"Okay, hear me out. We are stuck in the house with nothing to do, we could do something productive while we have time to kill."
"We wrote and released an entire album, Grace. What sounds more productive than that?"
Quarantine is driving them up the...
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"Put your mask on," Grace reminded Taylor as the blonde parallel parked outside of the fertility clinic. Taylor was too busy making sure she wasn't about to drag the tires against the curb to wave her off. The masks sitting in the junk collector of their preferred SUV to take out and about because it was nearly impossible to get a driver during a pandemic, were just as a good a reminder as her wife saying it was.
"I know, sweetheart, I won't forget," Taylor shifted the vehicle into park and pressed the parking brake down with her left foot.
"Apologies, I'm nervous," Grace's leg hadn't stopped bouncing the entire drive.
"It's alright," Taylor picked up her mask. After spending a week indulging one another in the word wife and baking bread, playing board games and dancing barefoot in the living room instead of a honeymoon, the appointment they had made at the clinic Grace had heavily researched was finally around. It turned out that if you put Taylor Swift on anything, including a request for an appointment, they made room as soon as possible.
"We need to get Erica to drop groceries off, too," Grace opened her car door and then let it shut behind her, "You're approximately a foot from the curb."
"I'll pay the ticket. You know I can't parallel park," the singer shrugged. It had taken her three attempts to get that close and she wasn't about to try again.
"I won't even do it, I just go back home."
"I know, that's why Erica buys our groceries. Whatever would we do if you couldn't walk places?"
"You'd drive," Grace had fought so long to get her license and then never drove anywhere unless it was completely necessary.
They got their forehead temperatures taken at the door before they were met with a small waiting area, fresh masks they needed to change into and large bottles of sanitizer. There was a new patient information sheet that was given to each of them, pens freshly wiped down and passed through a tiny hole in the plastic shield separating the office staff from the waiting area.
"Shit," Grace mumbled and caught Taylor's attention, "I put the wrong name down."
"Oh yeah, Grace Swift," Taylor nudged her shoulder like she hadn't been calling her that for a week straight.
Grace was smiling behind her mask and Taylor could hear the amusement in her voice as she said, "It'll take me a while to get used to it."
"I'm sure you will," the blonde hummed as she continued to fill her form out. She filled out as much as she could and passed the clipboard over to Grace, who could fill in the information she didn't have a clue about. When the first day of her last period was? She didn't keep track. She was sure Grace knew, though.
"It's better than Langford," Grace replied as she accepted the clipboard before adding, "Really? I have no idea what your blood type is, darling."
Forty-five minutes later, Taylor slammed the car door shut and ripped the mask off before pumping sanitizer from the cupholder into her palm, "Twenty-five needles?!"
