Silver Linings and Golden Grief

Trigger Warnings: Death & Homophobia

Zoila wasn’t invited to the funeral. She received the call when her grandfather had only been a day cold. She could’ve stormed in as they lowered the casket--thrown the kind of fit she’d never been allowed as a kid--but Zoila didn’t feel like mourning next to the bunch of vultures known as her family. 

The funeral was live-streamed by Zoila’s influencer sister--with an ad sponsorship and all--and there were poorly hidden smirks all around whenever Grandpa Emilio’s will was mentioned. That Emilio fortune must’ve been one Hell of a comfort for them. Zoila didn’t think there’d be any comfort for her but then she received news from her (half-decent) cousin, Beto. 

He’d said, “Prima! So great to hear from you. That will-reading went to shit. You won’t believe what the old man pulled. Not one of us is getting anything. Probably wants us to use our bootstraps or some shit. Well…all but you. The will said he’s leaving you his most prized possession.”

The next day, the cat was dropped off at Zoila’s apartment. The cat, Oro, scrunched up his orange body into a predatory stance and hissed up a fuss as Zoila tried to take his carrier from the delivery man. 

As a kid, Zoila loved Oro--she’d called him “Oreo”--however as both Zoila and Oro grew, they grew apart. Seven years passed without Zoila seeing him, and Oro became grouchy and entitled. (Grandpa Emilio must’ve spoiled the creature because Oro only ate off gold-rimmed plates now.)

Maybe Emilio wrote this part of the will a decade ago, believing Zoila would always love Oro. If so, he’d been wrong. Oro was just a reminder of the stifled life Zoila lived before she cut herself off from the family.

At least Oro kept his distance. Most days, Zoila came home from ice skating and barely saw Oro unless his food plate was empty--and when it was, he’d hiss at her a bunch until she fed him. Besides the occasional hiss, Oro was rather quiet. Zoila couldn’t even recall if she’d heard him meow since he arrived. 

It wasn’t until a week later that Oro spoke up in Zoila’s presence.

Zoila planned a date with this redhead girl from work who canceled at the last minute, leaving Zoila alone with the cat. Maybe that was for the best. Zoila wasn’t exactly in tip-top shape. But that meant she had nothing to do. 

So Zoila collapsed onto her couch next to Oro only for him to waddle to the other end. 

“Adiós, gatito gordito,” Zoila sighed. Not even the cat wanted anything to do with her.

Zoila ignored the pang in her chest as she grabbed the TV remote. Every news channel Zoila flipped to gave the same story: “Telenovela Legend, Emilio Roberto Gracía Lazo, dead at 78.” Eventually, Zoila found a channel with a different headline. It was some gossip station and flashing on screen were the words, “Figure Skater, Zoila Lazo, MISSES funeral for famous Grandfather! Left out of the will?!” 

That was when Oro meowed from his spot--on top of his thousand-dollar blanket--as if he’d as well taken offense to the headline. Or maybe Oro was agreeing. Considering how the creature seemed to despise Zoila, she figured it had to be the latter, even if she hoped it was the former.

When Zoila’s father heard she wouldn’t attend the funeral, he’d accused her of not loving Emilio, of putting her “lifestyle” above her own grandfather. The truth hadn’t mattered to him. He hadn’t cared that Zoila wasn’t the one who decided she wouldn’t attend--that decision was made by Emilio’s third wife. 

Her father still blamed her. 

Now she was forced to witness news stations blame her as well. No one cared that in High School, Zoila spent weeks making a friendship bracelet for Emilio, which he wore every day. No one cared that she dedicated every victory on the ice to him, the man who first encouraged her to skate. No one cared to ask if she was alright. No one cared that she never got to say goodbye.

I never got to say goodbye, the words ricocheted like a bullet through her mind.

The last time Zoila saw Emilio, it was at the infamous Christmas. The memory of that day was seared into her soul like a brand on a pig for slaughter. They’d rented a cabin on a snow-crested mountain, evergreen trees lined the locale, and a crackling fireplace gave the place a glow. It should have been the perfect holiday. But Zoila decided to bring her (at the time) long-term girlfriend, Jen. 

At first, her family was confused that Zoila brought her ‘roommate’ but they ignored it. Until Zoila clinked her wine glass during the Christmas Eve Dinner and made her grand announcement. The tipsy laughs died and the cheerful faces all dropped as she spoke. Her mother cried on the spot. Her father said she “ruined Christmas.” 

And Emilio couldn’t even look at her. That would be the last memory she’d ever have of the man who used to mean the world to her.

A sob smashed through her chest; knocked her to the floor. Zoila’s head struck hardwood causing her to bite down on her tongue in shock. Blood bloomed in her mouth as tears streamed from her eyes and pooled on the corners of her lips. The copper of blood and the salt of tears mixed on her teeth; a misery cocktail. Zoila wiped a single tear away only for wet mascara to stain her fingers, a reminder that she’d meant to go out that day and she’d gotten all pretty just to sit around and cry in front of a rude cat.

Oro stood on his wobbly legs, and Zoila thought he’d trot off and leave her to her pain. Instead, Oro crawled over to Zoila, hopped right on her stomach, and pawed at her face, as if he were wiping away her tears…the way Emilio always had whenever Zoila fell on the ice. 

A small laugh danced across Zoila’s tear-laced lips, “Hey, Oreo.”

Oro squeaked.

Zoila said, “I miss him so much.” 

Despite everything. That’s the thing about love and family. Even when they hurt you in unimaginable ways, you still don’t get to choose whether you stop loving them or not. Zoila wished she could; wished she could pack up all her love for them in a neat little box and toss it in the trash. But more importantly, she wished there’d been more time; wished Emilio would’ve come around. 

Wishing was for fools. 

Oro nuzzled Zoila’s shoulder, like he was trying to hug her, but couldn’t, given that he was a cat.

Another hysterical laugh interrupted the flood of tears, “You might be the only one who feels what I feel. Don’t you, Oro?”

Oro meowed in confirmation.

The girl and the cat lay on the floor together; shared their misery and loneliness. When the sun set on them, Zoila pulled them off the floor and carried Oro and herself over to her bed. Oro slept by her side for the first of many times to come. And Zoila regained a small part of the family she’d lost.