𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨.
gilmore girls universe.
𐙚 | B L U E ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
─── blue eyes like the sea on a
cold, rainy day
❝ 𝘉𝘓𝘜𝘌 𝘌𝘠𝘌𝘋 𝘉𝘌𝘈𝘜𝘛𝘠 𝘊𝘈𝘓𝘓𝘌𝘋 𝘓𝘜𝘊𝘠 𝘋𝘈𝘕𝘌𝘚 ❞
Luciana Danes is the daughter of the famous Luke Dan...
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September 16th, 2000
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[ LUCY'S POV ]
SATURDAY NIGHT.
The night my friends party like there's no tomorrow is the night I stay in the comfort of my second home— Sniffy's Tavern— eating all the food we can stomach in one evening. Maisie and Buddy do an excellent job at making sure we're both well fed, telling my dad to dump his healthy diet at home whenever he comes here.
I thank Maisie as she brings over dessert— the most gorgeous fudge cake I've ever seen in my life— and another beer for my dad.
"I don't even know why they have menus. It's not like they actually give you what you want." I look over at my dad. He's currently eyeing the cake on the table that I definitely didn't order, but Maisie must've heard my insides begging for something sweet and delicious.
I look at the menu, my eyes landing on the exact cake I'm eating. "I think they just know."
I flip the menu over and, as I eat my cake, I read the story on the back with the biggest grin on my face because I always— without a doubt— read the story off the back. I love this place, and even if the story on the back of the menu is depressing, it brings a charm to this place that no other place has, not even the diner.
Dad grabs the menu from me before I have the chance to finish reading it. "You read this every single week, and I tell you every time that—"
"It doesn't change," I chime in. "I know it doesn't change but I don't care. It's like a need for me to read the back of the menu."
Dad furrows his eyebrows, and I don't blame him for being confused. He probably looks at me many times during the day, and questions how I'm his child. "You're doing it again," I say.
"Doing what?"
"Doing the "How are you my daughter" stare. It's very annoying." I jab my fork into my cake before placing it in my mouth, groaning at how delicious it tastes. God, Maisie and Buddy never fail to impress. I make a mental note to thank them a million times for this beloved cake I've had many times in the past.
Dad clears his throat. "Sorry. It's just..." He pauses, clasping his hands together on the table.
He looks like he wants to say something— something serious— and I'm not sure if I'm in the correct mood to handle something serious from my dad right now, not when I'm indulged in chocolate fudge cake.
