46. Unstoppable Force, Immovable Object

A month of peace. 

Runway is hectic, but no more so than any normal day. Disasters happen, problems are solved, and another issue is published. All is well in the Queendom. 

Well, I still need to talk to Nigel. I think he’s avoiding me. 

But other than that, Runway is good. The rest of life is pretty good, too. Yes, the custody battle is dragging on, but the girls clearly take after their mom - they push through. It helps that Miranda isn’t quiet about what she’s willing to do, approved by her lawyer or not, to keep them with her. 

So we’ve been working, ending nearly every day with companionable silence or interesting conversation in the den, and spending time all together on Friday nights. It’s been very normal. Or as normal as living in Miranda’s world can ever be.

A month of peace. 

Of course it doesn’t last. 

“Three tickets?”

Miranda is looking at me from across the den as if I’ve lost my mind. And maybe I have, because my brain’s Miranda-ism Translator seems to be malfunctioning. 

“Yes,” I say carefully. “I made sure to get three. They’re great seats, too. Not too high, in case the girls aren’t comfortable with the height, but a perfect view of the stage.”

I remember getting those tickets. Fighting for them, really. This was still back in my clueless, running around like a chicken with my head cut off days, but I’d done it. Refreshing the webpage while answering constant emails and phone calls, reciting the presale code until it was scored into my brain, and moving the mouse faster than my eyes could track to beat the bots and scalpers. It had been a hellish day of epic proportions, but I’d been determined to get those tickets. 

Threat of death is an effective motivator, especially when delivered by Miranda’s raised eyebrow. 

Apparently, my reassurances are not reassuring. 

“Three?” Miranda repeats. And there’s the raised eyebrow. 

I fight the urge to wipe my hands on my Dior pencil skirt. Somehow, somewhere along the way, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be intimidated by Miranda. It’s not the same fear as when I was running around in borrowed heels, praying I wasn’t about to be fired. Now, the fear is more ... personal. I’m really not sure what to do about it. I’m not even sure what I did wrong. 

“Yes.” I’m proud it doesn’t come out as a squeak. 

Miranda just stares at me. A long, weighted moment passes, and I’m pretty sure she’s expecting me to have a lightbulb moment, but it just doesn’t come. 

Finally, she sighs and shakes her head. 

Okay now I’m definitely panicking. What the hell did I miss? 

A thunderstorm of steps interrupt my descent into obsessive madness. 

“Mom!” Cassidy exclaims, she and her sister skidding to a stop in the doorway. “We’re done with our homework. Can we please watch She-ra now?”

“Of course, bobbsey.” Miranda stands and smooths her skirt. “We were just discussing the plans for your birthday.”

“THE ERAS TOUR!” 

I flinch at their excited shrieks. One of these days, I’ll learn when to plug my ears. 

“It’s just a month away. Can you believe it?” I’m rubbing my temple, but hopefully my indulgent smile makes up for it. 

“I can’t wait!” Caroline squeals, hopping on the tips of her toes. “It’s going to be so cool! Have you ever been to Germany, Andy?”

I shake my head. “Nope. The only time I’ve left the US was when I went to Paris with your mom.”

Cassidy tilts her head, eyebrows scrunching together. “Why not?”

I can’t help giggling at her confusion. “You know, I’m not sure. I guess I just didn’t have a reason to. Or the money.”

Cassidy just shrugs while Caroline skips over to my chair. She holds onto the arm, still bouncing up and down. 

“Well, you’ll get to see it now! Maybe we can do a tour of Munich while we’re there! It’s soooo beautiful, you’ll love it.”

Oh. 

There’s the lightbulb moment. 

I glance up to Miranda, my eyes begging for help. She’s already looking at me, an amused smile dancing on her lips. 

“Girls, you’ll need to get started if you want to get through both episodes before bedtime.” 

“She-ra!” Thankfully distracted by tall princesses with swords, the girls run off to set up the tv. I’m rooted to my chair, my mind spinning to come up with how I’m going to tell them I’m not going to see Taylor Swift in Germany with them. 

Shit. 

But Miranda can’t blame me for this. I bought those tickets nearly a year ago. She hated me then! There’s no way I could have predicted that in the space between buying the tickets and the actual show that we’d develop this sort of ... whatever this is, and that they’d all want me to go with them. 

There’s a warm pressure on my hand gripping the armrest, and I look up to see Miranda in front of me. Her hand resting on mine. 

“Just make sure your passport is up to date,” she says. “I’ll handle the rest.”

I’m pretty sure I’m gaping like a fish. 

Miranda’s expression turns into a smirk, and she taps a single finger against my chin. 

“Might want to close that. You wouldn’t want to catch a fly.”

She heads toward the living room, leaving me to follow on autopilot. 

At least I’m not the one who has to deal with getting a ticket to see Taylor Swift with just a month’s notice. 

Miranda’s already sitting on the couch when I make it to the living room. Another thing I’ve been slowly getting used to. Every Friday night is a battle of wills in my mind, my crush on this woman screaming like a Swiftie who was invited to a Secret Session, while my practicality reminds me that nothing is going to happen. Like ever. 

Their war starts up again as soon as I take my seat next to Miranda. Honestly, I’m afraid of who will eventually win. 

The winner won’t be decided tonight because I am utterly captivated by the last two episodes of season three. I can’t look away from the flickering screen—Catra’s glare, Adora’s hand outstretched, the world around them breaking into shards of light.

“In a perfect world,” I whisper as the credits roll. “Adora is with Catra.”

“I don’t get why Catra is so angry,” Caroline muses, spread like a starfish on the floor. “Adora wanted them to be together and safe. Why is that a bad thing?”

“Because Catra’s a cat,” Cassidy supplies. “Cats don’t like change. Or compromise.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” I agree distractedly. There’s a scene playing over and over in my head, like there’s a thread I’m desperate to tug. 

Their allotted two episodes finished, the girls are sent off to bed, and I make my way home. When I’m safely tucked in my bed, staring at the ceiling fan, I start to pull on that dangling thread. 

Catra: the immovable object. Determined. Desperate for stability, for someone to stay and choose her. Just once. 

Adora: the unstoppable force. The hero. Fixing things, saving the world, always ready to sacrifice herself. But ... why? 

What if, in that alternate, broken reality, with time and space crumbling around them, Adora chose Catra? When everything has been turned upside down, and there’s no guarantee that any acts of heroism could even work, why not let your last choice be driven by love? Why not be selfish? 

I slap my hand around on my nightstand until I feel my phone. Squinting into the harsh blue light, I open a new Google Doc and let the words spill out. 

One sacrifices her love to save the city, and we call her a hero. Another lets the city burn to keep her love, and we call her evil. But who is the real villain?