Grandma decided to host Thanksgiving at her house. I've known about it for days, but I didn't expect so many people to show up.

She has a big house with two stories and an even bigger yard that could fit a barn, but somehow it feels cramped.

My uncles, aunts, and cousins arrived from all over. They mostly live in the Carolinas and Arizona, but traveled all the way to Minnesota to see Grandma.

I'm slouching on one of her sofas between my cousins Dorian and Maliki. They're eight and ten, and like to stare with their mouths open.

The only cousin I'm looking forward to seeing — if she shows up — is my cousin Jennifer, but her mom probably won't bring her. This marks their first Thanksgiving without her dad and I don't know if she's gotten over it.

Grandma walks through the dining room arch and into the living room. Her dark grey hair is tied back in a low bun without a part.

"Sit up straight, girl," she says and her sharp tone makes the three of us obey her. The china cabinets shake as she walks toward the front door. It's wide open, but the screen door is shut. "Did anyone invite someone over?" There's a collective No, and Grandma mumbles, "Then who're these people in front my house?"

I narrow my eyes in thought, then they relax. Me, Maliki, and Dorian turn in our seats to sit on our knees. We look out the window through the sheer, floral curtains.

A black Bentley Bentayga is parked next to my dad's Rover. A woman stands by the driver's side holding a casserole dish covered with aluminum foil.

The guy with her has his hand past the back door and a smaller hand takes his. He helps Destiny out of the truck and my heart skips a beat.

She's wearing dark leggings, tall UGGs, and a turtleneck sweater dress. He shuts the door behind her and clicks the key fob, making the headlights flash with a chirp.

Destiny holds his hand as the three of them stroll toward the porch. I jump up and run toward my Grandma, and she furrows her eyebrows at me.

"That's my best friend from school," I say, unable to contain my excitement. I didn't expect her to really show up.

"Hey, good afternoon," Grandma says, smiling with her false teeth. She unbolts and pushes the screen door open, then ushers them inside.

"Hi, I'm sorry if we're late. I had to stop and get drinks," Tamika says, turning to Grandma. Me and Destiny look at her mom and the man with them, hoping they'll let us walk away. "You all drink Mountain Dew, right?"

"We're a Mello Yello household, but anything's welcome as long as it's not root beer." I turn my head to the sound of my dad's voice, then quickly look forward.

With my eyes closed, I take a deep breath and groan as I exhale.

"Dad, please," I say. He walks closer while Grandma locks the screen door and extends his hand.

The man shakes my dad's hand with an even bigger grin. Grandma alternates her eyes from one adult to another.

"Sounds good. We actually brought a few hug juices, too," the man says, and I sigh through my nose. Noticing my anxiousness, Destiny turns to Tamika.

"Mom, can I go hang out with Leila," Destiny asks, and I purse my lips while clasping my hands in front of my chest.

Tamika nods and Destiny follows me toward the hall. My dad's voice carries through the house with a ton of energy that the man accompanying Destiny matches.

"I wanna show you her attic." I keep my voice down because I know how my Grandma gets.

When guests arrive, she locks the bedroom doors and her medicine cabinet. She has a living room and a den which we access at the end of the hall on special occasions.

She prefers family to use the living room furniture and strangers to sit in the den. I don't know why.

"This house is so huge and pretty." She looks around from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. "Her yard is insane. If it wasn't so cold, I'd ask to play hide-and-seek."

We stop under the attic door and I lift the reach extender resting against the wall.

"Well, I'm down if you ever change your mind," I say, and she nods. The attic door creaks like branches tearing off a tree and we cringe.

Mom's voice is closer but soft. She joined them in the entry.

The ladder unfolds as I tug the door handle further. When it clicks in place, I return the grabber and lead her up each step.

It creaks some more, threatening to snap under our weight but no one else seems to hear it.

I push myself onto my feet with a soft grunt, then turn to look around while she does the same.

She stands near the hole, her eyes wandering from one thing to the next. Grandma's attic is earthy with plants, wallpaper the shade of russet potatoes and dark brown wood flooring.

She has an off-white rug near the window, bookshelves full of old stories that look as boring as the rest of the house, and boxes on the other side of the room.

"So you had to clean this entire room," she asks, looking under her feet like she's checking for bugs or dirt.

"Yep." I set my hands on my hips and admire my handiwork. The shelves are dusted, the books are steamed and neatly organized alphabetically, and the floor is swept. "Completely alone."

"Wow," she mumbles, then wraps her arms around herself. I walk toward the bay window and stare at the kids racing their bikes up and down the street.

"Yeah." I plop down on the seat with my back to the glass. "It's not too bad, though. I actually kinda like it up here because it's so private." She purses her lips and nods, her eyes wandering onto the bookshelf to my left. "By the way, who's that guy you showed up with? Is he your dad?"

"No, that's my mom's brother Tevin," she says, her tone dry. "His girlfriend flew to Canada to visit her family, so since he would've been alone, he came over to see us."

I nod and shrug, saying, "That's cool," then we stay silent for a while.

The adults laugh and talk amongst each other. Here and there, the ADT security system alerts Grandma about the back door opening and closing.

The smell of baked turkey, baked macaroni and cheese, yams, stuffing, and other comfort foods blend easily and it finds its way to us.

"Can I ask you something," Destiny asks, and I nod. She narrows her eyes. "Why didn't you stand up to that girl from yesterday?"

My nostrils flare and my eyes glaze over. I lower my head, my hands traveling to my belt's chunky buckle.

I occupy my mind with the details on the metal. Vines are carved around the belt itself but the metal has my initials.

I can't help but to think about how I lost my temper with Melissa. She'd been pestering me every chance she got and the moment I had a chance to retaliate, I took it.

My only regret is doing it in front of everyone because I got in trouble even though she started it.

I take a deep breath, then drag my hand down my face.

"I don't know." My tone matches hers as the enthusiasm fades. "I feel like so much has happened in my life and I'm trying to figure things out. Petty things don't matter anymore."

"I guess," she mumbles. I turn at the hips and lift my left leg onto the seat. The silence returns and my eyes find a teenager standing at his mailbox. He's a few houses down, across the street. "Well, what about Keenan?"

"What about him?" I scrunch my face. She's always asking about him.

"I didn't see him when I walked in. Aren't y'all cousins?" I roll my eyes onto the dark clouds covering the sun.

"No," I say, my voice dragging like I'm groaning through my answer.

"But you both said you were." She narrows her eyes and lifts her hand, gesturing toward me.

"And you call me your best friend, but we hardly know each other." I whip my head to her and watch her expression shift from confused to neutral.

"What're you talking about?" She wrinkles her forehead. "I've known you for almost two weeks."

"Yeah, okay," I say and snicker, turning my head back to the front yard. Her reflection reaches its hand up and scratches between the parted braids. "There's a lot about me you don't know and won't understand."

"Leila, with all due respect, you're not as complicated as you make yourself seem." I slowly drag my attention to her. She's standing in the middle of the floor near the hole, her arms crossed and an unimpressed expression.

"Yeah? And you're so much different," I ask, the pitch and volume of my voice rising. I stand up to face her with my face sour. "You don't know anything about me just like I don't know anything about you. Honestly, this relationship is about as fake as the one you have with Aniyah."

"Girl, bye! You thought you ate." She fans me off with one hand while the other sits on her hip. With a raised brow, she says, "Me and Aniyah's friendship doesn't have anything to do with you. I don't know what's wrong with you, but I'm not wasting Thanksgiving arguing with you."

Destiny turns her back to me and crouches down to leave the attic. She walks down the steps slowly, her eyes glued to the floor below us.

I know I'm not complicated, but I know this isn't as black and white as she may believe.

There's so much I wanna tell her, but the words get stuck below a lump that always forms in my throat. It's because of Keenan. If I hadn't gone through so much in the '90s, I'd still be the same girl who takes nothing seriously.

I'd tell her what I know about the Leonid Shower and maybe travel with her to a different century if she was interested, but I can't. Keenan would be furious. He'd be even more disappointed if he found out I went and told people that time-traveling is possible.

I want her to know so badly. I feel like if she knew, maybe our friendship would be authentic and maybe then she'd understand me.

But, for now, I'm stuck in limbo.

***

It always surprises me how nimble the older people in my family can be. All it takes is old music playing from the radio on Grandma's patio to make fifty-year-old men and women dance like they're thirty years younger.

They'd eat, sometimes drink alcohol, and hit the backyard to dance alone or with partners. It's like this every holiday.

It didn't take long for Tamika and Tevin to get comfortable with my family. They fit like a glove with his corny jokes and her cooking. Everyone loved her baked turkey wings.

I sit on the back steps with my elbows on my knees and my chin in my palms. My eyes are dimly set on a large tree in the back corner of the yard.

It reminds me of the one from 1990 that held the treehouse in Keenan's yard.

My tongue feels like it's covered in sand, so I swallow and it scratches my throat.

While the adults are outside, I make my way to Grandma's kitchen and stop at the sink overlooking the side yard. Her dish rack is full of porcelain bowls and glass cups, so I take a cup and flick the water on.

Halfway through the water pouring in, I shut the tap off and bring the cold drink to my lips. I can only take two gulps before I stop, frozen in place like a statue.

There's this feeling in my chest and stomach like I swallowed moths and it makes my brows close in.

Suddenly, looking around, I feel like I've walked into a stranger's house and made myself at home.

Grandma's drapes; her white fridge with magnets holding up baby pictures and report cards; the little table in the kitchen that seats two. Everything.

The water sloshes around in my trembling hand as I step into the living room. She has porcelain cherubs on the table near the front door, multiple sofas, a giant box television cased in a theater wall unit, and a VCR on the shelf underneath the TV.

I blink a few times, then get so desperate that I pinch my arm. That leaves a mark in the shape of a crescent moon.

I walk toward the TV and stare at my reflection — or what seems to be me. She raises her hand when I do and has water in the other hand.

I place my palm against my chest, but it feels like I'm touching someone else. My heart pounds and thumps, frantically keeping me alive.

I lift my hand and scan from my nails to my wrist. Even the lines on my palm are jagged and unfamiliar like there are more lines that I remember.

The feeling presses down on me, heavy and suffocating. This is my Grandma's house—of course it is—but it feels wrong, like a photo slightly out of focus.

The magnets, the cherubs, the table—they all belong here, yet I can't shake the feeling that I don't. Like I'm an intruder in someone else's life.