Page 11 of Don't Tell Me How It Ends
But even as I say it, I navigate our search to the comedies. Zola’s right, laughter’s got to be better for the baby than, well—homicide.
“I’ll see your comedy,” Zola starts, “and raise you—”
“Rom-com?” Mom interjects, and though her delivery doesn’t pack much of a punch, the suggestion is a fighting word and she knows it.
I pantomime a swoon. “The one where a quirky yet adorable caricature of a woman throws her life’s work away at the first hint of validation from the shirtless D-lister promising forever?” Then I go stoic. “I’ve already seen it, and spoiler alert, the heroine ends up worse off than she started.”
Zola’s head’s been lolling since the wordcaricature.
“Oh god, relax. We’re picking a movie, not tearing down the patriarchy. I wish I’d had a chance to get you in front of Eliza before…” Zo trails off, before redirecting. “Maybe she would’ve known how to deal with allthis.”
Zola waves in my general direction as she says it. Her handcircling my face from afar. Flashes of the Whole Foods “parking attendant” making a similar gesture burn red-hot in my memory.
“I just wish they’d call the genre what it is,” I snap. “Fantasy! But they play in our faces with these unrealistic men, when I’m not sure they’ve ever had an actual conversation with a real one. And it perpetuates this arcane metric of female success. Spoon-feeding us unattainable relationship standards, while men get to consume media that fails to mention they’ll be held to any standards at all. I take offense at that. And after what Jason did to you, you should too.”
The moment his name leaves my lips, I regret it. Zola’s smile falls and her hands reach for her belly.
“Shit, Zo. Sorry. I just meant—”
But it’s too late. And this time, I deserve it.
“You think if I spend a couple hours watching sappy montages of people falling in love, I’m gonna forget Jason’s trash? If the promise ofhappily ever afterbuys me some modicum of temporary peace, I don’t see what’s wrong with that. Believe it or not we don’t all need to watch people get stuffed into freezers to remember life isn’t all rainbows.”
I always forget how fast Zola can stillbig sisterme into submission.
When she sees she’s got the upper hand, she presses on. “I’mthe one who got knocked up, dumped on my ass,andfired! Yet somehow you get to be bitter? Please make it make sense.”
On cue, Mom’s crossed leg bounces her foot up and down. Her foot in that nasty leopard slipper—the pièce de résistance of her breakup uniform. She’s seated now, but the house is forever haunted by the sound of her shuffling around for dark chocolate and red wine. Too wrecked byTom,Dick,orTyroneto even lift her feet off the ground.
Zola’s gaze follows mine. I don’t have to say a word—she gets it. We’ve both been trapped in Mom’s toxic cycle ofhe loves me, he loves me not.Only, Zola’s response was to become immune to heartbreak where I became immune to love. She still believes in fairy tales. I don’t know what I believe in.
“Fair enough,” Zola says, sounding eerily calm.
She flicks popcorn kernels from her swollen abdomen with a smirk, repositioning herself to use Mom as a footrest. Since we were kids that’s how we sit when we have something real to say. Whoever has their feet on Mom has the floor.
My eyes are on Zo, silently begging her not to call me out. I don’t have the energy for a run-in with Mom right now. Zola’s eyes are filled with amusement in return like,Relax. I’ve got this.
I’m most definitely not relaxed, but I am somewhat intrigued.
“Mom, you know I love you,” she starts. “But I think the stench of our respective romantic failures is souring poor Kaia. So, I’m gonna need you to speed up your recovery.”
Mom looks like she might burst into tears if given the chance, but before she can, Zola continues.
“Because I’ve got a project in mind that demands our full attention,” Zo says, wagging her eyebrows. “All three of us.”
Mom looks at me expectantly, like maybe I’ll be leading the next part of this family meeting, but all I can do is shrug. I’m as lost as she is.
We turn our attention back to Zola as she pulls herself into a sitting position, eyes blazing. Now I’mseriouslyintrigued.
Zola sets her sights on me, and I recognize that same spark she’d tried to hide earlier. But it’s back now, and this time, it’s packing heat. “Did you mean what you said at the grocery store? About helping me start my own thing? Getting my name on the door?”
In all the years I’ve known Zola, the look she’s giving menow has nevernotled to trouble. I manage the weakest, barely perceptible, most noncommittal nod, but Zola’s eyes ignite, like I’ve just taken a blood oath.
“It’s come to my attention, dear sister,” Zola begins, “that you’ve become too cynical for your own good. So, before this little baby shoots his giant head out of my once-bangin’ body, it will be my mission—myjob—to help you find love.”
I sputter-choke on my water.
“Whoa, what? Me?” I say, wiping my chin with the back of my hand. “I thought we were gonna fixMom.”
