The Seven Husbands of Taylor Swift

44

TAYLOR SWIFT
I wake up to the shrill sound of my phone ringing, the harsh noise pulling me from a deep sleep. Obliviously, I answer the call without glancing at the screen, too tired to care who it might be. It could be spam, but at that moment, I couldn't summon the energy to check.

"Hello?" I mumble, my voice thick with sleep.

"Taylor, hey!" The familiar posh British accent jolts me awake, sending me sitting straight up in bed.

"You realize it's seven in the morning in America, Joe!" I snap quietly, still half-asleep, as I throw off the covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

"I thought you'd be awake," he replies, the casualness in his tone irritating me further.

"Well, I wasn't. What do you want?" I ask with a sigh, pulling my robe around me and padding out of the bedroom. The soft fabric does little to ward off the irritation that's bubbling inside me.

"Do you not remember?" His voice has an edge, as if he's annoyed at me for not recalling.

"What do you mean?" I question, now fully awake and acutely aware of the emotional minefield we're about to traverse.

"London. You said he was okay if I came up to see him," he says, his tone earnest but grating.

"You realize he doesn't actually want to see you. He's just doing it out of obligation," I retort, my frustration leaking through.

"I barely get to see the guy," he sighs, a hint of defeat creeping into his voice.

"He doesn't want a relationship with you," I tell him, my words sharp, the truth too painful for both of us.

"I'm still his father," he argues, a mix of defiance and desperation in his tone.

"No, you aren't! We agreed 28 years ago that you'd never be the father to London. Travis is his dad. He adopted him in 2027, so back off, Joe," I reply, my heart racing with anger and resentment.

There's a long pause on the line, and I can practically hear him processing my words, the silence thick with unspoken feelings.

"I just want to be part of his life," he finally says, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

I shake my head, even though he can't see me. "You had your chance, Joe. It's too late for that now."

The silence stretches between us again, and I know this conversation is far from over. But for now, I've said what I needed to say.

"Goodbye, Joe," I say firmly, ending the call with a sense of finality. I hang up the phone and let out a groan, the weight of the conversation pressing down on me. As I turn to retreat back to bed, I'm startled to see Travis standing behind me, his expression a mix of concern and readiness.

"How much of that did you hear?" I ask, rubbing my temples, already bracing myself for his reaction.

"Enough to know that I need to go beat up a British twat," he replies, trying to lighten the mood with a smirk, but I can see the tension in his shoulders.

I shrug, the momentary humor lost on me as I walk into the living room and sink onto the couch. "It's like he didn't even care until London was an actual adult," I murmur, staring blankly at the floor.

Travis follows me making a pit stop at the kitchen to get a cup of coffee with some creamer. "He didn't want kids. Now that he's not a kid anymore, he just wants to know him. I'm not saying that's okay. I'm just explaining it," he says, his tone calm yet firm, attempting to bridge the gap between my hurt and his understanding.