You Can Let It Go [ZARRY]

Forty Six

Zayn:

Two days later, Doniya drove me to the airport while Ted stayed home with the twins.

I’d hated saying goodbye and reminded myself constantly on the drive that I’d see them all in a week.

At the curb, my sister hugged me tight. “That was the best two weeks,” she said. “For all of us.”

“For me too,” I said.

She cupped my face. “You going to be okay? Don’t give me that look; you’re my baby brother and my days of being absorbed in my own life are over.”

“You’re going to be all up in my business now?”

“Every minute.” She hugged me again, and I felt her inhale a shaky breath. “Can you ever forgive me?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “There’s nothing to forgive—”

“I knew you were going to say that. But there is. I need to hear it.”

“Then I forgive you,” I said.

“Okay, then. You take care of yourself. Call me when you land, and when we get to Seattle next week, I’m going to march straight to Dad and—”

“No, it’s okay, Don't,” I said. “Let him be who he is. If you yell at him, he’ll just retreat further away.”

“Probably.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Listen. I said an awful thing at lunch with you and me and Ro, talking about Thanksgiving and balancing out your
side.”

I nodded.

“That was a horrible thing to say. I’m on your side. Ro is on your side. And Ted and the boys. . . ” Tears filled her eyes.“We’re all on your side. Okay?”

“God, Doni. . .”

My chest felt an incredible lightness despite how her words filled my heart.

In a perfect family there shouldn’t be any sides at all, but what was perfect? I felt my sister’s intentions, her love for me, and I knew that whatever happened next, I was going to be okay.

The police monitoring the curb drop-off motioned at us to wrap things up.

“Love you, Doni.”

“Love you, Zayn. We’ll see you next week.” She gave my cheek a final pat, then moved to her car. “But you’re calling me the second you land. And to let me know where you’re staying. And you have to tell me about You Know Who.”

“You sound like a Muslim mother,” I said, laughing.

“I am a Muslim mother,” she shot back, then made the “call me” sign with her fingers and got in the car.

~~~~~

I flew back to Seattle and Louis set me up on his couch.

Again.

He hadn’t heard about Harry; corporate news wasn’t exactly TMZ-worthy, and since no video had been taken of that night, there was nothing in detail except the article in
Seattle Society.

“I have been positively slammed at work,” Louis told me. “Which is why I’m taking this Monday night to go out. Come with. The boys miss you. I’ve missed you.”

“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m a little jetlagged. Going to hit the couch early.”

“Suit yourself.”

He went out and when he’d been gone an hour, I called Harry.

“Zayn,” he said, answering quickly. Nervously. “Hey.”