I take pity on my cousin—and, well, myself, obviously—which is why I make the request to take her out tonight. Partially because I feel bad, her spending an entire summer away from her friends back home, and partially because I desperately require a drink. All this talk of college is driving me crazy, so I deserve a break. If I don't get one, there's a high likelihood that I spontaneously combust all over Nana's dinner table, and while she has people to clean that kind of mess up, I'd feel bad making them do it.
I feel guilty enough as it is, crashing her space while we wait for the power to be restored in her house. She usually loves having everyone around, but I can tell she isn't a fan of the charged tension practically vibrating between my mom and Aunt Clara. I don't know the full story, only half. Only my mom's side, which she likes to tell in indignant, hushed tones over a glass of dessert wine with her hand pressed to her chest.
"Promise me," she always says to me and my siblings. "Promise me you'll always be reasonable people."
After we clear our plates, I follow Rowan up to her room. She casts a befuddled look at me before she turns and climbs the stairs, as if she can't quite grasp the idea of going out with me. I pretend to ignore this as I hum a song that's been stuck in my head all day under my breath. She's dragging her feet while I skip up the steps behind her.
I've spent a lot of time in Nana's house over the years, so it's nice to see a little change come to it, even if it's as small as a few new picture frames. I pluck one up as Rowan heads to the closet, newly filled with her clothes. I study the photo of her and two other girls, faces crammed together, smiling happily for the camera.
Rowan looks bare faced and happy, her mouth open wide, as if she was captured mid-laugh. Straight white teeth, a light smattering of freckles across her high cheekbones, enviously dark eyebrows. I'd commit serious crimes for eyebrows like hers. She's actually really pretty, my long-lost cousin. I know, I know, it sounds like I thought she wouldn't be, but in my defense, I haven't seen her in literal years. She has intriguing eyes, cat-like and a pretty, swirling hazel color that only adds to the mysterious air she has about her. While she has inarguably lovely facial features, she doesn't seem to have decent fashion sense.
The piles of neatly stacked athletic shorts and shirts tell me that she doesn't wear much else. I unfold a t-shirt, the words ROCKBY BOROUGH FIELD HOCKEY emblazoned on the front, with the number 13 on the sleeve. What a mouthful.
That's right. She's athletic, too. Suddenly, it seems less likely for my mother to pit me and Rowan against each other as it is for her to use Rowan as an example for everything I'm lacking.
"So," I say, drawing the word out for effect, flopping down stomach-first onto the bed. I kick my bare feet up behind me. "Does it feel like you're on another planet yet?"
She glances back at me. "What do you mean?"
"I've been told that the Isle is like no other place on Earth. Is it true?"
"Told by whom?" She asks, before shaking her head. "I think it's too early to tell."
"Do you do this kind of thing where you're from?"
"Sometimes."
"I'm shocked. I thought you'd show up with, like, pounds of animal print and gallons of fake tan, ready to party."
She shoots me a flat, unimpressed look.
"You watch too much reality television."
"So New Jersey isn't like that at all?" I gasp, slapping a hand over my mouth as I feign shock. "My life has been a lie."
