Making the Choice

Hey lovelies…

A week out from Thanksgiving. Yikes.

Every time I would notice the date this week, it seemed to ratchet up my anxiety, each second pushing me closer to the familial battlefield of Turkey Day.

It was on one such anxiety-ridden night that Anna came over, our shared dread pulling us together like magnets.

We sat in my apartment – roommate blessedly absent. I had unfurled two yoga mats on the living room floor, the soft hum of a meditation playlist wafting through the air.

The idea was to wrestle Anna into some semblance of yoga poses, a quest met with much giggling and good-natured complaints from her side. As I gently nudged her limbs into a downward dog, the conversation steered towards the approaching holiday.

Our laughter and light-hearted chat slowly melted into a serious discussion about the consequences of our budding plan.

The potential fallout from our families loomed over us. We would be breaking traditions, unhinging expectations, and sending a crystal-clear message of autonomy to our families. We knew it wouldn’t be met with open arms or understanding nods.

No one skips Thanksgiving and gets away with it.

In between the stretching and laughing, we laid out the pros and cons on the table. We didn’t need to say it out loud, but we knew: we had made our choice.

Done with yoga for the time being, I grabbed us both a ice water to cool down with.

Sitting silently, both of us felt it — the colossal task of informing our families of our decision. Anna’s fingers drummed a nervous rhythm on her glass while I fidgeted with a loose thread on my cushion. Akward.

Then, as if on cue, Anna blurted out, “Dare you to text your mom right now and break the news.”

I was caught off guard. “Are you serious? Right this second?”

She smirked, a playful glint in her eyes. “Scared?”

I wanted to match her moxie, she’s so contagious. “Only if you do it too,” I said half-laughing.

There was a silent stand-off , our eyes locked, searching for signs of hesitation. But the weight of it all collapsed on us, and we both burst into laughter.

“What if we swap phones?” Anna suggested, her eyebrows raised in challenge. “I’ll type out the message for your mom, and you do mine. Deal?”

It was a ridiculous plan, something schoolgirls would do, but in its absurdity there was some comfort. And perhaps, a touch of plausible deniability.

“Alright, but be nice,” I said, handing over my phone, while she passed me hers with a cheeky grin.

As our fingers danced on each other’s screens, there were giggles, a couple of false starts, and even a few playful jabs.

“Nope, you can’t use that emoji,” Anna cautioned, peeking at my screen. “My mom will think I’m being sarcastic.”

Minutes felt like hours, but finally, with one last glance at each other for reassurance, we hit ‘send’ simultaneously.

Two messages flew towards our families, and no doubt explanations and grief and guilt trips.

But in the gap of time before any replies came, in, it felt amazing.

Hell, my family was told I wasn’t coming home for Thanksgiving and I didn’t even need to be the one to do it. Anna’s my rock.

We were in this together. And as the replies from our moms began to beep and twinkle on our phones, we knew we had each other’s backs, come what may.

K.