THIRTY-FIVE

"...Even on my worst day, did I deserve Babe, all the hell you gave me?..."

———

Taylor stood at the bar, swirling a glass of room-temperature whiskey.

She checked her phone for what felt like the thirtieth time and drew a sharp breath. She didn't know if it was the alcohol or stress bringing the preliminary ache of tears behind her eyes. Either way, this wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Her urge to cry should have been due to relief; happiness. The polar opposite of how she currently felt.

Taylor sipped the amber liquid and shot her gaze to the door. The sticker-covered entrance to Bar None burst open and caused her heart to jump, only for it to plunge into free-fall less than a second later. Where the fuck is she? She thought bitterly.

It wasn't the first time Karlie had been late, though. But this was very important. Arguably the most important plans they had ever made together. They had it set for over a month: No matter what happened earlier that day, they'd meet at Bar None at 9 pm.

No matter how their families reacted.

No matter the aftermath.

No matter what.

Taylor took the first sip of her third drink when the model appeared next to her at the bar. She didn't look at her. It was petty, but she was tired and upset and somewhat drunk, so it seemed like the least that Karlie deserved.

After a moment of awkwardly tapping her fingers on the counter, Karlie sighed, "So, are you gonna lay it on me or what? Though I also don't mind keeping the silence and just getting hammered—"

"We agreed on nine," Taylor interrupted sharply. Her tone was already too angry. She didn't want Karlie to know how upset she was. At least not until she'd run her over with the speech she prepared like a semi-truck on the freeway.

"It's also Thursday, and I told you I had a shoot in the afternoon. My parents got caught in traffic and showed up to dinner late," Karlie explained, her voice tight. "I see them once every six months, Taylor, so excuse me for not wanting to rush them just to meet you at this sticky shithole by a certain time."

Taylor's eyes darkened. She knew the angle the runway model was going for. "You could've put all that in a text," she snarled.

Karlie laughed stiffly, signaling to the bartender. "You say it like it's that simple—"

"It is that fucking simple, Karlie," Taylor interjected, hitting her fist against the bar. She immediately felt her cheeks flame and jammed her hand in her coat pocket.

"But it isn't, Taylor," Karlie snapped. "It never ends with one text. For the rest of dinner I would have been juggling the hardest conversation I've ever had with my parents and also trying to placate you on my phone beneath the fucking tablecloth."

Taylor's throat twitched. There was something about the way she said it that made her feel like an insufferable toddler clinging to her mother's apron strings. "I would have let you talk to them," she said softly.

Karlie didn't look at her as she took a sip of her drink. Taylor was a breath away from repeating herself but she stopped. She knew the model had heard her. What she really wanted to do was cross the gap between them and wrap her arms around her waist; force the taller woman to pay attention to her through all of the ways she did behind closed doors. But they were in public.

Taylor studied her for a moment. Then, right as a rowdy group playing pool broke out in shouts, she asked, "How did it go?"

"Hm?"

"How...Were they? I mean, when you told them you were—" Taylor suddenly froze. It felt like her chest burst into flames. "You didn't come out to them, did you?"

"No." Karlie shook her head, finally meeting her gaze. "I couldn't, and yeah, I know I broke our promise. But I couldn't fucking do it, Taylor. They were all over me about my future and other shit. They were asking about Josh and what's taking him so long—"

"Josh?" Taylor exclaimed. "Are you kidding me? Your parents still think you've been with Josh fucking Kushner all this time—"

"What else are they supposed to think? It's not like I told them we broke up!" Karlie argued.

Taylor scoffed, shaking her head to herself. Now she was the one who couldn't bring herself to look at the other woman. "You're unbelievable," she muttered.

"I'm sorry." The model's voice had gone soft.

"I don't care." Taylor's eyes landed on her like a sea swelling in a wild storm. "We had this planned for months. We were both going to come out to our parents tonight and stop living this double-life bullshit. It's exhausting and I was sick of lying to my mom and dad! Constantly saying I'm not interested in anyone, focusing on my career, waiting for the right person to come around—for fuck's sake! All this time I thought you felt the same way."

"Well, how did it go?" Karlie asked flatly.

Taylor stared at her. Moments ago she wanted any excuse to get closer to the model, but now it didn't seem like any distance would be far enough. "It went great," she lied, pasting on a tight smile. "They're so happy for me."

"Really? Congratulations!" Karlie said obliviously, signaling to the bartender. "Let's celebrate. Tell you what, I'm buying for the rest of the night. Consider it my punishment for being such a pussy—"

"Fuck you, Karlie." Taylor stood from her seat at the bar, smacked a twenty on the counter, and left the model stranded in that sticky shithole.

———

August 12th, 2018

New York, New York

"Oh my god, I'm about to cry!"

"You love it?"

"No, are you kidding me?" Dorothea cried, staring at the full-length mirror in horror. "Oh my god—I'm literally Shamu. But worse. I'm like her ugly fucking step-sister, or something!"

Taylor knew she wasn't supposed to laugh, but she couldn't help it. "Babe, what did you expect? You look exactly how someone who is over eight months pregnant should look."

"This is my first and quite possibly only Versace gown I'm ever going to wear, and I'm literally a beachball with two melon boobs!" Dorothea exclaimed.

"Melon boobs is a little generous..." Taylor mused.

"Funny. I didn't hear any complaints when you were sticking your face in them last night—"

"Are your dreams always that horny?"

"Better enjoy them while you can." Dorothea smirked, pushing up her breasts.

Taylor rolled her eyes, though they quickly landed on the woman's chest. She tore her gaze away as Dorothea burst out laughing. "Put on the shoes," she said, gesturing towards the heels lying at the foot of the king bed.

Dorothea sighed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. "I can't believe I'm going to the VMAs like this. You owe me."

"I owe you?"

"Yes."

"Fine, I'll change three extra diapers as a thank-you for accompanying me to such a boring night with the entire music industry," Taylor offered.

"On top of changing every other one? You're the best." Dorothea smiled.

"Just when I think you aren't funny anymore—"

"Someone has to be the funny one," the brunette hummed. "I stopped laughing at your jokes weeks ago."

Taylor grabbed one of the pillows at her side, only for Dorothea to snatch it right as she was about to whack her. The two stared at each other, smiles brimming in their eyes despite their straight faces.

"So...The shoes?" Taylor hinted.

"What about them?" The younger woman asked, sliding one of her hands —ever-so-slightly— beneath Taylor's shirt.

She lifted an eyebrow, trying not to react as she felt Dorothea's fingers trailing against her hip. But as soon as one reached the waistband of her shorts, she grabbed the woman's hand and leaned forward. "Put on the shoes," she instructed lowly. "I want to see the whole outfit."

"You and I both know they won't make it across the carpet."

"Good thing pictures are only three minutes."

Dorothea's eyes widened as she laid back against the pillows next to her. "Oh, fuck no." She shook her head. "I was talking about this carpet. Right here. No way am I taking pictures on the red carpet looking like this—"

"Please?" Taylor pouted, pressing her face against the other woman's neck.

Dorothea sighed, closing her eyes. "Fine. As long as you promise to take me to a future awards show when my body's back to normal."

"Hey, I already offered diapers."

"Please?" Dorothea pouted, turning and lacing her arms around her neck.

Taylor met her eyes. They were so close that she could see the flecks in her irises. She was pretty sure if she sneezed their eyelashes would get tangled together. Of course, part of her wanted to see if it was actually possible. "Fine," she agreed.

Dorothea gave a satisfied squeal, then molded herself more comfortably into Taylor's side. She ran her fingers down the her dress, tracing the sticthed pattern. "Am I the first woman you're bringing to an award show? Like, as a date?" She asked quietly.

Taylor's mind instantly launched to the 2015 VMAs. She felt herself wrap her arm around Dorothea more closely. "No," she admitted, "not technically."

"Wait, what?" The brunette looked up at her. "What do you mean?"

"You remember that photo we looked at a couple weeks ago? Karlie, the one in the orange dress standing next to me?" Taylor said, "Technically, we went together. But nobody knew that."

Dorothea gasped, "Oh my god—No. You're lying."

"I am absolutely not." Taylor laughed stiffly.

"Shut-up."

"Gladly."

The younger woman's eyes widened with intrigue. "Wait. Were you guys like, a thing?"

"Not to anyone's knowledge," Taylor sighed.

"Except mine?" Dorothea smirked.

"Yep. So much for taking it to the grave."

"Doesn't sound like it ended well," Dorothea noted.

"Yeah, well, let's just say that dress wasn't the only ugly thing about that relationship."

The brunette laughed sharply. "Damn. Worse than dating a pregnant chick?"

Taylor looked at her sideways. "I think you already know the answer to that."

Dorothea smiled at her lap. "Can you imagine if my water actually broke at the VMAs?" She laughed.

"That's like, the third time you've said that in the past week." Taylor laughed.

"Pretty sure it's the second."

"You're basically manifesting it."

"Oh? Is that why my tits are so fucking big?" Dorothea questioned. "Did you manifest that?"

"Yeah..." Taylor mused, pressing her face into the woman's collarbone, "and your ass is next."

"I'm about to manifest you out that window."

"Good luck getting out of that dress without my help, then."

"Don't need it."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Prove it."

All of a sudden, Dorothea tore out of Taylor's hold and got to her feet with surprising speed. "Nice try Taylor Swift!" She sang loudly, heading towards the door. At the frame, she paused and spun around, grinning like a devil.

"Just curious, do you remember the first Instagram picture of mine that you liked?" She asked.

Taylor eyed her cautiously. "I think so. The one of you by the pool in that bikini?"

"And what color was that bikini?" Dorothea prompted.

Right as Taylor's expression flattened, the younger woman disappeared into the hallway in an echo of laughter. "Apparently orange isn't so ugly after all!"