Chapter 29

The morning sunlight poured through Rory's apartment window, bathing the room in soft gold. Outside, the sounds of Stars Hollow hummed faintly—lawn sprinklers clicking rhythmically, the occasional laughter of children racing down the street, and Taylor's distinct voice barking instructions at some unfortunate passerby.

Inside, the world was quieter, though chaos lingered in its own subtle way. Rory stifled a yawn as she sat cross-legged on the couch, turned sideways to face her daughter, who lay nestled in front of her. The baby stretched out on her back, curving slightly to the left, and let out a soft, hiccupping sigh, her tiny fingers curling and uncurling around Rory's finger as if marveling at their own existence.

"See, this is the thing, kiddo," Rory spoke softly, adjusting the baby's onesie. "I don't even know what to call you yet. You're perfect and tiny and officially nameless. At this rate, I might just start calling you Newbie, like Dr. Cox from Scrubs—and trust me, you don't want that."

Rory wasn't about to point out to her week-old baby that, technically, she was fatherless—at least on paper. The line on the birth certificate had remained blank, unclaimed. They hadn't bothered with paternity tests, and for that, Rory felt a strange sense of gratitude. His trust in her, his decision not to ask for proof, unlike he had asked from Odette, carried an unspoken promise as well: he wasn't about to start making demands or changing the rules. That simply wasn't where they were—at least not at this point.

Her daughter made a soft cooing noise, her lips puckering slightly as if in reply.

"Exactly," Rory continued, brushing her thumb lightly across the baby's cheek. "You need something with gravitas. Something that says, 'I'm going to be President one day.' Or at least, 'I'm smarter than my mom was at your age.'"

The apartment, once Rory's quiet, somewhat cluttered retreat, now felt full to bursting. The baby gear that had been so neatly packed away was now everywhere—a folded up stroller Rory still needed to learn to unfold one-handed, a bassinet -another gift from her grandmother, blankets and wipes, endless piles of tiny clothes - most of them still way too big. It wasn't just the stuff, though; it was the people. Lorelai had claimed the couch for the first week, her presence a comforting mix of snark, constant snacking and a lingering smell of coffee.

"It's like riding a bike," Lorelai had said the first night as she organized the changing table. "Except the bike cries at three a.m. and poops on your hand."

"You forget - a bike might not be the best comparison considering I was never terribly good at cycling to begin with," Rory commented, and placed the baby on the newly set up changing table, desperately in need of a fresh diaper.

Lane had been even more helpful, breezing in with the calm confidence of someone who had survived the trenches of early motherhood. What she'd done had been master class, and she was still up to the challenge - no questions asked. She had a knack for timing her visits perfectly, swooping in with meals, advice, and occasionally, a chance for Rory to grab a quick shower or take the baby for a stroll so Rory could catch a nap.

"See?" Lane had joked as she expertly swaddled the baby in a bamboo wrap one afternoon. "You've only got one. This is basically a vacation compared to twins."

And then there was Emily. Though she hadn't physically hovered the way Lorelai had, she'd ensured that Rory lacked for nothing. Her generosity extended to an endless parade of care packages, gift certificates, and even an offer to pay for a maid service—a gesture that Rory had found both kind and absurd, given the size of her apartment. Though there was the tiny matter of finding her way around her apartment with how cluttered everything was, and she probably could've used someone with organisational skills. But right now it wasn't high on her list of priorities.

Still, it was the quiet moments Rory cherished most. The early mornings when it was just her and her daughter, the world still and golden around them. Even six o'clock in the morning didn't seem that bad when those cute little eyes were staring back at her.

This particular morning was one of those quiet moments. Rory shifted the baby in her arms, watching as her tiny chest rose and fell with each soft breath.

"Okay," she murmured. "Let's try this again. How about... Eleanor? That's got a lot of history, right? Eleanor Roosevelt, Eleanor Rigby—though I'd really rather not think of you as living in a church and being buried along with your name. Hmm."

The baby made a small squeak, and Rory smiled. "Not a Beatles fan? Fine. What about Charlotte? That's classic. Elegant. Plus, you'd have an excuse to wear a lot of plaid and talk about Wilbur the pig."

Her daughter yawned, her tiny mouth opening wide, and Rory laughed softly. "Tough crowd. Okay, how about Lorelai? That one's kind of obvious, though. Feels like a lot of pressure, don't you think? Having a grandma with the same name who's kind of a force of nature? And of course - there's also your great-great-grandma to consider."

The baby stirred slightly, her hands waving in the air.

"Alright, let's think outside the family for a second," Rory said, her voice thoughtful. "How about Rory Junior? No? Too weird? What if we go literary? Jo, from Little Women. Or Scout, from To Kill a Mockingbird. Or… I don't know, maybe even Hermione, if I really want to lean into the nerd thing."

She paused, tilting her head as she studied her daughter's face. "But none of those really feel right, do they?"

As the minutes stretched on, Rory found herself circling back to one name in particular. "What about Nora?" she mused aloud, tracing a finger along the baby's tiny hand. "Nora Ephron comes to mind—sharp, funny, a woman who could turn even heartbreak into a bestseller. And then there's Nora Helmer from A Doll's House, walking out that door like a boss and redefining independence. You'd have some impressive shoes to fill, but I think you could handle it. What do you think, little one? Too much pressure, or just the right amount of spunk?" The baby stirred slightly, her lips forming a faint, sleepy pout. Rory laughed softly.

"Nora?" Rory tested the name. She liked the ring to it - and it was also short and practical, nor did she know anyone personally who had that name and whom she disliked. That was a big bonus.

The baby's eyes sharpened on her as if studying her.

"You'd like Nora, wouldn't you?" Rory murmured, brushing a finger over the baby's tiny hand. "It's strong but gentle. And it suits you."

The baby let out a soft, contented sigh, and Rory smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "Nora… let's test it out, shall we?"

Rory realized that while she had no obligation she wanted Logan's take on this. At least to run it by him, even if not give him veto power. She knew he'd appreciate it. Rather, if she didn't ask him, it would've made a statement she didn't intend to make.

"How does Nora sound?" she texted him. It wasn't much, but it was something.