When Rory arrived, she found London cloaked in gray, its pavements dark from recent rain. As she sat in the back of a cab on the way to Logan's apartment, she gazed out at the gloomy streets, unable to shake the feeling of heading to a funeral rather than paying a visit to the father of her child.
Her hand instinctively went to her stomach as she neared her destination. When the taxi pulled to the curb, Logan emerged from the apartment building in his expensive blue suit, walking over with a smile on his face.
He opened the door for Rory before handing the driver some cash.
"You didn't have to do that," she said as they watched the taxi pull away.
He shrugged in that nonchalant way of his, always so confident and sure. She had been the same way once. "So how are you?" he asked.
"I'm good." She motioned to him, admiring the impeccable cut of his suit. Logan had always had style. "You look good. Like you're about to head a meeting in a board room full of stuffy big wigs."
He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Got me pegged, Ace." He touched her elbows and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "So what brings you to my neck of the woods?"
"We have some things to talk about." Rory wrapped her arms around herself, eyes darting around. "Can we go upstairs?"
"Of course." He led the way back to the building, holding the door open. Perhaps sensing the gravity of the situation, he said nothing as they boarded the elevator. Both were quiet as they rose up to the top floor, saying nothing until they were inside the closed door of Logan's apartment.
"What's going on?" Logan asked, the mirth all but gone from his face.
Rory did a quick check of the rooms then stood at the foot of the steps, listening for any signs of life upstairs.
"She's not here. She's in Nice for the bachelorette party," he said.
Rory's skin prickled at the mention of Odette and the impending nuptials. Again Rory wondered if she was doing the right thing, if coming here two days before his wedding was the wisest decision. She'd thought about this moment so many times during the eight hour flight, she could no longer tell if she was being selfless or selfish. Was she really here to be considerate or was she, as she secretly feared, intentionally ruining his chance at a happy marriage?
"Rory?"
"Excuse me, I have to use the bathroom. Or the loo as you Brits call it, though technically you're not a Brit," she said, mumbling and stumbling over her words as she walked away. She stopped. "I'll be right back."
She spent a long time in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet lid, trying to gather her wits, her thoughts going round and round in dizzying circles. When she stood up, she was lightheaded and even more unsure than before.
Nevertheless, she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "Fake it 'till you make it, kid," she told herself before marching out.
"Okay, so I gather this isn't a social call," Logan said, leaning against the back of the gray couch that looked almost identical to the sectional upstairs. He stood up as she neared, the skin between his eyebrows wrinkled. "Are you all right? Did someone die?"
"No," she said. And before she knew it, the words were tumbling from her lips: "Logan, I'm pregnant."
His face registered shock from her words but, a moment later, a smile began tugging on the corners of his mouth, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Did Colin put you up to this?" he asked. He walked over to the window and looked out, as if expecting his Life and Death Brigade friends to suddenly Mission Impossible off the roof, jump through into his apartment, and yell "Gotcha!"
"They're not here," Rory said from across the room. "It's just me."
Logan slid his hands in his pockets with a sigh, keeping his back turned. He stayed that way for a long time, staring out the window, saying nothing.
After a long time, his voice reached across the space between them. "Is it mine?"
"Well it's certainly not the Wookie's," Rory cried out in frustration.
Logan turned around, looking even more perplexed than before. "Do I even want to know what—"
"No."
Logan's eyes flicked down to her stomach. "How far along?"
"Six weeks," she said, wrapping her arms around her middle again. "Since..."
"Since New Hampshire."
She nodded. "Since New Hampshire."
He ran a palm down his face, turning away. "Damn, Rory," he said, staring off into space for a few moments.
"I know the timing is really unfortunate, what with your wedding coming up, but I thought..."
"You thought what?" he asked, watching her with sharp eyes.
She sighed. "I thought you had a right to know."
"You're pregnant," he said, a flush creeping up his face. His lips thinned and jaw muscles worked as he stared at her. "That's... that's..."
She tried not to squirm under his gaze, but she couldn't help but feel as if a giant spotlight was shining directly into her face. "Yes. It's certainly that."
"So what do you want me to do?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"Because you made it clear a long time ago that you don't want to be with me, remember?"
She looked down at the polished dark wood floors, nodding.
"Do you need money?"
She glared at him. "No."
He held up his hands. "I had to ask."
"Well, don't."
He walked over and stopped in front of her, touching a finger to her chin and tipping her head back. "Are you here because you've changed your mind about us?" he asked, his eyebrows raised in question.
She looked up at him, her heart pounding in her chest. A million thoughts went through her head, memories of her life with Logan rushing by, of the good times and the bad. "But Odette..." was all she could think to say.
"I can break it off with her, no questions asked," he said without hesitation.
"Two days before the wedding?"
He shook his head. "She was never the one I wanted. You know that."
"I didn't come here to break up your engagement," she said, feeling as if she was standing at the edge of a cliff with the wind at her back. She needed only to lean forward and she would fall right into Logan's world, into a future that was certain and sure.
Logan smiled, taking her hands in his. "Just say the word, Ace, and it's done."
~
Jess awoke to a buzzing sound. He threw an arm out to the side table, his hand making contact with his phone. Peering out of one eye, he looked at the screen and saw Lorelai's name on the caller ID.
"Hel—" He cleared his throat and tried again. "Hello?"
"Were you still asleep?" Lorelai asked, sounding as if she'd already had three cups of coffee. "It's eleven-thirty."
"I write at night," he said. "What's going on? Did something happen? Tell Taylor to take his witch hunt somewhere else because I didn't do it."
"How did you know Taylor was—never mind," Lorelai said. "No. I meant to call you."
"Why?"
"I need your help with something."
He sat up and rubbed his face, trying to wake up. "Now I know you really have the wrong number."
"I seem to have a problem with a desk that magically appeared on my porch between last night and just now. I tried moving it but it's extremely heavy and there's a crisis in the diner so Luke can't help me."
"What crisis?" he asked, listening for any sounds of an emergency downstairs and hearing none.
"Something about a bacon shortage right before the weekly CrossFit paleo meeting. He said it's like the Hunger Games there right now, people in booty shorts throwing barbells around and shooting arrows at each other to get to the last piece of bacon."
"Kirk had better keep Petal at home then," Jess said with a chuckle.
Lorelai sighed. "So? Can you help me?"
"So a desk, huh?" he asked. "On your porch you say?"
"Yes, a desk on my porch," she said, sounding low on patience.
"What kind are we talking about here?" he asked with a grin. Even after their agreed ceasefire, with many years of peaceful coexistence between them, he still enjoyed antagonizing her a little. "For example, is it made of particle board? Oak? Plastic? Steel? Knowing is half the battle."
"I don't know. It's real wood. It looks like something you'd see in one of those fancy attorney's offices with elaborate engravings and wood inlay and—ahh!"
"What? Are you all right?"
She gasped. "Oh my God, I think my father's haunting me."
A few minutes later, Jess found Lorelai standing on the porch with a hand held over her mouth. Her eyes were wide, fixed on the massive wood desk sitting smack dab in the middle of the front porch.
"Redecorating?" he quipped. "Though, for maximum feng shui, I recommend a coffee table on the roof."
Lorelai shook her head, eyes fixed on the desk. "I've gone through every possible scenario in my head and I still can't fathom how my father's desk got on my porch without my notice," she said. "And I think my mother is filtering me because my calls keep going to voicemail."
"Maybe the desk was lonely and came round for a visit?"
She fixed him with a wry look. "Rory would know," she said, getting out her phone and dialing.
Jess walked around the table, testing its weight while listening in on the call, shaking his head and smiling as Lorelai described the desk situation to her daughter.
While mother and daughter talked, an idea came to him about where to place the desk. It would take some effort to move, but it would be worth it.
It took Jess a moment to notice that Lorelai had grown silent. He looked up and found the phone still held up to her ear, a shocked expression on her face. A strange sense of foreboding crawled up his spine, similar to the time his mother had dropped the bomb that she was sending him away, off to a small town he'd never seen, to live with an uncle he barely knew.
Jess tried to shake it off but, when Lorelai glanced over at him, the fear took hold and its sharp nails dug in.
Only after Lorelai hung up, did he try to speak. "How's Rory?" he asked casually.
"She's..." Lorelai stopped, looking down at her phone instead of him. "She's good. She made it to London okay."
He stuck his fists inside his jacket, fighting the urge to leave. "She take care of business yet?"
Lorelai blinked a few times, a troubled look on her face. "Jess," she said, finally meeting his eyes. "She's with Logan."