THIRTY-EIGHT

"If you kiss me will it be just like I dreamed it?

Will it patch your broken wings?"

———

Braxton-Hicks.

It could have been the name of one of her high school friend's prom dates. Or one of the dozens of boys who lived in Dorothea's childhood neighborhood. One of the ones who played baseball and wore Vineyard Vines and whose dream car at sixteen was either a Jeep or a gleaming white pick-up truck.

Halfway to the hospital, Dorothea had a feeling that it wasn't time. The shortness of breath, intense cramps and panic were all very real, and the timing of it after spotting Nick didn't help.

So Ted pulled over and she called Dr. Marshall. She was still panting —meanwhile, Taylor was (naturally) hyperventilating— and it had taken Dr. Marshall all of thirty-seconds to diagnose her with Braxton-Hicks Contractions.

"'False labor'?" Taylor repeated after Dorothea had hung up the phone, catching her breath. She closed her eyes and threw her head back against the headrest. "In that case, remind me to stick a bottle of tequila in your hospital bag. Sounds like 'Real labor' is gonna be a party."

"Yeah, well, get ready. It's likely around the corner." Dorothea laughed nervously.

"You're not allowed to go into labor until I have at least one drink in my system," Taylor instructed. She then added more quietly, "And once I pick her middle name."

But apparently it wasn't so quiet. "What!" Dorothea exclaimed. "Are you serious? You literally have entire albums and eras of your career planned years in advance and you haven't decided yet!—"

"Oh, I'm sorry! Do you have any idea how much pressure you're putting on me?" Taylor argued. "I'm assuming you'll have strong opinions, regardless—"

Dorothea laughed. "It's not that deep, love. Honestly, I don't care. Even if you wanted it to be something batshit like Madonna or Sunflower, it'd be so fucking funny and perfect, I'd have to marry you right now."

The singer's eyes—predictably—struck her like an electric current. She waited a moment for the younger woman to register what she said. But her gaze was steady and sparkling, in that easy-breezy, zero-fucks-given Dorothea Madison-way.

Taylor swallowed. "And what if it's neither of those things?"

Dorothea watched her for a moment, then, slowly, slid across the gap between them. She leaned towards the singer, turning to look at the trunk. Her smiling lips just barely grazed the other woman's ear.

"Taylor," she whispered, "whether it's today or five years from now, I am only going to want to marry you."

She didn't tell the singer that she saw Nick in the coffee shop.

And she never would.

———

August 23rd, 2018

"Honey..."

"Mom..."

"I'm just making a suggestion—"

"Cool, and I already told you I'm not interested—"

"My goodness, darling, would you let me speak for five seconds without interrupting me—"

"I am not giving birth to my child in a swimming pool!" Dorothea exclaimed, stopping midway through chopping an onion.

"I did not give birth to your sister in a swimming pool!" Heather argued, "I was in a hospital, with doctors and nurses in a bathtub under top quality supervision. It was perfectly comfortable and safe—"

"Awesome. Glad it worked out for you,"

"There it is again," her mother resigned, placing her wine glass down on the counter. "No matter what I say, I get that tone—"

"What tone?"

"I wish both of you would shut up," Maeve inserted, approaching the sink next to Dorothea.

Dorothea scoffed at her sister, "Nobody forced you to come here, you know."

"And trust that you'd be able to get yourself to the hospital when my niece is about to arrive, and not freak the hell out?" Maeve laughed. "We all know better than that."

"And Taylor still exists in this scenario, correct?" Dorothea waved the chef's knife—a little too flippantly—towards the singer stirring a pot on the stove.

"Of course," Maeve said, "and you are also aware of what the phrase, 'it takes a village' refers to, correct?"

"I don't need a village pressuring me on how to push a baby out of my birth canal!" Dorothea smacked the knife down against the cutting board.

"Okay, let's take a break with the knife, hm?" Taylor laughed nervously, coming around the other side of her.

Dorothea glared at her sister. "She's my daughter."

"She's my niece." Maeve smiled.

"And most importantly she's my grandbaby!" Heather added.

"Our grandbaby!" Andrea chimed, coming in from the hallway.

"Oh my god—There's too many people in this apartment!" Dorothea exclaimed. She turned to look at the blonde who was struggling to contain her laughter. "This is your fault, you know," she muttered.

"Yep." Taylor smiled, her voice low, "And you secretly love it."

Dorothea rolled her eyes. After the false-labor scare, her mother and sister were in Manhattan less than forty-eight hours later. Had Dean been able to get off work, he probably would have joined the party, too (Not like she would be devastated if her brother missed her giving birth, and she was certain the feeling was mutual).

Along with Andrea —and, of course, Taylor— there was now an entire entourage waiting for the arrival of Ivy. It was comforting, but also ridiculously dramatic. Was she going to have a baby, or land a plane in the middle of the ocean? After the past three days, she was starting to believe she'd be more comfortable doing the latter.

"Did Dr. Marshall talk to you about breathing?" Maeve questioned, setting plates down on the table. "It's not like running a mile, Thea. It's more like sprinting, then jogging, then sprinting and jogging—"

And of course, her sister, the soon-to-be practicing OB-GYN. It was much easier to ignore her incessant inquiries when there was a plane ride between them. "Yes," Dorothea replied tightly, "there's a whole class on that, by the way."

"Did you take it?"

"Yes, Maeve!"

"By the way, if they offer you the needle, you're not taking it," her mother cut in, sipping her wine. "You don't need any funky drugs to assist you with something that women have managed to do for, well, thousands of years—"

"Sorry, who's having this baby?" Dorothea interjected.

"I'm with Mom on the epidural," Maeve chimed.

"I'd say no. At least on the first one," Andrea mentioned, looking at Taylor, "but once I had your brother, I asked for whatever was the closest thing to knocking me out!"

"Oh, yes. I almost asked for something with Dean," Heather agreed, "what is it with boys being so hard to push out? You're lucky, Thea, girls are quick. You and Maeve were both out in half a day each, no problem!"

"How about we stop talking about me giving birth until I'm a screaming, sweaty mess in the hospital bed?" Dorothea proposed.

"You'll be breathing too hard to scream." Maeve laughed.

"Can we talk about something else? Literally anything else?" Dorothea asked desperately.

Heather gasped, "Oh my goodness, the Video Music Awards! Tomorrow's the day!"

"Yes! Now that you're here I'll have someone to sip cocktails with in the dressing room!" Andrea squealed.

"Don't you two already do that regardless of the occasion?" Taylor joked.

"Yes, but we'll be dressed up!" Heather clarified.

"Never in my life did I imagine my Manhattan-hating mother dressing up and sipping fancy cocktails while going to an event in Brooklyn," Dorothea muttered.

"And I expected Maeve to have my first grandbaby," Heather said, "but we all experience our own surprises, I suppose."

Taylor shattered with laughter. "This isn't happening."

"Can we talk about how Taylor must be feeling, though?" Maeve said, putting a bowl of salad in the middle of the table. "This is the first VMAs you've gone to in what, three years?"

"Something like that," Taylor replied, looking at Dorothea, "but I actually think this is the most excited I've ever been."

"I'm excited if she's excited." Dorothea blushed, dropping her gaze to the floor. "Or something like that."

She was so damn proud of her girlfriend. If it weren't for Taylor's preferences about social media —along with her own anxiety— she'd be posting about the woman every day. Multiple times. People would start to think it was just another fan account, which it basically would be. And using taylorsgirlfriend as her username in the singer's fan base would be the biggest fucking flex of them all.

Although arguably, she'd been flexing since January.

Respectfully! Of course.

The five of them sat down to eat the dinner they had all prepared—with Heather and Andrea providing less regarding food prep as opposed to wine commentary—and it was quiet for the first few minutes. Dorothea took a few bites of salad and found her thoughts drifting to the night before, as she and Taylor laid in bed.

Dorothea was staring up at the ceiling fan as it whirled in circles. "I can't believe there's only a handful of shows left," she said.

"Crazy, isn't it?" Taylor agreed, putting her thumb on the page in the book she was reading. She cocked her head at Dorothea, smiling. "You're going to miss it, aren't you?"

"Is that a joke?" Dorothea scoffed. "In case you forgot, you gave me the dream job I never thought I'd actually get to have." She shook her head, her voice going soft, "I can't even describe how much that means to me."

Taylor brushed a lock of Dorothea's hair away from her face. "I would have been kicking myself for the rest of my life if I didn't offer it," she whispered.

Dorothea smiled, a playful look entering her eyes. "You want to know a secret?"

"Sure,"

"I almost kissed you first."

"What!" Taylor's mouth dropped as Dorothea laughed. "No way. You're full of shit."

"I swear!" She defended. "That day we went to brunch, and you looked at all of my photos...God, it all felt so surreal and that outfit you wore was so hot and I was so stupid happy—"

"Uh-uh!" Taylor interrupted. "You are not stealing credit for a move you didn't make!"

"I'm just saying..."

"You can say all you want but I surprised the shit out of you and you know it."

Dorothea smiled to herself. "Can you imagine if I didn't kiss you back?"

"Now I want to smother you."

"Even if I said I love you?"

"Say it a few more times and I might change my mind."

"I love you." Dorothea leaned towards the blonde. "I love you." She slid her hand across her collarbone, behind her neck. "I love you." Her lips grazed the skin right beneath the other woman's nose. "I love..."

"...You think George Clooney will be there?" Heather gasped, bringing Dorothea's attention back to the table.

"It's a music awards show, Mom," Maeve reminded.

"And? There's always random celebrities at these things who have no reason to be there!"

"Pretty sure if he found out you were coming, he'd change his plans," Dorothea mumbled. She almost buckled at the kick she received from Taylor under the table. "But you never know," she chirped stiffly.

"What was that, darling?" Heather sipped her wine obliviously.

"She was just saying that we're so excited for tomorrow, aren't we?" Taylor grinned at the woman beside her.

"Mhm," Dorothea hummed, "can't wait to wear a short dress with bruised shins."

"I'll tell you what I'm most excited for." Maeve raised her wine glass to her lips, looking at Dorothea across the table. "The after-party at The Pearl."