TWENTY-SEVEN

"Time, mystical time

Cutting me open then healing me fine..."

———

Tiny moments, good and bad.

May 10th, 2018 - Santa Clara, CA

Taylor's leg bounced restlessly as she sat on the stiff, starchy-white sheets of the California king bed.

It was almost eleven pm and she was waiting for Dorothea to finish showering in the en-suite of their hotel room. They arrived in San Jose only a few hours before, having taken a late afternoon flight from LA after stopping at her Beverly Hills place. They weren't supposed to swing by the house, but thanks to the alarming speed of online shopping, Taylor had managed to buy, ship, and receive several packages—impulse purchases—within less than twenty-four hours.

One of which was currently sitting in a ribbon-tied shopping bag at the foot of the bed.

Taylor eyed the loopy black velvet bow; the creamy white bag with the sharp black border running around the edge.

It was just as risky as it was impulsive.

Less than a day earlier, in their Pasadena hotel room after the second show, Taylor was wide-awake. It was three am. She should have fallen asleep effortlessly based on her exhaustion, but she couldn't. She took turns between watching the ceiling fan go round and round and the steady breaths rise and fall out of Dorothea sleeping at her side.

Neither of them slept well the night before that. After the nap in the car, Dorothea was up and down, which meant she was up and down. There was a point in the obscure twilight hours—not quite night, but certainly not dawn—when they were both awake and aware of the other being the same, but acted otherwise. They each stared the ceiling fan, their arms and legs entwined. At one point, Taylor caught the thud of Dorothea's pulse against her bare shoulder. She could still feel the rhythm of it hours later, long after they'd gotten out of bed. Like beating a drum in a cave.

After the second show, though, Dorothea relented to her own exhaustion. Taylor was relieved but longed for the same. Instead, her worry held its grip on her mind. It felt as though there were claws picking her thoughts apart and pulling out all of the ones she had worked so hard to bury. All she could think about was that night after the first show and the look of terror on her girlfriend's face, which would spiral into remembering all of the other moments she caught the woman not quite acting like herself.

The lingering glances in mirrors; the shirt-pulling. Stretching the fabric out past her bump, sometimes looking as though she wasn't even aware she was doing it. Over and over again, usually at the most stressful times of the day.

So at three in the morning, Taylor stared blearily at her laptop, scouring every website she could think of for maternity clothes. Stylish maternity clothes. Summer was quickly approaching, and so buying half a dozen dresses seemed perfectly reasonable. And of course, basing her selections on her late-night fantasy about Dorothea wearing them seemed just as logical.

Yet, Taylor also knew it probably wouldn't solve the problem. Because she had no idea what the problem was—or if there was even a problem to begin with? It seemed like there was something wrong. But then it seemed like there wasn't. Then there was. Then there wasn't.

As she sat in their bed, punching in the numbers of her Amex card by the glow of the laptop screen, she was desperate.

She just wanted Dorothea to be happy.

"What is that?"

The brunette startled Taylor out of her thoughts when she came out of the bathroom wrapped in a soft white robe. Her hair was damp and wavy, casting bewitching shadows across her profile. A soft, pillowy lavendar scent was starting to fill the room.

Dorothea pursed her pink lips curiously as she approached the bed. "Did someone give this to you?" She asked.

Taylor shook her head, nudging the bag towards her. "It's for you."

"Me?" Dorothea laughed, one of her perfect eyebrows launching up in surprise. "What is it? Wait—From whom?"

"Me,"

"You?"

"Yes. Me!" Taylor laughed, watching the girl run the silky ribbon between her fingers. "What are you waiting for? Go on, open it!"

Dorothea eyed her skeptically. "My birthday's in July."

"Yes, I remember,"

"So what's the occasion?"

"The occasion is love, Dorothea Jane,"

"Gross, Taylor Alison."

"Just open the fucking present."

Dorothea smirked, reaching for the bag. "I've never received a gift with such hostility. Are we roleplaying right now?"

"Oh my god—For fuck's sake, just open it! Like, tonight!" Taylor begged.

"All right. How about while I untie this, you untie my robe?"

"Dorothea!"

The younger woman burst out laughing, then sighed loudly, "Ahh that voice...Yeah, I've decided we're having sex tonight."

"Dorothea."

"Okay, okay!" Dorothea hurried and untied the bow around the shopping bag. She then pulled out the tissue paper and placed it on the bed at her side, peering in and pulling out one of the dresses: red, with white daisy print, ruffle-sleeves and a deep neckline, which happened to be Taylor's favorite. One by one, she quietly pulled out the rest, and Taylor felt her heart drum unsteadily.

"They're a maternity fit," she said. "I wasn't sure, but I just thought—you seemed uncomfortable the other night. And okay, part of it may have also been me wanting to confirm that I think you'll look like an absolute knockout in them."

Taylor laughed softly as she watched the other woman smile and nod. Then, because she just so desperately needed the direct confirmation, she asked, "Are they okay?"

"Yes!" Dorothea, running the fabric between her fingers, nodded sincerely. When she looked up, her hazel eyes were glassy. "They're perfect."  Her voice caught on the last word, though, and suddenly the tears were spilling down her cheeks.

Taylor watched her for a moment. There was something very off. The woman's tears reminded her much more of those that followed their encounter behind Bar None several months before. "Babe..."

"I'm sorry!" Dorothea apologized, shaking her head and swiping her hands across her eyes.

"You don't need to apologize. Whether you like the dresses or not doesn't matter to me," Taylor said. She frowned as she watched the woman shudder, then reached at put her hand on her thigh. Without realizing, she added, "I just want you to be happy."

"You make me so happy," Dorothea said. "It's just that—I—" She shook her head again, a fresh wave of tears spilling over her cheeks. "I'm a terrible person."

"What?" Taylor's eyebrows shot up. "Thea—"

"No, I'm terrible!" The younger woman argued. "Sometimes, I don't know—Sometimes I don't...want to be pregnant. I don't want to have all of these things happening to my body that are out of my control. I don't want swollen feet and I don't want to outgrow my clothes. I don't want anyone to notice! I don't want strangers to see me pregnant! I mean, what kind of mother says that? God...I'm horrible!"

"Stop." Taylor reached and embraced Dorothea as the woman buried her face in her hands.

"I know there's only a few months left. But all I want to do is...go away. I want to go away and run off and just be the beached whale I'm destined to be as faraway from everyone as possible—"

Taylor pressed her face against Dorothea's neck and closed her eyes, fighting back tears. She was overwhelmed and scared, and yet she also couldn't help but feel as though she was failing. "What can I do?" She asked.

Dorothea shuddered beneath her. Or perhaps it was a shrug. Either way, it was only confirming Taylor's fear that there was something very wrong. "Thea, did something happen the other night?" She suddenly asked.

The brunette stiffened but shook her head. "No. Well, I don't know. It sort of felt like a few people were staring at me...But I was probably just being paranoid."

Taylor waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. She knew—much to her dismay—that Dorothea wasn't just being paranoid. It was the Instagram post. It was the gas station photo.

It was her fault.

"I had a nightmare the other night," Dorothea suddenly mentioned. "I was taking photos of you somewhere...like a national park in the mountains? And Nick showed up. He came sprinting out of the trees saying he knew it was his baby. He tried to drag me into the woods and you were screaming and I was hitting every tree root and rock with my stomach...I thought...I was convinced I was going to lose her—"

"Oh Thea..."

The brunette shook her head. "It was just a dream. But I still think about it every day," she said, "about him finding out...He can't find out."

"Then he won't."

Dorothea nodded, but they both secretly knew that neither of them was convinced. There was only so much they could control.

Taylor's eyes burned. She didn't want to cry because she didn't deserve to. She wasn't carrying a baby from her ex, not watching her body gradually become foreign right before her eyes. All she wanted to do was help the woman she hoped to spend the rest of her life with and yet, once again, her career—her fame—was there to remind her otherwise.

"Would this be just as bad—I mean, would it be different if I didn't have the job that I do?" Taylor asked quietly.

For the first time in a while, Dorothea's eyes locked with her's. "What? Oh god, no," she sighed. "Oh, Taylor, I didn't mean to make you think..."

"But you and I both know it's true," she defended. She shook her head to herself, two tears sliding down her cheeks. "And I know you'll deny it, but if I hadn't posted that photo and tagged you...I swear, it's like I sometimes just forget that I'm not just a normal fucking person."

"You're normal to me," Dorothea said, inching closer to the other woman. "Now me? I'm not so sure."

Taylor laughed softly. "Well, at least you know you have company."

Dorothea smiled, looking down at her bump. "Hear that, Blood-Sucker? You're screwed."

"Hi, Peanut, this is Taylor," she said, leaning towards the woman's stomach. "Do not listen to your mother. You're not screwed."

"Why are you lying to her?"

"Well if you keep talking to her like that we'll have a cynical diva the moment she's pulled out of your birth canal!"

"Sounds pretty normal to me."

Taylor rolled her eyes as the girl laughed sharply, then wrapped her arms snuggly around her. "I don't want to hear you question yourself as a mother ever again," she murmured.

"And I don't want to hear you question your career," Dorothea whispered. "Ever again."

"You deserve privacy,"

"And you deserve to feel normal,"

"Sadly, we don't always get what we deserve."

"Profound," Dorothea mused. "Ever considered songwriting?"

"Once or twice."

"You should look into it."

"Okay, I'll write a note in my phone to Google it."

Dorothea laughed, picking up two of the dresses on the bed and holding it up. "So, which of these did you imagine leading to the wildest sex?"

"Mm...Probably the red one,"

"You sound unsure," the brunette said. "I guess there's only one way to find out..."

"Oh my god,"

"I'm putting it on."

Taylor closed her eyes, sinking back against the pillows. "Fine. Hurry up."

"This was your doing, Taylor Swift!" Dorothea called as she disappeared into the bathroom.

"It always is," she sighed.

Tiny moments, good and bad.