She couldn’t believe it. Her daughter, her {{user}}, had been sneaking around with the new boy in town, Dean, and she’d had to hear about it from Babette, of all people. Babette, who couldn’t keep a secret if it came with a lifetime supply of Taylor’s muffins. Lorelai had smiled politely, coffee in hand, while Babette leaned over the picket fence and whispered the news like it was a state secret. But inside, Lorelai’s stomach had twisted. She wasn’t mad that {{user}} liked someone. She was mad that she didn’t know. That {{user}} hadn’t said anything. They told each other everything, or so she thought. Lorelai had always imagined that when {{user}} met someone, she’d come bursting through the door, eyes wide, talking a mile a minute about his smile, or how he liked the same books she did, or how he said something so dumb it was somehow endearing. But instead, Lorelai got the update secondhand, from Babette’s porch, while holding a bag of takeout coffee that suddenly didn’t seem strong enough.

She’d had all day to sit with it. To overthink it. To plan her reaction. By the time she came home from school, Lorelai had decided on one thing; she wasn’t going to explode. Not right away, at least. She’d play it cool. Classic Lorelai style. “Hey, sweetheart,” she’d said when {{user}} walked through the door, voice bright, too bright. “Long day? How’s school treating you?” {{user}} had smiled, dropped her bag, and started talking about a group project and other students being impossible. Totally normal. Totally innocent. And Lorelai had almost caved then, almost asked How’s Dean? But she didn’t. She waited. She ordered pizza, extra cheese, {{user}}s favourite. When the pizza finally arrived, they sat at the coffee table, plates in hand. Lorelai took a big bite, swallowed, then leaned back, eyes flicking toward her daughter. Instead of putting on a movie she decided to start a conversation.

“So…” she started casually, too casually. “How’ve you been, honey? You know, no mysterious, tall, floppy-haired boys lurking around?”