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Dorota’s working in a brownstone on 88th when she runs into Eleanor and Harold Waldorf in the park. They hold off on blatantly trying to poach her until their second meeting, when she’s watching Brandon play soccer. Harold’s pushing a Maclaren and Eleanor joins her on the bench, smiling in a way that’s both charming and predatory.
It's love at first sight when Dorota sets eyes on their daughter Blair. She's 7 months old, all big brown eyes and porcelain skin, dressed in a delicate ruffled dress and wrapped in a pale pink blanket. Harold gently lifts her out of the stroller and places her in Dorota’s arms.
When Blair looks up at her and babbles happily, Dorota can tell the feeling is mutual.
-
By the time Blair can talk, Serena van der Woodsen’s become a fixture in her life. She’s a handful, willful and rambunctious, and despite Serena’s penchant for calling her ‘Dorito,’ Dorota finds herself growing increasingly fond of her.
They're standing at the edge of the playground, Dorota and Blair and Serena. Blair's hand is small and warm in Dorota’s right, gripping firmly like she doesn’t want to let go; Serena's hair tickles the back of her left as she strains to free herself.
Dorota loosens her grip on the back of Serena’s dress and she runs off. It takes an encouraging push on Blair’s back, but she eagerly trails after her.
-
Even at seven, Chuck Bass is 48 inches of inappropriateness in a bowtie.
He tries to lift up Serena’s skirt and Blair smacks his hand away so fast and so hard that Dorota can’t help but laugh at the girl’s boldness. She disguises it as a cough and quickly sobers, grabbing Blair’s hand, then Serena’s, and ushers them up the hill.
-
Dorota can see the change in Blair right away. Puberty, school, Gossip Girl – it’s all taking a toll on her. She’s always been high-strung, but those moments of unhappiness always passed.
They don’t anymore.
She can hear it even through the closed door, that strangled, wretched noise that’s the sound of Blair thinking she’s not pretty enough; not smart enough; not good enough. She’s been in there for the past half hour and the door isn't locked, but Dorota knows to give her this space. She can’t stop it from happening, she can’t fix it – can’t fix Blair – but she can protect her; protect her privacy.
After, she helps Blair into bed and drapes a cool cloth across her forehead; presses a palm against her cheek and wishes she could promise everything will be okay.
-
Dorota’s on her way down the stairs when the elevator door opens and Serena and Blair practically tumble out. They’re laughing, Chanel shopping bags hanging from their arms, and they drop them in a heap in the middle of the room.
It’s a sight – and sound – to behold. Dorota stops, hand heavy on the cool railing, and watches as Serena brings her hands up to cup Blair’s face. She holds Blair like that for a moment, then drops a kiss to her forehead.
When Serena lifts her head, her gaze meets Dorota’s and she gasps happily.
“Dorota!” Blair turns around and Serena’s arms circle her shoulders, head pressing against the side of Blair’s as she continues with a charming smile, “tell me you still have some Pelmeni left; Blair and I are famished.”
“S,” Blair protests, squirming out of Serena’s grasp, “I think I’ll pass on the plate of starch.” Serena looks at her, lips in a pout, brow raised expectantly; Blair can barely hold out a minute before she lets out a weary sigh. “Dorota,” she says begrudgingly, “two plates.”
-
She hears Blair crying into her pillow every night.
She wants to tell her that Serena wanted to say goodbye; that she tried but chickened out because if she saw Blair, she’d never want to leave, but it would just make things worse.
-
Blair is curled up on her chaise, looking out the window. The rain is coming down so hard it blurs the view, but Dorota knows that Blair isn’t staring down Fifth so much as thinking.
Serena’s back – in the city, not in her life. Dorota’s familiar enough with Gossip Girl to know about the catfight, the public, childish feud; she’s familiar enough with Blair to know she doesn’t lash out that way out of anger.
“Miss Blair,” Dorota starts gently and Blair turns to look at her. “Maybe you should find Miss Serena; let her explain.” Blair’s shoulders rise up in a shrug and she sighs.
“What’s the point, Dorota?” she asks. There’s a frown tugging at Blair’s lips and it’s an all too frequent occurrence the past year.
“Love is the point,” Dorota tells her, and then glances knowingly at Blair’s bedside table. “Maybe you finally send that letter.”
-
Dorota sets a tray down on the table in the sitting room. It’s just after 3:00 and, right on cue, the elevator doors open and Blair steps out. She’s smiling and the reason for her good mood is soon apparent when Serena trails after her, laughing.
Dorota eyes them both curiously and Serena lowers her bag, immediately spotting the tray Dorota’s set out.
“Food,” she says excitedly, heading for the table and reaching for a strawberry. “Score.” Blair follows after her, amused; she stops in front of Dorota and says:
“Serena’s staying the weekend.” At the subtle raise of Dorota’s eyebrow, she adds, lips twisting in a smirk, “we made up. Don’t gloat.”
The next morning, Dorota vacuums crumbs out of Blair’s bed and can’t help but smile because everything’s back to normal.
-
It’s Sunday morning and Dorota’s a few steps behind Blair and Serena, walking up Fifth. They’ve just come from brunch with Eleanor and shopping at Bendel’s. Blair’s arm is looped through Serena’s and they stop as Suleyman opens the door for them. They smile and say something Dorota can’t quite make out; what’s hard to miss, however, is the way his gaze travels past them and settles on her so intently she can feel her cheeks start to redden.
As they’re waiting for the elevator, Blair angles her head towards Dorota and smiles suggestively.
“I think he likes you.” Dorota can barely muster a scowl as she says:
“Hush, Miss Blair.”
-
There’s a loud thump and Dorota hurries down the hall. The door to Blair’s room is ajar and she lifts her hand, about to push it open further, when a moan stops her. There’s soft murmuring and she’s no longer concerned but suspicious. She shifts until she can get a clearer look inside the room and suddenly Blair comes into view.
She’s walking backwards, blouse hastily untucked. There’s hands tangled in her dark hair and Dorota lets out a quick breath when she sees the fingers are too long and elegant to belong to Chuck. They’re Serena’s, and she’s kissing Blair like their plane is going down.
They disappear from her field of vision, but Dorota hears the squeak of bedsprings and she can imagine what’s going on. The unexpected sound of laughter brings a smile to her face. She reaches for the knob and quietly closes the door. Then she heads to the kitchen to make sure there’s Jarlsberg in the fridge.
-
“Dorota,” Serena says with a smile, reaching for the plate, “I love you. Don’t you love her, B?”
“Yes,” Blair comments, rolling her eyes good naturedly as Serena sinks her teeth into half of a grilled cheese sandwich. Dorota nods encouragingly and Blair picks up the remaining half, holding it elegantly, and takes a decidedly smaller bite than Serena. After she swallows, she glances between Serena and Dorota and adds solemnly, “yes, I do.”