AN: So I know that the vast majority of you readers are happy to get and appreciate updates to this story whenever I am able. And this AN does not pertain to you. But I do feel the need to address a comment I got the other day. And since this commenter chose to comment as a guest and give me no way to reply to them directly, you all get to read what I have to say.

To the anonymous commented who asked me "are you going to update anytime soon?" it is clear you weren't actually interested in the answer, because if you were genuinely interested, you wouldn't have asked with no way to reply. It is clear that what you were actually doing was trying to make me feel bad about the fact that I haven't updated sooner. And when you felt the need to add that "too many long gaps...kind of looses the appeal." I'd like to remind you that that's a YOU problem. While I appreciate that other people appreciate my story, and I enjoy hearing about the parts of my story that bring them joy and entertainment, I do not write FOR your appeal. I write because it's a hobby I enjoy in my spare time. Trying to make me feel bad about my updating schedule doesn't get you faster updates. If anything, it gets you slower updates because it steals my joy. I know many other writers on here feel the same and know of other writers that many people would love to have updates from who are suffering from writer's block because of the feelings of guilt and anxiety that readers like you make them feel for not updating frequently enough. So please, in the future, when you think of leaving comments like these...don't

Now-as for the rest of you amazing readers. I am NOT saying you can't check in, or ask when I might have an update-if you are genuinely just checking in and are signed in so I can respond. But honestly, if you want to have an impact on a writer and maybe help them get back into writing when they've been away for a while, the best thing you can do is go back and leave reviews that mention SPECIFIC things you liked in the story and individual chapters. Hearing about what you like about the story reminds us what WE like about the story and makes us feel more invested in it again. And that feeling is what gets us writing!

May 2005

Another cyclist whizzed by, the swooshing wind created by the bike's movement wafting over her skin as she sat on the patio of Weston's Bakery waiting for her mother. She almost envied these bikers—almost. Sure, it was just a stupid race, but they were out there achieving their goals, crossing the finish line, going places. Rory was going nowhere; not anymore.

And now she needed to tell her mom. Tell her that she'd failed her. Tell her that she'd failed herself. Tell her that she'd failed at her internship and her life, and her whole future.

Or did she? She didn't even know if she was having this baby. Every instinct in her body told her not to. She wasn't ready to be a mother; let alone a single mother. So maybe she didn't need to tell Lorelai. If she chose not to go through with the pregnancy, then no one had to know—right?

She could tell Lane, maybe, so she had someone to sit with her after the procedure. Although it was still early, maybe there wouldn't even need to be a procedure. They could just give you a pill, couldn't they?

Anyway, the point was, if she didn't stay pregnant no one really needed to know. She didn't have to let her Mom know that she had gone and done the one thing that she had never wanted for her. Lorelai didn't need to know she'd jeopardized her entire future for a boy. And it wasn't even the boy who'd knocked her up. She'd gotten pregnant because she was trying to forget about the guy she really wanted. Only it turned out she didn't need to forget him—he'd wanted her too. And if she didn't stay pregnant, he never needed to know. She could actually stay with Logan, be with him. She could give this relationship a real shot. Nothing needed to change if she didn't want it to.

Only she knew in her heart that wasn't true. Because baby or no baby, she had changed. She had no direction, no purpose left in life. Mitchum Huntzberger had taken that from her. She was pumping her legs as fast as she could only the chains had come off the wheels, leaving her bike tottering precariously from side to side while everyone else lapped her.

She was going nowhere. And she couldn't just wile away her time at an expensive Ivy League school watching everyone else expertly steering their bikes towards a future of purpose and success while she floundered and fell flat on her face.

Baby or no baby, it didn't change the fact that she didn't have 'it.' And that meant that no matter what she chose, her life was irrevocably changed. And her mother and her boyfriend weren't just going to not notice that she'd stopped going to school. So, she had to tell them something at least. And Lorelai wasn't going to be happy about the whole dropping out of Yale thing.

But in the end, it's what she knew she needed to do. Whether she had this baby or not, she needed time and space to regroup. She needed to figure out what she wanted to do with her life. Her mom might not like it, but she'd come around; she always did…eventually.

And as helpless as things felt right now, she was pretty sure she could survive this epic bike crash and come through the other side eventually, so long as she had her mom to help her put the wheels back on the bike, maybe hold onto the seat for a beat while Rory got her balance back. She could get through this—she just needed her Mommy.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry." Rory looked up to see her mother hurrying down the street, her pink pumps clicking on the sidewalk. "The inn was swamped. These bikers are like rabbits who don't eat carrots, too much sugar," she explained her tardiness as she took a seat at the table. Rory didn't mind; she wasn't exactly in a hurry to get to her big news. She still wasn't even sure what she was going to say.

She plastered on her best fake smile and responded. "Mm, sugar!"

"The fitness craze is completely lost on us," Lorelai remarked as she set her purse down on the empty chair between them.

"I'm starving." She was always starving, but the last couple of weeks especially. She hadn't thought much of it before, but now, suddenly, her even more insatiable than usual appetite made a whole lot of sense.

"Me too. Hey, so how'd your final go?"

"It went well," Rory nodded, her head feeling like a Pez dispenser some little kid couldn't stop playing with. Apparently 'well' now meant staring dazedly at an empty blue book for an hour and a half, then hurriedly jotting down deep, metaphysical thoughts that had nothing to do with the philosophy she was actually being tested on.

"Yeah? And you finished packing?"

"All packed, all boxed. I just have one more trip to school and home and then I'm done." And then what? She had no idea what came after that. She couldn't see past the next 24 hours. She couldn't see any future at all. She thought of going through with the pregnancy and being a mother, but she couldn't see it. She thought of having an abortion and then taking some time off to get a job but she couldn't see it. She thought of going back to Yale next year but she couldn't see it. There were a million possibilities but each one just looked like an empty abyss to her. It was a feeling Rory wasn't used to. Her future had always been crystal clear—right down to the image of her breezing into the newsroom in her My Girl Friday trench coat, over a tweed suit, carrying her fancy briefcase, and taking a meeting with her editor. But now? How could she go back to school if she couldn't see what was on the other side of her graduation? If she had no idea what classes she needed to take to get to graduation? No idea of what she was going to major in and do with her enigmatic degree?

"Ah. It's going to be nice to have you home for a while."

"I'm glad you feel that way." It was good that Lorelai was looking forward to having her home; she could be there for a while. Who knew how long it would be before she figured out what came after tomorrow.

"Yeah. The place hasn't had a decent dusting since you left. Hey, do you think today is the day we're finally going to go through all twelve layers of the twelve-layer German chocolate cake? The bikers have demonstrated the importance of challenging oneself."

"Mom." She couldn't let her mother go on rambling about German chocolate cake and bikers. As much as she wanted to avoid this conversation, she also wanted to get it over with.

Lorelai set her menu down, her face getting suddenly serious. "Rory."

"I have to tell you something." She'd start small, maybe let her know about the Yale thing—not that that was small, but it was smaller. Then, once she'd seen how her Mom took that news, she could hit her with the big reveal.

"Okay. Wow, there's something about Weston's, it's always the place where we 'talk'."

"We could go somewhere else." Why did she say that? She didn't want to go someplace else. She didn't want to hold this all in while they walked through town or got in the Jeep and drove home. Besides, public was probably better anyway…safer.

"No, no, no. Tell me."

She fidgeted uncomfortably, gathering up her courage. "I have decided," she started with an exhale, pausing nervously before finishing, "that I'm not going back to Yale next year."

Lorelai blinked in confusion, shaking her head back and forth. "I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly."

"I'm not going back to Yale next year," she repeated.

"But why?"

"Because…" she drew the word out slightly, trying to decide how to explain; how much to give away. "I'm not sure that it's the right place for me. And I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do with my life, and…"

"Since when are you not sure what you're going to do with your life?" Since she'd eaten that banana in the cafeteria? Since Mitchum Huntzberger told her she didn't have 'it?' Since the strip turned pink? Since she got arrested for grand theft boating? There were so many things all at once that seemed to be shoving her off the bike path that she was on; derailing her race and sending her on some unknown detour that was destined to end up so far from the finish line on the map she'd been carrying around her whole life.

"Mom…"

"You've known what you wanted to do with your life since you were three. Be a journalist."

"Maybe not." What was the point if she wasn't going to be good at it? If it wasn't going to take her anywhere? If she had to be home by 5 every night to relieve the babysitter—if she could even afford a babysitter that was?

"Oh. This is about Mitchum Huntzberger."

"No, it's not." Not completely.

"Rory, honey, I know that what he said hurt you, and that shook you up and you lost your confidence, but that was just one man's opinion."

"It has nothing to do with what he said. And Mitchum Huntzberger happens to be the top newspaper guy in the country." He was hardly just one man. And even if he was, her mother couldn't possibly understand. This wasn't just some bruised ego. It wasn't a crisis of confidence. This went so much deeper than that.

"So what?"

"So if you're going to get one man's opinion, he's the one man you get." He knew what he was talking about. He knew better than anyone what it would take to be a success. And she just wasn't destined to be a success. If she was unsure before, fate had made certain to remind her what she was destined for.

"You're not thinking. This is the man who doesn't want you to marry Logan."

"That wasn't him. It was Logan's mother and his grandfather."

"And you really think he's okay with it? I mean, his while family looks at you and sees Anna Nicole Smith, and they tell you that to your face, but he thinks you're swell and wants to pay for the honeymoon."

"That's not why he said what he said."

"He's messing with your mind. He has so many motives that have nothing to do with your abilities!" This was not going well. Not that she'd expected it too, but still, she thought her mother would at least listen to her.

"That's not true! He said I can't do it, so I can't do it!"

"Why are you so willing to believe this guy?" Because it was the truth. Deep down, Rory had always known it. And so had everyone else. After all, hadn't she heard the very same criticism before? Last year when Doyle told her she was too soft in her critiques, and she needed to be willing to hurt some feelings in the name of journalistic integrity? When Logan told her the greats didn't let fear stop them? When Jess told her he couldn't see her hiding in trenches with bombs going off behind her? And even if she somehow drummed up the courage, how could she take those kinds of risks if she had a kid waiting for her back home?

"Logan agrees with him." She'd seen it in his eyes that morning at her dorm room.

"He said that? He told you he agrees with his father? Because if that's so, he…he's a fantastic boyfriend. Really, quite a catch." And there it was…Lorelai's true feelings. She'd take any opportunity to hate on Logan. To jump to conclusions. To make it clear how crappy of a boyfriend she thought he was. All he'd done was be supportive, and want to defend her to his father. But she couldn't let him do that. She couldn't pit him against his family. Not over her. Certainly not over something he didn't truly believe in. It was noble for him to want to stand up for her, but it wasn't genuine and she knew it.

"No, he didn't say it. I could just tell."

"How?" Because he too knew what it took to be a successful journalist. Because he had the same instincts his father had. Because he was way too smart to not see that she didn't have 'it.'

"I could tell. He ranted about his father being a jerk, and speaking his mind, but he never said that he was wrong."

"Rory, come on. What kind of logic is that?"

"It doesn't matter." This whole conversation was derailing…getting off topic. This wasn't about Mitchum or Logan. It was about her. Her life was falling apart. Her future was evaporating in a puff of smoke. Everything she thought she'd known about herself her whole life was wrapped up in this one identity and she had no clue who she even was any more. "This isn't about that. I told you. I just need some time."

"You're making a mistake."

"No, I'm not! This is normal! College kids take breaks like this all the time. You didn't go to college, so you don't understand."

"No," Lorelai's mouth pulled into a thin, tense line. "I didn't go to college. I wasn't lucky enough to go to college." Wow, Rory blinked in amazement. Lorelai wasn't pulling her punches, that was for sure.

"Trust me," she huffed, "this is very normal."

"No. You are not quitting Yale."

"Yes I am!" she ground out, with a scoff of incredulity. Who did Lorelai think she was? Telling her what she could and couldn't do. She wasn't a kid anymore. And even when she was a kid her mother didn't tell her what she could and couldn't do. She didn't get a say in this. This was Rory's decision and her decision alone.

"You're acting incredibly immature. And I know it's because you're hurt, but you have got to get a grip! This is too important! You've been working towards Yale your whole life!"

"No. I was working toward Harvard my whole life." Her plans had already changed and she hadn't even noticed it. Was that decision to go to Yale instead of Harvard the one that led her here? If she'd gone to Harvard would she have graduated with her degree and gone out into the real world to fail?

"Okay, fine. Then go to Harvard. That's cool."

"I don't want to go to Harvard!"

"Then go to Princeton or Stanford or Columbia!"

"I want time off!" Why couldn't Lorelai see that this was what she needed? Why couldn't she accept what Rory was telling her? And if she couldn't accept this, even begrudgingly, how would she ever accept the rest of what Rory had to tell her? She wouldn't…couldn't. Rory couldn't tell her. Not now. The one person she needed to support her didn't.

"If you leave Yale now, you'll never go back. You'll lose momentum."

"Momentum toward what? All I've been doing is working toward being a journalist! I'm not going to be a journalist, so what momentum am I losing exactly?"

"You don't want to be a journalist, fine! I don't care about that! But you stay in school, you take some classes, you figure out what you do want to be!"

"That's not what Yale is for!" She didn't have time or money to waste, flitting around trying different classes on for size like new hobbies. Soon she might not have time to brush her own teeth without a baby crying out for attention.

"That's what college is for!"

"Yale's expensive!"

"Are you paying?"

"I don't want to do that! I don't want to wander around a school where everyone else is focused and working toward something and I'm just floating!" And she certainly didn't want to wander around school with a baby bump for the world to see and judge her by.

"So what's the great master plan, then, huh? You're going to move back home, live in your room, work part-time at the bookstore? Forget it. Not an option."

"I'll figure it out." Lorelai didn't want to help her? Fine. She didn't need her help anyway. She certainly didn't need her judgement. Maybe Rory wasn't cut out to be a journalist, but she wasn't completely helpless. She could do this on her own if she needed to. If Lorelai couldn't get behind her, then she didn't deserve to be in Rory's life. Or in this baby's life—if she decided to have this baby.

Lorelai sighed angrily. "I'm not hungry." She grabbed her purse.

"Look, I'm not going back. I just wanted you to know."

"Message sent." Lorelai stood up and stomped away as Rory watched her go.

As her anger dissipated, the true reality of her situation hit her with a wallop and the anxiety started to build, clenching at her chest like a boa constrictor around her lungs. Her mother had just told her she wasn't welcome at home. Had made it clear that she was not going to support her, emotionally or financially. That after the dorm closed tomorrow, Rory had no roof over her head. What was she going to do? Where was she going to go? Could she do this all on her own? And most of all, where the hell was that damn German Chocolate cake?

December 2005

The truck pulled to a stop in front of the entrance of the hospital. Concrete and glass towered high into the sky, the pinnacle of clean, modern architecture. This was where her daughter was; her sick, eight-month pregnant daughter. If she had to be in a hospital, this seemed like the one to be in.

But Lorelai wasn't reassured. Because while she knew Rory was in good hands, they weren't her hands. She felt helpless, outcast, unneeded. Her daughter was in trouble and instead of coming to her, she'd run away. It was even worse than she'd imagined these last few months. Because in Lorelai's head, she'd always believed that Rory's choice to leave had been because Mitchum Huntzberger had crushed her dreams and she needed to go find another one. She'd believed that Rory had run away because Logan and his family had poisoned her mind, her sense of self, and driven a wedge between them. And while Logan was far from blameless in this situation, Lorelai had to face the truth; Rory hadn't felt safe coming to her about her pregnancy.

Lorelai remembered what it was like when she'd found out she herself was pregnant. She could still feel the anguished emptiness of being completely lost and alone; the throbbing need to have someone to hold her and tell her it was all going to be alright; the yearning desire to have her family tell her they would support her no matter what. She'd always believed she'd been that person to Rory—the mother her daughter could always count on. But apparently, she wasn't. She'd failed her daughter in the very same way she herself had been failed twenty-one years ago.

"What if she doesn't want to see me?" Lorelai squeaked out.

Luke placed his hand over hers on the center console and gave it a squeeze. "Of course she wants to see you."

"Running away and changing her name is a pretty funny way of showing it."

"She was scared. But she loves you. You'll work it out."

"What if she doesn't? What if we don't? I don't want to wait sixteen years for her to need something from me and then blackmail her into weekly dinners."

"You are not your parents. And your relationship with Rory isn't the same. But you'll never have a chance to fix this if you don't get out of the car." Lorelai sighed, her shoulder's slumping. He was right of course. Procrastination wasn't going to help anyone; she was just delaying the inevitable. "Go on up, I'll park the car," he urged her on. Lorelai squeezed her eyes shut to gather her nerve and got out of the car.

She entered the lobby of the hospital and followed the signs to the elevators, getting off on the eighth floor and following the directions Christopher had given her. Her steps slowed as she noted the room numbers; 842, 844, 846…and then she was there, standing outside room 848.

"Oh my god, these cookies are heaven." A jolt of emotions shot through her at the sound of her daughter's voice. It was her. It was really her. She hadn't realized it, but until that moment, a part of her hadn't believed this was real. But it was. Her daughter was here, and she was eating a cookie. That had to be a good sign, right? Or at least an okay one, a Gilmore Girl not enjoying a cookie would be a sign of the apocalypse. She stayed outside the room for a minute, letting the sound of her daughter's voice wash over her.

"I mean, you weren't kidding when you said that Kyle's Mom made a mean chocolate chip cookie. You need to negotiate to include the recipe in your compensation package. Actually, strike that—you should just make them contractually obligated to pay you in cookies."

Lorelai's moment of respite was broken by the sound of Logan's voice.

"Hey, you may be able to live off of cookies alone, but I will need actual money to purchase food that contains actual nutrients."

She hated that he'd gotten here before her. And what was he even talking about—needing money for food?

She stepped into the doorway.

Logan was sitting right at the head of Rory's bed, holding her left hand in his as her right hand lifted this purportedly magical cookie back to her lips. The blanket was pulled up to just below Rory's chest, but it didn't hide the prominent convexity of her once flat abdomen. She looked like she was ready to go into labor at any second. And the last time Lorelai had seen her, there hadn't even been the hint of a post 'late-night-salty-snack-pig-out-induced' bloat.

"Mmm," she moaned. "Delicious and nutritious."

"Hey, don't let her fool you. Just because she says she can live off cookies alone doesn't make it true. You have to sneak something green in there every once in a while. If only for the sake of my grandson."

Christopher was sitting in a chair positioned at the foot of Rory's bed, his posture relaxed, his ankle dangling casually over his knee. He punctuated his comment with a laugh and Lorelai felt an anger clenching at her chest. Why was he laughing? Why was he talking to Logan like they were pals? Why was Logan even here? Christopher should have had him forcibly removed from the building. He was the enemy. And yet there he was by her daughter's side like he hadn't blown her life to bits. Like he hadn't torn her family apart. And Christopher was all chummy and joking with him. They were like one big happy, family. It was infuriating. Logan would never be a part of her family. He didn't deserve to be a part of her family; not after what he'd done to it.

"Ahem," she boldly cleared her throat. All three sets of eyes looked up to her and the lighthearted atmosphere of the room evaporated.

Lorelai could see the muscles in Rory's forearm tense as she clutched Logan's hand tighter. Her chewing slowed and the glob of cookie in her mouth was forced down her throat in a visible gulping motion.

Christopher glanced at Rory, then back to her. He uncrossed his legs and pushed himself up. "I'm uh…I'm just gonna go grab a water."

He looked pointedly at Logan but Logan didn't move from his spot. He turned to face Rory, leaning in close, and speaking softly, but Lorelai could still hear him.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asked. She hated him even more in that moment, acting like he and Rory were a team; a united front. Acting like Rory needed to be protected from her own mother. Rory didn't need some rich, overly coiffed white night with a savior complex to protect her from the people who actually mattered in her life—the ones who were there for the long haul. He might be all white knight-y now, but Lorelai would be the one who was there when he got bored of playing daddy and disappeared, leaving her with nothing but a hearty child-support check—as though that made up for actual parenting.

Rory glanced nervously at her, then back at Logan. She gave him a tentative nod. "I'll be alright."

"Are you sure?"

She said she was alright, what part of that did he not get?

"Yeah." She nodded again. "This is something I need to do alone." Lorelai swallowed against the tightness in her chest. Her own daughter was talking like just having a conversation with her was some monumental task.

"Okay." He acquiesced. Rory slipped her hand out of his and he stood up. "I should call the guys, figure out when we're going to finish those contracts. I'll be back in a bit."

A melancholy smile flashed across Rory's face and then he turned and walked out of the room.

"Lorelai," he nodded a terse greeting at her as he passed. Lorelai watched him exit with a glare then turned back to her daughter.

There was quiet except for the occasional click or buzz of some machine as the two of them stared at each other.

"Nice digs you got here," Lorelai finally managed to break the silence. "I might have gone with a color slightly less…putrescent, but the curtains give it a nice, gloomy look."

"Mom..." She didn't joke back, which increased Lorelai's trepidation tenfold.

"Of course, they obscure the lovely view of that brick wall, so…"

"Mom!" Rory said it more forcefully this time. She was looking at her with pleading eyes and Lorelai felt the choking sensation of tears as the liquid spewed forth from her eyes.

"Oh, Rory." Before she could overthink it, her feet were sprinting across the small room and she was wrapping her arms around her in the biggest hug she ever could have imagined. Rory was stiff for a moment, but then she melted into the hug and hugged her back. They stayed that way for…Lorelai wasn't sure how long, before she finally stood back up. "I think I got snot in your hair," Lorelai confessed as she wiped at her messy tear-streaked face.

"It's okay," Rory sniffled back. "I kind of deserve it."

"Well, yeah." She deadpanned.

"I'm sorry."

"What the hell were you thinking, Kid?"

"I was thinking…" she shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what I was thinking. Everything? Nothing? I just…" Rory laid her hands on her belly and looked up at her Mom. "I failed you." Fresh tears sprouted from her eyes, washing away the dried track marks of the ones that had occurred during their hug.

"Rory, no!" Lorelai shook her head vigorously.

"Yes," Rory gulped out. "You gave up so much for me and I was supposed to graduate college and be this big success. I wasn't supposed to get knocked up and drop out. I was supposed to make all your sacrifices worth it."

"You make it worth it. Just you…just your existence. I mean, am I disappointed? A little, yeah. But that's only because I wanted you to have all the things I didn't get to have. I wanted more for you."

"More than motherhood, you mean." Rory surmised, looking away. "More than having a baby to take care of."

"Rory, no! That's not what I meant."

"But isn't it?" Her eyes flicked back up again. "You wanted me to have more than you had because what you had wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. That's why you told me I couldn't come home."

"What?!" Lorelai gasped. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was this really how she'd made her own daughter feel—like she wasn't enough? Like she needed to prove her worthiness just to exist? Like she couldn't come home?

"At Weston's. You told me if I dropped out of school I couldn't come home."

"That's not…" she shook her head. "I didn't mean that. And I didn't know why you were dropping out. I thought it was all Mitchum Huntzberger messing with your head."

"So, if I had just dropped out because I didn't want to be a journalist anymore? If I wasn't pregnant, you would have supported my decision?"

"I…" Lorelai dropped to the chair that Logan had been occupying when she'd first come in. She felt her mouth open and close several times before she could come up with a response. Would she have? Maybe not—but only because she knew that Rory would never want to drop out of school. It wasn't what would make her happy. She belonged there. But she also knew when it came down to it, the threat she'd made that day at Weston's had been empty. Her home was Rory's home—and her daughter would always be welcome there if she needed a place to stay. "I was upset, I was angry. I said things I didn't mean."

"So you didn't mean it? I didn't need to stay in school to…?" Rory's words fell off as she got choked up.

Lorelai grabbed her daughter's hand in one of hers and used the other to soothe back a stray strand of hair. "You don't need to do anything for me to love you. And I will always be there when you need me. You are enough exactly as you are. You have always been enough. More than enough; you came to me exactly when I needed you most. You saved me from everything I never wanted. You are everything."

"I'm sorry," Rory sniffled back a sob. "I'm sooo, sooo, sorry."

"I'm the one who's sorry. I'm sorry I ever made you feel like a disappointment. Or like you couldn't come to me. But you can always come to me, Rory. Always."

Rory's tears were coming faster now, rendering her unable to respond. Lorelai stood up from her chair. "Scootch," she told her daughter. Rory slid over as much as she could in the tiny bed and Lorelai climbed in with her. It was tight, what with Rory's pregnant frame, but Lorelai turned on her side and gathered her up in her embrace. "It's going to be okay," she assured her daughter. "I'm here now and we're going to figure it all out. We'll get you out of this hospital and back home where you belong."

"What?" Rory stopped crying and wiped away her tears.

"I know it'll be a little tight. We don't have a separate room for a nursery, but aren't you supposed to keep the baby in your room with you these days anyway? Oh, and Luke is kind of living there now. And umm…we're kind of engaged."

"What?!" Rory gasped at the news.

"I know. It's just, he's been so great through all of this. But I told him I didn't want to actually get married until…well…until you were home. And it'll be fine. We expanded the upstairs, so there's more room for all his man stuff. And just imagine home-cooked Luke's every day!"

"Healthy food! You have to keep your blood pressure down."

Lorelai turned to the door at the sound of her fiancé's voice. "Just the man we were talking about."

"Am I interrupting?"

"No, come in." Lorelai waved him in.

"Rory?" Luke asked.

"Oh, umm…" She wriggled with difficulty into a sitting position and wiped at her eyes again. "Yeah, I…guess, just…umm…was Logan out there?" Lorelai felt the anger rising to her chest again at Logan's name, disturbing the blissful peace of finally holding her daughter in her arms again. She was still asking for him?

Luke glanced back over his shoulder. "I could check the waiting room for you."

"Yeah, just…you know…" she looked at her mother uncomfortably. "If we're done for now."

Lorelai pushed the seething resentment down. Rory needed her to be supportive right now, even if it meant putting up with that miscreant. She would come around once she realized she had other support. "Sure," she smiled as naturally as she could. "For now." She supposed she'd just have to put up with him for now.