'Get A Job' I Said Unemployed

One  Month LaterMarch 1st; 2025Taylor Swift's Point of ViewLife has taken a turn I didn't expect. I've settled into a routine here, though it's far from my old one. I'm still a mother, with all the responsibilities that come with it, but I have to admit—I've been letting myself relax a little lately. For once, I'm leaning on others, like the chef Travis insisted on keeping around. They've been cooking for us, which feels like a luxury I don't deserve, but also a relief I didn't realize I needed.

Zoë's been weaning off breast milk, and the chef whipped up a healthy pancake recipe that she absolutely adores. Every morning, she pulls herself up to her chair at the dining table, her legs swinging as she digs into the tiny stack of pancakes. Sugar-free syrup, of course—I'm still careful about what she eats. She's all smiles, her face lighting up like pancakes are the greatest invention of all time. It's adorable, but I think it's time we expand her breakfast options. Pancakes every morning can't be her only thing.

Meanwhile, I've stopped actively looking for jobs, and though that should feel more urgent, I've allowed myself a moment to breathe. Travis got me a few days on set as an extra in one of his upcoming movies. It felt strange at first—pretending to be someone else while my real life lingered just out of frame—but now I'm a little excited to see how it all turns out. Ironically, I'm playing a waitress in the scene, delivering food to the lead characters. It's funny how life works—I've lived that role too many times to count, but at least this time, it's all for show.

For the first time in years, I don't feel like I'm barely treading water. It's not perfect, but it's stable. And after everything, stability feels like a gift.

With all this free time, I've started working on something I didn't think I'd ever have the chance to do: putting together a book. It's not finished yet, not by a long shot, but it's a start. It's a collection of poems I've written over the past fifteen years—scribbled on diner napkins during slow shifts, jotted in the margins of old notebooks, even typed into the Notes app on my ancient phone back when I thought no one would ever read them.

Now, I'm piecing them together into something real, something tangible. I sit at the desk in the corner of my room—well, Travis's guest room, if we're being technical—with the laptop he gave me glowing softly under the dim light. It's strange to see the words that have lived in my head for so long finally arranged neatly on a screen.

Some of the poems are raw and unfinished, fragments of thoughts I didn't know how to express at the time. Others feel like little windows into my past—the hopes, the pain, the fleeting moments of joy. As I read through them, I'm struck by how much I've been through, how much I've changed.

It's cathartic, in a way, to pull these pieces of myself together and shape them into something whole. Zoë plays quietly on the floor next to me, her stuffed animals acting out some imaginary adventure. Every so often, she looks up at me, and I wonder if one day she'll read this book and see a part of me I never had the words to share with anyone else.

It's not perfect, and I have no idea if it'll ever be published, but it's mine. For the first time in years, I'm creating something just for me.

There's a soft knock on the door, followed by Travis's voice. "Taylor? Can I come in?"

"Sure," I call back, quickly closing my laptop as he steps into the room.

He's holding a mug of coffee, wearing that easy smile that always makes me suspicious. "How can I help you?" I ask, half-joking, half-guarded.

"I have some good news for you." He sits down in the chair across from me, setting the mug on the edge of the desk. "One of the cast members on set is good friends with someone from a publishing company. I might have mentioned your poetry to her..."

I blink, completely caught off guard. "You did what?"

"She thinks the publisher would be interested," he continues, his voice calm like he's not dropping a bombshell. "I told her you're working on a collection and shared a little bit about what you've been through, and she said she'd love to take a look at your work."

My heart starts pounding. "Travis... are you serious? A publishing company?"

"Yeah." He shrugs, almost like it's no big deal, but the grin creeping onto his face tells me he knows exactly how much it is.

I lean back in my chair, staring at him. "I don't even know if I'm ready. The poems aren't... polished. They're just scraps of my life I'm piecing together."

"Taylor, that's exactly why they'll love it," he says gently. "It's real. Honest. People connect with that."

I look down at the laptop, my hands resting on its smooth surface. The thought of someone else reading my work—especially strangers—makes my stomach twist. But then there's this tiny flicker of excitement too.

"What if they hate it?" I whisper.

"They won't," he says with absolute certainty. "And if they do, we'll find someone else who gets it. You're too talented to keep this to yourself."

I let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of both fear and hope pressing on me. "I don't even know what to say."

"Say yes," he says with a soft smile. "Send them your work. Take the chance. Zoë's already proud of you, but imagine how proud she'll be when she sees your name on a book one day."

The lump in my throat makes it hard to respond, but I nod. "Okay. I'll do it."

"Good." He stands, his grin widening. "I'll let her know you're on board. Oh, and, Taylor?"

"Yeah?"

"You deserve this," he says simply, leaving me sitting there, heart racing, with a dream that suddenly doesn't feel so impossible.

I smile as I glance at Travis. "Do you want to maybe go out? Take Zoë to the park?"

"Park?" Zoë's head whips around at the sound of the magic word, her wide eyes sparkling with excitement. I instantly regret saying it out loud. She's like a dog with the word walk. Once it's out, there's no taking it back.

"Great," I mutter under my breath. "Now we have to take her."

"Park! Park!" Zoë bounces on the bed, flailing her little arms with all the joy in the world.

Travis sits up, grinning at her enthusiasm. "Well, I guess we're going to the park." He looks at me. "Want some company?"

"Sure."

"Okay," he says, standing and stretching. "But let me grab something so people don't recognize me."

I roll my eyes, smirking. "You're not that famous. No one's going to mob you for taking your kid to the park."

He raises an eyebrow. "You'd be surprised. I'm not risking it."

Zoë laughs as Travis ruffles her hair on his way out of the room. A few minutes later, he reappears wearing a baseball cap pulled low and aviator sunglasses.

"Seriously?" I ask, stifling a laugh. "You look like you're going undercover in a bad spy movie."

He flashes a grin. "Exactly. That's the point. Now let's get Zo Zo ready for her grand park adventure."

Zoë squeals and claps her hands. "Park! Hat!" she shouts, pointing to Travis's head.

"Yes, Daddy's hat is very exciting," I say with a laugh, scooping her up. I grab her sneakers and hand them to Travis. "You can help her with these since she's your accomplice in this covert operation."

"Deal," he says, taking the shoes and kneeling in front of her. "Let's get these on so we can take over the park, Zo Zo."

"Park!" she repeats for the millionth time, giggling.

I smile as I watch them, my heart warming a little more than I'd like to admit. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

We pull into the parking lot of a small neighborhood park, its bright green grass dotted with families and kids running around. Travis parks the car and glances at Zoë through the rearview mirror, his face a mixture of nerves and determination. He hasn't spent a lot of one-on-one time with her yet. I think he's waiting for her to get used to the idea that he's her dad, not just some guy who shows up every now and then.

"I'll grab her," he says, hopping out of the driver's seat.

I watch as he unbuckles Zoë from her car seat. She's already squirming before he even has her out of the straps, wiggling like a tiny fish trying to escape.

"Park! Let go!" she shouts, her voice full of impatience.

"Okay, okay, hold your horses," Travis says with a laugh, carefully setting her down on the sidewalk.

As soon as her feet hit the ground, she's off, her little legs pumping furiously as she runs toward the playground. Her balance is still a work in progress, but somehow she manages not to fall.

Travis follows a few steps behind her, glancing back at me with a shrug and a small smile before jogging to catch up. I trail behind them, giving them space.

Zoë skids to a stop in front of the monkey bars and points up at them with both hands. "Monkey bars!" she declares, jumping up and down, trying in vain to grab hold of them.

Travis crouches beside her, grinning. "You're a little short for those, kiddo."

She huffs, clearly not a fan of this news. "Help!"

"Help, huh?" He stands and extends his hands. "All right, let's see what you've got."

Zoë squeals as Travis lifts her up, her hands clumsily grabbing the bar. She dangles there for a second, giggling like crazy, before losing her grip and tumbling lightly back into his arms.

"Again!" she shouts, pointing up at the bars.

"Again?" He laughs, already lifting her back up. "You're gonna have me doing monkey bars all day, aren't you?"

I lean against a nearby pole, watching them. Zoë's shrieking giggles fill the air as Travis swings her from bar to bar.

As Zoë clings stubbornly to the monkey bars, two other kids approach, eyeing them with that unspoken playground understanding: it's their turn now. Travis notices immediately and gently lowers Zoë to the ground.

"How about we let some other kids have their turn now?" he says, his tone calm but firm.

"Noooo! Monkey bars!" Zoë protests, stomping one foot for added emphasis.

Travis crouches down to her level, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. "Hey, I know you love the monkey bars, but see those kids over there?" He nods toward them, smiling. "They've been waiting really patiently. Let's share, okay?"

She pouts, crossing her arms and sticking out her lip in the classic toddler display of defiance. "Noooo!"

"Hmm," Travis says thoughtfully, glancing around the playground. "Well, you know what else is here? Swings. Have you seen the swings?"

Zoë perks up just slightly, her lip wobbling as she considers.

"Yep!" I chime in, stepping closer. "And guess what? Daddy is really good at pushing swings. I bet he can make you go super high!"

She hesitates for a beat before uncrossing her arms. "Okay..."

Travis grins and scoops her up. "That's my girl. Let's go find a swing!"

By the time we get to the swing set, Zoë's mood has done a complete 180. She's already bouncing with excitement as Travis gets her settled into one of the toddler swings.

"Ready?" he asks, giving the swing a gentle push.

"Higher!" Zoë squeals, kicking her legs.

"Oh, you want higher, huh?" Travis teases, pushing a little harder. "Hang on tight, Zo!"

Her laughter fills the air, infectious and pure, as the swing climbs higher and higher. I can't help but smile as I watch them—Travis behind her, grinning ear to ear, and Zoë with her arms flung out like she's flying.

I sit down on the swing next to Zoë, crossing my legs underneath so they're lightly dangling. I grab onto the chains, letting my hands rest there as I watch her giggle and kick her legs with every push Travis gives her.

Out of nowhere, I feel a nudge against my back, and suddenly, I'm moving forward.

"What the—" I twist my head to see Travis standing behind me, smirking.

"You looked like you could use a push," he says, casually.

"I didn't ask for one!" I laugh, gripping the chains tighter as the swing carries me backward.

"Did Zoë ask to be swung higher? No. But look at her now—she's having the time of her life."

I roll my eyes but can't help the smile spreading across my face. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe," he says, giving the swing another playful shove.

The momentum pulls me forward again, and I can't stop myself from laughing, the kind of unfiltered laugh I haven't felt in ages. Zoë notices and points at me.

"Mama swinging too!" she says, her words tumbling out between giggles.

"I am," I say, looking over at her. "And I'm starting to think Travis is just as bad as you when it comes to the monkey bars and swings."

"Maybe worse," Travis says, stepping back as the swing starts to slow. "But I'll take that as a compliment."

Zoë beams. "Higher, Mama!"

I glance at Travis, who's already leaning forward, clearly ready to oblige. "Don't even think about it!" I warn, though I'm laughing too hard for him to take me seriously.

"Too late." He gives the swing one last push, and I give up pretending I mind.

God, I love him. He's so ridiculous.

Wait. Did I just say I love him? No. No, I didn't mean it like that. I mean, I love him platonically. Like, as a co-parent...or as a friend. Yeah, that's what I meant.

You're probably thinking, Taylor, who are you kidding? But seriously, I don't love him love him.

I shake my head and focus on the swing slowing down beneath me. Travis is already walking over to Zoë, scooping her up mid-run as she squeals in delight. He spins her around, her little laugh ringing out like music, and I catch myself smiling again.

See? That's why I don't love him. Because this is good—this is perfect. A happy co-parenting moment. No messy emotions or complicated feelings to ruin it.

I absolutely don't love him.

He left me. I would never love someone who did that.

—————Author's Note:

Delulu is solulu

Next chapter is drama 101