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Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Five
Point of View: Kayla


Zoe was irritating the ever-loving shit out of me.

She couldn't quite make it up the stairs safely, so I set her up on the couch with blankets and pillows, and pulled the coffee table closer so she could reach everything. She sat there scowling, staring at the TV screen. I was in the kitchen cooking dinner.

"What is that smell?" she yelled when I left the heat too high on the burner and the burgers started smoking.

I was on my tiptoes, waving a magazine at the fire alarm, praying it wouldn't go off. "Noooothiiiiiing," I called back.

"Kayla, do I need to get up and come out there and make dinner myself?" she called, sounding irritated.

"Nooooo," I answered, waving harder as the little light on the alarm blinked like it was a fucking cookie on Pacman. I threw the magazine down and yanked the thing off the wall and pulled the battery out and chucked it on the counter.

"Are you sure?" Zoe asked, "It smells."

"It's fine," I assured her.

"Are you sure?"

I closed my eyes. If you fucking ask me that one more time you aren't going to be fine... I thought. "YES, ZOE." I answered.

"You don't need to give me an attitude," she yelled.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one...

Nope. Still felt like choking her.

"Kayla?" Zoe called.

"Wha-aaaat?" I yelled back. I opened the fridge and got out cheese, lettuce, tomatoes and an avocado.

"Are you sure you don't need help?"

"Fucking A, Zoe, I'm making hamburgers not the freaking Sistine Chapel. I'm fine."

Zoe didn't speak again until I'd finished putting the burgers together and stuck the fries on the plates next to them. I grabbed two cans of Coke from the fridge and stuck it all on a tray, which I carried out and put down on the coffee table next to her. I sank down on the floor.

"You don't have to sit here if you're uncomfortable," Zoe said as I groaned and repositioned myself.

I shrugged, "I don't want you to eat alone."

"I'm glad to see you're eating," Zoe said pointedly.

I blinked at her.

"Well last I knew you gave that up so you could become Skeletor."

I shoved a fry in my mouth and looked at the TV. "What are you watching?"

Zoe looked up. "Stupid people being idiots. I don't know, I wasn't watching it. I was too busy panicking as smoke came pouring out of my kitchen."

"I told you I was fine."

"Uh-huh. Don't become a chef. You should find a guy that knows how to cook. Does Nick cook?"

I laughed. "Nick?" I laughed harder, imagining Nick in a chef's hat holding a spatula and asking what it does. "No," I said, "Nick doesn't cook."

Zoe frowned. "Well you better not marry him or you'll both starve to death."

"That's what take-out is for," I said. "Besides, I don't see you exactly snubbing that burger you're eating." Zoe rolled her eyes and put the burger down on the plate. "Why are you being a bitch anyways?" I asked.

She sighed. "I don't know."

I shoved a fry into a pool of ketchup. "Well," I said, "Stop, 'cos it's annoying."

Zoe was staring at her lap, her hands folded around her napkin. She sat like that for a few minutes as I chewed my burger. I reached for the remote control and changed the channel, flipping through until I found Roseanne. I looked over at Zoe, "Remember this episode?"

Zoe was crying. She'd brought her hands up to cover her face and bent forward, rocking herself.

Zoe so rarely actually cried that I almost couldn't comprehend the fact that she was. It seemed like a joke, like she must be acting or faking it. It made a streak of childish panic rush through me, and I dropped my burger and muted the TV. "Zoe?" I said, pushing the coffee table out of the way. I grabbed her hands and pulled them from her eyes. "Auntie Zoe, what's the matter?" I asked.

She shook her head, pulled her hands away from mine and returned them to her face, unable to speak as her shoulders shook.

I rubbed her back awkwardly, staring at her. "Zoe, I'm sorry... You're not a bitch.." I said, apologizing for the only thing I could think of that she'd be crying about.

"I was so being a bitch," she cried.

I wasn't gonna argue.

Zoe lowered her hands to cover her mouth and nose in almost a prayer position. Her fingers twined around themselves over the bridge of her nose. Her eyes tilted up toward the ceiling, all wet and sad. After a moment poised like that, she looked at me, and said, "I had a son once, you know."

I lowered to the carpet, tucking my legs underneath me. "You did?" I asked. I tried to remember having a cousin... "What happened to him?"

Zoe's nostrils flared with emotion and she swallowed, closing her eyes, and whispered, "He died. When he was an infant."

A lump rose in my throat.

"He just stopped breathing in my arms," her eyes welled up with fresh tears and she choked on her words.

"Zoe," I whispered, wishing she'd stop thinking about it because it was hurting her. Her face was turning red.

"They took him away..." she whispered. "And I just wanted to hold him and give him my breath so he could keep breathing, even if it meant I couldn't."

I felt sick, imagining Zoe in that position. She was cradling the air in front of her now, staring at the palms of her hands like she might a baby. I touched her shoulder and she shook her head bitterly. "He would've looked like Nick," she explained.

"He would've?"

"Yes. Just like Nick." She wiped her eyes and let out a shuddering sigh. "David looked a lot like Nick does."

"He did?"

Zoe nodded. "He had a beautiful smile."

I imagined Nick hugging a teenage Zoe, his beautiful smile on his face and a little baby. That was the family Zoe had lost, I realized, my heart aching. We'd both lost our families. "I'm sorry, Auntie Zoe," I said.

She had a resolute expression on her face, and she was staring blankly into the air. "Me, too," she whispered, leaning back into the pillows.