DOROTHEA

TWO

"To live for the hope of it all..."

———

When Taylor went to the restroom at The Pearl, she was floating on a fizzy, dreamy wave of golden champagne.

The car ride from her Chelsea apartment to Midtown was painfully slow, but she'd loved it. She sat in the back of a black Escalade with her friends Martha, Ashley, and Gigi, laughing and conversing way too loudly while they sipped their bubbly drinks. They were all dressed gorgeously, wearing flawless, shimmery makeup and jewelry that glittered in the passing light beyond the windows. It had been a long time since she was comfortable doing anything like that. The fact that Taylor had left her apartment building through the front entrance to flashes of cameras, and wouldn't hesitate to walk past several more once they arrived at the restaurant was shocking. Honestly, it shocked her the most.

But 2018 had arrived, and she sailed into the new year on a surprising wave of optimism. 2017 Taylor would've been proud. 2016 Taylor would've laughed cynically and thought she was a fool. The 2016 version of herself was bitter, lonely, fearful; jaded by the isolation she had been forced to enter when it seemed like that was the best thing she could do for her career. The bleach-haired girl who had just broken up with a then-thirty-five-year-old never imagined there being a return to the public eye.

Though Taylor had come back to social media, she was scared. For over a year she'd protected herself by hiding. But she'd since reintroduced vulnerability to herself, to the millions of people on the Internet and the paparazzi that were delighted by her return (Well, perhaps delighted was a poor term. Even though her photos were what put dinner on their family's tables, every once in a while she had one who'd hurl a juvenile comment her way).

But despite the fact that she was scared, 2018 Taylor had one particular quality that served as the armor she hadn't had before: She didn't give one single shit about anyone else's opinion of her.

Now, almost two years after she disappeared, she was having a celebration dinner for the kick-off of tour rehearsals for her latest album. Taylor never imagined writing a record like Reputation, let alone that it would top the Billboard 200 in its first week. And she certainly hadn't thought she'd be preparing for a sold-out stadium tour. But that was exactly what 2018 Taylor Swift was doing.

Once they arrived at the restaurant, she felt the two glasses of champagne both in her head and bladder. While her friends joined her family and publicist, Taylor navigated towards the restroom. As soon as she stepped inside the lavish-looking room, the relative quiet made her realize she was perhaps a little bit more buzzed than she thought.

After fixing her gown back over her heels, she was about to exit the stall when she heard what sounded like crying mixed in with the distant jazz music. But it may have just been her slight-intoxication. It was probably just the music.

But when Taylor stepped out of the stall, she was met by a petite brunette standing at one of the sinks doing exactly what she thought she heard. Her outfit indicated that she was probably one of the servers, and the unopened bottle of champagne next to her seemed to support that narrative as well.

"Hey—" Without thinking, Taylor addressed her, startling the girl and causing her to immediately make for the exit. But since Taylor had come out of a stall by the door, the girl stopped suddenly and met her with a pair of glassy hazel eyes.

"Hey," Taylor repeated softly, troubled by the stranger's deeply sad appearance. She wasn't sure what caused her to say something. Maybe it was the alcohol, or perhaps because in recent years, she'd become familiar with sadness, too. "Are you all right?" She asked.