“Coming in September to ABC … a special six-part series. You know their names. You saw the paparazzi pictures. Now find out their full story, and the truth behind the lie that rocked a nation. Paris & Rory: Faking A Modern Stars Hollow Family.”
“Well, that’s embarrassing,” says Paris. “Not to mention hyperbolic. Rocked a nation? Really? No wonder this country’s going down the crapper like a kid’s first goldfish.”
Rory is too busy hiding her face behind a throw pillow to reply.
Paris shuts off the TV. They sit for a moment on the sofa in pleasant silence. There are puzzle pieces scattered all over the coffee table, with the box propped up in the corner; they’re supposed to become an illustration of a vintage city street, all flower stands and lovers in apartment windows.
In the Gilmore-Geller household, they’ve been limiting their screen time lately and focusing on more old school activities. It’s the only way to make sure they won’t be bombarded with their own faces. Getting the show into shape after their little Firelight Festival plot twist had been tiring enough. Nigel had been convinced he could make it work, though, and to his credit, it seems like he pulled it off. It had meant weeks of filming extra talking heads where Rory and Paris revealed their scheme step by step, which Nigel insisted he could weave into the original material in order to make the documentary “work on levels, like Inception.” Rory thinks it sounds too complicated (and are Inception references really still a thing humankind is doing?), but Nigel had insisted that that kind of cerebral fare is exactly what you need to set your work apart in this golden age of television.
All in all, it just feels good to have it all over and done with. If there’s one thing Rory has learned from all of this, it’s that while she may want professional greatness, she definitely doesn’t want any more fame. She is the actual most awkward person in the world at modeling for promo pictures. Whenever there’s a camera pointed at her, she can’t seem to hold anything like a human being, and that promo photoshoot had involved a lot of props.
But that’s okay. Luddite life with Paris is pretty great.
They’ve been living together for a few months now, and it’s like stepping right back into their college days (with added bed sharing). Rory wound up moving in with Paris; she wasn’t all that attached to her old place, and it seemed like the sensible choice when Paris has a perfectly nice townhouse with a giant globe room in it. Rory squeezed her books in there and is trying to rebrand it as the library. It seems way too The Capitol from Hunger Games otherwise. What kind of normal people have a globe room? When they came over for dinner, Richard and Emily couldn’t disguise their awe as Paris showed them around. They seem thrilled that their granddaughter wound up making a “fine match” after all. Hopefully it’s not driving Lorelai too crazy, but Lorelai just seems to be happy that her daughter is happy.
Rory’s stuff is peppered throughout the house now, adding some color to the neutral tones and Parisian wall art that Paris picked out with her decorator. In the first few weeks, she’d waited for Paris to balk at the manatee-shaped tea infuser or the Dreaming of Darcy novelty pillowcase that Lorelai had given her in a hilarious (to Lorelai) birthday gift situation or the six dog-eared copies of different editions of Jane Eyre, but Paris seems to like it all. ‘It’s like a real house,’ she said when she found a kitchen towel of Rory’s covered in little illustrations of coffee cups. ‘Tacky? Sure. But real.’
By now, the house has become theirs. Two lives woven into one place. It’s pretty cool.
Even if Paris refuses to share her toothpaste.
And even if their TV occasionally horrifies them with shots of their own faces.
“Puzzle time?” Rory suggests, tossing a few throw pillows onto the floor and sinking down onto one.
“Sure,” says Paris, following suit. “I need something healthy to channel my rage and frustration into.”
“That’s my girl,” says Rory, patting her shoulder.
She watches as Paris sets to work sorting through the puzzle pieces. There’s an expression of terrifying intensity on her face. It might be the most wonderful thing Rory’s ever seen. And Rory’s seen Pop Tarts.
Paris triumphantly joins six pieces together before she notices what Rory’s done.
“What the hell is this doing here?” Paris picks up the ring and frowns at it.
It makes sense that she’s confused. She hasn’t seen it since she gave it to Rory on the night of the Firelight Festival. Luke was thoughtful enough to retrieve it from the gazebo floor that night, and gave it back to Rory the next day. (‘I thought you might want it, you know, just in case,’ he told her. ‘Sometimes these things have a few proposals in them.’)
“I don’t know,” Rory says innocently. “I guess you’ll just have to puzzle that out for yourself. Get it? Puzzle?”
“Why did you keep this?” Paris’s voice is softer now, with that confused hint of sweetness in it that always turns Rory’s insides to lovely mush.
“I thought it might come in handy later. And I know we’re not standing in front of an entire town and a camera crew in the middle of a festival after having just finished a very elaborate dance, so if this was a competition I’d definitely already be losing, but I was thinking maybe …” She shrugs, smiling a little.
Paris inspects the ring. “You got it engraved.”
“That I did.”
“116,” Paris reads, lifting the ring to look at it closer.
“Yep,” says Rory. “I thought about putting ‘Sonnet 116,’ but that just seemed clunky. You know. Let me not to the marriage of true minds—”
“Admit impediments,” Paris interrupts. Like, pretty intensely. “Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. Don’t question me. I still know it by heart.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Rory says fondly. “Weirdo.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re proposing right now?”
“I am,” says Rory, “so I hope you don’t get it too straight. There’s some sexual orientation humor for you.”
(Lorelai has been having a field day with the quipping potential that came alongside her daughter’s bisexual epiphany; by now, it’s become pretty contagious.)
Paris stares at her, her expression inscrutable.
“Am I blowing it?” Rory asks, cringing. “I thought maybe it was best to keep things low key, but it’s hitting me just now that ‘hide the ring under some puzzle pieces on the coffee table at home’ might be too low key. If it helps, I got champagne! It’s in the kitchen. I hid it behind the coconut milk in the fridge earlier—”
“Yes,” says Paris.
“Yes to coconut milk?”
“Yes to you, moron,” says Paris.
She takes Rory’s face in her hands and kisses her.
“Wait,” says Rory, “I haven’t even put the ring on for you yet.”
“So you don’t want me to?”
Paris caves. “No, it actually sounds pretty nice.”
She sticks out her hand. Rory kisses the tip of her finger, then slides the ring gently onto it.
“It looks perfect,” Rory says admiringly, holding Paris’s hand in hers.
“Apparently Kirk hooked Nigel up with it when I came up with my proposal scheme.”
“So it’s also got a moving backstory.”
“Why does Kirk have so many rings?”
“Then let’s skip it.”
They get back to kissing. After all, they’ve still got so many years to make up for.
“By the way,” Rory says when they finally come up for air, “did I mention how these past few months have been some of the best months of my life? Really, the best—”
“You didn’t. A competent proposer probably would have instead of talking about the contents of our refrigerator.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve known me since we were sixteen. You’ve had plenty of time to pick up on the fact that where romantic gestures are concerned, I’m sort of a mess.”
“Oh, I know. There are only so many times you can reference that box of cornstarch before it stops being adorable.”
“What cornstarch?” Rory says angelically.
Paris rolls her eyes.
“Oh!” Rory says, the silence of the room hitting her. “Wait. I forgot something.”
“I don’t care what you forgot,” Paris says, trying to steer Rory’s mouth back to hers. “This is good. It’s perfect. The mention of the coconut milk really did it for me—”
Rory grabs the stereo remote off the coffee table and presses play. Immediately, the room fills with the opening strains of a certain familiar tune.
“Really?” Paris says.
“It seemed fitting,” Rory says, beaming. “Our first date was at a Bangles concert, after all.”
Close your eyes, give me your hand, darling
Do you feel my heart beating?
“Do you understand?” Rory croons. “Do you feel the same?”
“Don't quit your day job. You’re such a bad singer,” Paris tells her, laughing.
“Hey!" Rory smacks Paris' shoulder playfully. "That came from the heart!”
“Yeah, well, my heart wants less sing-along time and more making out. Get over here.”
“Is this burning … an eternal flaaaaaaame—ooh!”
Paris Geller and Partner Rory Gilmore Wed in Intimate Smalltown Ceremony
Political pundit and bestselling author Paris Geller and Boston Globe journalist Rory Gilmore, a pair most recently known for last fall’s surprise hit ABC reality television limited series Paris And Rory: Faking A Modern Stars Hollow Family, married today in a small ceremony in Gilmore’s home town of Stars Hollow, Connecticut. No press were allowed at the event. A small group of Revolutionary War reenactors in full costume saw to that.
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