My Cousin's a What?

Artwork by Moira Nelligar

Copyright 2020 Alana Church

== || < > || ==

~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~

== || < > || ==

Chapter 1: Home For the Holidays

"Tom!"

No answer.

"Tom!"

No answer.

"Thomas Edward Whitman! I know you're up there!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Tom muttered. He closed his book on a finger and raised his voice in answer. "What, Mom?"

His mother's voice came floating up from the bottom of the stairs. "I need you to go to the airport and pick up your cousin. Sara's flight is landing in less than an hour."

Tom walked into the hall and looked down the stairs. "And no one else can go pick her up?"

Evangeline Whitman set her hands on her broad hips and raised her eyebrows at him. "You've had a week to loaf around the house, young man. Besides." She ticked off points on her fingers. "Your sister has to stay here and watch the kids. I'm getting supper ready. Your Aunt Liz is at the store with Miranda. Your father won't be home from work for at least an hour. And your Uncle Doug is in Nebraska."

"Good riddance," Tom said.

His mother rolled her eyes, but didn't contradict him. "So you're elected. Besides. Weren't you telling me last night that you were going crazy with all the people around here?"

"Yeah, yeah." He walked downstairs. His mother waited for him impatiently, one toe tapping. "Why can't David do it?"

"Thomas." Her voice was dry, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Would

you

send David to an airport at this time of year?"

He snickered. He loved his little brother. Really. But David was the next best thing to a disaster behind the wheel. He'd only had his license for a year and a half, but he'd already rear-ended two separate cars due to his dreamy inability to pay attention to his surroundings. His mother had taken to counting out her rosary every time she sent him to the grocery store on an errand, and this from a woman who hadn't been to mass in years. Maybe, Tom thought, she couldn't stand the thought of another ding in the Malibu. Sending him to the airport at Christmas was just asking for a hike in their insurance rates.

"All right." He plucked up his heavy leather jacket from the coat hook by the front door and put it on, then checked his pocket to make sure his keys were there. "Do you know what airline she's coming in on?"

His mother shook her head, black hair frosted with silver waving back and forth. "No idea. But Liz will send you a text with all the details. Drive safe."

From the living room there was a crash, and then a voice rose up in an angry shriek. "Oh, God, what now?" his mother muttered, then hurried off.

He wasn't running away, Tom told himself as he drove north on the expressway towards O'Hare. It was more like a strategic withdrawal. But pack two big Irish Catholic families into one medium-sized house for the annual Christmas get-together, and things began to get very crowded very quickly. And when you added in the fact that his older sister

and

her husband

and

their two kids had arrived earlier in the morning, he was starting to feel a little bit claustrophobic.

Luckily, it was a nice day, by the standards of a Chicago afternoon in December. The sky was a high, thin blue, and the temperature hovered in the low twenties. They were even going to get a white Christmas this year, he observed with a smile. Three or four inches, depending on where you were, had fallen over northern Illinois two nights back, and the snow was a bright white blanket wherever you looked. And maybe even more by Christmas Day, which was now only two days away. The weatherman on WGN was talking about some lake-effect snow coming in by the next morning.

O'Hare was, predictably, a zoo. And why not, Tom thought, as he maneuvered his car into a parking spot so far away from the main terminal that it might as well have been in another zip code. It was one of the busiest airports in the world and two days before Christmas, besides. Thank God the weather was cooperating. There had been years when the area got a major snowstorm around Christmas, shutting down the airport for hours, or sometimes even days. And when that happened, you could hear the howls of people who had missed their connecting flights all the way out in Oak Park. Cars crawled through the feeder roads, and the entrances to the terminals were clogged with people who pulled their suitcases after them, tripping and shoving and looking as if they would shank their own mother if it meant they would get to the front of the line quicker.

Tom maneuvered through the crowd, his lanky height allowing him to see over other people's heads in the pandemonium. He managed to find a clear space against the wall a few yards away from the TSA counter, and kept his eyes open. Luckily, he had arrived a few minutes before the flight from Los Angeles came in, so at least Sara would have to walk past him to get to the baggage claim, and he wouldn't be hunting for her all over the damn terminal.

The gate opened, and a slow trickle of people began to leak through. Tired mothers with fidgety, fretful children; young couples obviously home for the holidays; older men and women in business attire, just as obviously back from a business trip to California.

And darting through the crowd, one familiar face, her hair a strawberry-blond cap on her head, dressed in a white sweater and jeans that hugged her lithe, long-legged frame. "Sara!"

"Tommy!" Her swift strides became a full-on dash.

"Ack!" He staggered back from the force of her embrace, coming in at him like a cornerback blitz.

His older cousin squeezed him tight around the chest, then stood back to take a look at him. "Good lord, Tommy. Are you ever going to stop growing? How tall are you now?"

"Six foot nine," he said, deadpan.

"What?" She gaped up at him in disbelief, then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You are not, you big liar."

"Six-one. And that's not that tall. Remember Grandpa Whitman? He was six-four at least."

"Big enough compared to me."

"What?" He looked around blankly, though his cousin was actually tall for a woman. Not even a head shorter than he was. "Where did that voice come from?" He glanced down and his grin broadened. "Oh, it's little Sara. I didn't even see you down there!"

"Jerk." She took his arm and marched him towards the baggage claim. "Let's get my stuff before I decide to knock you on your ass, Gigantor. And you were almost acting decent for once." She shook her head. "Well, you're a man. I guess you can't help it."

He leered cheerfully at her. "A man? Oh, my heart." He clutched at his chest dramatically. "A girl actually said I was a man. I can die happy."

Sara snickered. "Not yet. I need a ride back to Aunt Evy's place." She leaned forward and plucked a black suitcase off the rotating conveyer belt. "One more," she said.

"But seriously" She cocked her head, eying him speculatively. "You're looking good, Tommy. Did you lose some weight? The last time I saw you was at my graduation. And you were looking a bit...chunkier...then."

Tom shrugged, though his heart warmed at the unexpected compliment. "Yeah. You know what college is like, Sara. Too much time studying, too much time sitting on your rear end in a classroom or behind a computer." He looked down at his waist ruefully. "I wasn't happy with the way I looked. If I didn't get things under control, I was going to be like Mom in a couple of years. So I started going to the rec center on campus and working out. Nothing too heavy. Just some stuff on the exercise bike and the treadmill. And I got smarter when it came to dinner time." He grinned. "Good thing I got Dad's metabolism, instead of Mom's. It wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be, thank goodness. I'm down to one-eighty now. And that's where I plan on staying."

"Yeah. I know what you mean. I'm not saying my mom is fat. But she's festively plump at least. And if I'm ever going to make it as an actress," she added, swooping down to pluck a second suitcase off the belt, "I can't look like I need to go to fat camp."

"So how is the movie biz going?" he asked, and took one of her suitcases from her grip. A quick trip up the escalator and they left the terminal behind and emerged into the late-afternoon sunset. It was barely four o'clock, but the sun was already sinking in a haze to the west. "It'd be pretty cool to tell everyone about my famous cousin in Hollywood."

Sara ignored him, turning her face up into the December sky. "Ah! I missed this!"

"Missed what?"

"Missed

weather

, you big dope." Her breath made frosty plumes in the air, and her cheeks were rosy pink. "Have you ever been to Los Angeles? Ugh." She stuck her tongue out as he led her across the road and into the vast expanse of the parking lot. "Every day is exactly like every other day. Sunny and eighty-three. Or seventy-eight. And smog. Fuck, the goddamn smog. So fucking thick you think you're going to choke on it. Give me the Midwest any day. You know. A place where you actually have

seasons

. It might suck. It might be ten below in February. Or a hundred and two in August. But at least there's some variety."

He smiled as they arrived at his car. "I don't know, Sara. Have you ever lived through a Champaign winter?"

"Hah. It can't be any worse than Evanston. And it was your own fault for going to a public university. You could have gotten into Northwestern if you wanted."

"Don't," he warned her as he opened up the trunk and stowed her luggage away. "I have had enough of your private school crap."

"Aw, what's the matter, Tommy?" she taunted, as she slid into the passenger seat. "Did Northwestern beat Illinois in football again?"

"Not last year. The football team got a new coach and actually won soome games. And did Illinois kick Northwestern's ass

twice

in basketball last season?" he retorted. "Yeah. I thought so."

"Jealousy," Sara said primly as he maneuvered the Skylark out of the parking lot and onto the expressway south to Oak Park, "is a terrible thing in a young man."

"Right." He snuck a glance at Sara. "You do look good, you know. How are you doing out there? Really?"

Sara shrugged. "Not too bad. Really. I mean, I haven't had DiCaprio call me up and offer me the spot next to him in his next movie. But I'm not starving, either. I'm working. Which is the important thing."

"Really? Am I going to see you on Law and Order or something like that?"

"Hardly." Sara smiled, the expression pixie-like on her expressive, mobile face. She leaned back in her seat and stretched out her legs, clad in worn denim. The motion made her cashmere sweater tighten across her chest. Tom glanced at her bosom in temporary admiration, then concentrated on the road. "But there's usually work for people who aren't too choosy. I'm not going to turn up my nose at a training video about safety in the workplace, or how to avoid being a creep who sexually harasses women, if the money is right."

"Sexually harassing women? I didn't know you swung left-handed, Sara. Better not tell Mom. She'll have a stroke." He paused. "David would be

fascinated,

though."

His cousin punched him in the shoulder. "As the person who's getting

harassed,

you pig. It's not much. But it pays the bills. And I've got some auditions coming up after the holidays. Commercials, that sort of thing."

"Cool. You'll have to send me clips when they start playing on television."

"Will do," she said easily, then relaxed back in her seat. Traffic was, of course, its usual nightmare. The evening rush combined with thousands of people trying to get their last-minute Christmas shopping done had the expressways tied up in knots. Luckily, it was only about fifteen miles from the airport to his parents' house.

"Sara!" her mother shrieked as soon as they walked in the door. Tom followed, carrying her luggage. The older woman hugged her oldest child, then held her at arms' length. "What did you do to your hair?" she wailed.

Sara reached up, fingering the blond strands. "Had to do it, Mom. Once I become a big-time movie star I'll be able to grow it down to my rear end if I want. But for now, having really long hair is more trouble than it's worth when it comes to auditions." She shook her head. Her hair, which had once reached nearly to the small of her back, now barely grazed her shoulders. "If my character needs long hair, I can always wear a wig. Tommy didn't even notice." She threw a look over her shoulder at him, and he shuffled his feet.

But by that time, the rest of the house had heard of Sara's arrival, and a herd of uncles, aunts, and cousins thundered into the kitchen to welcome her home. Tom backed away, though he noticed that his cousin was blinking rapidly as she hugged her younger brother and sisters.

After that, the night was well-organized chaos. Dinner was done in the usual fashion, with the adults eating in the dining room upstairs, and all the kids at tables in the basement. Since "kid" was defined as "anyone under the age of thirty," that meant that Tommy ended up sitting across from Sara at a card table. To graduate to the main floor, he thought grumpily, he would have to wait until someone actually died. Or he got married, since his older sister Kate and her husband had been promoted to the adults table a few years back.

"Remember when we were kids, and this seemed like a good idea?" He winced at the noise. His parents had four children. Sara's had five. And his older sister Kate already had two kids of her own, one of whom was down here with them, getting reacquainted with her older cousins. That meant that ten people were crammed into the small space, and the volume of everyone talking was approaching "jet engine."

"I'm sure Mom and Aunt Evy and Uncle Gavin thought it was, back when they started. And before your mom and my mom started popping out kids like they were spitting watermelon seeds," Sara laughed. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes glistening. "God, I missed this. Missed family." She reached forward, deftly stealing a breadstick from his plate. "And Aunt Evy's cooking."

"Hey!"

She stuck out her tongue at him. "Payback. Remember when you put olives in my milk when I wasn't looking?"

"I was

eleven

," he protested. "And it was funny." He tilted his head, remembering. "And you've been dishing out payback for that for the last ten years. Three years ago you gave my pie to the dog."

"Yup." She grinned at him cheekily. "That was a good one."

He laughed, warmed as always by Sara's infectious good humor. There hadn't been a time, it seemed, when they hadn't been friends. Born within six months of each other, children of sisters who lived only a few blocks apart, they had been inseparable since they were in diapers. Even though she had decided to go to Northwestern, to a school which was renowned for its theater department, while he went to the University of Illinois to study business, they had still managed to keep in touch.

Which was why it had been such a blow when she had announced, mere days after her graduation, that she was moving to Los Angeles to pursue a career as an actress. Somehow Tom had always believed, all evidence to the contrary, that Sara would end up living in the Chicago suburbs, the same way he planned to once he graduated himself. They would live next to each other, the same way their mothers, had, and their own kids, once they got married, would be best friends, too.

Of course, it made all sorts of sense from Sara's point of view. There were

some

theatres in Chicago, of course. The Second City comedy troupe was just one of many in the area. But they didn't hold a candle to the sheer scope of opportunity in LA. Not only were there the big movie companies, but many television series shot their episodes in Hollywood as well.

Sara Collins -- tall, and lovely, with a graceful, erect carriage and eyes of midnight blue -- had decided that she had as good a chance of anyone as making it as an actress in Hollywood, and a better chance than most. So she had loaded up her car and set out for the west coast. And for the last seven months the only times Tom had seen her were in calls on Skype or Facebook. Which was not really the same as being able to talk to her in real life. And so his hopeless infatuation with his gorgeous cousin would always remain unspoken. To confess his desire for Sara was something that was never going to happen. But to do it on a video call when she was two time zones away was unthinkable.

"So how about you?" she asked, startling him out of his wistful thoughts. "You're still on track to graduate in May, right?" Down the table, his sister Kate's oldest, a blond-haired moppet named Ashley, escaped her chair and toddled towards the stairs. Sara leaned down and caught her up with the practiced ease of a woman who had spent almost her whole life caring for younger siblings and sat her in her lap. Ashley stared up at the stranger, seemingly ready to break into howls of protest. But a cheerful smile and a bouncing knee distracted her enough that she settled down.

Tom nodded. "Yeah. Thank goodness. I think Mom and Dad would push me in the lake if I told them I needed a fifth year. College isn't cheap. Miranda didn't want to go." Down the table, his next youngest sister, catching her name, made a face at him. "But David is going to be starting next August. Two tuition bills would be a hell of a load."

Sara nodded soberly. It hadn't been just her looks that had gotten her into the theater program at Northwestern, he recalled. His cousin wasn't just a pretty face. Her high school grades had been top-notch, and she had scored a partial scholarship, which had taken some of the financial load off her mother.

"Oh." She blinked. "In all the rush, I forgot to ask. Where am I going to be sleeping tonight?"

He took a bite of his pot roast, chewing thoughtfully. "My bed," he said at last.

"Ew!" Sara wrinkled her nose at him. "You perv. No way!"

Tom spread his hands. "Not my fault. Take it up with Mom if you have a problem with it."

"Right." She drawled the word out sarcastically. "And where will you be? Sleeping on the floor, hoping I go to bed naked and get up for a drink sometime at night?"

"Me?" He made a face. "I'll be down here in the basement." He waved a hand at a beat-up couch that had been new when he was a kid. "Which is actually better than I expected. I thought that I'd be having a campout in the living room with all the rest of the rugrats."

"Yeah. Sorry about that." Sara toyed with her food, her expression morose. "If Dad hadn't split we'd still be living three blocks away, and we could all go home after dinner."

Inwardly, Tom cursed himself for managing to bring up the painful subject. Two summers years ago, Sara's father had been caught cheating on his wife. The divorce had been bitter. Doug Collins was now in Nebraska. And good riddance to the philandering bastard, as far as Tom was concerned.

But after over twenty years as a housewife, Sara's mother had been suddenly thrust into the role of single mother and only breadwinner in the family. Her sister, Tom's mother, had done all she could to help out. Which included helping her get a job at the plumbing supply company that Tom's father helped run. But with a much smaller income and not much coming in the way of child-support from her deadbeat ex, his aunt had been forced to sell the home in Oak Park and move into a much smaller apartment in Joliet. Tom had been there a few times, and it was a small, cramped place.

"Hey." He reached out, taking her hand. "It's Christmas, right? The time of sharing? I don't mind giving up my bed for a day or two. It'll probably smell a lot nicer afterward." He raised an arm and mimed a sniff at his armpit.