitting there, casting a soft glow around the room. I should buy more blankets and pillows, I can make it comfy, I can sit there with my cat, with rain splashing the window, with red wine, with my favorite Chopin CD playing. I can be warm and cozy and not lonely.
Not lonely.
When have I not been lonely?
My double bed is pushed right against the window. I could easily roll from one to the other. I could lay in my bed and watch the sunrise. I could lay beside someone, with a coffee, and watch the world move without us. I could lay with J–
Lorelai brought me one of her old duvets. Thick and patterned with chubby Santa Claus'. I chuckle as I sit down. When have I ever had a duvet with a cute pattern on it? When have I ever wanted one? Maybe my whole life without realizing it. Maybe, all I have ever wanted is to live in a bungalow with low ceilings and green walls and fluffy rugs beneath my feet. I let my toes sink into the emerald rug.
There's a small set of drawers beside my bed. I want to put a framed photograph of me and Lorelai on it. I don't think I have one. At the end of the bed is a wooden chest for all the stuff I have nowhere else to hide.
Across from me is my wardrobe. It's small and made of a reddish pine. It would never have fit all of my old clothes, so, I took most of my expensive dresses to a thrift store in Hartford and kept three that I liked – the emerald one from my mother's birthday, the navy gown from the winter formal, and a black satin slip dress. Beside it is a clothes rack for all of my outerwear and, half-hidden below them, are all my shoes. Beside that, is a set of wooden shelves where I have currently shoved all my handbags. The room is smaller than my last but I find I do not mind. I'd rather have this. This home that is mine.
All mine.
I fall back on my bed and laugh.
My home. My love. My loneliness. All mine.