Brooklyn - Taylor Swift

Part 30

"I'm seriously going to be sick," I grumbled for about the thirteenth time, my stomach doing somersaults as we sat in the back of the car. Oscar was doing his driving thing while we were on our way to Taylor's mom's place. The cats sat in their carrier beside Tay, who I forced into the middle, not wanting anything else to happen to my face today.

It was just Oscar with us for the trip since we aren't exactly planning to do much while here. Honestly, it's a miracle we convinced Greg to head back to his home for Thanksgiving with his mum and sister. It involved me promising to be a saint and Taylor arguing that Oscar was more than capable of babysitting us for three days. It took a lot of persuasion, though. 

Greg was worried about leaving Taylor in danger, and Tay, well, she was pretty sure I'd pull a vanishing act as soon as fewer than three people were watching me. Okay, that one is kind of true but still harsh. 

I had been eager to drive, thinking it would give me a grip on something in the midst of all this emotional chaos, but Taylor shot that idea down fast than I could ask for the car keys. She didn't trust me not to ditch Oscar and make a run for it, which, fine, true, but still, ouch. 

Taylor has about as much trust in me as a mother does in a toddler when it comes to me going where I am supposed to, which is harsh but kind of accurate.

"You won't actually be sick," Taylor chuckled softly, her laughter dancing in the air like a comforting melody. Her warm and steady touch was a lifeline of reassurance as she grabbed my fidgety hand. The first few times I muttered about feeling nauseous, she took it seriously and had Oscar pull over. But eventually, she figured out that my dramatic proclamations were more about my emotional turmoil than any actual illness, and now she is about as comforting as an earthquake.

Her smile was like a beam of sunshine, chasing away some of my anxiety. Her fingers gently squeezed mine, a rhythmic pulse that seemed to synchronise with my racing heartbeats. One, two, three squeezes—each one a little reminder that she was right there beside me, unwavering and solid.

"What's got you so nervous? I have never seen you this apprehensive before, and I have watched you perform in front of tens of thousands of people," Taylor's eyes were curious and concerned as they met mine. And yeah, I admit it, I've never been this jittery before, not even when I've been on some massive stage or in high-pressure situations. 

But this, this moment right here could make or break my future, and I am terrified I'm about to fuck it all up.

I let out a shaky breath, my gaze dropping momentarily before meeting hers again. "I'm about to meet your parents," I confessed, the words heavy with uncertainty. 

"Crap. I've never done this before—never met the parents of an ex, never had parents of my own to meet. Okay, I did meet Cara's parents once, but that doesn't count because it was way before anything happened between us. They just knew me as Arthur Abraham Nickles Kemp's granddaughter. And honestly, they barely tolerate me, and that is purely for my family's sake, not because they're fans of my personality," I rambled on, a waterfall of thoughts tumbling out.

My arm twitched in spite of Taylor's grip, my neck joining in with painful jerks like they were having a dance party without me. It was annoying and painful.

"I have no clue how to do this parent-meeting thing, especially meeting both of them. Do they know about us? About me being your girlfriend? Do they know about my... well, different body? Fuck. Do they know I live with you? Shit. What if your dad's unhappy because we're living together before getting married? Crap. Should we get married? Wait, did I miss the step where I'm supposed to ask for his blessing? Bollocks. Do you want me to ask for his blessing? Because I don't want you to think I think you're property or that a man should get a say in who you marry. But I don't want him to think I'm disrespectful. Shit. What if your mom doesn't like me? My track record with moms isn't great—Cara's mom isn't my biggest fan, and neither is my own. I mean, you've seen me after talking to my mother for just ten minutes. I'm pretty sure I'm the opposite of a mom's dream—bloody hell. Your mom is like a hero to your fans; what if they turn on me when they find out she's not exactly my biggest fan? Fuck. The swifties are going to kill me; they're all smart, too. I bet they know just how to hide a body so that they'll get away with it. Fucking hell. Your mom is your best friend; if she doesn't like me, you have to dump me and then... Crap. I can't even think about that, love. Tay, I don't know what I'll do if you leave. Fuck," I blurted out, my words a rapid-fire outpouring of my anxiety.