FIFTEEN

"...So casually cruel

In the name of being honest..."

———

"Ivy!"

"Ivy, come back!"

Dorothea was running through a moss-covered forest, where the tree branches were illuminated in an ethereal golden sparkle. There was a child's laughter bouncing throughout the air, pixie-like and gurgling with delight. She couldn't tell where it was coming from and yet she was convinced she was running towards it. But she wasn't getting any closer. It seemed like every glimpse of the child—the yellow ribbon in her hair, the glowing fabric of her dress, her tiny bare feet leaping over a stray branch—only widened the gap between them.

"Ivy!"

She found herself shouting this name over and over again. It had to be the little girl's, but what made her think that?

"Ivy, wait!" Dorothea screamed, yet the sound couldn't have been any louder than a whisper. Suddenly, the forest around her seemed to be growing darker. The wide path she'd started on was quickly narrowing with encroaching trees whose sparkle was replaced by black vines. She found herself leaping and dodging this dense foliage as it spilled near her feet and the child-like laughter grew louder.

All of a sudden, Dorothea tripped over a thick, curling vine that didn't appear to have an end, but in a flash she found herself in a clearing in the woods. When her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she caught full sight of the little girl—four years old?—running and skipping over a carpet of colorful flowers.

Dorothea hesitated to reveal herself, for fear that it would cause the child to vaporize from her sight once again. "Ivy" had on a white dress that looked as though it was literally made of clouds. In addition to the yellow ribbon in her braid, there appeared to be a woven crown—true to her name—resting on top of her head. She had wavy, espresso-colored hair and sun-kissed skin like that of a peach picked in July. The little girl began spinning in bouncy circles and the only part of her face Dorothea could make out was her wide-open smile that was spilling with laughter.

Was that her daughter?

"Mommy!—" As though she spoke the thought, the girl suddenly stopped and was looking right at her. Dorothea rose carefully from the brush. She couldn't help but smile at the little child's own grin, bright as the stars. She opened her arms when the girl suddenly started running towards her at maximum speed.

"Ivy!—" Right as Dorothea braced herself to receive the girl, the little brunette pivoted to her left. Dorothea's eyes jumped towards the new, unexpected direction. She then watched the girl she thought was her own wrap her skinny arms around Taylor's waist.

The pop singer, framed by a white-gold silhouette, was wearing a dress made entirely of ivory-colored pearls. Every second, it seemed as though more were appearing on her figure. When Taylor bent to pick up the little girl, the mixture of their laughter caused the sky to flash into colors like that of a pastel dream. Dorothea watched the pair as Taylor spun around and pointed a pearl-covered finger directly at her.

"I told you, silly! Mommy's over there!"

In a gasp, Dorothea's eyes snapped open. She exhaled a rush of air and blinked rapidly in the early dawn light, confused by her surroundings; the sheets against her sweat-traced legs; the silver-framed mirror leaning against the wall and the ceramic vase spilling with flowers.

She recognized her heels laying next to a wine-colored chair, but then jumped when her eyes met a pair of green ones glowing back at her from the seat. For a moment, she thought she was still asleep, having simply been tossed into another dream that was out of her control. But the teeny—almost imperceptible—meow that suddenly came from the direction convinced her otherwise.

A cat?

Dorothea blinked again, then suddenly shot her gaze towards the sheets as they rustled at her side. She watched Taylor—without the glow or pearls—sigh deeply, lost in a dream. In the midst of her shock, Dorothea lifted a hand to touch the blonde, but instantly snatched it back. Like the waves churned by an off-shore storm, the memory of everything that occurred only hours before suddenly came crashing at her from every direction. The scream that came out of her; the fearful look in Taylor's wide, indigo eyes.

She had no idea what time it was, but she had a sudden impulse to flee. Dorothea scanned the room, locating her various belongings and checking the boxes in her mind to ensure a fast escape. Once she threw on her clothes, she'd leave with her heels in her hand and only put them on once she made it to the elevator. She couldn't see her purse, but it had to be in the living room. Or the kitchen. Or did it get kicked under the bed? Was the front door alarmed? Of course, it'd be, idiot! She had no idea how to disable a security system; she might as well just jump out the fucking window!

At the sound of another meow coming from the cat on the chair, Dorothea snapped back to her senses. The very poorly-timed cramps she experienced earlier—another fun twist of pregnancy!—were gone but now replaced by the sick feeling she was all too familiar with.

She looked at Taylor again, who in her deep sleep was blissfully unaware of the chaos she'd welcomed into her life and was currently lying only inches away from. Dorothea suddenly felt disgusted with herself. Here she was, about to abandon the woman who gave her a chance when it felt like the last thing she deserved for her mistakes. Here she was, about to pull the same cowardly move as her rotten ex-boyfriend, all because she feared...What? Judgement? Consequences? Rejection?

Perhaps she and Nick were much more alike than she wanted to believe.

A slow, nauseous current rolled through Dorothea, causing her to moan under her breath. The feeling was draining, and so her urge to escape disappeared just as quickly as it came. She sighed heavily, then sank back under the covers and rested her right palm over her abdomen.

For the next few hours, Dorothea found herself seesawing between dream and reality. During that limbo she saw flashes of little Ivy and Taylor. Some were longer and more detailed, and others were only bursts of color and sound. It felt like she was looking through a crystal ball to what the future After held. But what it didn't show her was the map she would need to make it happen.

———

Sometime just after dawn, Sober Taylor woke with a dull headache. Expected, but nonetheless unpleasant like every other hangover. They only seemed to get worse as she got older. Twenty-five-year-old Taylor would have launched out of bed, chugged a few swallows of Gatorade, popped two Advil and been good as new. And now all twenty-eight-year-old Taylor wanted to do was smack the younger version of herself, who had no idea how good she really had it.

Taylor yawned, her eyes landing on Dorothea. The brunette was propped on an elbow and scrolling through her phone. From the looks of the dark rings under her eyes, she'd been awake for a while. "Good Morning," Taylor greeted, her voice cracking with the remnants of sleep.

"Morning." Dorothea smiled softly. She met her eyes, then went right back to her phone. "How'd you sleep?"

"Pretty well,"

"How's the hangover?"

"Pretty shitty."

Dorothea laughed lightly. "My fault for bringing two bottles."

"It wasn't, trust me," Taylor said. She suddenly remembered the brunette's cramps, the pained expression contorting her features, and frowned. "Enough about me and my bad decisions. How are you feeling this morning? Are you still feeling any cramps? I hope you were able to get some sleep..."

"I did," Dorothea assured. Taylor watched the corners of her lips fall as she read something on her phone. A moment later, though, she flipped the device face down in her lap and smiled at her. "They're better though. The cramps. Thanks."

"I'm glad to hear that. I was worried last night."

Dorothea folded back a sheepish smile. "Thanks for letting me stay here."

"Of course."

A few beats of silence passed between them. Taylor wanted to say something and she sensed the same from the girl sitting inches away from her. She didn't want Dorothea to feel badly about what happened. She wanted to assure the brunette that it was her own fault for coming off too strongly. Had she not been so eager, perhaps Dorothea wouldn't have felt pressured to be the same. At least, that's what she thought. But Taylor was also very aware of her mind's ability to convince her—whether justified or not—that she was the one to blame.

Regardless, she still felt like she should apologize.

"There's something I have to tell you," Dorothea suddenly spoke.

For some reason—perhaps it was the way she announced it, or her sudden fidgeting with the sheets between her fingers—Taylor sensed they should leave the bedroom. "Okay. How about some coffee?"

Dorothea nodded. "Just a little."

Taylor slipped a large t-shirt over her frame and stepped into a pair of shorts. She offered the younger woman the same, but she only took the shorts and pulled on her sweater from the day before. The pair remained quiet as they walked down the hall and descended the stairs. Meanwhile, Taylor tried not to get too wrapped up in anticipation.

Once in the kitchen, Taylor opened a drawer and revealed dozens of coffee pods. She picked out a dark roast one for Dorothea and a blonde for herself, then switched on the Keurig. While the water heated up, she watched out of the corner of her eye as Dorothea slipped onto one of the barstools at the island counter. Taylor could almost see the iron gate threatening to barricade the space between them. But she refused to let it happen.

Once the coffees were done, Taylor took the mugs and met the girl on the other side of the counter. "Milk or sugar?"

Dorothea hummed a thank-you, taking the steaming mug and shaking her head. "I drink it black."

Taylor laughed. "Why am I not surprised?"

"And apparently so do you," Dorothea noted as she watched her take a sip.

"Only when I'm hungover,"

"Sad," the brunette sighed, "I almost thought we had something in common."

Taylor's mouth fell open. She then lifted an eyebrow as she watched the girl take a sip from her own cup. "Tragic, isn't it?"

Dorothea smiled and dropped her gaze to the counter. Taylor observed her long eyelashes flicker as her eyes darted around the surface. Before she could fill the silence, though, the brunette drew in a sharp breath.

"Remember on Friday, when I came back from the break during the meeting and you asked if I was okay?" Dorothea rambled, "And you know, I said it was just this stomach thing?"

Taylor nodded carefully. "Yes, I remember."

Dorothea hesitated to continue, as though already regretting what she had yet to say. She suddenly shook her head to herself, letting out an incredulous laugh. "I'm sorry—I have no idea what I'm saying—"

"I also don't expect you to say anything that makes you uncomfortable," Taylor noted.

"But that's exactly why I have to!" The brunette exclaimed, "I—I'm sorry, but I'm honestly a really...shitty person, Taylor. I know you don't believe it—I can see! Right now! You're about to deny it but you don't deserve someone like—"

"You're not finishing that sentence," she interrupted sternly.

Dorothea swallowed. "I haven't been honest with you."

Taylor dropped her eyes to her cup of coffee. Her pulse became unsteady as she struggled to form a response. She didn't have one. In her past experience, liars were the last people to admit to dishonesty, and so despite the brunette's claims, it only made her seem that much more genuine.

Finally, she said, "How so?"

Dorothea took another sharp breath, her voice jittery and low, "I was sick that day because I'm pregnant."

"Oh fuck—" Taylor clamped her hand over her lips a second too late. Nice going, idiot. "No—Thea, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that—"

"No, you said it perfectly," she said, letting out a bitter laugh. "Trust me, I had the exact same reaction the day I found out, too."

Taylor nodded, and suddenly she was back at Bar None in the alley, sitting next to the girl who for some reason had been desperate to get in contact with her ex-boyfriend. All of the wires zig-zagged in Taylor's brain. She was much too hungover. "So...that night at the bar..."

"Yeah..." Dorothea trailed off. "So now I'm throwing up every single day as I carry someone's baby who doesn't give a fuck about me."

When Taylor looked up at the girl, she witnessed a silent pair of tears slide down her cheeks.

Oh—

fuck.