Chapter Text
May 31, 2023
“Yes, yes, yeah, oh, mmm…”
He caught her by the neck, fisting his hands in her hair as he pulled her back up to his mouth, working her lips open. She started making those noises of hers again, little mmms, purring growls, nipping at his lip between swipes of her velvet tongue. All it took was the press of his thumb on her clit to make Taylor scream at him for being a tease, and four quick, grinding circles to send her over the edge in a tense star-fall of release.
He held on, maintaining an excruciatingly slow pace that matched the throbbing grip and release of her body, and when her eyes finally cleared and her colour started to come back, he grabbed her ankles, hiked them over his shoulders, and ramped up until the pace was unbelievable, unsustainable.
“Fuck, I-I’m not gunna last,” Travis groaned. “Fuck, I love you, Tay.”
Taylor nodded, unable to speak. Her thighs trembled. He was so thick inside her, moving so fast she could barely keep up. She breathlessly looped her arms around his neck and panted into his mouth, “I love you, I love you…Travis, oh, God…oh!”
The brutal force of his thrusts caused her legs to slip and she immediately locked her thighs around his waist, crossing her ankles at his lower back. He continued rutting into her, gasping loudly in her ear; he was fighting to keep from crushing her, holding himself up with his arms on the pillow.
“Baby. Can I—?”
Taylor was already nodding. “You can come inside me. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
He blinked down at her, flushed and confused.
She fluttered her lashes with a pouty grin and giggled, “I’m pregnant, Trav.”
Travis groaned again and smashed his lips to hers, hands framing her face. “W-what? Are you serious? Are you actually—?” He strangled out into another broken groan when he finally spilled inside her, hips stuttering wildly, half laughing into her kiss.
“Yeah.”
“Holy fucking shit.”
“I was gonna tell you earlier, I swear,” she giggled when he pressed another kiss to her lips, “but then I finally got you alone and you just looked so good…my brain, like, short-circuited or something, Travis. Oh my God.”
He rolled off her, still panting, dragging her with him so she landed across his chest, straddling him. He was still inside her, barely soft. His hands came up to settle at her hips, thumbs stroking her clammy skin.
“Wait, how long have you known? When did you find out?”
“Monday.”
He stared at her like she was the moon. “Jesus, Tay. You just dropped that on me mid-stroke.”
She laughed again, leaning down to kiss him softly. “I knew it’d get your attention.”
“You think?” He grinned wide, his hands roaming up to her waist. “We’re gunna have four kids. Four. I’m gunna have to build bunk beds in the damn basement.”
“You don’t have to do anything tonight except breathe.”
“Breathe,” he repeated. “Right. Okay. Yeah.” He tilted his head back and sighed, still grinning. “This is insane. I mean, in the best way. I don’t even—are you okay? Are you feeling sick already? When are you gunna be due? Shit, the tour. Baby, your tour…and what about the bedrooms…do we have room on this floor? Should we convert the—”
“Babe.”
He looked at her, chest still rising and falling shakily.
“Breathe.”
Eventually, Travis dozed off, his body curved protectively around her, but Taylor lay awake. Her heart was racing and jittery, her brain a carousel; she was lit up and spinning in the deep inky dark.
The day had been so long. Lila had refused her afternoon nap, Marnie was snippy about her summer reading list being too easy and brain-rotting, and Jack had dumped all his Legos on the staircase, sending the cats into a disgruntled frenzy. When Travis had finally gotten home from the golf course, she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him. She needed a mind-numbing orgasm. Or two.
She slipped out of bed, overly cautious so she didn’t disturb him, and padded across the room to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer. Her nutmeg-coloured silk robe was where she left it and her diary was buried beneath a folded sleep shirt. She tugged the robe on and carried the journal back to bed, sitting cross-legged and opening to the last page.
May 29 2023
Positive test. Positive pregnancy test. What the fuck? I’m pregnant. I think? No, I am. Shaking. Still. Travis is out. The kids are screaming. I feel insane.
She flipped to a clean page and uncapped her pen.
May 31 2023
So, I told Travis. His reaction was so effervescent, of course. He’s always wanted a football team of kids. Should I mention that I told him while we were having sex? I’ve always been told I have a knack for dramatic flair. But also? Kinda perfect.
He asked if he could come inside me and I said I’m pregnant and then he came in me anyway.(Thank god these are for my eyes only).
She messily scribbled over that last part and chewed the cap of her pen, smiling. Curious, she turned back some pages, flipping through the years. The paper crumpled as she flicked past joys and tears and flashbacks until she landed on 2018. This was her motherhood journal, packed thick with feelings of failure and heights of wonder, stained with tears and coffee rings, locked with secrets and wishes. August 2018. July 2018. June. It was hard to believe she was the same person who struggled through all this heartache five years ago; never thought for a second that she would be here now.
June 22 2018
I haven’t told Travis about the stage lights spinning while I was up there tonight. There really is no point in getting his hopes up too. I write about this confusing grief every time I realise I’m not pregnant, but I never think to include his feelings. He hides them better than I do. He’s always finding ways to make me laugh and smile…and his laugh is just so infectious that I couldn’t pretend that his presence alone didn’t give me wild joy if I tried.
Anyway, 2 hours of singing and dancing and ignoring the double vision of the London crowds, a twinkle of hope locked in the back of my mind, and I’m not pregnant. Period symptoms. As it always turns out to be. Every disappointment feels like a sign from the universe: not you, not now, not ever. Is this my fate for being so unkind to my body when we were expecting Jack? My mental health was a shit show when he was born. I still carry that shame now.
I know we’re technically not trying anymore, but it’s still fucking soul-crushing with each passing month. I know it wouldn’t be an ideal situation for us right now. Not when I’m touring until November.
One more Europe show and then back home! Sleep, Taylor.
Taylor exhaled, pressing her palm to the page. She glanced down at Travis’s sleeping form and nibbled her bottom lip. Her younger self felt close and far all at once. She was ripped from her looping thoughts when she heard the doorknob rattling in a struggling grip. She rolled her eyes with a smirk and slipped out of bed, tied her robe, and unlocked the door.
“Hi, baby.”
“Mommy!” The 3-year-old flashed a toothy grin.
“Let me guess…you’re not sleepy?”
Lila giggled and dramatically shook her head side-to-side. She hopped on one foot and nearly toppled over, losing her balance as she tried to push the leg of her pyjama pants down from behind her knee. Her freckled cheeks were flushed and dewy with sleep, her hair electric with static from her braids.
“The duck-ducks had lots of babies, Mommy. Sooo many babies. She’s gonna be a mommy forever.”
Taylor scooped her up, heart full and aching. “What duck is that, Lils?”
“The duck-duck in my dreams!”
“Wow,” Taylor gasped, giggling and jostling the toddler higher on her hip. She started down the hallway back toward Lila’s room. “Lucky ducky, huh?”
“They were teeny tiny and one was GREEN,” Lila replied with wide eyes as they both clambered onto the small bed and snuggled under the duvet. “Like that duck on my blanket. See? See?”
Taylor smiled, running her finger down the slope of Lila’s button nose.
Lila was definitely the chatterbox of their three kids. Not only a chatterbox, she was a performer. She twirled or stomped into every room. Her giggles scattered like confetti. She was a burst of sunshine, always dancing, always storytelling, always humbling. Shockingly articulate for three, her words came fast and uncannily precise, layered with flair and flourish; her sentences were always so expressive and dramatic and full of feeling.
She was also, by far, the worst sleeper of the bunch. Marnie and Jack had both transitioned to toddlers beds without a fuss, but Lila escaped every night. She was always the last to fall asleep, the first to wake, and she almost never stayed asleep in between. The kid was never tired. She ran on pure imagination and stubborn willpower. Travis sometimes joked they needed to sedate her.
All three of their kids were so different it almost made Taylor dizzy.
Marnie, ten years old now, had always been the easy one. She beamed like the sun and agreed with everything. She reminded Taylor of herself in that way: a people pleaser at heart, but also creative and blunt and dreamy. She’d inherited Travis’s sporty streak, too; she had that competitive drive. Taylor hoped she’d never change.
Jack would be seven next month, and the thought knocked the air clean out of her lungs. He used to be a lot like Lila, loud and fearless and kinetic, but he’d softened from the whirlwind of his toddler years into a calm and quirky kid. A quiet storm, she often called him whenever friends asked how the kids were doing. He never really said much, but he always noticed everything. Taylor and Travis learned that he required a whole lot of different nurture than the girls did.
It felt like a paradox: three entirely different, wonderful, magical humans. And now…a fourth. Her hand drifted to her stomach. She wondered who this tiny firefly of a miracle would grow up to be.
Taylor breathed in softly, brushing a kiss to Lila’s cheek. “Try to get some sleep, duck-duck,” she whispered.
“‘Kay, Mommy.” She wriggled closer and curled her chubby fist beside Taylor’s, right where the butterflies were still soaring.
Taylor’s nerves were sparking again, her mind wide awake. She sniffled once and the tears came quickly without warning. Her chest ached, full to bursting. She exhaled shakily, brushing the back of her wrist beneath her eyes, and stared up at the glow-in-the-dark firefly stickers scattered above Lila’s bed. They weren’t glowing tonight, probably needed more sunlight during the day; it had been a gloomy afternoon. But still, they comforted her.
She remembered the crying in the bathroom, month after month. The hushed fights with Travis behind closed doors so Marnie and Jack wouldn’t hear. The tests hidden beneath the sink. The way grief would spike through her at random—at friends’ pregnancy announcements, at the sound of Jack’s tiny voice calling mama, at the terrible realisation they might never make another baby again.
She asked herself, more than once: Am I allowed to want this so badly when I already have two healthy kids? It was almost two years of trying when she finally got pregnant with Lila. She had clung to Travis just last year and told him she couldn’t go through all of that again, despite the want for a fourth baby bubbling in her core. They’d agreed on three, but the ache didn’t disappear just because it was easier.
Now, five, maybe six months after that conversation, she was pregnant. There’d been no trying this time, no tracking ovulation, no two-week wait, no staring down stick after stick until her eyes crossed wondering if she was seeing a positive line or an evap line. Just one dizzy day of nausea and a crooked feeling in her gut, then two pink lines.
She swallowed thickly, careful not to wake Lila, and pressed the edge of the duvet tighter against her body. She felt herself buzzing still—not just from the sex, though she still ached between her legs in the best way—but from the enormity of it all. She closed her eyes and imagined the stunned blur of Travis’s face when she said the words. God, he was going to be insufferably obsessed with this baby just like he was the others.
The carousel in her brain began to spin again, tilting in all directions. They really would need to start thinking about rooms. Marnie had been begging for the third floor bedroom for months now. They could make it into her own hideaway with a desk and a skylight and a little reading nook. Jack could move into the bigger bedroom. The nursery could be in the room next to Lila’s.
The girls’ trip in two weeks…should she just cancel? Would they notice when she didn’t drink? Selena definitely would. Este might corner her in the bathroom and pry it out of her. Should she lie? Could she lie?
And the tour! Fifteen months of dates. Production already in motion. Rehearsals in full swing. Costumes being tailored. Ticket holders in every timezone. She’d be due smack in the middle of it all. She’d been so ready to throw herself back into the high of it, had meticulously crafted the set list to span her entire career’s worth of music. She was so fiercely excited to be that woman on stage again with the heels and the fire and the voice that made crowds scream.
Would she even be able to do it?
She shifted slightly, bringing Lila closer, burying her nose in the toddler’s fuzzy hair. She smelled like the strawberry detangling spray they used after bath time. Taylor smiled, weepy and full and spinning.
I spy with my little tired eye, tiny as a firefly…