Christmas Day may seem an inopportune time to offer up another interpretation of Rory Gilmore's pregnancy, but here it is, anyway.

I was intending to make this a Christmas-themed story, but I put off writing it until tonight, and I only got so far, so I'm posting the first two parts tonight. This story was first birthed in my head due to extended speculation on Twitter about how the timeline in Fall could be interpreted so that Logan wasn't actually the father of Rory's child, and I was wondering how much drama could be could be taken away if we removed him from the equation entirely.

Also at fault: my deep abiding love for The Grinder, which I promise does not extend beyond the first chapter.

This will eventually be a Literati story (and by eventually, I mean in a big way in Chapter 3) but we've got some issues with Rory to sort out first, and Logan is one of those issues. I promise that he will go away soon.

So enjoy, please review, and I promise Literati action very, very soon!

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm pregnant."

She turned to face me. Gap-mouthed. Shocked. Disappointed. Humiliated.

This was not how I planned to share this news.

"Rory."

She sounded so devastated.

I nervously wrung my hands. "I didn't mean to tell you today," I tried to explain.

And really, I hadn't. It was her wedding day, the wedding that she had put off for nine years. The last thing I had wanted to do was to jeopardize her happiness.

I'd been gradually weaning myself off of caffeine since the home test had come back positive a week ago. For a writer who had nursed an addiction to the stuff for over two decades as a way to fuel late-night creative bursts and manage steadily encroaching deadlines, it wasn't easy. I couldn't even gorge myself on aspirin to help get rid of the headaches because hello, pregnant.

However, three days of frantic family wedding planning, unexpected paternal confrontations, and emotional contemplation had caught up to me. Staying up all night for this whirlwind pre-wedding wedding had finally brought me to my breaking point. Especially since I was unable to tell anyone why I couldn't use my usual panacea to help me through it.

I was feeling so much. Elation at seeing my mom and Luke finally get married. I didn't think I've ever seen her so at peace. Sadness at the fact that my childhood was really over. Relief that my mom had finally accepted where I wanted to take my life from here and write about the two of us.

And beneath all of that, there were all of the things I hadn't yet begun to really think about. Fear. Uncertainty. Worry. Doubt. And swirling around all of it, a deep feeling of inadequacy.

How could I be anything close to what my mom was?

And selfishly, maybe I just needed to tell her, to admit it out loud, that it was real.

"How?" she asked quietly.

I wrapped my arms around myself. "I skipped a few pills," I replied.

That was true. Mostly.

"Rory, you know better than that. Especially with Logan being engaged, you didn't know the other half of what was going on –"

I collapsed in a fit of laughter.

"Rory. Rory, it's not funny. Rory –"

Oh, man. Nobody was going to believe what had really happened, were they? Nobody.

Mom reached out to grab the sleeve of my sweater. "RORY!"

That seemed to bring me back to reality. I reached for my glass of orange juice and downed a couple of sips.

"Kid, you're scaring me. What's really going on?"

I put the glass down. "You're right, Mom. Me, pregnant with my engaged ex-boyfriend's baby? That would not be funny at all."

"Rory, talk to me."

I turned to face her. The giddy new bride before me had transformed into a frantic, harried mother, seeking to talk me out of another anxiety-induced meltdown. Once again, I felt incredibly guilty for not having the discernment to postpone this discussion to a later date in her married life. Like maybe a week?

Well, it was too late now.

I cleared my throat.

"I know that with everything going on with me, it's logical to assume that Logan's the father," I began.

Mom ran her finger around the top of her glass. I felt her eyes silently implore me to continue.

I gulped, and continued on.

"But what if he wasn't?"