The Cousins

by Karen M. McManus

  “Hi, Dad.” I start walking again and make a sharp turn down a less crowded side street, where tall trees behind a stone wall shade the sidewalk. Behind me, I can hear the tap of Milly’s sandals as she follows. “How’ve you been?”

  “Fine,” he says coolly. And then he goes so silent that I’d think the call dropped if I didn’t know better. He’s punishing me for avoiding him all week. This is what my father does when he’s annoyed: withholds affection and approval to make his disappointment clear. I know that, and yet…

  “I’m going to brunch with Gran next weekend,” I blurt out. “Did Mom tell you?”

  “She did.” Another long pause. “That certainly took long enough.”

  “Gran had to go to Boston,” I say, hating the defensive note creeping into my voice. I take a sip of iced coffee and almost gag. The cashier gave me hazelnut by mistake, and that’s my least favorite flavor in the world. I toss the nearly full cup into a trash can as I continue to walk.

  “I heard,” Dad says. “I’m surprised you let that happen.”

  I plug my free ear with an index finger, not sure I’m hearing him right. “What do you mean? I didn’t let anything happen. She just—went.”

  “Of course she did. Because you weren’t proactive enough.”

  “Not proactive enough,” I echo, stopping in my tracks. Milly pauses too. We’re beside an arched stone entranceway, the gold-rimmed plaque beside it indicating that whatever’s inside is either touristy or historically significant, but my vision goes too hazy for me to know which. “You think I should’ve been more proactive.”

  “Yes. This is your biggest problem, Aubrey. You’re passive. You’d rather waste an entire summer than take matters into your own hands.” He gathers steam, like this is a topic he’s been meaning to address with me for a while, and I’ve finally given him the perfect opening. “Did it ever occur to you to get in touch with your grandmother yourself, or speak with her assistant?” I don’t reply, and his voice turns even more condescending. “I didn’t think so. Because you don’t act, you react. That’s what I mean by proactive.”

  For a few seconds, I can’t reply. I’m rooted to the sidewalk, the words spoken by Dr. Baxter my first day on Gull Cove Island flashing through my head. Adam had seeds of greatness, didn’t he? But he wasted them. Foolish boy. Could’ve changed it all with a word.

  I wonder which word that was, and if it’s half as enraging as—

  “Proactive?” I say. It bursts from me like an icicle, sharp and cold and deadly. “Do you mean proactive like when you fucked my swim coach and knocked her up? Is that the kind of proactive I should be shooting for?”

  Milly makes a strangled little noise as she presses both hands against my side, pushing me away from the scattered pedestrians on the sidewalk and through the stone archway. We’re someplace quiet and green, but nothing else registers beyond my father’s harsh, incredulous words thundering in my ear. “What did you say?”

  I’m shaking all over as I walk blindly forward, Milly by my side. My throat has closed to a pinprick, and I can barely squeeze the words out. “You heard me.”

  “Aubrey Elizabeth. How dare you speak to me like that? Apologize immediately.”

  I almost do. The urge to please him is so strong, ingrained over seventeen years, that despite everything, I feel a desperate need to make the anger in his voice go away. Even though I’m the one who should be angry. And I am, but it’s not the hard, relentless anger he deserves. It’s the kind that will crumble into a pathetic apology if I stay on the phone. “No,” I manage to choke out. “I’m hanging up now. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

  I disconnect and immediately power down my phone. Then I stuff it in my pocket, drop like a stone onto the grass, and cover my face with my hands.

  There’s a rustling sound beside me, and a tentative hand pats my arm. “Wow. That was—wow. I did not see that coming. Any of it,” Milly says. I don’t reply, and she adds, almost to herself, “I didn’t think you had it in you to go off like that.”

  I lower my hands with a reproachful look. “Really? So you’re basically agreeing with my father that I’m a do-nothing loser? Thanks a lot, Milly.”

  My cousin’s eyes widen in horror. “No! Oh God. I didn’t mean that. I just…I’m sorry. I’m bad at comforting people. Obviously.” She’s still patting my arm mechanically, and she’s right. There’s nothing even a little bit comforting in the gesture. “Uncle Adam is a rat bastard and I’m glad I threw up on him when I was two,” she adds, and I snort.

  “You did?”

  “According to my mother.”

  “He’s never mentioned it. Not that I’m surprised. We don’t talk about anything that might make him look less than perfect. I wasn’t supposed to say anything about this.” A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow against it. “It’s bad enough that he cheated on my mom. But he did it with her. Coach Matson has been my coach since middle school! I idolized her. I wanted to be her. I even…God, I’m the idiot who introduced them.”

  The image has been playing across my mind all month: me dragging Dad to the edge of the pool sophomore year, insisting he finally meet the woman who’d been training me for years. Standing proudly between my young, pretty coach and my handsome, distinguished father, pleased to be the connecting thread between the two people I admired most in the world. It never occurred to me that they’d think of one another in any way except in relation to me.

  There are a lot of shitty things about this situation, but one of the worst is realizing that neither of them ever thought much about me at all.

  Tears start pooling in my eyes and slipping down my cheeks. I haven’t cried properly since my father broke the news last month. At first I was too shocked to react, and then—like I’ve been doing my whole life—I took my cue from him. He didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t. He acted like this was something that happened to our family, instead of something he caused. Like it was a random natural accident that nobody could have predicted or avoided. It took being three thousand miles from him to realize how colossally messed up that was.

  I take a deep breath, trying to get myself back under control, and end up letting out a loud, choked sob. Then another one.

  “Oh. Oh no. It’s, um, going to be all right,” Milly says as I cry harder. “I have a tissue in here somewhere, hang on….” I can hear her rooting around in her bag, and then her voice turns a little desperate. “Okay, it’s not a tissue, it’s one of those cloths you use to get smudges off your sunglasses. But it’s nice and soft. And clean, mostly. Do you want it?”

  I take it from her with a strangled half laugh and swipe it across my eyes. “You weren’t kidding. You’re terrible at this.”

  “At least I made you laugh. Sort of.” Milly takes one of my hands in both of hers and gives it a decisive pump. It feels more like she’s running for office than consoling me, but I let it slide. “I’m really sorry,” she says earnestly. “None of this is your fault. It’s totally normal for you to want people you care about to get along.”

  “Did they ever,” I say hollowly. “The worst thing is, I thought they liked each other because of me. Pathetic, huh?”

  “Yes,” Milly says. I give her another reproachful look until she adds, “I assume you’re talking about Uncle Midlife Crisis and Coach Home-wrecker? Ugh, he’s such a gross cliché, isn’t he? And she’s no better.”

  I blink back fresh tears. “Everything is a mess. I feel so guilty that it’s hard talking to my mom like normal, even though she’s said a million times that this has nothing to do with me. I stopped swimming with my team because I couldn’t stand being around Coach Matson. I don’t think I can ever go back. I can’t imagine what meets will be like next year once the team finds out. Nobody at school knows yet.”

  Including Thomas. I’d wanted to tell him, but the timing never felt right. I�
�m not sure what it says about our relationship that I told the cousin I’ve known for less than two weeks before the boyfriend I’ve known four years, but it probably explains the silent breakup we’re having.

  “What’s going to happen?” Milly asks. “With the baby and everything?”

  “Well, she’s keeping it. So I’ll have a half sibling at some point this fall. Maybe it’ll be the boy Dad always wanted.” Milly squeezes my hand harder as I add, “I don’t think my parents are going to make it through this. I don’t see how they could. And my father refuses to get a real job and support himself, so…worst-case scenario, I guess my swim coach becomes my stepmother.” The thought gives me a full-body shudder, and I let it run through me before darting an apologetic look at Milly. “I mean, I know you have a stepmother and all, but—”

  “Not even close to the same thing,” she says quickly. “There was no cheating involved. My dad didn’t meet Surya until the divorce was finalized. And he wasn’t the one who wanted it in the first place.”

  I drop my head. “What is wrong with my father? He could’ve been so much more. It’s like Dr. Baxter said—he had all this potential, and he wasted it. He turned out…so small.”

  “I know,” Milly says. “I feel the same way about my mom. Well, she’s not horrible like your dad, but…she’s so cold. She doesn’t let anybody in. My father could never do anything right with her, and he tried so hard. It makes me feel like—what’s the point? If he couldn’t get through, I have no shot. He’s way nicer and more patient.” She gives my hand one last squeeze, then leans back on her elbows with a sigh. “The Story family is seriously messed up.”

  The simple truth of that hits me with more surprise than it should. Even though I’ve always known my father’s family wasn’t exactly normal, I used to think there was something…romantic, I guess, about their particular brand of dysfunction. But truth is, my dad and his siblings are all miserable: him ripping our family apart out of a deep-seated need to feel special without working to accomplish anything; Aunt Allison pushing Uncle Toshi away and keeping Milly at arm’s length; Uncle Anders having such a bad relationship with his only son that JT paid an imposter to defy him; and Uncle Archer falling out of touch for years on end due to one addiction or another. For a second, I wish I still had my father on the phone. You need to face up to whatever you did that turned Mildred against you, I’d tell him. Before the person you could’ve been is gone forever.

  It would be pointless, though. If there’s one thing my father has an unshakable belief in, it’s himself as a misunderstood genius.

  I blink the last of my tears away, and our surroundings finally come into focus. “Are we in a…graveyard?” I ask Milly.

  “Oh. Yes. It was, you know, a little more private here.” A small grin tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Check out who we ended up next to. It’s a family reunion.”

  I follow her gaze to the letters etched across the gravestone beside us:

  Abraham Story

  Beloved husband, father, and philanthropist

  “Family first, always”

  “Ironic quote,” Milly says, and I manage a short laugh.

  “You know what?” I say. “My father was right about one thing. Only one thing,” I add as Milly raises a skeptical brow. I feel lighter after finally letting my pent-up tears out, and sharper, too, as though I’ve shed blinders that were forcing me to miss half of what’s around me. “We shouldn’t just sit back and wonder what’s happening. We should do something.”

  “Like what?” Milly asks, shifting immediately into problem-solving mode. “Talk to Chaz? Maybe he can put us in touch with Edward Franklin.”

  “That’s one idea, but I was thinking of something else.” I stand and brush off my shorts. “Let’s give Hazel that interview she’s been after. And ask some questions of our own.”

  Allison paused outside the door to her mother’s study at the sound of familiar voices. “Rest and exercise, Mildred. Both will do you a world of good,” Dr. Baxter said as he zipped up a medical bag. Dr. Baxter didn’t typically do house calls, let alone appointments at nine o’clock at night, but he’d always made an exception for the Storys. Especially in the six months since Father had died unexpectedly of a heart attack, and Mother was suddenly hyperaware of her own heartbeat.

  “It feels erratic,” she’d say, one hand clasped tightly over her chest.

  But Allison knew what the problem was with her mother’s heart: it was broken.

  “I keep telling her that,” came another voice. Theresa Ryan, Mother’s assistant and Matt’s mother. “Let’s bring a yoga instructor here, Mildred. It’s calming and an excellent workout. We could both use it.”

  Theresa sounded more stressed than usual. She’d moved into Catmint House a few months ago at Mother’s insistence—“temporarily, just until I get on my feet,” Mildred had promised—and Allison was sure Theresa found the proximity tiring. Mildred’s constant fearfulness and her inability to make even the simplest decision wasn’t surprising at this point in the grief cycle, but it was disconcerting for everyone who was used to the Story business running like a well-oiled machine. Allison knew Adam was feeling pressured too, as their mother kept hinting that she’d like him to come home more often next semester and take an active role in managing some of their properties.

  “The whole point of going away to college is to go away,” he’d complained yesterday while the four Story siblings were sprawled on oversized towels on the beach in front of Catmint House. “I don’t want to be back here every other weekend like some kind of townie.”

  “Someone’s unclear on the definition of a townie,” Anders said, his voice muffled from beneath the Indiana Jones–style hat he’d placed over his face. The rest of him looked just as ready for an archaeological dig in linen pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Unlike his siblings, Anders burned to a crisp in the sun, no matter how much sunscreen he put on. But that day he looked less out of place than usual, because it was a cool sixty-nine degrees. Allison was in a sweatshirt, and kept wishing she hadn’t worn shorts.

  “You could step up, you know,” Adam said peevishly. “Offer to come back occasionally. If we split things up, it might not be that bad.”

  “No thanks.” Anders yawned. “Mother is finally cashing those golden-boy chips you’ve been coasting on all these years. This is all you.”

  “That metaphor doesn’t even make sense,” Adam grumbled.

  Now, Allison rapped lightly on the doorframe to Mother’s study before poking her head in. “Hello,” she called as three heads turned her way. “Nice to see you, Dr. Baxter.”

  “You as well, Allison.”

  “We’re headed out, Mother.” At her mother’s blank look, Allison added, “To Rob Valentine’s. Remember?” Archer had successfully convinced his siblings, even Anders, to show up at his friend’s party tonight.

  “All four of you?” Mother asked.

  “Yes. I told you that earlier,” Allison said, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice. She’d mentioned it twice in fact, but lately Mother ignored anything she didn’t want to hear.

  Mother’s face sagged with disappointment. “I forgot about that. I thought we could have a family game night. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

  “Well…” Allison wished Adam were here. He was so much better at handling Mother’s moods. “Archer hasn’t seen Rob in a while, and we promised…”

  “Oh, Mildred, let them go,” Theresa urged. “It’s Saturday night. You have them all summer.” Mother still looked doubtful, but she sighed in a resigned sort of way as Theresa gave Allison a warm smile. “I think Matt will be there, too. Tell him I miss him, and I hope he’s eating something besides ramen noodles while he has the house to himself.”

  Allison’s heart skipped a beat. The coffee date Matt had mentioned last week during the party setup hadn’t
happened, but she’d been hoping to see him at Rob’s. “I will,” she said, and ducked back into the hallway before Mother could protest.

  * * *

  —

  “This summer sucks,” Anders complained as the four Story siblings crossed the street from the parking lot at Nickel Beach to Rob Valentine’s house. He zipped a thick Harvard sweatshirt all the way up to his neck and added, “It’s been freezing since we got here.”

  “Coldest summer in ten years,” Adam said, in that voice he used whenever he was sharing information he thought people should already know. “It’s wreaking havoc with coastal tide patterns.”

  “Fascinating,” Anders grumbled, then stopped short as they passed a distinctive, bright-green moped. “Oh hell. Fucking Matt Ryan is here.”

  “I think everyone is here,” Archer said diplomatically. He couldn’t resist elbowing Anders and adding, “We live on a twelve-mile island, remember? Nightlife is kinda limited.”

  Allison was silent. She’d hoped that Anders’s ire toward Matt might have cooled after a semester away, but apparently not.

  “Forget that guy,” Adam said, jogging up the front steps two at a time. He pulled the door open with a flourish and looked back. “He’s no one.”

  Rob Valentine had graduated from Gull Cove Island High last year, and he’d just moved into a new place—one of those rental bungalows that tourists wouldn’t touch because the owner couldn’t be bothered to invest in any upkeep. The beach grass in front was long and yellow, the paint was peeling, and one of the front windows was taped over with cardboard that did nothing to keep the cool air out. It was dim inside, filled with pulsing music and what looked like half of Gull Cove Island High’s current and recent student body. Allison couldn’t help but compare the noisy scene with the much more sedate parties she’d gone to at boarding school before graduating last month. Students lived on campus at Martindale Prep, as did a lot of teachers, which effectively dampened everyone’s social lives.