Other Girls of Gilmore Girls: The Lindsay Lister Story

Chapter 28

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It was easy to move and to settle into the townhouse. Dean took a day off from both of his jobs, and with the help of our parents, we moved everything in a single day. That night we tried a noodle dish from Al's Pancake World that I ordinarily would have turned down because I can't trust a former pancake house to dabble in international cuisine, but I didn't care. Anything would be delicious in our new townhouse.

When Dean was in the other room, I took some pictures of the food in its take-out containers, thinking about the times we cook, the times we are cooked for, and the times we pay someone to cook for us. There was something there, but I wasn't sure yet. I'd have to come back to it.

"Did you just take a picture of those noodles?" Dean wasn't in the other room. He saw everything. I started to say no, but I had taken a picture of it. "I did," I replied. "I started writing about the food I cook, or try to cook, and I post it on a blog."

"You do what?" Dean smiled and sat down at the table. "You write about food?"

I nodded. "I started before we got married, but I didn't do it much. So I didn't tell anyone. I still don't do it much, but a lot of people read it! They like to see what recipes worked and what didn't."

"How do you know people read it?"

"There are reports! Analytics," I added, suddenly unsure. "I didn't know they were there, but I found them one day, and a lot of people read what I write. I think it's a lot of people at least."

"How many?" Dean was asking or challenging me, and I couldn't tell the difference. I hadn't said any of this out loud before. I couldn't bring myself to confess to taking up space online and sharing pictures of my stew with strangers. But I started telling Dean, and now I had to continue. "I told them about the good spaghetti. Remember that? The spaghetti that was seriously good?"

Dean nodded.

"And last time I checked, about 6,000 people a day visit that post."

"Is that a lot?"

"I mean, it sounds like a lot. I have no idea how many people read blogs. I can't imagine 6,000 people doing anything. It sure seems like a lot."

We sat in silence for a moment. Then Dean asked me if that is what I did during the day. I nodded. "But not every day or I'd have a lot more posts." We sat in silence again and then he asked if I wanted to watch a movie.

I was so glad to not be talking about the blog anymore. I regretted bringing it up. Dean went to the video store by himself to rent something, and I churned inside thinking about how much easier it was to keep that secret to myself. I didn't want him to know that my blog was out there, and I didn't want him to discover all the Athens girl posts or the ones about how unhappy he was. My name was nowhere on my blog, so how could he ever find it?

Dean returned with a movie, microwave popcorn, and a giant hug for me as we cuddled on the couch. "Lindsay?"

"Mm-hm?"

"It's cool that you found what you are good at," Dean said without looking at me. "Real cool."

We sat with our legs and arms intertwined in different arrangements throughout the whole movie, taking turns falling asleep briefly and jumping awake. The summer had been so soft and gentle. Comfortable. Consistent.

"You know," I said as I tucked my fingers in between Dean's, "our one-year anniversary is coming up."

"I know. Of course I know that," he laughed a little and stopped quickly. "What should we do for it?"

"Something. Something special or different, right? Did you have anything in mind?"

Dean looked down, and I watched his chest fill and empty with each breath that he spent thinking about the question. Finally he answered: "I'm not sure, actually. What do old married couples do anyway?"

"Old!" I sat up and playfully smacked his arm with the back of my hand. "We'll figure it out. No biggie right now."

"Right."