Oh My God They Were Roommates

Two Weeks LaterJanuary 15th; 2025Taylor Swift's Point of ViewThis whole job hunt is a nightmare. Apparently, working at the same diner for eight years leaves you with...a very creative résumé. I've spent the past hour tweaking it to sound impressive, which is no easy feat when your biggest achievements include "expert at balancing five plates on one arm" and "handled unruly customers without punching anyone."

Every time I hit submit on a job application, I feel a mix of hope and dread. Hope that someone will give me a chance. Dread that they'll actually call and ask why there's a gap in my work history or why I only listed three references, one of whom is Jenna, who probably wouldn't even pick up the phone.

Travis walks into the room, holding a mug of coffee. He glances at me slouched on the couch with my laptop and raises an eyebrow. "Still at it?"

"Yep," I say, popping the "p" for emphasis. "Turns out the job market isn't desperate for ex-waitresses with a kid and a GED."

"You're underselling yourself," he says, sitting down across from me. "What about 'experienced multitasker' or 'proficient in crisis management'? Both of those sound legit and are technically true."

I roll my eyes but can't help the smirk tugging at my lips. "You're surprisingly good at this. Want to write my cover letters too?"

"I'm just saying, you've got skills," he says, sipping his coffee. "People skills. Patience. Problem-solving under pressure. That's gold in a lot of jobs."

"Try telling that to the hiring manager at Target who ghosted me," I mutter.

"Don't give up," he says, his tone softer now. "Something will come through."

I stare at the screen, scrolling through listings for positions I'm either underqualified or overqualified for. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?" I glance at Zoë playing on the floor with her stuffed animals. "I've got to make this work. For her."

"You will," Travis says firmly, his voice warm with reassurance. "Maybe I can find something on set for you. You could be an extra. I bet you'd make a lot more than you did at the diner."

I blink, the thought of being an extra on a film set feeling so surreal. "Really? You'd do that for me?"

"Of course," he nods, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "They're always looking for people, and extras get hired for multiple shoots, sometimes even for different roles in different scenes. Plus, the pay's pretty decent."

I let out a sigh of relief, my shoulders relaxing for the first time in a long while. "Oh, you're a life-saver, Travis. I promise I'll find a more stable job, but this... this is just what I needed right now."

"You're welcome," he says, his tone genuine. "But... have you thought about writing again? I mean, I remember how badly you wanted to be an author when we were together."

The question catches me off guard. I shift slightly, fidgeting with the sleeve of my shirt, trying to avoid looking him in the eye. "When I got pregnant, I decided I had to put that dream on hold. It just felt like... there was no time for it. I had to focus on real things. Money, bills, Zoë. Writing seemed like something for another time, maybe another life."

Travis doesn't respond immediately, but I can feel his eyes on me, studying me closely. His expression softens, and for a moment, I see the same Travis from years ago—the one who believed in my passion, who always encouraged me to chase my dreams, even when I doubted myself.

"You shouldn't give up on that," he says quietly, leaning forward, his voice filled with sincerity. "I know life's gotten in the way. But you've always had this fire in you. You can't just let it fade away, Taylor. Writing is who you are. You don't have to wait for the 'perfect time'—you can start small, you know? Just write whenever you can. Even if it's just a few lines a day. You'll find your way back to it."

I swallow hard, feeling a lump in my throat. His words stir something deep inside of me—something I'd buried under the weight of responsibilities and fears.

I give him a small smile, though it's tinged with uncertainty. "I don't know. I've been so focused on just getting through the day, I forgot what it was like to have something I truly loved."

"Well," Travis says, his voice soft but firm, "don't forget it. Life can throw a lot at you, but that doesn't mean you should give up on the things that make you, you."

"Thank you, Travis." I offer him a small, genuine smile, feeling the weight of his earlier words settling somewhere deep within me.

He leans back in his chair, his gaze steady. "I have a question for you."

I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

"When's the last time you took a day for yourself? Spent some time just being you?"

The question catches me off guard. I glance down at my hands, absently tracing circles on the edge of the table. "My entire life, I've been working myself to the bone. And when I had Zoë... she became who I was. She's my everything."

He nods, but his expression is serious, a mix of understanding and quiet determination. "Taylor, you didn't get a childhood. You grew up fighting your entire life just to get screwed over time and time again."

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. His words hit too close to home, truths I've buried under layers of denial and necessity.

"I know you have responsibilities," he continues, his voice softer now, more coaxing. "And I know Zoë is your whole world. But maybe... maybe it's time to take a step back. To figure yourself out. Be a little reckless."

I let out a short laugh, one that's more disbelief than amusement. "Reckless? Travis, I can't afford to be reckless. I have a two-year-old who depends on me. I don't get the luxury of making mistakes."

"Maybe not," he says, leaning forward slightly. "But you can still make space for yourself. Even just a little bit. You've spent so long surviving, Taylor, you forgot how to live. Just think about it. For Zoë's sake, even. She deserves to see her mom happy, not just tired and overwhelmed."

I hate how easily he can see through me, how he always seems to know exactly where to press. But a small, quiet part of me knows he's right. I just don't know how to begin.

"I just can't afford it, Travis," I say, shaking my head. "Zo Zo needs me. Every minute of every day. I can't just—"

"What if," he interrupts gently, leaning forward, "instead of looking for jobs right away, you come with me? I'll find extra roles for you on set whenever there's parts available. It's good money, and it'll give you some breathing room."

I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand, stopping me.

"Listen. You can get back into writing," he continues. "I'll pay for supplies, classes, whatever you need to make it happen. And maybe—just maybe—you take one night every two weeks to go out and have some fun. Go to dinner. Meet someone, if you want. You don't have to do it alone. I'll watch Zo Zo, or I can hire the nanny."

"Travis..." His name comes out as more of a whisper, my resolve wavering.

He doesn't let me pull back. "I want you to be happy, Taylor. You deserve to be happy. And you know what? Zoë deserves that too. A happy mom is the best gift you can give her."

I feel my throat tighten, my chest aching with the weight of his words. The idea of letting myself off the hook, even a little, feels indulgent. Irresponsible, even.

I stand there, arms crossed tightly over my chest, my heart pounding as I look at Travis. I'm trying to read him, trying to figure out what he really wants. After everything, I'm not sure I can believe him, but part of me—just a tiny part—wants to.

"Travis..." I say again, my voice wavering just a little. "Why now? After all this time, why do you want to help me?"

His expression softens, and I see something in his eyes I didn't expect—regret, maybe even shame. He runs a hand through his hair before looking at me again.

"This is long overdue, Taylor," he says quietly, like the words are heavier than he's prepared to carry. "But I'm sorry. I know that doesn't fix anything. I can't take back what I did. I was stupid, Taylor. I should've been there."

"You left me," I say, and the words feel like a weight, dragging me down. "You just... left. I had to raise Zoë by myself. I had to fight for everything. You were gone, Travis. You weren't there. Not when I needed you most."

He winces, and I see the guilt flash across his face. His shoulders drop like the weight of my words is too much to bear.

"I know," he says, and his voice is rough. "I know. And I hate that I wasn't there for you. I was just so mad."

I can't breathe. It's like the air between us is thick, full of all the things I've never said, full of all the hurt I've carried for so long. I've buried so much anger, so much resentment, but hearing him say that makes something inside me crack open.

I shake my head. "You think a few apologies, a few favors, will make up for all the time you've been gone?" I'm trying to hold it together, but my voice cracks. "You don't get to just come back and make everything okay, Travis. You left me to do it all alone. I had no one. No one but Zoë."

"I don't think I can fix everything, Taylor," he says quickly, like he's desperate to make me understand. "I'm not saying I can erase the past. I know I can't. But I want to help. I want to be here now. For you. For Zoë. I want to make sure you're not doing it alone anymore."

I stand there, stunned. His words hit harder than I expect. I've never seen him like this—vulnerable, sincere, full of regret. It's almost like he's someone else entirely.

"I don't know," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I can ever trust you again."

"I understand," he says softly, his voice steady, like he's willing to let me take my time. "And I'm not asking you to. I just want you to know that I'm here. I want to make sure you're okay."

"I don't know if I can trust you," I repeat, but it sounds weaker this time. I'm not sure I can hold onto this anger anymore, not when it feels like I've been carrying it for so long. "But I'm... I'm willing to try. For Zoë."

His face softens, and I see the relief in his eyes. He steps a little closer, but not too much—like he's waiting for me to pull away.

"I'll do whatever it takes, Taylor," he says, his voice quiet, full of sincerity. "And if you ever change your mind, if you need time, I'll be here. No matter what."

"I'll try," I say, my voice soft but steady. "But don't make me regret it."

"I won't," he says, his voice almost a whisper. "I promise."

I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes as I look at him. The words feel like they're hanging in the air, and part of me wants to reject it all. "You've promised me a lot of things, Travis..." I say, my voice tight with frustration, because it feels like I've been hearing the same promises for years now.

"I know I did," he replies quietly, the regret in his voice unmistakable. "I'm trying to make up for it now."

I scoff, shaking my head as memories flood back—of all the broken promises, the empty words, the absence. "How are you going to make it up to Zoë?" I ask, my voice tinged with both anger and disbelief. "How are you going to make up for being gone for all this time? How do you fix that?"

He looks down for a second, like he's gathering his thoughts, and then meets my gaze again, his face a mix of determination and regret. "I didn't know if you wanted me in her life," he admits. "But I'm here now, and the first thing I'll do is child support. Okay? I'm not going to leave you hanging."

I almost laugh, but it comes out more like a bitter exhale. "You think that's enough? You think you can just throw some money at the situation and make up for the last few years? For everything you didn't do?"

His face hardens for a moment, but there's a softness in his eyes that wasn't there before. "No," he says firmly. "I know money doesn't fix everything. But it's a start, Taylor. I'm not just asking you to forgive me."

I stand there, the silence between us stretching, the weight of his words hanging in the air. His promise feels like a small step forward, but I can't ignore the wall I've built up inside, the one that says Don't trust him again.

I watch Travis carefully, my arms crossed, the weight of my question hanging between us. "Travis, you never answered my question or really made it clear. Do you want to be in her life?" My voice is steady, but there's an edge to it—uncertainty, doubt, and a touch of fear for what that answer might mean for Zoë and me.

He turns his gaze from me to Zoë, who's sitting on the floor, her tiny hands clutching two stuffed animals, her giggles filling the room. The sound of her joy seems to make him pause, as though something inside him shifts. I watch his expression soften, the walls he's put up starting to crack.

His eyes light up, watching her, and for a second, I wonder if he even realizes how much that simple look means. "Of course I do," he says, his voice quieter now, filled with a kind of resolve that wasn't there before. "I'm not a dad by any means, but I'll learn."

His words hit me harder than I expect. There's something raw in his admission, something vulnerable. Maybe it's the sincerity in his voice or the way his eyes never leave Zoë, but for the first time, I actually believe him.

But the question still lingers in my mind. Can he really learn?

"I'll make mistakes," he adds, almost as an afterthought. "I know that. But I want to try. For her. And for you, Taylor. I want to be here. I want to help."

I stay silent for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle. It's not the answer I expected, but it's the one I needed to hear.

He shrugs, a look of uncertainty crossing his face. "I can't promise she'll just accept me right away. But I'll be there, no matter how long it takes. I'll earn her trust. I'll earn yours."

He's not offering some fairy tale solution, and maybe that's what makes it feel more real. He's not trying to promise the world; he's just saying he'll try, and that's all I can ask for right now.

"Okay," I say quietly, meeting his eyes. "Okay, Travis. We'll see how this goes. But just so you know, I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for her. Zoë deserves to have a father who shows up. You have to prove that you're not just going to disappear again."

"I won't," he promises, his voice steady and earnest. "I swear I won't."

"Alright," I say, my voice quieter now, softer. "You can start with that. But you've got a long way to go before you're anything more than a paycheck in her life."

"I know," he replies, his voice low but determined. "But I'll get there. I swear."

—————Author's Note:

And they were roommates

OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES?