Page 77 of Pity Play

Lorelai...

I turn my phone off before I can read anything more. I’m embarrassed that I ever gave Luke the power to hurt me. If I could go back in time, I’d warn my younger self not to let him break my heart. But even as I consider such an outlandish idea, I know I wouldn’t have listened. Such is the pull of young love. You think it’s the most powerful thing in the world that you helplessly fall to its destruction.Talk about dramatic.

Once I get home, I take off my dress and replace it with my favorite granny nightie. Maybe I’ll start a company where I design comfort wear for hopeless spinsters. I remind myself there’s nothing wrong with being alone, so I correct that description to snuggly garments for women smart enough not to let some manrule their choices. I could call it something catchy like, “Forever Single,” or “Man Kryptonite.”

I am strong, talented, and I am going to make a great life for myself whether I share it with some man or not. Luke Phillips no longer has the power to make my heart hurt. I take back every loving gift I ever gave to him. I renounce all declarations of childish devotion. I relinquish any dreams of a future we might have shared. I am woman, hear me roar!

I’m worn out by the time I crawl into bed and all I want to do is cry. But I don’t give into the urge. I’ve made some big changes in my life recently that include coming to terms with creating my own future. And a woman like that—one who’s on the precipice of a great metamorphosis—does not cry for someone who won’t give her the time of day.

As I drift into an uneasy sleep, a vivid dream begins to unfold. I see a version of myself unburdened by the sorrow Luke has left behind. I’m standing on a sun-drenched balcony overlooking Main Street in Elk Lake. The sky is a brilliant blue, and the air hums with possibility.

In this vision, I’m surrounded by friends who love and support me. Allie and Faith are there. And so is Trina. We laugh together in a way that heals old wounds and strengthens my will to own my happiness.

I don’t know what I’m doing for a living but looking toward my living room, I see a large basket full of yarn. There are sketches on the dining room table full of imagined living spaces with swatches of colored fabric glued to the sides of the pages.

I may not envision myself living in exotic places like Paris, or Milan, or the serenely vibrant beaches of Bali, but I can see myself vacationing there.

Every step I take will be a step toward self-discovery. I will open myself up to love and I will fulfill my capacity for happiness. Will that look like everyone else’s happy ending? Maybe not, but I will let my spirit soar freely, creating what it will without any barriers.

In this fantasy, the shadow of Luke no longer looms over me. My heart is mended and fortified, ready to embrace the world with renewed vigor. I feel an unwavering sense of fulfillment, a deep-seated peace that comes from knowing I am enough. My desires are my own to fulfill without the constraints of someone else’s life.

When I wake, the dream lingers as a beacon of hope illuminating my path ahead. While my heart may still ache, that’s not how my story will end.

I’m at the beginning of a new chapter, one where I reclaim my power and write my own destiny. I am Lorelai Riley, mistress of my own destiny, and I will find my happiness, with or without Luke Phillips.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

LUKE

I lied to Lorelai about leaving today. I’m staying until the day after tomorrow so that I can cook supper for my parents at the diner. I didn’t tell her that though because I knew after our dinner at the lodge I was in serious trouble. I was ready to throw caution to the wind and declare my interest to her regardless of the consequences, and that wouldn’t be fair to her. She’s made it clear what she wants, and my plans don’t fit into her dreams.

My mom keeps to herself most of the day, seeming to realize how important it is for my dad and me to have uninterrupted time together. We talk about his childhood, and I learn all about his parents and Bobby. They sound like wonderful people, and it makes me sad that I never got to know them. I hear of my dad’s favorite memories—which include a family trip to Disney World; his most cherished keepsake—a framed photo of them all in front of Space Mountain; and his biggest regret—never telling his dad how much he loved spending time at his diner.

The more we talk, the more I realize a significant part of my father’s development was stunted by his careless words and the subsequent demise of his family. My heart aches for him and Iwant to wrap the little boy he used to be in my arms and assure him that everything will be okay.

Like so many, my dad is battling demons that invaded his life without invitation. Seeing him as a normal person is a novel experience. I’ve never thought of him as an ordinary human. From a childhood perspective, he was more like a legendary superhero who knew how to fix any problem that arose. I suppose my idolization has made his seeming disapproval of my life’s choices even harder for me to understand.

Once my dad lies down for his afternoon nap—which has become a regular occurrence in his day—I take off for the diner to prepare for the evening meal. Despite my mom’s concerns that he’d be angry when he learned I’ve been picking up the slack for him at Pop’s, he was grateful and proud that his son had been there for him in his hour of need.

I’ve learned so much during this trip that it’s going to take me a while to unpack it all. I’ve learned that while we don’t live for others, we must always consider their feelings. Life, while often construed as a singular journey, is so much more than that. It’s an adventure that, if lived right, includes compromise and concessions. Bending doesn’t break us; it gives us more resilience and strength to handle whatever else might come.

Once I get to Pop’s, I strap on an apron and think about what I can make for my dad. I consider something that he will love, while trying to come up with a twist that he might not have previously thought of. I want him to see there’s a place where his style of cooking and mine can meet. By embracing our differences, we might actually broaden both of our repertoires.

Cooking for my parents at their diner is a curiously exciting feeling. I’m right where my dad has always wanted me to be, but he no longer seems to even care. Walking over to their table, I announce, “I’ve made a stuffed meatloaf for tonight’s special.”

“You know about my specials, huh?” The expression on his face is sheepish.

Giving him a knowing look, I tell him, “Tanya told me thatyou served blackened catfish with garlic mashed potatoes.” I wait a beat before adding, “Not coleslaw.”

The color of his complexion deepens. “Everyone loved it. I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time.”

I sit down next to my mom and ask, “Is this how you saw things working out between Dad and me?”

She shakes her head. “I could only hope, but you’re both so relentlessly stubborn I was having doubts.” Glaring at my dad, she demands, “How is it that you never told me that you didn’t want to be in the restaurant business?” I’m surprised she didn’t already know that. She must have overheard him tell me.

“I liked it after I got into it,” he tells her. “Are you saying you would have preferred the life of a footballer’s wife?”

“Soccer wife,” she corrects him.

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