THIRTEEN

"...Your heart was glass

I dropped it..."

———

"You were at Coachella 2016?"

"Sure was,"

"Oh my god—Taylor! Did you hear that?"

"Yes, Gigi, I'm sitting three feet away from you," the blonde reminded. She met Dorothea's amused gaze, then smiled before picking up her fork and spearing a bite of pasta on the end.

"That's wild—We were there too!" Gigi continued. Dorothea tried not to laugh at the girl's expression, full of drunken happiness and surprise. "I remember the lineup was amazing—"

"Oh yeah, how could we forget Adam's set?" Martha laughed dryly.

Dorothea glanced at Taylor and witnessed a faint, but definite shadow cross the smile on her face. Then there was a beat of silence, and she immediately felt pressured to fill it. "Adam?"

"Calvin Harris,"

"My ex," Taylor added.

There wasn't any emotion to the way she said it. Her tone was as casual and absent as declaring the weather outside or stating there was no milk left in the fridge. Dorothea waited for Gigi, Martha, or Ashley to chime in, but the table stayed tentatively quiet. After a moment, she sipped her sparkling water then cleared her throat.

"I went to that set," Dorothea mentioned. She instantly sensed all four pairs of eyes zap in her direction, then felt a nervous smile twist across her lips.

"I remember he was over thirty minutes late and I was absolutely wasted. But I was so excited when the music started, I remember grabbing my friend Sophie and screaming and shaking her like an idiot," Dorothea recalled, laughing faintly. "But then even though I was shit-faced drunk, five minutes into his set I thought it was—kind of awful?"

There was a wisp of silence. Then suddenly Taylor burst out with sharp, melodious laughter. The other women at the table joined in, as well, and Dorothea couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, and what you didn't see was how shit-faced he was right before he got on stage," Taylor said. "He'd been drinking since noon, and by five I didn't want to deal with him so I left him alone in his trailer and got plastered with everyone else. I couldn't tell you what happened between then and when he finally decided to perform at what—ten-thirty?"

"Who knows? I was definitely blacked out at that point," Ashley said.

"So was I." Martha laughed.

Gigi gasped. "Remember the fucking glitter—"

"The glitter!"

"I had it in my hair for like, two weeks!"

"Wait—Same," Dorothea chimed, a curious expression crossing her face. "I remember it started with this tall guy wearing a hot pink bandana over his face and yellow sunglasses—"

"and the Ninja Turtles backpack—Holy shit!" Gigi exclaimed. "You literally must have been right next to us!"

"Oh my god—"

"I swear, I don't remember seeing you." Dorothea laughed.

"No way," Ashley argued, "how could you have possibly missed Bleachella?"

"'Bleachella'?"

"Okay—Who wants dessert and more alcohol?" Taylor interjected.

Dorothea and the others stood to clear the plates from the table, and once again her eyes met Taylor's. The singer lifted an eyebrow and Dorothea did as well. She mouthed, Bleachella? and all the blonde did was shake her head in a No fucking way are we discussing that-manner.

And so Dorothea made a mental note to find out about Bleachella as soon as possible.

After clearing the dishes away, they decided to gather in the living room on the various plush velvet couches. When Dorothea sat down, she couldn't help but examine the space: a large stone fireplace, wood-paneled walls and floors, and large iron-paned windows overlooking southern Manhattan. There were shelves stuffed with books and clutter and framed photographs on nearly every open surface.

Of course, her eyes also registered the award statues and plaques casually thrown into the mix, as well. Taylor had a surprisingly normal living room, but those objects were also just a gentle reminder that, Oh, by the way, I absolutely rule the music industry.

A few minutes later, the singer came into the room with a few plates and another bottle of wine. She then placed them down on the coffee table next to the iced sugar cookies and smirked at Dorothea. "You must've been up all night making these."

"Yeah I'm exhausted," she sighed, her hazel hues flickering to the blonde lowering herself onto the open spot at her side.

"Wait—you made these?" Martha asked, picking up one of the pink and yellow swirled cookies.

"Every single one." Dorothea smiled as she felt the singer shift ever-so-slightly—almost imperceptibly—towards her. "I even added the Whole Foods sticker, just for fun."

Ashley laughed. "Can't bake?"

"Only to save my life," Dorothea said, "although I'd probably just end up burning to death in the inevitable fire I'd start."

Taylor gasped, "You were literally standing next to me at the stove with four open flames earlier!"

Dorothea sat back, her mouth parted in mock-offense. "Okay, maybe I'm not Martha Stewart, but I'm not disaster-prone—"

"Doesn't matter, you're banned from standing within five feet of my stove,"

"Cool. Six feet it is,"

Taylor glanced at her sideways, her eyes glittering in the soft lighting. Dorothea felt her skin heat just beneath the surface. She was very aware of the other three women staring at them, and so she drew in a sharp breath and smiled in their direction. "So, do y'all get banished from random parts of this place, too?"

"Oh my god," Gigi half-whispered, "so you are southern—"

"What?" Dorothea's cheeks suddenly flushed pink, and for a moment she wondered just how much they already knew about her. "All I said was, 'y'all'!"

"We just thought Taylor might've lied about you being from the South," Martha mentioned.

"And why the hell would I do that?"

"Speaking of which," Dorothea paused, turning towards Taylor. "Didn't you once have a Southern accent?"

Taylor's lips parted slightly, but she didn't even flinch as the other women bursted out laughing. She then asked, "And didn't you once think my fifty-two-year-old security guard was attracted to you?"

Once again, Dorothea's face grew warm, yet she only smiled and dropped her gaze to her lap. The small gap between their bodies felt white-hot. She knew if she barely moved an inch, she'd have no choice but to brush up against the blonde. She suddenly felt herself trying to stay impossibly still as she tried to anticipate the other woman's movements.

"Well, maybe she can't bake, but can we talk about those photos?" Gigi chimed.

"Oh—yeah..." Dorothea muttered, letting out a small laugh.

"Girl, be proud of that shit!"

"Yeah Thea, listen to Gigi," Taylor prompted, nudging her arm playfully.

"I know! It's just—" she shook her head, overwhelmed. She felt like she was under four separate microscopes, not quite used to such collective attention. "I don't know," she continued, "it's been more of a side thing. Up until a week ago, anyway."

Taylor hummed. "It can be more than that."

"What?"

"It can also be more than just a 'side thing'," the blonde explained. She swirled the contents of her drink, then added softly, "If that's what you want, anyway."

Once again, Dorothea felt that awkwardness, where there was obviously more than just the two of them and yet turning the conversation back to the group felt impossible and clumsy. She wanted to press the singer for details, but she also wasn't sure what the singer was referring to. At the risk of torching the group conversation, she decided to just let the moment pass.

But that might have been the wrong choice.

———

If Taylor could have any superpower, it would be the ability to heal people from whatever they suffered from, no matter how big or small. But if that weren't an option, her second choice would be the ability to read minds.

If there was one thing she had learned about Dorothea, it was that a bold presence on Instagram and being a rockstar at her work didn't make her an extrovert. The brunette may have had a dry sense of humor, noticeable kindness, and moments of irresistible sass, but the majority of the time—Taylor realized—she was extremely quiet.

She first noticed this during the happy hour after the photo shoot, when Dorothea would listen attentively to what the others had to say, but rarely offered anything about herself. And it became even more apparent when the girl came over for dinner with her and her three very outgoing friends. At first, Taylor worried it may have been too much to spring on her at once—the other three blondes definitely had a certain energy when they were all together—but Dorothea seemed to enjoy herself. She was laughing and asking her friends about what they did and listening very carefully.

But she was also shy. Of course, there wasn't anything wrong with that, but it just meant there were little moments when Taylor found herself surprisingly...unsure.

When they were chatting at the stove before dinner, for instance, Taylor could feel the air between them become blistering hot, and she was certain Dorothea had felt it, too. But then right as she expected the other girl to make another witty comment, lean a little closer, or make eye contact for a few seconds longer, she would do the opposite. She'd look away; take a step to the side; or just fall into nearly radio-silence.

Perhaps she was just nervous, but no matter how many times it happened, it caught Taylor off-guard. Just when she thought Dorothea was loosening up, it seemed like an iron gate would slam between them. And it only solidified Taylor's belief that there was something else. It brought her back to their first encounter at the restaurant; their paths crossing —by fate, so it seemed— in the alley behind her favorite dive bar. It filled her mind with the sadness she witnessed that completely overshadowed the beautiful girl who spoke with a perfect sweet-tea twang.

And when they were all sitting in her living room after dinner, there was a moment—a flicker—where it seemed like that discontent threatened to make a reappearance. It was right after Taylor had casually mentioned photography being a long-term option for Dorothea.

If she hadn't been so intently aware of the girl at her side, she would have missed it. But right when it seemed like the brunette was about to say something further, she didn't. Instead, she only smiled, and Taylor was glad to witness it, except she —selfishly?—wanted more. Another chance to hear her voice that was like bells in a breeze or a chance to catch a glimpse of her caramel-gold stare. Anything.

But once again, she was cut off by the wall that seemed to come out of nowhere. Perhaps she was blowing it out of proportion (she knew she was moving through everything much too fast in her mind) but she couldn't help it; she was falling hard.

She'd finished her drink relatively soon after the moment passed. Then, during the next hour of them all conversing on the couches, she had two more. At that point the booze was pleasantly undulating throughout her system and she also sensed Drunk Taylor lurking in the shadows. But this wasn't the Drunk Taylor who boldly decided to follow a-then acquaintance out the exit of Bar None; this was the incredibly sensitive, uncertain one.

About an hour later, though, she was somehow now completely alone with Dorothea Madison. Somewhere in the time now lost, Gigi, Martha, and Ashley had left —to go to a bar, possibly?—and she and the brunette had decided to put on a movie. Taylor could have given ten guesses as to what was playing and still not picked the right film. She had no idea what title was flashing across the television in her dim living room, yet she was acutely aware of the sober girl at her side, who was currently hugging her knees to her chest as she focused very intently on the screen.

Taylor stifled a yawn, but it was noticeable enough to snap Dorothea's attention away from the screen.

"Are you falling asleep?" She asked, incredulous. "You literally spent ten minutes trying to convince me to watch this!"

She yawned again, taking a small sip of wine. "I did?"

Dorothea turned so she was facing her, and in the process of letting her legs fall in a crisscrossed manner, their limbs came in contact. But Taylor was surprised when the girl didn't scoot back. Instead, she kept her knee—in just the slightest, daring way—against her thigh, and propped her elbow on top of the of the couch.

The signals felt mixed in Drunk Taylor's brain, but she decided to push them aside and nudge her leg more securely beneath the other girl's. She then laughed. "What? Why are you looking at me like I'm growing horns?"

"I was just remembering that surprise you mentioned earlier," Dorothea said, her eyes flickering towards the TV, then back to hers. "Did you forget about that, too?"

Taylor let out a small cough as her next sip of wine went down the wrong way. She could feel her cheeks burn beneath the brunette's expectant gaze, but her surroundings swirled and all she could manage was a laugh. "No, of course not."

"Well," Dorothea hummed, resting her chin in her palm, "I'm waiting."

"Ah—" It was Drunk Taylor that suddenly leaned back. And it was also Drunk Taylor who shifted to stand up. "You know it's—it's in the—" What the fuck was she doing?

"Kitchen?" The brunette guessed.

"Yeah," she blurted out. Again, what the fuck, Taylor?

"Cool, I'll just follow you there, then. Assuming I'm allowed?" Dorothea smirked.

Drunk Taylor smiled and began a slightly unsteady walk towards the kitchen. Once again, all of the wires were crossing in her mind, and she wasn't sure which one to trust. There were so many unanswered questions about the beautiful girl from Dallas, it was hard for her not to feel desperate for answers.

What really caused that indescribable sadness that sometimes overcame her? What really caused such a quiet, thoughtful woman to get into a loud argument in the middle of a jam-packed bar? What really was the deal with her ex-boyfriend? Would she really want a full-time position as her tour photographer?

What the HELL did Dorothea Madison really even think of her??

All of a sudden, Taylor stopped and spun around to face the brunette. "Can I ask you something?"

Dorothea studied her for a moment, then gave a soft smile. "Sure thing."

"Did you have a good time tonight?" She then sighed, "I just felt like—I don't know. My friends sort of put you on the spot and that was partially my fault, too, for telling them so much before you got here—"

She suddenly stopped as Dorothea stepped to close the gap between them. Drunk Taylor's wobbly focus was struggling to comprehend the girl's fingers discreetly lacing into one of her own hands, and seemed to be quickly drowning in the tidal wave of gold now looking up at her.

"I had a great time," Dorothea answered, but then her smile fell. "I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise."

"No, don't be!" Taylor inserted quickly, "I just wasn't sure. I didn't want to come off being too..."

Drunk Taylor didn't get a chance to find the right word as Dorothea erased the remaining space between them and met her lips. She was instantly swept up in an intoxicated haze that tasted of lime and frosting. A sudden ache shot up from her core to her throat as the brunette's cool fingers slid right beneath her sweater and grazed her skin. Drunk Taylor felt as though she could barely catch her breath when Dorothea suddenly pulled back and looked at her.

"Can I ask you something?"

Taylor eyed her carefully, then said with her best attempt at a Southern twang, "Sure thing."

"Who's Bleachella?"

Instead of answering, though, the boldly courageous version of Drunk Taylor appeared from the shadows, sliding her hands around Dorothea's hips and abandoning the kitchen in one surprisingly certain move.

But the mixed signals—the unanswered questions—in Sober Taylor's brain could not shut the fuck up.

And if she just let Drunk Taylor do her thing—

The night wouldn't have ended the way it did.