release

It was eight in the morning when I woke up to the smell of food. I smiled, before stretching my arms and looking over my shoulder.

Zayn was shirtless, with one arm over his eyes and one hand on his torso. He looked so... calm. To avoid waking him, I slowly lifted myself from the bed and pulled a pair of shorts on.

When I got to the kitchen after freshening up, I saw my mom setting up utensils on the table with ga'at, along with a pot of buna.

"Are you making Ethiopian food?" I asked my mom, before grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl.

She looked at the apple in my hand, then at me before slapping the fruit out of my hand. "I did not slave over this stove since 5:30 to have you eat a fruit for breakfast." Then she poked my stomach. "This is why you looked like a stick when we visited you last!"

I backed away from her before rolling my eyes. "I'm gonna go watch the parade from the roof."

"Tell your two friends that breakfast will be ready at nine sharp," her mother said, not glancing in my direction.

Before going up to the roof, I poked into Isra's room and surprisingly she was already up. She looked up from her laptop and smiled. "Good morning, I was just finishing up an assignment."

I nodded before sitting next to her. "My mom is making Ethiopian food for most of the meals today. It's her way of 'reconnecting with her past'. Are you good with that?"

Her eyes brightened. "Of course! We don't celebrate thanksgiving back home, but my mum always cooks up plenty when I say I'm coming home on holiday. It'll make me feel as if I actually visited."

"I'm glad," I told her in response before patting her back. "Do you want to come up on the roof with me and watch the parade? We have a good view from here, believe it or not."

She nodded before following me towards the staircase. Once we got to the roof, I offered her a thick blanket, since it was cold outside and she draped it over her shoulders.

"Cash, why did you do all this?" She asked when we finally got settled sitting on top of the antenna platform, which was the highest vantage point.

I actually had no clue why I was doing this. I just hated seeing people sad when I knew there was a simple solution for their problem.

"What were you going to do, sit on campus all weekend and tweet on your fan account about how lonely you are and how much you love Tom Holland?" I laughed when she slapped my shoulder. "Yeah, no. You needed to get out and not be so bummed, because I hate seeing you like that."

Isra shrugged before throwing her arm over my shoulder and giving me a hug, which surprised me.

"I don't tell you this enough but thanks for being there for me," she said, squeezing tight before loosening up. "Even through all that mess you had going on last year, you still stuck by me. Thank you."

I smiled and wordlessly reciprocated the hug, before turning back to the street to watch the floats in the sky. The band's playing were so loud, I could hear it thirty blocks away from all the action.

The roof door opened and I didn't even have to look to know it was my sister. Dreya beamed at me through her messy hair, before climbing to the top next to us.

"Please tell me I didn't miss the Spongebob float," she said, craning her neck to see down past Fredrick Douglass and Central Park West.

"You're right on time," I said, draping my blanket over her shoulders so we could share. She leaned her head onto my shoulder and sighed.

This was what I miss the most about being home; all the little traditions we do every year. After last year, I considered transferring to NYU or Columbia with Adonis to be home.

We sat in silence for a while before Dreya leaned up and stretched her back. "Mom said she wanted everyone up by 9 to eat breakfast."

"Yeah, I know." I stood up from the platform and helped Isra up.

When we got back down to the room levels I could smell bacon and eggs on the stove and I sighed.

Dreya groaned, which meant her thought must've matched my own. "Dad must be home."

Whenever our parents decided to get it together and my father was home, he never chose to consume Ethiopian food. So since he was home for thanksgiving, we'd always have a split dinner table: one-half Ethiopian cuisine, the other half southern soul food.

I mean, I don't have a problem eating soul food. But I did have a problem with the disconnect it brought to the house every year.

"I thought you said Dad was at his parent's house this year," I murmured to Dreya, stopping in the hallway.

"He was supposed to be, the fuck is he doing here?"

Dreya did not like our father or his family at all. Ever since he decided to join the Marines when she was seven, she cried and begged him not to go. Soon after he finished his first tour, he came back and he was different. So different, that he almost choked her and our mother out on several different occasions because of PTSD.

She didn't blame his illness, she blamed him for leaving.

"Well, here goes nothing," I muttered, before walking into the kitchen with a forced smile, as Dreya and Isra trailed behind me.

"Hi Dad," I greeted, stepping onto the cool tile barefoot. "I didn't know you were gonna come home this weekend."

"And miss my beautiful girls?" The big, burly man turned around with wide smile on his face. "Never..."

His voice trailed off and he looked over my head. In a swift motion, he drew his gun from his belt and pointed it above me.

"Who in the fuck are you?" My dad bellowed, causing me to spin around in surprise. "The fuck are you doing in my house?"

Zayn stood in the hallway, his eyes wide and his hands up. "I-I, uh—"

"And who are you?" Dad was now talking to Isra, who pressed herself against the wall, just in case he decided to get trigger happy.

"Dad, chill out," Dreya said, rolling her eyes. "This is Isra, Cash's friend from college. And this is Zayn, her boyfriend."

That only made him click the safety off. "BOYFRIEND?!"

"Oh my god," Isra mumbled, shaking her head. "And I thought my family was problematic."

---

Everyone sat around the dinner table, silently eating. My father was staring daggers at Zayn from the head of the table.

"So, Zayn," my mother piped up, and I had to refrain myself from groaning aloud. "What are you studying at North Atlantic?"

He chewed and swallowed his food before replying, "graphic design—"

My dad snorted and shoved eggs into his mouth, and I had to roll my lips into my mouth to stop myself from scowling at him. Dreya didn't seem to have any restraint, though.

"—and engineering," Zayn finished, before clearing his throat. "The two go hand in hand when it comes to animation and filmmaking."

"There's nothing practical in a graphic design degree," my dad said snidely, glaring at him even harder, if that was possible. It was starting to get a little ridiculous.

"As if you were being practical by getting a philosophy degree from your underfunded community college," Dreya spat, rolling her eyes once more. "That's the reason you left anyway."

His narrowed eyes cut to her. "Watch your tone."

Dreya pursed her lips but continued to eat from the plate.

"This ga'at is amazing, Miss Kelly," Isra commented, trying to ease the tension in the room. "It reminds me so much of home."

My mother smiled brightly, and that made the corner of my lips tilt up. One thing I'm sure my mother loved more than her children was receiving compliments on her traditional cooking. It was adorable.

"Would you guys like a piece of bacon?" My dad offered, pushing the plate in their direction, and I almost cried because I knew what was about to go down.

"No, thank you," they said simultaneously.

"Are you saying my cooking isn't good enough for you to eat?" He cut off Isra, who was trying to explain why.

"I'm Muslim, so I don't eat pork," Zayn said, looking at my father to gauge his response.

"Where's your turban then?"

"Dad!" Dreya and I yelled, clearly appalled by his behavior. Why did he have to be so ignorant, especially right now?

Zayn sighed before starting to explain. "Sikh men wear turbans. Not all muslims were turbans, in fact, it's pretty uncommon."

He laughed disbelievingly before turning to Isra. "What's your excuse?"

"Excuse me?" She said in return. "My excuse for what, exactly?"

"Not wearing a turban of your own? Is it because you're not forced to wear it in your own country—"

"You know what, Mom?" I shot out of my seat, exasperated with my dad for the fifteen minutes we've been sitting here. "I'm gonna take them to Columbus Circle to do some shopping. I'll be home to help you cook later."

She nodded, and placed her face in her hands, clearly embarrassed. See, this was one of the reasons she refused to claim him to other people!

"Can I please come?" Dreya practically begged, and I couldn't say no to her or leave her here before she killed our dad.

"Who did you think I meant when I said them?" I joked, before pulling her from her seat. "Let's go before those tourists crowd the street."

"Y'all better be back before we start saying grace," my dad bellowed as we were walking back to our rooms to get ready.

"Shut the fuck up," I heard Dreya mutter behind me, which caused me to chuckle a bit before turning into my room.

Zayn came in after me and shut the door. "Your father is, um, interesting."

"That's a nice synonym for ignorant," I chided, rolling my eyes. "He's a lost cause. I've been trying to explain to him that you can't say the shit you say, but he was born and raised in the south."

"Don't excuse his behavior," he said, curling his upper lip in disgust. "He has no excuse to be ignorant when there's so many resources to educate him now."

I shrugged. "He doesn't want to learn and truth be told, no one in this family really wants him around. You know that show Shameless? You know, with that family of white trash kids with a drunk father in side side Chicago?" He nodded. "Well, we're like that, except instead of being a drunk, he has anger problems and PTSD. And we're not white trash."

"What a strange description," he said with a laugh, which instantly made my mood lighten again.

For a moment, I stared at him. Just to take a good look at him and memorize his features. His sharp jawline, his slightly chapped but soft pink lips, the slight stubble on his cheeks and chin, the golden brown of his almond shaped eyes, the curve of his nose and the glittering gold ring in the right nostril.

He smirked before pushing me onto the bed. "What are you staring at me like that for?"

I shook my head before shrugging. "I appreciate beauty."

He bit his lip and to my surprise, I saw his cheeks turn a shade of pink. Was he embarrassed?

"Don't be shy now!" I said, slapping him with my pillow. "It's true."

"If you call me beautiful, then what am I supposed to call you?" He joked, running his hands through my hair.

"I'm sure you'll cook up something in that head of yours," I said, relaxing as his hands massaged the top of my head.

"How thick are the walls in this place?" He asked suddenly, his hands pausing their ministrations.

"Not very thick," I admitted. "Sometimes I can here Dreya on the phone at night."

"Hmm," he murmured before climbing into the bed and skimming his hands underneath my shirt and brushing his thumbs over my nipples. "Then I guess we have to be quiet, huh?"

"Yeah, and quick," I sighed out when he lifted my shirt over my head. My breast were exposed to him, and I swear a look of primal heat flashed through his gaze.

He then slide his hands down my thighs and pulled my shorts down and threw them into the corner.

I went to untie the drawstring of his pants, but he caught my wrists in his hands.

"Let me do something for you first," he said before releasing my hands and yanking me to the edge of the bed.

His head was between my legs and I could feel his breath. It wasn't long before his lips met with me and my eyes rolled into the back of my head.

Akin to the first time we had sex, splashes of color blocked my eyesight. It felt as if Jackson Pollock was recreating his famous painting into my vision. Splatterings of reds, blues and greens floated in space. ROYGBIV.

I could feel my heart rate speed up and my breathing get shallower, and my legs were beginning to shake.

"Fuck yes," I managed to grind out between my clenched teeth before pulling him closer to me. I was so close, so close...

I heard the tear of foil before I was flipped onto my stomach, and Zayn entered me from behind, and it felt like an out of body experience.

He gripped onto my headboard to stop it from crashing into the wall and possibly to hold some semblance of his sanity.

"Shit," he hissed, one hand gripping my hip harshly.

I had to bury my head in the mattress to lessen to volume, and right then and there I didn't give a fuck if anyone opened the door. It was just him and I, in our own bubble.

He reached down and stroked me just as he thrusted deep, and I fell apart. I was gone.

Was I Picasso? Was I Pollock? Was I Warhol? Bright colors that would be seen in modern art museum seems to all be present behind my eyelids.

"—okay?" Zayn was saying something, and waving his hand in front of my face when the color filled haze left my sight.

"Yeah, yeah," I said, breathlessly. "Fine."

He smirked, and brushed my hair away from my face. "You looked like you were in a trance. You sure my dick doesn't have magical powers?"

"Shut up," I managed to get out before grabbing the towel off the rack and heading to my bathroom to take a shower. "You coming?"

He shot up from the bed so fast and practically ran across my room.

Talk about desperation.

---

"You guys are gonna max my card out," Zayn complained, when we went into the fifth store of the day.

"Who told you to offer us a shopping spree in Soho of all places?" Dreya said, shrugging her shoulders as she checked out a fur vest. "Plus, you know damn well your card had no limits. That's a black Amex."

My original plan was just to take them over to Columbus Circle and have them go shopping over there, but Zayn wanted to go all the way downtown because it was "trendier". He even offered to pay if we went down there. 

He set the bags down and blew out air. "With all this carrying and walking, I'm pretty sure I don't have to practice for tomorrow."

"Who are you playing?" I asked, curiously, picking up a dress and looking at it. It was a really ornate black gown, and I almost fell in love with it until I saw the price tag out of the corner of my eye.

"Fordham, so it's basically an easy win," he said confidently, before looking at my hands. "That would look good on you, you should get it."

"It's like $550," I told him, placing the dress back onto the rack. "I don't want you spending all that for one thing."

If I wasn't still apprehensive about my parent's judgement, I would have money to buy the dress. But I haven't taken a single penny (with the exception of them paying my tuition) since last year. I want to make money on my own.

"I'll buy it for you," he said, leaving his seat and coming over to give the dress a better look. "Jesus, seeing you in this dress would do things to me."

I shoved his shoulder before putting the dress back on the rack. "Well, dream on. And don't do some movie shit where I find it on my bed when we get back to my house, either."

He groaned before sitting back into his seat. "Stop ruining my plans to be romantic, you killjoy."

"Boy, this isn't some cheesy love story," I said, rolling my eyes. "Stop with all that mess."

"Or maybe it is, and we're breaking the fifth wall," he joked, chuckling to himself.

"It's the fourth wall, genius," Dreya yelled from a few racks down. "I thought you would bring home one smarter than the last one, Cash!"

Zayn's eyebrows furrowed, and the same look of annoyance that he had in the car yesterday came back. "I've been meaning to ask you about all that—"

"Cash!" Isra yelled from the other side of the store. "Come look at these highlighters! It's fucking peak!"

I quickly moved away from him, and I heard him sigh. I didn't care, I was going to postpone this conversation forever.

----

It was five o'clock by the time we arrived back at my building. I could smell the cooking from the porch steps before I unlocked the door.

Before we could walk through, Timmy and Ivan barged through the door, scowls written on their faces.

"What happened?" I asked, grabbing the sleeve of Ivan's shirt to halt their quick steps.

"I can't take your father's podunk hillbilly ass family," he spat, rolling his eyes. "We're gonna cop some bud from Amir, want anything?"

"Roll me a spliff," I requested and he nodded before barreling down the steps.

"What's up?" Dreya asked, balancing the bags in her hands.

"Dad didn't just bring himself up here, he brought the whole Georgia gang," I growled, my whole mood completely changing.

I didn't like my dad's family at ALL. People who think my dad was ignorant, have never met the rest of his family.

"I'm leaving," Dreya announced, attempting to swing back around.

"No the hell you're not!" I snapped, yanking her back by the hood of her sweater. "You're not leaving Mom and I in there with the hillbilly hoard."

Zayn raised an eyebrow. "Are they really that bad?"

"Last year, when my mother cooked injera with shiro, Aunt Mo asked her if someone vomited in the food before she cooked it," Dreya explained to him, walking into the house. "That fat bitch shouldn't even be talking when her baked Mac and cheese is dry as hell."

"Chill out with that," I scolded her, pushing her forward into the foyer. "Just put your bags down and let's get this over with."

When we go to my room, Zayn looked at me wearily. "Why didn't you tell me your dad's family was that bad? I can deal with assholes, but they're your family. I'm not gonna disrespect them like that."

I shook my head, before sighing. "I knew my dad was probably going to show up just like every year, but bring his whole podunk family? I know my mom is pissed, too."

None of us fully associate with my father's side of the family, but my mother is a whole different story. When she loved my dad, she would've done anything for him (and she did). So after he cheated on her multiple times and soon started becoming brazen about his affairs, she wanted a divorce. His family wasn't having it, and they pretty much bullied her into staying with him legally.

He tried to get her to forgive him since it all happened a couple years ago, but she wasn't having it, and every time she has a new person of interest, he chases them away.

"So, what am I supposed to do for today?" Zayn questioned, scratching his hand across his stubble (which looks really good, if I might add). "Just take that shit like I did in high school?"

I sighed. "I'm not asking you to take anything. I just don't want you to be uncomfortable, but I know it's inevitable with the way they are."

He got up and ran his hand through his hair. "Let's just get this over with."

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I followed suit as he walked out the doorway. I knew this evening was going to go terribly. It wasn't a worry of mine, it was simply a fact.

When we got to the dining room, my father's side of the family was seated on one side, and my mother's was on the other. My mom gripped her cup of water tightly in her hand, obviously annoyed that his family was taking up space in her house.

I signaled to Isra and Zayn to sit on my mother's side and they situated themselves so they didn't have to really sit next to any of my father's relatives.

"So kind of you to join us, Trinity," Aunt Mo greeted (sort of), watching as Zayn shifted his seat towards me.

"That's not her name," Dreya said before sucking her teeth at her.

"That's her middle name," she replied sharply. "And don't suck your teeth at me before you lose all of them, child."

"I'm not going to have any teeth left after I finish your rock you have the nerve to call Mac and cheese," Dreya said in response, crossing her arms and sitting back into her seat.

"My name is Cashmere, and my middle name is Selassie," I spoke up, finally fed up with her. "I don't want to be called by the translation of my middle name. Call me by my birth name or don't call me anything at all."

Her eyes narrowed at me, and I cocked my head in return. I was not about to let this old bitch think she had a step up on me. Only step up she had on me was the fact that she was dying first.

"So, who are you?" Uncle Kenny said, pointing his finger at Zayn. "Last time I checked, Africans are all black."

My dad's side of the table chuckled, and our side stayed silent. They must've eventually found the silence awkward, because the laughter quickly died down with a clearing of the throat.

"I'm half Pakistani, actually," Zayn replied, squeezing my hand gently under the table. "And I'm not a part of the family, I'm just here with—"

"Cash's boyfriend over here is a Muslim," my dad felt the need to interrupt to tell his family.

"Really, man?" Ivan asked, his eyebrows raised. "That's dope, because I've been actually—"

"How can you let your daughter date a terrorist?" The question was now directed to my mother by Aunt Mo. "Veronica, you should know better!"

All of a sudden, the glass in my mother's hand shattered and she stood up so fast, her chair fell over. "Now you listen to me, Monique. I have had it with this family constantly berating me and my children's choices. You have no right to parade into my house and talk to me about my kids and how I raise them."

Aunt Mo's jaw dropped and she tried to say something, but my mom wouldn't let her.

"I've had it with you flapping your gums about what I'm doing for my family, when your own father left you as a child—"

"Veronica, shut your mouth about my father," Dad said, his voice taking a grave tone, and I knew I was not going to let him talk to her like that.

"Shut the hell up, Thomas!" My mother screamed, finally fed up with people trying to talk over her. "I've been shutting my mouth for years and I'm tired! Just get out! Get out of my house!"

With her bloodied hand, she picked up the pan of mashed potatoes and flung them in his direction. "Get out!"

She then picked up my aunt's Mac and cheese and threw it on her. "I don't want any of you on my property!"

At this point, my dad's side was deflecting food being throw at them, and my cousins started throwing bread rolls at them too. I chuckled a bit before starting to throw candied yams in their direction as well.

Soon enough they cleared out, and the chair at the head of the table was covered in food. My mom started to laugh, and because her laugh was infectious we all joined in.

We laughed until our bellies hurt and our throats protested because it was all so damn funny but so damn foolish and liberating.

My mom finally stood up to my father's family after so many years and I couldn't even begin to understand how free she must've felt after she threw the first pan of his own food at him.

Once we all calmed down, she slid the turkey off the table, and moved her own food over. "Now, we eat."

Zayn smiled at me, before we all dug in with our forks.

So we ate all of my mother's traditional food, danced to my mother's habesha music on top of my dad's food and sang Broadway show tunes on the rooftop at the top of our lungs through the late night, after cyphing a few blunts with my cousins.

Even with all the insanity that occurred a mere two hours ago, I knew why I wanted to come home. This was my home.

"Cash, I've been thinking about something for a while, and I've talked it over with my coach," Adonis said, lighting up another blunt before passing it to Isra.

"What's up?" I asked, my brain starting to get into that hazy state. "I'm all ears."

"I wanted it to be a surprise at dinner but that all turned to shit so imma just tel you now," he said, leaning his head on the satellite behind him. "I'm transferring to NAU for basketball after the semester is over."

My eyes widened and my jaw dropped. "Y-You're what?"

Suddenly, it felt as if my chest was caving in and my lungs were being squeezed.

"—breathe. Adonis, what the fuck happened to her?" Zayn's voice floated into my mind, and I could only hear broken fragments of his conversation.

"—panic attack. ...gets them often." Isra now said something, and I could no longer see the night sky looking down at me. It was only pure darkness until I couldn't feel anything.

---

a/n: this chapter probably makes no sense but it's been sitting in my drafts for weeks.

btw my birthday is in a week 🤗 November 6th

SCORPIO GANG GLLLLLTT

anyway, I hope this was long enough and y'all get a feel for why Cash is the way she is.

-Rachel.