Page 97 of Don't Tell Me How It Ends
I shrug, because right now, that fight and everything else feels so far away and so unimportant. “It’s okay. You’ve got a lot going on,” I say, smiling down at Zane again.
“But you do too,” Zola says, reaching up to take the baby. “You saved me these last months, you know that? I wouldn’t have a job to go back to if it weren’t for you—let alone my own company. Tiny as it may be.”
I pull up XO by Zo’s Instagram account and turn my phone to face her. “But still growing.”
Zola laughs, but she hardly looks at the numbers before her eyes lock back on Zane.
“I’m just excited I finally get to do it my way.” And she’s still looking at the baby when she says, “Even though Auntie Kaia probably thinks Mommy’s just the worst matchmaker in the world, yes she does.”
“Is this where you finally fill me in on your master plan?”
“I’m just fixing the things Eliza always got wrong.”
Zola leans down to place Zane into his bassinet. She keeps a hand on him, but she’s looking up at me now.
“She’d ask people what they wanted, and then she’d give it to ’em. If it was that easy though, nobody would’ve needed us in the first place. But she didn’t care if it worked out or not. Her check cleared the same either way. I don’t wanna do it like that. Giving people what theywantdoesn’t help them figure out what they need.”
Her eyes glint under the fluorescent lights overhead, and even though I know she’s wearing an adult diaper under herhospital gown, Zola’s still as commanding as ever. And she’s finally ready to show me the wizard pulling the controls behind the curtain.
“And what you needed was to let yourself sit in the mess and the discomfort of not having any control over what comes next. So you could stop looking so far ahead and finally let yourself be exactly who you already are. This has never been about making you believe in love. It’s only ever been about reminding you how to believe in yourself.”
I’m tempted to applaud when she finishes, but I don’t want to wake the baby. So instead, I lean over him and whisper, “You’re in trouble, little guy. Your mommy’s a fucking genius.”
And from somewhere behind me, my own mother walks in smiling and whispers, “Language,” but it doesn’t carry its usual bite.
Zola laughs, and when she looks out the open hospital door to where Jason’s still making calls, her smile remains. “All I know is that you’re allowed to do whatever it takes to be happy. Even if it means diving headfirst into the unknown.” And she’s only got eyes for Zane again when she finishes. “That’s where all the best stuff happens anyway.”
33
When Jason returns with thepromise of overbearing would-be in-laws, I excuse myself. I could use a shower, and Zola and Jason are too busy watching baby Zane to miss me.
I swear when I got behind the wheel, I really did try to head home. But this car has its own muscle memory, and before I know it, I’m outside Ro’s shop. I just need to see if his truck is in the lot. Catch a glimpse of him to make sure he’s okay. But the pull of being back here sucks me in deeper than I’d meant to go.
When I yank the lobby door wide, back in this space that’s so Ro in its hard lines and soft beauty, this place that was ours for a single day, my insides physically ache for him.
I wasn’t sure what kind of greeting I’d receive, or if I’d be received at all, but the dimple that pops from behind the counter makes me feel as at home here as ever.
“There she is,” Mr. Jackson says, in his signature greeting.
The kindness and grace shown in those three words is the last thing I was prepared to hear. It’s more than I deserve. It reminds me so much of the undeniable goodness of his son.
When I ask about him, my words are muffled by tears Ihadn’t meant to put on public display. My embarrassment is cut short by the force of steady arms comforting me. Holding on to me in a way that makes me sure nothing bad can touch me. In that way only a father can.
It’s a feeling I’ve gone years without. One I’ve spent so long trying to forget. But standing with Ro’s dad this way, I remember.
“Ro knew you’d come when you were ready.”
“He said that?”
Mr. Jackson nods, but my relief is short-lived when he continues. “Unfortunately, timing’s working against you two. Last I heard, he was heading back today.”
“To the city?”
“Got talked into a show real last minute.” Ro’s dad nods toward a youngish man talking to Mrs. Jackson on the far side of the garage doors. “And with my new aide settling in, Ro can finally come and go as he pleases again.”
“Oh,” I say, choking on the word. “That’s great.”
The words are sour in my mouth, but no more than the accompanying realization: Ro’s gone. He was a temporary fixture here, and now he’s gone. I don’t even try to fix my face for Mr. Jackson’s benefit.
