Cousinly

My cousin lent a hair-tie over Christmas and the minute she gave it to me I knew I was not going to give it back. Really, I knew that I had one somewhere, but there is such a comfort in asking someone you love for something you need when you know they will absolutely give it to you. Like asking your mom for a glass of water at bedtime. Asking a librarian if you can check out a book. The comfort of a Y.e.s. in a world of ‘oh idk maybe?’ I kept it because I knew I would miss her. She didn’t die or anything, she just lives in Florida and has three kids and a job. We see each other maybe once a year.

I’m an only child. As such, I revel in these sisterly moments when I can. On an unexpected hike in the Marin Headlands on a perfect November day, I lent my cousin (younger cousin, cousin- not-of-the -hair- tie above, although her hair accessories are plentiful) a white teddy bear jacket my mom had made. The pictures I have of her that day are her are doubly rich for her wearing something my mom made. I’ve lived far from ‘home’ for most of my adult life, so having people I love all together in the same place is deeply satisfying, even if their presence is only by teddy bear coat proxy.

Over the years, in times of need, I have of course conjured up imaginary siblings for myself. My sisters are Jo March, Lizzie Bennet, Katniss Everdeen- types primarily, and there’s also a very tall, very strong older brother who is almost certainly Bruce Wayne. For some reason, in all my imaginings there’s only ever one brother. Like all siblings, my imaginary ones and I don’t always get along, but when it comes right down to it, when faced with an urgent interplanetary attack from beyond time and space, we get it together. We snap on our spandex and matching velvet scrunchies, reluctantly pick up our nunchuckas/crossbows/ lightsabers / wits! and make it happen. 

In reality, I have four cousins on my mom’s side who are my de facto siblings, although, all having siblings of their own, I can’t be sure they think of me in quite the same way. Over the years I’ve given them fictional storylines to highlight their actual ones. M is so beautiful that her children believe she is an actual exiled fairy princess and are slightly terrified of her. C will save us all when the world ends, either by leading us to a secret agrarian society of which he has been a long-time member in good standing, or by using his nunchuck skills (see above) to ferry us out of a crumbling metropolis via an underground labyrinth full of terrors and wonders that he has secretly known and studied since childhood. R and R are not actually twins, but can and do communicate without speaking. Those two have their feet planted firmly in the future and already know things through their hive mind that the rest of us can’t even imagine.  

I have a son, he’s eight now. I was single and working full-time during the years that his fellow toddlers started having siblings.  At the playground other parents would sometimes ask me if I wanted “more” with a knowing look (eyebrows raised, head a little to the side, and sometimes already nodding). Like asking a pet goldfish if they’d enjoy a swim in the Mediterranean. Sure. I would say “sure, someday maybe”.  Probably they were just making conversation, I don’t think anyone (with one exception possibly) was questioning my single-mom-hood. Possibly they were considering having more children themselves and it was just on their mind.  Maybe they were curious about what our story was, dipping their toe just below the surface of standard parental playdate patter to see if, like our children, we too, might be able to spend a few hours in happy company together at the park, whether we might eventually even be, gasp, *friends*. 

I’m married now, and it’s likely my son will also be an only child. He’s terrified we’ll change our minds. “It’s not in the plan right now” I told him. He nodded, then after a short pause said. “Can it never be part of the plan?” He told me it seemed like total chaos to have a brother or sister, and of course it does. But doesn’t it all?

There is a series of pictures my parents and I took of each other when my son was about a month old. We are having coffee in Brooklyn. My son is sleeping in a borrowed fluffy white snowsuit. There is one photo with my mom smiling while holding him. One with my dad inexplicably holding up a Perrier bottle for the camera in front of his grandson. There’s one of me mugging with an elaborately patterned cappuccino. And a perfect one. Light coming through on the left, almost totally obscuring the sleeping baby’s face, and part of my dads face. My dad smiles his best camera smile. My mom looks at my son and smiles a true love smile. My parents are wearing black, my son in white. Because it’s a little bit too dark in the cafe, the light and the shadows are magnificent on the red walls. A coffee shop Rembrant. Just like that, I wasn’t the only child anymore, he was! Magic.

I stole my cousin’s hair tie because it was hers, because it was distinctive, black and white patterned, and I knew that if I took it would become special. I think about all the bread crumbs of relationship I’ve surrounded myself with, my wedding ring on down to the cashmere socks I had given to my mom for her birthday, but which she then gave back to me because they didn’t fit right. She’s wasn't wrong, they don’t fit right. I will keep them forever.