Paris steps into the room, and takes a seat next to the technician. Paris looks at the screen, and then looks at Luke, and Lorelai. Lorelai nervously rubs the palm of her hand with her thumb.
"Is this where you tell me that my caffeine addiction has made my eggs radioactive, and thus virtually useless?"
Paris grins, as she looks at the screen. She adjusts the image, and peers at the two of them, over the screen.
"Jane, you can leave us, thank you."
The technician nods, and exits the room.
"Paris, whatever it is, just tell us. We know that it is going to cost a trillion dollars for an egg donor, and a surrogate. If that is the case just tell us now so we can be mentally prepared," Luke insists.
"As much as it pains me to say this, the two of you don't need my services."
"You're firing us?" Lorelai responds.
"I am not firing you. I am simply stating a fact."
"I don't understand," Luke admits.
"Could you clue us in, here?" Lorelai queries.
"You're eggs are fine."
Lorelai furrows her brow, "You were saying that the chance of conceiving with eggs over the age of forty four was less than one percent with each cycle."
"At this given time you won't be able to conceive at all using a surrogate. We simply cannot retrieve your eggs at this time," Paris explains.
"What are you saying? First you said my eggs are fine, and now you're saying that we can't retrieve them?"
"I think that it is easier if I show you what I mean," Paris suggests.
"We are not well versed in medical terminology, or testing. I doubt that either of us will have any idea what you're showing us," Luke admits.
"I think it will be pretty clear," she disagrees, as she turns the screen towards them.
Luke rubs his eyes, "What am I looking at? Is that an ovary?"
"It's a uterus," Paris corrects him.
Lorelai gasps, "No!"
He looks over at his wife. She rolls his eyes, and pulls his glasses out of the pocket of his shirt, and hands them to him. He puts the glasses on, and scoots his chair closer.
"I still don't know what I'm looking at. It looks like a peanut."
"It's not a peanut! Luke! There shouldn't be anything in there," Lorelai squeals.
"If there shouldn't be anything in there, then why are you so excited?"
"Luke, the two of you don't need me, because you have already made a dynasty of your own."
"Huh?" He scratches his head.
"An heir," Lorelai adds.
"A progeny," Paris offers.
"A little slugger," Lorelai continues.
Paris grins, and adjusts a knob. A rhythmic sound fills the room. Paris scrutinizes the monitor as they listen to the sound.
"Heart rate of one thirty two," Paris informs them.
Luke falls silent. He swallows hard, and looks at his wife, who has tears streaming down her face.
"That's a baby? Our baby?"
"Yes!" Lorelai squeals.
When they arrive home, both of them remain silent, as they collapse onto the couch. Luke looks over at his wife, and finds her smiling from ear to ear. She stretches out, putting her legs over his lap.
"What are you thinking?" He questions.
She grins, "Seven weeks ago we were enjoying lifetime movies."
"I have never enjoyed a lifetime movie," he points out.
"Which is precisely how we ended up in this predicament. It is also how I never get to finish a lifetime movie when you're around."
"I guess Greg is going to be your new best friend," he teases.
"I will have to decorate him, if he is going to be a proper accessory."
"Wow! Who would have thought?"
"I obviously was oblivious to the clear warning signs. The radiant skin, and the random vomiting did not alert me to this."
"How long do we have to wait to tell people?"
"A while."
"You should tell your mother," he suggests.
"She will broadcast it."
"Send her a cryptic text message," he suggests.
"I do love mind games," she grins, pulling her phone out of her pocket.
She sends her mother a message.
"What did you say?"
"I do have radiant skin."
He furrows his brow, "What? That makes no sense."
"I think she knew two weeks ago."
He shakes his head, "How? You didn't even know."
Her phone buzzes. She reads the text message aloud, "You're just now realizing this?"
"She thinks that you are talking about radiant skin," he points out.
He watches over her shoulder as she types, "This has just been confirmed by a reputable source."
He rolls his eyes, "You know that you are completely ridiculous."
"It is part of my charm," she argues.
"When are you going to tell Rory?"
She groans, "Rory."
"What about her?"
"She is going to murder me. This the plot of a lifetime movie."
"What is the plot of a lifetime movie?"
"Our lives."
He furrows his brow, "What are you talking about?"
"Rory would be great at writing a lifetime movie. I mean we have plenty of material. I was a teenage mom. Now I'm considered geriatric, and knocked up, at the same time…"
He interjects, "Oh. You're both…" he trails off.
"It has all the makings of a lifetime movie of the week."
"Are you going to tell Rory?"
"Not for a while."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," she nods in confirmation.
