EIGHT

"...But we were in

screaming color..."

———

February 14th, 2018

Dorothea loved Valentine's Day.

Whether single or not, she had always embraced the holiday without shame. Buckets of roses, heart-shaped boxes with a constellation of chocolates, and giant teddy bears on display at the front entrance of the pharmacy were exactly what her cheesy heart melted for. Most people had a very love-hate opinion of it all (though the majority, really, seemed to swing towards the second). But Dorothea absolutely loved how in-your-face it was. It always reminded her to take herself a little less seriously.

This year, during a restless, nausea-filled night before, she'd done something she never imagined she would for Valentine's Day 2018. It was around two in the morning, and in the middle of her zombie scroll through her photography portfolio on her laptop, her cursor wandered over to Photoshop. It had been open already as she was editing some of her work, but some delirious impulse in her brain had her click to start a new, card-size project.

For almost two hours, Dorothea crafted a Hallmark-worthy Valentine card for the tiny being that made her vomit three times earlier that day. Part of her thought she was being cute, and the other thought she had officially lost her mind.

After dragging the printer out of her closet at almost five in the morning, Dorothea had loaded a single piece of card stock paper and printed the pink and red heart-stamped document. She then stumbled to her bed as she folded it, and collapsed on top of her sheets to read it:

Dear Tiny Grain of Rice,

Roses are red

Violets are blue

My stomach is not

In love with you.

But my heart is.

Love,

Your Birth-Giver

It was perhaps the whackiest, stupidest thing she'd done in a long time. Yet, Dorothea felt her eyes welling up as she looked at the heart she'd photoshopped a single grain of rice onto on the front of the card.

During the past few weeks, the little piece of life inside of her had become truly important. Even though she missed avocado, she decided to give it up for the sake of the two of them. She was becoming much more careful with how she moved through the city, as opposed to knocking and bumping into other people and things without even thinking. She had even turned the regular volume down on her earbuds, for some reason thinking it might actually be too loud, both for her and the baby.

Even if she never heard from Nick Keller for the rest of her life, her roots of attachment to their baby were deep. And Dorothea knew that any attempt to tear them out would probably kill her.

On Valentine's Day morning, Dorothea was grateful for the day off from work. Her lack of sleep had given her every aspect of a hangover —including the nausea— without having consumed a single sip of alcohol. When she entered the kitchen, she squinted at the jarring winter sun flooding into the room and highlighting all of the scattered photos she'd left on the table the previous day.

After feeding Oliver and making herself a —baby-friendly!— cup of herbal tea, Dorothea wandered over to the table and sat down. She scanned her bleary eyes over the photos in front of her, just as she had for hours the day before. There was a pile that she was certain about showing Taylor, but dozens of others scattered around that she was unsure about, as well.

Dorothea hadn't spoken to or messaged the singer since their encounter at Bar None the previous Friday. She wanted to take her time and be thoughtful about putting together her best photographic works, mostly because she had no idea what showing Taylor her portfolio meant. Was it just an indirect way to ask her to hang out? Or was it like a job interview? She realized she had no idea what the singer's intentions were. And it only made it that much harder to call her and schedule a time to meet.

It also didn't help that she couldn't stop thinking about the way Taylor looked that night—Soft champagne-blonde hair tossled in waves; feathery makeup with highlight that shimmered; dark sapphire eyes and rich, red-stained lips. God damn. Dorothea tried to remember if she even registered the woman's beauty the night they met at The Pearl. She recalled her gorgeous gown, but it hadn't sunk in until she'd sat next to the singer on an ice-cold concrete curb.

Attraction, in Dorothea's mind, was a simple term for a complex feeling. It was physical, but also sometimes mental or emotional. It could be surface-level or bone-deep; black-and-white or drenched in color. But in the rare instance when it was all of those things at once, it was an overwhelming, gut-feeling that came out of nowhere. And that feeling of attraction for Taylor Swift had left her absolutely dumbstruck as she walked back to her apartment that Friday night.

Once again, the After felt as plastic as living in a Barbie Dream House.

After a few minutes of sipping her tea and swapping photos, Dorothea's phone rattled on the counter. She immediately thought of her sister, who she knew would be curious about the status of finding her ghost of an ex-boyfriend. But when she picked up the device and turned it over to look at the screen, her eyes widened.

"Mom?" She answered, resting her free hand tentatively on the counter.

"Thea!—" Dorothea had to jerk her head away from the phone as her mother shouted into the receiver. "Happy Valentine's Day, Sweet Pea! Long time no chat! What are you doing right now?"

"Just drinking some tea," she sighed. For a second she thought her mother had somehow found out about, well, everything she'd blubbered to Maeve about. But her sister was more trustworthy than that. Normally, she'd viewed that loyalty as a blessing, but a tiny part of her wouldn't have minded if Maeve let the news of her pregnancy slip. She had yet to plan how to approach the subject with her mother.

"Tea! You drink tea now?" Her mother shouted again. "So you're finally taking my advice about the dangers of too much caffeine! Next thing you're gonna tell me you're moving back to Dallas—"

"Why are you yelling?" Dorothea cut in, darting her gaze up to the ceiling. She suddenly heard the distant sound of a lawn mower.

"Oh, I'm just doing my daily walk around the development! It's Wednesday, so you remember that's the day the landscaping crews come out!" Her mother exclaimed, "Sounds like I'm walking through a construction site, doesn't it! And there's all this grass blowing all over the place! My allergies are already flaring, Thea! It's only halfway through February! But after that strange cold spell, we've had some unusually high temperatures—"

"Mhm," Dorothea hummed, crossing her free arm over her stomach. She glanced at the time on the stove, wondering if this was going to be an Endless Heather Madison Phone Call. She hadn't had one of those since before Christmas. She considered if this was the signal from the universe to turn her mother's day upside-down with the news.

"—but anyway, as I said, it's been so long since we've talked. I'm worried about you, Thea! Is everything okay up there?" The older woman asked.

"Uh—" Dorothea suddenly swallowed a sip of her tea wrong, trying to stifle the coughing fit her body wanted to release. "Yeah," she croaked, then without thinking added, "I mean, there's something—" she coughed "—I've been meaning to talk to you about."

Her pulse hammered after the words came out, but it was too late to suck them back down her throat. Maybe this time she'd actually manage to say the words herself.

The background noise on her mother's end faded. "Whatever it is, Sweet Pea," she said, a note of concern in her tone. "Talk to me."

Dorothea panicked, but the words ended up flooding out of her with surprising ease. Her voice was still as shaky as when she explained everything to Maeve, but she didn't stop. She was anticipating her mother cutting in at any second —especially at the mention of Nick— but the older woman stayed silent as she listened.

"So, I'm pregnant," Dorothea said quietly," "and I can't find him. But I want to keep the baby."

A few quiet moments passed between them. Dorothea tried to imagine her mother's expression. Was her mouth turned down at the corners in the way it did when she was disappointed? Did her green eyes flash like they did when she was mad? Had she even processed any of it?

Dorothea disagreed with her mother on many things, but she still loved her deeply. No matter how stubborn and argumentative she was, there was a piece of her that couldn't forget she was also Heather Madison's baby. If the baby inside of her grew up and put up just as much of a fight on so many things as she had, she knew she'd feel the same way her mother did about her.

A sudden sigh from her mother laced through the receiver. "Oh Thea," she whispered, "I'm so sorry he put you through this."

Dorothea took a careful breath. "It's—" she stopped. It really wasn't okay. But by now she'd forced herself to move on. "But you understand why I still want to have the baby?" She asked.

"Yes. Yes, but—" her mother paused, as though she was choosing her words carefully. "I think with that in mind, you're going to have to look more closely at some of the other aspects of your current situation, Thea."

Dorothea furrowed her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I know you're aware that you're probably going to need another job so you have enough money to care for your baby," her mother explained, "and then there's the issue of who will look after the baby while you're working—"

"I know. Believe me, all of this is constantly on my mind—"

"Thea," her mother cut in, " I think you need to move back to Dallas."

Dorothea's mouth instantly opened in protest; her gut-instinct any of the countless times her mother brought up the suggestion. But when she saw the pink lines on the stick in the employee bathroom, the thought had crossed her mind, too. If she moved back to Texas, she knew she'd have her family's support within arm's reach. They would happily and graciously help her with her child, even if part of the baby was Nick Keller.

But moving back south felt like taking a giant step backward; like taking an eraser and scrubbing out the last five years of the Before. And it felt like sending her career hopes to a permanent grave.

That night in the alley behind Bar None, Taylor's mention of her photography had sent her buried dream back into orbit. With her characteristic abundance of optimism, Dorothea's mind had launched into all sorts of rosy, sparkling ideas of what sharing her work with Taylor Swift could mean. Perhaps, both halves of the After were necessary for both of her dreams to come true.

After hanging up from her mother —and another prod to make a doctor's appointment right now please!— Dorothea's gaze squared on the photo prints scattered across the kitchen table.

She then swiped across her phone screen to her contacts and called Taylor.

———

February 15th, 2018

Dorothea had called her on Valentine's Day.

That was the first thing Taylor wanted to mention when the girl's number had appeared on her screen. But she didn't want to be weird. Taylor —surprisingly— wasn't very enthusiastic about the holiday (she liked to drown the people she loved with her affection on any day of the year). And most people —quite possibly including Dorothea—weren't huge fans of it, either. So she kept all corny jokes aside as she planned to meet Dorothea at a brunch place on Park Avenue the day after.

As Taylor got herself ready that morning, she noticed her thoughts wandering to the same stranger she'd learned about in the alley behind Bar None. Dorothea's ex. Ex-boyfriend. Well—That's what she'd assumed. Dorothea's use of the word him had shot into Taylor's brain like a dart in the center of a bull's eye. But she of all people knew that didn't tell the whole story. Her ex may have been a him, but there was something about the way the girl looked at her that Friday night.

Attraction, in Taylor's mind, was a power of incomprehensible force. It worked in ways that she and everyone else who desired to love and be loved couldn't understand. It was cosmic; a phenomenon written in the stars. But mostly, true attraction was brought by two stars crossing by impossible chance.

Taylor was first to arrive at the restaurant, along with one of her security guards who was going to be seated several tables over from their's. She hoped Dorothea wouldn't notice him and clam up. She wanted to hear the full volume of Dorothea's silverbell twang and the laugh that was more intoxicating than any alcohol she'd ever consumed.

Less than five minutes after sitting down, Dorothea came through the entrance in a long peacoat and cream-colored scarf. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold and her straight hair tossled ever-so-slightly. The host guided her towards the table, and as she got closer Taylor could see she was holding a leather tote, as well as wearing what appeared to be slacks and fur-lined Gucci mules.

A business outfit. Taylor smiled. The main reason she'd expressed her interest in Dorothea's photography was to find an excuse to see her again. And the second—slightly-less important— reason was that she still didn't have a photographer for the Reputation merch shoot with the dancers that was now less than a week away. But apparently, her proposal for two acquaintances getting brunch and looking at photos wasn't as subtle of a hint as she'd thought.

"Hey! Good to see you! Thanks for coming," Taylor greeted, standing up to hug the brunette.

"Thanks for the opportunity." Dorothea laughed. When she stepped back and shrugged out of her coat, Taylor had to avoid staring at the hint of black lace poking beneath the buttons of her silk blouse, and the thin gold necklace in the center. It may have been the most sweat-inducing business outfit she'd ever seen.

"How have you been?" Taylor asked, suddenly noticing the faint dark circles beneath the foundation on the girl's eyes. "Oh god—Did you work the holiday date-crowd last night? We should've met later this afternoon—"

"No, no. I actually got lucky and had the day off," Dorothea explained. She then laughed. "But I haven't been sleeping the best, as you could probably tell."

"No—I mean, you look tired, but you also look great," Taylor said quickly, praying the heat that threatened to rise across her skin wouldn't surface.

Dorothea gave a feathery laugh. "And you look gorgeous. I honestly felt underdressed when I saw you," she admitted.

They smiled at one another, their eyes briefly meeting, then dropping back to the menus in front of them. A few quiet moments passed. Taylor's heart felt like a wild hummingbird trapped in a cage that was too small.

The corners of Dorothea's rosy lips were turned down as she studied the menu. "Have you been her before?" She asked.

"Yeah, it's one of my favorite places," Taylor replied, then frowned. "Oh, god—I'm sorry," she suddenly apologized, "I didn't think to ask if you had any food restrictions—"

"No! No, it all looks amazing," the brunette assured. "Believe me, my body would love to have something different than cereal or peanut butter on toast."

"Peanut butter on toast?"

"Yes. What?" Dorothea laughed at her expression. "I'm pretty sure that's a breakfast thing. Why, are you allergic—"

Taylor made a face. "Just not a fan."

Dorothea's mouth dropped. "That's so weird."

"Okay, I get butter or jam. But peanut butter?"

"And just because you said that, I'm ordering the eggs that come with toast and will specifically ask for it,"

"Then I'll tell the server you're joking because I'm allergic,"

Dorothea looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. "Then I'll just go sit and have my brunch with that guy in the black polo who seems very interested in me."

Taylor's eyes shot in the direction she was suggesting, then she covered her mouth as she avoided shattering the room with her laughter. "Sorry," she said, "but he's looking at both of us. And he's also married and probably twice your age."

"How can you see a ring on his finger from here—"

"He's my security guard," Taylor interrupted, and the look that crossed Dorothea's face sent her laughing again. "But I'm sure Ted would be more than happy to keep you company."

Dorothea smiled sheepishly, trying to avoid her gaze. "Well, does Ted like peanut butter?"

God, was Taylor's heart hammering.

A few moments later the server came over to take their orders, and Taylor requested a glass of Rosé. She encouraged Dorothea to get a drink for herself, but the girl just asked for a latte. Taylor thought back to when she'd also denied the glass of champagne. She tended to just assume most young twenty-somethings living in Manhattan liked to drink. But perhaps, like in so many other ways, Dorothea was an exception.

While the pair waited for their food, Dorothea pulled out some of her photography works to show her. They were—as Taylor expected—stunning. Beautiful glossy prints, both void of color and drenched in it. Nearly all of them were fashion-related. Perfect. But it was almost too advanced. She wondered if asking the girl to photograph her dancers in her merchandise would seem like an insult.

"These are seriously amazing, Dorothea," Taylor complimented, passing the print in her hand back to the girl. "Do people hire you to do this?"

"No—" The girl dropped her eyes to the photos on the table, shaking her head quickly. "I mean, that's honestly my dream, though."

Taylor smiled. "Well, I just might have an opportunity for you."

Dorothea's golden gaze shot up to meet her's. "Are you serious?" She laughed.

"If you're interested in taking photos of people wearing clothes with my name all over them," Taylor said, "and I'm not even going to try to pretend that isn't as vain as it sounds."

Dorothea laughed, and there it was. The same beautiful sound that had vibrated every inch of Taylor's limbs in the alley behind Bar None.

Dorothea's eyes glittered when she looked at her. "And I'd love the opportunity to see just how vain you can be."

"Speaking of vanity, you wouldn't happen to have a resumé—"

Taylor stopped to watch the girl pull out a perfectly smooth sheet of paper and slide it across the table. She picked it up, holding it carefully in her fingers as she smiled at Dorothea.

"My publicist is already in love with you," Taylor said.

And so am I.