FORTY-ONE

"...My house of stone, your ivy grows

and now I'm covered in you..."

————

...Hell's Kitchen, NYC...

Time - ???

Taylor was far too drunk for this.

She knew that second glass of Rosé was a bad idea. But not the glass of champagne after that, of course. And most definitely not the tequila shot that snuck its way in there, somewhere along the way. Who gave her that, anyway?

Maeve.

But she couldn't fault Dorothea's sister. At some point during the after party, she found herself in deep conversation with the sibling, and as all pleasantly intoxicated evenings go, the encounter seemed to manifest out of thin air. They were bonding, as friends—sisters?—do, and obviously after spending an uncounted amount of minutes together, one would offer the other to take a shot together. And of course, one would never dare to refuse such a thing. Taylor was certain that violated some aspect of Girl Code.

So she was a little hammered.

Well—

No.

She had been hammered before, and this wasn't hammered. But regardless of the proper distinction, she was a little too far gone and couldn't seem to comprehend that this was seriously happening right this exact very second!

Dorothea, her girlfriend, was apparently—Hours? Minutes? Seconds??—away from giving birth. And here she thought when they made it to the after party, that they had gotten over some invisible hump. Like, Oh, we made it to eight pm! I guess we'll see what happens tomorrow! As if Ivy has some sort of clock to stare at in there and is waiting with her tiny hands folded for the most convenient moment to make her grand entrance. Naturally, she'd also have a calendar in there with all of their schedules penciled in. But evidently she decided to say, Fuck your after party, the real party's just getting started!

At first, she thought it was a joke.

The way in which Taylor found out about Dorothea's water breaking was so ridiculous, she thought she had passed out somewhere and gotten lost in an inebriated dream. She always had the strangest dreams when she was drunk.

Taylor was still standing at the bar with Maeve when Jack approached them. He was noticeably sloshed himself and they were all laughing excessively at a conversation that probably wasn't that funny. Taylor was relishing that blissfully fuzzy, just-unaware-enough feeling. She welcomed the edges of her surroundings being softer. At this point, she had no idea that Dorothea had actually been in the bathroom for a rather long time. She was too busy balancing Jack's rounded black spectacles on her nose, mocking one of his countless philosophical points he tended to make, drunk or sober.

She was making a clumsy attempt to put the glasses back on Jack when Karlie appeared next to them.

Karlie.

A bold, yet sour feeling squeezed into her. She was aware of the fact that she was staring at the woman, but the shock was too overwhelming for her to look away.

She was wearing a short black dress that exposed her shoulders. Her hair was now platinum—How original!—and she wore a dark shade of lipstick. It was only when Taylor noticed the latter that she realized Karlie's lips were actually moving.

Instead of asking her to repeat herself, Taylor smiled crookedly and said, "So, black. I guess orange was a one time thing?"

But Karlie didn't smile. Fine, don't laugh at my jokes, Taylor thought to herself. Bitch.

But apparently whatever point Karlie was trying to get across was critical, because now she had stepped closer to her and the model's green eyes were within inches of her own.

"Your girlfriend's water broke," she stated loudly.

And obviously, since this had to be a dream, Taylor laughed. "Liar."

"Huh?" Karlie gave her a baffled expression, reaching for her arm. "Taylor, your girlfriend. Sorry, I don't know her name—She's going into labor. My friend is in the bathroom with her—"

"Oh my god!" Maeve abandoned her drink on the bar counter and took off into the crowd. And because they were now sealed in friendship—that was real!—Taylor shrugged away from Karlie and followed her girlfriend's older sister.

She never saw the model after that.

Now, Taylor was in the middle row of the SUV with Dorothea at her side. Ted was driving with Maeve in the passenger seat, and Heather and Andrea occupied the third row. She sensed the buildings blurring by; her body pressing up against the door every so often as they turned. But it was Dorothea's navy-polished fingernails, digging into the flesh of her palm that caused her to grasp that this was officially happening.

"Oh my heavens, is this as fast as this thing can go?" Heather cried out hopelessly.

"We're doing fifty in Manhattan, Mom," Maeve sighed. "That's like ninety on the Bush Turnpike."

"But where is all this traffic coming from?" Heather continued, "It's after ten! My word—" She turned and looked out the back window. "What do they do about emergencies here? How does anyone make it out alive?!"

"Mom—"

"Ignore them," Andrea chuckled, leaning into the gap and rubbing Dorothea's back. "It's going to be all right. We'll be there soon."

Taylor watched her mother continue to trace circles on her girlfriend's back and it suddenly occurred to her how useless she herself was being in comparison. She began to gently stroke Dorothea's hand with her thumb, wincing as the girl's nails dug in deeper.

"Sorry," Dorothea choked out breathlessly.

"You're fine," Taylor assured. She was still quite intoxicated, which made her feel bad. "I'm the one who should be apologizing," she added.

Dorothea managed to let out a breathy laugh. "What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry, Babe," Taylor apologized. She put her hand over her mouth, as though unsure of what she was about to say. But then she leaned towards the brunette anyway, and whispered against her hair, "I know you're in labor, but I'm so fucking drunk."

If the windows had been open, Dorothea's laughter would have been heard throughout the entire city.

———

...Lenox Hill, NYC...

Time - ???

The pain was like the tightest rubber band snapping against her waist.

Dorothea's breathing had reduced to swallowing bursts of air, when it wasn't too painful, that is. Every little movement or breath, Hell, even blinking seemed to shoot daggers throughout her body. When Taylor made her laugh, she was certain her ribs, along with all of the other bones in her body were snapping one by one.

She didn't need Taylor to inform her of her current state, which was why it was that much funnier. She already knew by the soft look in her eyes and her lack of conversation. And the way she touched her numb lips discreetly, every now and then. She did the same exact thing that winter night in the alley behind Bar None.

If she wasn't in so much pain, she would have leaned over and sucked the numbness right out.

Instead she squeezed the life out of the poor woman's hand.

Now Dorothea was in a hospital bed. Her Versace gown had been traded for one much less exciting and paper-thin. She was still wearing a full face of makeup and could feel her false eyelashes peeling off. Her high heels were sitting haphazardly next to her hospital bag, as though she had literally run out of them.

She felt Taylor, who was sitting at the edge of the bed, brush a sweaty lock of hair out of her face. "On a scale of one to ten, how ugly am I right now?" Dorothea grinned.

"If a one is the most beautiful person on earth, then a two, at most," Taylor said.

"And on a scale of one to ten, how drunk are you right now?"Dorothea laughed.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Heather called from the other side of the room. They both turned their heads and watched her pull a flask out of Dorothea's hospital bag.

"Oh my god!"

"Mom!" Maeve grilled.

Heather smiled, unscrewing the cap. She took a sip and held out the container. "What? I'm a Grandma now. I deserve a little tequila. Can I interest anyone else?"

"You're not a grandma yet—"

"Eh, another shot won't hurt." Taylor grinned and took the flask from her.

Dorothea sucked in sharply as another contraction ripped through her, causing everyone in the room to turn their attention towards her. "Don't mind me. Carry on with your festivities!" She choked out.

Taylor smiled and wrapped the woman in her arms, mumbling against her hair, "Sorry. It's all my fault."

Dorothea grimaced. "Your breath smells like my last trip to Cancún."

"Better than peanut butter,"

"You're going to get me drunk if you get any closer,"

Taylor snorted. "That's not how that works."

"I'm in labor," Dorothea reminded.

"Yeah, I know. I have a case of several drinks, not amnesia."

Now Dorothea laughed. But this time the pain shot directly up her spine. She pressed her face into Taylor's neck, breathing out sharply. She then felt the singer's lips press gently against her forehead, the sour-sweet scent of tequila tickling her nostrils.

"I love you, Dorothea Jane," Taylor muttered.

A wave of tears stung the back of Dorothea's eyes as another contraction rolled through her. She was in so much pain, the sliver of happiness that snuck its way in seemed too impossible. But she felt a smile break across her face.

"I love you too, Taylor Alison."

————

Lenox Hill, New York City

August 24th, 2018

11:07pm

Dorothea couldn't see her properly, at first. Between the sweat and tears, her vision stung with blurriness. When the first tiny, pixie-like cry filled the air, she felt Taylor's tears splash against her hospital gown.

Dorothea was wracked with sobs. Her whole body shook with relief, yet also sadness. Mostly joy. It wasn't one emotion, it was all of them. Every single one she had felt during the last almost nine months of her life, but also many she had never experienced before. Waves that didn't seem like they would ever stop crashing.

When the doctor placed her daughter in her arms, the waves battered her from every direction. The Tiny Grain of Rice, the Pingpong Ball, had a tiny peach-colored nose and skin like satin. Bloodsucker had long, dark eyelashes and a swirl of fuzzy hair. When Peanut yawned, she swore her mouth formed the exact same shape that her late father's did.

She looked at Taylor, and she felt a new batch of tears enter her eyes at the sight of the singer's. The blue waves that had been steady beneath her ship the entire time.

Dorothea rested her head against Taylor's chest as she looked down at the bundle in her arms.

The After, she realized, was only just beginning.

"Okay, Mama," Dr. Marshall said, approaching the foot of the bed, "do we have a name for this beautiful little girl?"

"Ivy." Dorothea smiled, but then she frowned. She looked up at Taylor, who was beaming down at her.

Taylor then met the doctor's eyes and spoke clearly, "Ivy Pearl Madison."

The End