ends of the earth: gg drabble
I have not written fanfiction for so long. however I've been way too into old episodes of Gilmore Girls lately to not write this. sooo here we go.
Emily-centric drabble, G.
When the nurse finally hands Emily the bundle of blankets and she cradles for the first time a little writhing pink thing in her arms, she is enchanted. Nine and a half months of carrying the weight around her hips, all sore back and knees and ankles; nine and a half months of lying awake in bed next to Richard long after his snores have started, her hand cupping the top of her belly in reverence. Nine and a half months has finally come down to this, a wrinkled face screaming bloody murder in a dingy hospital room painted puce.
Emily does not think, in twenty six years of life, that she has ever seen anything so beautiful.
She gets lost in tiny scrunched-up eyes that finally blink away the amniotic fluid and stare up at her, suddenly quiet, a dazzling blue. The baby’s lips form an o and Emily is fixated on that face. She imagines this child’s first steps, frilled dresses, a pink room filled with horses and dollhouses. Boys never good enough, schools never smart enough, girls never pretty enough to compare. Emily imagines Yale, Harvard, Oxford, schools and cities all over the world, a glowing future wider than the stretch of her shuddering heart that threatens to suffocate the newborn baby girl in her love.
Emily imagines the look on Trix’s face when her baby girl - Emily’s baby girl - goes on to do great things. She does not care that Richard will insist on naming their child after his mother. This is her child, her child and Richard’s child and not Trix’s child and she will be brilliant, beautiful, successful, defiant. She will break barriers, she will break walls, she will break hearts. Emily swears to herself, in that moment, that this child will be given every opportunity under the sun, that she will guide this child to the ends of the earth and back if that is what it takes.
And Emily swears that this child will be exactly her mother’s daughter.
Emily-centric drabble, G.
When the nurse finally hands Emily the bundle of blankets and she cradles for the first time a little writhing pink thing in her arms, she is enchanted. Nine and a half months of carrying the weight around her hips, all sore back and knees and ankles; nine and a half months of lying awake in bed next to Richard long after his snores have started, her hand cupping the top of her belly in reverence. Nine and a half months has finally come down to this, a wrinkled face screaming bloody murder in a dingy hospital room painted puce.
Emily does not think, in twenty six years of life, that she has ever seen anything so beautiful.
She gets lost in tiny scrunched-up eyes that finally blink away the amniotic fluid and stare up at her, suddenly quiet, a dazzling blue. The baby’s lips form an o and Emily is fixated on that face. She imagines this child’s first steps, frilled dresses, a pink room filled with horses and dollhouses. Boys never good enough, schools never smart enough, girls never pretty enough to compare. Emily imagines Yale, Harvard, Oxford, schools and cities all over the world, a glowing future wider than the stretch of her shuddering heart that threatens to suffocate the newborn baby girl in her love.
Emily imagines the look on Trix’s face when her baby girl - Emily’s baby girl - goes on to do great things. She does not care that Richard will insist on naming their child after his mother. This is her child, her child and Richard’s child and not Trix’s child and she will be brilliant, beautiful, successful, defiant. She will break barriers, she will break walls, she will break hearts. Emily swears to herself, in that moment, that this child will be given every opportunity under the sun, that she will guide this child to the ends of the earth and back if that is what it takes.
And Emily swears that this child will be exactly her mother’s daughter.