THIRTY-THREE

"A string that pulled me...

Out of all the wrong arms

Right into that dive bar..."

——

"I'm scared, Maeve," Dorothea said, her voice low despite the panic in her tone. "Sophie told him I'm pregnant and now he's going to do everything to find me—"

"And while you're stressing about that, you're missing what's right in front of your damn face," her sister countered. She then stepped closer to her, gesturing towards the other side of the room with her glass. "That woman has been by your side throughout your entire pregnancy. She's stuck by you and loved you enough that she's willing to sacrifice part of herself to your relationship, despite her career. She gave you a job and now a place not only for you to live, but also your child—"

"I know," Dorothea choked. "I'm very aware of the fact that no matter what I do it's never going to be enough. I was aware of that the moment she gave me seven hundred fucking dollars for serving her dinner and a glass of champagne."

"You want to know what's enough?" Maeve challenged. "Focusing on the people that are there every damn day."

"I love her," Dorothea stated, "but I also love my baby. This baby doesn't know that she has a psycho for a father—"

"It doesn't matter, Thea," the older brunette interjected. "For god's sake—Stop looking at a blue sky and expecting it to start pouring!"

"Uh—"

Both of them startled as Dean appeared, holding a festive paper plate in each hand. "So...Something tells me y'all aren't ready for cake, but Ma sent me over here to be the Southern Gentleman I was raised to be..."

"Perfect timing." Dorothea smiled stiffly and thanked him as she took one of the plates, then briskly walked towards the group on the other side of the room. She could feel Maeve's gaze on her back—searing her—when she stopped by her mother and Taylor, who were involved in a lively conversation with a few others. Keeping her back to her sister, she used the plastic fork in her hand to break off a piece of cake and bring it to her lips.

"Thea!—" She nearly choked as her mother whisked her into the circle between her and the singer.

Dorothea was still swallowing the vanilla frosting in her mouth when she looked up at the blonde. Taylor met her eyes and smiled down at her like she was the only person in the room. She suddenly felt sick with guilt, but she forced herself to smile then stepped closer to the blonde.

"We were just talking about you!" Her mother continued. Her cheeks were a light, feathery rose-color and she was holding her flute of Dom as casually as a glass of sweet tea.

When the older woman draped one of her manicured hands on Dorothea's shoulder, it came with an accusatory look. "Dora Jane! I was just told that you've had a name picked out for my granddaughter for months?"

Dorothea suddenly shot her eyes to Taylor, who mouthed a very sincere-looking, Sorry! But her mother finding this out was the least of her concerns. "Well, I don't know about months..." She laughed, her cheeks growing warm.

"For the record, this doesn't surprise me," her mother clarified, turning towards the group. She'd barely had three sips of her drink, from what Dorothea could tell. "You've all come to know my daughter very well, but what you don't know is how much she loves to keep secrets—"

"From certain people," she muttered, immediately feeling a nudge from the singer. She couldn't bring herself to look up at her, but still, it was hard for her not to smile.

"So," her mother sighed, giving a prompting smile, "which of my suggestions did you end up choosing?"

"None."

Her mother gasped, taking in the reactions of the group, "Unbelievable! Out of all the names I've given you—"

"Sorry." Dorothea grimaced. Although, she really wasn't.

"Well, now you have to tell me!" The older woman insisted.

"Why?" She groaned.

"So I can approve it!"

"It's a perfectly normal name, Mom!—"

"Yeah, like Rose Petal or Tequila Sunrise," Dean chimed.

She shot her brother a look right as their mother sighed again, "Well, for goodness' sake, at least let me give my grand baby her middle name!"

Dorothea looked up at Taylor, who was struggling to hide her amusement. The blonde's poorly-suppressed smile brought one to her own lips. And just as she had come to know over the course of their entire relationship, she truly didn't deserve someone like her.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it's a lovely name," Andrea assured.

"Thea also insisted on naming our childhood dog, Fruit Roll-Up," Dean mentioned.

"I was seven!"

"You were twelve,"

"I was not!"

"She also likes to lie, if y'all can't tell," her brother chuckled.

Dorothea rolled her eyes, though she caught Taylor laughing out of the corner of her vision. She smiled and looked at the group, immediately making eye-contact with Maeve standing beside her mother. The older girl arched one of her perfect eyebrows, casuing Dorothea to drop her gaze to the floor.

She found Taylor's hand at her side and slowly laced their fingers together. She then looked up at the blonde, feeling her sister's eyes squared in their direction. "What do you think?" She asked softly, "Should we give Fruit Roll-Up another try?"

"Anything's better than Blood-Sucker," Taylor muttered, reaching for Dorothea's fork.

"Well, there goes her middle name,"

The singer laughed, taking a bite of the rainbow-sprinkled cake. "If you were serious about that, Heather would kill you."

Dorothea shrugged and moved closer to the woman. She reached up to brush away a damp lock of the blonde's hair, her voice barely above a whisper. "Then I guess she'd have Ivy all to herself."

———

"You sure you don't want some?"

Taylor shook her head, laughing as she pulled her seatbelt across her waist. "I'm surprised that baby isn't doing cartwheels from the amount of sugar pumping through your blood."

Dorothea smiled as she swallowed a bite of cake, leaning back against the leather seat. "Who needs alcohol when you have frosting?"

"Not sure which hangover is worse."

"How much sugar do you think it takes to black out?" She wondered, licking the plastic fork.

"Is this the Cotton-Candy-at-Disneyland Thea talking? Because I think you're getting there."

"Whatever you say, Whiskey Tay."

The blonde scoffed. "I had one Old-Fashioned tonight!"

"Definitely two or three,"

"Two or three that were mostly ice,"

"Mhm," Dorothea hummed, meeting the singer's eyes across the backseat.

Her hair was now dried in soft waves, although the majority of it was gathered into a ponytail at the base of her neck. Beneath the curtain of rich, dark eyelashes leftover from her stage makeup, her eyes glimmered in the passing orange highway lights.

The fraction of space between them felt like a chasm. It seemed as though reaching across to the singer would only result in her slipping through the crack and falling to an unknown depth. For whatever reason, Dorothea could only picture her girlfriend at the top of the fault line, watching in helpless agony all because she refused to take her hand—

And once again miss what was right in front of her damn face.

Dorothea slid across the backseat, causing Taylor to turn, and immediately met her lips. There was a note of surprise in the blonde's feathery breath that she swallowed greedily. Her head spun with the faint taste of liquor and saccharine lipstick. She began tracing the nape of the blonde's neck when she felt the other woman pull back.

Taylor smiled at her curiously, but Dorothea's brow furrowed. "What?" She asked.

"Nothing," Taylor hummed, weaving their fingers together, "but I think your breath gave me seven cavities."

Dorothea smiled and leaned towards the singer again. This time, Taylor was the one greedy for air. She felt the blonde's hand trail up her neck and through her hair and she slipped her own beneath the woman's flannel, tracing her collarbone. There was something about their closeness, along with the darkness and steady white noise of the highway rolling beneath them that sent Dorothea's heart into a tailspin.

"You should eat frosting more often," Taylor mused.

"Yeah?"

"Just saying."

Dorothea slid one hand beneath the singer's shirt and rested it against her hip, while the other remained laced in her guitar-scarred fingers. Despite the fact that they were trapped in that SUV as the New Jersey Turnpike whizzed by, she felt the sudden anticipation of uncontrollable loss. As she gazed steadily into her girlfriend's eyes, her sister's silver bell twang snaked into her mind.

"I'm sorry," Dorothea whispered, "for taking you for granted."

Taylor's features softened, but she held her gaze. "You know how much I worry about you," she reminded.

She nodded, her throat tightening. "I know."

"Ivy needs you," Taylor said.

Dorothea shook her head, her voice turning thin, "You've done more for her than I have."

"Don't say that."

"It's the truth." She took a shaky breath. "I have no idea what would have happened if I hadn't met you."

"But whatever would have happened didn't,"

"But what about what might happen?"

"Let's focus on what is happening."

"But if the past and present are doomed to be intertwined—"

"Then all the more reason to focus on right now." Taylor interrupted sternly. After a beat of silence, she added, "Okay?"

"Okay."

For the next several minutes, the pair was quiet. Dorothea mindlessly traced their entwined fingers with her thumb, trying to soothe her racing thoughts.

She noticed the singer's eyes growing heavy as the car entered the Holland Tunnel. For a few moments, she watched the singer nod off, realizing how rare it was that she was the one who was wide-awake. Though most of her nights were restless, she usually ended up drifting off in whatever bed they found themselves in. Taylor, on the other hand, always seemed to be awake.

Right as the car shot out of the tunnel into the gleaming lights of Lower Manhattan, Dorothea's eyes widened. She then nudged the singer, asking, "Has anyone ever slept through their water breaking?"

Though her eyes were closed, Taylor chuckled, "From what I've heard, it's part of a pretty painful experience. So I doubt it."

"But it probably has happened. Like, at least to one person?" She speculated.

"If I wake up and our bed is soaking wet, I'll be the first to drag you out of it."

"Would you want to be there?" Dorothea asked.

"Where?"

"The delivery room."

"If that's what you want."

She nodded, a brief look of distance forming in her gaze. Then, suddenly, she placed a hand on the singer's arm and looked directly into her sapphire hues.

"I want you to choose her middle name."

———

Hours later, Taylor woke just before dawn. It was the first night in over a month that she couldn't recall the two-am darkness.

Although Dorothea's back was towards her, she could see the steady rise and fall of her figure as she slept. She debated wrapping herself around the woman and attempting more sleep, but now that the alcohol had officially worn off, she was far too alert for whatever time it was.

She also had to pee.

Taylor carefully slipped out of bed and stretched, shushing one of her cats who started mewing by the door. Olivia? No—Meredith.

Ivy.

She suddenly remembered Dorothea's request and her mind began to spin. While in the bathroom, she whispered various name combinations to hear how they sounded. She tried to picture herself calling out to the girl as she ran onto a playground or snuck cookies out of the pantry. The privilege of referring to someone by their first and middle names alone was exclusive, let alone choosing the latter. Whatever she chose would be on her birth certificate. Driver's license. Diploma.

Nothing sounded right.

She decided to research names while waiting for Dorothea to wake up. When she arrived back at her nightstand, though, her phone was nowhere to be seen. After quickly checking the en-suite, she slowly turned the knob to the bedroom door and slipped into the hallway.

Downstairs, she immediately spotted the device facedown on the coffee table, alongside her girlfriend's half-eaten slice of birthday cake and her own plaid flannel.

When Taylor flipped the smartphone over to view the screen, she expected it to be blank.

Instead, there was a single banner, with the tiny, pinkish-purple Instagram icon in the corner.

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