Author's Note: The following is based on an idea that popped into my head and wouldn't let go. While all characters and scenarios are entirely fictitious, it is inspired by real events, people, and emotions. I hope you enjoy.
***
When I was a kid, I was very close with my cousin Cassie.
And when I say close, I mean
very
close. Closer than most cousins are. Closer than most siblings are. Closer than most
people
are.
I suppose the blame for this can be placed at the feet of our parents, or more specifically our mothers. As fraternal twins, they had a naturally strong sisterly bond, so strong that they made a pact early in their lives to experience all its major milestones together. They attended college together, got married to their husbands together (a double courthouse wedding to be precise), even bought their homes together, right next door to each other.
The next step? Raising a family. Together, of course.
And so after heavy coordinating and intensive planning, Cassie and I were born only a few months apart (I'm the older one), and from the very beginning we were forged to have a strong bond of our own.
As infants, our mothers nurtured us as if we were one, taking advantage of their close proximity to each other to schedule "nursing dates," which is exactly what it sounds like. My mom and aunt would get together and feed us at the same time, talking and trading suburban gossip as Cassie and I suckled at their breasts. On the occasion that my aunt was indisposed or struggling to produce milk, my mother was happy to offer her other breast to Cassie, and in the few times this happened, she claims we held hands.
Considering how things ended up, I'm privy to believe her.
As children we spent every waking moment we could with each other. We played together, ate together, bathed together, and slept together.
Indeed, we had sleep overs all the time, alternating between each of our houses every weekend. The Saturday nights of our formative years consisted of us huddled in bed together after a long day of playing, whispering and giggling under the blankets deep into the night, to the point where our parents often had to ruin the fun and insist we go to sleep. We'd just shut our eyes until they left and go right back to whispering, making sure to be a little quieter. Eventually we'd fall asleep, almost always in each other's arms.
Our attachment to one another only grew as we did. By the time Cassie and I entered grade school we we're inseparable, to the point where our moms worked with the school to get us into the same class. This only lasted until third grade, where we proved disruptive enough that our teacher insisted Cassie be transferred to another class. This upset us both deeply, but the blow was softened knowing that, at the end of the day, we'd return to each other. At this point my mom had started working, so I had to hang at Cassie's house for a few hours after school until she or my dad picked me up. We'd pass the time by eating cookies while watching cartoons in a blanket fort, or with the occasional dip in their indoor pool. I vividly remember the water being so cold, and us discovering a way around that by taking a cold shower before jumping in. We took them together of course.
Our relationship grew so strong that our parents began to genuinely worry that we were becoming
too
close. A few times we told them that we were going to get married when we grew up, just like our moms and dads, and they would have to explain to us why that wasn't possible.
"You're cousins," they would tell us. "You can't get married."
"But why?" we would ask, and they'd do their best to dance around what was obvious to them but not to us. To us, sharing our lives seemed only natural. After all, we had been doing it all our lives.
It wasn't our parents however that eventually separated us. No, it was something much more powerful and primal.
It was puberty.
With the advent of adolescence, Cassie's and my relationship deteriorated quickly. At first we just started being kind of awkward around each other, which seemed innocuous at first. But then we started spending less time together, only seeing each other occasionally, around birthdays and holidays.
In school we barely talked. In fact it seemed like Cassie was intentionally avoiding me; prioritizing new friends and pursuing boys over spending any time with me. At first I was crushed, and I spent the early days of my teenage years lamenting the loss of the person whom I naively thought was my life partner. Obviously at this point I was old enough to know
why
we could never be more than cousins, but I was fine with that. We were family after all. Why couldn't we remain friends?
But as time marched on, I became depressingly accustomed to her absence, and eventually I had to accept that we had simply drifted apart.
It happens to everyone
, I told myself.
We shared a childhood, and now it's over.
The last real moment I spent with her was at our high school graduation ceremony. Our moms, themselves becoming distant from each other (which is a whole other story), insisted on us taking a picture together. Dressed in our graduation gowns and caps, we smiled and shook hands, during which our eyes locked but for the briefest moment before departing, for the final time.
By the time I had graduated college it was a rare day that I ever gave Cassie more than a passing thought. Despite still being alive she might as well have been dead; utterly absent from my life in every conceivable way, and I was well past the point of caring.
Eventually Cassie got married, bought a house, had kids, the whole shebang. And I wasn't involved in any of it. Aside from the occasional update from my parents, her life going forward remained mostly a mystery, and that was fine with me. I told myself I was over it, that I had moved on.
Still though, I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a moment here or there where I remembered her fondly, and all the wonderful childhood moments we shared.
Perhaps in another life we wouldn't have ended up this way.
***
"Bryan? Is that you?"
I turned away from the carton of eggs I'd been inspecting, to the unfamiliar feminine voice calling my name. It took only a moment to realize who it was. I'd recognize that red hair anywhere.
"Oh, hey Cassie.
"Oh my god!" Before I could react she took a few tepid steps away from her grocery cart and wrapped her arms around me. They hung limp and loose around my chest, betraying the awkward nature of this chance encounter. "It's been so long."
"Yeah it has." I took a step back to place the carton of eggs in the front seat of my cart. "How are you?"
"You know, I'm okay." She smiled, stretching her freckled cheeks from ear to ear. "Well, as okay as a recently divorced middle-aged woman can be."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I said, acting as if my parents hadn't already filled me in.
"What about you?" Cassie parted her hair behind her ear, drawing my attention to the silver streaks hiding within. "How's life been treatin' ya?
"I'm fine. Just working, living day by day. You know..." I trailed off and winced, fearing how boring I sounded.
"You're not married? No kids?"
"No, not at the moment." I winced again.
Cassie's eyes went wide. "Huh. I figured you'd be hitched by now. Well, you look good all the same Bryan."
I never considered myself to be particularly attractive. I'm just another skinny white guy with brown hair, so the compliment took me by surprise. It wasn't something I heard very often. And it was the last thing I ever expected to hear from her again.
"Thanks," I managed to say. "So do you."
It wasn't a lie. Cassie had been on the bigger side the last time I saw her, and seeing her now it was clear she had lost a decent amount of weight. Grey jeans sat snug on her wide hips, accentuating her curves, and a tie-dye blouse couldn't hide her sizable breasts.
"Well it was good seeing you." Cassie placed her hands on the handle of her cart, suggesting our brief reunion was about to end before it could begin.
