After getting into my car, I lower all the windows to allow the lingering scent of burning leaves to permeate the atmosphere. All I want to do is go home and put on some comfy sweats before sitting out on the back porch swing to read a book and drink hot chocolate. I desire this so much, I nearly skip stopping at Lorelai’s first. Nearly.
Lorelai and I were best friends in high school, but we lost touch after college. It wasn’t until I moved home after my divorce that she and I revived our bond. I’m grateful to have her back in my life. We all need people who knew us when we were full of dreams and possibility and nothing else. Lorelai is that person for me.
Even though life has a way of kicking you in the teeth when you least expect it, rediscovering my friendship with her has helped me to remember what it was like to feel anticipation about my future. Not that I’m fully there yet, but at least I’m on my way to accepting my current lot.
Lorelai and I used to spend hours upon hours wondering what our lives would be like when we grew up. We plotted and planned and fantasized scenarios just like the ones my mom wishes would happen for me. Lorelai was in love with her brother’s best friend, Luke, and I was in love with Lorelai’s brother—which made trips to her house extra appealing.
Luke recently spent some time back in Elk Lake while his dad was recovering from a fall, which is how he and Lorelai discovered they were meant to be. He’s a chef in Chicago, so now that Lorelai is going to school there, their romance can continue to blossom. Even though I’m happy they finally found each other, I miss my friend. I also miss having a buffer between my past life and whatever the future has in store for me.
The truth is, I love to control things as much as my mom does. Unfortunately, the reality is that I don’t have any control. Even when I had a great job, what I thought was a good marriage, and I was in the throes of actively trying to grow my own family, I couldn’t keep disaster from arriving on my doorstep.
I know that all pregnancies don’t work out, I just never considered the possibility that would be my experience. My lack of preparedness cut me off at the knees.
During those sad years, I read a ton of articles and books on loss. Most of them said that miscarriage was one of the hardest things a couple can go through. In addition to the obvious grief,there’s a level of guilt and blame that comes into play.Is it my fault? Is it his?By the third loss, I was so buried in sadness that none of that mattered to me anymore. Yet, it did matter to Brett.
In a bid to prove our fertility issues weren’t his doing, he cheated and found himself a woman who could bring a pregnancy to term. A bionic woman, if you ask me, because she not only gave him one child, she produced four. A burst of ironic laughter escapes me as I once again think about the exhausting times ahead for them.Four babies teething at the same time, four terrible twos, four kids learning to drive …Oh yeah, I’ll be eagerly watching for those posts.
Pulling into the Rileys’ driveway, I realize the house looks much like it always has. The exterior is full of charming appeal, like a setting you’d find on a movie lot where they film wholesome family shows. Heck, most of Elk Lake is this way.
After unearthing the key from under the mat, I unlock the door and walk inside. The changes Lorelai made are immediately noticeable. The biggest one being that she removed a wall, which made for a more popular open floor plan. Now, when you walk into the living room, you can now see the dining room and straight into the kitchen.
A waft of burnt toast and tuna fish floats by me, and I nearly gag. I hate tuna. When we were kids, Lorelai’s house always smelled like baked goods. It was like Martha Stewart lived here. But now that Noah is home, I’m guessing that’s a thing of the past. Not that I intend to spend any time here to find out.
Flipping on the light switch, I run up the stairs to Lorelai’s room. Mere steps from my destination, the door to the bathroom opens and Noah walks out. In a towel and nothing else.
I let out an ear-shattering scream, which signals him to do the same. Once the initial shock of discovering each other wears off, I demand, “What are you doing here?”
“What amIdoing here?” His upper body is flexed like he’s about to perform a full-body ninja move that will end me.“What areyoudoing here? Also, whoareyou?”
“Who am I?” If that doesn’t add a bucket full of insult to injury, I don’t know what does. I practically grew up in this house. It’s one thing for Noah to have ignored me when we were kids, but to not even know who I am now? Unforgivable.
“I’m Allie Rogers, you dolt.” That’s right, all politeness has left the building.
“Allie Rogers? Lorelai’s Allie Rogers?”
“Yes, Noah. I was your sister’s best friend.”
His look of confusion amplifies. “Lorelai’s in Chicago.”
“I know.”
“Then why are youhere?”
I push past him toward my friend’s bedroom. “I’m here to get something for her.”
“Her blue sweater?”
I spin around and am about to give him a piece of my mind when I notice his towel has slipped dangerously low. What was a six-pack moments ago is now clearly a full-on twelve-pack. My mouth suddenly goes as dry as the Sahara and I find I can’t seem to form a coherent thought.
“Allie?” Noah asks. “Are you okay? Are you here for Lorelai’s sweater?” The cadence of his words is so slow you might think he was talking to a person with limited mental capacity. Which at the moment, would be an accurate description.
I somehow drag my eyes away from his Greek god-like physique and say, “Uh, yeah, Yup. I’m here for her sweater.”
He pulls the opposing sides of his towel tighter. “She asked me to send it.”
“Have you?” I demand belligerently.
“Not yet, but I planned to.”
