Your life into me, I can finally breathe. - Come Alive, Foo Fighters
June 2017, Philadelphia
Week 38+6
At this point she's basically asleep when she's not in pain. It goes fast, the slip into darkness, and is glorious. She has time to acknowledge it, but can't for the life of her, stop it. She'll lose time, context, but as she comes to from the next contraction rising she'll recollect the book she read on delivery and know that it's not been longer than about a minute at the most. And then she'll be smack in the middle of giving birth again. Insane. She can acknowledge that too.
It's been a bit quicker than the book said it'd be. It had said something about first time deliveries lasting between twenty-four to thirty hours. It's the body's precaution, it has to be slow so the mother won't break too badly. But also because the body doesn't really know what it's doing, it's its first time. The second time is usually a lot quicker, Paris says. You've learned, but it's not from reading, it's from doing. And you can't really pass the knowledge forward, teach someone else, at least not in the traditional sense.
She's obviously lost track of what the time might be and tries to figure it out in her hazy head, instead of looking at the clock on the wall for some reason. It gives her thoughts some form of texture, something to think about besides the panic from the pain scratching at the edges of her mind, and her inability of keeping up with the contractions. The breathing helps too, some people talks about it like a painkiller, but she has nothing to compare with, and starts thinking that it might have more to do with structure. People crave routine, rhythm, patterns, the breathing provides something like that. And yeah, it's not a bad idea to have a set of rules for breathing since she might forget it otherwise; she forgets it when she stabs her toe, when she's typing fervently, when she has an orgasm. There's a good chance she'd forget it now unless Jess reminded her.
He's here. Right now, no more than a dark mass at the edge of her sight, but she hears him clearly when he tells her to breathe and she's holding on to what must be his hand for dear life. He almost left for Trenton this morning before she forced herself to admit that there might be something going on with the baby. She was reluctant to because it's early. He's not supposed to arrive for another week, and all the books warn you that it might be longer than forty weeks, so she's been expecting a bit more time. But here they are. There they were. It felt like light cramps initially, coming and going in uneven and long intervals, but by morning they were sort of, kind of, maybe regular. He was in the hallway, in his jacket, hand on the handle. She bit her lip and breathed through her nose. He had to go. Important plans. And it struck her that she was thinking like Sherry. "Wait." She said.
As the labor has progressed he's stayed close. The books all have sections on stuff the father can do to help; massages to ease the pain, instructions on how to coach the mother through the breathing, advice from established doulas and nurses, and he's followed the list, quietly, seriously, with soft, concerned eyes. He's nervous, close-jawed, like he is under pressure, but stoic too, that's good. She's been the one to lighten the mood, chatting like she does when she's nervous, playing wild association games and reciting lyrics from the silliest songs she knows. But that's all subsided as the pain has gotten worse and she's gotten tired. His presence is a huge comfort but also increasingly drowned out. And he can't do this work for her any more that he can change his personality.
The midwife is called Sylvie. Despite the circumstances Rory instantly liked her. She has a distinctly mother-like quality that she finds comforting. She's determined, friendly in a stern manner, and invasive in a way that Rory appreciates when she feels she doesn't know what she's doing. She's talked to Lorelai, hours ago, once they were sure what was up, but it seems like a lifetime ago now. When they arrived at the hospital she harbored some real angst over wanting her mommy, but Sylvie has helped with that.
She tried the nitrous oxide but it ended up making her dizzy, so she quit. But not before having a pretty good time, carrying both sides of a conversation with her mother and doing her best to drag Jess into her messy head. He participated, and even smiled, seemingly relieved that she was distracted from the pain. She'd decided against the epidural since she learned that it might slow the process, she wanted no part of that. Of course, now, she's questioning that decision pretty harshly, but she honestly can't concentrate enough to ask for it and it would probably be too late anyway, because Sylvie might have mentioned something about pushing a few contractions back.
As soon as she tries pushing though, she wants the passive endurance of the last stage back. It's too hard, too heavy. It doesn't feel like she's getting anywhere, instead she's increasingly exhausted. She wants to cry but hasn't got the energy for it, wants to give up but isn't allowed.
"Alright now, you are one contraction away from seeing your baby. Give it all you have on the next one." That can't be right, she's gotten nowhere, how can it be time? That's all she has time to think before she's in the middle of the next contraction and pushing for all she's worth. With a look of concentration Sylvie rapidly reaches in and pulls the baby from her, lifting him onto her chest and wrapping him in a towel, all in what seems like one motion.
Her tears are instant, unstoppable, and her hoarse sobs mixes with a brittle cry that cuts through the room, from the mouth in the small, strange face, head to her heart. Relief from the absence of pain, as well as the radically new reality of the moment, and supposedly all the moments to come, overwhelms her. It's like waking from one vivid dream to another, only she knows this time it's real.
"Oh my god!" She exclaims, voice thick with emotion.
She's captivated by the little face but she glances to Jess. He's a step away and meets her eyes, his face a mixture of too much for her to decipher in the second they face each other, his body rigid, tilted and frozen in its spot, hands at his side. Sylvie looks at him too and snaps her gloved fingers at him. She points him to the side of the bed and he gently, awkwardly, sits down beside Rory.
"That's where you sit," Sylvie says and then nods to the baby. "And there's where you keep your hand," she finishes with a knowing smile.
"I- I wasn't sure-" He starts, with a stutter, and places his hand over Rory's wrapped around the baby.
"I know," Sylvie says while getting back to work, cutting the umbilical cord, and instructing Rory on what's left. "Just a couple more contractions and you'll be done."
The contractions hit but the pain is reduced to mere discomfort. She even has the energy to whine slightly and laughs silently about that. The baby, Will, has stopped crying, and is lying quietly, blinking his small but puffy eyelids open. Another nurse, who's name escapes her, is rubbing his back and head lightly with the towel and it's suddenly clear that he has a rather significant amount of black hair sticking out from his head. She shakes with an adrenaline-fueled giggle at that too. Sylvie starts stitching her up and she's surprised at the pain, she assumed it'd be nothing after actually giving birth, turns out it's just a different kind of pain. She squirms, and Jess moves his arm to around the pillow so her head leans on his shoulder but keeps his hand on hers. The support helps. She glances at the back of his hand and sees the marks from her nails on it. Now she's tired.
Eventually Sylvie and her colleague prepare to leave but informs them they will be back in about an hour to make sure everything's okay before checking them out.
"If you're gonna breastfeed it's good to start right away," says the other nurse, "he needs the practice and it gets the milk flowing."
She nods, unable to speak, and the woman helps Will up to her breast. Then she and Sylvie leaves. It's quiet in the room, a light buzzing from the fluorescent light and radiators, a ticking sound from the clock on the wall; It's after midnight. Will pinches her breast, but it almost feels good after what she's just been through. She looks at him. Funny that something so natural, universal, feeding your child, can feel so unique, almost miraculous. But she smiles at the thought moments later, when she realizes that it probably won't feel so special in a couple of weeks since it'll be the main basis for her relationship with her kid, and she'll be doing it around the clock for quite a while. She senses Jess shaking his head and turns to see him. His face remains hard to read, and if he's feeling what she is it's understandable; How do you express a feeling you've never experienced before?
"I can't-" Finish the sentence, apparently, he falls silent, and she's not sure she minds.
She leans into him and starts dozing off and on. She wakes up as Sylvie once more enters the room to check on her and Will. An hour has slipped by like nothing. Jess stands up and shakes his arm to get blood back into it.
"I should call Luke." He says, "Your mom'll want to know too."
She blinks and realizes that Will is an hour old and she hasn't called Lorelai. She nods, dumbfounded.
"Of course."
"I'll be right back." He says, grabs his jacket and exits the room.
The pace of which it happens makes her dizzy. Sylvie starts poking at Will and her, asking questions, and she looks at the door to the corridor through which he disappeared. Her and Sylvie's interaction only takes about five minutes. Sylvie says they can wait to check them out, letting them rest 'til morning if possible. Rory manages a smile at her as she exits the room. When she's alone she looks around the room, takes her time to make the moments pass. Pretends not to think what she's thinking but giving up after a while.
She looks at her son. He's his own person. It's clear and obvious now. He doesn't look like the stock photo baby but like the result of a very specific lineage, which is what he is. She thinks about all the happy endings that supply the foundation for him. And of all the tragic ones. And how you never seem to be able to see them coming. How she wishes she could protect him from any such event but also recognizing that he would not be here if it hadn't been for... all of it. Your ability to protect your child is limited, at best, and what you should protect your child from is not cut and dry. She said it herself, you build on the ground you're given, you have no choice, but a parent should make that as good as possible for their child. She knows, and Jess knows but words are hollow unless you back them up with action. That's why he never spoke when he called her those years ago; nothing he could say would change what he did. This moment seems frozen in more than one ghost story. The clock ticks and she's suspended.
When he exits the room, he keeps walking until he's rounded the corner. He's not sure if that just happens to be the spot he finds that he's shaking, or if he intentionally got there before letting himself go. He drinks from a water fountain and wets his face before wiping it with his sleeve. He leans against the wall and tries to breathe slowly. He slumps down in a squat and closes his eyes for a few seconds before picking out his phone.
The call to Luke is over relatively quickly, since him and Lorelai already are on the road. He exchanges a few incoherent words with Lorelai, who's buzzed on excitement and tons of coffee and apparently rocking the car from her place in the passenger seat, but it's clear she doesn't have the patience for him tonight. She wants her daughter, and hangs up after making sure everything is alright, before forcing a promise of a call-back as soon as he gets back to the room. The nurses haven't left yet, and he turns away from the open door, walks down the yellow corridor to the elevators, pushing himself down to the ground floor that holds the gift shop, cafeteria and exit. He buys a pack of cigarettes with no real conviction and steps outside. He's lost track of time but it's night, not evening, not many people or cars moving around. He walks over to the edge of the building, you're not supposed to smoke by the entrance. The light from streetlights doesn't reach this far and he looks up. It's clear and it seems like every star is visible.
Further down the street is a bus-stop where two vehicles, facing different directions stand still, their engines humming reassuringly, not driving anytime soon, but not staying either. Watching them is like standing on the top of a building looking down; You may not want to die, but you still feel it – the pull, the power, the control and comfort of fucking yourself over. Day says constructing stuff takes all kinds of variables, and wrecking it takes none, or at least only one. Creation takes trust, faith, hope. Destruction is not dependent on anyone but yourself. You can always choose it, which is why so many people do. His fist closes around the pack in his hand, crumpling it, and he tosses it in a waste bin before heading back inside.
He increases his pace the closer he gets to the room. Stops before entering, taking a few, slow breaths before walking through the door and up to the bed where she sits with their son in her arms, her face naked and tired, but eyes awake and uncharacteristically dark. He presses his lips to her forehead – mostly because he needs to kiss her, but a bit because that way she can't see his face.
When he comes back, the relief makes her feel ridiculous, but it's there just the same. He picks his phone out of his pocket, puts it on the pillow next to her and carefully peels Will from her arms, making it clear that he's listened to Sylvie's instructions. He nods to his phone.
"Call Lorelai."
She does, and starts crying the moment she hears her answer, causing Lorelai to break into tears on her end. For minutes they just sob into the phone. Jess sits down in a chair in the corner with Will, eyes locked to him. She looks at the two of them as she cries.
"Rory!" Lorelai finally manages a word.
"Mom!" She whimpers. "He's so beautiful!" She laughs after saying that because it's definitely no crying matter.
"Why won't this stupid car go faster?! Luke!"
Luka protests in the background, saying something about her getting to be a grandma at all is dependent on him keeping the speed limit.
"Mom! Don't rush! They're letting us stay for a while. If you're here before dawn you can pick us up."
"Fine!" Lorelai wails. "But I hate this!"
"I love you." She sniffles. "God I'm tired."
Lorelai laughs.
"Sleep. See you soon."
They hang up.
She drifts in and out of sleep, exhausted, but too elated to fall into it deeply. The excitement too sharp to allow real rest. At one point she wakes up and sees him sitting with Will in his arms, fingers stroking the baby's forehead, frowning. She shakes off inertia and speaks.
"What's wrong?"
He looks up at her, gaze softening. For a moment he looks exhausted too.
"It's just... strange. This is it. This is the thing, right here." He pauses. "Yours wasn't even present, and mine, came, saw, walked away."
She's shocked at her apparent ability to experience such radically different emotions at once, especially under the circumstances; The tired bitterness associated with Christopher, the empathy she feels for him, and the overwhelming love stemming from that she gets to have this moment with him, with them, and gratitude, that their son doesn't know what they know.
"I'm just glad I never called him back," he says darkly.
"Yeah, I can tell gladness is your primary emotion." She retorts, with some gentleness.
He looks at her and smiles a little.
"I honestly can't tell what I'm feeling. This is the greatest thing that's ever happened to me."
She loses her breath at his words, and something clicks into place inside her. She stares at him. 'The greatest thing'. Greatness.
"Get over here," she says.
He gets up slowly, softening all immediate movements surrounding Will. Walks over to the bed, puts the baby next to her and inches onto the bed on his side, face close to them both.
"Small," he just goes. She smiles.
"There's your army."
"You're the army." His expression is pure admiration for a moment.
"Per definition one person can't be an army." She deflects.
"First; Björk would disagree, and second, that was sort of my point."
"Maybe if me and Will join forces." She goes on. "I mean, he could take anyone, he's obviously been through hell."
"He's been through something."
She laughs.
"Nice."
"Hey, I tried a compliment."
A while later Jess actually falls asleep. It's good. He's slept terribly for a while, but this last week especially, like he knew it was coming. It can't be deep, it looks way too uncomfortable, bent on his side. She keeps awake though.
Her gaze travels between the two. She's aware by now there's a kind of mysterious bond between herself and Jess, but now it's so very tangible. It has its own body, spirit, life. It's very real. She looks at him and sees herself now. She cries a little over it. Why not? It's a day for every possible emotion. And all expressed through crying. So much crying.
She looks at Will. He resembles a little troll, with the dark hair sticking up from his head. And as if to keep her company, he opens his eyes. She knows newborns can't see more than light and certain colors, everything in a blur, his eyes still move about the place, squinting. They are blue, almost shining against the darkness of his hair and skin. She also knows that both the hair and eyes can change. But now they make him seem incredibly real, and she realizes that he is. He's here. She stifles a sob, to not wake Jess, shakes her head instead, smiling so broadly it makes her face ache. Her breath is sharp though and Jess opens his eyes, instantly springing into action by asking:
"You okay?"
"Yes. Just... look at him."
He does, smiles, and looks back to her.
"Can you believe it?" She says.
"No."
"Can you believe they let us take him home?"
"Inconceivable."
She chuckles.
"Apparently we're fit to handle a baby."
"Seems we meet the standard."
"For a figment-baby. I was totally ready for that. But now I've completely forgotten everything. Do we even have a crib? What are those thingies that they need not to wet themselves? And his college fund! He doesn't have one of those. We're in trouble, his graduation is practically tomorrow."
"That's what I'm here for." He smiles and picks out an imaginary note pad. "Secretarial duties." He runs his finger across the non-existing page checking off her questions. "Yes. They're called diapers. Christopher's on it. And his graduation is about eighteen years away. We're set. Okay?"
"Unreal."
"But it isn't. It's just new reality."
She lets out a short laugh.
"Yeah. 'Just'."
He chuckles in response and looks back to Will. She observes the color of their hair, and shivers.
"Can you believe that you and me..." Her words falter. He looks up at her again. Shrugs.
"That part makes total sense to me." He pauses. "It's the only way I'd be here." The words are quick, like an after-quake.
He falls quiet and awkwardly returns his attention to his son. She observes him, unsure of how to respond. He looks back at her while running his thumb gently over Will's head, expression earnest and then resolved, and he speaks again, quieter.
"You should know that. For several reasons."
They look at each other for a second before Lorelai's sharp and slightly shrill voice starts falling into the room from the corridor, increasing in volume.
"Look, I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to act guide on this little excursion, but I promise I'm fully capable of getting to any room in this corridor on my own or using my trusting squire here. Seriously. You could just say the number. I didn't mean that thing about a search warrant. I'm sorry, okay? It's just, she's my only daughter, and that thing were you communicate telepathically seems reserved for twins and sensates and any device that allows others to hasn't been invented yet, but I swear as soon as it is I will possess it, use it and stop bothering people and my god! Are you taking smaller steps? Are we even moving at all? Why are we stopping?"
"Ma'am." A firm voice interrupts. "We're here."
There's a shuffle and Lorelai bursts into the room. Jess swiftly gets out of the bed, and helps Rory to sit up, places Will in her arms and rearranges the pillows. He doesn't say anything, just backs closer to the corner, like he's riding the shockwave of Lorelai. In the background Luke speaks to the nurse;
"Thank you, and sorry, again."
Lorelai stops inches from the bed, almost hesitant. Rory is reminded of Jess just a few hours earlier, and she giggles at the weird parallel.
"Hi mom."
Lorelai blinks and tears run down her cheeks.
"Hi kid." Her mouth is slightly open, but she closes it after a second and tilts her head with a smile. "Sorry we're late. We kept looking for Unplanned Parenthood."
"Geez." Luke mutters.
Rory feels her face crack in a broad smile. She looks at Will and nods to Lorelai.
"Grandkid meet grandma, grandma – grandkid." She leans closer to Will and whispers. "She's a handful."
"Holy cow." Lorelai mumbles and sits down on the bed, inching as close as possible to Rory, who gently hands the baby over to her. "Look at you." She coos at Will. "You're you."
Rory looks at Luke, who's entire face it lit up, while he sort of paces, sort of weighs between feet at the door. She smiles. He's always been intensely awkward with unadulterated joy.
"His name's Will." She throws at him.
He blinks, looks at her at little disoriented.
"What?"
"William." Jess fills in.
Luke's lower lip actually trembles for a second and she exchanges a look with Jess who smiles at her, she thinks they might be enjoying this a bit too much. Luke frowns, opens and closes his mouth, before going with:
"Oh boy."
After a brief pause he walks up to the bed and pats her on the head. Then he walks over to Jess and hugs him, mumbling something inaudible. Rory returns her attention to her mother and, oh gosh, her son.
Will starts whimpering. Rory changes his diaper for the first time flanked by her family. She revels in the small but strong body. Definitely human, unfocused will. Lorelai leans over her shoulder and guides her through the tricky parts that'll be second nature in no time. She's overcome by the certainty of that and feels safe.
"I wanna go home." She says.
Lorelai nods.
"Alright, hun. How'd you get here?"
"Cab." Jess goes. "I wasn't up for driving. We could use a ride."
So. They're checked up and eventually out. And get into the Jeep. Head south. The sun's up and blinks its rosy light at the car between buildings, like passing days. Will quickly falls asleep in his chair between Rory and Jess in the backseat lulled by the buzz from the engine; Luke is driving and Lorelai is humming lowly along with the sound of the car in the passenger seat. This is her system. No. Will's. He is the star, they are his celestial bodies. She looks at Jess, takes his hand. He looks back at her, eyes flickering between black and golden with the rays of sun. His expression is soft. He smiles at her. The two of them are finally in the same orbit.