Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
LORELAI
I know it’s silly to dress up just to go to Pop’s, but if I want to get Luke to kiss me before he goes back to Chicago, I’m going to have to up my game. I’m afraid the image of my flannel night gown might be seared into his brain.
Slipping into a black pencil skirt, I pair it with a blue cashmere sweater that’s almost a perfect match for my eyes. I would never have worn this color when I was a kid, but happily, I’m a lot more confident now.
Once I’m dressed, I apply a coat of mascara and then swipe on my favorite red lipstick. Looking in the mirror, I confirm that I look highly kissable. A quick spray of perfume and I’m ready to roll.
I vow to avoid eating another burger tonight and go for something a little more delicate. I don’t currently possess the kind of money needed for dry cleaning, and ketchup on cashmere would most certainly require professional help. If past experience is anything to go on, my sheer effort to avoid making a mess of myself will guarantee that I do the exact opposite.
After slipping into rubber boots—dressed up or not, I do not want to step ankle deep into a puddle—I grab my black fake fur coat and set off.
I jack up the heat in my Volvo and sit for five minutes to give the warmth an opportunity to circulate. Also, sitting gives me a chance to think. I don’t know what happened to me today, but when Luke said that we create our own opportunity, my brain finally turned on.
I do not have to wait for the things I want to come to me, like I’ve always thought they would. Why did I think that? I need to go after what I want and simply make it mine. Sadly, that does not include Luke because he’s going to make choices that will break my heart and I’m not in the market for any more of that. That kiss I’m determined to get had better be great because it’s all I’m going to get.
After pulling out of my driveway, it takes fewer than five minutes to get to Pop’s. I park right out front and scurry across the pavement to the front door. The hostess that I detest is standing up front, and for the first time she doesn’t glare at me. Instead, she looks like she’s about to burst into tears.
I’m not sure why, but I suddenly feel protective. Jogging up to her, I demand, “What happened? Why are you so upset?”
Her top lip quivers as she blinks her eyes rapidly to keep tears from falling.
“Go to the bathroom and splash your face with cold water,” I order. “I’ll cover for you while you’re gone.”
“Are you sure?”
I give her a little push in response. I may not have a big important career, but I feel confident I can manage to seat people and hand them menus.
As soon as the girl is gone, the fun starts. A boatload of teenagers stroll in, almost like a bus just dropped them off. Oddly, they’re all dressed up like they’re going to a dance.
I check out the calendar lying on the hostess stand and discover that it’s Saturday night. I really have lost track of time. I thought it might be Wednesday or Thursday .
What kind of dance is in early March on a Saturday night? It can’t be homecoming or winter formal. Those have both come and gone. Other dances like black light and old school are generally on Friday nights. That’s when it hits me. The only formal dance in spring is prom. Little lightning bolts of electricity shoot through my nervous system. I’m having supper with Luke on prom night. That must be a good omen.
Speak of the devil, Luke himself comes out of the kitchen. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees me picking up menus and seating people. After watching me take four groups to their table, he asks, “Did you get a job here?”
“In your dreams,” I tease him. Then I explain, “The hostess was in a bad way, so I sent her to the bathroom to get ahold of herself.”
“That was nice of you,” he says. “She’s not exactly a ray of sunshine, is she?”
“Teenage girls are not always the nicest, take it from me.” Several more couples come in and Luke and I take turns leading them to their tables.
We meet back at the front of the restaurant at the same time the hostess returns from the bathroom. She doesn’t look much better for her trip. “I’m Lorelai,” I tell her.
“Chloe,” she says quietly before adding, “Thank you for covering for me.”
“I would have thought you’d be going to prom yourself,” I tell her.
That was clearly the wrong thing to say because now she does burst into tears. Turning her back against the dining room, she says, “I wanted to go, but the guy I like didn’t ask me.”
“I’m sorry.” I put my arm around her shoulder and give her a brief side hug. Trying my darndest to avoid Luke’s gaze, I whisper, “The guy I liked didn’t ask me either.”
“How did you spend prom night?” she wants to know.
“I planned a girls’ night with some of my friends who were in the same boat. Do you have any friends who aren’t going? ”
“There are a few,” she mumbles.
“What time are you off tonight?”
She affirms she’s off at eight, so I step away from her and ask Luke, “How do you feel about buying dinner for Chloe and her friends? I’ll cover the rest of her shift.”
He cocks one eyebrow. “What about our dinner?”
“I’m sure you can wait another hour,” I tell him. “I feel sorry for the poor girl. I’ve been in her shoes.”
A slow smile forms on his face. “If you can wait, then so can I.”
I turn back to Chloe. “Call your friends and have them meet you here. You can celebrate prom night together.”
Luke interjects, “Dinner’s on me.”
Chloe manages to look sad, elated, and worried all at the same time. “What will all these other kids think if we eat out without dates.”
“They’ll probably think you’re having more fun than they are.” Glancing around the dining room, I tell her, “There are a lot of awkward looking couples out there.”
Chloe’s eyes pop open as she gasps, “The guy I like is at table thirteen.”
I turn around and look. “Is he the one with the mohawk or the crutch?”
“Crutch. He hurt himself in the last basketball game.”
Looking at her crush makes me realize why I always liked Luke instead of boys my age. A seventeen-year-old boy and girl are miles apart in maturity. “Go call your friends,” I tell her.
She pulls her phone out of her pocket and walks away. Luke leans in and tells me, “That was very nice of you.”
“You’re the one buying them dinner.”
“Then it’s very nice of us .”
“I can live with that.”
He points to the one free booth by the window. “I was saving that one for us, but what do you say we let Chloe and her friends have it?”
The thought that he had reserved the best table in the house for our meal makes goosebumps appear on my arms. “That would be perfect,” I tell him.
Within twenty minutes, a group of young girls pours into Pop’s. Chloe greets them with a squeal of excitement and leads the way to their table. I continue to seat people as they come in. The older folks appear a little upset when they have to wait for a table, but when they see all the kids dressed up, they take it in stride.
I hear one woman tell her friend, “Remember when that was us, Barb? It’s hard to believe we ever looked that good.”
“I still look that good,” Barb retorts. When her friend looks at her incredulously, she says, “When I don’t have my glasses on, I’m gorgeous!”
I stifle a giggle. I wonder if that’s what Allie and I will be like some day. I sure hope she stays in Elk Lake so we can find out.
Luke and I keep busy for the next hour and a half. I seat customers and get them water and he helps bus and reset tables when people leave. When Chloe and her friends get up, she comes over to us and says, “Thank you both so much. I know I haven’t been very nice to either of you and I’m sorry.”
“It’s stressful being a teenager,” I tell her. “I’m glad you got to make a nice memory with your friends.”
“After my shift, we’re meeting over at Meghan’s house to hang out. I don’t know why we didn’t think of this on our own.”
“Sometimes we need the help of our elders.” I cannot believe I’m referring to myself in such a way, but there it is. Chloe probably already thinks I’m forty years old.
I catch Luke’s eye from across the room and motion to a free table by the window. He grabs two sodas and meets me there. “I’m starving.”
“I’m a little hungry, too,” I tell him. As soon as we’re seated, I confess, “I wasn’t going to have a burger because I didn’t want to drip anything on my sweater, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“Why would you wear something to supper that you couldn’t get dirty?” Ah, the sweet na?veté of a man who doesn’t know he’s being stalked with romantic intent.
“I don’t get to dress up very often, and I like to,” I tell him plainly.
“There aren’t many places to dress up in Elk Lake,” he agrees. “Unless you’re a member of the country club.”
“I’m not,” I assure him. “Which is why I put some effort into tonight.”
“Prom night.” He says this in such a way that I can’t help but wonder if he’s recalling some of my drunken ramblings from his first night here. I wish I could remember exactly what happened, but maybe I’m better off not knowing.
I put my napkin in my lap before picking up my menu. “I thought prom happened later in the month.”
“They move it around based on how well the basketball season is going. If we’re in the playoffs, it’s later in the month.”
“So I’m guessing we don’t have a great team this year,” I deduce.
He laughs. “That would appear to be the case.”
Luke writes down our dinner order and puts it in the window before coming back to the table. I don’t know where he got them but he’s carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “What do you say we celebrate prom night in style?”
My stomach flutters with excitement.
“You can tell me all about your proms,” he says.
“That’ll be a short conversation,” I tell him. “I didn’t go to either.”
“I’m sorry.” It sounds like he’s pitying me.
“Don’t be. I had my dreams and sometimes that’s enough.”
“Does the boy you wanted to go with know what he missed out on?” Darn if that doesn’t sound flirty.
“I’m guessing he doesn’t,” I tell him while shifting nervously in my seat. I can’t seem to make eye contact, while adding, “I wasn’t even on his radar back then. ”
“Who knows, maybe he still lives in town and is hoping to run into you?”
I slowly raise my gaze to his. He looks too innocent to have any idea what he’s just said so I tell him, “I’ve heard through the grapevine that he lives in a big city now. I don’t expect he’ll ever be back.”
“I’m sure stranger things have happened.” He’d never say that if he knew I was talking about him.