9. Zola #2
I stop just inside the door, blinking, wondering if grief has scrambled my brain. I didn't expect to see her.
She looks up when the door chimes, and her face splits into a smile that dims when she actually sees me. "Zola?"
I cross to the bar, sliding onto a stool while my brain tries to process this unexpected variable. "What are you doing here?"
"Filling in. Ray called this morning saying he was short-staffed." She leans against the bar, studying me with those dark, knowing eyes. "What are you doing here? I thought you were taking time off."
"I am. I need to talk to Ray."
Something in my tone makes her expression shift from casual concern to something sharper. But before she can push, Ray emerges from the back office, his thinning gray hair slightly mussed, reading glasses perched on his nose.
"Zola." He rounds the bar, genuine sympathy softening his weathered features. "I'm sorry about your friend. How are you doing?"
"I need to quit."
The words come out flat, matter-of-fact, like I'm ordering coffee instead of ending a job I've held for months. Ray's expression doesn't change, just nods slowly.
"You've got things to handle?"
"A bookstore. And Nia left me her daughter. I can't work nights and run a business and take care of an eight-month-old." I pull my keys from my pocket, slide them across the bar. "I'm sorry for the short notice."
"Don't apologize. Family comes first." He picks up the keys, pockets them with the same careful gentleness he uses for everything.
Ray's a good man, the kind who pays fairly and doesn't ask questions when someone calls out sick, who tries to do the best he can given the kind of bar he runs.
"You need anything, you call me, understand?
My wife's sister has a daycare. We know people. You're not in this alone."
Except I am. But I appreciate the lie, appreciate that he's trying to help even though we both know I won't call.
"Thank you, Ray." I stand, ready to escape before this conversation can get any more painful.
"Zola, wait."
Naomi's voice stops me halfway to the door. I turn back, and she's already coming around the bar, her expression fierce with concern and something else. Something that looks like she's about to bulldoze through every defense I've spent years building.
"What's going on? What friend? What baby?"
The genuine confusion in her voice reminds me that we don't really talk outside of work. She knows I have a friend, knows I've been dealing with something heavy, but I never gave details because giving details means letting people in. And letting people in means they can leave.
But Nia already left, and I'm so tired of carrying everything alone.
"My best friend died five days ago. She had cancer.
She left me her eight-month-old daughter and her bookstore, and I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm the only person she had so I'm doing it anyway.
" The words come out mechanical, empty of inflection because if I let any emotion in, I'll shatter right here on the bar floor.
Naomi doesn't hesitate. She crosses the remaining distance and pulls me into a hug that smells like cocoa butter and clean cotton. Her arms are strong around me, and for a moment I let myself lean into it, let someone else hold the weight.
"I'm so sorry." Her voice is low, fierce, full of an understanding that comes from someone who knows what loss tastes like. "God, Zola, I'm so sorry."
I pull back before I can start crying again, before I can take too much comfort from someone who has her own life to live. "I should go. Serena's watching Maeve."
"You have my number." Naomi doesn't let go completely, one hand still on my arm, anchoring me. "Use it. I mean it. You need anything—help with the baby, someone to watch her while you run the store, just someone to talk to—you call me. I'm a mom. I can help. Don't disappear on me."
I nod, not trusting my voice. Then I pull away and head for the door before she can see how close I am to falling apart again. The afternoon light is harsh after the bar's dim interior, making my swollen eyes ache.
The walk back to the bookstore is mechanical. One foot in front of the other. Past the corner store, the bodega, the residential streets where kids play basketball and neighbors sit on stoops. Everything looks normal. The world didn't stop just because mine ended.
When I reach the bookstore, I stand outside for a long moment, staring at the sign above the door. Storybound Books in the script Nia painstakingly painted, the letters slightly faded from weather and time.
This is mine now. This building, this business, this life Nia built from nothing. And upstairs, sleeping in her crib, is a baby girl who depends on me for everything.
I unlock the door and step inside, letting it close behind me with a soft click.
One day at a time, Serena said.
I don't know how to do this. Don't know how to be a mother, run a business, exist in a world without my best friend.
But I'm going to try. Because Nia believed I could. Because Maeve deserves someone who'll fight for her the way Nia fought for every breath in those final weeks.
Because I'm all she has, and that has to be enough.