Fic - I Was a Dreamer Before You (Taylor Swift, RPF) pg, 2/2
Title: I Was a Dreamer Before You
Summary: For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Taylor has never been very good at physics. Wasn't it easier in your lunchbox days? Nobody ever said growing up was going to be easy.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 14,036 words. For leobrat because she is such a lovely friend and a fierce cult leader. I hope this lives up to your standards. Major thanks to justforyoudear for the beta, hand holding, and always being there when I was on the verge of tears or needed to rant. All mistakes are mine. These people are obviously not. Just slide right on by, please, if this isn't your thing.
[6]
Scott travels to see Taylor while she’s in New York.
She’s less than six hours away from performing in front of a sold out crowd at Madison Square Garden; She has her guitar in her lap and the AC on high because according to Matt Lauer and The Today Show New York was about to see record setting highs. It’s not even August yet, just July, and Taylor is already wishing for winter and a white Christmas.
“Jake from Warner Brother’s called,” he starts, and she’s barely listening, making a mental list in her head of all the things she needs to grab before she heads over to the arena. “He wants you to do a song for that movie.”
“Which movie?”
“I don’t know, the one with the girl and that Edward guy from those vampire movies -”
Taylor raises her eyebrow. “Robert Pattinson?”
“Yeah,” Scott continues with a roll of his eyes and motions for her to move her legs so he can sit down on the couch. She does. “The one that everyone keeps talking about.”
“It looks like it’s going to be pretty good,” she says absently, strumming a few chords. With a shrug of her shoulders she says, “I’ll do it.”
Scott’s smile is too quick and Taylor’s eyes narrow in concern. “They want a duet,” he pauses and her fingers still, steady over the strings of her guitar. “With John Mayer. Something similar in theme and melody to Half of My Heart and you’ve already said you’ll do it so you can’t take it back now,” he rushes out when she starts to protest and she can’t help but laugh.
“Yeah,” she chuckles, moving to get up off the couch. “I don’t think so,” she continues, still laughing softly as she starts to put her guitar back in its case, as she picks up various items she has scatted around the room and places them in her bag. She adds, almost as an afterthought, “He wouldn’t agree to do it anyway.”
Scott clears his throat. “He already has.”
There is a moment of silence before Scott starts in with all the reasons she should do this, all the reasons she has to do this. Taylor listens half-heartedly. She’s known Scott since she was thirteen and she can tell by the set of his shoulders and the look in his eye that it was never really a question, that he was just doing this so when she said yes it would seem like her idea and not at all his. He has always been crafty like that.
He ends with a soft It’s just business, Taylor and she sighs heavily as she slings her guitar over her shoulder and grabs her bag.
“I’ll think about it,” she tells him on the way out the door. She adds, “You’re an ass,” for good measure, just before the door clicks shut behind her.
Of course she agrees to it.
Of course she agrees to it because on paper the entire idea is the epitome of perfection. The movie’s release would coincide with the drop of her next album and the promotional aspect of it all is ideal. It has the possibility of providing her with a more solid mainstream appeal and an even larger fan base.
On paper it has been a year and a half - a year and a half of evolution and change and growth and John Mayer should be and is, she adamantly defends, just a thing of her past. Just another thing she’s had to endure and Taylor is more than over it.
“I can’t believe you even considered it,” Abigail screeches over the line. It’s late, the tour bus crossing the state line between New York and New Jersey and Taylor curls onto her side and brings her legs up to her chest. Her head aches with exhaustion and she closes her eyes against the harsh overhead light.
“It wasn’t really an option.”
“It’s your career. Your life. It should be.”
Taylor laughs tiredly. “It’s just business, Abs.”
Abigail sighs and is silent for a moment. “You say that like you mean it.”
With her bottom lip between her teeth she replies honestly, “I do.”
There is a decision early on - made fully by Taylor and nobody else - that this entire experience will be nothing like Half of My Heart. Even though the situation is uncomfortable and, at least in her case, somewhat unwanted, this is going to be a complete collaboration, just as much Swift present in the lyrics and sound as there is Mayer. The song is to be sold on the soundtrack, as is, and neither one of them could promote it as a part of their own upcoming albums.
Taylor would not play back up to his vocals, would not play guest star in the John Mayer Comedy Hour. Not again. She’s too good for that. She’s better than that.
She might not have known it then, but she sure as hell knows it now.
There had always been some sort of assumption that seeing him again, having him up close and personal after everything they’ve been through, after everything he had put her through, would be poetic and climatic. Like something right out of the movies with the music swelling on cue and her heart threatening to burst right out of her chest. Imagine Taylor’s surprise when she first seems him - settled on the couch in some studio in downtown Nashville, with his guitar off to the side and a pencil behind his ear - she feels completely normal. Totally unfazed.
When he looks up and catches her eye is another story altogether and her heart does do that constriction and contraction thing where it feels too tight in her chest, gets caught in her throat. As soon as she looks away though, as soon as she takes a deep breath and gathers her wits and remembers it passes almost completely.
They have a total of three days to write this song and get the track vocally outlined before she has to get back on the road and continue with her tour. Continue on with her life. She remembers this, the time restraint, and takes a deep breath before plastering that famous smile on her face and pushing the door open with her guitar.
Taylor has never felt comfortable writing in the cold surroundings of a studio, was only really ever able to write in her own place, surrounded by the warmth and familiarity of her own things, but even she has her limits. Setting her stuff on the ground, she looks around and sighs. This will have to do.
John is on his feet in an instant, smile smug, and she is almost entirely certain in that moment that he planned this.
“Hi,” is all he says, and she rolls her eyes and ignores him. Falls onto the couch, moving his stuff out of the way and onto the floor.
“I’ve got some rough stuff outlined already,” she starts quietly, pulling out some loose pages from her bag. “And I’m sure that you do too, so why don’t we go over those and see if there is anything we can combine.”
John is caught off guard by the coolness, the efficiency, and it takes a moment, but when the couch shifts next to her he’s handing her some pages in return for hers. If she were anyone else she probably wouldn’t be able to discern his scribble, but she recognizes it immediately and takes note of what she likes and what she doesn’t.
After a moment he speaks. “You look different,” is all he says, and when she lifts her chin, she finds him staring at her, smile soft around his lips, eyes bright and she recognizes it immediately. Remembers it from the beginning, from when things were good and she had been able to use it as a way to fool herself into thinking forever was a possibility for the two of them.
Looking back down, her fingers tighten around the pen in her hands. “It’s the hair,” she replies. “I cut it differently,” and it’s partly the truth. Her hair is shorter, straight, bangs long and sweeping across her face. Originally she had hated it, but People had commented offhandedly in a column that it makes her look older, more sophisticated. She had liked that. Eventually she grew to like it, too.
“Oh,” is all he says and she sighs again.
“Look, John,” she begins, looking at him again. “This is just business, OK? That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. We have three days to get this done and I really, really think we should get to it already.”
She sounds so sure, so certain, so adult-like that it catches even her off guard. There’s something that flickers across his face - so quick in its passing that you would miss if it you weren’t paying attention - something akin to pride almost. Maybe even respect, she muses. It does something funny to her insides, something entirely different than what she is accustomed to feeling when he’s involved.
“Okay,” he nods finally, and starts in about what she has already written and everything he wants to change.
Taylor laughs under her breath. Somehow she doesn’t remember him being this much of a pompous ass before.
It takes them two days to get the song written. Another to lay it down on a track. Revisions will still be made because they are both perfectionists in their own right, but those can be done separately so they call it quits just in time for Taylor to make her flight. They cut it close, but still manage to meet their deadline and when it is all said and done she packs up her things, downs a bottle of water, and tries not to think about all the nasty take-out food they had consumed in the past 72 hours. When it’s over she feels a mixture of feelings - pride, elation, pure exhaustion.
Taylor’s running late and even if she wanted to give him a proper goodbye, a friendly it was great to work with you, she didn’t have the time for it. If she doesn’t leave now she isn’t going to make her flight so she just settles with a sincere it’s been fun over her shoulder as Scott ushers her out the door.
John heads back to LA and she heads to Austin, both of them going their separate ways.
She doesn’t bother to look back.
[7]
Taylor catches him on the TV one night.
She’s in some random hotel room, in some random city, her tour drawing to a close within the next week, album about to be finished and off to production within the next month. It’s October and she has the balcony door cracked, snuggles deeper into her blanket as the midnight breeze filters in. There is a glass of wine in her hand as she curls onto the couch and she flips through the surrounding channels for a moment before landing back on Letterman, smiling forming across her face as he shifts in his chair, laughter nervous.
There is a picture of them on the screen behind them, so old it makes her cringe - her hair is longer and curly, lips bright red, jaw square and she remembers the night with painstaking clarity. The question is so obviously about her and John uncharacteristically falters, places his palms flat on his thighs.
“Taylor,” he grins, voice quiet, gaze on his feet. “She’s unbelievable. She really, really is.”
He was always charming when he wanted to be.
John sends her an email a week later when she’s back home in Tennessee. Attached is a copy of their finished product. They’ve been sending different versions back and forth, changes being made on both ends and on completely separate sides of the country, for months.
The email only has a few words: pretty perfect, huh?
She downloads it and listens. It’s a softer melody than they had originally intended, tone somewhat sadder with just a tinge of hope. It’s strange, really, listening to the two of them sing about falling in and out of love with each other, falling in and out of love with themselves. Taylor’s lyrics mixing with John’s haunting guitar riffs.
It really is the best of both of them.
Taylor writes him back, just one line: it really is.
Her album comes out and the movie premieres within a week of each other. By the time she makes it to LA for the red-carpet event she’s so exhausted she can barely stand up straight anymore. Between thirteen hour meet-and-greets with her fans, countless promotional spots on this radio station and that talk show, she is in desperate need to catch up on a week’s worth of sleep. Abigail can’t make it so Taylor goes alone. Walks the red carpet in her beautiful, red Armani dress and talks about how great she thinks the movie is even though she hasn’t seen it and how wonderful it was to work with John even though she only half means it.
Taylor stays for the entire movie even though it’s pretty awful and goes to the after party like she’s told. She’s on her third glass of champagne and millionth great song, really when John comes up behind her. She’s tired, toeing the edge between tipsy and drunk, so when he asks her to dance she really doesn’t have the will to say no even though every single part of her is telling her to run far, far away.
She places her empty champagne glass on a passing tray, lets him tug her towards the dance floor, fingers firm against her wrist. The song is slow, something she can’t quite place, and a camera shutters the instant he pulls her against him. She blinks against the flash.
It’s hard being this close to him after all this time. Having his hand in hers, fingers splayed against her waist. He’s too close, so close she can smell the alcohol on his breath and the cologne that has seeped into his clothes. So close she’s certain he can feel her heartbeat against her ribcage, feel the hitch in her breath when he leans in, breath fanning her cheek.
“You look beautiful, Taylor.”
There is something about the way he says her name then, something honest and beautiful and so utterly perfect that her heart gets caught in her throat. She pulls back, tries so very hard not to fall into old patterns.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Be nice. You aren’t a nice guy, John. We aren’t those people anymore. Please don’t act like we are.”
John pulls back to look at her and he laughs slowly at the truth. His mouth starts to move but nothing falls and she starts to shake her head, pull away.
“I’ve missed you,” he says quietly. “I have been missing you.” His lips slip against her cheek. “Tell me you don’t miss me.”
Taylor breathes and closes her eyes. The beat switches, song progressing into another and she pulls away completely.
“I can’t do this,” she says in parting, pushing her way past him.
He manages to hold onto her wrist until she’s out of reach.
It really is just like him to come back into her life, all handsome in his suit and tie and beautiful, wide grins. It really is just like him to say I’ve missed you so honestly, so earnestly that she almost believes it. It is definitely like him to swoop back into her life just when she is beginning to believe she is over it, him, them. Just when she is beginning to see a future for herself that doesn’t involve him in any way whatsoever. Then again it’s been over a year, almost two now, and she still has just as many bad days as she does good ones. Just as many days when she spends fleeting moments entertaining the possibility of maybe instead of never again.
Taylor is starting to feel a bit nauseous and blames it entirely on the wine, steps outside for a breath of fresh air. She is just about to call for a ride back to the hotel when she feels him behind her, hands gentle on her bare shoulders and there is a moment where she resists the temptation, where she just stands there completely still, before she gives in. Before she lets herself lean on him for just a moment.
“Taylor,” he begins softly and just like that the moment is over. Taylor pulls away and shakes her head adamantly.
“No,” she turns around to face him and rubs her aching head. “Don’t. Just don’t, okay?”
“Will you just talk to me?”
“About what, John? About what a gigantic jackass you are? About how you broke my heart and how you apparently think it’s okay to show up here when things are good, when my life is good, and expect me to just fall back into you like nothing ever happened? ‘Cause that’s what you want, right? You want me to forget that you are the world’s biggest asshole so we can what? Go home and have sex? Last a few weeks before you decide, once again, that you’ve had enough fun?” She’s talking so fast she forgets to breathe and has to stop when she’s out of breath. She desperately wants another drink.
“I’m sorry,” is all he says to her tirade, eyes cast downward and she starts to laugh hysterically.
“You’re sorry? You’re sorry? You broke my heart!” she screams at him, so loud it echoes and she winces when people start to glance in their direction. “You broke my heart,” she repeats more softly, voice cracking as the words leave her mouth. “Sorry isn’t going to cut it, John. Not this time.”
Taylor is about to push past him when he reaches a hand upwards, one hand is flat against her face, the other tangling in her hair and there is no warning, no moment of consideration before he kisses her.
John’s kiss is forceful and bruising, and she fights him at first, fists her tiny hands in the fabric of his jacket and tries to push him away before giving up completely. Moans something soft and sweet into his mouth, lets him pull her towards him as close as possible, thumb caressing her cheekbone as the kiss turns tender, sweet, so full of longing she can feel it in her toes.
She kisses him back and hates herself for it. Lets her hands wrap themselves around his neck, tangle in his hair and hates herself a little bit more. She kisses him back and wishes she’d never met him in the same instant because she has tried to move on, tried to get over him, and yet here she is: two years later, still loving him just as much as she tries to hate him.
When he finally pulls away she is absolutely breathless, eyes sliding open as she glances upwards, towards his face. John is looking at her, eyes gentle and kind, mouth soft as it smiles down at her.
“I love you,” he says softly, forehead against hers and she closes her eyes against the words she once would have given anything to hear him say. “I’ve always loved you.”
Taylor starts to cry for absolutely no reason at all. Lets her hands untangle themselves from around his neck and dangle at her sides, fingers curling into her palms.
“God,” she breathes and her heart hurts something fierce, something uncontrollable. She can feel it in her throat. “How I wish that were enough.”
[8]
The movie is terrible and everybody seems to agree - it does horribly at the box office. The music is good, though. The music is great, actually, and Taylor is genuinely proud of all the effort she had put into it.
Abigail’s graduation is a week after her confrontation with John and originally Taylor had planned to go out to Kansas and spend the entire week leading up to it with her best friend, but instead she feigns illness. Heads back home, drops into see her mother before going to her condo where she promptly turns off her cell phone, her house phone, locks all the doors, and falls straight into bed and to sleep.
When she wakes nearly two days later she has ten voicemails. Three are from Abigail, one is from her mother, and the rest are all from John. She goes through every single one, listening for a few moments before clicking delete, her will weakening with every single one, with every single time he utters her name that way - all breathless and needy, like it is some sort of prayer.
When she gets to the sixth one she listens to the whole thing.
“Taylor,” he sighs over the line and she does too. “I just. I need you to know… I want you to know… I’m sorry, okay? I’m so, so sorry. And I never say that to anyone. I never say that because I’m never sorry about anything and if you would just talk to me…If you would just let me in again, give me a second chance -”
Her voicemail cuts it off before he can continue and Taylor is jumbled mess of aggravation and relief. It was easier when there was a distance. Easier to move on. Easier to teach herself how to hate him. Now she is caught between being angry with him for dragging her back in, for making her even begin to entertain the idea of them again, and not knowing where to go from here.
She dials his number but hangs up before the call can go through. Redials the numbers from memory just so she can hang up before she presses the last number.
Finally, she settles on an email:
I just need some time, OK?
She heads to Kansas the next day. Catches a cab east to Abigail and Matt’s apartment and moves into their guestroom for the next few days. Taylor takes Abigail out for a fancy dinner the night before graduation and they play dress up beforehand, trading shoes and dresses, taking their time with their makeup and hair. Taylor suddenly feels like she’s sixteen again - innocent and carefree, not so battle- worn and weary. She laughs and jokes around and wishes she never had to leave this room and this place where things are so beautifully uncomplicated and simple.
“So,” Abigail begins in that sing-song tone of hers and Taylor ignores her, continues applying her eyeliner. “You want to tell me why you decided to ditch me and fall off the face of the earth for three days?”
Taylor switches to her eye shadow. “It was two days, not three.”
“Stop changing the subject.”
Her phone starts to vibrate on the dresser and Taylor reaches for it immediately, nearly drops the eye shadow in the process in her rush to turn it off.
John, apparently, did not understand the meaning of space.
Abigail laughs knowingly. “You can tell me who keeps calling your phone every five minutes while you’re at it.”
The façade falls and Taylor sighs heavily, finishes with her blush and bronzer before falling into the chair next to Abigail’s vanity.
“I kissed John,” is all Taylor says, without any preamble and Abigail is silent for a long time. She could have lied, probably should have, but it would have been to no avail. Abigail would have figured it out eventually - she always does.
Finally, she chuckles. “This is a joke, right? I mean, it’s not a very funny one, but it still has to be joke. I’m waiting for you to say just kidding so I know it’s a joke. So go ahead, Taylor, say it.”
Taylor just bites her lip and Abigail gets the most pained expressing on her face.
“Oh, Taylor.”
She draws her knees to her chest and buries her head. “I know.”
“Why?”
“It just sort of happened,” she shrugs. There was no other way to explain it. “He told me that he loves me. That he wants to get back together.”
“Of course he does,” Abigail laughs and goes back to applying her makeup. When she glances at Taylor again through the mirror she stops. “Please, please tell me you aren’t thinking about it.” When Taylor merely shrugs her shoulders again Abigail reaches up and pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Do you still love him?”
Taylor laughs sadly. “I never really stopped.”
“Taylor, if you do this,” she starts seriously, moving backwards until she can sit on the bed. “If you get back with him, I,” she stops and looks at Taylor so sadly for a moment, shoulders falling with resignation. Her sigh is soft when she continues, “then I’ll be here when it blows back up in your face because that’s what best friends do.”
Matt calls for them from the other room. Taylor’s smile is soft and lovely, so utterly thankful and the two share a small moment before going out to join him.
The thing about fancy restaurants that Taylor always seems to forget is that they’ll do anything to make sure you’re taken care of. So when Taylor and Abigail order Cosmos because it’s a special occasion, the waitress keeps refilling them even though they never ask and they keep drinking them even though they definitely shouldn’t. The girls get so drunk that Matt practically has to carry them up to the apartment, one girl hanging on either shoulder, both of them doubling over in laughter at every single thing he says. He deposits Taylor in her room, practically tossing her on the bed and she’s still giggling when Abigail calls nighty-night through the door.
Kicking off her shoes, Taylor scoots her way up the bed, struggling with every move until her head hits the pillow. She lays there for a moment, lets the room stop spinning and set itself straight before she reaches for her phone. Tomorrow she’ll blame it on the vodka, but tonight she doesn’t care. Just dials his number from memory and waits until he picks up.
“Hey, you,” John greets, flirty and low, voice like gravel and she’s caught off guard, too drunk to have her defenses up and she lets his voice settle deep in her belly, lets something else entirely start in her toes and spread to her head, covering everything in-between.
“Hi,” she replies, giggle escaping her mouth before she can stop it. She bites her lip to keep it from continuing.
“Uh-oh,” he sing-songs and God does she miss him. “Have you been drinking, Little Miss Taylor?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Just a little, huh?”
She clears her throat and rolls onto her side, settles her phone in-between shoulder and chin. “Did you really miss me?”
If she closes her eyes she can imagine him. Probably in his living room, feet propped up on the coffee table next to the computer, drink on the arm of his leather couch. She takes a moment, imagines herself there with him, head on his shoulder, feet next to his. She misses him sometimes so much that it physically hurts and manifests into something that grows and deepens and gnaws at her insides and heart. Taylor has been hurt before, been in love before, but eventually it subsided. Eventually the ache grew dull and almost non-existent.
With John she had just taught herself to ignore it, to bury it someplace deep and try to forget it existed.
John sighs and Taylor does too. “I missed you every day.”
“Then why did it take you two years to tell me? Why didn’t you come to me sooner?” her voice cracks. Taylor has always been an emotional drunk. “Why did you let me go?”
“I,” he stops and starts, clears his throat. She’s making him unconformable and a large part of her is proud. “I don’t think we should be talking about this when you’re drunk.”
“I’m not that drunk.”
“Call me tomorrow.”
“I won’t.”
He laughs and Taylor closes her eyes against the sound. She had always loved his laugh.
Matt pulls her aside the next morning while Abigail is in the shower. Graduation is less than two hours away and both girls were a little slow to start. Taylor’s head still aches, temples pounding with every move, and she’s trying to find her sunglasses when Matt comes up beside her.
“I’m going to ask Abby to marry me tonight,” he just sort of says and Taylor is silent for about a second before she squeaks loudly. “Keep it down, will you?” He hisses and fumbles for something in his pocket.
“I’m sorry,” she laughs. “I’m sorry. I just, whoa. Wow. This is a lot to take in. Do you have a ring? Wait, of course you have a ring,” she shoves his shoulder and kind of jumps up and down with excitement. “Oh, my God. Oh, my god.”
His fingers produce a tiny black box and she takes it on reflex, flipping open the top. The ring is modest, a small princess cut diamond surrounded by two smaller ones, set in a silver band. It’s beautiful and so perfectly Abigail.
“Think she’ll go for it?” he asks, shuffling his feet, almost like he’s asking for permission.
“Yeah,” Taylor grins. “Definitely.”
At dinner he asks her, in front of her parents and Taylor and the entire restaurant, all nervous and honest and so unbelievably in love. Abigail cries and Taylor does a little bit, too. She watches them with a proud smile, so utterly happy for her forever friend. Selfishly feels a little bit lonely too as she watches her best friend take a step towards beginning a life completely independent of Taylor, possibly even without her.
After they get home Taylor retreats to her room, returns some emails, checks in with her mother. She’s obsessing over whether or not to call John when there’s a knock on the door and when she looks up Abigail is making her way inside, shutting the door behind her. She plops onto the bed next to her, rests her head on Taylor’s shoulder and sighs something happy.
“Did you know?”
“Yeah,” Taylor draws out the word guiltily. “He told me this morning.”
Abigail shoves her shoulder with her own. “You should have told me.”
“It would have ruined the surprise, silly.”
They sit there like that for a while, just the two of them, and Taylor is already starting to count down these types of moments in the back of her head. Takes stock in the fact that it could be one of the very last times it really is just her and Abigail. It isn’t that she doesn’t love Matt, she does, of course she does. It’s just been her and Abigail for a very long time. Taylor is having problems wrapping her head around the adjustment.
“Everything is going to change now, isn’t it?” Taylor asks quietly.
“Absolutely not,” Abigail replies with an amount of certainty she can’t help but envy.
Taylor prays she’s right.
Tennessee is a welcome sight and she’s texting back and forth with Abigail about bridesmaid dresses and the pros and cons of a destination wedding when she steps off the elevator and heads towards her condo. When she looks up she sees John, on the floor outside of her door, head against the wall and a book in his lap. She pauses for a moment and pockets her cell phone before she continues towards her front door, suitcase rolling behind her and announcing her presence. She’s nervous having him here, so close in her personal space. She’s not used to it anymore - having him near. Having him in her territory should give her the upper-hand, but she knows better. She never had the upper-hand with him, no matter how hard she tried.
“You’re flight was suppose to be in at six,” he says in lieu of a greeting. He glances at his watch. “It’s nine.”
Taylor raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been waiting here since then?”
“Yes.”
Stepping over his long legs she slips her key into the lock and pushes open her door. “Okay,” she laughs shortly. “Everything about that is creepy.”
He stands and leans his shoulder against the door jam. “You didn’t call.”
Smiling she says, “I told you I wouldn’t.”
“You going to invite me in?”
“Depends. Why are you here?”
He holds his hands up in defense. “Just to talk,” he says softly. “I just want to talk to you.”
“I have a cell phone.”
“Yes, but you don’t seem to like to talk to me unless your drunk. I wasn’t quite sure when the next time that would be so I figured I would make it so you have to talk to me.”
She points her chin upwards in a show of defiance. “I don’t have to let you in.”
“No,” he pretends to consider it. “Guess you don’t. But you are going to, right?”
With a sigh she pushes the door open wider and motions for him to come inside.
Taylor has always been a smart girl and she is pretty damn sure she knows where this going and that there is nothing she can do to stop it.
She slides her coat off and leaves her suitcase by the door, invites him to move further inside with a flick of her wrist as she moves towards the kitchen. He’s loitering in the foyer, surveying his surroundings as she grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. Taylor watches him as she sips her water, takes in the way he stands there with his hands shoved deep into his jeans, jacket fading and fraying around the seams, his smile soft at the corner of his mouth. He fits here in her little corner of the world, she can’t help but think, and she’s still nervous, his presence unnerving her. She keeps the bottle tight between her fingers as she makes her way towards the living room again, flopping onto the couch and waiting for him to do the same.
“You said you wanted to talk,” she says softly, words absent of any and all anger. She finds it exhausting to be angry with him all the time, to bury how she feels about him by trying to hate him. It was never going to work, but she still gives herself credit for the effort. “So talk.”
He slides onto the couch next to her.
“You were wrong,” he says softly, shoulder leaning into the back of the couch as he twists to look at her. “It’s not just the hair. You really are different,” he reaches out to touch her face, fingers soft against her skin and she closes her eyes against his touch but does not lean into it. “What happened to the girl I used to know?”
By pulling away she manages to put some distance between them. “She grew up, John.”
John’s sigh is weighted and he brings his left foot to rest atop his right knee. “What is it going to take for you to give me a second chance?”
“Why do you think you deserve one?”
“I don’t,” he replies. “I know I don’t. I fucked up. I never should have let you go. I never should have let you get on that plane.”
“Then why did you?” she asks tiredly.
She’s trying to be an adult. Trying to be strong, but everything just seems more difficult when he’s sitting right next to her, pulling her back in with his soft smiles and sweet talk. She wants to believe him. Wants so badly to be the person she was two years ago who loved him simply and wholly and with everything in her. Taylor’s just not sure if that is possible anymore.
“Fuck, Taylor,” he swears, hands through his hair on reflex and he drums the fingers of his free hands against his thigh. “I don’t know. Why do I do half the shit I do?”
“No,” she shakes her head. “You can’t do that. You can’t act like it’s just one of those things, John. You want me to take you seriously? You want to talk about us having even the mere possibility of a second chance, then you need to be honest with me. You need to start giving me some pretty damn good answers.”
A moment or two passes and when he still says nothing Taylor moves to stand. He reaches out for her at the last second, just before she’s out of reach, fingers against her wrist pulling her back towards him. She sits back down and waits.
“I was scared,” he says quietly. “I knew that you loved me and I was half-way to being in love with you and I… I just didn’t know what to do about it. I knew that if I let myself fall completely in love with you, if I let myself make that commitment, it was probably going to be for a very long time and I…” he lets out a slow breath of air. “I just wasn’t ready to do it.”
Something gets caught in her chest and swells in her throat. She’s not sure what to say to that, not sure whether to believe him. She used to be good at discerning his truths from his lies, now she’s not so sure.
“So instead of telling me that,” she starts, “instead of telling me that you just needed some time, you decided to rip my heart out and tear it into a million pieces instead?”
“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” he laughs, trying to make it a joke, but Taylor doesn’t find it very funny. After a moment he sobers, clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I really am. I know how much I hurt you and know that I deserve nothing from you, but I will do anything to make it up to you.”
The words soak in for a moment and Taylor has always been too forgiving, always been weak in matters of the heart and she allows herself a moment where she imagines a future with him by her side. Five, maybe ten years down the line, two kids and one on the way, a house in Nashville with a backyard the size of Texas and they spend their Sundays being lazy and making music, teaching their kids about football and guitars and everything there is to know about country music. She wants that with him. She’s always wanted that with him.
John’s hand is against her cheek before she can stop him, calloused fingers slipping against her skin. She is so utterly tired of fighting what she feels for him that she lets herself lean into his touch willingly.
“It’s always going to be you, Taylor,” he says so softly she has to strain to hear him and she closes her eyes, lets the words sink into her skin and bones. Tries so desperately not to fall in love with him all over again because those are just words and John has always been better than most with them. But Taylor has loved him since she was nineteen years old - maybe even longer in some faraway type of way if she really thinks about it - and it just won’t go away.
“I can’t,” she sighs softly, and he pulls away with a curt nod, hands dropping to his lap. “I can’t do it again if it’s going to be like it was before. I can do the give and take and all those stupid little mind games you used to play. I don’t have it in me, John. Not anymore.”
John is before her in an instant, off the couch and on his knees in front of her and his hands are on her face, so tight it almost hurts. He’s smiling softly, so utterly hopeful in the way he’s looking up at her, demeanor so unlike the John she’s always known that she starts to think it might just work this time around. That maybe he’s changed just as much as she has. He’s leaning upwards, face just a breath away from hers and his eyes are questioning, seeking permission.
“Yeah?” he asks softy.
This is her chance, she knows that. This is the moment where she could get up and walk away if she wanted to, but instead she nods, just once, ever-so-slightly. Taylor’s eyelashes slip against her cheeks and John’s lips are on hers in an instant, so soft and loving, so utterly certain and it is so strikingly different than that night all those months ago. So much better than any other time before.
Taylor kisses him back.
From backstage she watches as some young starlet Taylor’s never heard of does her skit for the audience at the VMAs, wincing at the way she tries to be funny, but fails miserably. Her feet are starting to hurt from wearing these damn stilettos too long and she’s waiting for her cue to enter the stage when John comes up beside her. His fingers are soft against the small of her back and she leans into him, lets him carry a bit of her weight for just a moment.
After all these years she’s still just as nervous as she was on day one. She’s not sure if that will ever change. She’s definitely not sure if she even wants it to change. Taylor’s funny that way, the way she enjoys the reminder that this is all just some temporary thing - it keeps her on her toes.
“This is terrible,” she remarks quietly and John chuckles real low, like it’s just for her.
“MTV is not what it used to be,” he says and then leans down real close near her ear, lips soft against her skin. “You ready?”
“I was born ready,” she lies, glancing up at him with every ounce of confidence she can muster. In the back of her mind though she can’t stop thinking about how this is the first time in years they’ve performed live together and maybe they should have spent more time practicing this morning and less time in bed.
“That’s my girl.”
The stage manger gives them their cue and somebody hands them their guitars just as they start to make their way across the dark stage. She’s five steps in when she stumbles slightly, cursing her damn shoes and her stupid publicist for making her wear them. John is there though; his hand around her arm to keep her from falling.
He is most definitely grinning, she muses, but doesn’t want to turn to look.
[epilogue]
This is how it begins:
In LA, in some non-descript studio, in some part of town she’s never been to. She has Starbucks in one hand and her guitar in the other and she has to tuck one under her arm so her hand can slide easily into his. There are smiles (his), blushes (hers), gracious nice to meet yous and Taylor falls all over herself because she is still that girl and meeting somebody whose music she has idolized since day one never fails to knock the wind right out of her.
She files onto the stool across from him, guitar in her lap, her shoulders starting to relax just slightly and she finally breathes as she strums a few chords on her guitar.
“You wanna play?” John asks and she’s caught in a moment for a beat, too enthralled in watching his fingers dances over the strings, sound vibrating quietly in the back of his throat as he hums the opening lines of something familiar.
Taylor ducks her head and pushes her hair out of her face.
“I have a few ideas,” she says softly.
John grins effortlessly and waves a hand in her direction. “Let’s hear ‘em.”
There is a beginning in this moment and in all the ones directly proceeding it, buried under hidden smiles and soft laughter, in glances that stretch for a beat longer than necessary. It’s beautiful, bright and full of promise, subtly hiding all of the warning signs and somewhere down the line Taylor will probably look back on this day and sigh, smile sadly to herself and think I really should have known better.
For now though, all she can think about as he looks at her and she looks at him is that this is the kind of moment people like her were born to write songs about.
Summary: For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Taylor has never been very good at physics. Wasn't it easier in your lunchbox days? Nobody ever said growing up was going to be easy.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 14,036 words. For leobrat because she is such a lovely friend and a fierce cult leader. I hope this lives up to your standards. Major thanks to justforyoudear for the beta, hand holding, and always being there when I was on the verge of tears or needed to rant. All mistakes are mine. These people are obviously not. Just slide right on by, please, if this isn't your thing.
[6]
Scott travels to see Taylor while she’s in New York.
She’s less than six hours away from performing in front of a sold out crowd at Madison Square Garden; She has her guitar in her lap and the AC on high because according to Matt Lauer and The Today Show New York was about to see record setting highs. It’s not even August yet, just July, and Taylor is already wishing for winter and a white Christmas.
“Jake from Warner Brother’s called,” he starts, and she’s barely listening, making a mental list in her head of all the things she needs to grab before she heads over to the arena. “He wants you to do a song for that movie.”
“Which movie?”
“I don’t know, the one with the girl and that Edward guy from those vampire movies -”
Taylor raises her eyebrow. “Robert Pattinson?”
“Yeah,” Scott continues with a roll of his eyes and motions for her to move her legs so he can sit down on the couch. She does. “The one that everyone keeps talking about.”
“It looks like it’s going to be pretty good,” she says absently, strumming a few chords. With a shrug of her shoulders she says, “I’ll do it.”
Scott’s smile is too quick and Taylor’s eyes narrow in concern. “They want a duet,” he pauses and her fingers still, steady over the strings of her guitar. “With John Mayer. Something similar in theme and melody to Half of My Heart and you’ve already said you’ll do it so you can’t take it back now,” he rushes out when she starts to protest and she can’t help but laugh.
“Yeah,” she chuckles, moving to get up off the couch. “I don’t think so,” she continues, still laughing softly as she starts to put her guitar back in its case, as she picks up various items she has scatted around the room and places them in her bag. She adds, almost as an afterthought, “He wouldn’t agree to do it anyway.”
Scott clears his throat. “He already has.”
There is a moment of silence before Scott starts in with all the reasons she should do this, all the reasons she has to do this. Taylor listens half-heartedly. She’s known Scott since she was thirteen and she can tell by the set of his shoulders and the look in his eye that it was never really a question, that he was just doing this so when she said yes it would seem like her idea and not at all his. He has always been crafty like that.
He ends with a soft It’s just business, Taylor and she sighs heavily as she slings her guitar over her shoulder and grabs her bag.
“I’ll think about it,” she tells him on the way out the door. She adds, “You’re an ass,” for good measure, just before the door clicks shut behind her.
Of course she agrees to it.
Of course she agrees to it because on paper the entire idea is the epitome of perfection. The movie’s release would coincide with the drop of her next album and the promotional aspect of it all is ideal. It has the possibility of providing her with a more solid mainstream appeal and an even larger fan base.
On paper it has been a year and a half - a year and a half of evolution and change and growth and John Mayer should be and is, she adamantly defends, just a thing of her past. Just another thing she’s had to endure and Taylor is more than over it.
“I can’t believe you even considered it,” Abigail screeches over the line. It’s late, the tour bus crossing the state line between New York and New Jersey and Taylor curls onto her side and brings her legs up to her chest. Her head aches with exhaustion and she closes her eyes against the harsh overhead light.
“It wasn’t really an option.”
“It’s your career. Your life. It should be.”
Taylor laughs tiredly. “It’s just business, Abs.”
Abigail sighs and is silent for a moment. “You say that like you mean it.”
With her bottom lip between her teeth she replies honestly, “I do.”
There is a decision early on - made fully by Taylor and nobody else - that this entire experience will be nothing like Half of My Heart. Even though the situation is uncomfortable and, at least in her case, somewhat unwanted, this is going to be a complete collaboration, just as much Swift present in the lyrics and sound as there is Mayer. The song is to be sold on the soundtrack, as is, and neither one of them could promote it as a part of their own upcoming albums.
Taylor would not play back up to his vocals, would not play guest star in the John Mayer Comedy Hour. Not again. She’s too good for that. She’s better than that.
She might not have known it then, but she sure as hell knows it now.
There had always been some sort of assumption that seeing him again, having him up close and personal after everything they’ve been through, after everything he had put her through, would be poetic and climatic. Like something right out of the movies with the music swelling on cue and her heart threatening to burst right out of her chest. Imagine Taylor’s surprise when she first seems him - settled on the couch in some studio in downtown Nashville, with his guitar off to the side and a pencil behind his ear - she feels completely normal. Totally unfazed.
When he looks up and catches her eye is another story altogether and her heart does do that constriction and contraction thing where it feels too tight in her chest, gets caught in her throat. As soon as she looks away though, as soon as she takes a deep breath and gathers her wits and remembers it passes almost completely.
They have a total of three days to write this song and get the track vocally outlined before she has to get back on the road and continue with her tour. Continue on with her life. She remembers this, the time restraint, and takes a deep breath before plastering that famous smile on her face and pushing the door open with her guitar.
Taylor has never felt comfortable writing in the cold surroundings of a studio, was only really ever able to write in her own place, surrounded by the warmth and familiarity of her own things, but even she has her limits. Setting her stuff on the ground, she looks around and sighs. This will have to do.
John is on his feet in an instant, smile smug, and she is almost entirely certain in that moment that he planned this.
“Hi,” is all he says, and she rolls her eyes and ignores him. Falls onto the couch, moving his stuff out of the way and onto the floor.
“I’ve got some rough stuff outlined already,” she starts quietly, pulling out some loose pages from her bag. “And I’m sure that you do too, so why don’t we go over those and see if there is anything we can combine.”
John is caught off guard by the coolness, the efficiency, and it takes a moment, but when the couch shifts next to her he’s handing her some pages in return for hers. If she were anyone else she probably wouldn’t be able to discern his scribble, but she recognizes it immediately and takes note of what she likes and what she doesn’t.
After a moment he speaks. “You look different,” is all he says, and when she lifts her chin, she finds him staring at her, smile soft around his lips, eyes bright and she recognizes it immediately. Remembers it from the beginning, from when things were good and she had been able to use it as a way to fool herself into thinking forever was a possibility for the two of them.
Looking back down, her fingers tighten around the pen in her hands. “It’s the hair,” she replies. “I cut it differently,” and it’s partly the truth. Her hair is shorter, straight, bangs long and sweeping across her face. Originally she had hated it, but People had commented offhandedly in a column that it makes her look older, more sophisticated. She had liked that. Eventually she grew to like it, too.
“Oh,” is all he says and she sighs again.
“Look, John,” she begins, looking at him again. “This is just business, OK? That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. We have three days to get this done and I really, really think we should get to it already.”
She sounds so sure, so certain, so adult-like that it catches even her off guard. There’s something that flickers across his face - so quick in its passing that you would miss if it you weren’t paying attention - something akin to pride almost. Maybe even respect, she muses. It does something funny to her insides, something entirely different than what she is accustomed to feeling when he’s involved.
“Okay,” he nods finally, and starts in about what she has already written and everything he wants to change.
Taylor laughs under her breath. Somehow she doesn’t remember him being this much of a pompous ass before.
It takes them two days to get the song written. Another to lay it down on a track. Revisions will still be made because they are both perfectionists in their own right, but those can be done separately so they call it quits just in time for Taylor to make her flight. They cut it close, but still manage to meet their deadline and when it is all said and done she packs up her things, downs a bottle of water, and tries not to think about all the nasty take-out food they had consumed in the past 72 hours. When it’s over she feels a mixture of feelings - pride, elation, pure exhaustion.
Taylor’s running late and even if she wanted to give him a proper goodbye, a friendly it was great to work with you, she didn’t have the time for it. If she doesn’t leave now she isn’t going to make her flight so she just settles with a sincere it’s been fun over her shoulder as Scott ushers her out the door.
John heads back to LA and she heads to Austin, both of them going their separate ways.
She doesn’t bother to look back.
[7]
Taylor catches him on the TV one night.
She’s in some random hotel room, in some random city, her tour drawing to a close within the next week, album about to be finished and off to production within the next month. It’s October and she has the balcony door cracked, snuggles deeper into her blanket as the midnight breeze filters in. There is a glass of wine in her hand as she curls onto the couch and she flips through the surrounding channels for a moment before landing back on Letterman, smiling forming across her face as he shifts in his chair, laughter nervous.
There is a picture of them on the screen behind them, so old it makes her cringe - her hair is longer and curly, lips bright red, jaw square and she remembers the night with painstaking clarity. The question is so obviously about her and John uncharacteristically falters, places his palms flat on his thighs.
“Taylor,” he grins, voice quiet, gaze on his feet. “She’s unbelievable. She really, really is.”
He was always charming when he wanted to be.
John sends her an email a week later when she’s back home in Tennessee. Attached is a copy of their finished product. They’ve been sending different versions back and forth, changes being made on both ends and on completely separate sides of the country, for months.
The email only has a few words: pretty perfect, huh?
She downloads it and listens. It’s a softer melody than they had originally intended, tone somewhat sadder with just a tinge of hope. It’s strange, really, listening to the two of them sing about falling in and out of love with each other, falling in and out of love with themselves. Taylor’s lyrics mixing with John’s haunting guitar riffs.
It really is the best of both of them.
Taylor writes him back, just one line: it really is.
Her album comes out and the movie premieres within a week of each other. By the time she makes it to LA for the red-carpet event she’s so exhausted she can barely stand up straight anymore. Between thirteen hour meet-and-greets with her fans, countless promotional spots on this radio station and that talk show, she is in desperate need to catch up on a week’s worth of sleep. Abigail can’t make it so Taylor goes alone. Walks the red carpet in her beautiful, red Armani dress and talks about how great she thinks the movie is even though she hasn’t seen it and how wonderful it was to work with John even though she only half means it.
Taylor stays for the entire movie even though it’s pretty awful and goes to the after party like she’s told. She’s on her third glass of champagne and millionth great song, really when John comes up behind her. She’s tired, toeing the edge between tipsy and drunk, so when he asks her to dance she really doesn’t have the will to say no even though every single part of her is telling her to run far, far away.
She places her empty champagne glass on a passing tray, lets him tug her towards the dance floor, fingers firm against her wrist. The song is slow, something she can’t quite place, and a camera shutters the instant he pulls her against him. She blinks against the flash.
It’s hard being this close to him after all this time. Having his hand in hers, fingers splayed against her waist. He’s too close, so close she can smell the alcohol on his breath and the cologne that has seeped into his clothes. So close she’s certain he can feel her heartbeat against her ribcage, feel the hitch in her breath when he leans in, breath fanning her cheek.
“You look beautiful, Taylor.”
There is something about the way he says her name then, something honest and beautiful and so utterly perfect that her heart gets caught in her throat. She pulls back, tries so very hard not to fall into old patterns.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Be nice. You aren’t a nice guy, John. We aren’t those people anymore. Please don’t act like we are.”
John pulls back to look at her and he laughs slowly at the truth. His mouth starts to move but nothing falls and she starts to shake her head, pull away.
“I’ve missed you,” he says quietly. “I have been missing you.” His lips slip against her cheek. “Tell me you don’t miss me.”
Taylor breathes and closes her eyes. The beat switches, song progressing into another and she pulls away completely.
“I can’t do this,” she says in parting, pushing her way past him.
He manages to hold onto her wrist until she’s out of reach.
It really is just like him to come back into her life, all handsome in his suit and tie and beautiful, wide grins. It really is just like him to say I’ve missed you so honestly, so earnestly that she almost believes it. It is definitely like him to swoop back into her life just when she is beginning to believe she is over it, him, them. Just when she is beginning to see a future for herself that doesn’t involve him in any way whatsoever. Then again it’s been over a year, almost two now, and she still has just as many bad days as she does good ones. Just as many days when she spends fleeting moments entertaining the possibility of maybe instead of never again.
Taylor is starting to feel a bit nauseous and blames it entirely on the wine, steps outside for a breath of fresh air. She is just about to call for a ride back to the hotel when she feels him behind her, hands gentle on her bare shoulders and there is a moment where she resists the temptation, where she just stands there completely still, before she gives in. Before she lets herself lean on him for just a moment.
“Taylor,” he begins softly and just like that the moment is over. Taylor pulls away and shakes her head adamantly.
“No,” she turns around to face him and rubs her aching head. “Don’t. Just don’t, okay?”
“Will you just talk to me?”
“About what, John? About what a gigantic jackass you are? About how you broke my heart and how you apparently think it’s okay to show up here when things are good, when my life is good, and expect me to just fall back into you like nothing ever happened? ‘Cause that’s what you want, right? You want me to forget that you are the world’s biggest asshole so we can what? Go home and have sex? Last a few weeks before you decide, once again, that you’ve had enough fun?” She’s talking so fast she forgets to breathe and has to stop when she’s out of breath. She desperately wants another drink.
“I’m sorry,” is all he says to her tirade, eyes cast downward and she starts to laugh hysterically.
“You’re sorry? You’re sorry? You broke my heart!” she screams at him, so loud it echoes and she winces when people start to glance in their direction. “You broke my heart,” she repeats more softly, voice cracking as the words leave her mouth. “Sorry isn’t going to cut it, John. Not this time.”
Taylor is about to push past him when he reaches a hand upwards, one hand is flat against her face, the other tangling in her hair and there is no warning, no moment of consideration before he kisses her.
John’s kiss is forceful and bruising, and she fights him at first, fists her tiny hands in the fabric of his jacket and tries to push him away before giving up completely. Moans something soft and sweet into his mouth, lets him pull her towards him as close as possible, thumb caressing her cheekbone as the kiss turns tender, sweet, so full of longing she can feel it in her toes.
She kisses him back and hates herself for it. Lets her hands wrap themselves around his neck, tangle in his hair and hates herself a little bit more. She kisses him back and wishes she’d never met him in the same instant because she has tried to move on, tried to get over him, and yet here she is: two years later, still loving him just as much as she tries to hate him.
When he finally pulls away she is absolutely breathless, eyes sliding open as she glances upwards, towards his face. John is looking at her, eyes gentle and kind, mouth soft as it smiles down at her.
“I love you,” he says softly, forehead against hers and she closes her eyes against the words she once would have given anything to hear him say. “I’ve always loved you.”
Taylor starts to cry for absolutely no reason at all. Lets her hands untangle themselves from around his neck and dangle at her sides, fingers curling into her palms.
“God,” she breathes and her heart hurts something fierce, something uncontrollable. She can feel it in her throat. “How I wish that were enough.”
[8]
The movie is terrible and everybody seems to agree - it does horribly at the box office. The music is good, though. The music is great, actually, and Taylor is genuinely proud of all the effort she had put into it.
Abigail’s graduation is a week after her confrontation with John and originally Taylor had planned to go out to Kansas and spend the entire week leading up to it with her best friend, but instead she feigns illness. Heads back home, drops into see her mother before going to her condo where she promptly turns off her cell phone, her house phone, locks all the doors, and falls straight into bed and to sleep.
When she wakes nearly two days later she has ten voicemails. Three are from Abigail, one is from her mother, and the rest are all from John. She goes through every single one, listening for a few moments before clicking delete, her will weakening with every single one, with every single time he utters her name that way - all breathless and needy, like it is some sort of prayer.
When she gets to the sixth one she listens to the whole thing.
“Taylor,” he sighs over the line and she does too. “I just. I need you to know… I want you to know… I’m sorry, okay? I’m so, so sorry. And I never say that to anyone. I never say that because I’m never sorry about anything and if you would just talk to me…If you would just let me in again, give me a second chance -”
Her voicemail cuts it off before he can continue and Taylor is jumbled mess of aggravation and relief. It was easier when there was a distance. Easier to move on. Easier to teach herself how to hate him. Now she is caught between being angry with him for dragging her back in, for making her even begin to entertain the idea of them again, and not knowing where to go from here.
She dials his number but hangs up before the call can go through. Redials the numbers from memory just so she can hang up before she presses the last number.
Finally, she settles on an email:
I just need some time, OK?
She heads to Kansas the next day. Catches a cab east to Abigail and Matt’s apartment and moves into their guestroom for the next few days. Taylor takes Abigail out for a fancy dinner the night before graduation and they play dress up beforehand, trading shoes and dresses, taking their time with their makeup and hair. Taylor suddenly feels like she’s sixteen again - innocent and carefree, not so battle- worn and weary. She laughs and jokes around and wishes she never had to leave this room and this place where things are so beautifully uncomplicated and simple.
“So,” Abigail begins in that sing-song tone of hers and Taylor ignores her, continues applying her eyeliner. “You want to tell me why you decided to ditch me and fall off the face of the earth for three days?”
Taylor switches to her eye shadow. “It was two days, not three.”
“Stop changing the subject.”
Her phone starts to vibrate on the dresser and Taylor reaches for it immediately, nearly drops the eye shadow in the process in her rush to turn it off.
John, apparently, did not understand the meaning of space.
Abigail laughs knowingly. “You can tell me who keeps calling your phone every five minutes while you’re at it.”
The façade falls and Taylor sighs heavily, finishes with her blush and bronzer before falling into the chair next to Abigail’s vanity.
“I kissed John,” is all Taylor says, without any preamble and Abigail is silent for a long time. She could have lied, probably should have, but it would have been to no avail. Abigail would have figured it out eventually - she always does.
Finally, she chuckles. “This is a joke, right? I mean, it’s not a very funny one, but it still has to be joke. I’m waiting for you to say just kidding so I know it’s a joke. So go ahead, Taylor, say it.”
Taylor just bites her lip and Abigail gets the most pained expressing on her face.
“Oh, Taylor.”
She draws her knees to her chest and buries her head. “I know.”
“Why?”
“It just sort of happened,” she shrugs. There was no other way to explain it. “He told me that he loves me. That he wants to get back together.”
“Of course he does,” Abigail laughs and goes back to applying her makeup. When she glances at Taylor again through the mirror she stops. “Please, please tell me you aren’t thinking about it.” When Taylor merely shrugs her shoulders again Abigail reaches up and pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Do you still love him?”
Taylor laughs sadly. “I never really stopped.”
“Taylor, if you do this,” she starts seriously, moving backwards until she can sit on the bed. “If you get back with him, I,” she stops and looks at Taylor so sadly for a moment, shoulders falling with resignation. Her sigh is soft when she continues, “then I’ll be here when it blows back up in your face because that’s what best friends do.”
Matt calls for them from the other room. Taylor’s smile is soft and lovely, so utterly thankful and the two share a small moment before going out to join him.
The thing about fancy restaurants that Taylor always seems to forget is that they’ll do anything to make sure you’re taken care of. So when Taylor and Abigail order Cosmos because it’s a special occasion, the waitress keeps refilling them even though they never ask and they keep drinking them even though they definitely shouldn’t. The girls get so drunk that Matt practically has to carry them up to the apartment, one girl hanging on either shoulder, both of them doubling over in laughter at every single thing he says. He deposits Taylor in her room, practically tossing her on the bed and she’s still giggling when Abigail calls nighty-night through the door.
Kicking off her shoes, Taylor scoots her way up the bed, struggling with every move until her head hits the pillow. She lays there for a moment, lets the room stop spinning and set itself straight before she reaches for her phone. Tomorrow she’ll blame it on the vodka, but tonight she doesn’t care. Just dials his number from memory and waits until he picks up.
“Hey, you,” John greets, flirty and low, voice like gravel and she’s caught off guard, too drunk to have her defenses up and she lets his voice settle deep in her belly, lets something else entirely start in her toes and spread to her head, covering everything in-between.
“Hi,” she replies, giggle escaping her mouth before she can stop it. She bites her lip to keep it from continuing.
“Uh-oh,” he sing-songs and God does she miss him. “Have you been drinking, Little Miss Taylor?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Just a little, huh?”
She clears her throat and rolls onto her side, settles her phone in-between shoulder and chin. “Did you really miss me?”
If she closes her eyes she can imagine him. Probably in his living room, feet propped up on the coffee table next to the computer, drink on the arm of his leather couch. She takes a moment, imagines herself there with him, head on his shoulder, feet next to his. She misses him sometimes so much that it physically hurts and manifests into something that grows and deepens and gnaws at her insides and heart. Taylor has been hurt before, been in love before, but eventually it subsided. Eventually the ache grew dull and almost non-existent.
With John she had just taught herself to ignore it, to bury it someplace deep and try to forget it existed.
John sighs and Taylor does too. “I missed you every day.”
“Then why did it take you two years to tell me? Why didn’t you come to me sooner?” her voice cracks. Taylor has always been an emotional drunk. “Why did you let me go?”
“I,” he stops and starts, clears his throat. She’s making him unconformable and a large part of her is proud. “I don’t think we should be talking about this when you’re drunk.”
“I’m not that drunk.”
“Call me tomorrow.”
“I won’t.”
He laughs and Taylor closes her eyes against the sound. She had always loved his laugh.
Matt pulls her aside the next morning while Abigail is in the shower. Graduation is less than two hours away and both girls were a little slow to start. Taylor’s head still aches, temples pounding with every move, and she’s trying to find her sunglasses when Matt comes up beside her.
“I’m going to ask Abby to marry me tonight,” he just sort of says and Taylor is silent for about a second before she squeaks loudly. “Keep it down, will you?” He hisses and fumbles for something in his pocket.
“I’m sorry,” she laughs. “I’m sorry. I just, whoa. Wow. This is a lot to take in. Do you have a ring? Wait, of course you have a ring,” she shoves his shoulder and kind of jumps up and down with excitement. “Oh, my God. Oh, my god.”
His fingers produce a tiny black box and she takes it on reflex, flipping open the top. The ring is modest, a small princess cut diamond surrounded by two smaller ones, set in a silver band. It’s beautiful and so perfectly Abigail.
“Think she’ll go for it?” he asks, shuffling his feet, almost like he’s asking for permission.
“Yeah,” Taylor grins. “Definitely.”
At dinner he asks her, in front of her parents and Taylor and the entire restaurant, all nervous and honest and so unbelievably in love. Abigail cries and Taylor does a little bit, too. She watches them with a proud smile, so utterly happy for her forever friend. Selfishly feels a little bit lonely too as she watches her best friend take a step towards beginning a life completely independent of Taylor, possibly even without her.
After they get home Taylor retreats to her room, returns some emails, checks in with her mother. She’s obsessing over whether or not to call John when there’s a knock on the door and when she looks up Abigail is making her way inside, shutting the door behind her. She plops onto the bed next to her, rests her head on Taylor’s shoulder and sighs something happy.
“Did you know?”
“Yeah,” Taylor draws out the word guiltily. “He told me this morning.”
Abigail shoves her shoulder with her own. “You should have told me.”
“It would have ruined the surprise, silly.”
They sit there like that for a while, just the two of them, and Taylor is already starting to count down these types of moments in the back of her head. Takes stock in the fact that it could be one of the very last times it really is just her and Abigail. It isn’t that she doesn’t love Matt, she does, of course she does. It’s just been her and Abigail for a very long time. Taylor is having problems wrapping her head around the adjustment.
“Everything is going to change now, isn’t it?” Taylor asks quietly.
“Absolutely not,” Abigail replies with an amount of certainty she can’t help but envy.
Taylor prays she’s right.
Tennessee is a welcome sight and she’s texting back and forth with Abigail about bridesmaid dresses and the pros and cons of a destination wedding when she steps off the elevator and heads towards her condo. When she looks up she sees John, on the floor outside of her door, head against the wall and a book in his lap. She pauses for a moment and pockets her cell phone before she continues towards her front door, suitcase rolling behind her and announcing her presence. She’s nervous having him here, so close in her personal space. She’s not used to it anymore - having him near. Having him in her territory should give her the upper-hand, but she knows better. She never had the upper-hand with him, no matter how hard she tried.
“You’re flight was suppose to be in at six,” he says in lieu of a greeting. He glances at his watch. “It’s nine.”
Taylor raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been waiting here since then?”
“Yes.”
Stepping over his long legs she slips her key into the lock and pushes open her door. “Okay,” she laughs shortly. “Everything about that is creepy.”
He stands and leans his shoulder against the door jam. “You didn’t call.”
Smiling she says, “I told you I wouldn’t.”
“You going to invite me in?”
“Depends. Why are you here?”
He holds his hands up in defense. “Just to talk,” he says softly. “I just want to talk to you.”
“I have a cell phone.”
“Yes, but you don’t seem to like to talk to me unless your drunk. I wasn’t quite sure when the next time that would be so I figured I would make it so you have to talk to me.”
She points her chin upwards in a show of defiance. “I don’t have to let you in.”
“No,” he pretends to consider it. “Guess you don’t. But you are going to, right?”
With a sigh she pushes the door open wider and motions for him to come inside.
Taylor has always been a smart girl and she is pretty damn sure she knows where this going and that there is nothing she can do to stop it.
She slides her coat off and leaves her suitcase by the door, invites him to move further inside with a flick of her wrist as she moves towards the kitchen. He’s loitering in the foyer, surveying his surroundings as she grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. Taylor watches him as she sips her water, takes in the way he stands there with his hands shoved deep into his jeans, jacket fading and fraying around the seams, his smile soft at the corner of his mouth. He fits here in her little corner of the world, she can’t help but think, and she’s still nervous, his presence unnerving her. She keeps the bottle tight between her fingers as she makes her way towards the living room again, flopping onto the couch and waiting for him to do the same.
“You said you wanted to talk,” she says softly, words absent of any and all anger. She finds it exhausting to be angry with him all the time, to bury how she feels about him by trying to hate him. It was never going to work, but she still gives herself credit for the effort. “So talk.”
He slides onto the couch next to her.
“You were wrong,” he says softly, shoulder leaning into the back of the couch as he twists to look at her. “It’s not just the hair. You really are different,” he reaches out to touch her face, fingers soft against her skin and she closes her eyes against his touch but does not lean into it. “What happened to the girl I used to know?”
By pulling away she manages to put some distance between them. “She grew up, John.”
John’s sigh is weighted and he brings his left foot to rest atop his right knee. “What is it going to take for you to give me a second chance?”
“Why do you think you deserve one?”
“I don’t,” he replies. “I know I don’t. I fucked up. I never should have let you go. I never should have let you get on that plane.”
“Then why did you?” she asks tiredly.
She’s trying to be an adult. Trying to be strong, but everything just seems more difficult when he’s sitting right next to her, pulling her back in with his soft smiles and sweet talk. She wants to believe him. Wants so badly to be the person she was two years ago who loved him simply and wholly and with everything in her. Taylor’s just not sure if that is possible anymore.
“Fuck, Taylor,” he swears, hands through his hair on reflex and he drums the fingers of his free hands against his thigh. “I don’t know. Why do I do half the shit I do?”
“No,” she shakes her head. “You can’t do that. You can’t act like it’s just one of those things, John. You want me to take you seriously? You want to talk about us having even the mere possibility of a second chance, then you need to be honest with me. You need to start giving me some pretty damn good answers.”
A moment or two passes and when he still says nothing Taylor moves to stand. He reaches out for her at the last second, just before she’s out of reach, fingers against her wrist pulling her back towards him. She sits back down and waits.
“I was scared,” he says quietly. “I knew that you loved me and I was half-way to being in love with you and I… I just didn’t know what to do about it. I knew that if I let myself fall completely in love with you, if I let myself make that commitment, it was probably going to be for a very long time and I…” he lets out a slow breath of air. “I just wasn’t ready to do it.”
Something gets caught in her chest and swells in her throat. She’s not sure what to say to that, not sure whether to believe him. She used to be good at discerning his truths from his lies, now she’s not so sure.
“So instead of telling me that,” she starts, “instead of telling me that you just needed some time, you decided to rip my heart out and tear it into a million pieces instead?”
“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” he laughs, trying to make it a joke, but Taylor doesn’t find it very funny. After a moment he sobers, clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I really am. I know how much I hurt you and know that I deserve nothing from you, but I will do anything to make it up to you.”
The words soak in for a moment and Taylor has always been too forgiving, always been weak in matters of the heart and she allows herself a moment where she imagines a future with him by her side. Five, maybe ten years down the line, two kids and one on the way, a house in Nashville with a backyard the size of Texas and they spend their Sundays being lazy and making music, teaching their kids about football and guitars and everything there is to know about country music. She wants that with him. She’s always wanted that with him.
John’s hand is against her cheek before she can stop him, calloused fingers slipping against her skin. She is so utterly tired of fighting what she feels for him that she lets herself lean into his touch willingly.
“It’s always going to be you, Taylor,” he says so softly she has to strain to hear him and she closes her eyes, lets the words sink into her skin and bones. Tries so desperately not to fall in love with him all over again because those are just words and John has always been better than most with them. But Taylor has loved him since she was nineteen years old - maybe even longer in some faraway type of way if she really thinks about it - and it just won’t go away.
“I can’t,” she sighs softly, and he pulls away with a curt nod, hands dropping to his lap. “I can’t do it again if it’s going to be like it was before. I can do the give and take and all those stupid little mind games you used to play. I don’t have it in me, John. Not anymore.”
John is before her in an instant, off the couch and on his knees in front of her and his hands are on her face, so tight it almost hurts. He’s smiling softly, so utterly hopeful in the way he’s looking up at her, demeanor so unlike the John she’s always known that she starts to think it might just work this time around. That maybe he’s changed just as much as she has. He’s leaning upwards, face just a breath away from hers and his eyes are questioning, seeking permission.
“Yeah?” he asks softy.
This is her chance, she knows that. This is the moment where she could get up and walk away if she wanted to, but instead she nods, just once, ever-so-slightly. Taylor’s eyelashes slip against her cheeks and John’s lips are on hers in an instant, so soft and loving, so utterly certain and it is so strikingly different than that night all those months ago. So much better than any other time before.
Taylor kisses him back.
From backstage she watches as some young starlet Taylor’s never heard of does her skit for the audience at the VMAs, wincing at the way she tries to be funny, but fails miserably. Her feet are starting to hurt from wearing these damn stilettos too long and she’s waiting for her cue to enter the stage when John comes up beside her. His fingers are soft against the small of her back and she leans into him, lets him carry a bit of her weight for just a moment.
After all these years she’s still just as nervous as she was on day one. She’s not sure if that will ever change. She’s definitely not sure if she even wants it to change. Taylor’s funny that way, the way she enjoys the reminder that this is all just some temporary thing - it keeps her on her toes.
“This is terrible,” she remarks quietly and John chuckles real low, like it’s just for her.
“MTV is not what it used to be,” he says and then leans down real close near her ear, lips soft against her skin. “You ready?”
“I was born ready,” she lies, glancing up at him with every ounce of confidence she can muster. In the back of her mind though she can’t stop thinking about how this is the first time in years they’ve performed live together and maybe they should have spent more time practicing this morning and less time in bed.
“That’s my girl.”
The stage manger gives them their cue and somebody hands them their guitars just as they start to make their way across the dark stage. She’s five steps in when she stumbles slightly, cursing her damn shoes and her stupid publicist for making her wear them. John is there though; his hand around her arm to keep her from falling.
He is most definitely grinning, she muses, but doesn’t want to turn to look.
[epilogue]
This is how it begins:
In LA, in some non-descript studio, in some part of town she’s never been to. She has Starbucks in one hand and her guitar in the other and she has to tuck one under her arm so her hand can slide easily into his. There are smiles (his), blushes (hers), gracious nice to meet yous and Taylor falls all over herself because she is still that girl and meeting somebody whose music she has idolized since day one never fails to knock the wind right out of her.
She files onto the stool across from him, guitar in her lap, her shoulders starting to relax just slightly and she finally breathes as she strums a few chords on her guitar.
“You wanna play?” John asks and she’s caught in a moment for a beat, too enthralled in watching his fingers dances over the strings, sound vibrating quietly in the back of his throat as he hums the opening lines of something familiar.
Taylor ducks her head and pushes her hair out of her face.
“I have a few ideas,” she says softly.
John grins effortlessly and waves a hand in her direction. “Let’s hear ‘em.”
There is a beginning in this moment and in all the ones directly proceeding it, buried under hidden smiles and soft laughter, in glances that stretch for a beat longer than necessary. It’s beautiful, bright and full of promise, subtly hiding all of the warning signs and somewhere down the line Taylor will probably look back on this day and sigh, smile sadly to herself and think I really should have known better.
For now though, all she can think about as he looks at her and she looks at him is that this is the kind of moment people like her were born to write songs about.