DOROTHEA

EIGHTEEN

"All these people think love's for show
but I would die for you in secret..."

———

"My mom is insisting that you come over. I'm assuming meeting her was probably not in your plans, but for the sake of Heather and her default mode of over-bearing Southern Hospitality—"

Taylor's soft laughter came somewhat roughly and computerized through the Bluetooth connection in Dorothea's mom's SUV. "It's fine, as long as it's fine with you?" She said, "I sort of just showed up out of nowhere, which in hindsight was really selfish of me."

"No, it wasn't!" Dorothea argued, instantly realizing how defensive that sounded. For some reason, her tone was the opposite of the feeling that overcame her when she read the singer's message. "Sorry—I didn't mean it like that. It's just that my mom can be a lot sometimes and I wasn't really sure where we..." She trailed off.

"Same," Taylor inserted.

Dorothea sank against the driver's seat and looked at the metal exterior of the diner gleaming in the sunlight. She could see her mother through the window in the booth, chatting with another local couple from the neighborhood or church or book club or any of the dozens of things she was involved in. Her mom's roots were woven deeply in that town. Meanwhile, now that she was talking to Taylor, it dawned on Dorothea how...detached she herself had become.

"Thea, it's okay," Taylor assured, "I don't want you to feel like you have to see me. You have so much going on and so many complicated decisions to make. This was mostly just me acting on impulse, but if I'm being honest..." She hesitated, then added quietly, "I miss you."

Dorothea felt the words float around her, then slip through the cracked-open windows and evaporate into the Texas heat. She'd only ever seen Taylor in the winter gloom of Manhattan, but she could imagine her skin shimmering in the southern sun; her blonde hair glowing in stark contrast against the teal blue sky and the rich emerald grass beneath her peach-polished toenails. The idea of it—but more likely the fact that she most definitely missed her more—was overwhelming and sent tears pricking behind her eyelids.

"You weren't the only one acting on impulse," Dorothea noted.

"You need your family," Taylor reasoned, "and you had to do what was best for you."

Dorothea shook her head to herself, letting out a small laugh. "True, but it doesn't change anything. I'm still pregnant."

There was a beat of silence, though she had intended the remark as a joke. "True," Taylor said carefully, then added, "If you don't mind me asking, are you considering any other options?"

"I'm keeping her—" Dorothea stopped, fumbling over the words, "or him. I don't know don't know why I said that. I have no idea what I'm having."

"You think it's a girl?" The singer's voice brightened.

"I don't know, I had this dream a couple of weeks ago—" The night we had sex and I slept at your apartment, where you were holding a child who doesn't exist and she was calling you 'Mommy!' "—Anyway, it was just a dream," Dorothea sighed.

"I'll bet a thousand dollars that you're right."

"What?"

"Though I lack any personal experience, I've heard there's pretty magical powers in a mother's intuition," Taylor explained.

"And you'd bet a thousand dollars on that?"

"I'd pay you ten thousand just to be able to see your face in the gorgeous Texas sun, Dorothea Madison."