Second Cousins

The door slammed them outside in the damp gusts.

"It's spitting," she said, hugging her cardigan close. She wished it were newer, one of those ones with furry cuffs.

Maybe he wouldn't notice her clothes were crap.

"Can never breathe in there," he said. He zipped up his leather jacket and walked as close to the edge of the little porch as he could without leaving the protection of the wedged roof jutting overhead. The light over the doorway was a dim flicker, the sensor responding to the shadows of late afternoon.

The parking lot ignored them, the pick-ups and family cars silent, and the corn fields beyond an ill-humoured grey.

They could hear voices and music muffled through the door, bursts of laughter. Someone started testing the mic.

"I hate these things," she said. "Don't know why I came."

"Because you're morbidly obsessed," he answered. "Like the rest of us."

She looked at him in silence. Bastard. It was true.

"More like I don't have a choice."

He shook a pack of smokes out of his pocket, slid a lighter out from the pack and stuck a cigarette between his lips. She saw a couple flashes from the plastic cylinder as it failed to produce a flame.

"Shit," he muttered, shaking it a few times and trying again. Nothing. He coiled his arm back and pitched it as far as he could. Somewhere out in the colourless lot they heard it hit something that wasn't asphalt.

"That could've been my dad's car!" her voice caught between laughter and accusation.

He stood unmoving for a minute, staring out at the grey.

Then, cocking his head to one side, "You have a light, don't you." Didn't even turn all the way around, just aimed the words over his shoulder down the wheelchair ramp.

She wanted something to show off and be happy about.

Especially today. It was torture in there, pretending to congratulate those guys.

The flickering bulb glimmered scar shadows onto his cheeks from when they'd all had chicken pox in grade five. Chad had called him Craterface in there just now. He'd laughed off the old epithet, but she knew it had hurt. Especially in front of Lucy. She didn't mind the scars, herself. They'd long ago become a part of him.

There was a whole box of matches in her pocket, along with a bunch of other stuff—keys, wallet, lip gloss. She didn't have a decent purse, so she needed pockets. Hence the crappy sweater stretched long and bulging at her thighs. She wasn't going to give him a light, though. Not yet anyways.

Her hand reached in and held the box loosely, thumb rubbing the rough striking surface. Her mother had made her light every one of those stupid candles in there. There must have been dozens. She'd still been at it when Lucy arrived, all pink-cheeked and feigning surprise. "Oh my gawd," she'd squealed. "Oh my gawd, I love you guys!" Tears and hugs all around. Bitch.

He still wasn't looking at her.

"You shouldn't be smoking," she said.

He laughed bitterly. "You should try it. Might help." He horked and spit, the glob almost clearing the cement stairs, landing on the very edge of the bottom step, thick and white.

"No thanks, I don't need cancer."

He laughed turned around, looking over her head at the flickering lightbulb.

"Shitty light. Lunch time, it turns on full. Soon as it gets dark, it starts going out." He moved the cigarette to the other side of his mouth and turned back to the parking lot. "You're going to get cancer no matter what you do," he said out to the emptiness. "And smoking is good for the nerves."

"You're feeling nervous, are you?" she asked. "Chad got you wound up?"

"Chad," he snorted.

"I don't know," she went on. "He's obviously keeping Lucy happy. What do you think, they gonna get married? May be secretly engaged already."

"Would you give me a light already."

She pulled her sleeves down over her hands and flexed her knees to warm up her legs. Walking out to the edge of the porch next to him, she enjoyed a little thrill of proximity. She looked up at him but his eyes didn't leave the distance. There was no colour in the sky out there, just a fading away of cloud cover.

The big box of matches came out. Slowly, as if she were just passing the time. She slid open the cardboard drawer and removed a match, shut the drawer again carefully and struck the match in slow motion up the side. It spit and spat the whole way along and sparked in her fingers another half second before bursting into flame. She held the match up at eye level, watching it burn, a yellow and orange that failed to brighten the day. "This whole big deal the family's making just because they're home for the holiday. Like it takes a hero to go to university instead of get a job. Who gives a shit?"

"Don't look at me, I'm here for the food."

"Like hell, you got to come, just like me."

"That's right. Morbid obsession. Can't keep away from the beautiful people."

Just before the flame reached her fingers, she flicked it over the side of the steps. The orange streak careened through the air and sizzled out when it hit the wet ground. She pulled out another match.

"You going to give me a light?"

She saw a drop from the edge of the roof land right on the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. She could just barely see the spot absorbed by the paper, a circle growing until it wrapped around the tube.

He still wasn't looking at her. Bastard. It killed her that he was still so crazy about Lucy. Even now that she’d moved away and started dating Chad, he couldn't tear his eyes off her. And Lucy knew it, you could tell by the way she stood so close to him, teased him with smiles, touched him when she didn't need to. Trying to turn him on. She wished she had Lucy's self-confidence. She wished she had anything of Lucy's.

Well, she had once. Chad. She sniffed. Biggest mistake ever.

Ever. Didn't matter, though, it wasn't as if she'd really liked him. Shit. One weekend in the city and the whole world had to find out about it. She glanced over at her cousin again – second cousin. He had found out, she knew that. She wondered if it made a difference. Maybe it increased her chances.

"It's not so bad for you," she offered. "You're doing well for yourself. Good job, you could go places with it."

"Yeah, like the fuck out of here." His laugh sounded like a dog barking. "Gimme a light – I'm freezing my butt off."

"You shouldn't smoke," she repeated meaninglessly. She lit the second match and watched it burn. "Chad doesn't."

Chucking it still burning after the first.

"Chad doesn't smoke anywheres you're going see him. He doesn't do anything he doesn't want the family to know about where he's liable to get caught. Unlike you." His eyes darted over to her for the briefest moment before returning to the far side of the parking lot. "But he does have his vices," laughing again, quieter, shaking his head. "You gotta feel sorry for Lucy."

It was her turn to laugh. "You're kidding, right? Lucy?"

Struck two matches together this time, making a bigger light.

"The whole hockey team. You knew that, right? The whole frigging team. Except you. And here you are, still wanting your piece."

He stood as cold as the damp air hanging around them, his eyes not moving from their distant focus. "That was only a rumour."

"Rumours gotta start with something."

"That one started with you."

She stopped, unsure whether this was true. She'd certainly done her part spreading it. Just like Lucy'd been spreading it.

She smiled at her private joke, throwing out the burning matches to be swallowed up like the others.

"See? I knew it. You did start it."

"You wish." She struck another match.

"Look, give me the matches."

"No." She saw him reach for the box and stuck it back in her pocket. She wished he would tussle her for them. She'd like to tussle with him. They used to when they were kids.

"I didn't come out here to be social."

It stung and she concentrated on not showing it. "Feel free to go back in." Throwing out the match.

A big cheer went up inside.

"Yay," he muttered. "Yippee. We're all so proud."

She sighed. "Anyways, they're cousins. They shouldn't be together."

"Second cousins. And don't be such a hypocrite."

"What do you mean?"

"Just shut up, okay. It's not going to happen." He looked at her at last, a sideways glance cutting deep.

"What?"

"You're not my type. I would've had you by now if you were.

Like the rest of this town. So drop it and give me a frigging light or I'll go in and get one from somebody who isn't such a pain in the butt."

She whipped the matches out and threw them at him as hard as she could. They hit him full in the face and tumbled down the stairs. She hauled open the door, warm air and light spilling out onto the steps along with the music and voices, suddenly louder. "I wouldn't be caught dead with a goddamn small-town construction donkey like you, Craterface." And she slammed her way back in.