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The smell of roasted chicken and garlic rice filled the house, but I barely registered any of it. My foot bounced anxiously where I sat on the edge of the living room couch, watching my parents chat with Felix across the room. Zarina and Genesis were nearby, casually talking about some show they'd been watching, throwing glances my way every now and then.
I was trying to act cool, like I wasn't about to combust from the inside out.
Trayvon was on his way.
This was it. This was the dinner. The dinner. I kept running my hands over my pants, wiping off sweat that probably wasn't there. I'd gone over this moment a million times in my head. I told myself it'd be fine and that Trayvon was respectful, chill, mature. That he'd be himself, and that'd be enough.
But the way my dad had stared at me earlier in the week still echoed in my brain. He was calm now, chatting with my mom like this wasn't about to be an interrogation. But I knew better.
Then came the knock.
My heart jumped into my throat. Everyone fell quiet for a second before my dad stood up. "I'll get it," he said.
I didn't even have to peek around the corner. I heard the door open, then Trayvon's voice was calm, smooth, respectful. "Good evening, sir. I'm Trayvon. Thank you for having me."
I heard the handshake. Then another. "Mrs. Barron," he greeted my mom.
Then he stepped into the house, and I swear time paused for a second.
His locs were freshly dyed black, pulled half up, and he was dressed in a casual outfit. A nice polo that hugged his biceps with dark blue jeans. He looked professional. Like he'd thought about this. Like he cared.
"Hi," he said to me with this little smile only I would notice.
"Hey," I replied, standing beside him. I could feel the heat rising in my face.
Zarina walked up first, offering him a hug. "So this is the Trayvon," she teased.
Genesis waved politely from the dining room.
"Nice to meet you."
Felix gave a nod. "Wassup."
We all sat at the table, the food already set. My mom offered Trayvon a plate first, which I took as a good sign.
"So," my dad said, as we passed dishes around, "Tell us more about yourself, Trayvon. What is it you do?"
Trayvon sat up straighter. "I'm a fashion designer. I went to school for it, actually. Right now, I do custom pieces and small collections, but the goal is to launch a bigger brand someday."
My mom raised an eyebrow, curious. "Fashion? That's not a field you hear about every day."
"It's definitely not easy," he admitted with a small smile, "but it's something I'm passionate about. It keeps me grounded."
