May 2005

The familiar green awning of a Starbucks flitted into Rory's view, and she felt a yearning, deep and eager. It had been an entire week since she had tasted the dark, nutty flavor of a cup of coffee; seven days since she'd sipped the aromatic brew that had seen her through groggy mornings, all-night study sessions, and movie marathons with her mom. Coffee was life to Rory, but now, life had a new meaning; and until she knew what she was going to make of that, coffee was officially off limits. She pushed the craving down, shaking her head to rid it of its thoughts.

The bus continued to roll down the city street and she tried to force herself to pay attention to her surroundings. She'd been to Boston a few times to visit her father, but the city was still foreign to her. She was going to need to learn her way around quickly if she was going to make a life for herself here. A new life. A life as Leigh Parker—according to the remarkably realistic Rhode Island driver's license that now lived inside of her wallet. Jo's contact had been able to get the license to her in less than 24 hours. And he'd been able to set her up with an apartment that another student was looking to sublet. Things were falling into place here; that had to be a sign—didn't it? A sign that she'd picked the right place, gotten on the right bus. A sign that this was where her new life would begin.

The thing was, the sign wasn't very clear. It was a tiny, yellow arrow and the words 'you are here,' only the 'here' at the end of the arrow was worn away and she couldn't make out any of the landmarks. In Boston, the arrow could be pointing to almost anything. The options were as varied as the city itself; concrete row houses on one block and fancy brownstones on the next; museums and parks and culture in one direction, towering skyscrapers in another. Was 'here' a tiny toolshed with twinkly lights, a curtain around the shower, and a family of ducks outside? Was it a life eking by as a barista while she spent her nights trying to write the next, great American novel and secretly wondering about the child that never was? Was it a life as a vagabond, riding around on a motorcycle, taking odd jobs, and avoiding responsibility in an attempt to forget about her child that was being raised by another? She had no clue. She couldn't see past the point of the arrow.

She needed to make a decision soon, though. She at least needed to decide whether or not to have the baby; then she could decide whether or not to keep it.

Keep it. The idea seemed almost laughable on its face. She wasn't old enough to legally drink alcohol, what made her think she was old enough to raise a child? And quite honestly, she didn't even like children. She hadn't liked children when she was a child. She never understood the other kids, never got along with them; they didn't like the same movies or music, they didn't like to read, they got mad at her for raising her hand in class and having all the answers.

If only she had all the answers now. If only it were as easy as doing the assignment and remembering what it said. But the answers to her life problems weren't in a textbook or on some worksheet. It was like she was about to take the biggest test of her life and she had no way to study—she just had to wing it.

Could she do this? Could she do it all alone? Her mother had. And for Rory's entire life, she had been nothing short of impressed with Lorelai. She was a great mom; she was fun, and caring, and supportive—or so Rory had thought. But now, in retrospect, it seemed clear that Lorelai had only supported her because Rory had given her no reason not to. Rory followed the rules. She excelled in school, she didn't do drugs and didn't even drink until college. But looking back now, she could see it…the moments where Rory had drifted from the path her mother had set for her and Lorelai had dropped her cool Mom façade. It had occurred mostly in regard to boys—when she had first started crushing on Dean and had not wanted to leave Stars Hollow High to go to Chilton, when she started hanging out with Jess, when she'd lost her virginity to a married Dean in her childhood bedroom, and when she'd started her no strings fling with Logan. And it wasn't just boys either; the school subject had always been touchy too; Lorelai had thrown an absolute fit when Rory had applied to Yale. Now that Rory's life was crumbling, and her mother had rejected her, she could see her mother's support for what it was—conditional. Because Lorelai didn't see Rory as her own person with her own thoughts and ideas, capable of making her own choices and, yes, even mistakes. Lorelai saw Rory as an extension of herself—and when that extension no longer served her, she'd cut it off.

So yes, Rory was all alone now. And if she went through with having this baby, she was going to have to do it all alone. But maybe she could do it better than Lorelai had. Maybe she could learn from Lorelai's mistakes. Maybe she could give this child truly unconditional love. Sure, it would be hard. And sure, with no college degree and the flexibility she would need as a single mother, finding a decent paying job would be difficult at best. But if her upbringing had taught her anything, it was that money didn't make for a happy childhood. And Rory's childhood had been happy at least, even if it was never going to last.

Rory felt her spine straighten up as a wave of resolve worked its way from her chest outward. Yes, she could do this. She could figure it out. Women with even more obstacles than her did it every day. So what if Dean wanted nothing to do with her, and her own mother had kicked her out, and her career prospects had completely imploded. So what if she was starting over…all alone…from scratch. She'd started over before in her life; when she'd transferred to Chilton and been behind all the other students. When Paris had blamed her for colluding with Francie and alienated her from all the friends she'd finally made at school. When she'd moved to Yale and away from the only home she'd ever known. Sure, this was way bigger than getting caught up on AP American history, but she could do it. She just had to set her mind to it. She didn't need anyone else. She was used to relying on herself; her own mother was not exactly organized and responsible—she was more of a friend than a mother most days—and her father had never really been around. Most of what Rory had done in life she'd done of her own volition already.

The bus pulled into her stop and Rory collected her things with renewed determination. She didn't need anyone but herself. People had never failed to disappoint her before, even the ones she'd always thought she could rely on, so maybe it was best to just stop relying on others all together. She'd have a doctor to support her through the medical stuff, she'd have colleagues at whatever job she wound up at to talk about her weekends with, and she'd have this baby—if she went through with it. What more did she need? If they had their health and they had food in their bellies and a roof over their head, that was more than a lot of people. So that was it then; she could do this.

She waited at the crosswalk for the light to change and made her way across the street. She was relieved to see that there were no protesters outside today. She didn't know if she could take being harassed every time she had a doctor's appointment; she assumed there would be a lot of them over the next seven months or so.

She opened the door and walked down the staircase to the lower level where the Planned Parenthood area was. The sight of the brightly colored waiting room was just as startling as it had been the first time. It felt wrong…for a place like this to be so cheerful; though she guessed it was supposed to be cheerful—what with the babies and all. But Rory didn't know how to be cheerful anymore. Resolve, grit, acquiescence—those were the best emotions she could come up with right now. Cheerful seemed like such an unattainable goal. And the sight of Fuschia chairs and sunshine yellow walls only served as a stark reminder of how far away cheerfulness, or joy, or just plain solace were.

The woman at the desk was not the same as the woman who'd been there last week and Rory felt her shoulders relax, knowing she wasn't going to have to answer a whole lot of uncomfortable questions about her odd behavior and disappearing act the other day.

"Hi," she said as she approached the new receptionist. "I'm here for my 10:30 appointment." The woman looked up at her and nodded.

"Name?" she asked.

"Leigh Parker." Rory said. The name felt strange coming from her mouth, like trying to shove a square peg through a round hole; her lips didn't quite fit around the words, didn't want to bend into the right shapes.

"This is your first appointment?"

"Yes." Rory was grateful for the easy questions and uninterested demeanor this time. She didn't want to have a conversation, she didn't want this stranger to try to soothe her, or assure her everything would be okay; she just wanted to sit in uncomfortable silence and be left alone; it was something she was going to have to get used to, after all—being alone.

"Fill this out and the nurse will call you in in a few minutes." She passed a clipboard with an attached pen and a packet of papers through the plexiglass window that separated them. Rory took it and nodded her thanks, then turned and crossed the room, taking a seat on the opposite wall farthest from the only other person in the room. She didn't want to risk any chance of being forced to make small talk.

Steadying the clipboard in her lap, she picked up the pen and put it to paper. Leigh…G… She stopped halfway through the letter and tried her best to force the curved edge of the half-formed "G" into the most natural looking "P" that she could. She moved on to the next blank on the page requesting her birthday. Her mind came up empty as she tried to rack her brain for the date that had been chosen. Everything had to match so as not to raise any alarm bells, so she reached into her wallet to grab for her forged driver's license and see the date that had been imprinted on it…January 11, 1984. Taking extra care to make sure that everything else matched her new identity, she finished filling out the top of the form. Under "Insurance" she neatly typed "N/A" and moved on to the next section—"Medical History." No good would come from lying here, and there was really no reason to, so she filled out the information as accurately as she knew it. "Father's Medical History" was harder to complete. For as long as she had known Dean, they hadn't exactly discussed potential genetic diseases that ran in their families. She remembered that he'd had his tonsils out as a kid, but as far as she knew, he was in otherwise good health. But was he the carrier of any rare heritable disorders? She didn't have any clue. She left most of it blank.

With very careful deliberation, she looped her hands into the signature that would now go along with her new name—acknowledging the HIPAA rules that allowed the doctor to share her information with her non-existent insurance. She was almost done; there was only one page left. She flipped the HIPAA form over to the other side and she instantly felt her resolve crumble. Her stomach cramped so hard she almost thought she was having a miscarriage right there in the Planned Parenthood waiting room. She wasn't sure why this one section out of all of them would hit her with such emotional force. Maybe because for the other sections she at least had some answers; even if they were uncomfortable or incomplete, or straight up lies. But this section…this she had no answer for.

Emergency Contact

No one. She had no one. Not one person who could be contacted in the case of an emergency. She'd just spent the entire bus ride here talking herself into the fact that she could do this alone…and yet it wasn't until this moment that she realized just how truly alone she was.

She couldn't put Dean. He went back to Lindsey and wanted nothing to do with her or the baby. And even if she wanted to put him, she didn't even know if he had the same phone number or if he had changed it when he moved. And her mother? Lorelai had made herself clear—Rory wasn't welcome in her home or her life if she chose to stray from the path. She could maybe put her grandparents but she had no idea how she could ever face them like this. Paris or Lane—maybe, but they were in no position to help her and if something happened to her and they were contacted, her secret would be out. Everyone would know where she was and that she was pregnant.

Would she want that? If something happened to her? If there was a true emergency, what would happen? She could maybe do this alone if she was okay. But what if she became disabled? What if something happened and she didn't make it but the baby did? Could she leave it an orphan?

She tried to shake away the tears she felt brimming at her eyes. This was ridiculous. These scenarios were so unlikely anyway. It wasn't worth agonizing over such a slim possibility. She was going to be fine. And she was going to be able to handle this on her own. But just in case…just in case she couldn't do it. Just in case of an emergency…she had to put someone down. So, she'd just pick someone—anyone. It didn't matter; she was never going to need it anyway. It was just a formality.

And so, with a shaky hand, she lifted the pen to paper again and without letting herself think about it, she wrote down a name…

December 2005

Christmas carols played on a loop, making her ears want to bleed. Her head was throbbing along with her feet and her back. And she was exhausted. So very, very exhausted. She was only three hours into her eight-hour shift, but still, it felt like she'd been here forever. The store was bustling and the line was winding its way through the stacks of books like it was the wait to get on Space Mountain. It was so long Rory that was starting to wonder if it was really that long, or she was just seeing double.

As if being eight months pregnant and working wasn't enough of a reason to be so tired, she'd barely slept in days. It had been a full week since Logan had declared his feelings and she'd sent him away. Four days since she'd gone to the doctor hoping he would rid her of the crazy notion that Logan might actually be the father, only to find herself more confused and unsure than ever. And god, she missed him so much it physically hurt. Hurt more, conceivably, than her ankles did at the moment, if that were even possible. She'd picked up her phone dozens of times to call him. She'd even dialed his number a few of them, but she always flipped the phone shut and shoved it away before she could hit the send button. She was going to call him eventually…she'd promised. But not now; not yet.

Jo had told her it was his decision to make, and maybe she was right. But Rory had told him he needed to take some time, and she was right about that. If she was even going to consider letting him go through with this, then she needed to know that he'd thought this through. Logan was passionate and impulsive—and she loved that about him. But this wasn't a decision you made impulsively. This was life altering…paradigm shifting. And the possibility that this could be his kid, it didn't change the fact that he needed to choose to be there…not because he felt responsible, and not because he had some crazy, big, romantic notions about love and a simple life. It wasn't simple…being poor was as complicated as it got; rationing food, budgeting your spending, trying to decide if it was more important to pay the phone bill or the electric bill that month… And being a parent, she was pretty sure that was as far from simple as it got too.

She shifted on her stool, picking up the first of the three books the customer had placed on the counter in front of her and mindlessly scanned it.

"Thanks for shopping BeanTown Books," she murmured with a distinct lack of enthusiasm as she finished checking out the order. "Have a happy holiday and please come again soon."

The next customer approached the register and handed his stack over. She picked up the leather-bound volume and her hand froze; her heart fluttered. She clutched the tome with both hands and brought it up to her face, inhaling deeply.

"Umm…" the perplexed voice of her customer hedged. She blinked and looked at him. "Did you just sniff my book?"

"Oh, uh…" She shook her head, quickly handing back the copy of Eugene Onegin. She had…she had sniffed the book. She felt the bile crawl its way up her throat in humiliation. She hadn't been able to help herself. She'd seen Pushkin and she'd been overwhelmed by the desire to smell it. To take herself back to that day where she had just been a girl with a crush. To go back to when her biggest concern was losing track of a teenager or being embarrassed in class. But those days were long gone. Her problems were so much bigger than that. The consequences of her feelings for Logan were so much bigger than a broken heart. And she had no idea what to do.

"No, uh…sorry," she told the customer. "I just…I'm not feeling so good."

It wasn't a lie. She felt terrible. Besides the Mariah Carey induced headache and her normal aches and pains, she was nauseous and lightheaded. She was probably dehydrated. She hadn't peed in hours, which was unusual considering that Samuel had made her bladder his own personal trampoline. She glanced at the almost empty bottle of water next to the register and felt a slight uneasiness, but she shook it off. It was probably nothing…it was normal to retain water at this stage of pregnancy. And with all the stress and the sleep deprivation, it was no wonder she felt like she did. She knew the doctor had said she needed to manage her stress, but there were only so many breathing exercises and yoga stretches (Jo had made her try them) a person could do. So, until she found a magic wand laying around, stress was pretty much a given.

"Yeah," the guy said. "You don't look so good." He cocked his head at her with a modicum of interest. "You're pretty pale…even for winter in Boston. And kind of sweaty even though it's like, wicked drafty in here."

Rory's eyes widened with alarm as she swiped at her brow. She did feel a little clammy. "I'll be alright." She wasn't sure if she was telling herself of the customer.

"Whatever." He shrugged his shoulders, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and counting out exact cash and handing it over. Rory took it and tried to turn her focus to the next customer.

It felt like a zillion customers later when Rory glanced up at the clock behind her, wondering when Sally would be back from her break. The numbers on the face swayed as though someone had hung the clock on a metronome. She grabbed for the counter to steady herself and waited for the numbers to stop moving. It had only been twenty minutes; she still had ten more minutes until she got some relief at the register.

She turned back towards the counter again, moving gingerly so as to keep from feeling like she was on that Graviton ride they had every year at the county fair.

"Excuse me," the girl at the front of the line huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Rory.

Focus. She had to focus. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. "Sorry," she told the girl, picking up the used book the girl was buying and looking for the sticker with the sale barcode. She checked front and back, looking inside and out of both covers; it wasn't there. She groaned with frustration. "Just one minute." The girl rolled her eyes dramatically and let out an annoyed huff as Rory picked up the intercom and called for a price check.

She waited…and waited. The girl was still making angry eyes at her and the people in line behind her didn't look any happier. Her stomach churned. She really thought she was going to vomit. She didn't want to be here; she just wanted to crawl into bed. She wanted someone to hold her and soothe back her hair while she fell asleep. Logan. She wanted Logan. Or her mom.

Had she really just thought that? No; not her mom. She didn't want her mom. Lorelai didn't accept her the way she was, so she didn't need her. But then why did the thought of crawling up on their couch in Stars Hollow with her head in mother's lap sound so welcoming right now?

She pushed the thought away and called through the intercom again. But still, no one came. She couldn't take the glares anymore. "Excuse me, I'm just gonna…". She gestured towards the stacks. She'd go get the price check herself. She stood up and black spots immediately infiltrated her vision as the world swung wildly in every direction. She was pretty sure she vomited a little in her mouth. She grabbed on to the counter and waited for the dizziness to pass.

Once she felt the walls stop spinning like she was in a Lewis Carrol production, she started to move out from behind the desk but it was like walking through a fog, dense and heavy; she could feel the weight of the air pressing down around her.

"Are you alright?" she heard someone ask. She wasn't sure who. She nodded her head and immediately regretted it as the vertigo returned full force. She tried to find something to grab onto, but her field of vision had condensed to a few splotches of color amidst a field of black. A rumbling sound, like being pulled under an eddy, filled her ears. She turned and the next thing she knew the ground was rushing up to meet her. She had the vague sensation of something coming into contact with her head—the floor? A bookshelf? There was the dull din of people rushing up to surround her but she couldn't make out any details. It was just a sense, not a sound or a sight; just a feeling of being swarmed. It was the last feeling she could recall as the store, and the people, and the crappy Christmas music faded away. That feeling…and the smell of Pushkin.

AN: Alrighty...prediction time. What's wrong with Rory? Will Samuel be okay? And most importantly, who did Rory choose as her emergency contact? I can't wait to hear what you all think.