She is lying in bed, sound asleep, when she hears footsteps creaking on the floorboards outside of her room. She groggily opens her eyes, and looks around the room. She hears the hinges of her door squeak. Her breath hitches at a figure appears in her doorway. She glances at the clock, and inwardly groans, noting that it says, 4:09.
"Lorelai," she hears a familiar voice utter her name.
Her racing heart begins to slow. She shifts into a sitting position, and flips on the lamp sitting on her bedside stand. She furrows her brow as the figure approaches the bed. She scoots towards the middle of the bed, and he takes a seat next to her.
"Luke what are you doing here? Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"I'm sorry, I couldn't sleep," he admits.
"It is barely four o'clock in the morning," she points out.
"I was so caught off guard that I didn't even think to ask you how you're feeling."
"Other than the persistent, and constant state of nausea?"
"I'm serious."
She locks eyes with him. She knows that he can read her, and that lying will be futile. She exhales, and opts for the truth.
"Luke I am terrified."
"Terrified? Why are you terrified? You are an excellent parent."
"It isn't that."
"You seem very preoccupied. Is something wrong?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"I don't mean with the baby," he clarifies.
"It is probably nothing," she insists.
"Obviously it is something. You seem more upset than excited."
"I was not expecting this. We still cannot seem to figure out where we are going. Things at the inn couldn't be busier. My nest is finally empty. I raised my baby, and I thought that I was done."
"Are you saying that you don't want to have this baby?"
She shakes her head, "That is most definitely not what I am saying. I was sixteen when I had Rory, and I knew absolutely nothing about being anyone's everything. I know more now, and it is worrisome. What if because of lack of planning on my part equates to something being wrong with the baby? What if I am too old? What if I have to do this on my own? I don't know if I can do this again on my own. I…"
He cuts her off, "I am right here."
"At four o'clock in the morning," she adds.
"Lorelai I am not going anywhere. Whatever happens between the two of us is irrelevant. I think that we can both agree that we are committed to raising a successful, well-rounded human being."
"What if something goes wrong?"
"We will deal with it, together."
"What if it is too much for one of us?"
"We are in this together," he reminds her.
"Do you know how much more likely it is to have a baby with a genetic disorder after age thirty five?"
"What is going on with you? You never worry like this."
"Luke, I can't explain it. In the pit of my stomach I just feel like something is wrong."
He presses his lips to her forehead. He brushes stray hairs out of her face. He settles in next to her, draping his arm round her. He squeezes her close to his side.
She takes a seat at the kitchen table. He positions himself in the seat next to her. They have just returned from a doctor's appointment. The entire car ride home was enveloped in silence. He reaches over, and takes her hand. He squeezes her hand reassuringly.
"Lorelai," he calls her name.
Finally she makes eye contact with him, "Yes?"
"Are you hungry?"
"No," she shakes her head.
"It is time to start telling people. I have given you a lot of latitude. You haven't even told Rory. You didn't even mention it to her when she was home for Christmas."
"I know."
"The results of the amniocentesis came back perfectly fine. They didn't find any genetic defects. You are well into your second trimester. You are nearly half-way through the pregnancy. Don't you think that it is time to start telling people?"
"Yes."
He studies her facial expression. He furrows his brow, "Why do you have that guilty look on your face?"
"I told you that I could wait. We agreed."
"To find out the gender?"
She nods, "But I couldn't. You went to the bathroom, and I looked in the envelope."
"What?!"
For the first time in a while her lips creep into a smile. "I looked."
"It's a girl, isn't it?"
"Is that what you think?"
"Yes."
"You are so wrong."
"What?!"
"We are having a boy."
"A boy? We are going to have a son?"
"Yes," she squeals.
That night she wakes up abruptly, and rockets into a sitting position. Luke lies next to her, sound asleep, and sawing logs. She finds herself in a cold sweat. It is the nightmare again. Every time it is the same. One minute she is pregnant, and the next she isn't. In the next instant she realizes there is no baby. The dream is vivid, and terrifying every single time. Tears roll down her face. She hasn't told him about the dreams, even though she has been having them nearly every night since she found out. She slips out of bed, and heads down the stairs, with her phone in hand.
She tiptoes into Rory's room, closing the door behind her. She takes a seat on Rory's bed, and flips on the light. She glances at the clock, briefly, and then hits number one on her speed dial. After two rings a familiar voice answers.
"It is five o'clock in the morning, why are you calling me?" Rory groans.
"I needed to talk to you."
"Is someone dead?"
"No. Rory, just listen."
"Mom, can't it wait?"
"No. I need to tell you."
"Tell me what?" Rory yawns.
"You are going to be a big sister."
"Mom, what are you talking about? I already am."
"Again," Lorelai responds.
"Dad got someone else knocked up?"
"No."
"I don't understand," Rory admits.
"I'm pregnant."
"What?! Is this some kind of April fool's joke?"
"It is January 24th," she points out.
"Pregnant? Are you sure? Maybe you are just going into menopause."
"Rory I am not going into menopause. I am pregnant."
"How do you know?"
"I just had a doctor's appointment yesterday. I can feel the baby kick."