Mine? Yours.

Chapter 1

I couldn't get my thoughts straight, it was all like a bad dream. I always pictured myself, like in those cheesy commercials, sitting on the bathroom floor, with my husband, in our very own first apartment, happy about the fact that in a couple of months we won't get our healthy amount of sleep. I knew life treated me well. I was privileged. Maybe I didn't live off of a trust fund but I never missed out on anything that I ever wanted, which was more than I sometimes deserved. I knew that my mother had her way of getting me on the path that she believed was best for me and I went along with everything, desperately trying to please her most of the time. It was around the time that my doctor called me with the oh so happy news that I realized that the path I was chasing was supposed to be a plan B all along, I never had something steady to guide me, something that was prior to anything else, up until now.

Having a baby was supposed to be steady. Having a child was supposed to be calming and joyful, instead, I've got a headache and 3 stress-zits on top of the morning sickness, as if that didn't make me feel calm and joyful on its own. Mom was awfully cheerful though, I think it is the thought of a grandchild in her mind that kept her from the fact that I wasn't ready for him or her or it. I wasn't following her footsteps, I knew that and so did she, but that didn't make it any better.

Surprisingly enough my mother wasn't the one who suggested I should tell him right away, Jess did. Right after the wedding I sat with him and told him straight ahead, he seemed shocked. He tried to hide it, tried to comfort me with his calming looks, he knew how I felt about this baby, I didn't even have to tell him, it was very obvious. He tried convincing me that telling Logan would be the right thing to do and that I will regret it if I don't and my baby grows up without a father. He even went as far as reminding me of my own childhood and all of the things that I have missed because my parents were selfish teenagers if I may say so myself. Of course, a child cannot be happy if the parents aren't, but they didn't even try, they didn't even consider the possibility of me having both parents actively involved in my life. I'm not mad, I don't blame anyone, but, this is the time in my life that I am questioning every parenting decision I have ever witnessed in order to analyze it and rate in a scale from shitty to amazing.

He wouldn't let it go, Jess was persistent but I was my mother's daughter, I am stubborn to the point where there is no use in trying to get me to pick up that phone. Logan had his life together, he was on a good path. He was on his way to walks in the park, with his wife Odette and two beautiful blonde children, walking a dog he hated and never agreed to but learned to love along the way. How could I ever take that away from him? His picture-perfect, tv commercial type of family waiting for him.

He showed me life. He showed me risk. He showed me that life begins the moment you step out of your comfort zone. He was showing me that I am more than what I thought I was, and here I am, proving to myself, that I am less. I knew he was the person that could make this feel better, he was my go-to happiness medicine, yet, the only thing that I loved more than my happiness dosage was him, and I could never cut him away from what he deserved, which was everything he wanted and his family would be happy with. Just imagine the look on Shira's face after all these years of pure despise towards me, telling her I'm carrying the heir of the Huntzberger family.

Jess refused to leave me all by myself, and the next day as well. It became a regular thing for him to at least stop by, get me food, treat me like I have a disease. He was good, deep down, he was always good. Jess was my definition of a good heart, sometimes hidden, sometimes crying for attention, but always good. Jess saw me strong, he made me feel invincible, able to demolish a tank. He made me feel as if this baby was going to be as scary as the dumbo ride in Disneyland. He comforted me, he was there and made sure I knew, every day, that he wasn't leaving, which was as comforting as mac and cheese and a rerun of „Casablanca".

Don't get me wrong, I loved his presence, I knew it was right for support to be around me and for me not to be forced to this alone. It was the night of the "Yale Alumni Annual Dance". It was as silly as it sounds, but grandpa did this with pride, he showed me off, he talked highly of me when I wasn't deserving off that. I owed him, to honor his traditions, even the ones I wasn't very fond of. This was only once a year and sometimes I wish It was more often. It made him feel alive, it made it feel as if he was there, the conversations, the book reviews, the music filling the air. I missed him, he was what I aspired to be, he was strong, he ruled everything he touched, he never needed anything, but grandma. And even though, she demanded to go first, he wouldn't let her, probably because that's the one thing he always secretly knew he wasn't going to be able to deal with.

I wore a black dress to this occasion, it was an elegant, knee-length black dress, I put my hair up and did my make up. I was satisfied and after a long time, I felt good in front of a mirror. The car - ride there was just what I needed, I wasn't driving for quite some time, Jess sort of didn't really allow me to ever have a reason to drive anywhere, and I did love some loud music and street lights passing. As I arrived It looked like a luxury car show, everyone was dressed well, the dresses were shiny, the ties were tight and the martinis were strong. I was instructed to wait by my car when I heard my date almost screaming at the phone.

Paris was arguing about her surrogates not having brown hair as requested by the family, promising a non-toxic, super-expensive hair dye. Francie was right, Paris ruled the world, but that wasn't what made her special to me. Paris kept me grounded, and just like every time before, she had my back at these dances. She was way too intelligent to waste time with small talk, so she, like always, wanted a full report on my pregnancy and then together, we walked inside to our seats. The hall was beautifully decorated, flowers everywhere, they've outdone themselves again.

We ate, we danced, we chit-chatted, Paris introduced me to some people, we made fun of everyone that we didn't like. I enjoyed myself, I always did with Paris, she was my person. I saw Marty that evening, his job as a professor at Yale did him well, he looked very pleased to see me. A long time ago we met at a birthday party of a mutual colleague, each of us had a drink too much and ended up talking. We talked about life, how it was treating us and why we stopped treating each other well. He told me he was sorry, the thing with Lucy was childish, he went even as far as telling me he was embarrassed by everything he has done to push me away from him. It was good seeing one more friendly face there. Marty was a friend, he was a good friend.

Paris couldn't stop asking questions about Jess, she didn't understand how we worked. Quite frankly, I wasn't sure myself, he was my own personal support system. I was talking to Paris about how all of this confuses me and makes me feel even more nauseous than I already was, and that is so beside the fact that I was at the time 3 months pregnant.

Two hours have passed, Paris was on the dance floor. She promised me that after one more song she would be back and that we would get another drink together at a bar nearby. Everything was going after plan, I saw Paris pointing towards me, probably saying how we should get going. And just as I was reaching out for my purse, a familiar smell made me instantly look up. He stood in front of me with his smile, that smile. I swore I forgot how to breathe for a second. He stepped closer to me, and I moved my chair backward. He stopped at his track and looked me deadly into the eyes and he only said „Ace." But his tone, the way we both searched for an excuse to escape this room but couldn't find it. Logan was standing so close to me and the only thing I was able to do is run away to Paris, holding my coat and purse, almost pushing a woman out of my way.

Little Rory would be disappointed in me. Little Rory would use that big, fat book from her purse to punch me so hard I would forget where I was and who I have become. She was stronger than me, she was persistent and curious. Curiosity was the one thing from my childhood that I wished I would never lose, and here I was, running away from possibilities. Little Rory would take the little chances that she had and turn everything around, the only thing I have turned around, was my back, my back to him. I let little Rory in me down. I wish I was curious enough to wonder what would happen if I let him have a chance of fatherhood.