The smell of grease and oil wakes me up and I don't even have to get up to know that the whole house smells of it. Or that it's gotten on everything. I take a whiff of my pyjama top to be sure and curse myself for forgetting the baking soda.

I doubt my grams has any since she's lived with the smell for longer than I've been alive. At this point I doubt she even notices it, or if she does to lose it would probably be like losing an organ, like her heart. What a contradiction, am I right? Especially since, according to my mom, all this grease should've stopped it from beating before I was even born.

If that's true then I'm pretty sure death missed its window and she's gonna outlive us all.

I hear my cousin Lucy shake up the house next. She's laughing downstairs, loud and proud, because why should she hide that she's enjoying herself? She's got a snort too that some poor soul found adorable and put a ring on it. I don't mind it personally, but my mom says it sounds like she's about to cough out somethin'. She doesn't know what it is, but she hopes she won't be around when whatever it is climbs its way out of her throat.

I'm relieved of having to think about that though when my phone rings at exactly 7 am, like clockwork, and I pick up after the second ring with a giddy smile on my face.

"Hey." I say barely suppressing a giggle. I still can't believe this is what's become of me. I used to be tough and intimidating. In high school teachers were terrified of me. I could singlehandedly drag out their insecurities into the light and expose their shortcomings because I felt like they needed to do better since our future was partially in their hands. All that changed when I started college. I honestly couldn't tell you how I let this happened, but it did...and all because of a boy.

The feminist in me wanted to bust out and kick my ass for that one, but I digress.

"Morning, Gigi." He says.

He's smiling. I know because he's using the nickname he gave me when we first met freshman year. The one he knows I hate because, like- how could he say he's giving me a nickname when he's just changing the last two letters of my name? It's counterproductive, and it bothers me.

Fortunately for him, and my sanity, I've gotten used to it...mostly…or at least I give him a free pass because it's him, which I don't do for many people.

So I just roll my eyes and leave it at that.

"They're gonna fall off their sockets if you do that too much." He comments like he can see me so I do it again just because...

"You give me too much credit seeing as that would be physically difficult for me to do."

"But not impossible." He counters.

He only says that because he once read somewhere that rolling your eyes "too much" could cause a lot of damage. The writer basically highlighted that by definition "too much" means "until something bad happens," and my gullible boyfriend ate that shit up.

And now, he was at the point of no return.

"Fine, but can I just say that it's way too early to be arguing about this?"

"Sorry, babe. I'm just a little nervous. I mean, this is a big step...and Thanksgiving is an important holiday in your family. I don't want to ruin it." He says and I sit up because I'm about to talk him off the ledge.

"Baby, stop. It'll be fine, it's just dinner."

"It's Thanksgiving dinner, Gina, with some random guy they don't even know" He emphasizes on top of using my real name so I know he's really freaking out right now, "and with your dad looking at me with those judgemental brown eyes you have, telling me I'm not good enough for his daughter."

"You can't possibly know that without having met him." I remind him, then his voice sounds all muffled all of a sudden so I can't hear what he's saying.

I sigh, "Use your words, please? I can't hear you."

"I said I've seen the picture of him in your room." More muffled sounds. "He was yelling at the Ref. because you were losing a game."

"No, we were winning that game. I mean, that's the whole reason I took the picture, to commemorate." I shrug and hear him groan into the speaker. Then there's a thud and he curses, only this time his voice sounds far away.

"Ricky, what are you doing? Are you okay?" I ask, feeling a little concern, but it takes a few seconds before I hear him say, "I fell off the bed and kinda hit my head."

Lord help me.

I rub my eyes and try to remember that he has every right to be nervous. Heck, I'm nervous too, but I can't let myself get worked up.

What I can do is hope that my family looks past his...uhm...pigmentation and sees how happy he makes me.

You see, Ricky isn't the guy I usually go for or the guy my family sees me with when they occasionally take it upon themselves to, very descriptively, tell me what my future looks like.

Plus, my dad isn't really a fan of white people or cops in general since a white cop and a system rigged against us put his brother in prison for a crime he didn't commit. I've never met him, and my dad would sooner chain me to my bed than let me go see him at his lowest.

So yeah...

As far as my parents know I've invited my amazing thoughtful loving, and presumably black, boyfriend over for dinner.

It'll be great.

"Gina? Gina, can you hear me?"

"Huh?"

"I said maybe I'm just overthinking this. I mean, how bad could it be if they made someone as great as you, right?" He says softly and the blood rushes to my cheeks as I bite my lip to keep myself from grinning like an idiot. It also takes me a second to realize that he's waiting for my validation.

Maybe I could give it more convincingly if I hadn't gotten in my head just now, but I try anyway and tell him, "what? psh, of course. OF COURSE. That's what I've been trying to tell you, baby, it will ALL be good."

Then I don't hear anything, but his breathing for a good two minutes before he suddenly asks, "what was that?"

"What was what?" I catch sight of my closed curtains and my wardrobe right across from it before I realize my eyes are wandering. If he was standing in front of me, I wouldn't be able to look at him.

"Your voice went high." He says and I panic because I'm not a good liar.

But does that stop me?

"I don't think so, bab-"

"-youjustdiditagain-"

"but I'll see you later, okay? Love you, bye."

...apparently not.

I hear him call my name as I hang up and then almost jump out of my skin from the sharp knock on my door a split second later.

I swear my dad is a narc. There is no way.

"Come in." I say, but he still opens the door with a hand over his eyes and his right leg stretched out in front of him so he won't bump into anything.

With him, a fresh smell of grease comes in waves along with my cousin's laughter that I have to wonder what's so damn funny.

"Is it safe to come in?" He asks and I huff out a breath. He's being ridiculous and I tell him so.

"Just trying to give you some privacy." He says as he drops his hand and looks at me.

"But I just-" uh-uh, I'm not boarding this train to crazy town, "-what's up, dad?"

"Just wondering when you're gonna come down and spend time with your family." He says and I check myself before I say something that'll get me whooped as a grown up.

It's that word. I swear he uses it more than I need to breathe, which makes it worse because he's an English teacher. But one eighth grader calls him ancient and he's suddenly abandoning I's.

Instead I say, "I only woke up a minute ago, dad."

He shakes his head, "Just heard you talking on the phone."

WELL...so much for privacy, huh?

"Uh, yeah. I was talking to Ricky. He's really excited to come over later."

I can't look at my dad either, but he makes this sound at the back of his throat like that's the last thing he wanted to hear.

Then he mumbles, "I'm sure he is."

"Why don't you tell me how you really feel, dad?"

"Don't take that tone with me." He says. He's talking about the edge in my voice. I'm not trying to turn this into a fight over my love life, but I can't help it...and dad's always been able to pick up on the little things, an eye roll, the slightest shift in my mood...the edge in my voice, and just like now he always call me out on it.

The thing is, I know why my dad already doesn't like Ricky (other than the obvious). He's still mad at me for breaking up with my ex-boyfriend, the golden boy, and I'm mad at him for not letting it go.

"It's thanksgiving, Gina, doesn't this boy have his own family?" I hear him say and when I look up, I see the suspicion in his eyes. To my dad: family sticks together no matter what (which is ironic since he's divorced), and that works in theory. I even agreed with him at some point...but that isn't reality. Sometimes family tears itself apart...sometimes you're forced to choose between two people you love.

I'm fortunate because my parents never made me feel like I needed to choose. Ricky wasn't so lucky. His parents got divorced and suddenly couldn't stand being in the same room with each other. They made him choose: live with dad or live with mom.

He picked a third option...

"I just…I really want him to meet you. Is that so bad?"

"Mmm."

"Dad."

"Okay, fine. Just guard your heart, alright? Promise me." He says and I nod cause I mean it.

"I promise."

"That's my girl. Now get ready and come downstairs, everyone's waiting for you."

When I finally make it downstairs I spot my cousin Darren reclining on the couch the living room with his feet stretched out on the coffee table like this was his house.

He's so busy on his phone that he doesn't see me coming until I'm knocking his feet off the table.

"Hey!" He protests and looks up. He definitely sees me now.

"What's so good on that screen that you can't even say hi to your own cousin?" I ask but can't help the smile that creeps up on me.

"The fact that I don't have to look at your face." He responds because he thinks he's clever, so I smack him upside the head in retaliation to remind him he's not.

"Ow." He rubs the back of his head, "still as violent as ever I see."

"Shut up and give me a hug, you idiot." I say and watch him get up. Next thing I know he's sweeping me off my feet and spinning me around.

We were glued at the hip as kids. It was always Darren, Jamie and me, thick as thieves. You'd never see one of us without the other two close behind. They were my best friends, in a way they still are, I just don't see them as much.

That's a lie: I see Darren every other holiday, but Jamie? I don't think I'd recognize him if I saw him on the street. Plus, I wouldn't want to, not after everything that went down between us.

"Damn you're heavy." Darren says as he sets me back down. I punch his shoulder and tell him, "At least I'm eating right, I heard Auntie kicked you out."

"Who told you that?" He asks like he doesn't expect me to already know.

"Lucy. You know she calls me every other week, which is more than I can say for you."

He pulls me onto the couch by my arm and shrugs, "it's a two-way street, cuz. I feel like I've barely heard from you all year, then you come back here all happy and shit. What's got you glowing like the sun?"

"Nothing." I say too quickly that his eyebrows hide behind his curls. They're the longest I've ever seen them and flop over his forehead. I can't help but admire how nice the pitch black color of his hair looks against his light brown skin. If he shaved the stubble, he'd be the spitting image of the picture version of Uncle Curtis that sat on Grams' mantle behind us.

We only ever knew him in pictures since he passed before we really got to know him. We were two when the accident happened. My memory of that day is all fuzzy, but I remember my mom telling me about it after getting enough brain cells to remember.

Darren shakes my shoulders, "spill it." He says.

"You spill it." I shoot right back

"Oh come on, Gina." He puts his feet up again, "you know, Lucy said something about setting an extra plate at the table when I was in the kitchen earlier."

"And she told me Auntie kicked you out cause you quit school. Is that true?"

"My ears are burning." Lucy walks in the middle of our stare down. "What are we talking about?" She asks eagerly as she plops down between us.

"Nothing." We both mumble, then Darren sits up straight again and says, "you know what Gina? Keep your secrets. If that plate is for someone coming over here, then I'll find out anyway."

He gets up to leave, but my stubborn ass won't let him have the last word so I call out to him as he walks out, "yeah well, if you've quit school I'm gonna kick your ass."

"He's gone, cuzzie."

"I know." I snap.

The silence that follows lasts for exactly 2 seconds before Lucy asks, "So, when is the boyfriend coming over?" She isn't a fan of not talking, it makes her uncomfortable so she constantly takes it upon herself to fill the silence.

"Around noon." I tell her, "I just want him to feel comfortable before dad goes in on him, you know?"

She kisses her teeth as she nods, like she gets it, and then she says, "Uncle Joe can be a little intense sometimes."

"Yeah." I say and look down at my feet. I can feel the worry slowly creep in again, but Lucy nudges my shoulder before I can dwell in it and tells me, "well you know I'm gonna treat him like family," in the warmest voice I've ever heard her use.

"Thanks, Lucy."

I can't remember ever feeling this close to my cousin. She's always kinda been in my orbit because our moms are siblings. Her parents moved around about as much as my mom did, plus my dad and her mom never really got along so she'd normally stay away during the holidays, this one included, and keep Lucy away too. So, I never got to know her when we were kids.

The day she turned eighteen was the day she got her freedom. She stopped letting her mom control her life and started popping up at every family event, making sure I did the same. I remember asking her once why it was so important to her and she simply said, "I don't want us to miss anything," so we didn't.

"What's going on with you?" She asks. I guess I've been quiet for too long.

"It's nothing." I shrug and she arches her eyebrow.

"Really?" She always says that when she wants me to talk, and folds her arms over her chest like she's doing right now so I know she's not gonna back down.

I groan at her and say, "fine." I take a deep breath, "Ricky...is...white."

Her eyebrows come together like she she's confused, "you mean like a coconut?"

What?

"No, white, like he's Caucasian."

"ARE. YOU. IN. SANE?" she mouths each syllable, with her hazel eyes bugging out and her afro shaking as she jerks her head back and forth like a chicken.

I would've laughed if I wasn't slightly terrified.

"Yourdaddy'sgonnapopavain." It all comes out as one long squeal that I have to blink to somehow understand what she just said.

"Do you not remember the story, Gina? About Uncle Dominic?" She asks, even though it sounds more like an accusation.

"How can I not? It's supposed to be the white repellent." I respond

"It did the exact opposite for you though, didn't it?"

"I don't need you to judge me for falling in love."

"I'm not, but you can't look at this just one way. That's why you're sitting here all fidgety, it's because you know this might not go your way. You know you should've said something."

"I-"

"What's all this ruckus going on in my house?" Gram's yells from the kitchen, cutting me off and without breaking eye contract we yell back, "Nothing, grams!"

"It better be nothin. Where you think this is?" She grumbles on, but doesn't come busting in here.

We still sit quiet for a minute though just to be sure, then Lucy speaks up, "you know I support you in whatever you do" she says, "but you gotta tread lightly here, cuzzie."

I think about calling Ricky and cancelling the whole thing the closer it gets to noon, but to stop myself I go into the kitchen and make the salad. My mom and grams are in here. They've been in here all week preparing for today, and got up early this morning to roast the turkey. I see it in the oven as I walk in and from in here its beautiful scent fills the air along with the smell of grease that's been present since breakfast...and it all somehow calms me down.

My grams spots me standing by the door. She's washing some dishes to clear up some space and wearing the apron I got her twelve years ago for mother's day. I was eight years old and wanted to give her a present like I did for my mom so I picked an apron that has 'the best moms get promoted to grandma' written on it in black bold print because I know how much she loves cooking. It's aged now and the color is fading, but she'll "sooner cut a bitch before she replaces it", her words not mine. Though I won't lie and say it doesn't make me feel a little special.

"Put these back in the cupboard for me, will you baby?" She says pointing at the clean dishes on the sink. I nod and do as I'm told while they start to gossip about grams' next-door neighbour, Miss Tina and her son, Robbie. Apparently, he bought her the BMW 7 series for her 75th birthday and hired a driver to chauffeur her around the neighborhood.

"Just the neighborhood?" I hear my mom ask as I try to mind my own business (even though they can't mind theirs).

"Where else is she gonna go?" grams says with her voice going higher with each word, that's her' "you just asked a dumb question" voice. "She never go nowhere without her son and he's always working late shifts at the hospital that's it's a wonder he hasn't collapsed already" She stops and I watch her shake her head in disapproval as I close the cupboard under the sink. "I swear that woman is gonna die here, with no one around."

The way she says it makes me think she's not talking about Miss Tina anymore because truthfully, other than during the holidays, we're never around either.

Most of the time it's just her and her memories, so I can't help it when my heart drops and the guilt sets in.

We gotta do better...

"Can I make the salad?" I ask when my mom catches my eye. I think the guilt is getting to her too, but she tells me it's fine and proceeds to get the ingredients out for me like I can't do it myself. I don't mind because I know in her head, I'm ten years old and still need help with everything.

She started working for FEMA that year so when her life with us stopped, the image of me in her head froze too. She started moving around a lot and couldn't see me as much, especially after the divorce, so, because she didn't really get to see me grow up, I stayed ten.

I'm halfway through with the salad when we hear the doorbell and my grams says, "I'll get it" and walks out the kitchen before I can stop her.

It's 12:05. Shit

"Grams, wait!" I call after her as I race to catch up. "It's fine I can get it. You go back in the kitchen."

I'm right at her heels now.

"I'm almost there anyway." She says, "plus you gotta finish that salad."

When she grabs the doorknob, I run through my head all the ways I've messed up. Lucy was right I shouldn't have been looking at the day Ricky met my parents through rose-colored glasses, I should've been more realistic, I should've said something...but now it was too late and my grams was about to have her first heart attack at 70.

"Grams, wai-" I'm cut off when the door swings open and we're standing face to face with the young man at the door with a bouquet of roses in his arms.

And my heart stops.

I know I said I wouldn't recognize him if I ever saw him walking down the street, but I was wrong...

"Happy thanksgiving." He says looking right at me, but I can't respond because my mouth's gone dry.

...because I was so very wrong.