Metanoia: A Sequel

Chapter 3: You Occupy My Mind

Logan stared down at his brown loafers with the silver latches on them, the shoes Rory remembered he had worn on a dinner date with her, back when he still loved her. She silently prayed for him to speak, for him to say something. Not finding any luck, she did so first, feeling it was her obligation to greet him. To offer some sort of fire to ignite the conversation.

"Logan. What a surprise," Rory spoke, trying not to spit the words at him.

"Rory," Logan simply countered, showing no emotion on his face, reminding Rory of the times he was smiling at her.

"How have you been?" Rory inquired.

"Great. Lena keeps me company," Logan replied, shifting his eyes nervously to her slender figure sitting at the table. This was not like Logan at all. Rory remembered him as a near opposite of shy.

"Oh. I see," Rory stated, lowering her voice. "She seems like a great girl. Are...are you happy now?"

"The truth is..." Logan started.

Rory shook her head slightly, averting Logan's fixed glance for the first time that day at her, settling upon a ring on his finger. "It's fine. You don't have to tell me. Are you engaged? Married?"

"Actually, I think you're the one who's engaged," Logan stated, matter-of-factly, motioning towards Rory's gold ring with the pearl on it-Ashton's gift for her.

"Oh, that. Yeah, you're right," Rory reluctantly admitted. "Look, I need to go to work now." She turned to go, but Logan grabbed her arm. Rory could remember Logan as a bit unpredictable, especially with his kisses, but not to this extent.

"I miss you, Rory Gilmore," he blurted out. He didn't bother to check if Lena was watching from her seat.

Rory fought the urge to lament. She wasn't going to cry, not now, not in front of Logan. Not in front of Lena, who was now glancing intently, unblinking. "You have her, though. That's all that matters, right?"

"If you thought that for this whole time, you are wrong," Logan murmured. "I won't bother you any longer for today. Just...give me your number."

Rory fumbled for a pen in her bag, wrote her number in her research notebook, and tore the piece, giving it to Logan. Instead of simply giving it to him, she enclosed it in his palm, touching his cold hand for a split second, then touching the other. "We should meet."

Logan nodded and gestured for Lena to wait. As if he were telling a secret, he leaned in closer. With a mellow voice, he lurched towards Rory slightly, as if he were going to confide. "Call me. We'll set up a meeting." He departed Rory and headed for Lena, who was cheerfully patting the chair next to her, gesturing for Logan to sit. Rory observed this motion, then checked her watch, remembering that she needed to go to work. It looked like she was going to be a few minutes late. Taking one last peek at Logan, she set off for the office of the Chicago Tribune.

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Rory fidgeted with her notebook and pen, restless. Ever since she had happened to run into Logan, out of all people, her mind was racing. This was unbelievable fate, perhaps even a figment of her imagination. But she had pinched herself earlier to make sure she wasn't dreaming. It was genuine. She had met Logan, who was her only serious boyfriend before Ashton strutted into her life, lighting it up, bringing her to Chicago from her first home in Des Moines. But Logan had lit up her life as well, like a ghost town finally inhabited with chattering crowds and bright lanterns-that is, until the proposal. But it was her fault for rejecting his wish to marry with her, wasn't it?

She didn't know whether to be angry with herself for turning him down, to feel resentful towards herself for feeling this way when she had Ashton, or to feel agitated with the thought of Lena. Her feelings were a combination of all three, she realized. Rory stared down at her research notebook, attempting to concentrate once more on transferring interview facts from a reporter's video clip, but failing to do so. This was perfect timing because that was the moment that her boss, Chiara Touchard, chose to stride in. She was an opulent, elegant, towering woman (she was six feet) with hair the color of champagne, nicely styled, somewhat form-fitting dresses with silk folds, and heels that could act as mirrors due to their slick, polished quality. Today, she was wearing a top bun as usual with an empire-waist rose gold dress, complimented with an Hermès bracelet on her left wrist.

"I've come here to check on everyone's progress," she stated explicitly. Rory could feel her heartbeat start to increase rapidly; she had done most of her work at home. But it was the progress accomplished at work which counted out of the two. What am I going to do? I don't have much! Rory frantically shuffled through the papers on her desk and in her accordion folder, sorted by category. This was not like her at all-she was always prepared to turn in a report to be featured in the weekly paper, but this was different. She wasn't much of an extroverted person, so she couldn't talk her way out of her mini conference with Ms. Touchard like her coworkers. She'd have to provide the base of what research she collected and what she had planned to focus on in her report. Panicking, Rory flipped to a clean page in her notebook and began writing.

Maldives still sinking. Almost at sea level. World's lowest-lying country. Majority of islands one meter above sea level. Danger awaits.

"Miss Gilmore, you seem to be ready. Care to explain what research you have done?" Ms. Touchard asked, raising one eyebrow. She sat down in the spare chair in front of Rory, smoothing her dress, and turned to her assistant, who had been trailing behind her as always. "Give me a clipboard with a piece of paper. And coffee. Make it black. Need to cut down on the sugar."

The assistant followed Ms. Touchard's orders despite them not being very polite. He set down a clipboard in front of her, clamping a single piece of paper. "Do you need a pen, ma'am?" he questioned as he carried a mug of steaming coffee towards her and placed it aside the clipboard.

"No, I have one right here," Ms. Touchard stated dryly, taking the pen Rory had put down from writing. Rory wasn't sure if she did it intentionally or unintentionally, but she was a bit irritated. Shaking the feeling off, she internally slapped herself back to reality and focused on Ms. Touchard's questions.

"Tell me about your topic," Ms. Touchard began, causing Rory to feel like she was back in the interview room again, wanting a break from boys and heartbroken after her separation from Logan.

"This week, I chose the Maldives' sinking predicament as what to write my article on. I figured that more individuals should be aware of this situation since it is a major problem that will affect the locals there," Rory informed as she observed Ms. Touchard nod, perhaps in approval, her blonde ringlets bouncing. "By writing this article, I hope to captivate the audience by providing them knowledge. The Maldives is expected to be one of the first nations submerged underwater, and this is a threat to the citizens. It is similar to Kiribati in this way, although Kiribati still has more time before it submerges as well. On these types of islands, including the Maldives, of course, climate change is happening more and more. Besides the conditions, human activity is altering to affect the climate more significantly. Released gases are part of the human activity that is detrimental to the climate."

Ms. Touchard scribbled on the paper clamped to the clipboard, making brief notes with her round, plump handwriting next to Rory's name, which she had written down earlier. "I'm impressed, Rory," Ms. Touchard admitted, "but you should try to adjust. The deadline for all the articles is Monday."

Adjust? Adjust what?She's being a little too vague, Rory thought pensively, not noticing that Ms. Touchard was leaving the seat in front of her to check on Ella McCord, her next-door coworker. More like next-desk coworker. When she finally did notice, Rory breathed in relief and reached for her pen which Ms. Touchard had left behind. Better work now. The deadline is Monday, just like she said. Enough thinking about Logan. He'll contact me and we'll clear it up then. Right?

Rory scrawled down some more notes, referencing a magazine, secretly proud of taking a debate class back in school, when a certain blonde-haired male entered the office with a box of doughnuts.