“I’m so mad,” she says, gasping through a sob that seems to catch her off guard. As if she’s surprised by the strength of her own emotions. “All the time. And I don’t even know who to be mad at. I think about what I’m bringing this kid into, and I wanna scream. And I don’t even know what I want from Jason anymore,” she says, answering the question I hadn’t yet asked. “I don’t think I want him at all, but the idea of my son growing up without one decent male figure in his life is almost enough forme to beg Jason to come back. Almost enough to make me begDadto—god, I don’t even know! Fuck, I’m still doing it. Still running so scared, like there’s somewhere left for me to go.”
Zola’s admission stuns me into silence. If she’s waiting for a response, we’re going to be here awhile. Here, in this same bedroom we’ve always known, looking out this same window, at those same stars—but we were never these people. At least I didn’t think we were.
“I want this baby, you know I do…”
“You don’t have to say that, Zo. I know.”
Zola’s face is hidden behind her hands now, but as she continues, I think I may be seeing my big sister for the first time.
“I might not be the person who should be telling you what to do, but let me show you whatnotto do and who not to become. I don’t want you to be scared anymore, Kai. I don’t want you to end up like me. I mean, it’s a slightly better alternative to ending up like Mom, but still.”
Her smile is barely there at all before she wipes it away along with her tears. She’s trying so hard to be okay, but I’m just glad she’s also finally admitting she’s not.
“I just want you to be braver than me,” she continues. “You always have been, but it’s so easy to lose that and not even know when it happened. You have to fight to hold on to those parts of yourself. And fight for what you want, even if you don’t think it’s the thing you’resupposedto want. Whether it’s teaching or dating or anything else. It doesn’t even have to make sense. Just do whatever feels right to you for as long as it feels right. Trust me, you’ll regret it more one day if you don’t.”
Zola looks so sad when she finishes that it’s physically impossible for me not to go to her. And we stay that way—backlit by the moon and silenced by finally hearing the quiet part said out loud.
20
There are countless words I’veused to describe Zola in my life, but until a few nights ago,scaredhad never been one of them.Be braver,she’d said. The implied “or else” left hanging. Sisterly advice, wrapped in a warning.
That warning is the same reason my Edjoin search still hasn’t made it past the landing page this morning. I can’t even fix my fingers to type my fucking zip code into the search bar without my pulse racing and my vision blurring.
I’m still staring at the computer, trying to figure out ifbeing bravermeans I should finally be applying or if it’s time to delete my account completely, when my phone lights up beside me.
Tuesday, 9:43am
Liv:I put you on the list for Saturday. Again.
Liv:I’m not going away. You WILL be meeting Travis at some point xx
Me:no need for threats
Me:Zola’s next guy rescheduled, so I’m free
Liv:He canceled a first date and Zola let him live??
Me:LOL she was like he’s a DOCTORRRRRR!!
Liv:If that logic frees you up for the concert, I’m here for it.
Liv:Sending show details now.
—
At six-fifteen on Saturday evening, my phone buzzes on the bathroom counter. I expect for it to be Ro making one last threat about joining me in the city in leather chaps. Why he believes that’s what one wears to a rock concert is beyond me, but over the past week, his ignorance and my fear of tonight’s events have brought us back to almost normal. I’ll take it.
These incoming texts, though, are from Liv. MTA alerts I didn’t ask for, listing all my potential train delays. She was serious about not going away.
So, I give myself one final mirror check to make sure my curls are behaving, which of course they’re not, and I’m on my way.
—
On the platform at Grand Central, a swarm of bridge and tunnel weekend commuters sweep me up into an involuntary footrace toward the nearest exit. Liv’s hyperspecific itinerary for the night named Union Square as our meeting place, so when I emerge from the Metro North tracks, I’m surprised to find her waiting for me this far uptown—bouncy and bubbly, despite herI’m with the bandensemble.
Her excitement flashes to disappointment when she sees me approaching.
“Uh, hi,” I say, stooping to catch her eyes as they work their way up my black Levi’s and hover at my gray knit tank. “I thought we were meeting downtown.”
