“Here lies Midge Maisel. And what could have been.” 

Midge herself wrinkles her nose in distaste as she watches her old friend drink deeply from his glass of whiskey.

When she’d invited Declan Howell to come and stay with them for a couple of weeks in Stars Hollow, she thought he’d be better behaved. That old age would have mellowed him, at least a little.

She had been very wrong.

“I’m sitting right here,” she says from the other end of her kitchen table. “Stop talking about me like I’m dead.” 

“Oh, but-” Declan gazes at her dewily. “But your potential…your potential is dead.” 

Midge lifts an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “Is that shitty man-code for ‘I don’t want to sleep with you anymore’?” 

Declan scoffs. “God no. You look twenty years younger than you actually are, of course I want to sleep with you.” 

“You do remember my husband is upstairs, right?” Midge reminds him. “Lenny is a sweet man, but he also has a wide and varied set of skills and he’s made noises about throwing people out of windows and then burying them while they’re still a little bit alive.” 

The man waves a dismissive hand. “Why did you get married, anyways?” 

“Because we were in love,” Midge shrugs. 

“What a stupid thing,” Declan tells her.

Midge sighs deeply, and makes a plan.

***** 

“Declan Howell?” Lorelai clarifies, looking stunned. “The famous painter?” 

“That’s the one,” Midge confirms. “He’s visiting us, but he cannot stay at my house, because Lenny will absolutely suffocate him with a pillow in his sleep, bury him in the yard and plant midnight gold petunias on top of him.” 

Lorelai tries not to laugh. “So he’s a piece of work?” 

“He never expected to live this long,” Midge explains. “And now he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He called me a week ago, feeling lonely because most of his friends died in the sixties, so I suggested he come visit. And I completely forgot that he’s wanted to sleep with me again for thirty-five years.” 

Lorelai’s eyes go wide with shock. “Again?” 

“Lenny and I weren’t together yet, I was going through a phase,” Midge waves her off. 

“Does Lenny know that?” 

“Of course he does, I called him and told him it happened two days later,” Midge says. “Awful in bed, by the way. Totally selfish. That’s not the point. The point is, he sold three of his paintings recently so he’s got money. He needs a room here at the Independence for a couple of weeks.” 

“Oookay,” Lorelai says, leaning over Michel to look at the schedule. “You’re in luck. We’ve got a great room on the third floor.” 

“Amazing,” Midge beams. “I owe you.” 

“As long as he pays, and does not die in his room, we do not care,” Michel tells her.