THIRTY-TWO

"...with a big cake,

happy birthday!

Did I paint your bluest skies the darkest grey?"

———

July 19th, 2018 - New York, New York

"...But what am I supposed to do, Mom?"

"Honey, I don't exactly know. But I'm trying to help—"

"Mom, please!" Taylor cried.

"Taylor, darling, please don't let this make you so upset," Andrea sighed through the phone. "Heather knows what's going on. In less than two days she'll be flying up to you with Maeve and Dean. I'll be there as soon as tonight, depending on whatever delays there are with these storms arriving this afternoon—"

"Mom, I'm losing her," Taylor fretted, her voice clogged with tears. "I don't know how to help her. I'm trying to convince her that everything is going to be okay but it isn't working. And so how am I supposed to do it, then? She's hardly sleeping. She's lost weight and she buries herself in her computer. She's editing these tour photos like a slave and I'm at the point where I'm just...mad. I get furious watching what she's doing to herself because all I can think about is what it's doing to the baby—"

"Taylor, listen to me," her mother cut in, "this isn't something you can control. I know you want Thea to be okay, we all do, but only Thea is the one who has control over how she feels."

"But...What if I'm just making it worse?"

"What? Don't be ridiculous!" Andrea gasped. "Goodness. Why would a thought like that even cross your mind?"

Taylor laughed stiffly. "Gee, I don't know. My dating history?"

"Taylor, no. I don't want to hear it because you know damn well that you weren't the only reason those relationships ended," Andrea inserted sternly.

She chuckled under her breath, then muttered, "Yeah, well regardless of whose fault it is, I've see history repeat itself more than enough fucking times."

"I'm going to hang up and finish packing my suitcase," her mother declared, oblivious to the previous comment, "and even though you haven't listened to me the first dozen times I've said it, I promise that everything will be just fine."

Taylor didn't say anything. Her mother's words hadn't reassured her the first several times and this one wasn't appearing to be any different.

"Okay?" Andrea prodded.

Taylor sighed heavily, biting her lower lip. "Okay."

After hanging up, she smacked her phone down on the table, though throwing it out the penthouse window  seemed like a much more satisfying option.

It had been a month since their encounter with Sophie, and little did Taylor know that it would also be the last day she'd have Dorothea. Well, okay—She still had Dorothea. But she didn't have Thea. As each day passed, it became harder recognize the girl with the sun-kissed glow and the laugh she wished she could bottle up and keep for the times she became so desperate to hear it.

But she also didn't know what to do. Dorothea still smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. When she laughed, Taylor was convinced it had been a few seconds shorter than before. There was an emptiness growing more and more visible in her girlfriend's features, showing no signs of slowing down. The thought of it woke Taylor in the middle of the night, but what drenched her in a cold sweat was the baby. Two-am rolled around, and all she could do was stare at her girlfriend's belly.

Some nights, she talked to her. Sometimes for a few seconds, a lot of times much longer. Taylor mostly whispered the same things: Hi Peanut. Hi baby. How's it going in there? Are you comfortable? I love you. The two-am darkness—wherever they were sleeping for the night—had become their unofficial rendezvous point. As far as she knew, Dorothea was unaware of their secret moments, though on multiple occasions, she stirred as though she was hanging on to every last word.

There was one particular night that Taylor was in tears (though the last thing she wanted was for Peanut—or Dorothea—to hear her when she was sad). Lacking sleep and exhausted from performing, her worry over her girlfriend had gotten the better of her. As Dorothea slept at her side, she looked at the woman's bump through a veil of sadness, dark splotches of salty tears blooming one by one on the sheets below. Over and over again, like a desperate prayer, she whispered, "Mama needs you."

She had been referring to Dorothea, of course.

Or had she been?

Taylor startled at the sound of water rushing into the kitchen sink. Across the room, the younger woman appeared as though out of thin air, filling up the tea kettle from the stove. It was unclear whether or not the girl knew she was sitting at the table.

Oh god, the phone call. The thought briefly flashed through her mind of Dorothea hovering at the top of the stairs away from her view, listening like a ghost.

Taylor's throat tightened as she watched the brunette from behind, who was searching through one of the cabinets. She was much paler; the dots of her upper spine flashed beneath the collar of her shirt...But that wasn't new, was it? She'd been poked by the other woman's limbs countless times, long before the past month.

A sudden wave of panic caused her to abruptly stand up, which consequently almost launched the other woman off her feet.

"Sorry—"

"It's okay—"

"I didn't mean to—"

"I know."

Dorothea laughed, but even from across the kitchen Taylor could see the distance forming in her gaze. She looked around herself, and Taylor knew the woman was now trying to remember what had brought her into the room in the first place. That had been happening a lot recently.

"It's lunch time," Taylor mentioned. A gentle reminder. Those had also been happening a lot recently.

The brunette nodded, smiling faintly. She looked overwhelmed. "Anything you're in the mood for?" She asked.

"We can make something," Taylor suggested lightly, "or I can order out and ask Ted to pick it up."

She watched the younger woman glance around the kitchen. A month ago, she would have decided in seconds. Right as Taylor was about to reign her in, Dorothea's soft voice broke the silence. "Sandwiches here?"

Taylor smiled and went around the counter to the fridge. While she grabbed all of the ingredients, Dorothea went into the cabinet to take out a second mug for tea. Many of their recent moments occurred in comfortable, yet just as uncomfortable silence. There was something sort of maddening about the lack of conversation, but at the same time, their shared presence felt more substantial than any words Taylor had attempted in the past few weeks.

"Do you think he's looking for me?" Dorothea suddenly asked.

Taylor's mouth fell open, mostly due to being blindsided by the mention of Nick. But in almost perfect coincidence, the tea kettle whistled angrily, and Dorothea turned towards the stove.

After parting ways with Sophie on that dark London street, he hadn't been brought up once. What drove her to finally mention him now?

Taylor cleared her throat, picking up a plate in each hand. "It's going to be a lot harder with your new number," she noted.

"But do you think he is?" The brunette pressed.

"I don't know and I don't care," Taylor quipped. She instantly bit her lower lip regretfully as she set the sandwiches on the table. Nick—and Sophie—could quite literally go fuck themselves. Or get hit by a train.

Or both.

"I think the bassinet is arriving today, or, so UPS says," Taylor mentioned.

"You mean one of the four that you ordered?" Dorothea laughed faintly. Thank god, Taylor thought, her attempt to change the subject worked.

"One for each house," she mused.

Dorothea rolled her eyes as she sat down. "Might as well have made her a bed of money."

"That would be filthy." Taylor grimaced.

"Maybe. But I'm pretty sure I would sleep like a baby."

She looked at the brunette sideways. The woman had a twist of a smirk on her lips as she picked up her sandwich and examined it. Those flickers of Thea were like spotting diamonds in a cave.

The arrival of Peanut was becoming very real. Despite Dorothea emptying before her eyes, Taylor's apartment was simultaneously being filled to the brim. Packages of clothes, blankets, socks, swaddles, bibs, toys, diapers, and countless boxes of obscure infant gadgets piled up in the hallways and spare rooms.

Naturally, having all of those things shipped to her TriBeCa place had made the decision of where to have the baby quite easy. Though many recent choices seemed impossible, that one was surprisingly simple. But it was mostly a relief to Taylor, who was slowly becoming more and more consumed by the looming due date.

And with that, she was becoming very scared.

But there was no reason to mention that to Dorothea because she wanted the baby. She wanted Dorothea and Peanut, even though she was fucking terrified of the idea of raising a child and now more confused than ever. If she couldn't assure that her girlfriend was okay, how would she ever be able to do the same for a helpless newborn?

Taylor looked up when Dorothea's phone rattled on the table. Her face fell as she groaned and dropped her once-bitten sandwich back onto her plate. Taylor could see a few green notifications blinking onto the screen on Heather's behalf.

"More baby names?" Taylor joked.

"No, thankfully," Dorothea sighed as she thumbed through the texts. "Speaking of which, how's your knowledge on astrology?"

Taylor let out a sudden, sharp laugh. "Minimal."

"Well according to my mother, anyone-who's-anyone is naming their kid after a constellation. Or a Greek god."

"Don't you already have a name?" Taylor asked.

"Yes."

"So why don't you tell her? Or me?"

Dorothea smirked. "She's having fun with it."

"You're torturing her," Taylor corrected.

"And she's been torturing me for twenty-three years," the brunette chuckled, dropping her phone facedown on the table.

"I don't believe that," Taylor stated, "but technically, it's almost twenty-four."

Dorothea picked up her sandwich and took a bite, holding it for a few seconds before swallowing. She then smiled wryly. "Two days and it'll be exactly one year until I start my slow march to death."

"Dorothea!"

"It's science!" The brunette defended, "Maeve told me she learned about it in Med school. After twenty-five, your ratio of new cells to old ones becomes less balanced. Hence, more of you is dying than living."

"What a happy thought, Dr. Madison."

Taylor rolled her eyes as the woman laughed. Normally, she would have found it funny. But given how...precarious things were recently—which Dorothea should have been most aware of—she couldn't bring herself to laugh.

"Your mom is excited to see you for your birthday," Taylor said, once again desperate to switch the subject.

"She hates New York," the younger woman countered.

"She doesn't hate you."

Dorothea made a noise that she couldn't quite decipher, picking up her sandwich again, along with her phone. For the next few minutes, the girl became lost in the device.

Suddenly, Taylor felt an edge of frustration sharpen from within when she eyed the unmistakable Perez Hilton header. She jumped out of her seat, swiping the phone.

"Hey!"

"Stop looking at that shit!" Taylor demanded.

"I was reading that!" Dorothea argued, trying unsuccessfully to reach for the phone. "Seriously, T.? It's just a fucking article—"

"It's a waste of your time!"

"It's about us!"

"I don't give a shit!" Taylor exclaimed, "And neither should you—"

"I don't!"

"Then why even bother reading it at all?"

Dorothea slid her chair back and stood up, dropping the majority of the sandwich back onto her plate. Her jaw twitched, but her voice was quiet. "I'm going to get some work done."

Taylor stared at the two sandwiches as she heard the other woman walk into the living room, then up the stairs. She looked down at her girlfriend's phone, still in her hand and open to the article:

Baby Mama DRAMA???

Taylor Swift was yet again spotted with a pregnant woman rumored to be her girlfriend. Just imagine the songs to come out of THIS one!

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Taylor snapped, swiping out of the article.

Her thumb hovered over the Internet app on the girl's phone. In less than a second she could delete it, along with more than a dozen other social media apps.

Suddenly, her mother's voice floated into her thoughts. Here she was—once again—trying to control everything. But what was she supposed to do? How could her mother possibly expect her to passively watch her girlfriend on this destructive path, as though sitting in a tacky leather chair like some lousy shrink?

Taylor jammed her thumb against the app and watched all of them begin to wobble.

———

July 21st, 2018 - East Rutherford, New Jersey

"...Happy Birthday Dear Thea..."

"...Happy Birthday to you!"

The dressing room at MetLife Stadium went radio-silent. The eyes of the dancers, band, Tree, Taylor, Andrea, her mother and siblings were all on Dorothea. The glow of twenty-four candles illuminated the mascara tracks on her face and her dripping hair. The majority of the people in the room were soaked to the skin from the downpour that lasted the entire night's show.

Dorothea stared at the flames for a moment, watching the wax bead and melt against the sparkly candles. She was aware of multiple phones being held up as she took a breath, then gently blew them out.  Flashes, claps and cheers erupted in the space, and the first person she looked at was Taylor, who was hovering near the edge of the group. Her blonde hair appeared darker, as though right after she stepped out of the shower, yet somehow her makeup remained unscathed. From the distance, Dorothea could see her lips turned up in a soft smile.

She was giving her space. When she discovered that the singer deleted her social apps, there was suddenly a lot more of that. She didn't mention it because she was secretly relieved. Although it only made her feel that much more guilty for looking at it on her computer.

She didn't want to read it but when she did she felt like she had control. If she was on top of everything swirling around on the Internet, then she would always have the upper hand.

As people dissolved into conversation and the cake was being cut, Dorothea unlocked her phone, but stopped as her thumb met the spot where Instagram once was. Without thinking, she averted to where the Internet was and, of course, was met with nothing. She glanced up at Taylor, who was talking with a few of the dancers, then back down at the screen. Her phone was on the stadium WiFi. It would take less than thirty seconds to download—

"Hey Pretty!—" Dorothea spun around towards her sister's voice, heart kick-starting as though caught shoplifting or sneaking ice cream at two in the morning.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" Maeve asked.

Dorothea glanced around, spotting her brother and mom absorbed in conversation, just like everyone else in the room. She looked back at Maeve, whose expression seemed pleasant, yet also unreadable."Uh—Yeah. What's up?"

Instead of answering, Maeve turned and walked to a more open space by the door. She took a sip from the cocktail in her hand, then gave a feathery laugh. "I saw you out there tonight, Babe. You were killing it! I was screaming at the top of my lungs, 'That's my baby sister right there!'"

Dorothea laughed uneasily. "Ah, so that was your voice."

Maeve half-smiled, taking another sip of her drink. "Your girlfriend wasn't so bad herself."

"More talented than me," she agreed.

"She's a doll," her sister said, glancing in the singer's direction.

Dorothea smiled and nodded. There was a strange, tangled sensation growing in her chest. She looked towards the crowd on the other side of the room, then back at Maeve. "So...Why exactly did you bring me over here?" She laughed.

"I don't think you realize how much that girl loves you," Maeve said, her voice suddenly turning hard.

"What?" Dorothea exclaimed, eyes darting towards the singer, then back to her sister. "What are you talking about? Of course I do!"

"Then why don't you act like it?"