Other Girls of Gilmore Girls: The Lindsay Lister Story

Chapter 32

View Along: S5 E4 Tippecanoe and Taylor, Too

The worst part about sharing a car with Dean is that we had to talk. I asked if I could have the car on Wednesday so I could get out to Erica and David's to help a little with labeling honey jars. "Must be nice to have your house paid for so you can work 6 hours a week doing arts and crafts," he muttered.

"So... can I have the car Wednesday?"

Not only did Dean cheat on me, never apologize or try to actually talk about it, he was also now miserable and horrible to deal with. And I felt like I had to deal with him every day.

The cooling weather of fall was starting to crisp the older crops the same way it was drying out my marriage. My former marriage. Erica told me she could pick me up on co-op days if I wanted. Eventually I could save up to get my own car anyway. She said she owed me for helping get the CSA going. "I haven't posted in so long," I admitted.

"Well it's not like you haven't had anything else going on. You shouldn't be blogging."

"No, that's the thing. I should be."

"Like a form of therapy?" Erica handed me a mug of tea. We had dried chamomile earlier, and now we had to figure out what it was good to mix with. "This one is chamomile and mint," she added.

The tea was earthy. Maybe too much earth for some people, I noted. "But I like it. And yeah, I used to write it to work through hard feelings and to hype up my excited feelings. The thing is, I remember starting off with some posts about my worries about Rory and look where that got me."

"Gross," Erica said, referring to Rory and not the tea. "Sign the divorce papers, stop sharing the car, and we will figure out the next part next. You can't have the next part while you are still so tied to the old part."

I always feel like I'm tied to the old part.

I finished my tea, helped box up jars of honey, and went home. I had a blog post to write.

***

I found my computer sitting on a couch. Where was the sewing table? The townhouse was disorganized and torn apart. When Dean came to get his stuff, he also apparently moved everything around that he didn't take with him. I found kitchen table chairs in the front entry, as if he was going to take them and decided not to. I walked around looking for the sewing table. He moved my computer off of it at some point and either took the table or put it somewhere else. Either option was hateful and awful. He obviously didn't think the antique sewing table was his. I grabbed my phone, wishing he was there in person so I could throw it at him.

"Where's my sewing table, Dean?"

"What?"

"My antique sewing table that I put my laptop on. The sewing table I have put my laptop on since high school. I know you know. You either moved it somewhere weird or took it with you. It wasn't yours, and you know it!"

"Hold on." I heard Dean move around or walk somewhere. It sounded like he put his phone in his pocket. "I had Kyle get my stuff," he finally said. "He probably messed up and grabbed it."

"I don't care. Just return it. Return the desk and take the car and I never want to see the car again. It's yours. Keep it."

I hung up and opened my laptop.

||||     First, second, next. I'm ready for next. |

***

Dean returned the sewing table when I was home. "Thanks," I said, waiting for him to leave.

"This isn't how I wanted it to be. It didn't work out how I wanted," he pleaded.

"Same."

We stood in silence, and then Dean walked into the living room and sat down. "I had big hopes, you know."

"Me too."

"I let everyone down. I don't like where things are now."

"What do you mean?"

Silence again. "What do you mean, Dean?"

"It's stupid. I'm living at home, I'm..." he trailed off and waved it away with his hand. "Anyway, keep the car for the week."

"I don't want the car."

"It's the least I can do." Dean didn't move off the couch, though. He sat there, shoulders slumped, his large frame unable to fold in on itself the way he was trying to. My insides warmed with rage as well as the memory of sitting on top of him on that couch. It was hate and desire. I hadn't felt that before.

"Ok." It was all I could say.

"It isn't working out." Why wasn't he leaving? "This isn't working out."

"That's what you say about relationships, not divorces," I told him. Dean shook his head but didn't say anything, so I continued. "I tried to make our relationship and marriage work the whole time. Never was I not trying. The rest was all you. And you can go off with Rory now and live at home and be 15 again or whatever it is you thought this would do. I, however, was in an awesome relationship at the end of high school, and I was married, and I am not going back or backwards. Take the car with you when you leave."

Dean stood up and walked to the kitchen like he lived there. Like he was right back at home. He took out a glass, filled it with water, drank it in three gulps, and then walked out the door. He left the car parked out front.