THE AFTER

TWO

"My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand..."

Taylor strummed absently as she looked through the French doors. In the distance, there was a soft glow forming just above the purple-black hills. Before she knew it, that glow would expand, morphing colors like a paintbrush meets water, and the sun would be up. She had checked the weather at least a dozen times in the last day. It was supposedly going to be one of those days with a limitless sky; the kind of blue that made her want to launch off a diving board and start swimming.

Exactly like the day she took a flight—a leap of faith?—to chase the woman sleeping upstairs.

Taylor put the guitar on the couch beside her and reached into the pocket on its case. She pulled out a small, square velvet box and held it in her palm. Her hand trembled and she eventually closed her fingers around it, as though trying to grasp the weight of it; of what she was only hours from doing.

She had it all planned out, which only left her to envision the thousand ways it could go wrong.

——————

November 17th, 2020 - Greenwich Village, New York City

His green eyes squinted as he recognized her and she instantly pictured Ivy. It was chilling how quickly she saw the similarity. Despite never having met him in her two years of life, the look was almost identical to the one her daughter would pull when she was skeptical of something.

Dorothea was still processing the shirt. It was so alarmingly bright, she wondered if it glowed in the dark. He had never been known to wear such a head-turning thing. Even when she saw him at the coffee shop over two years ago, he was wearing dark clothing. On his current shirt, though, was a cartoon turkey wearing a sweatband and running through some sort of finish line tape. She scanned the text beneath it: GOBBLE GOBBLE! 33rd Annual East Village Turkey Day Trot! 

Good Lord. Who was this guy?

Nick hated running. Who had convinced him to run a 5k, let alone on Thanksgiving Day? He always thought stuff like that was corny, but even more so liked to make people aware of that opinion. Any opportunity to make someone feel stupid, all while sporting a can of Miller and a crooked smile.

But the guy in front of her wasn't giving her a patronizing grin or holding a beer. He was more muscular, but thinner, and his hair was longer on top and buzzed on the sides. There was also a tattoo poking out from beneath his t-shirt sleeve with a date in simple black Roman numerals.

On the surface, he still looked like a douche. But something was different. It was the way he was looking at her. Almost...Remorsefully? The way his mouth turned down at the corners, which was funny because it was almost like when Ivy—

"Wait! Dorothea— " Nick called after her when she spun around. She felt his hand brush her arm. "Hang on!"

"I don't have time—"

"Please—"

Dorothea tore away from his reaching hand and looked at him squarely. Her voice came out low and rough, "Get away from me."

His eyes softened. "Please Thea? Just one minute—"

"Would you put your fucking hands down?" She growled under her breath.

"I'm just trying to talk to you—"

"And you don't need your fucking hands to do that, Nick—"

"Jesus, okay!" He sighed, jamming his hands in the pockets of his shorts and staring at her. "Is that better?"

"What do you want to say to me?" Dorothea pressed.

A look flickered across his face, and for a moment she saw the other guy. Not this bizarre Nick who ran 5ks and probably drank smoothies that tasted like grass, but the one who had called her spitting with rage about a pair of Balenciaga boots. The one who confirmed her decision to never let Ivy meet her father.

His eyes traveled down to her crossed arms and immediately landed on the ring. He was silent for a few moments and then a devious smile stretched up one side of his face. He was looking up at some arbitrary point on the ceiling when he said, "I don't know. It's been a long time. Probably a year or two, right—"

"I don't have time for this—"

"Thea, wait! Fuck—Hey, I'm sorry, okay? I was just being an asshole—"

"Go fuck yourself, Nick," she sighed, walking down the corridor towards the lobby.

"So, how's the baby?"

Dorothea stopped. She should have kept moving, but something inside her had sparked and she whipped around to look at him. He began walking towards her and her hands shot up defensively. "Don't you dare take one more step towards me—"

"I don't want to shout at you across the hallway!"

"You're literally shouting as you're standing five feet away from me—"

"Would you stop! Why do you keep backing away? You're making me look insane!"

"If that's what you're worried about, then here's five seconds to turn around and go back to your class and pretend this never happened," Dorothea offered, turning her back towards him once again.

"I'm sober, you know," Nick said, pulling a purple chip out of his pocket. "Nine months."

He was waiting for her to react, but Dorothea was already reaching the lobby. Even though he was too far away she swore she caught the edge of him saying, "I did it for her."

The words followed her. To the pharmacy, florist and the apartment. Through dinner and giving Ivy medicine and a bath and putting her down to sleep. They hung like bats as she laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Trying to burn a hole up there?" Taylor teased as she came out of the en-suite and approached her side of the bed.

"Could use a skylight," Dorothea hummed. She glanced over at the singer, who was scrolling on her phone. Then all of a sudden, she slid on top of her.

"Yes?" Taylor said, holding her phone above Dorothea's head so she could keep looking at it.

"I'm bored," Dorothea muttered against her.

"What?"

Dorothea grabbed the woman's phone and threw it across the bed. She grazed her lip against the blonde's collarbone, but didn't linger. "Pay attention to me."

Taylor slid her hand down Dorothea's back towards the waist band of her shorts. She arched an eyebrow. "I was reading something, you know—"

"Take your pants off."

Taylor laughed. "Can I have five minutes to finish—"

Dorothea placed her hand over the singer's mouth desperately. She held her gaze inches away the blue eyes in front of her, as though they had the power to erase the green ones she wished she had never seen. She leaned forward, her lips brushing against the singer's ear.

"Take. Them. Off."