Taylor likes to think of herself as the most hated woman on the planet, but only on days with a ‘y’ in them, and Jennifer rolls her eyes and tells her to write another song about it.
“That is not an award you should be striving for,” she points out, and: “have you ever thought about just staying single? That’s why they make vibrators, you know.”
Taylor’s response is, typically: “you have an Oscar,” which isn’t a proper reply, not really, and at that point Jennifer usually pulls up the entire Wikipedia article dedicated to Shit Taylor’s Won, so, nobody gets to win here, except that Jennifer’s bright enough not to have a twitter account for people to threaten to kill her over a hundred different things every day.
Selena’s kind of a miracle, really, since her last boyfriend was a whole other level of crazy and noise and mess. Taylor used to think of the guy as a friend, but, well, people change so fast in this business, better not blink or they’ll be a whole other person. She hopes that won’t happen with Jennifer, who laughs like she means it and can shrug off almost anything, while Taylor’s shrugging off tends to always be a little too public, and who knows what the gossip sites will say if she spends another week not getting inadvisably engaged.
Jennifer’s got stuff to say about that too (namely: maybe you need coping mechanisms that don’t end in grammys) but she’s kind enough in her own way, even if her own way is pretty blunt and kind of awful at times.
“My cast voted you Most Likely To Bury Her Boyfriend Under Her Swimming Pool,” she announces like that’s even a thing, following up before Taylor can even open her mouth: “and yes, you’ve got a pool, don’t even lie, and we have a lot of time on our hands between shots, okay.”
Taylor considers it. “Which cast?” she asks in the end. “Because if it’s the X-Men one that’s harsh, Lucas and I were adorable.”
Jennifer raises her eyebrows and Taylor refuses to pander to her, because it’s easier to think of the actual relationship as that music video, Lucas some kind of boy next door who never lived next door to her but could’ve done, if she thinks about it hard enough.
“Hunger Games,” Jennifer allows in the end, her tone displaying seriously, your priorities, Taylor, but Taylor refuses to be baited.
“Could’ve been worse,” Jennifer allows in the end, mouth flicking, “your ex could’ve ended up being Batman.”
Taylor’s not above mocking herself, whatever people say about her, and so it’s easy enough to keep her tone light: “which one?”
Jennifer’s laugh is something almost physical, like Taylor could catch it in her hands if she tried slightly harder, a song about summer afternoons and other people’s butterflies, words that were never quite hers.
Selena doesn’t really like Jennifer, though she covers well, and that probably says more than it should, her mouth tight, her sighs like she’s preparing for this to break before it even begins to splinter at the corners, expertise born of old news.
Sometimes, Taylor wonders if she’ll find herself writing a song about Jennifer one day, and what the hell that one’s going to say.
Sometimes, Jennifer asks her if she’s going to end up as a song, and if Taylor does it, which pronoun she’s going to use.
Taylor hasn’t decided yet, and admits as much, but she can already hum the chorus if she shuts her eyes long enough. It’s pretty catchy.