Chapter 31
Taylor gets to her apartment that afternoon feeling like she’s run a marathon and she doesn’t have the strength for anything but collapsing on the couch. She’s exhausted, physically and mentally, and she feels completely lost, with no idea how to fix things with Abigail—if they’re fixable at all.
She pulls her phone from her pocket and calls Tiffany. She’s been avoiding talking to her this week, but she needs to hear someone close, a familiar voice that makes her feel at home for a few minutes so she can stop feeling so alone.
"Hi, Taylor," Tiffany answers almost immediately, with that warm, affectionate tone that makes her little sister’s throat tighten.
"Hi," the singer replies.
"You don’t sound great. You okay?" Tiffany asks, who has always had a knack for sensing any discomfort in her kid sister.
"No," she says honestly, and her voice cracks a little.
Tiffany pushes her laptop aside and leaves her room, heading downstairs to step out into the yard and sit on the stoop.
"What’s going on, Taylor?" she asks, worried.
"I think I screwed everything up," Taylor whispers, letting out a deep sigh as she kicks off her shoes.
"What do you mean by everything? Did something happen at work?" Tiffany asks.
Work. Taylor doesn’t know if she should even call it that. Since she got to New York, she hasn’t felt like she’s working; she’s just doing what she loves. The hours fly by during the day and she could do more if Abigail asked her to—she wouldn’t mind.
"No, it’s not that—or, well, a little. I screwed up in a meeting, but Abigail will fix it," she confesses, sighing again.
"Then?"
"Abigail."
Tiffany nods and stretches out her legs. She suspected as much, but she preferred for Taylor to say it.
"What happened?"
Taylor tells her everything from the beginning.
She doesn’t leave out a single comma this time.
She talks about the deal they made, the conditions Abigail set when she got here, how she agreed to keep that distance and hasn’t known how to do it.
She hasn’t respected it, and now Abigail is simply ignoring her with a coldness she can’t handle.
"You said you had it under control," Tiffany says.
She smiles. "Yeah. I guess that’s what I thought—or I lied. Who knows."
"Look, I think you need to unplug a bit. Your whole world there revolves around her, Taylor, and that’s not healthy.
Abigail’s already made her position clear.
You had what you had here, and she’s not willing to let it continue there"—Taylor’s chest tightens; hearing it from her sister makes it more real—"She has her reasons, and you need to accept that," Tiffany says.
"Her reasons are bullshit," the singer bursts out, starting to cry. "For her everything is work; she hides behind that crap to push me away. And I know she feels things, Tiff. I can tell. I’m not an idiot."
"Taylor, honey, what you feel doesn’t matter in this case because it doesn’t only depend on you. Whether Abigail feels something for you or not, she’s decided she doesn’t want anything with you, and you have to respect her," Tiffany says, anguished that she can’t be there to hold her.
"Fuck..." Taylor whimpers, frustrated, leaning back on the couch.
"Taylor..."
"What?"
"You need a life beyond Abigail, I mean it. You’ve got to get out and start meeting new people.
You live there now and you have to adapt, build your own circle of friends.
You’ve been in New York for over a month and your whole social circle is that woman.
That’s not healthy, Taylor. You’ve had time to settle into the apartment, the job, and your new routine.
It’s time to start doing other things," Tiffany says.
"Like what?"
"Hell, I don’t know. The building has a gym, right?
Start using it—there’ve got to be people your age.
You can also go walk around Central Park since it’s close, and grab a drink somewhere.
God, I never thought I’d say this, but sleeping with someone who isn’t her might help you realize she’s not the only woman in your orbit. "
Taylor feels her heart turn to stone. She doesn’t want to sleep with anyone who isn’t Abigail, but then she remembers what Abigail told her last week when she asked if she was seeing someone. That maybe she should, so Taylor would leave her alone.
"I’ll go grab a drink. There’s a bar three blocks from here that looks good." Taylor gets up.
She has no intention of hooking up—just of forgetting Abigail.
"Great," Tiffany says. "Get out of that apartment, talk to people, and remember what it’s like to be normal for once. But be careful, okay?"
"Yeah. I’ll just go for a bit. I’ve got a session at ten tomorrow with Demian; I don’t plan on showing up with bags under my eyes or a hoarse voice," Taylor assures her.
That makes her sister feel better.
"All right. I’ll call you tomorrow to see how you are."
"Okay. Thanks, Tiff."
When she hangs up, Taylor eats something light, takes a shower, and puts on jeans and a long-sleeved white T-shirt.
The bar is a typical neighborhood spot with music that’s not too loud and people who just want a drink to unwind. It’s not stuffy or noisy—exactly what she needs. She sits at the bar and orders a beer intending to have one more and then head home.
"Rough day?" the bartender asks as she serves it.
Taylor looks up and finds a girl with short brown hair and green eyes smiling at her. She’s pretty—natural, not intimidating the way Abigail is.
"Am I that obvious?" Taylor answers, twisting her mouth into her seductive smile, the one she knows never fails.
"Only a little. I’m Jess, by the way."
"Taylor."
"First time here?" Jess asks, taking advantage of a lull at the bar.
"Yeah. I moved in recently and decided to explore the neighborhood today."
"Interesting. Where from?"
"Tennessee," Taylor answers, realizing she feels comfortable having a simple conversation with a stranger. Maybe her sister’s right and she just needs to feel normal.
Jess turns out to be the kind of girl you can talk to about anything.
She’s an actress—at least she’s trying—like half the girls in New York, but she’s down-to-earth and has a sense of humor that lets Taylor relax for the first time in days.
Jess tells her about the bar’s most challenging customers and Taylor returns the favor with stories from when she worked at her parents’ place.
They’re not looking for heavy topics, and Taylor doesn’t mind waiting while Jess serves other customers to keep the conversation going.
"Another?" Jess asks, pointing at her empty beer.
"Sure."
This time, the bartender leans on the bar as she sets it down, close enough that Taylor can smell her perfume and decide she prefers Abigail’s. Everything about Abigail, always.
"So what do you do now that you’re here?" Jess asks.
"I’m a singer—or trying to be," Taylor replies with a shrug.
Jess smiles and lifts her eyebrows. It’s a very Abigail-like gesture, except her agent does it like she’s deigning to let her live, and Jess just looks surprised.
"Really? Have you recorded anything?"
"I’m working on it," Taylor says.
"Well, I’d love to hear you sometime," Jess whispers, leaning in again.
Taylor knows the bartender is flirting. She’s been doing it for a while, and it’s so easy and comfortable to play along that she thinks of Abigail’s cold looks whenever she wants to stop.
Nothing with Jess is hard, and Abigail has made her position clear, so why can’t she have a good time and try to get her out of her head?
"Maybe I could sing here sometime," Taylor answers, playing along.
"I’d make sure I was working that night," Jess says.
Taylor smiles and waits until midnight, right when Jess’s shift ends.
"Got plans for the rest of the night?" the bartender asks, taking off her apron.
"I guess I do now," she says, slipping off the stool.
The walk to her apartment is a mix of conversation and the tension building between them as they go. In the elevator, Jess leans against the wall and looks at Taylor with a smile that makes her intentions crystal clear.
"You’ve got beautiful eyes," the bartender whispers.
"You too," Taylor replies, though she can’t help thinking of other eyes as she says it—eyes that blend steel gray with the green of the freshest fields.
The singer unlocks her apartment door and lets Jess go in first.
"Want something to drink?" Taylor asks, suddenly nervous.
"I want to kiss you," Jess answers, stepping close.
And she does. Taylor doesn’t have time to think about anything, not even to wonder if she really wants this.
The kiss is soft and exploratory. It doesn’t have the wild urgency she’s used to from other lips.
Jess’s hands are small and move over her with delicacy.
It’s pleasant, comfortable, normal. Everything that follows is natural and without shocks, but Taylor can’t get Abigail out of her head.
She looks for her in every touch, every kiss, and compares everything, frustrated because even though it’s nice and she enjoys it, she doesn’t feel the passion, the hunger, the tingle, or the dizziness she feels with Abigail.
With Jess she feels pleasure; with Abigail she feels like she can touch the sky.
She can’t even talk and she swallows her moans because all those filthy words, that need to say what she’s thinking and demand what she wants, are now reserved for one person.
Desperate to feel something that will take her to another level, Taylor presses her lips to Jess’s neck and sucks hard.
Jess shivers and lets out a slight whimper, but she doesn’t push her away and, even so, Taylor doesn’t find the taste she expected, or feel the shudder under her arms or Abigail’s muffled moan when she marks her.
She doesn’t see pale skin when she looks, doesn’t feel the tension of those always-rigid muscles, doesn’t feel nails digging into her back.
Taylor comes, but she feels so empty when it’s over she can barely breathe.