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“What? No, baby. No.”
This is not at all what I thought would be bothering her. I suspected it might be because I hadn’t bought those boots yet. Or I didn’t wash the princess costumes.
“Is that why you’ve been mad at me all week?”
“Yeah.” She glares at me across the table.
Hers are her mother’s eyes. Angry eyes. I remembered all the times those were directed at me for late work hours, neglected chores, nights out with friends, and the overall discourtesy I’d shown our marriage. She hadn’t known I was running from my own demons, but those things were still truths. And the reasons she left me. For Trevor.
I’ve long since taken responsibility for that, and Trevor and I have worked through our anger at each other over the three years Naomi’s been gone.
Seems I need to take some responsibility here as well. No, I hadn’t made Lorelai leave, but I also hadn’t asked her to stay. I made the excuse that she was young and deserved to live before being trapped into a relationship with kids and responsibilities. I made the excuse that she was the girl’s teacher. I made every excuse I could to keep my distance.
But the truth is she fit into our family like she was made for it. She complemented us in ways I hadn‘t expected. She’s even keeping her job from being a conflict of interest by sending the girls back to me to discuss family issues.
“We wanted her to be our new Mommy,” Becca declares softly.
“Oh, Becca.” I hadn’t thought about the girls wanting a mother figure in their lives in a long time. I’d also had no idea the girls had clung to that hope with Lorelai.
“Do you even miss her?” Emilie is still spitting venom.
And I DO miss her.
I had missed her since the day I dropped her at the bus station, but now... It’s more. Deeper.
I miss her smiles sent to me from across the room when she's in the middle of small chores, like wiping the table, or folding towels.
I miss listening to her read to the girls, never rushing through, always encouraging discussions about the characters.
I miss her in the kitchen, taking my barely passable offerings and elevating them with small additions and twists.
I miss her quiet consideration.
I miss how she’s always ready to pitch in to a task, and equally ready to turn something ordinary into an adventure.
I miss the glimpses of her long legs, the bounce of her breasts, the heated looks she gave me more often than I like to admit.
I miss the way she melted under my hands.
I miss the way it was easier to breathe when she was here.
“I do miss her, Em. I miss her a lot.”
“Well, why don’t you get her back, then!” Emilie shoots out.
Why, indeed.
“Please 'vince her to come back, Uncle James? We really love her.” Becca’s eyes are sad but hopeful.
Could I? Lorelai had always been far more open to an “us’ than I was, but she had also accepted what I’d determined as her place in my life without argument. Maybe she would be on board with taking things forward.
I’ve almost lost her too many times now. I really want to keep her.
“I don’t know if I can. But I will try.” I look at the girls across the table. “It might take a while.”
“That’s okay,” Emilie says in matter-of-fact way. “But try your bestest.”
“I will,” I promise her, and myself.
