FOUR

"...a dazzling haze

A mysterious way

about you dear..."

———

January 31st, 2018

"One more, Taylor, let's go! You've got this!"

Taylor huffed as she finished the last jump-squat of her set, then immediately dropped the twenty-pound medicine ball onto the floor with a thunk. In the past two weeks, she'd started training five days each as part of preparation for the tour. The goal was only to add to her present-physical fitness—And she knew she'd be grateful for putting in the work now to improve her stamina and strength, but working-out sucked. Hiking on beautiful trails or a light jog just to get her heart pumping were her preferred forms of exercise. But working-out—sprinting, jumping, lifting and throwing heavy things— was not usually something she looked forward to.

"Nice work!" Her trainer, Rob, jogged up to her and gave her double high-fives. He always seemed to be in motion, even when he was standing in place. But someone who had a passion for rigorous exercise was exactly who Taylor needed to combat her own rather unenthusiastic feelings.

"Thanks, you kicked my ass." Taylor laughed.

"You're doing great. You'll be more than ready come this May,"

"Assuming I'll be able to walk,"

"No guarantees." Rob gave a dazzling, bleached smile, then bumped her arm lightly with his fist. "Go on and get hydrated and get yourself a good lunch. When does choreography with the dancers kick off?"

"Monday, the fifth," Taylor answered. Starting next week, she'd be training with Rob three days and working on choreography with Ian and the rest of the dancers for two. Since the big—more like gigantic—stage set for the tour was still being built, they'd start off practicing in a converted space in SoHo. She was nervous, but mostly very excited. Some of the dancers were new, but others had been with her on her previous tour. And for a very long time, she hadn't thought she'd be touring with anyone ever again.

Taylor walked across the gym towards her bag by the mirror and bent down to grab her water bottle. As she sipped the cool liquid, she took her phone from the side-pocket to check her messages. There were a couple dozen, mostly from her publicist and mother. Now that she was back in the thick of work, there was always something that needed to be done, whether it was as simple as deciding what color lights would go on during which song or as complicated as when she'd find the time to visit the eye doctor (having recently undergone lasik surgery, it had quickly fallen as a bottom-of-the-list priority).

After answering a few messages, Taylor took another sip of water and tapped on Instagram. As she gathered her things and put on her coat, she double-tapped a few of her fans' photos here and there. She liked keeping up with them. Their posts about anything from her music to getting into their dream college brought her a sense of normalcy to a life that was anything but that.

On the elevator going down to the lobby, her mind ran through the rest of her day. Two meetings, a session in the studio with her good friend Jack, and then most likely writing at the piano until she'd exhausted herself enough to go to sleep. But first things first, she was starving.

She debated what to have for lunch as she exited the building into a blustery, cold wind. Definitely something hot. Stepping into the backseat of the SUV at the curb, she immediately thought of the soup she had eaten at The Pearl a few weeks back; so creamy, hot, and delicious. She glanced back down at her phone, still open to Instagram, and as though by a spark she suddenly remembered the server who had presented her with the amazing soup, Dorothea Madison.

Taylor hadn't "stalked" the girl's profile since saving the image of her username. After clipping her seatbelt over her waist, she sat back and searched for the account.

There was a new post, marking a new theme as well: A change to vibrant, warm tones, as opposed to the monochromatic ones preceding it. She tapped the image to enlarge the post.

The location was marked as Dallas, TX. In the photo, Dorothea was perched on the stone edge of a swimming pool, looking out towards a wildfire-like sunset. She was wearing a tiger-orange bikini, and her brown hair fell around her shoulders in damp waves. Her skin had a deep, golden tan that made Taylor think the photo was from a previous time. She found herself getting distracted by the girl's smooth, toned-looking arms; the way they wrapped delicately around her knees; her lips reflecting in the light coming off of the water.

Taylor's eyes jumped down the the caption:

Winter sucks. 🐍

Taylor lifted an eyebrow. A snake? How interesting. Taylor smirked, her thumb hovering over the image as she debated if she should like the photo or not.

She swiped back to the main page of Dorothea's profile. She had no idea what the girl thought of her music, let alone her. Maybe she hated her. Maybe she was just being polite and doing her job that night at The Pearl, exactly like she was supposed to do. Taylor was sure the girl had served plenty of celebrities she wished she hadn't.

Taylor was about to close out of the app when her eyes landed on a circle highlighting the girl's profile image. Before she realized that Dorothea would be able to see that she viewed her Story, she tapped the image.

A photo of an empty row of orange and yellow subway seats filled the screen. The text placed on the dark floor read, "A vibe 🐍".

Another snake. Taylor's eyes averted to the song listed in the upper right corner:

This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things - Taylor Swift.

Taylor's eyes widened, and her lips twisted into a bemused smile.

———

It had been a month since It was conceived—

The baby.

Dorothea had been trying to train herself to use the term. It had been exactly one month since the baby had been conceived, and she was still the only one who knew about him or her.

When Dorothea woke up that morning, she immediately got lost with her phone in a Google deep-dive on pregnancy. She'd done everything up until then to avoid the temptation, but the one month mark had sounded off in her thoughts like an air-raid siren.

Plus, that morning was the first one that she'd woken up and instantly had to vomit.

While Dorothea lounged in bed and sipped water to rid her mouth of the awful bile taste, she searched, "one month pregnant". There were over a million results, but after an hour of mindless reading, she'd learned several key things:

1) She wasn't just imagining that she had to pee much more.

2) She also wasn't imagining her sudden aversion to avocado. And there would soon probably be more foods that she loved joining that forbidden list.

3) She had to make an appointment to see a doctor.

4) The baby was the size of a grain of rice.

5) She needed to tell Nick about that grain of rice before it became a watermelon.

Dorothea felt sick at the thought, but it wasn't just her baby. Fifty-percent of that grain of rice was Nick Keller. The little being growing in her uterus could have Nick's nose, his mysterious dark brown eyes, his laugh. And the baby could also have his short-temper, passive-aggressive mannerisms; his cold shoulder.

But maybe not. There was no way to tell. She didn't want to assume the tiny grain of rice inside of her was going to be a monster. Perhaps the baby would have all of his best qualities—the few that there were, anyway.

But regardless, she knew exactly how he would feel if she didn't tell him. Even though they weren't together, and at this point lived completely separate lives, he would feel betrayed; hurt by her kept secret that would only confirm her lack of trust that he'd grown suspicious of over time. Though she couldn't foresee any of the After once she told him, her misguided optimism wanted her to believe Nick's first instinct would be to help in any way that he could. Even he sometimes had that instinct.

Dorothea sighed as she swung her legs over the bed and stood up. As she exited her bedroom and headed towards the kitchen, she tried to imagine Nick as a father. The thing about Nick was that despite his toxic behavior, he had a heart for the same things she did—cute animals, charity commercials, and most likely babies, as well. In their tumultuous on-and-off year together, he'd actually been the first one to hint at their long-term future. Dorothea knew he'd be the funny, ridiculous dad who loved his child to pieces.

Until Dorothea did something to upset him.

He would never hit her or the baby. But he knew how to get loud.

She buried the thought, grabbing a box of cereal out of the cabinet. Regardless of her imagination, he needed to know. Dorothea picked up the bowl and sat down at the table by the window. Though her heart thumped, she picked up her phone and dialed Nick's number.

Straight to voicemail.

She huffed, dialing again. Same thing. It wasn't unusual, but she was immediately irritated. Dorothea swiped out of her messages, then tapped on Instagram and searched for his profile.

User not found.

She was blocked.

Again, not unusual, but very irritating. She felt her teeth clench as she checked Twitter and Facebook. Same thing. What the fuck, Nick? He never went on Facebook, but he'd managed to find the time to log on and block her sometime recently. But why? Granted, they hadn't really spoken since New Years' Eve, but as far as she knew, they were on civil terms. He brought her flowers, for God's sake.

After dialing his number and going to voicemail a third time, she smacked her phone down onto the table and buried her face in her hands. That was the last thing she'd imagined, though now she realized it was exactly what she should've expected. Dorothea took a deep breath, sucking back the twinge of tears brimming in her eyes.

She'd call him later. And then again. And again and again and again until he grew the balls to pick up his phone and talk to her.

Dorothea tried to go about her day as calmly as possible. She finished her breakfast, took Oliver out for a short walk, then changed into her work uniform. As she was getting dressed, she fixated on her stomach in the mirror, but it was basically still flat. Well, maybe if she turned on that one angle—no. She was being ridiculous.

On her way out the door, Dorothea plugged her earbuds into her phone and resumed her playlist on Spotify called, "Good Shit". It had over two-hundred songs, and was her go-to library of music whenever she couldn't stand another moment alone with her own thoughts.

Once she descended into the Astor Place station, Dorothea walked down the platform and found a spot to lean against the tiled wall. She tried to focus on the music and the present task at hand, which was to get to her shift at The Pearl. But every breath she took felt more shallow than the previous, and like gum on the bottom of her shoe, Nick's ghosting was glued to the front of her thoughts.

She tried to bring her sister's words to the surface of her mind; the same ones Maeve had used when Dorothea was little and got anxious about things that were out of her control.

Stop fighting the tide and learn to swim in it.

Dorothea took a deep breath right as the W-train screeched to a halt at the platform. She pushed off of the wall and walked the few steps to enter the car. She then furrowed her eyebrows, glancing left and right in the empty space. Unusual for the middle of the day, but she was perfectly fine with being alone.

As she sat on one of the orange plastic seats, she let her body sway with the movements of the train. The motion seemed to ground her, and she quickly got lost in the music continuing in her ears. She closed her eyes. After several stops, though, they snapped open at an intriguing, unfamiliar song. A sudden impulse had her open Instagram and snap a picture for her Story, with the song mentioned in the corner. A Taylor Swift song.

Ever since she'd met the singer, she found herself listening to her music on a near-daily basis. For a reason she couldn't articulate, Taylor Swift's songs hit her differently. Even when she just casually put on "Good Shit" for some background noise, if a song from Reputation came on, she could almost feel the chemical switch flip in her brain. It was strange. Perhaps it was that wisp of a connection they had made that night at The Pearl. By chance, Dorothea had experienced another dimension of the singer, which for some reason made her sentimental.

But like that photo from the night she'd served Taylor, the woman's voice had power. And as someone who appreciated and respected individual creative expression, she thought the album was a daring, experimental power-move.

And again, it was attractive.

Once she had arrived at work, serene from her musical escape, Dorothea fell much more easily into the routine than she anticipated. But a few hours into her shift, she was polishing some glasses when her vision suddenly swam with black dots, and a wave of nausea rolled through her limbs. Dorothea instantly abandoned the glassware and bolted for the employee restroom, sliding the lock on the door only seconds before she dropped herself onto the pink tile beneath the toilet and retched.

After flushing the toilet, she started to shake as she broke out into a cold sweat.

The tide she was trying to swim in —but quite honestly was just running from— had followed her to work and was now threatening to sweep her under. She thought calling It the baby would make it easier to accept. She thought—stupidly— that Nick would answer her call. And she had also thought that perhaps, if she just went about her life like business as usual, the reality of being pregnant would eventually not seem so fucking scary.

But Dorothea was terrified and lonely because she'd purposely avoided telling any of the few people in her life about what resulted from New Years' Eve. And as she had concluded earlier, she couldn't keep carrying the burden of that secret by herself.

As soon as she read the positive test several weeks ago, termination had crossed her mind. If she quietly went to the doctor, through all of the procedures and then set up the appointment, the secret would disappear before anyone would know.

But as quickly as the thought came, it had vanished. What if, in the After, that was going to be the only baby she was ever going to have?

Dorothea stood, wobbling as she took her phone from her pocket. Her breathing had resumed its shallow quality as she tapped the numbers to call her sister. It was lunchtime in Dallas, so Maeve would probably have a moment to talk. She would be blindsided. Yet that was going to happen regardless of whether it was during her lunch break or at four in the morning. But it was definitely better than showing up at her door nine months later with a whole entire living, breathing, child in her arms.

Dorothea's thumb hovered shakily over the dial button, but suddenly an Instagram notification flashed over the call screen. She immediately tapped it.

It was a direct message from Taylor Swift.

Every racing thought in Dorothea's mind suddenly swirled and melted into indistinguishable color. She let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, blinking back the tears that had formed in her eyes. Was that really the name in front of her eyes? No; it was probably a bot. A bot with a verification stamp next to the username. Well, people had all kinds of time on their hands to mess with others, didn't they?

But Dorothea tapped the profile and was led to the real singer's page. She laughed again. Was she really even pregnant? Had she really just thrown-up at work? Was it even 2018 yet, or was she trapped in some sort of vivid, fourth-dimensional dream in the previous year?

She swiped her thumb across the screen and tapped the message.

In a tiny rectangle, there was the Story she posted on the subway earlier. Her eyes travelled to the singer's text beneath it:

Definitely a vibe 🐍.

The sentence swam across Dorothea's vision, and then her eyes squared on the circle of Taylor's profile picture. Did celebrities do that? Just message random people who mentioned their work? Hell, she had no idea. But. But— She also sort-of...wasn't random.

Dorothea raised an eyebrow, then suddenly her eyes widened. Did Taylor actually see that spam of notifications from the night after she'd served her table? Oh god—How embarrassing. She wasn't trying to get her attention! She just thought the singer looked really fucking good in those photos.

But Taylor messaged her first. The blonde could have easily ignored her post. How would she have even seen it, since she didn't follow her?

Unless Taylor Swift had purposely searched the username for the girl she found sobbing in the restaurant bathroom.

And why the hell would she want to do that?

Dorothea's thumbs hovered over the smart phone screen. A strangely bold impulse suddenly crossed her thoughts, similar to the one that caused her to post the image in the first place.

She typed a response. An experiment. Perhaps receiving that message had only been a single moment in time in the After, and was to be nothing more than that.

She typed, back-spaced, then typed more. She added an exclamation point, then deleted it. She finally added an emoji that she wasn't quite sure she should have but immediately pressed the send button before she could change her mind.

Her eyes now blurred over her own text:

The album's a banger.

Thanks again for being so kind to me that night at The Pearl 💕

HEARTS. What the—Okay, relax, she thought to herself. It wasn't that weird. For someone who got emotional at puppies licking ice cream cones or breathtaking sunsets, for some reason Dorothea had always been hopelessly awkward with even the slightest gesture of affection. At least, until she got to know someone.

But Taylor Swift was a perfect stranger.

Dorothea had no idea why her heart was pumping. She walked up to the sink, about to wash her hands and return to work, when three dots suddenly jumped underneath her message.

And then, as though the phone had suddenly burst into flames, she threw it across the employee bathroom.