A/N: I want to take a moment to thank everyone for reading. I also really appreciate the reviews and messages I've received.
I'll typically post a new chapter once a week. However, I posted two this week and will do the same next week, because I know some people are probably eager for Jess to enter the picture. I can't move his debut up to an earlier chapter, but I can post the chapters more quickly until we get there. I promise that it's worth the wait!
This story takes place after AYITL, except for the flashback in Chapter 2. It includes some new backstory that wasn't mentioned in AYITL, but all of those details are consistent with the show. I'm not changing anything in canon, just adding to it.
Finally, this is a love story at its heart, but it's also more than that. It covers Rory's personal development and her relationship with Lorelai. It also explores topics like...
What would Paris do if one of her kids didn't care about school?
Can Michel bring his vision for the Dragonfly Spa to life without having a meltdown?
What would Lorelai and Jess talk about on a road trip?
Thanks again for reading!
"I decided that the most subversive, revolutionary thing I could do was show up for my life and not be ashamed."
— Anne Lamott, Operating Instructions
"And how does it work if I decide to get an epidural?"
Rory chewed the end of her pen, listening to the voice on the other end of the phone intently. She made a note on the legal pad in front of her.
Lorelai stumbled into the kitchen in her robe and slippers. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot Rory had brewed and took a big sip, inhaling the scent deeply as she drank.
"What if the anesthesiologist on call is out-of-network?…Are you serious?"
Opening the freezer, Lorelai grabbed a few frozen waffles and stuffed them in the toaster. She drained the rest of her coffee.
"Okay, well I think that's all I need for now. I'll call you if I have more questions. Thank you." Rory hung up the phone and rubbed her forehead.
"When I heard you on the phone at four-thirty in the morning I thought maybe you were moonlighting for one of those middle-of-the-night sex chat lines," Lorelai said. "Then I heard you talking about your deductible and I thought, 'That's a weird fetish.'"
"My health insurance company is supposed to have twenty-four hour customer service, but I can only get ahold of someone between the hours of three and five A.M.," Rory vented.
Lorelai poured another cup of coffee and plucked the waffles from the toaster, setting them on a plate in the middle of the table and dousing them in syrup. Rory recoiled at the sugary smell; morning sickness had just started the day before. With a vengeance.
"What are you doing up, anyway?" Rory asked. "No bad dreams, I hope?"
"No bad dreams. Paul Anka was whining. He's been very needy since the wedding. I think he might be jealous of Luke." She bit into a waffle.
Rory tapped her pen on her pad. "This is how much labor and delivery is going to cost." She pointed to a number. "And if I need a c-section it'll cost this much." She pointed to another, bigger number.
"What? That's absurd. I've seen Call the Midwife. I'll deliver the baby for half that price."
"Are you Chummy? No — Sister Julienne?"
"I'm Trixie. Duh."
"I need to get a real, paying job, immediately. Do you think I can work at Luke's or the inn?"
Lorelai looked at her skeptically. "Yes, but do you really want to?"
"Be able to afford diapers? Yes."
"Maybe you'll sell your book."
"Maybe. But if I do it'll be months or years from now and there's no guarantee I'll make any real money." Panic rose in her voice.
"How about the elephant in the room?" Lorelai toyed with her waffle.
"Huh?"
"Blonde, rich elephant? May speak with a Madonna-esque British accent due to living in London for too long?
"I think Lindsay Lohan is doing that accent these days."
"He can afford to help. He can even afford a c-section. Or half a c-section, if you want to go Dutch."
"And, what, I'm just going to send him a monthly bill? A pregnancy expense report?" Rory squirmed in her seat.
"Millions of people pay and receive child support every day." Lorelai glanced down at Rory's pen pointedly.
Rory realized she'd been clicking it over and over again. She put the pen down. "But that's not us. That's not supposed to be us. When we were together, it was like being in a bubble. It was just the two of us, spending time together. No obligations or expectations. No complicated family crap. No dinners with the other person's annoying coworkers. We didn't owe each other anything."
"Well, the bubble is gone. It's not just the two of you anymore," Lorelai said gently.
Rory sighed. "And there's a lot more complicated family crap."
Lorelai looked down at her mug and wrinkled her nose. "This coffee is decaf, isn't it?"
"Yes, m'am. I was wondering when you'd notice."
Lorelai dumped it down the drain.
Rory spent the morning at the Gazette writing an overview of the upcoming holiday events in town. There were seventeen, so it was going to take up a full page of the next issue. She wanted to head to Hartford for the afternoon to work on her book, but there was something else she had to do first.
She stepped out of the office and headed for Doose's. The proprietor himself was outside, power-washing the sidewalk.
"Taylor!" Rory called, hurrying toward him.
Taylor gave her a wave and a chipper smile.
"Do you mind turning that off for a minute?" Rory shouted over the sound of the machine. "I have to talk to you about something."
He complied and wiped his brow. "I love fall foliage just as much as the next guy, but when the leaves decompose, they leave the stubbornest stains on the sidewalk. It takes a lot of work to maintain a festive seasonal look without making people track decaying brown sludge all over town."
"Sounds like a good motto for the Stars Hollow Public Works Department."
He scoffed. "My power-washer is twice as powerful as theirs."
Enough small talk; time to get down to business. "So, what did you think of the latest issue of the Gazette?" Rory asked casually.
"Oh, I thought it was wonderful. You've been making some really exciting changes over the past few months."
"Thanks!" she chirped. "I really wanted to expand the arts and culture section—-"
"The new font you used for the poem really made it pop."
"Oh. Right." She cleared her throat. "So, Taylor, since I've been working so hard on the paper, and giving it a fresh perspective, our circulation numbers have increased by almost ten percent."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. And I think to really keep the momentum going, I need to devote even more attention to it."
"Do you?"
"And in order to do that, I need to get paid. In American dollars. The free apples your cashier has been giving me don't count."
"My cashier has been giving you free apples?" he asked in horror.
Oops. She'd thought Taylor had instructed the cashier to do it, but now that she thought about it, the guy did smile at her a little too intensely. But she didn't want to derail the conversation now. "I thought — you know what, nevermind, that was just a joke. But I do need to be fairly compensated."
"Rory, I'd love to. But a salary for you is just not in the budget."
"I saw the budget." Her expression hardened.
"Oh?" he said, suddenly preoccupied with adjusting the setting on the dial of the power-washer.
"Bernie Roundbottom got paid a salary. Well, 'salary' might be an overstatement. But he got paid something."
"Well, yes, but —"
"Wait, I have more," Rory interrupted triumphantly, holding up a finger. "Taylor, did you know that twenty percent of the visitors to the Woodbury Times website are from Stars Hollow?"
"No —"
"Doesn't it bother you that Stars Hollow residents are seeking their local news fix in Woodbury's little corner of the Internet?"
"Well—"
"Don't you think the Gazette should have its own website? We can post all of our stories there, and the poem, and some online-only content too, like videos. And we can sell ad space. I'll pound the pavement to get local businesses to advertise."
"That does sound like a good idea," he admitted.
"Great. So here's my proposal: seventy-five percent of Bernie's salary to start, and then when the website is up and running, the other twenty-five percent. And once we start turning a profit on ad revenue, I'll have a performance review, and depending on the numbers, I'll be considered for another raise."
"You're leaning in very hard, Rory. I blame Sheryl Sandburg," Taylor grumbled.
"Do we have a deal?"
Taylor sighed, exasperated. "Yes, we have a deal."
Rory smiled brightly and reached out for a handshake. "Pleasure doing business with you."
Emily spent the week in Hartford after the wedding, and she invited Lorelai and Rory for dinner the night before she headed back to Nantucket. Rory arrived a few hours early and locked herself in her grandfather's study to work on her book. Who knew how much time she'd have to work there before the house sold? She needed to use it while she still could. Emily spent the afternoon deadheading the rose bushes in the back garden, and the house was quiet.
At six o'clock Emily knocked sharply on the study door. "Rory?" she called. "Since Berta emptied the fridge we don't have much to cook. All that's left is a lemon and a jar of mustard. Should we order something?"
Rory opened the door. "What did you have in mind?" Her morning sickness had faded; she was eating a few crackers every hour and it seemed to be doing the trick.
"Oh, whatever you'd like. Pizza, Chinese?"
Chinese food sounded amazing. "Grandma, have you ever had Chinese food delivered here?"
Emily thought about it. "I don't think so. But we got it one Friday night in Nantucket and I just love it."
"Let me do a little Googling. I'll find the best Chinese delivery in Hartford," Rory assured her, visions of kung pao chicken dancing in her head.
When Lorelai arrived and saw the array of takeout containers spread out on the dining room table she stopped in her tracks. "Well, knock me over with a feather."
"What can I get you ladies to drink?" Emily asked, leading them into the living room.
"Oh, I'll get the drinks," Rory offered quickly, jumping up from her seat. "I don't mind." She poured wine for Emily and Lorelai and made herself a club soda with lime.
"No wine for you? What are you drinking?" Emily asked.
"Vodka soda," Rory said casually. "I'm watching my weight."
"Didn't you order three different dishes from the restaurant because you couldn't decide?" Emily asked, baffled.
"Well, yes, but — you know, every calorie counts."
Lorelai coughed. "It's like when people order a Diet Coke with their Big Mac!"
Emily wrinkled her nose. "People do that?"
"Lots of people," Rory confirmed.
By the time they sat down at the table, Rory was no longer salivating over kung pao chicken. When they'd ordered, a spicy dinner sounded delicious, but now her stomach churned at the thought. She passed the chicken to Lorelai and surveyed the remaining options. She needed something bland.
Her eyes settled on the vegetable lo mein. She scooped the noodles onto her plate, trying hard to ignore the smell of the kung pao.
"This is wonderful," Emily declared, cutting off a bite-sized piece of an egg roll. "Rory, how are your noodles?"
Rory methodically twirled the noodles around her fork and took a bite. She tasted glue and soy sauce. Her gag instinct kicked in and she made a choking noise, covering her mouth as she struggled to swallow.
Emily looked at her like she'd just placed the forkful of noodles on her head. "Are you alright?"
"She's fine, Mom," Lorelai reassured her. "There's a little bug going around town. Maybe she's got that."
Saliva was pooling in the back of her throat. She wanted to swallow but she knew if she did, she would throw up. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the wave of nausea.
"You don't look alright," Emily said.
Her stomach settled, at least for the moment. She dabbed her napkin against her mouth. "I'm fine. Really."
Emily slid a plastic container of wonton soup toward her. "Maybe this will help. I always like something with broth when I'm sick."
Rory's fork clattered on her plate. What was the point? She was going to find out eventually. "Grandma, I'm not sick. I'm pregnant."
"With meaning!" Lorelai interjected, going for the save. Rory gave her a slight head shake.
"No?" Lorelai said. "I guess we're not — okay, we're doing the thing." She set her utensils down and looked at Emily expectantly.
"I don't understand," Emily said. "Is that a joke?" She was stone-faced. Rory immediately regretted her impulsive decision.
"Not a joke," Rory said.
"But how?"
"Really, Mom?" Lorelai asked.
"I just mean — you're not married."
Lorelai groaned.
"Are you going to get married?"
Rory considered her words carefully. "I'd prefer to talk about that part some other time."
Emily rolled her eyes. "Your generation would find things a lot simpler if you'd all just get married first and then get pregnant. You're both in your thirties, what are you waiting for?"
Rory realized she was talking about Paul. She thought that Rory and Paul were having a baby. She made eye contact with Lorelai. Maybe it would be best to split the news into two parts, actually. Less shocking to Emily's system. "Grandma, it's just not going to happen right now," she said firmly.
She sighed. "Well. I was wondering if I'd ever have a great-grandchild." She smiled. "Congratulations, Rory."
Lorelai's mouth hung open.
"Thanks, Grandma." Maybe this hadn't been such a bad idea after all.
"I'd like the child to call me Great Nana," Emily proclaimed.
Lorelai recoiled. "You are so not a Nana."
"Well, what are you going to be called?"
Lorelai's eyes widened. "I haven't thought about it."
"Memaw!" Rory piped in.
Emily chuckled. Lorelai mimed catapulting a piece of chicken at Rory with her fork.
"Rory, do you need money?"
Rory was startled by the suddenness of the question, though she shouldn't have been. In this house, the topic of money was always just under the surface, ready to bubble up at any time. "What? Oh, no. I actually just got, um, a raise. Yesterday. So I'm fine right now."
"I can give you an advance on your inheritance. It'll be your money eventually anyway. And I still feel terrible about your trust funds and I'd love to make it up to you."
"Oh, not the trust funds again," Lorelai moaned. "Tale as old as time, right here."
"Grandma, it wasn't your fault the economy crashed. If I hadn't withdrawn the money in 2009, it would be worth a lot more now. But I wanted to do that fellowship, and the stipend was —"
"A joke," Lorelai chimed in. "'Stipend' is code for 'minimum wage for Ivy League suckers.'"
"Well, yes, but what about Trix's? I thought Bernie was a slimy hack but she insisted on investing with him. It still makes me sick," Emily said bitterly.
"You should write ole Bernie a letter," Lorelai said. "Give him a piece of your mind. Just don't fall in love with him."
Emily rolled her eyes.
"It's a real risk," Lorelai said, eyes wide. "Both Menendez brothers married women that started writing to them after they went to prison."
"I read that Scott Peterson gets tons of love letters," Rory added. In a twisted way, she could see the appeal: someone so far away, you were free to fill in all the gaps yourself.
"I am not going to be Bernie Madoff's pen pal," Emily scoffed. "Anyway, Rory, please let me know if you change your mind."
Rory left the window cracked open on the drive home, even though it was cold. The nausea made her face feel hot and the brisk air felt good.
"I think you should take the money," Lorelai said abruptly as she merged onto the highway.
Rory touched the side of her forehead against the cold glass. "I thought you, of all people, would tell me not to accept any money Grandma offered."
"You don't have to do this the hardest possible way just because I did. That was a different situation, a different time."
"I haven't decided which way I'm going to do this yet," Rory said. "I'm not saying I'm going to do it entirely on my own. I mean, I'm obviously not doing it entirely on my own. I'm living with you."
"Which you can do for as long as you want."
"I just want to know that I can do it on my own. I need to know."
