ONE

"It makes me feel less alone that you exist,

and I hope that it makes you feel less alone that I exist,

because we have each other."

——

January 15th, 2018, was the day that Dorothea Jane's life was ripped in half.

It was like a blank sheet of paper, torn at the center by a perfect seam. Except neither half was blank. In Dorothea's mind, the two halves of her life were complicated, messy, and confusing, but they were polar opposites. One of them was already written all over, and the other was covered in what she could only speculate.

When Dorothea went to the bathroom during her break from her evening shift at The Pearl, her life was torn into Before and After.

The wavy brown-haired girl's hands shook as she grabbed a couple of cocktail glasses from behind the bar. It was Saturday night and every table in the two-story Michelin Star restaurant was occupied, but that was no surprise; weekend reservations were booked as far out as September, and up until now, Dorothea imagined that she'd be on the schedule for all of them. Of course, she hated her job, but putting up with her boss's juvenile sense of humor was like a day at Disney World compared to the other restaurants she'd worked at in Manhattan. And the tips were astronomical.

As Dorothea was scooping ice into one of the glasses, she slammed up against the counter when James —a tattooed, bleach-haired, aspiring DJ but for now bartender— ran behind her. Her eyes widened and she immediately clutched her hand to her abdomen. She kept her hazel gaze lowered for a moment as her mind raced. Up until she went to the bathroom, she never considered how often she bumped into things. Her job was always causing her to stop short as people whizzed by; press up against a table or wall as a tray of food or drinks sailed past. Was she now just supposed to stand in the way? So she could avoid hurting herself?

So she could avoid hurting It.

Dorothea's head felt woozy. There was a tight sensation restricting her throat, and she knew that if she breathed the wrong way she would end up crying. But she couldn't let that happen. Her coworkers didn't know her as the twenty-four-year-old girl she really was; the one who cried at cheesy romantic comedies or a viral video of a joyous puppy living with only three legs. They would be shocked and confused, and most definitely uncomfortable.

But she shouldn't even have a reason to cry. She didn't want what had separated her life into Before and After— She hadn't even wanted to take part in any of the actions that created It as a result. She had had a bad feeling as soon as she answered the knock on her door and he was standing on the other side with a boquet of flowers that smelled way too sweet. She was an idiot for stepping to the side and letting his feet touch the hardwood floors of her apartment, even though she swore that he would never be in her space again. She was brainless for thinking that, as they sat on her green-striped couch drinking five-dollar Merlot and watching Schitt's Creek, they wouldn't gradually move closer to one another, until they forgot the TV was even on.

As Dorothea mindlessly poured various liquids into a cocktail shaker, she struggled to remember what drove her to that moment in the employee bathroom with the paper bag from the Duane Reade pharmacy on East Second Street. Had she just assumed her streak of bad luck was bound to continue? Or was she sick of her own blind optimisim, which often led her to make the most regrettable decisions of her life? Lives. The Before was full of those choices. Would the After be the same?

"Hey Thea!"

Dorothea jumped at the sound, nearly spilling the twenty-dollar cocktail she was pouring all over the bar counter. When she looked up, she saw her manager, Will, cutting between patrons as he hurried in her direction. She could tell by his mannerisms that he was keyed-up, stressed; in other words, he was in typical Saturday Manager Will Mode. Dorothea took a careful breath, trying not appear as unwelcoming to his chaos as she felt.

"How are we doing? All good? It's busy out there," Will rattled off, adjusting the sleeves of his white button-down shirt.

Dorothea wasn't able to match his energy. "Yeah, pretty busy. But it's fine," she said, forcing an easy-going smile.

"You sure?"

"Mhm," she hummed, nodding quickly as she placed the two drinks onto a tray. She felt his eyes on her as she wiped her hands on a towel, unsure as to why he hadn't already bounced on to the next employee like an out-of-control pinball in a machine. Had he seen her hands trembling as she'd placed the glasses down?

Dorothea forced a light laugh, picking up the tray. "I know what you mean, though. Feels like a circus tonight. I'm just gonna get these to that couple in the Garden Lounge. They seemed like they were in a hurry for something to take the edge off—"

"Wait, you're working the Garden tonight?" Will interrupted.

"Yep. Six to eleven,"

"For some reason I thought Jazz was covering those tables," he said, shaking his head to himself. This information seemed to only magnify his already-visible stress, but before Dorothea could say anything he suddenly leaned across the bar counter, his voice lowered. "Look, I know this is short notice, but we have a big table reserved in your section for eight. Party of ten. I'm talking high-profile. There's going to be paps trying to take pictures through the windows, so make sure you give Gage a heads up ten minutes before they arrive and he'll handle it. And make sure their waters are being filled as they're sitting and you bring a bottle of Dom when you greet them. Sound good?"

"Sure, not a problem," Dorothea replied. These types of situations weren't uncommon at The Pearl, so she always had to supress a laugh at Will's inevitable tendency to blow it out of proportion. "So, who are we sheilding from TMZ tonight?" She asked.

"You'll know as soon as you see them," Will answered vaguely, his attention drifting towards the Velvet Terrace section. He then suddenly smacked his hand on the counter and snapped his focus back to her. "I'm gonna keep moving. When they get here, just keep them happy. Sound like a plan?"

"I'll do my best," Dorothea breathed, but Will was already launching in the opposite direction. She carefully picked up the tray of cocktails, then froze as she was about to bump the gate at her waist to exit the bar. She had almost forgotten why she was on the verge of a mental breakdown only minutes before, but the feeling was quickly returning. Before she risked being paralyzed next to the bucket of mint leaves, she pushed through the gate and strode towards the Garden Lounge.

After serving the couple their drinks, Dorothea forced herself to work on autopilot. She tried not to think of the way her hand sweated against the paper pharmacy bag as she refilled water glasses. She tried not to remember how her heart thumped when she locked herself in the pink-tiled restroom as she offered the house wine to an elderly couple. She tried to smother the memory of when she had squatted over the toilet, frustrated that peeing had somehow become impossible, while she brought plates of salmon and filet mignon to a table overlooking Rockefeller Center.

Before she knew it, it was fifteen minutes until the ten High-Profile guests were due to be seated in her section. If she wanted to keep Will happy and improve her odds of a fat tip (because money was critical, especially in the After) she was going to have to be on top of her game. But Dorothea's mind wasn't on her job at The Pearl; it was forty blocks south in her brick East Village apartment on New Year's Eve.

The day It was conceived.

Dorothea felt a flash of heat wash across her skin. She was supposed to be alone that night. She was supposed to eat takeout fried rice and an egg roll from the Chinese restaurant on the corner and watch the ABC New Year's Eve special with her dog, Oliver. She was supposed to have a celebratory glass of cheap champagne when the ball dropped and she welcomed the new year with foolish optimism.

But instead she drank piss-wine with her toxic ex-boyfriend and had sex on her god-awful green-striped couch.

"Thea!"

Dorothea whipped her head around to see Gage nodding towards the door. The camera flashes sparking like strobes through the windows were the signal that she needed to get her shit together. She took a deep breath and narrowed her focus on the glass-walled liquor display in the distance. The Dom was on one of the top shelves. She'd need to use the ladder to grab it. Wait—Should she even be using a ladder? There were far too many things she hadn't considered before now buzzing around in her head like a nasty swarm of bees. It was too much to process on top of what she still hadn't fully grasped even though her life was now permanently split in two.

Dorothea reached the ladder and didn't hesitate as she stepped onto the first rung. She had no desire to explain to any of her coworkers why she couldn't do something she'd been perfectly capable of doing for almost a year. After grabbing the Dom Pérignon, she carefully descended the ladder, then turned to head back towards the Garden Lounge. In the distance she could see the host beginning to seat the group, but the dim lighting didn't reveal much as to who they were. Not like it mattered. She had a lot more to worry about than who made up the celebrity table of the night.

"Excuse me?"

Right as Dorothea entered the lounge, she felt a gentle hand land on her arm and stopped abruptly. When she turned to see the owner of the beige-polished fingernails, her breath hitched at the woman in the pink dress looking at her, who was very pregnant.

"Could we get our check, when you get the chance?" The woman asked, her blue eyes soft as they eyed her. "I know you're slammed, but we really need to be going soon—"

"Yes. Yes, of course." Dorothea nodded quickly with a tight smile, and before she realized what she was doing she had pivoted in the opposite direction of the High-Profile table. With the bottle of champagne in her hands, she was in a trance as she ambled through the restaurant. The edges of her vision swirled green and were pocked with black dots. Her mind was now a TV with two channels, flashing between the woman's swollen, pregnant belly and the plastic stick in her hand in the employee bathroom.

A sudden wave of nausea rolled through her senses. Even though she was supposed to only use the employee bathroom, Dorothea instead bolted towards the one for guests that was only a few feet away, hardly caring about the consequences as she pushed against the door and barged in.

In the gold-accented, marble-decorated room that had soft jazz music coming from some unknown source, Dorothea immediately made for the row of sinks, setting down the bottle of Dom with a thunk. She braced her palms against the counter and tried to gain control over her shallow breathing (It wouldn't like that. It didn't respond well to stress). She decided to hold her breath for a moment, only to gasp seconds later. The breakdown was happening. The tears that she had fought with every last ounce to suppress were now spilling over her eyelashes, sliding down her cheekbones, and dropping onto the sparkling porcelein sink.

Dorothea was too young to be at her Before and After. She had too many years to go, too many things she had yet to do. She wasn't where she wanted to be in her life. Not even close. She couldn't possibly take care of it It while she was still trying to figure out how to take care of herself.

All of a sudden, Dorothea sputtered as one of the stall doors opened. She swiped her hands across her eyes and immediately grabbed the bottle of champagne, realizing how apalled the person would be that an employee at The Pearl brought a $150 bottle of alcohol into a public restroom. Mortified, Dorothea kept her head down as she pivoted back towards the door, but was stopped in her tracks by the tall, slender figure blocking her path.

"Hey—"

The voice was warm, like the feeling of hands on a steaming hot mug of coffee or being wrapped in a blanket. It was also familiar. When Dorothea slowly looked up with tear-blurred vision, she could see a woman with blonde hair and neatly-trimmed bangs, wearing an expensive-looking black and red gown that swept to the floor. Her red lips were pouting slightly and her cornflower eyes seemed concerned as she observed the girl across from her.

"Hey," she repeated softly, "are you all right?"