June 11
4 Months, 1 Week, 1 Day
Size: Onion
LORELAI POV
I finish filling out the paperwork and glance nervously around a nearby, but noncompeting small town, doctor's office. Like all small town doctor's offices in the Northeast, it's small and homey, nothing more than an old historic home used as a makeshift doctor's office with a total of two doctors and one midwife. But it works, for now. No one here knows me, no one here cares about Stars Hollow (so no one will be running the rumor mill to get back at our town - like Hank from Woodbury) and because we're not in Hartford, I won't run into my mom. I stroll up to the receptionist desk to drop off the clipboard and when I turn around and begin to make my way back to Rory, the wooden front door swings open and Luke steps through the threshold. My heart betrays me, warming in my chest at the sight of him. He looks good. He shaved, dropped the baseball hat, and is wearing one of his nicer flannel shirts. For the first time in a long time, he looks strong and determined as he steps in and closes the door behind himself. Those rings around his eyes? Gone. The weight upon his shoulders? Lifted. He looks like… well, he looks like Luke.
Forcing a smile at my daughter, I make my way back to her and take a seat. I can feel Luke get closer, but I keep my eyes down, determined to not have to look at him more than necessary. In fact, when I wrote the time down for this appointment, I gave him it to him fifteen minutes late so we don't have to spend any more time than necessary together.
"Hey, Rory," he says kindly.
"Hi."
There's a moment of awkward silence that's never existed between the three of us. I glance up to find the two of them eyeing one another. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that my daughter is silently, but firmly, communicating with him. His shoulders droop slightly at her silent request, which obviously has to do with me, and his eyes turn sorrowful as he looks back to her.
"Lorelai Gilmore?" A blonde nurse around my age calls out beside the receptionist desk. The three of us look toward her. "We're ready for you."
I sit frozen to my seat.
"You got this," Rory whispers standing to her feet and grabbing my arm when I find myself paralyzed with fear. "Come on."
The moment we're led into a private room, Lisa, the friendly blonde nurse, begins her whole pregnancy spiel. I manage to catch the part about how the baby growing inside of me is beginning to practice sucking and swallowing, how it's developing its own fingerprints, and about it being the size of an onion, but after that, I'm out. I'm too distracted to pay attention, and instead of sitting like I'm requested to do, I stay standing with my arms crossed over my chest, totally and completely distracted by the light green painted walls with a wallpaper border near the ceiling decorated with storks with little bundles to be delivered.
Pregnancy posters are everywhere. Posters of things to watch for when you're pregnant. Posters of adorable babies in all phases of growth. Up close pictures of ten perfect little fingers and ten perfect little toes makes my mind picture less heartwarming scenes. Teething. Rashes. Crying. Screaming.
It's too much.
I can't do this.
Not again.
"Lorelai?" The edges of my vision darken.
"Mom?"
"Lorelai!"
I startle and emerge from my daze to find a concerned Luke at my side. "What happened? Are you okay?"
In an attempt to keep still on a zero gravity ride, I reach out for the exam table as the entire room begins to spin and close in around me. My chest seizes and my heart begins to pound at the same time as breathing becomes nearly impossible. When did an elephant tromp into this room and make itself comfortable on my chest? "I-I can't breathe."
For the first time since our breakup, Luke touches me. His gentle but firm hand takes hold of my elbow as he guides me to a padded chair next to the nurse's station. He crouches down in front of me and looks up into my eyes as his hand on my elbow slides to my own. His long, warm fingers wrap around my hand, anchoring me, while his other grabs onto my shoulder and he rubs his thumb there.
"Inhale," he instructs soothingly. I try to tear my gaze from his, I swear I do, but he seems to be the only thing in the room not spinning. It's the first time we've really looked at each other since we split ways and our connection is still hot and undeniable. He looks strong and warm and I just want to fall into his arms and let him tell me everything's going to be okay. I want him to take me home. I want the arrows on the clock to spin backwards at light speed, the pages on the calendar to flip back in rapid succession as if in a cartoon. Take me back to the day I got Rory back and had Luke as my man. Back when everything was okay. Back when I was happy. Back before he kept life changing news from me and I screwed up so royally.
Instead, I inhale as he instructs, allowing him to calm me down.
Only, it gives me enough breath to actually talk.
"I can't do this," I exclaim, my mouth moving without any thought whatsoever. "You don't know because you weren't there when April was a baby, and I know that wasn't your fault, but Luke, you don't know! It's so much, so, so, so much work! It's more than just the long nights of crying, the days filled with changing diapers and changing my outfit for the sixth time because I was just thrown up on. You have no idea how worried and scared you can get when your little baby is screaming and crying and sick and there's nothing you can do. And then when they get past that phase, they walk everywhere and get into everything and then when that's done there are the bad influences and then boys and then Mitchum Huntzbergers telling your kid that they don't have it and -"
"Lorela-"
"Jam hands!" I exclaim loudly and throwing my free hand around wildly, trying to get him to understand. He's listening to me patiently, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb, letting me get it out. "You're one hundred percent right, Luke, they always have jam hands, even when there is no jam! How do they do that?"
"We can wash jam hands," he says calmly, taking my other hand in his.
Tears well up in my eyes and a lump forms in the back of my throat. "I can't do this again," and to my horror, I begin to cry. "I can't do this alone."
I attempt to curl into myself, dropping my chin down to my chest. But Luke is there and he releases one hand, drops to his knees and pulls me to into his arms as best as he can from our sitting positions. And then I cry. Really cry, because the moment my head curls into his neck, his familiar scent overwhelms me and he feels solid and strong and safe and I can't deny that I miss him. He turns a fraction of an inch, his lips to my ear, "You're going to be okay. You're not doing this alone again. I'm here," He squeezes me tightly as sincerity pours like a waterfall from his mouth. His hand rubs up and down the expanse of my back. "When the baby cries or gets sick or has jam hands or you're too tired, I'll be there, and if I'm not physically there because I'm at work or whatever, you can call me. I'll drop everything to be there. You're not doing this alone," he squeezes me tightly, reassuringly. "Not again. I will never leave."
I'm busy considering leaving Chris and begging Luke to forgive me and take me back when he pulls back to look at me. Luke and I stare at each other for a few seconds more, remorse and regret painted clearly across our faces, but it's in this tiny moment that I feel him really commit to me, or, well, to his child. It's taken me too long to believe his words, but now I believe him when he says he's not going to leave me to do this alone. One of his large hands cups my face, his thumb swiping over my cheek affectionately, wiping away my tears, while the other still holds onto my other hand. When his eyes drop to my lips, my heart skips with the realization that maybe I wouldn't have to beg all that hard. Maybe he'd forgive me. Maybe he still wants me and his baby. Maybe he regrets everything just as badly as I do.
But he doesn't kiss me.
Of course he doesn't, we're not alone.
After a few more breaths, Luke and I tear our gazes away from one another and look around the room. The nurse is watching the two of us patiently, and Rory's eyes are jumping between where Luke is cupping my face and where my hand is intertwined in Luke's.
Luke clears his throat and stands, his hand slipping from mine. He looks down on me, our eyes still locked as he swipes my cheek slowly one more time with his thumb before dropping it and stepping back and away. He turns and runs a hand through his hair before leaning against the wall farthest away from me.
"Miss Gilmore, how long have you been having panic attacks?" the nurse asks, glancing down into her folder before looking back at me.
"Uh," I struggle to pull my gaze from Luke. "Is that what that was?"
She nods.
"That was my first one. I think I was just overwhelmed."
She lifts an eyebrow and glances at Luke. "Well Luke handled it perfectly. I read here in your file that the two of you aren't together?" She frowns and looks from Luke to me. "That must be incorrect?"
"That's correct," I whisper, the confirmation zinging.
Her eyebrows lift in surprise and I can tell it's taking everything within her to not ask questions. This may not be Stars Hollow, but small town folk are nosey. "Are you living alone or do you have someone in the house with you?"
"I live alone."
She winces, clearly unpleased with my answer. Her eyes go to the man across the room and a line forms on her lips before giving me her attention once again. "Okay, well it's normal to feel overwhelmed. If it happens again, call into the office and we'll get something to help with your anxiety. I'm not certain that I like you living alone, the further along you become, we may need to revisit this topic. May I ask why you aren't visiting Doctor Smith in Stars Hollow? He's an excellent doctor and his new resident is also a midwife who comes with great accolades."
"His office is right downtown across the street from the town blabbermouth's favorite stakeout bench," I explain rubbing my forehead when I feel a headache coming on. "I'm not ready for all of Stars Hollow to be a part of this."
"Ah," she says with complete understanding from her place at the computer. "The blessing and curse of small town living, one person's news is every person's news. Well okay, Miss Gilmore, how's your appetite been?"
I shrug a shoulder and this simple action seems to garner her full attention. "Since our last visit it has returned or surpassed your previous appetite, yes?"
"The appetite where I didn't eat?" I laugh sarcastically. "No, not really."
"What do you mean not really?" she asks swiveling toward me. Clearly, this answer does not satisfy her in the least.
"I don't know. I guess all the years I ate way more than I needed caught up to me. Call Jack Hanna and see if it's possible for humans to store food like bears for hibernation. I'm not hungry."
"I take it, this isn't normal?" Rory asks. "I mean, my mom not eating isn't normal, but even for pregnancy? What about morning nausea?"
"At this point, it's not that normal. Morning nausea can still exist, yes, but she should be biologically developing a healthy appetite at this point to nourish the baby and to keep herself healthy. Dizziness is a common symptom at this point and not eating will not help."
"I'll make sure she eats," Rory says with a nod. I smile faintly at her, wondering how she's going to force me to eat when even I can't do that.
"Alright," she nods once and then looks to me with a small smile. "Unlike your last visit, we have our ultrasound machine back up and working. I'm going to go get the doctor and we'll be able to check in on the baby to make sure everything is coming along okay. Feel free to pop up on the exam table while I go fetch the doctor."
When the door closes, I stand and make my way over to the table and take a seat. Luke nods at me, his eyes roaming down to my stomach and I can't decide if I should be excited or nervous for us to see our baby. Rory, thank all things good, chatters away in the awkward silence the entire time, being our lifeline. As for Luke, well, he's singlehandedly keeping the wall up by leaning against it. I think he's just as shaken by our moment as I am. He's listening quietly but attentively to Rory and our eyes catch on the other's now that we've finally really looked at each other.
Before I know it, a doctor is wheeling in the ultrasound machine with a chipper hello. It's obvious by his enthusiasm that he loves his job. After a few minutes of being filled in on where I am in my pregnancy by the nurse and asked a few questions by the doctor himself, I'm instructed to lie back on the examining table.
"It'll be cold," the doctor warns me, placing a large glob of jelly on my stomach and smearing it around with the wand. I watch the doctor's face as he concentrates and studies the screen, but then my eyes slip back up over his shoulder to Luke.
His eyes aren't on the screen. They're on me. Mine are on his.
"Huh," the doctor whispers to himself.
"What's that?" Rory asks, concerned. "Is that normal? That is not what an ultrasound looked like in Paris' textbook!"
Terrified, I tear my gaze away and to the screen. It's blurred and unclear, different from when I last had one for Rory. The doctor moves the transducer around a while longer and then stops when a clearer image pops up on the screen.
My heart flip flops at the sight, knowing full well what I'm seeing.
When I was pregnant with Rory, I felt like I did just a few minutes ago: panicked, filled with dread and anxiety. But the moment my eyes landed on little Rory for the first time, that was all replaced with an intense love and protectiveness. It gave me everything I needed to get through the pregnancy.
This time is no different.
Except maybe doubled.
"Twins," the doctor announces with a bright smile, swiveling on his stool to look at me and then Luke, transducer still pressed to my stomach. "Congratulations, you're having twins!"
When I look away in disbelief from the screen to Luke, my breath catches. His hands are on the top of his head, a huge, adorable, unconstrained grin across his face.
He's delighted.
Purely and completely ecstatic.
I don't think I've ever seen him this happy.
And then he's by my side, looking at the monitor, taking in the sight of our babies, his hand blindly finding mine and squeezing it in his as he asks if we can get prints to hang up on our fridge.
June 19, 2006
4 Months, 2 Weeks, 2 Days
Size: Cucumber
LUKE POV
The last week or so has been nothing short of living in a dream.
Twins.
Lorelai is having twins. We're having twins. And even though it was a bit too early along in the pregnancy to find out the sex of our babies at the doctor's office, I already know we're having a boy and a girl. I can feel it deep down in my gut.
Will and Lilly - we're getting them.
"Well, everything I own is packed up!" April appears in front of me and looks around. "I actually have more here than I originally thought."
"It never seems like you have a lot until you have to pack it all up."
"Yeah, no kidding! Especially considering we're a part of a society that is constantly plagued by consumerism. It's sad really."
"I couldn't agree more." I smile at my daughter, watching as she retreats excitedly back to her side of the apartment. Even surrounded in a flock of boxes, she curls up on her bed, and pulls out a science book for 'fun' reading.
Smiling to myself, I origami the flaps of the flat box into one another to create a new moving box and let my thoughts drift to Lorelai. I've never seen anyone transformed quite as much as she was the moment her eyes landed on our babies on the ultrasound. I knew in that moment that the fear and anxiety that had just plagued her, was replaced with love, protectiveness, and determination.
She's going to be okay.
And after we finally touched and looked at each other, I know we're going to be okay too.
After she said good-bye to Rory so the young woman could rush back to her classes, she let me keep her for a minute on the street. She actually let me talk to her and actually looked at me. At the moment, it seemed as though all that cold and bitterness she'd had against me was gone. I told her to call me if she needed anything, that I'd get her anything she needed day or night, cook her whatever she was craving. I could tell she knew I meant every word. In that moment, I would have walked, swam, or crawled across the desert for her and our babies. I had wanted nothing more than to wrap her up in my arms and kiss her over and over again until that dazzling smile of hers spread across her face and she started laughing. The realization later that night when I was about to drift off to sleep terrified me. I'm not supposed to love her anymore.
But I do.
It's damn near impossible for me not to love her.
Despite her thawing, it's been two weeks since that day. She hasn't called. She hasn't walked by the diner. She hasn't been to any of the town meetings. Apparently she also hasn't told anyone in town about the pregnancy either, because not one person in this tiny town has said a word to me about it. How she's going to keep on hiding it, I don't have a clue. The last time I saw her, she was starting to show past her shirts. Certainly by now she's showing.
I text her everyday.
I despise texting, but I figure it's the least invasive way to contact her. I ask how she's doing, how she's feeling, if she needs anything, but she only texts back one word answers that clearly communicate that she needs absolutely nothing from me. I shouldn't be surprised. She's Lorelai Gilmore, she doesn't need anything from anyone. But it doesn't change the fact that I spend my days worried about her wondering if I should force my way further into her life to try and help with her with something - anything- everything.
I grab another armful of winter clothes, drop them on my bed, and begin to fold and place them inside the moving box.
I'm pleased to share that the interior of my house is ninety-nine percent finished, and I have to tell you, Tom was one hundred percent right. All white would have looked cold and lifeless. Instead, with the colors that I've passed along, the house is warm and comforting. The perfect house for my kids. The bathrooms are finished and the kitchen is underway. We just have a few more days.
When April learned she'd get her very own bedroom when she comes to stay with me and that she could decide the paint color and set it up any way she wanted - she was ecstatic, beyond the moon.
I haven't told her she's about to become a big sister.
Hell, I haven't told anyone about the twins. Between renovating the house, learning about the twins, and fretting about how hard to push against Lorelai, there's been too much going on to share with anyone. Where would I even start? I pause my folding to stare at the blank wall. Crap. Am I doing it again? Not telling people what I should be telling them? It's not intentional, honest, I'm just waiting for Lorelai's go ahead. You can be sure that once one person in town knows, everyone in town will know. I cringe, unsure if my reasons are valid. I should probably tell my sister, she hadn't told anyone about April when I told her, so she's probably safe. I sigh and hurl the folded shirt in my hands into the box in frustration, defeating the point of folding it, but I don't care. Even Liz had warned me to tell Lorelai about April when she showed up.
Damn.
Had I just told her the day it happened, everything could be different. Of course, at the time, I didn't know how Lorelai would respond. Now I know she would have welcomed April with open arms, but back then I was too scared to take that risk.
So now, it's just me and April and we're moving.
For the past few days, I've been working methodically through my apartment, packing what I can and getting rid of what I no longer need. It's been going smoothly, other than the fact that I now live in a city of boxes. I pack up my green army jacket, and fail to catch a black sweatshirt that slinks off the bed to the other side, out of reach.
"Trying to escape, eh?" I make my way around my bed and pick up the runaway.
Flicking it to rid it of any dust, I hold it out in front of me and stare at the sight of the touristy sweat shirt before a small smile escapes my lips. Lorelai was so amused by this outfit, calling me a Martha's Vineyard walking billboard. She claimed I looked sexy in the sweatsuit and that it turned her on. We had laughed about that so much that she convinced me to keep it.
I sit down with the sweatshirt and think back to that trip. Over the last ten years of knowing each other, we've only gone on one trip together and I was a total and complete ass. No wonder I lost her. I drop my head back at the realization, frustration brewing up within me. Why is it we can know we're being a killjoy and unable to stop ourselves from being that way?
I sigh, scrunching up the material in my lap, and look down at it.
Lorelai deserved better.
What was I thinking?
I should have been a better boyfriend on that trip. Well, fiancé. Shame and embarrassment plop down on the bed next to me and loudly remind me that I wasn't only an ass, but I also took that necklace from Logan and gave it to Lorelai. How did I not get her a gift when we were leaving for Valentine's Day weekend? What the hell?! How did I not become a part of the group? Why was I weird as hell? We could have all been together, had a great time, been a family. Lorelai had been open and honest, sharing with me how she felt about the April situation and we were finally on the same page. And then we came home and I threw it all out the window the moment Caesar mentioned my daughter.
Since when have I not cared enough about Lorelai to not notice the pain she was in?
I swallow thickly and shake my head at myself as the gloom of what happened between us comes into clear focus. I managed to get so distracted by April, that I lost sight of Lorelai.
And then, as if a light switch was flicked on, I remember the promise Lorelai asked if I was going to keep. I remember it all in vivid detail. Not only have I never felt more like an ass, but I've never hated myself more.
I'll spend the rest of my life, until my dying breath, trying to make it up to her.
February 10
Valentine's Day Weekend
Martha's Vineyard
It's dark, save the fire crackling six feet away from the bed, but our faces are mere inches apart and we can see each other just fine. My lips glide up the smooth expanse of Lorelai's neck and I groan in appreciation when her long, silky legs wrap around my waist, anchoring me to her as she begins to move against me in search of friction. Where I begin and where she ends is hard to tell. Though, in fact, it doesn't matter. We're together, and that's all that matters. I fist her sexy green nightie into my hands, lift slightly, and do my best to pull the silky material up over her stomach without ripping the material. I'm insistent on being one with her, to make love to her, to reassure her that I'm in love with her and she's it for me. Forever. With the way her hands and fingers are clinging to my bare back, I can tell she's just as desperate to reconnect with me as I am with her, if not more. And it's going to be good. Really, really, good. After months of distance, lies, and bubbling insecurities, we need this. I trail open mouth kisses from her neck to her ear.
"I love you, Lorelai," I whisper, cradling her head between my forearms.
She grips onto me harder, whispering without hesitation, "I love you too."
I pull back, gazing down on her in surprise. Loving, sapphire blue eyes gaze up at me. Considering the fact Lorelai struggles with those three words, they take me by surprise. I lean down and press my lips against hers. Her response is instantaneous and her mouth glides with mine as we get lost in a slow, deep, languorous kiss that leaves me dizzy and delirious for more.
The first time I told Lorelai I loved her, she had melted into me, kissing me sweetly, and then proceeded to shift around on the porch swing uncomfortably. A million quirky words flew out of her mouth at record speed. When I asked her what was wrong, she confessed the words never came easily to her. They made her uncomfortable. She wasn't told that she was loved as a child very often and if she was, it was always connected to some sort of societal success she didn't believe in. It was never a simple love for who she was. In that moment, I had wanted to declare them a million times to her in an attempt to retrain her heart to accept them, but she had begged me not to.
So instead, I started letting my actions speak for me. I built her an ice rink, let her pull me onto the dance floor, let her use my diner for an election after party location. When we spent the night together I made her dinner, made love to her however she wanted it and then made her breakfast and morning coffee. I put a TV in my room, a shelf in my bathroom, fixed what I could in her house and at the inn, escorted spiders outside, planned and paid for a room addition to be added to her house since she loved it there and didn't want to move.
I let my actions tell her how much I loved her.
But she needs to hear the words tonight, and I'll tell her, over and over just to reassure her of my love for her.
The arms wrapped around my neck slide down and she's pushing at my chest to gain my attention. I resist, instead, sliding my lips back down her neck and getting lost in her familiar sweet perfume.
"C-condom," she pants out into the dark room, her legs untangling from me as her soft thighs cradle my hips.
"Now who's Miss Monosyllabic?" I ask, sucking her neck into my mouth. Her hips jerk, and I run one hand down to grip her hip.
The fire pops.
"You mean Mrs." She moans. Her hands slide to my back, forgetful in their original goal. She runs her fingernails up my back lightly, goosebumps trailing after her fingers. "I want to be Mrs. Monosyllabic Backwards Baseball Cap not Miss Monosyllabic Backwards Baseball Cap."
Never in my wildest dreams did I believe I'd get a chance with this amazingly gorgeous, intelligent, witty woman, much less hear her boldly declare she wants to be my wife. Hearing these words only confirms what I already know. I love her more than anything and there's no way another woman could be endgame for me. She's everything to me. I lift my head and try to press my lips to hers passionately, but she turns her face away from my own and when I attempt to follow, undeterred, her hands are back on my chest.
"Just lay still," I groan, annoyed.
She laughs. "You'd spend all night just kissing if you had your way!"
"You say that as if it's a bad thing," I lean down to try to put my lips to hers, but she turns away, so I playfully rub my stubble lightly across her cheek, smile to myself when she laughs softly, and then kiss her cheek instead. "I love kissing you."
"I think you just love that you can shut me up."
I smirk, dropping my other arm back onto the mattress to gaze down at her. "You're not wrong."
"You love my babbling, admit it!" She smacks my chest playfully. "Your life would be silent and boring without me."
"Quiet. Peaceful."
Her mouth drops open in mock offense and I chuckle.
"Admit you love my babbling!"
"You mean your endless crazy talk that ninety nine percent of the time I have no idea what you're talking about and has nothing to do with the conversation we started?" I ask dryly, cocking an eyebrow at her and she looks up at me affectionately. "Fat chance."
"You always get my references."
"I don't-"
"You do!"
"I spend a lot of time pretending I know what the hell you're talking about."
"Lies!" she whisper scolds, shaking her head at my words, her hand sliding to the back of my neck as she pulls me down to her for a quick kiss. "You get me. And while you're Mr. Pro when it comes to the kissing, you're also a pro at the other thing and I don't see why we can't do both at the same time. You can multitask, right?" She twists her body beneath me, her hand sliding down my bare abdomen, trying to reach me. When she gets too close, I take a hold of her hand firmly, raise it to my lips and then pin it on the mattress next to her head. Her eyes light in arousal. It's been too long since we've been together, I won't last if she teases me. Plus, tonight is about her.
"I got it," I say shifting up to my knees, looking for my pants.
And then it hits me like a bulldozer. No, that's not accurate, it hits me like a meteorite.
"Shit!"
"What?" Lorelai sits up, and I lick my lips at the sight of her dark green nightie falling back in place, her long hair swinging with her forward motion.
Shit, shit, shit!
"I forgot to pack condoms."
"What do you mean you forgot to pack condoms?" Her eyes go big. "Since when do you not have any on you or in your wallet? You're Mr. Responsible!"
"Well, it's been a while since . . ." I trail off. "Everything has happened."
"It's Valentine's Day weekend!" she groans. " Why would you overlook that?"
"Well, I wasn't exactly planning on doing this on vacation with Rory and Logan in the house!"
"They aren't in the house!"
"How was I supposed to know that Logan had some late night Light and Death Club surprise for Rory that would end up giving us the house to ourselves all night?"
"Life and Death," she corrects.
"Whatever!" I snap and then shake my head. "And why aren't you as freaked out about Logan taking Rory out all night? Where the hell are they? Who are they with? Do we like this guy or not?"
"Rory's an adult. She can make her own decisions."
"Life and death?" I go on, ignoring her nonchalance. "That does not sound safe and if anything happens to her, I'm going to lose it!"
"Like you aren't already?" She asks dryly, rolling her eyes, and tucking her hair behind her ears. "Is this rant your attempt at turning me off? Because if so, you need to know it's not working."
I drop my shoulders and sigh. "No, I'm just worried."
"Luke, she's fine," she try to reassure me, her eyes longingly drifting from my chest down to my boxers which have grown very uncomfortable. She bites at the corner of her bottom lip. "Please come back to the problem at hand."
Here's the thing, I just spent the last half an hour on foreplay, neither one of us are going to be able to just lie down and go to sleep. I'm raging, ready to go, and I know full well that she's more than ready - I got her there more than once and had to clap my hand over her mouth when we thought we heard Rory and Logan come home early.
The idea of traumatizing Rory with our sex life is not something I'm okay with.
Turns out it was Stan, the racoon.
I look down at Lorelai, able to make out her face in the dark due to the flickering fire in the fireplace. The waves outside the window crash noisily against the shore and the moon is shining in through the windows. I want to make love to her here and now. Over and over.
"Do you still…" she trails off and looks away from me shyly, her eyes going to the fire. "Do you still want kids?"
This gets my attention. I shift and fall to my side of the bed. I reach out a finger, my imagination bringing up images of sweet babies and little kids that look just like Lorelai cradled in her arms, and push a strand of hair away from her eyes. "With you? Absolutely."
Her eyes move from the fire to me and she swallows thickly. "Well, chances are we wouldn't conceive the first time," she cringes. "Or, well, the second. The chances are lower. Doctor Smith said it would probably take us a year to get pregnant anyway. Something about our age and needing to take body temperature and being intentional about certain days of the month," she curls up her nose in annoyance at the age factor. "We'd probably be safe. We won't conceive."
Even as she says this, there's a hint of fear in her eyes. But there's also something else there.
"You want to…" I pause, taking in her suggestion. "Are you sure?"
Lorelai sits up fully, her legs tucking below her as she sits in front of me. She takes my hand in her own.
"Are you really going to marry me?"
"What kind of question is that?" I grumble, annoyed that she wants me to answer it again when I've already told her more than once tonight that I will be marrying her.
"Just answer the question. Are you going to marry me or turn into the male version of Julia Roberts and run off on our wedding day?"
"Yes, I mean no, I'm not going to be a male version of Julia Roberts," I twist my hand in hers and take a firm grip on her hand and run my finger over her diamond engagement ring. "But yes, I'm going to marry you."
"If I get pregnant, will you be there?" Her eyes are boring into my own, seeking reassurance. "Because I'm telling you, Luke, I don't want to get pregnant and raise our kid alone. I've done it once and even though I love Rory and she's the best thing to happen to me, I don't want to do it alone. Not again."
"Nothing could keep me away," There's no moment of hesitation on my part. I lean toward her, our eyes locked on one another. "I love you and I promise I'm going to marry you. And if you get pregnant, I will build our baby a crib and be the proud dad right next to you."
A soft smile peeks out on her face and then she's leaning toward me, our lips meeting in what starts as a soft kiss. She pulls away slightly, "You'll buy plans right?"
"What?"
"For the crib," she explains. "I love how you can build anything without needing directions, but you should have plans so our child won't get its head stuck between the slats and we have to cut the posts off from the rest of the crib and they have to walk around with two posts attached to their head and become a part of a circus freak show or it breaks apart as they're asleep or he gets strangle-"
"Yeah, I'll buy plans," I nod, go serious and then smirk.
"What?" She rolls her eyes. "It could happen!"
"I love your babbling."
"I knew it!" Her eyes warm. "But just to make sure we're on the same page, can you repeat what you just said about me and babbling?"
"Shut up, Crazy Lady," I laugh.
Her eyes flash hot and daring, "Make me."
Without a second thought, I crash into her, my lips finding hers. My hands start at her face, twisting into her long dark curls and then sliding down her body to the edge of her nighty. I pull it up and off and then lead her back down to the bed, remove the remaining barriers between us, and stretch out over top of her.
I spend the night giving her what she wants.
Over and over.