Chapter Text
She finds out on a cold, winter morning. She’s wearing sleep shorts and a worn out t-shirt and before she knows it, she’s on her bathroom floor with her head in between her knees.
She’s 31. Not exactly a teenage mom, but still not nearly where she thought she’d be at 31. For god’s sake, she’s back in her too-small hometown, living above Luke’s diner, and waiting tables a couple times a week in exchange for rent. A baby cannot come into this.
Then there’s the subject of the father. Logan is engaged, he's a few months out from his marriage, and so utterly subsumed by the life designed by his father, and maybe his father’s father, and their fathers, and so on.
She's a fool to have ever believed that he could break out of that, to meet her in the middle. Not when she’s realized that she’s essentially fallen in the same hole, the one labeled Lorelai Gilmore, only she can’t - she refuses to stay there.
She’d been dreaming, she thinks. She’d gotten caught up in their own story, the story she told herself at night to keep the guilt at bay. But she can’t go on like this any longer. She can’t, because she is who she is. And the truth is that she’s not that girl. Somewhere along the way, she’s lost sight of herself and what she wants. Or maybe she never knew. She’s always been much too happy to give in to what other people want for her. Her mother, her grandparents, and even her boyfriends. Maybe especially her boyfriends.
Except maybe one, the only one that let her breathe, that didn’t push. But its been years, and they’ve settled scores so long ago, that she hesitates to even think about him — because she’s at least matured enough to admit that she never let herself feel anything for him after he’d left. Thinking and feeling about him was dangerous and ill-advised… or so her mother had said. She’s matured enough, been in therapy long enough, to know that she’s been unhappy and unsettled. She can admit to herself that on nights when she’s staring at a ceiling unable to sleep, that she thinks about him. But he’s successful, much to her mother’s chagrin, and stable and happy and everything that is decidedly not her, not anymore.
She followed her meticulous plans and nothing’s turned out the way she foresaw, and she can’t help that tiny prick of envy at the fact that when she’d laid out her 3-5-10 year plans, he’d had nothing. And that made her feel awful because she knows why he had nothing, and that he never trusted in anyone or anything enough to make plans, and so really she should be so fucking proud that he made them and went through with them.
And she is — proud. She’s just also angry and restless, and every time her email pings with an update from Jess Mariano about a new book he’s written or one he’s edited or some event he’s pulled off… well, it settles in her stomach like a rock. She’s not in Philadelphia cheering him on or even receiving books with personalized dedications. She doesn’t even dare order through Truncheon. No, she hunts for his books. Marks her calendars and lists out the bookstores she knows regularly stock his published works. A safe bet is Andrew’s bookshop, who she had to swear to secrecy in case Jess wondered who in Stars Hollow was buying up his books.
It’s her darkest and most well-kept secret. It’s also the thought the intrudes when she’s panicking in her bathroom, sitting cross-legged on the cool tiles with her gaze on the pregnancy test sitting on top of the toilet lid.
Nothing in her life has gone according to plan and this had the potential to blow up several lives.
She swallows thickly, feeling the hot shame crawl up her back and settle at the base of her neck.
Please be negative.
Only Rory Gilmore had accepted long ago that she’d accrued a boatload of cosmic karma, and she knows that whoever’s - whatever’s - out there probably won’t listen to her pleas.
She’s not even surprised when she looks at the stick and sees two sharp lines.
…
She’d told her mother she’d spend Friday at their house, eating Chinese food and watching old movies. Catch up, her mother had said.
Instead, she gives her mother a flimsy excuse about being sick and drives into New Haven. She had scheduled a tentative appointment at a Planned Parenthood center, the latest they could schedule it for the day. She’ll walk and read and decide.
Trust yourself. That’s what her therapist, Dr. Rosen, had told her months ago. Trust yourself to make the right decisions for you. Not your mom. Not your grandmother. Not Logan. They don’t have to live with what you decide.
She goes into the appointment without a pros-and-cons list. She kind of thinks she’s outgrown lists, and she doesn’t need to make a list to know what the right decision for her is or what she’s inviting by ending this pregnancy.
They give her two pills, one for the following day, and a sheet with information about what she should expect. She stops by a supermarket, a place far enough from Stars Hollow where she knows no one would recognize her, and picks up supplies for the next week. The kind nurse at the center had warned her to expect cramping and heavy bleeding a few days following the pill, and that she should take another test in a few weeks.
Figures that any part of a pregnancy would be painful.
Before the appointment, she’d been a little freaked out, reading all about the pain and blood. She’d felt nauseous as she read through horror stories on the internet. All those horror stories had not done nearly enough to prepare her for what it would actually feel like.
And thus, when her mother drops in on her the next evening, unexpectedly, Rory looks like she’s been hit by a bus. Standing there in her pjs and an oversized hoodie, it was all she could do to prevent a sob from escaping her.
“Oh, honey,” Lorelai whispers and frantically shoos Luke away. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“It’s not what you think,” Rory hiccups.
“You’re sick. C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” Lorelai turns her and leads her back to the full bed she’d lugged from her childhood bedroom weeks ago.
“I’m not sick. Well, I am having medical issues. But not of the typical sickness variety.”
Lorelai sighs. “Hon, you look like you’re about to keel over.”
“Mom,” Rory starts.
“I’ll have Luke make you some tea. Don’t you like tea, now? God knows why,” Lorelai mumbles and pulls out her phone.
“Mom!” Rory places a hand over the screen to stop her. “I got an abortion.”
There’s an awkward beat of silence, with Lorelai just gaping at her.
“What?” Lorelai gasps, finally reacting. She begins to pace around the tiny apartment, her eyes bulging practically out of her head. “You were pregnant? How could you - how could you do this? How could you do this without telling me? I’m your mother, we’re best friends!”
Rory sighs and shoves her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie. Part of her suddenly feels 19 again, and facing her mother’s acute — outsized and perhaps misdirected — disappointment for the first time. But mostly, she feels tired and annoyed that in quite possibly one of the worst moments of her life so far, she also has to somehow manage her mother’s reaction to this decision.
“Mom, I really don’t want to talk about this right now.” Rory manages to keep her voice level, at any appropriate volume. She struggles to put into practice everything that her therapist recommends, and she knows that Dr. Rosen would be proud to see that Rory is trying to keep herself from sliding back into her teenage years.
Because she’s not a teenager. She’s an adult woman, and yes, she’s struggling — she has struggled for a while, but that doesn’t mean she has to run her decisions past anyone else.
“You mean, never. You’ll never want to talk about this with me,” Tears begin to gather in Lorelai’s eyes. “What happened to us? I thought we were closer than this, I thought you trusted me!”
“I do, mom, I do!” Rory exclaims. “I just, this was personal. Private, I mean. Not anyone’s business, but mine. My decision.”
Lorelai seems to swallow that before continuing with her train of thought. “I just — an abortion, really? Why? Who was the father? Did you tell the father?”
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re anti-choice now! And it was Logan’s, and no, I didn’t tell him. It’s over between us, for real this time. There was no reason to involve him now when it would only lead to a bigger mess! I knew what I had to do.”
“Oh, it’s over for reals?” Lorelai mocked. “That’s what you always say, Rory. All it takes is one call from him for you to dump whatever it is you’re doing to go to him.”
“Don’t mock me, I’m serious. It’s over. I told him to get real. I blocked his number and email. My therapist says I have a tendency to self-sabotage and to cling to things that make me feel less like a failure, even when they’re not good for me.” Rory waves her hands as she tries to explain.
“You have a therapist now?” Lorelai gapes, her mouth opening and closing for a few seconds. “Since when?”
Rory sighs and drops down onto the couch. “Well, I had one that was court-mandated. It didn’t work out, and I thought — well, it was just not the right person. Then, I got fired and started the whole thing with Logan and it was eating me up inside. I was going in circles, spiraling, making horrible decisions during the day and unable to sleep at night with just… self-hatred. And I realized I couldn’t do this on my own. So I called Paris up, and she referred to me to Dr. Rosen. She’s my therapist. Most of my freelance paychecks go towards my health insurance, just so I afford my sessions. But she’s good, she’s been helping me so much —”
“I get it, kid. I get it.” Lorelai raises her hand and stops Rory before the conversation derails any more. “But why not tell me? I feel like you’ve been keeping me in the dark, telling me things after they’ve already happened. You’re back in Stars Hollow, but you feel a million miles away!”
Rory slips the sleeves of her hoodie down over her hands and bites her lip as she thinks over how to approach this with Lorelai. Finally, she just takes the plunge, after all, Lorelai will not take any of this and have a measured response.
“I’ve been trying to be on my own.” Rory lets out a breath. “I mean, be my own person. Accountable to myself first. Dr. Rosen has been having me write every morning, our story. And writing it out, I just realized that I’ve spent my life so far trying to live up to Lorelai Gilmore’s daughter, the Town Princess.”
“You’re pinning your mistakes on me? I never told you to do any of that stuff! We weren’t even speaking during your Grand Theft Yacht,” Lorelai huffs.
Rory drops her head against the back cushion and rolls her eyes. “That is not what I meant!”
Lorelai takes a seat on the edge of the couch and asks, “So, what did you mean?”
“I meant,” Rory huffs as she straightens, “that I’ve known exactly who you want me to be since I was little. I mean, the Harvard-grad Christian Amanpour plan? I’m not even sure where the foreign correspondent dream came from, other than the memories of you always mentioning that you wished you had seen more of the world and how much you admired her strength.”
“Rory, I would have been fine with whatever career path you chose - ” Lorelai begins to argue.
“No, mom, you wouldn’t have been. At least, not initially. Look at what happened with Yale!” Rory shakes her head, remembering her mother’s reaction to her taking time off. “I was burnt out, unsure of where I was going or what I was doing. But deviating from the path you had set out for me seemed like the ultimate betrayal to you, and I think that I’ve just been afraid of doing that ever since. God, mom, look at me!”
“I am looking at you! You’re a Yale grad that’s been published in The New Yorker! You’re getting back to it, figuring out what’s best for you.”
“Mom, I am 31 years old, functionally unemployed, and living in my step-dad’s old apartment above a diner in my hometown where the number of job opportunities for a journalist are limited. And limited is being optimistic. It’s actually more like less than 10, and that’s assuming there’s turnover in the next few weeks.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.”
Rory fiddles with her sweater for a few seconds. “I think I’ve learned to tune my own feelings out,” she admits.
Lorelai blinks and her face falls. She looks shaken and bit scared, when she whispers, “Why?”
“I don’t trust myself,” Rory shrugs. “Because the few times I went with what I was feeling and you disapproved, things would get worse and I just — I think I just convinced myself that you were right and I was wrong. Just always wrong.”
Lorelai looks apprehensive and bit like she’s about to argue that point into the ground. But she lets it go, miraculously. “So, what? You’ll never tell Logan you got an abortion?”
“Ugh, mom, I’m hoping its a long time before I see him again. And if I do, it’ll be surface-level only. We’ve circled the drain too many times, and I’m sick and tired of it. We knew the story ended and yet we kept trying anyway.”
“I’m not sure what to say,” Lorelai exhales and then chuckles dryly. “I’m not sure there is much for me to say now. You’ve made your choice without me.”
“Mom,” Rory starts. But her mom is across the apartment already, gathering her things.
“I think,” her voice wobbles. “I think I’ll just leave you so you can rest.”
…
Rory shoves her hands into her sweater and leans back against the vinyl seat of the booth at Luke’s. It's closed, but Caesar had taken a look at her and whipped up her usual order.
“I don’t get it.” Lane starts — again. Rory's starting to think that she’d broken her brain with this particular piece of news. “Lorelai is upset that you’re not going to be a single mother?”
“I don’t know.” Then Rory shakes her head. “I think she’s more mad that I did it without her permission.”
“You’re 31,” Lane gives her a look and bites into her bacon.
Rory returns her look. “You know my mother.”
Lane shakes her head. “You guys get along so well, she just needs to process.”
“I think she’s just mad that I got it and didn’t tell her. And didn’t plan on ever telling her,” Rory shrugs. “But to be honest, I hadn’t gotten that far in planning. I didn’t go into the clinic thinking about what I’d tell my mother. I went in thinking about my complete inability to take care of myself financially or emotionally or even physically! I mean, Caesar made this for me! I don’t know how to cook, Lane. I’m 31 years old and I never learned how to cook.”
Lane purses her lips and sets her fork down. “You don’t know how to cook because Lorelai doesn’t know how to cook. I’m sure Emily doesn’t know how to cook. It’s like a law of the universe — Gilmore girls talk circles around you, but they do not cook.”
“Adults know how to cook,” Rory mumbles. “Fully functional adults, that is. You know how to cook. Luke knows, duh.”
“Rory,” Lane sighs. “If you want to learn how to cook, then learn how to cook. It’s a skill, like anything else. Not exactly magic."
“Does instant ramen count as cooking?”
“No. Just no, but especially no if you use an electric kettle. I mean, at that point, you’re not even boiling water yourself.”
Rory resumes cutting her pancakes into manageable little pieces. “I turned down a job. A terribly paid one at a low-tier paper. Thought I could do better. Well, turns out I can’t.”
“Rory, you can do better. But also, you’re the journalist here. Isn’t the economy not doing so hot? I mean, Taylor had to consolidate his businesses around town and I’m pretty sure one of the unicorn stores closed!”
“Yes, exactly. It’s like I put on these blinders and suddenly all I’m seeing is whatever I’ve convinced myself is right. I block everything else, anything that goes against getting what I want, even reason, apparently.” Rory slumps in her seat. “Shouldn’t I be… further along by now?”
“Uh, like —” Lane shoots a look at her midriff. “Because I thought that got taken care of.”
“It was. I meant, life in general. I’m not saying that I dreamt of a wedding and kids, but I did sort of, well, believe that would happen. It was a duh factor of my future. I would become a foreign correspondent, but maintain a home base somewhere interesting and fun - New York, probably, and have a loving husband and one or two kids by now.”
“Rory, no one is where they thought they would be when they were 17.” Lane gives her another tired look. “Look at me. Recent divorcee, mother of 2, living with my mother and juggling a retail job with the band. When I was 17, I thought we’d be signed to a label and touring the world. Or the East Coast, at least.”
“You’ve toured the East Coast.” Rory protests. “I saw you perform in Boston.”
“Three shows does not make a tour, Ror. But it’s fine. My kids are good, my mother’s really mellowed out. And the band keeps going. If the plan doesn't work out, you just have to adapt. Clinging on to what should’ve been will only make the process harder.”
Rory chews on a piece of a pancake for a second before smiling.
“You’re so wise,” Rory grins. “I like 31 year-old Lane.”
Lane hums happily as she brings up piece of the pancake into her mouth. “And I like 31 year-old Rory, even if her life is a mess.”
Rory groans into her eggs.
“Hey, you can fix it.” Lane shrugs. “31 is the perfect age to start, I think.”