The Day Zootopia 2 Was Announced, I Got a Call from My Estranged Sister

We hadn’t spoken in six years.

I had accepted that she was gone just like our mother, just like our shared bedroom full of glittery posters and half-finished art projects, just like the world we built when we were kids who still believed in foxes and rabbits solving crimes together.

Then yesterday, out of nowhere, my phone lit up with her name.

Maya.

And just beneath it, the notification that made me laugh before I even picked up:

“Zootopia 2 Officially Announced.”

What are the odds?

I stared at the screen for too long. The call died. I didn’t call back.

Not right away.

We Used to Be Judy and Nick

That was the joke, anyway. When Zootopia came out in 2016, Maya was obsessed. She was Judy Hopps, the wide-eyed optimist who believed she could change the world. And I was Nick Wilde, the smooth-talking fox who always expected the worst.

We weren’t little kids when we watched it we were teenagers, already bruised by life. But that movie gave us something strange. Hope. Laughter. A way to believe we could still make things right.

We watched it five times that summer.

I still remember the way Maya cried when Judy said, “Change starts with you.”

I think it reminded her of Mom.

Then Came the Silence

Maya left home first. She was always the brave one.

I didn’t know how to follow. So I stayed. And when things got hard really hard I expected her to check in. To send a message. To remind me that we were still Judy and Nick, even if the world had gone cold.

But she never did.

Six years.

Six birthdays.

Six December 14ths without the shared “remember when” about watching Zootopia under a worn blanket while our parents argued in the next room.

I told myself she didn’t care. That she’d moved on. That I should, too.

But I never stopped checking her Instagram.

Why Call Me Now?

I don’t know what made her dial that day.

Maybe she saw the announcement for Zootopia 2 and remembered the way we used to recite lines like they were scripture.

Or maybe she just missed me.

I want to believe that.

Because when I finally called her back hours later, heart pounding and palms sweaty she picked up on the first ring.

“Hey,” she said, like we’d never stopped talking.

“Hey.”

There was a long silence. I could hear her breathing. Could almost picture her sitting cross-legged on some unfamiliar couch, phone pressed to her cheek, eyes filled with the same nervous hope mine had.

“They’re making a second one,” she said quietly.

I smiled. “I saw.”

We Didn’t Talk About Everything

We didn’t talk about why she left, or why she never came back.

We didn’t talk about how I hated her for so long and how that hate turned into something softer, more fragile grief, maybe.

We didn’t talk about Mom, or the house, or the letters I wrote and never sent.

Instead, we talked about rabbits and foxes. About the sequel. About what Judy and Nick might be doing now.

We laughed. Awkwardly at first, then the way we used to. Like we were still those kids under the blanket, watching animated characters say all the brave things we couldn’t.

Healing Doesn’t Come in Big Speeches

It comes in weird, quiet moments.

In a missed call and a second chance.

In a movie announcement that shows up at just the right time.

In two sisters who finally realize that maybe growing up doesn’t mean growing apart.

When we ended the call, Maya said, “We should go watch it together. When it comes out.”

I didn’t say yes.

But I didn’t say no, either.

And somehow, that felt enough like forgiveness for now.