Chapter One: Araya

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The morning sky was a dull shade of gray, matching the fog in my mind as I stared out of my kitchen window. November had come around again, and with it, the heavy, suffocating dread of the holidays. It wasn’t just about missing time off work; it was the thought of facing another Thanksgiving table with empty chairs—the ones my mother and grandmother once filled with their warmth and laughter. My mother and grandmother had gone to live with Jesus, so it would be another holiday without them. My chest tightened at the thought of their absence, the way their food had been the heart of every holiday. My mother’s famous potato salad. My grandmother’s chicken dressing. Sure, I could try to replicate it, but it would be lacking. It would be missing the love, the magic, and the soul. I’d be a crying, snotty mess before I even set the table. 

    But it wasn’t just the memory of the dead that haunted me. It was DeMario—the ghost who refused to stay buried in my past. Last Thanksgiving, I received a call on some “Hello, Barbara. This is Shirley” type of shit. It wasn’t Shirley on the other line. It was a frail bodied, crusty wig-wearing hoe named Charity. 

    “Well, well, well, I finally get to talk to the famous Araya. I’m sure you’ve heard of me. DeMario certainly talks about you…. sometimes,” she had the nerve to say, her tone instantly condescending and patronizing. 

    “I guess that’s what happens when you’re the other girl, right?” She continued, “I just thought I’d let you know it’s time to stop pretending like you two have something real. He’s moved on. It’s cute that you’re still holding on. So sweet,”

    Her voice and the things she said caused me to pause before I responded, “I’m sorry, who is this again?”

    “Oh, sweetie. Don’t play dumb,” she said with a laugh, “You know exactly who I am. I’m Charity. You know, the one he’s been spending all his time with? He’s been too nice to let you go, but I figured I’d do him the favor,” 

    “You think you’re doing him a favor by calling me? That’s funny. I wasn’t aware that I needed relationship advice from someone playing side chick,” I said to her.

    She scoffed, “Side chick? Honey, I’m the main course. DeMario’s been over at my place almost every night, and let’s just say he doesn’t seem too interested in what you’ve got going on. You’re just….an afterthought,”

    “Is that what he tells you to make you feel better? I’m not surprised. You’re exactly the kind of distraction he would go for—easy and convenient,” I said.

    I could feel the anger and resentment boiling up inside of me. It wasn’t the fact that she had the balls to call me. It was the fact that DeMario had the nerve to be cheating on me, and the fact that he couldn’t keep his bitch on a leash.

    “Keep telling yourself that, boo. You’re old news, and he isn’t coming back to you. Why don’t you stop embarrassing yourself and let him go?”

    “I think you should be embarrassed, calling me like this. I don’t have to fight for attention or share anyone’s scraps. If DeMario was worth anything, he wouldn’t need to play both sides. So, good luck with that mess,” I said to her.

     “We’ll see how long you can keep pretending you’re above all of this. Trust me, you’ll be the one crying when it’s over,”

    I wanted to laugh in her face, but I kept my tone cool and final, “I’ve already won by not being you. Have a great day, Charity,”

     When I rolled out of bed, my intentions were to cook breakfast. I had a taste for French toast and sausage, but after I stood in the middle of the kitchen rehashing details of my breakup with DeMario, I was mentally and emotionally spent. He took that toll on me often. It didn’t matter that we’d broken up almost a year ago. He still had his claws sunk deep inside of me. I shook my head as I grabbed the container of Greek yogurt from my refrigerator. I wasn’t a health freak or anything like that, but it was something about some Greek yogurt topped with fresh berries, honey, and granola that made my soul smile.

    It was a quick, filling breakfast, but it was refreshing and took my mind off of DeMario and whatever woman he was with at the moment. As if she could sense my frustrations, my phone rung and the caller ID indicated that it was my best friend, Cayla. She always seemed to have some sort of radar when it came to bullshit. She hated DeMario and everything he stood for, so she damn near threw a party when we broke up.

    “Hey, girl,” I said, answering the phone and placing it on speaker. I took another spoonful of my yogurt as I waited to hear her voice.

    “What’s up, Bestie?” She said, “What are you up to this morning?”

    “Nothing,”

    “It’s getting closer to Thanksgiving. Knowing you, you’re sitting somewhere crying a bucket of tears,” she said to me.

    “Not yet,” I replied honestly.

    It amazed me that she knew me so well. We had been friends since our kindergarten days at Riverview Heights Elementary School. We were in different classes, but she would always hold a swing for me at recess. She became my rock, and we had been inseparable since.

    “Not ever,” she said, interrupting my thoughts, “I’m tired of seeing you crying especially over DeMario’s dusty ass,”

    “Why don’t we start a new Thanksgiving tradition this year?” she asked me.

    “What do you have in mind?”

    “My family is going up to the cabin. You should join us,” she said.

    “That sounds nice, but I cannot intrude like that,”

    “Bitch, it’s not an intrusion when you’re invited. Mama even said that you should come. What else do you have to do? Sit around eating yogurt and crying over DeMario?” 

    I couldn’t argue with her there. Thanksgiving alone sounded depressing as hell, and maybe the change of scenery away from the city away from the memories was exactly what I needed.

    “Alright, fine,” I said with a sigh, “I’m in.”