Page 42 of Death of the Author

42 Everyone Is Waiting

Msizi stayed. He had a visa that allowed him to remain in the country for two years now that Yebo was one of the most in-demand

apps on the market. He could work from anywhere, and every two weeks, he had to fly to Los Angeles and New York for meetings.

One evening, they were sitting in the living room listening to some jazz when Msizi suddenly said, “We should get married.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Yeah. No. I don’t do that.”

“Zelu, we’re compatible.”

“Then why ruin it?”

“So I can stay in the country and come and go however I please.”

She’d been ready to shoot another “No” at him, but she paused. He had a point. He still had plenty of time on his visa, but

it was finite, and she didn’t like that.

“We can have a prenup, so there’s no bullshit about our assets,” he said. “It isn’t for that, anyway.”

Did he truly love her, though? They’d never spoken the words to each other. She didn’t think they had to, but she didn’t know for sure how he felt about it. Never in her life had she imagined she’d get married. And she wasn’t sure she liked the idea, even with a prenup.

But there was another voice in her mind, and that was the one that took control of her mouth when she answered, “Okay.”

“Good,” he said.

What the hell were they doing? “No wedding,” she told him firmly.

“Of course.”

“You’re marrying into royalty, you know,” she added with a smirk. “And also anti-royalty.”

He huffed a laugh. “Well, you’re marrying into a warrior clan. I’m not worried.”

She grabbed his hand. “You’ll really stay in the United States for me? Because you know I’m not moving to South Africa. Not

yet, at least.”

He nodded. “You’ll visit there with me sometimes.”

“Fair enough.”

They gazed at each other for a moment. A thousand things and nothing were flying through Zelu’s mind. She tried to grasp at

something. This was a moment she’d never expected to arrive at. What the heck is happening? She felt like both laughing loudly and screaming.

“Do you have savings?” she asked. They’d never talked about money.

“Oooh yeah. Probably not as much as you, but... honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m close. And I’m going to close

that gap. And I want to take over half the mortgage for this place.”

“It’s paid off already,” she said.

He chuckled. “Okay. But we’ll buy more property, too.”

“And invest.”

“Yes.” He squeezed her hand. “I want at least one child. What do you think?”

“I’m thirty-eight,” she said.

“Yep.”

“If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, if doesn’t. No fertility shit. Never. You’re thirty. Are you going to be an asshole about this?”

“No,” he said, laughing. “You already know this.”

“It’s always good to hear it spoken aloud.”

He looked at her with hooded eyes. “Are you open to adopting?”

She considered it. “Only if the process is smooth. I’m not killing myself for it. So, if it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t,

it doesn’t.”

He nodded. “Okay.” He paused and then said, “You’re only going to get even more famous. Are you going to become an asshole?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Yeah, I can imagine that.”

Days later, Zelu stood on the boardwalk, looking out at Lake Michigan. It was seventy degrees in March. A rare type of day

in Chicago. Tomorrow, they were predicting the temperature would drop again and they’d get more snow, but today was a fine

day.

And she was right on the Navy Pier. She looked up into the sunshine and took a deep breath. Then she looked down at her phone

and reread the message she’d pulled up on the screen. It was from Jack Preston. After he’d become aware of her adventures

in Nigeria, he’d sent her a note asking if there was anything he could do. She’d sent a brief reply thanking him for his concern,

and then he’d replied again, and then... they’d started talking.

It was pretty innocuous. Preston said he knew what it was like to feel targeted and used. He also knew the pressure of people

always wanting more from him, and then hating what they got. In their most recent exchange, when Zelu had admitted she wished

she could get away from it all, he’d replied, You know I’ve got a spaceship for you, if you’re ready.

She stared at his words now. Stared for a long time. Then she looked at the shining sun, letting it warm her face. She responded

to him, thanking him again for his kind offer. But right now, I just want to be with my signif icant other, Msizi. I need to keep my feet on the ground. Less than a minute later, Jack responded with a simple I fully understand and a hug emoji.

She had more important things to do. She called an autonomous vehicle.

It was only just starting to feel real. She was getting married. She and Msizi would head to the courthouse later to make

it official. They hadn’t told anyone, and she preferred it that way. Get it over with and move the hell on. Weddings were

fun as long as she wasn’t the one getting married. All that focus on and hyperbole about vows and rules and contracts—she

didn’t care for any of it. The institution of marriage was nothing but a bunch of chains. But she wanted Msizi to get his

green card, so it was worth it.

“Just don’t ever call me ‘wife,’ ugh,” she muttered to herself as she punched in the front door code to her condo. As she

turned the knob, it began to turn itself and she let go. It opened to reveal a tall, elegant woman with long blue micro braids,

wearing a shiny blue shirt featuring a dolphin in sequins and matching pants with white chunky-heeled boots.

“ Heita ,” iNdonsa said. “You’ve got a nice place, robot girl.”

Zelu gasped and then grinned. She moved forward and gave her a tight hug. “What are you doing here?!”

iNdonsa took her hand and brought her inside. “Come on.”

She led Zelu down the hall to the living room, where all the curtains had been opened to light up the room with its spectacular

view of Lake Michigan. Msizi stood there wearing all white, except for the necklace with the tooth-shaped piece of obsidian

that he always wore. He held a bouquet of wildflowers. Slightly behind him stood Tolu, Amarachi, Jackie, and a woman Zelu

didn’t know. All of them were wearing white, too. The woman she didn’t know had dreadlocks tipped with blue and red beads

and wore many beaded necklaces around her neck. She carried a wooden staff decorated with white beads.

“What’s... going on?” Zelu asked. She was still holding on to iNdonsa to keep her balance. “Tolu, Amarachi, what are you

doing here?”

“You’re getting married,” Amarachi said, smirking. “You didn’t think you could do this without some of us to bear witness,

did you? Come on, man.”

Zelu looked at Msizi.

“I know,” he said, holding up his palms. “But—” He sighed. “I want a wedding. I’ve always wanted one.”

She stared at him with wide eyes. “You couldn’t just tell me?”

“No.”

“You’re stubborn,” Tolu added.

She shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“But I know you,” Msizi said, stepping toward her. “That’s why I did it this way, and it’s only this small group here for

it.” He was in front of her now, and iNdonsa gently took Zelu’s hands off her arm and handed her to Msizi, then stepped back.

“So dramatic,” iNdonsa mouthed to Tolu and Amarachi, and they both laughed.

“Is this all right?” Msizi asked.

Zelu looked at iNdonsa. “Did you fly here just for this?”

“Yeah. Not my first time in the States, though,” she said. “But definitely the best reason.”

Zelu turned to her siblings. “Why didn’t you tell everyone else?”

“Msizi called us, so we came,” Amarachi said.

“And we understand,” Tolu said. “Keep it small. At least we are here.”

“And you need someone to sing,” Jackie added.

Zelu laughed.

“And my name is Lesego,” the woman she didn’t know said. “I’m a sangoma. I’m from Durban and I live here in Chicago. I will

officiate, if you want to do this.”

And now the moment came when they all were looking at her, including Msizi, who was holding her hands. Zelu glanced beyond

him, out at the lake. Shit , she thought. Apparently, she would be doing this thing after all.

And that’s how she found herself at the back of the Adler Planetarium, facing Lake Michigan, getting married. Msizi had arranged for access to this place. iNdonsa had made a dress for Zelu that was cyan, matching her exos. It fit her perfectly. Jackie sang songs in a language she didn’t understand, but they brought tears to Msizi’s eyes. It was warm and sunny and windy in the windy city. It was an event Zelu would remember forever, but not because it was a big, expensive affair that lasted all day. It actually took only a half hour for the ceremony and some photos, then they spent an hour giddily looking around the planetarium (not her first time there at all), and that was that. She’d remember it because, for the first time in her life, she’d done something she didn’t want to do because she loved the person who wanted to do it and it felt 100 percent right. Even when he’d sprung it on her, she hadn’t gotten angry or offended. She hadn’t felt out of control. She’d felt loved, respected, and understood. It was possible.

They later had a lawyer write the prenup that would keep their assets forever separate, went to the courthouse, had it done

legally, and that was it. They both vowed to never call each other “husband” or “wife.” They were partners . It felt good. And even as she worked through the trauma of what had happened in Nigeria, Zelu began to feel like she was

coming together.

The video of her time on the run was so prevalent that the memes, spinoffs, constant references, and shoutouts were everywhere

from popular TV shows to comedy skits to even a joke made by the president of the United States. Her ordeal had made her a

hero, and Hugo’s exos were now in incredible demand from people with and without disabilities. Investors were showering the

company with money.

Msizi worked from his laptop in their bedroom, flew around the world for business meetings when he needed to, explored and

learned Chicago, and reveled in the company of the woman he adored.

Her book was still loved. The film was still popular. Zelu’s name continued to climb higher and higher in the public consciousness.

But sometimes Zelu still saw the masquerade, standing in the dark of the trees at night on the sides of highways. She had a recurring nightmare of being back in Nigeria, on the road, running and running and running, nothing but the sound of her exos on asphalt. She’d wake from this nightmare, sure that men with guns were still chasing her, trying to take her away. The sound of her exos on sidewalks or driveways triggered flashbacks. The fact that everyone close to her had warned her, that she’d gone despite those warnings and nearly paid for her audacity with her life, kept pushing her down. She didn’t know if she’d ever do anything bold or spontaneous again.

She’d been so glaringly wrong about her trip to Nigeria, and none of the good things in her life could quell this realization.