𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐧𝐞.
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 Danes. Beautif...
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ chapter thirty-eight, Gilmore Girls — Season Two
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December 20th, 2001
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[ LUKE'S POV ]
WHILE DINNER WAS A DISASTER, I still decide to stick around and help in the only way I know how to. I decide to help Mary Dugray — Tristan's mother — wash the freaking dishes. While she doesn't look like she does this often, I still appreciate her wanting to try. After the disaster that was dinner, I'd do just about anything to escape, and if cleaning the dishes is my escape, I should've run away hours ago.
Lucy is upstairs with Tristan much to my disapproval, but we're leaving in an hour whether she likes it or not.
Thankfully, Geoffrey is nowhere to be seen. I think he's in his study, but I couldn't care less about where he is. I mean, the way he spoke about my kid in front of everyone like she wasn't sitting right there was disgusting. I knew the second I shook his hand that Geoffrey Dugray would be a nightmare, and I was right. A handshake can tell a lot about a person, as I've told Lucy before.
Geoffrey is cold, heartless and cruel. He's ruthless and brutal, especially to his son, but I see something in Tristan that Geoffrey obviously doesn't see. I truly believe that Tristan will be different, and I hope he is because he's dating the most important person in my life, and I'll bury him in the ground alive if he hurts her. I hope, for his sake, that he doesn't turn out like his father.
Mary, on the other hand, seems kind. She seems genuinely interested in knowing us, and while she's sometimes quiet and reserved, she's also not afraid to speak. Earlier, she defended herself and her son like a parent should do, and I admire that. She didn't cower away from her husband despite how careless he is, and I respect her massively.
That's probably why I'm helping her clean.
She dismissed the maid, and I now stand with my sleeves rolled up as I attempt to wash the dishes in the sink. Mary is aimlessly cleaning the counters with a dishcloth, and I look over at her every now and then to see she's still wiping the same spot.
I clear my throat. "You okay?" I ask — I don't know why, but I feel I should be kind to my daughter's boyfriend's mother.
"Your daughter is wonderful," is all she says, and I look away to stare at the soapy water in the sink. "I mean, my kids are incredible — I don't know how because they were raised by us. We hardly pay them attention, which sounds horrible, I know, but it's true. Yet, they're still happy and safe and incredible. How does that even happen?"
