What My Cousin Did

The scene opens in the backseat of a moving car, scenery rushing past the window half-hidden by an 18-year-old girl with her forehead against the glass. Rebecca stares at nothing. The only sound is the road until her mother’s voice cuts through the front seat—muffled at first, then sharp. “Rebecca, for God’s sake, pay attention for two hours.” Rebecca jerks awake. She answers half-asleep, barely hearing the rest. Her mother talks about cousins Harold and Diane, the reunion, Todd’s name thrown in like it’s nothing. The word hits Rebecca hard; she sinks back, drags her arms over her face and lets out a thin, quiet breath. Cut to the front steps. Harold and Diane greet her parents, hugs and small talk, the whole group drifting toward the house. Rebecca hangs back, head down, fingers tight around her own arm. When they finally notice her, Harold and Diane pull her into a warm hug. They ask about college, tease her about boyfriends, mention Todd is single, “an old soul at nineteen.” Her mood slips. She excuses herself to the bathroom, says she feels sick, and slips inside. In a quiet guest room she tries to steady her breathing until a knock comes. Todd steps in. He brought medicine. She tells him she’s fine, just needs space. He won’t leave. He asks why she ghosted him after graduation. The truth slips out: she felt it that night at the bar—the bartender calling them a couple, the way Todd’s arm stayed on her shoulder. She knew what he wanted and knew she wanted it too. That scared her worse than anything. She cut him off to keep them both clean. Now the door is closed, her back against it. Todd steps closer, one hand braced on the wall beside her head. He asks if he can kiss her. She bites her lip, fights it, but the word that comes out is “yes.”