4 | Simone
Thanksgiving always started the same way. GiGi and I started early, serving food at the church for the less fortunate before heading home to prepare an intimate Thanksgiving dinner.
GiGi is my dad’s mom, and even though Emaree and Emon are cousins on my mom’s side, she’s always treated them like they belonged to her side of the family too. It probably helped that their mom wasn’t into cooking or holiday traditions.
“Your mama could come over and help cook or celebrate with us. I know she’s busy but she ain’t that busy,” GiGi said. Emaree immediately made a face like she was already over the conversation. My aunt Moriah was a defense attorney. Not just any attorney, she was one of the best.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she was somewhere with that mystery man of hers,” GiGi huffed.
Her back was turned, but I had no doubt she was rolling her eyes. Somehow, that woman always knew everybody’s business. I don't know where she got her information from, but nine times out of ten, it was accurate.
Their mom never was the settle-down type. According to GiGi, she was dating someone new, but she had yet to reveal who he was.
“I keep telling that woman she’s too smart and too pretty to be choosing some of these men that she do,” GiGi said, shaking her head.
GiGi might’ve been the smallest person in the room, but she always had the biggest personality. She spoke her mind freely, but never with the intention of hurting anyone.
“She told me she was working on a case and to save her a plate, but I’d bet my last dollar that your story is the real one,” Emaree added.
Putting a pin in the conversation we continued to prepare dinner. Well, GiGi was doing all the real cooking. Emaree and I were acting as sous chefs while gospel music played in the background.
“Hand me that pan, baby,” GiGi said, not even looking at which one she wanted. I guessed wrong and she popped me lightly on the hand with her wooden spoon.
“That’s not the one I need.”
“You didn’t specify.”
“You supposed to know, little girl. But it’s alright.”
“I told you GiGi got favorites because if that had been me, she would’ve been tearing my butt up about not knowing anything in the kitchen.”
I snorted as I continued chopping celery. “Don’t be mad at me because you throw everything in the air fryer,” we laughed, and I tried my best to remain present in the moment, but in the back of my mind, behind every laugh, every chop, every pot lid being lifted, I kept thinking about Samaj.
Last night felt like a fairy-tale turned into a nightmare. He had planned the most thoughtful thing a person had ever done for me just for it to end with horrible news. My heart was hurting for him, but I felt like I should give him space.
He texted me when he arrived back home. That was late last night after I had already made it home from the fair.
I kept telling myself not to overthink it.
He had a lot going on. His mom was in the hospital.
He didn’t need me blowing up his phone. Still, every time my phone buzzed, my heart reacted before my brain could catch up.
And every time it wasn’t him, I felt silly.
Girl chill out. You barely even know him, I reminded myself for what felt like the hundredth time.
But something about him lingered. His gentle, quiet confidence, the way he listened, the way he made me feel seen without me volunteering anything. And the way he planned the entire evening just for me? Yeah, I definitely was in my feelings.
I’d only ever had one boyfriend—back in my freshman year of college. Noah was the guy I lost my virginity to after we’d been dating for six months. We met after one of the ministers at my church recommended him to do some work on my car.
After completing my repairs, he asked to keep in contact with me.
Things were good until they weren’t. He became controlling and possessive, treating me like I was his property and not a person.
We were only together for 8 months but the experience pushed me toward embracing my singleness and stepping away from casual dating.
With Samaj, I didn’t know what this was yet. I wasn’t about to label him my future husband, but it felt like the beginning of something special. Maybe even a friendship we both needed.
“Girl, you’ve been stirring that pot of greens for ten minutes,” Emaree said, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I blinked. “Oh, my bad.”
“You good?” she asked, giving me that suspicious cousin look.
“Yeah, I’m just… tired.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, side-eyeing me. “Tired or thinking about somebody?”
I opened my mouth, but GiGi swooped in before I could answer.
“Both of y’all hush and finish peeling those sweet potatoes,” she ordered. “Dinner ain’t gonna make itself. Mr. P and Mrs. Beverly will be here by six o’clock,” she said, referring to her close friends from church who’d be joining us for dinner.
Later that night, after dinner was done and the kitchen was clean, Emaree and I went into the living room with her twin brother, Emon, who was laid out on the couch scrolling through his phone. I sat on the other couch, pulling the throw blanket over my lap.
“Okay,” Emaree said, flopping down beside me and immediately trying to squeeze under the same throw blanket as if it was big enough for both of us to share.
“Start talking.”
Emon lifted an eyebrow without looking away from his phone. “This should be good.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s nothing, really. I’ve just been talking to someone.”
Both their heads snapped toward me. Emon sat all the way up.
“Someone like who?”
“That’s not important,” I said, fighting not to smile at how dramatic they were being.
“We can’t even get the man’s name?” Emaree asked, pouting. Emaree was a Digital Marketing major at the same university as me but since I preferred morning classes as opposed to her afternoon classes we barely crossed paths on campus.
“It’s so new I barely know him, but we have a class together, so I’ve been seeing him for months since the semester started. I didn’t even know he noticed me or knew who I was.”
“Girl, why wouldn’t he? You’re probably one of the prettiest girls in the class. And you’re not just beautiful on the outside, your mind and your heart are just as beautiful.”
“That was really poetic,” Emon said, without looking up from his phone. “Shut up,” she said playfully, throwing one of the throw pillows at him, but he caught it like it was nothing and placed it under his head, making himself more comfortable.
“So, what’s the issue? He’s into you and you’re into him.”
I told them about the night at his apartment—the flowers, the private chef, building the LEGO set together, how nervous we both were, and how easy-going and natural things felt despite it. How he made me feel comfortable in a way that almost scared me.
Emon let out a low whistle. “He did all that and y’all not even dating? I see why you over here like a sad puppy.”
“Shut up,” I said, now throwing my pillow at him, and this one caught him right upside the head making us all laugh, but the joking faded, and I felt my voice soften.
“His mom ended up in the hospital,” I said quietly.
“He drove back home last night. I haven’t heard from him since he first got there.”
Emaree frowned. “Have you tried reaching out to him?”
“No. I don’t want to seem clingy, and I don’t want to bother him if something serious is happening.”
“That’s real,” Emon said. “But also, communication ain’t clingy.”
“Exactly,” Emaree agreed. “Just send a simple text. Like— “Thinking about you. Hope everything’s okay. If he’s busy, he’ll respond when he can.”
I nodded, chewing on my bottom lip. “I just don’t want to overstep.”
“Simoneyyy…you overthink EVERYTHING.” Emon smirked calling me by the childhood nickname, only he called me.
I groaned. “I know. I know. I’m working on that.”
Emaree nudged me gently. “Anyway. Do you like him?”
My chest tightened. “I… think so.”
“Then text him,” she said simply.
I looked down at my phone on my lap. Because the truth was—I did care. Far more than I expected to. And that scared me a little. But maybe… maybe caring wasn’t a bad thing. I took a deep breath, unlocked my phone, and opened our messages.
Then typed: Happy Thanksgiving. Just checking on you. I hope your mom is okay.
My finger hovered over send for a long moment.
Then I pressed it and tried to enjoy the rest of the night with my family.
Two days. Two long, painfully quiet days.
Two days of checking my phone a little too often, refreshing my messages like something would magically appear. No call and no response to my text. Two days of replaying our evening over and over in my head, until annoyance replaced worry.
“It’s giving clown. All I need is the wig and a red nose,” I said to Emaree over the phone as I was getting ready for church.
She and Emon flew to their dad’s house the day after Thanksgiving to spend time with his side of the family.
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself. Anytime you put yourself out there it’s a possibility of getting your feelings hurt, that’s just the nature of the game but you don’t have to feel silly about it. It never gave clown.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks girl.”
I kept reminding myself:
His mom is in the hospital.
He doesn’t owe me anything, and we barely know each other. But the truth? It still hurt because my feelings were already getting invested without my permission.
That afternoon, once service ended, I followed GiGi to the parking lot holding her purse while she chatted with some of her friends.
This was the church where my parents raised me from the age of six.
I didn’t just attend this church, I served here, volunteered my time, used my gifts, and gave my money.
Naturally, it had become like a second home to me, and the members like extended family. So why was I considering finding a new church home?