DOROTHEA

TWENTY-ONE

"...Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other..."

———

March 19th, 2018

The first call came seven-and-a-half hours later.

In the midst of sleeping off her jet-lag, Dorothea startled awake when her phone rattled loudly on the nightstand. She blinked several times, her blurry eyes darting around in an attempt to recognize the large, white-walled space. When she pawed the obnoxious device off of the furniture, she managed to swipe the Call button and mumble, "Hello?"

"Thea?" It was Maeve. The volume of her voice launched Dorothea up into a sitting position. "Thea? Hello—"

"Hey—hi," she cut in, clearing her dry throat. She wasn't nearly awake enough. "What's—How are you doing?" She asked.

A moment passed before her sister answered, "I'm good, Babygirl." She laughed. "Sounds like I woke you up. Isn't it almost noon in LA?"

"Ah, yeah it is. My flight got in around—" Dorothea froze. She never told Maeve she was going to LA. She never mentioned the job. Or the woman whose Beverly Hills king-size bed she was currently sitting in. Her sister's work schedule had been a nightmare during the three weeks Dorothea was in Dallas, and Taylor had —conveniently— showed up for the only one for which Maeve had night shifts at the hospital. While she slept during the day, Dorothea also —conveniently— avoided the arduous task of explaining her new...situation.

Evidently, though, Maeve had managed to discover a few details.

"Around three am?" Her sister guessed.

Dorothea took the covers off her lap then pulled her knees up to her chest, watching as one of the singer's cats appeared in the doorway. "How do you know I'm in LA?" She asked.

Maeve laughed. "You really overestimate our mother's capability of self-control..."

"Seriously?" Dorothea groaned. "She promised she wouldn't tell anyone!"

"First of all, I'm offended. How could you tell Mom you had a job working for Taylor Swift before me—"

"Who else did she tell?"

"Dean."

Dorothea sighed, holding her face in her palm. "Anyone else?"

"Not that I know of."

She sighed again, this time heavily, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. "So let me guess, you also saw the photo?"

"What photo?"

Her eyes shot open. "Oh—no. Never mind. Don't worry about it—"

"Thea, what are you talking about?" Maeve asked, "Where are you even staying? Are you in one of the hotels downtown? It better not be that one by the Walk of Fame that got busted for a drug-trafficking operation last month—"

"No, it's not—Okay, actually, I've gotta go so, talk soon. Kay?" Dorothea hung up the phone and dropped it onto the immaculate white sheets beneath her.

She had less than three minutes to contemplate how long it would take any of her family members to see the photo before the second call came in. It was from her doctor, all the way back in Manhattan. Dr. Marshall was calling to just check-in on how she and The Little One were doing. Dorothea had responded that they were doing Just fine! Thanks! despite the fact that she completely skipped her March appointment and was vomiting basically every day.