thank you so much for reading/reviewing! I'm so happy that you're happy :)
enjoy xoxo
ps - this chapter is not indicative of anything other than first trimester woes, i know i already said i'm not going to torture them but just wanted to reiterate! and for those that might be wondering, i have about five (including this one) pregnancy chapters planned
disclaimer: I own nothing
"Rory, please stay home from work tomorrow."
His pleading voice is cracked with concern, as he is forced to sit and watch the woman he loves get sick for the second time that night. Her body shakes in his arms, where he holds her around the waist for support - because that's all that he can do. He can't even put her hair up for her, or hold it back, because she has been smart enough to go to bed with her hair in a bun since her 'morning' sickness started wrecking her nights over the last couple of weeks.
They had a reprieve from the negative side effects of her pregnancy just that morning, when they had the breathtaking opportunity to experience the first ultrasound of their baby. She had hardly slept the night before, and it was a rough morning, but when they met for her doctor's appointment before lunch, it was forgotten. Their spirits were lifted as they heard a heartbeat they created, and Jess easily accepted the doctor's response that the kind of sickness Rory is experiencing is 'normal' for eight weeks pregnant and will probably continue for at least a couple more weeks. Right now, though, as he watches her dry heave because there is not a single drop of anything left in her to release, he wishes he had pushed harder for something to help her.
She can't respond to him yet, and even if she could it would be painful with how dry her throat is. As the heaving breaks for a moment, she falls backwards into him, letting him hold her up from lying on the cold tiled floor. Her eyes are closed as she rests her head on his shoulder and faces the ceiling, her hands and arms are like Jello as they fall from the ceramic bowl to the floor. His face was already twisted in concern, but the tension in his features deepens as he feels how empty she is in his arms. The way they are sitting, he can't see her face at the moment, though he knows it's probably sweaty and a little messy. So he reaches for a nearby hand towel, and presses it over her skin: wipes her brow, her cheeks and around her mouth. She still doesn't speak, or even moan in discomfort. She feels practically lifeless to him at the moment. He takes a breath, wanting to sound and be strong for her, and mumbles near her ear.
"I'm going to carry you back to bed and get you something to drink. Okay? I'm just going to lean you against the tub for a second while I get up. I'll go slow."
He carefully props her up and shifts his body to stand. She opens her eyes and meets his as he kneels down. His expression flattens at her wet, bloodshot eyes; at the dry skin on her lips and her shaky breathing. Like she's afraid to breath too deep in case it causes her stomach to swirl with nausea again. A rasp in her throat causes him to meet her eyes again,
"I can walk."
He shakes his head as she presses her hands to the floor, preparing to move.
"Don't," he begs, "please don't."
Her upper lip lifts, and he thinks she's going to try fighting him on it, but instead she nods once. He places an arm under her knees, and one around her waist. She manages to put her arms around his neck, and he slowly moves to stand. She rests her head on his chest as he carefully walks them back to the bedroom; she had gone down to the guest bathroom this time, trying to avoid waking him up, he's sure. But he was up as soon as he felt her move from the bed and following her closely so she wouldn't try to do it by herself. And he is glad he did.
He rests her on the bed, the sheets and blankets already pulled down from when she jumped out earlier. He tugs on them and covers her body with warmth. She hums a little and closes her eyes.
"I'll be right back," he murmurs and walks out to the kitchen. He opens the fridge and takes a second to just release a huge sigh of worry, now that he's not in front of her. Then he grabs a drink and walks back to their room with it, pushing the cat out of the door so she doesn't wake them up more than they already have been. He gets into bed next to Rory and moves pillows behind her head.
"I'm sorry, just sit up for a second so you can drink this coconut water."
Something like a groan emanates from her throat, and she adjusts herself the best she can.
"Okay, that's good. Here," he sticks the plastic straw into the carton and holds it up to her mouth, "plastic straw and everything. I know how you hate those paper straws."
She can't muster anything close to a smile, let alone a laugh at his gibe. She looks at him sideways.
"But I might throw it up," she rasps in response. He gives her a sympathetic look.
"Please, baby. You need the electrolytes. At least a few sips. Just take it slow."
She takes a breath and parts her lips; his shoulders drop in relief, and he places the straw up to her mouth.
"Done?" he asks after watching her take a few slow drinks. She moves her head slightly in confirmation.
"Thank you. I'll have it on my nightstand if you need more, okay? Just elbow me or something," he turns to place it there and then turns back to her, carefully taking the extra pillows away so she can lie flat on the bed.
"Thank you," her voice is small and tired; he brings a hand to her head to play with her hair, "I didn't brush my teeth."
He almost smiles.
"It's okay, you can do that when you wake up again," he leans down and kisses her forehead, "I'm going to go email your boss for you, okay? I'll let her know you need a sick day."
She opens her eyes and shakes her head.
"No. I'm meeting someone for an interview tomorrow."
He gives her a look full of concern and disbelief.
"Rory…you've hardly been sleeping lately. You need rest. Please, I'll email your interviewee to reschedule too."
She shakes her head, "that's unprofessional."
He releases a humorless, rough sounding laugh.
"Are you serious? You're not really putting your job before yourself right now, are you? You never take off work, you never reschedule anything. You have always been flexible and available to your company. This is the time to use that loyalty in your favor. You are pregnant, Rory. There are more important things than possibly looking unprofessional, which would not even be the case. It would be unprofessional, however, to throw up or pass out on someone. Stay home. Tomorrow and Friday. I'm begging you."
"Jess," she moans, putting her hands on her face and huffing out a breath, "I don't get sick during the day. It's just the nighttime that I feel nauseous and sometimes throw up. And they don't know I'm pregnant yet. I'm not ready to tell them. I'm sorry, but I'm going to work tomorrow."
He gives her a hard look, more than a little bothered that she isn't listening to him. But he doesn't want to say the wrong thing, and he doesn't want to stress her more; so, he takes a deep breath and lies down in bed next to her.
"Fine. Can you please take Friday off? For me?"
She sighs and drops her hands on the bed.
"Okay. I'll stay home Friday."
"To rest right? Not work?" he clarifies, making sure she's not loopholing him.
"Yes," she confirms, "to rest."
"Thank you. And your body will thank you too. Please wake me up if you need anything at all."
The creaking of a door rouses her awake sometime that Saturday; she unfurls her body from the multiple layers of blankets she was wrapped beneath and peeks her head out to look at the clock. She blinks a few times trying to make out the numbers, but before she can, Jess stands in front of it, looking down at her to decipher if she's awake or not. Her vision clears as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. He reaches for her face and sweeps her hair back tenderly.
"How are you feeling?"
She hums, moving to sit up in bed as she assesses herself. She yawns and shrugs.
"I feel okay. I don't feel like eating but I also don't feel like throwing up."
He exhales a breath.
"That's something," he cups her cheek, "you didn't get sick last night."
She tilts her head, and he sees a weak smile.
"I guess not. What time is it?"
He leans forward to kiss her head briefly.
"It's two."
"Two?! Two…in the afternoon?"
He nods, and as her eyes grow, he shakes his head.
"It's okay. Resting is good. I'm really glad you stayed home yesterday."
"I basically slept for two whole days!"
"That's an exaggeration," his eyebrow lifts, "and you needed it, Rory."
She sighs and looks out the nearby window.
"I should go for a walk or something before it gets dark. It's daylight savings already, right?"
His smirk is gentle but still playful.
"That's tonight, sleepyhead."
"An extra hour of sleep," she murmurs, getting out of bed, "not that I need it."
"You do," he stands up to, but stands back as she searches for clothes to change into, not wanting to make her feel fussed over, "I know you said you're not hungry, but can I make you something to eat?"
She looks back at him, face etched in apprehension.
"I don't think so."
He frowns slightly, "how about cereal? Just milk and corn pops. Nothing crazy."
She thinks it over and nods, "okay."
He nods, a hint of a relief on his face, and leaves the bedroom. She changes out of the pajama shorts and shirt that she's been in for over twenty four hours, and into an equally comfortable but fresher pair of sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt. She steps into the bathroom to freshen up, and then walks slowly out of the room, her limbs not feeling fully functional yet, and to the kitchen.
She pushes the door open and finds Jess pulling a spoon out of a drawer, the bowl of cereal waiting on the counter nearby. He turns to her, seeming to take her in; she turns her gaze away shyly, and her eyes land on something new on the fridge. A smile tugs at her lips, and she turns back to him.
"You put the sonogram on the fridge?"
The corner of his mouth ticks up, he shrugs one shoulder.
"Have one in my wallet too."
Her shoulders and chest dip on a sigh of content.
She says softly, "I love how excited you are."
His smile broadens.
"I'm really excited too," she adds, lifting her shoulders up somewhat guiltily, "I really am. It's just kicking my ass right now," she looks over at the picture again and then down at her flat stomach, "it's crazy how invisible it still is yet how much…chaos it's causing."
His eyes are soft, his face marked with restrained concern. He lifts the bowl of cereal he just poured her off the counter, and he presses his free hand to her lower back, kicking the kitchen door open.
"I know baby," he mumbles, guiding her slowly to the couch, "that's why I'm here, that's why I stayed home yesterday too. I'm here to take care of you," he pushes the food towards her on the coffee table, "can you try to eat this?"
She looks down at it and nods, her stomach doesn't revolt at the thought as it's been doing so often lately. She picks up the spoon and starts eating, she smiles when she feels Sabrina move from the back of the couch to curl up to her lap. She uses her free hand to pet the cat, and once Jess sees that she's comfortable and eating, he sits down next to her.
"Do you think she knows I'm pregnant?" Rory asks, looking down at the bundle of gray fur curled up against her middle, purring contentedly, "they say that animals know things like that."
"Well, if she doesn't know intuitively, I did tell her," she looks up and is greeted with his adorable smirk, "She's been trying to sleep with us every night and I've been kicking her out. She hissed at me last night, and I had to have a talk with her. Told her we're having a baby, and you need your rest, and that her paws digging into you in the middle of the night is not conducive to that."
His words make her laugh merrily, and her chest flutter. Although she knows he's been wanting this, that they have both been talking about it for a long time, every moment that she's reminded of his enthusiasm and dedication sends sparks through her.
"That's funny, when I got the call about a local position opening up I told her that we would be starting a family soon, and that she needed to keep it a secret between the two of us before I told you."
A delighted laugh erupts from him, and he leans over to scratch their pet lovingly.
"She's going to be a good big sister," he meets her eyes with a wistful smile. She smiles back and eats another spoonful of cereal before resting the spoon in the almost empty bowl.
"Speaking of secrets, I think I want to wait until after the first trimester to tell our family. I know we haven't really had much of a chance to talk about that, with all the sleeping, working or throwing up I've been doing."
His hand moves from the cat to her hair, entwining his fingers in it.
"I figured we would wait until then, for most people. But…your mom?"
There's a pause before she responds, a little unsurely, "maybe sooner. I don't know. But, not yet."
He nods slowly, "okay. Whatever you're comfortable with is what I want."
She gives him a gentle smile of thanks and sits back on the couch.
"What's that?" she asks, nodding her head towards a package sitting near the television.
"I don't know, it's for you," he stands up to grab it, and grabs a pair of scissors sitting nearby from opening another package earlier that day. He hands both to her and she opens it and smiles.
"This is actually for you."
He looks back at her with a quirked brow as she holds the box out to him.
"I ordered them when I was up feeling nauseous the other night, I forgot they were coming," she gives him a loving grin, "They're gifts. From me to you, future daddy."
His face melts as he looks between her and the box. A soft chuckle escapes him, and he holds up a finger as he leaves the living room and into their shared office space. When he returns, he's carrying a similar looking box, but much bigger in size.
"I guess we had the same idea, future mommy."
"No way," she laughs as he puts the box next to her on the couch, "that's so cute."
"Open yours first," he insists, standing above her with his arms crossed and a calm grin. She turns and opens it, pulling a seamlessly never ending, soft pink pillow out. She smiles wide.
"A pregnancy pillow, thank you!" she holds it to her face happily, "it's so cozy and soft. And I know it's going to be so helpful when I get bigger."
He smiles and nods towards the box.
"One more gift. A silly one."
She laughs, "stop, I got you one serious and one silly gift too!"
He laughs too, "we are kind of abnormally close, compared to most couples, I think. Maybe we share a brain."
"I wouldn't call it abnormal," she replies, and pulls a mug out of the box and reads, "'MILF to be'. Jess!"
She chastises him, but her giggle proves that she's entertained. He smirks and bends down to kiss her head.
"What? You are a MILF to be."
She shakes her head, "you know this is going to stay tucked away in the cabinet, right?"
"You know that I'm the one that makes us tea before bed, right?"
She gives him a look and then bursts into giggles again. Then she points to the forgotten box.
"Open yours."
He picks up the box and sits on the arm of the couch, pulling out a bottle of cologne that he's never seen before.
"Cologne, thank you," he turns to her, "is my current scent making you feel sick?"
She shakes her head, and her previously bright smile softens to something sentimental.
"No. I was reading about babies, and how their senses develop, one night when I couldn't sleep," she mumbles that part, and continues, "they can smell in the womb, and when they're born, their sense is just as sharp as an adult's. And scents are one of the strongest attachments to people and memories, so I thought it would be a good gift. A new cologne, that isn't associated with any other memories or anyone else we know, to wear through my pregnancy and their childhood. Like a signature scent, and any time our son or daughter hugs you and smells it, it will bring them comfort for years to come. And not to mention, it will remind me of going through pregnancy with you by my side."
Her words have him slightly choked up, not having expected something like that.
"If you don't like the scent, we can pick something else," she says softly, trying to interpret his look, "but it is a warm fragrance, which is what you usually like, right?"
He shakes himself free of surprise and brings her face to his for a passionate kiss.
"Rory, I love it. This gift is so…deep, and special. That pillow is looking kind of silly right now."
She chuckles and holds the pillow tighter to her.
"Not at all. It's a very meaningful gift, because I know it means you did your research before ordering it. And it's also nice to get a gift that's just for me. I know it won't be that way for much longer, so I appreciate it."
Those words give him pause; he takes one of her hands in his.
"You're always going to be Rory to me, you know." he reassures, responding to the unspoken sub context of her words, "the woman I'm in love with, and have been in love with for a long time. You will also be my wife eventually, and you'll be the mother of our child. But, you'll still be you, Rory, and I will always treat you that way."
Her lips stretch into an appreciative grin, and she simply squeezes his hand in thanks. Her eyes move to the box.
"Did you see the silly gift?"
He looks down into the box and laughs at the pair of shin high, stereotypical dad socks that sit in there.
"I thought you might want to dress the part."
"Uh huh, so thoughtful of you," he kisses her, "promise me if you ever see me actually wearing these you'll kill me?"
"Absolutely not promising that. But I will be sure to mock you if it happens."
"Worse than death," he grunts out as he stands up from the couch, breaking down the boxes and cleaning the space around them. She watches as he starts to open his cologne.
"I don't think you should start using it yet," she advises with a small frown, "otherwise I may be constantly reminded of my horrible first trimester symptoms every time I smell it in the future."
"Noted," he nods, putting it to the side for now, "you don't feel sick now, do you?"
"No," she confirms with a shake of her head, and her eyes move to the window to see that the sun has disappeared into a gloomy sky, "I don't think I want to go for a walk anymore though."
"Okay," he nods with his hands on his hips. He looks at her and around the room in thought, then with a determined smile he steps up to the couch and maneuvers her new pillow so that it circles her as cozily as possible.
"What are you doing?" she asks as he lifts her feet up and places them on the coffee table.
"How does a movie and nails sound?"
"Nails?"
"Yes, as in, I'm going to paint your nails while you watch a movie."
She looks at him, confused but grinning, "why?"
His shoulders shrug.
"To pamper you," he replies smoothly. She watches, enraptured, as his lips lift into a sweet, eager smile.
"And maybe I could use the practice."
She softens in understanding, a hand absently moving to her stomach, and she nods.
"Okay, that sounds great," she holds up her hand, "it's fall, so I think I would like something a little dark. I should have a burgundy color in the bathroom somewhere."
"I'm on it," he nods, and then smirks before asking, "would you like some hot chocolate or tea in your MILF mug?"
Her eyes roll up playfully but wanting to do something that pleases him as much as he is pleasing her, she nods.
"Yes, I would love some peppermint tea in my MILF mug," and he beams with satisfaction as she adds on impishly, "thank you, future DILF."
She looks at her calendar for the tenth time that day. She's been opening that little window in the taskbar on her desktop, that displays the whole month of November, in an obsessive way. The same date looms ahead each time she looks, and even though she won't admit even in her own head what she's thinking about, she knows that's what has made this week extra bad sickness-wise. The ninth week of her pregnancy has started, and even though she's further along than she was now seven years ago, her body has stored the trauma in a way that every single off feeling she has, she panics. And then she gets anxious, and then she tries to remind herself that Paris said stress can be the very cause of what she's afraid of, and then she gets overwhelmed, and then she gets sick. She finished the weekend out with a lot more resting, and she felt pretty good until mid-Monday morning, when she went to schedule a meeting and noticed the date. And so, the last couple nights and mornings she got sick, and despite her fiancé's best efforts, she still went to work this morning. Because she can't think of anything more torturous than not having distractions from her distress.
"Gilmore."
She jumps at her name and looks up to see one of her coworkers standing at her desk.
"Hi Ken."
"'Hi Barbie'."
She laughs, "What can I do for you?"
"Oh, we were supposed to talk at eleven. Go over some ideas for the next couple weeks."
She frowns and looks at the time; 11:15.
"Shoot, I'm sorry. Totally lost track of time."
"No problem, I assumed we were meeting in one of the conference rooms so my bad too."
She shrugs and gathers her things slowly, "we can if you want."
"Doesn't matter to me."
She lastly grabs her phone, before standing up to walk to the conference room. But as she stands, a harsh wave of vertigo comes over her, and she sits right back down in her chair.
"Are you okay?" Ken asks, stepping hesitantly closer to her. She rubs her temples a few times and takes a deep breath before nodding.
"I'm okay," she slowly and carefully looks up at him, "um, do you mind if we talk here though?"
"Not at all," he grabs a chair from an empty desk nearby, and pulls it up to hers, "so, there's a growing hedge fund that I heard about. It seems super sketchy and is definitely a scam. Yet, it has tons of investors. What do we think about that as a potential subject? They claim to operate out of New York, but I haven't been able to get an exact address yet. I've been badgering their 'information' email."
She chuckles but brings the back of her hand to her mouth as she feels a burning in her throat. She coughs to clear it away.
"Sounds shady and definitely story-worthy. I heard Chris Christie is traveling to Israel," she swallows and rubs her head again, vision dizzying once more, "um, I was thinking we should try and contact his people for a comment for this week to get it in Sunday's paper."
"Where'd you hear that? I didn't know you had sources like that."
"I worked on Obama's campaign for both elections," she shrugs, "earned me some political connections."
"That's right, you mentioned that before. You miss working the campaign trail?" he asks, leaning back in his chair as the conversation becomes more casual. She shakes her head, and the motion makes her feel dizzy again, so she closes her eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asks, sitting forward, "Rory?"
She takes a breath and looks up at him; his face turns more serious.
"You don't look too good. Are you sick?"
Her eyes begin to involuntarily fill with tears, at his words and at the nausea burning in her stomach.
"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean you don't look good like you're not…pretty or something. You just…look unwell."
All of her emotions and symptoms come to a head, and suddenly she is wracked with dizziness while crying into her hands. She was too nauseous to eat that morning, but she was also exhausted from not sleeping well the night before and forced herself to drink half a coffee. The remnants of that swirl inside of her, and the undercurrent of anxiety that's been making her head and her nerves spin feels like it's coursing through her from head to toe.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry. My girlfriend has told me so many times to not tell women they look tired or sick. I'm an idiot, sorry Rory."
She lifts one hand from her face to wave him off.
"It's not you," she manages to say, "I just don't feel good."
"Do you want me to call your fiancé? Jess, right?"
She shakes her head no, but as she goes to text him herself, she realizes she can't even see straight. She pushes her phone towards her coworker.
"Please," she asks, "he's in there as Jess with a book and a heart next to it. Not Jess with the cat next to it. She's our vet."
"Okay, Jess with a book. Got it. Calling him right now."
Rory nods slightly and leans forward to rest her forehead on the desk; it feels wonderfully cold against her heated skin. She hears Ken's side of the conversation through her fogginess,
"Hi, I'm Ken. I don't think we've met. I work with Rory. She's not feeling well. I think she needs to go home, and I don't think she can get herself on the subway. Uh huh. Oh, you have a car? That's rare in New York. Where do you keep it? Right, sorry, I get distracted easily. Okay, me and another coworker will help get her down to the lobby while you drive over. Okay. You're welcome. Bye."
"Okay Rory. I'm going to pack your stuff up, and grab…someone else, and we'll help you get downstairs. Jess is on his way."
She mumbles a 'thank you' and waits with her pounding head and churning stomach at her desk. The voices that come back are muffled to her as her head aches louder. Suddenly, she feels herself being brought to her feet and her arms wrapped around two necks. As they move her across the office floor, she feels the nausea in her stomach starts to rise.
"I need to throw up," she mutters out as clearly as she can manage, and in a second what she hopes is a trash can is put in front of her face, and she leans forward to retch into it. She knows she is going to feel so embarrassed when she's better and realizes she vomited in the middle of her office floor that has over a hundred employees; now though, it actually feels good in a way because it seems to be clearing her headache and her vertigo. Once her stomach feels settled and she can almost see straight again, she stands up and looks at her coworkers Ken and Dan. They try to cover their disgusted faces, but she doesn't miss it. She frowns.
"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have come to work today."
They both nod.
"Yeah, don't come in tomorrow either," Ken mutters and goes to put her arm around his neck again. She puts her hand up.
"It's okay, I feel much less dizzy. I can walk."
"Oh, I don't think so. I don't want your fiancé to kick my ass. He sounded intense on the phone."
Her mouth perks up the tiniest bit.
"His bark is worse than his bite," she promises, "he's probably just scared. But you can walk me down if you want."
"Yeah, I think I will," he holds his arm out, "will you take this just in case?"
As her stomach turns again, she nods and holds on to his arm as he walks her to the elevator, and takes her down to the building lobby.
Her coworker takes her to a chair near the revolving doors, and she happily sits down. She closes her eyes and places a hand on her stomach, trying to take relaxing breaths. Reminding herself that stressing out is not the answer, that she doesn't want to fulfill the very prophecy that has her on edge like this. She manages to calm herself enough that her heart doesn't feel like it's beating out of her chest, and she doesn't know how long that takes but soon hears a comforting, familiar voice calling her name. She opens her eyes to see Jess approaching, and Ken stepping in to introduce himself.
"She's okay, but she threw up before I got her down here."
Jess nods shortly and crouches next to her chair.
"What happened?" he asks, voice soft but laced with concern, "did you pass out?"
"No," she shakes her head, and she feels that dizziness again, "I just got really dizzy and nauseous. And I have a terrible headache."
She sees his chest deflate with a small breath, and he takes her hand in his.
"Okay. Let's get you home," Jess stands up, and he holds a hand out to her, "easy. Take your time."
She stumbles slightly as she stands, and he holds both hands at her waist quickly. He turns to her coworker.
"You mind walking out with us? Might need a hand opening the door."
He nods and follows their slow steps out of the exit, and to the idling car. Ken opens the passenger door and Jess helps her inside. She feels silly, and weak, but she also feels horrible and doesn't protest the help. He turns to shake her coworkers hand.
"Thank you, man."
She mumbles, "yes, thank you Ken."
He peeks into the car and gives her a small smile, "you're welcome, Barbie. Feel better."
"Can you tell her boss she'll be out for the rest of the week?"
An argument is in her throat, but so is the taste of bile; she keeps her mouth shut.
"No problem. Nice meeting you."
"Wait," Rory calls weakly, and Ken turns back, "Chris Christie."
Jess looks between them in confusion, "the corrupt political prick?"
"Yes," Ken confirms and nods to her, "and I'll call, don't worry. I'll tell them Rory Gilmore sent me."
She gives him a small smile of thanks and Jess closes the door. She shuts her eyes as he gets in the driver seat and pulls away from her work. He places a comforting hand on her leg.
"Let me know if I'm going too fast or something. I'll try to avoid any abrupt stops."
She swallows, "I'm okay."
He takes a breath, "I don't know if you heard, but I told your coworker to tell your boss you need the rest of the week off."
"I heard," she whispers, "thank you."
He squeezes her leg.
"I wish you hadn't pushed yourself like this, but I understand your work is important. And I think you're so strong going about your day even though you got sick last night and this morning, and the days before that. I wouldn't be able to do that," he squeezes her leg again, "but you tried today, and it didn't work out, okay? So, we will make sure you get plenty of rest and hopefully you'll feel better. And if not, we'll call the doctor."
She appreciates his words, but her stomach turns again. A loud gurgle is audible, and she grimaces.
"Oh baby," his voice is doleful and sympathetic, "I'm sorry you're going through this."
"It will be worth it," she says softly, "that's what mom said."
He rubs his thumb on her leg and squeezes again.
"I got more coconut water this morning. And also, some Gatorade in case you get tired of coconut water, and we have all kinds of different brands of chicken soup."
She groans as her head suddenly becomes dizzy again, but she croaks out in her pain, "I love you."
…
"Hello future son in law! I'm answering my phone on a boat all the way in Alaska. Crazy world we live in, huh?"
He wants to laugh, because this might be the first time she's answered the phone not assuming the worst, yet this is the one time it is about something semi-bad, and he can't really explain it to her.
"Is Luke around?" he cuts to the chase.
"Fine we don't have to chit chat if you don't want to," Lorelai replies, and her word are slightly slurred.
"Are you drunk?" he asks with a sigh.
"I don't know. Hey, Julie, am I drunk? She says yes. Julie is my friend because both of our husbands are outdoor freaks, and we just want to sit around drinking alcohol and talking to cute waiters and - "
"Lorelai," Jess cuts her off, voice getting more serious, "I need to talk to Luke."
There's a pause, and when she speaks again she sounds suddenly sober.
"What's wrong, Jess? Something with your mom? With Doula? What's going on?"
"No, I just- I need to ask him something. He's not picking up his phone."
He paces around the living room, trying to keep his voice down as Rory sleeps in the next room. It's been two days since he picked her up from work, and she hasn't been able to keep anything down. He already spoke to Paris, who advised him that it would be a waste of money to take her to the hospital because since she's pregnant they wouldn't be able to do much, maybe give her an IV, and she informed him that morning sickness and other side effects peak at week nine, and that's most likely what she's going through. It doesn't make it any easier though as he keeps making her foods, picking up snacks that are gentle on the stomach - but she either doesn't have the appetite for it or she gets sick. Whenever she's not nauseous or throwing up, she's at least sleeping, and he's a little grateful for that.
"Well, I'm sorry but he's on a fishing excursion somewhere far out in the water. I don't think he has phone service, and probably won't until he's back on the boat again."
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, "when will he be back?"
"Ummmm. In an hour or so. They might be on their way back now, actually, but I don't know how long it takes to get off the little boat and onto the big boat and all that."
"Right, um. Okay. Can you ask him to call me?"
"Of course," she promises, "are you okay Jess?"
"I'm okay. Thanks. Enjoy your bottomless booze, bye Lorelai."
He hangs up, and dances his fingers on the back of his phone anxiously while walking in circles.
"Fuck," he mutters to himself, rubbing his hands over his face. With an exhausted sigh, he walks into the kitchen, looking around again for something else he can make her. As he closes the fridge door, he is greeted with the ultrasound picture they were given the previous week. He looks closely at the shadows, at the white lines; at the tiny berry-sized shape that is their baby. The doctor told them it would double in size already by the following week. And even though he's read the baby books, and he's had some experience with his friends' having kids; hearing facts like that still blows his mind. He places his fingers on the picture and smiles tenderly at it.
"I love you already," he whispers, and adds, "but right now, you're driving me nuts. I'm trying to help your mom feel better and you are making it very hard."
He traces the shape again, and imagines it as double the size. Of course, her body is taking it hard, he thinks, that's a crazy thing to be doing And he wants so badly to take care of her, to make it at least a little better for her. He takes out his phone and tries Luke again, and again and again until finally, probably almost an hour later, he picks up.
"Hey Jess," he answers with apology in his voice, "I just got back on the ship and Lorelai told me you called. I actually left my phone in the room, sorry. What's going on?"
"I need your soup recipe."
"My what?"
He huffs and paces the kitchen floor.
"In Rory's book, in a chapter about her childhood, she mentioned that you always made her chicken soup when she was sick. Whether it was a cold or flu or whatever. I've tried making her soup, I've tried every canned one out there too, and she can't keep any of them down. I need your soup recipe, she needs to eat something."
"Jess, it's okay," Luke's voice is calm in contrast to his nephew's distressed one, "I know what you're talking about. It's very very basic actually."
He stops in his tracks, waiting, "yes? What is it?"
"It's chicken broth - store bought is fine, star noodles, and very, tiny chopped up pieces of chicken. You can even use a rotisserie chicken and just cut it up real small. And not too much. A handful at most."
"Uh huh. Anything else?"
"Some salt, pepper, melt a little butter in the noodles before you add them to the broth. Absolutely no vegetables. And a pinch of nutmeg."
He tilts his head, "really? Nutmeg?"
"Yes, just a pinch or it will taste bitter. And sometimes she liked goldfish crackers on top, sometimes she liked saltines. So, I would just buy both."
Jess takes a deep breath of relief.
"Thank you. I'm sorry to interrupt your trip. I was desperate."
"Oh, stop it," he grumbles, "what's going on with Rory?"
Jess pauses before explaining, "she's been really sick the last couple of days. Just throwing everything up. I'm hoping this does the trick."
"Got it. A lot of crap goes around this time of year, I'm sure it will be better soon. But, the soup should help. She has definitely been able to eat it with a stomach bug before. So I'm glad you called."
"Me too, Luke," he mumbles, "thank you. I'll talk to you. Bye."
"Bye, Jess. Call me if you need anything else."
He hears her get up and run to the bathroom again a couple hours later. He shuts off the heat on the stove and covers the steaming soup with a lid before heading towards the bedroom. The sounds of her frustrated gagging are not unfamiliar at this point unfortunately; she groans and curses in between getting sick, mutters to herself when her throat isn't too dry to do so. He follows the sound and finds her standing, one hand bracing herself on the wall as she bends over the bowl. He steps behind her and rubs a hand on her back, the other holding back her ponytail that's now messy and falling apart.
"I'm so over this," she grunts, still hunched over.
"Me too. I hate seeing you unhappy and in pain like this," he mumbles in response, helping her stand straight at the sink. He pours her a small paper cup of water, watching in the mirror as she swishes it and spits. She meets his eyes in the reflection, and he thinks he sees her lips move in the general direction of a smile.
"You're really not going to enjoy labor then."
He breathes out something on the brink of a laugh and rubs her back again.
"I know I won't, but it's going to be worse for you," he turns her towards the door and puts an arm around her waist, "come on, I made you something special."
"Arsenic I hope."
"Glad to see you haven't completely vomited your sense of humor."
"It's in my blood," she mumbles, as he walks her to the couch and sits her down.
"Yes, that and coffee," he teases but the thought of that hot beverage makes her grimace. He frowns.
"Sorry. I'll be right back. Here," he pulls a tray table from the wall and sets it in front of her, and then places a blanket over her lap and hands her the TV remote, "get comfortable."
He steps into the kitchen and fills a bowl with hot soup, and a cup with cold water, thinking that when he's sick his stomach likes these contrasting temperatures. He puts a sleeve of saltines under one arm and a box of goldfish under the other. He walks back out to the living room and carefully places everything down on the tray. She opens her eyes and adjusts herself to sit up, looking over his offerings. Her lips move gently, and she looks up at him.
"Thank you. I'm afraid to eat."
He gives her an understanding nod, and softly sits down next to her on the couch.
"I know but please try," he leans forward and picks up the crackers, "do you want these or the goldfish?"
She swallows and her eyes move between the two items.
"Neither yet."
He frowns but nods, placing them back down. He picks up the cup of water and holds it to her.
"How about some water? Just regular water."
She nods and places her lips on the straw, taking a few sips. She pulls away with a deep breath and looks down at her soup.
"Did you make this?"
"I did."
"Thank you," he watches as she picks up her spoon with a shaky hand, "I'll try and eat some."
Relief floods through him, as she takes a few spoonfuls pretty easily.
"Are you feeling any better?" he asks, still quietly observing her.
She shrugs a little, "the vertigo seems to be gone."
"That's great," he enthuses, further relieved, "I think you really needed the rest."
She nods her agreement and looks over at him after a few tastes with a curious look.
"This tastes so familiar. Like…something I had in childhood maybe. It's not Campbells?"
His lips turn up as he shakes his head.
"Not Campbells," he replies, hand reaching out to push strands of her hair behind her ear, "Luke's."
She swallows down another bite and turns to him; her face the brightest he's seen in days.
"Luke's? Is this the soup he used to make me when I was sick as a kid?"
"It's as close to it as I could get," he shrugs one shoulder, "I called him for the recipe."
"But…but they're in Alaska. On the cruise. Aren't they?"
"They are. They get phone service though."
Her eyes widen with love, "you called Luke on his vacation just to get this recipe? And…you didn't tell him why?"
"I told him you're sick, that's all. That you couldn't keep anything down and I was desperate to get nutrients of some kind in you."
She moves her other hand out from under the blanket and finds his to hold it.
"That's so sweet. Thank you," she eats another spoonful, "and it's so good. It tastes just like his. It's really…comforting and homey. Makes me think of easier times. It's exactly what I needed."
His eyes roam over her form. She is trembling less already, and the heat of the food seems to be bringing some color to her face.
"Comfort? Is that what you mean by exactly what you need?"
She meets his eyes briefly.
"I don't mean…that you're not comforting me."
"No, I know," he assures her, flipping his hand over so her fingers are in his palm, "just curious if there's more to that."
As usual, he's picked up on what she's attempted to hide. When her stomach starts to feel like it's full, despite having half a bowl of food left, she places her spoon down and sits back on the couch.
"It's…stuck inside me, Jess. What I went through seven Novembers ago. It's like it's in my bones. I can't shake it off, even though I want to and even though I know stressing myself out makes everything worse. There's a baby inside me again, and my mind and my body remember what happened to the last one, even though I desperately don't want to think about it. And it's our baby, Jess. It might be wrong to say but, it feels like there's…so much more on the line now."
Their eyes meet, and his are full of sympathy for her. He doesn't know what it's like, and he doesn't know how to fix it; so he's not going to try and tell her to just relax, or not think about it, or any other words of advice for something she clearly has no control over. His fingers brush across her engagement ring as they sit in silence. He looks down at the gems there, admiring the blue that matches her eyes. He turns his gaze back to her face and offers her a tender smile.
"Did your grandmother tell you why she gave me this ring to propose with?"
Rory looks down at her hand in his briefly and shrugs.
"She told me it was an heirloom of hers. That she originally wanted to give me that ruby ring that belonged to my great grandmother Lorelai. But that you and my mom sort of talked her out of it. And she's glad you did."
He smiles a little more at the memory of that Christmas, he brings her hand to his mouth and kisses each of her fingers.
"I don't know if she wanted to tell you herself, or if she expected that I would explain it. I assumed she would have."
Her eyebrows furrow.
"She left me a note with the ring."
She tilts her head, "under the pillow too?"
He nods and brings her hand down to the blanket again.
"This ring was given to her by Richard," Jess explains softly, "he gave it to her after your mother was born. Because he thought the blue stones matched Lorelai's eyes perfectly."
She brings her other hand to her chest, her face etched in tender emotion.
"That's beautiful."
"And Emily said that she felt like it was most appropriate, because now there are an identical pair of blues that 'seems to want' to spend the rest of her life with me."
Rory truly grins for the first time in days, and seeing it lights him up.
"She's right."
He squeezes her hand and leans over to kiss her head. He pulls back and holds her gaze.
"I'm going to do that too for you. Maybe not a ring, but something that reflects their eye color, that you can pass down to our kids one day if you want to. Something special and pretty, like you," he tightens his grip on her hand to convey his meaning, "when our baby is born."
His words hold that confidence that she loves, that sometimes keeps her grounded when her mind wants to spiral away. The purpose of his words, and of his gesture, captivate her thoughts and her heart. And she doesn't feel nauseous for the first time that day, as she nods her head in acceptance.
"I can't wait to see what the eye color is, and what you pick out," she whispers, and she nods again, "when the baby comes in June."