Two Birds and No Stones. Please Don't Kill My Birds

The Next DayDecember 14th; 2024Taylor Swift's Point of ViewI'm sitting in the passenger seat of Travis's car. Of course, it's a Rolls-Royce—black, sleek, and obnoxiously expensive. Zoë is in the backseat, strapped securely into a car seat that, thankfully, I didn't have to provide. She's humming to herself, blissfully unaware of the chaos that's become my life. I glance at her in the rearview mirror, her tiny fingers tapping the sides of her light-up shoes, and feel a pang of guilt. I should be stronger for her, but right now, I'm too exhausted to argue. Travis's presence already feels suffocating, but I know I have no other choice. I need to be with him, at least for now.

"I already stopped by your apartment," Travis says, breaking the tense silence. His voice is too casual, like we're just two old friends catching up. "I grabbed some stuff I thought you'd need for a few days."

"A few days?" I glare at him, crossing my arms. "I'm going to be there longer."

"Jesus Christ, Taylor, I saw your apartment," he snaps, glancing at me briefly before turning his eyes back to the road. "I'm buying you new stuff."

My jaw tightens, but I don't respond. It stings—knowing he saw the mess I live in, the bare-bones reality of what I've had to manage on my own.

"What about Zo Zo's stuff?" I finally ask, my voice sharper than I intended.

He shrugs. "I mean, we brought some of her toys, but besides that, we just bought new stuff for her."

I blink, my annoyance quickly bubbling into anger. "What about her essentials? My breast pump, her bottles, the storage bags—"

Travis cuts me off with a baffled look. "She's over two, and you still breastfeed?"

"Yes, Travis," I snap. "It's free to feed her. Not everyone has a damn black card and a personal chef, okay?"

He exhales sharply, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Alright, fine. I'll buy you a new pump. Whatever. It's just..." He hesitates, shaking his head. "Never mind."

"No, say it," I press, narrowing my eyes.

"It's just... can't you just give her normal food now? She doesn't need it anymore."

"Travis, you used to be poor," I snap, turning to glare at him. "Don't you remember that? We scraped by day to day. We cut costs wherever we could. We survived on ramen and SNAPS."

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his jaw clenching as he stares at the road ahead. "She deserves real food," he mutters under his breath.

"She is getting real food!" I fire back, my voice rising with frustration. "And on top of that, I bring home food from the diner sometimes since I get one free meal a shift."

"Oh, great," he says sarcastically. "So she's surviving on leftover fries and stale burgers?"

My face burns with anger, and I turn to look out the window, my arms crossed tightly. "You don't know what it's like anymore," I hiss. "You've been living in your fancy house with your fancy cars and eating your fancy meals while I've been figuring out how to stretch a dollar to keep her happy and healthy."

"You think I don't care?" he asks sharply, glancing at me. "I'm trying to help. You don't have to live like that anymore."

"Yeah, well, it's a little late for you to swoop in and play hero," I snap. "Where was this 'help' when I was pregnant and had nothing? Where was it when I was working double shifts just to make rent?"

He exhales sharply and shakes his head. "I get it. I was an ass. But I'm here now, Taylor. Can't you just let me help without biting my head off every time I open my mouth?"

I stay silent, my chest tight with anger and exhaustion. From the backseat, Zoë's soft voice cuts through the tension.

"Kitty!" she exclaims, pointing to her shoes again.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down for her sake. "We're not done talking about this," I say quietly, but firmly.

"Fine," Travis replies, his voice strained. "But for now, let's just get home."

I glance at Zoë in the rearview mirror. She's kicking her light-up shoes and giggling to herself, blissfully unaware of the tension between us. I can only hope she stays that way—for now.

"Hungry," Zoë pipes up from the backseat, her little voice cutting through the silence.

"Where do you want to stop?" Travis asks, glancing in the rearview mirror.

I roll my eyes and sigh. "She's two, Travis. She doesn't know what you're asking her."

"Food," Zoë repeats with more determination this time, kicking her feet against the car seat.

"Soon," I say, trying to keep my tone calm. "When we get home."

"Cakes," she adds, her voice perking up as though she's hit upon the best idea in the world.

"No, no," I interject quickly. "I will."

"Cakes!" Zoë yells louder, her tiny fists pumping in the air as if pancakes are a rallying cry.

"Zo Zo," I say firmly, turning in my seat to look at her. "We're not having pancakes."

Her face scrunches up in protest, and I can tell we're moments away from a full-blown tantrum.

"Would you relax?" Travis says with a smirk. "We can make pancakes at the house if it'll make her happy."

I shake my head, rubbing my temples. "She'll forget about it by the time we get there. Besides, you're already spoiling her enough as it is."

"Cakes!" Zoë shrieks again, this time giggling like it's the funniest thing she's ever said.

Travis just laughs, shaking his head. "You're outnumbered, Taylor. Sounds like pancakes are happening."

"No," I say firmly, cutting Travis off before he can escalate this any further. "Okay? She doesn't need pancakes. I promise you."

I turn in my seat to face Zoë, my tone softening but still resolute. "Zo Zo, no cakes. I'll feed you when we get home."

She pouts, her bottom lip jutting out dramatically, but I hold my ground.

Travis snorts. "You act like pancakes are the devil."

"She doesn't need sugar right now," I snap, glaring at him. "She's hungry, not asking for dessert. And you spoiling her isn't helping."

He throws his hands up briefly in mock surrender, keeping one on the wheel. "Alright, alright. No cakes. Just trying to keep the peace."

Zoë shifts in her seat, her little voice piping up again. "Mama?"

"Yes, baby?" I reply, my gaze softening as I look at her in the rearview mirror.

"Food?" she asks hopefully, clearly not giving up.

"Soon," I say with a sigh. "When we get home, I promise."

She doesn't look entirely convinced but settles back into her seat, her tiny feet kicking gently against the car seat.

"See? Crisis averted," I mutter, leaning back and crossing my arms.

"For now," Travis quips, smirking as he turns onto a quiet road.

The road stretches ahead, winding up to a massive mansion, and my eyes widen as I take in the sight. The place is huge, more than I expected. There are bodyguards stationed outside, scanning the surroundings, their serious faces matching the polished, intimidating vibe of the estate. Travis punches a few numbers into the gate's keypad, and with a soft hum, it opens, revealing a driveway long enough to make me question if it's a part of a small town.

"This is... luxury," I murmur, almost in disbelief, as we pull in. The house looms in front of us, an intimidating yet almost awe-inspiring structure. There's no denying it—Travis's world is a far cry from the cramped apartment I was used to. And Zoë, blissfully unaware, is happily occupied with her toys in the backseat.

Travis gives a quick glance in my direction, noticing the look on my face. "Don't get used to it," he says dryly, pulling the car up to the front steps. "It's just a house. Still got bills to pay."

I can't help the sarcasm that sneaks into my voice as I reply, "Yeah, because no one's ever heard of a mansion with bills."

He grins, his hands tight on the wheel as he parks the car. "You're welcome to leave anytime. Just sayin'."

I step inside and immediately feel the plush, soft cushions of the couch underneath me. My body sinks into it like I'm floating, and I let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, that's the stuff," I mutter, my eyes closing for a moment. I've been so sick and in so much pain. I still can't breathe half the time, it's exhausting. And this couch...It's nothing like my old couch back home, which had lumps that felt like rocks—barely any support, always uncomfortable. This one's a dream. I almost forget where I am for a second.

But Zoë's voice brings me back to reality. She's tugging at my shirt, her face scrunching up with the beginnings of a cry. I can see she's upset, hungry. The sound of her soft whimper breaks through the quiet, and I immediately reach out to pull her close.

"Come here. I'll feed ya," I say, trying to soothe her. I adjust her in my lap, my fingers brushing over her tiny hand as I pull up my shirt to make sure she's taken care of. Zoë calms a little at the sound of my voice and the familiarity of being held, but I can still feel the tension in the air. She's still adjusting to this whole new situation. So am I.

Travis freezes, his eyes wide as he quickly turns around, clearly uncomfortable. "Woah, okay!" he exclaims, his voice a mix of surprise and awkwardness. He clears his throat and looks anywhere but at us, trying to regain some sense of composure.

I raise an eyebrow at his reaction. "Well, you didn't bring my nursing cover, did you now?" I ask, my tone dry, but I can't help the small smirk that plays at the corners of my mouth. It's not like I expected him to be comfortable with it, but the way he acts makes it all the more obvious just how unprepared he really is for this whole situation.

Zoë's latch is secure, and she's feeding without any issue, unaware of Travis's discomfort. I can't help but feel a little amused at how quickly he turned into an uncomfortable mess. Still, I don't really care. It's just me and Zoë right now, and that's all that matters.

"Taylor, I will give you $100 to stop breastfeeding in front of me."

I raise an eyebrow and glance up at him, annoyed but slightly amused. "$100 to stop feeding my daughter lunch?" I respond, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

He shifts uncomfortably, his face pinching in frustration. "I'll find something else!"

I roll my eyes, not even bothering to hide the irritation. "Pay for all my medical bills and I'll do it."

Travis stops in his tracks, blinking a couple of times as if trying to process what I just said. "Holy hell, fine!" he exclaims, his voice tinged with disbelief.

I look at him for a moment, making sure he's actually serious before I respond. "Really?"

He throws his hands up in the air, exasperated. "Yeah, really! Just... stop breastfeeding in front of me!"

I take a deep breath, trying to hold in a laugh at how ridiculous the situation has gotten. There's a brief, awkward silence as I finish feeding Zoë, and then I look at him, fighting a smirk. "You're lucky I'm not doing this for the money, Travis."

His expression is a mix of frustration and disbelief, but a slight laugh escapes from him anyway. "This is insane. But fine, if it'll make you stop."

I give him a pointed look. "You can't just throw money at every problem because I still need to feed my daughter the way she needs to be fed. But I'm glad you're willing to pay my bills."

"Just do it privately and I'll pay your medical bills."

I glance at him, an eyebrow arched in skepticism. "You know what? If arrogance pays my medical bills, I'm fine with that," I reply, a slight smirk tugging at my lips.

Travis sighs, clearly frustrated, but he's not backing down. "I'm serious, Taylor. You've got my word."

I let out a deep sigh, running a hand through my hair as I stand up. "Okay, Zo Zo. You can have pancakes."

The moment the words leave my mouth, Zoë's eyes light up, and she claps her little hands together, her voice squealing with excitement. "Cakes?!" I pick her up, placing her in a booster seat and buckling her in.

"Cakes!" she repeats, practically bouncing in her seat, her tiny legs kicking with glee.

I can't help but smile at how easily she gets excited over the simplest things. The energy she radiates is pure joy, and it makes all the chaos in my life feel just a little more manageable.

I walk toward the kitchen and glance over my shoulder at Travis. "You can help, or you can sit there and watch," I say, half-teasing.

Travis shakes his head with a slight chuckle. "I'm better off staying out of the way."

"Then go ahead and stay out of the way," I respond, moving to pull out the pancake mix. The sound as I stir the batter fills the quiet kitchen, and I feel a rare moment of calm settling over me.

Zoë, still full of excitement, babbles in her chair, seemingly trying to explain something to me. "Cakes!" she insists again, as though the concept of pancakes hadn't already been made clear.

I nod and grab a pan, turning on the heat. "Yes, Zo Zo. I know you want pancakes. We're getting there, okay?"

Travis, still lingering behind, glances at me with a small smile. "You're good with her."

"It's not hard," I say, keeping my eyes on the stove as the batter sizzles when it hits the hot pan. "She's easy to please as long as she gets what she wants."

Zoë's excited chatter continues, her small hands reaching out for the imaginary pancakes in front of her, her little fingers tapping the table as if she can already taste them.

I turn to Travis, raising an eyebrow. "She's not usually this demanding, but pancakes are her weakness."

Travis grins slightly. "Yeah, well, I think you've created a monster."

"Hey, at least it's an adorable one," I quip, flipping the pancakes as they cook, the soft golden brown color starting to form.

Zoë giggles, clapping her hands. "Cakes!" she squeals, her excitement uncontainable.

"When do you go back to set?" I ask, feeling a twinge of impatience. I'm not sure if I'm more eager to get some space or if I just want him to leave so I can fully process everything.

"Tomorrow," Travis answers casually, as if it's no big deal.

"Cool," I say, keeping my voice flat, hoping my lack of enthusiasm is enough to make him realize I'm not interested in chatting.

"I'm going to have a nurse and a nanny here while I'm gone," he adds, leaning against the doorway. "The stay-in nurse will help you with your medications, monitor your recovery, make sure you're doing your breathing exercises..."

"Travis, I can do that stuff myself," I snap, irritated that he thinks I can't handle the basics.

"I know, I know. But think about it this way," he presses, his voice softening, "the more of my stuff you use, the faster you get out of here."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "True. I do deserve to deplete you of all your resources. After all, you don't pay child support...If you paid child support, I could quit my job at the diner," I say, crossing my arms. "I'd probably make like a million a year, honestly. How much do you make a year?"

Travis looks over at me, clearly a bit taken aback by my boldness. "A million? Are you serious?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I shrug, not really caring if he's impressed or not. "You think I'm joking? What do you make, like... five, ten million a year?"

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable with the comparison. "It's not about that," he starts, but I cut him off.

"No, it's about you doing the bare minimum while I bust my ass to make sure Zoë's taken care of. So yeah, I think a million a year sounds pretty nice."

"Clearly not hard enough. Most of the girl's had clothes didn't fit her or had patched up holes in them. You still breastfeed her and you bring her to work every day? What kind of life is that for a kid?" He says.

Travis's face tightens as I let the words spill out, his expression shifting between disbelief and guilt. I can feel my chest tightening as the frustration overflows.

"I didn't get maternity leave, Travis," I continue, my voice rising slightly. "I took three days off. I'm breastfeeding so I have to take breaks, and during those breaks, I'm unpaid. All her clothes are from the Salvation Army or Goodwill. I use a sewing machine to fix them. I use coins on the sidewalk to wash our clothes and steal our neighbor's laundry detergent when they aren't looking. I fill up the bathtub and use the same water for a week to save on the water bill. We don't have a TV. We don't use the lights. We live in poverty. I work double shifts almost every day just to survive. And yet your ignorant ass is acting like you didn't live a similar life just three years ago!"

I slam the spatula down onto the counter, the sound sharp and final.

Travis looks like I've slapped him, and for a moment, there's silence between us. His eyes drop, and I see the weight of my words land on him. But I don't care. He needs to understand.

"Don't act like you've forgotten, Travis. You were just like me, scraping by, doing whatever it took to make ends meet. I don't need your judgment right now. I need you to listen and see the reality of it all."

"Cakes!" Zoë squeals, her eyes lighting up with excitement. She's bouncing a little in her seat, practically vibrating with joy at the sight of the pancakes.

I chuckle softly, glancing at her as I grab a plate and carefully cut the pancake into small pieces, making sure they're bite-sized for her tiny hands. The warm scent of the freshly made pancakes fills the air, mixing with the sweet aroma of syrup. I drizzle a generous amount over the pieces, watching the syrup pool around them like a little river.

I slide the plate in front of her, smiling as she immediately grabs a piece with her fingers, her chubby hands a little sticky from the syrup. She doesn't even wait for a fork. She's too excited to hold back, and I can't help but smile at the sight of her, so eager for her "cake."

"Your cakes are ready, Zo Zo," I say, trying to suppress my grin as I watch her pick up the pieces with glee.

"Cake!" she repeats, beaming up at me, syrup smeared across her cheeks.

I can't help but laugh softly at her enthusiasm, feeling a warm sense of contentment wash over me. This is one of those rare, quiet moments of peace in the chaos, and I'm soaking it all in.

"I'm sorry." Travis says softly, his voice quieter than usual, the weight of his words lingering in the air.

I glance at him for a moment before turning back to Zoë, who's happily shoveling pancakes into her mouth with both hands, her face lighting up with each bite. I kiss the top of her head, feeling a surge of love for my little girl. The softness of her hair under my lips calms me, grounding me in the moment.

"I know," I say, my voice calm but heavy, the tension in my chest easing slightly. I don't need to say more. "I know," I repeat, almost like a reassurance to myself, as I let my gaze linger on her.

—————Author's Note:

What an ass :)

Day something of asking anyone to play Fortnite with me