Family of Origin

by CJ Hauser

  Elsa’s bathing suit was navy blue with bright yellow trim. As Nolan swam, she apathetically waded in, then got bored and walked around the perimeter, pulling up the plastic tops of the pool filters, which made suction-y popping sounds.

  What are you doing? he asked.

  Looking for frogs, she said.

  Nolan could see now that it was not a padded bra but Elsa’s breasts he had witnessed before. And her butt was enormously round, nothing like the girls in school. They would call her fat, he knew, but it wasn’t that. He felt a flicker of shame over considering Elsa’s body in this way, but it was hard to stop and make exceptions just because she was his sister. She was also strange to him. Basically a stranger. Her body was a new and unknown thing.

  Nolan swam the length of the small pool underwater, in one breath, pushing off the wall. He emerged breathing heavily, stretching his long arms above his head. He climbed out of the pool and toweled himself. He sat on a chaise next to Elsa.

  It’s weird here, Elsa said. Apartments. Weird you have this pool.

  It’s the complex’s. No one’s ever in here.

  Your hair is so long, Elsa said.

  Nolan shrugged.

  It’s wet, Elsa said. She took Nolan’s towel from him and stood over his chaise. Bending down, she rubbed his head, drying his hair. The towel was nubby and smelled of Tide, and he liked the way it felt, her touching him like this. Ever since he had grown tall, Ian and Keiko had stopped touching him the way they had when he was a child, when he was still allowed to climb into their bed or spoon them on the couch. They used to squeeze him every day before school. His father would ask for kisses on his rough cheek, and Keiko would swat his butt if he misbehaved. Then, as if overnight, they stopped touching him. It was as if no longer being a child rendered him untouchable. As if his parents were telling him that this grown body was his alone. He understood, but as Elsa toweled his hair, rubbing his ears and neck, he wished they had not stopped. He ached for touching, had not realized how long it had been. Elsa lifted the towel and shook it out.

  There, she said.

  He wanted to ask her to do it again. Just to keep tousling his hair, but he was afraid that would sound babyish, so he didn’t.

  Instead he held his hands out to receive his towel, as if it were something he had lost.

  Are you okay? Elsa asked.

  I just want my towel, Nolan said, and he found that he was maybe about to cry, though he wasn’t sure why.

  Elsa stooped and handed him the towel, and as she did, she kissed him on the cheek.

  Nolan squeezed the humped towel tightly. Elsa drew back and studied his face. She cocked her head, and then leaned in and kissed him again, on the mouth.

  Nolan had kissed one of the Home Ec girls, once, quickly, on his way to the bus. But he had never truly kissed anyone. He pursed his lips tight against Elsa’s, but she laid a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back a little, and her tongue parted his lips. He suddenly understood why people kissed. It wasn’t like he’d thought it’d be: sweet like a valentine-heart kind of love. Her tongue was a muscle, pushing. Elsa tasted of the lemon curd, slick tartness, coconut, milky frosting tang.

  Nolan stiffened immediately. Which was embarrassing, but then he thought that maybe it was good that this was happening with Elsa. As though it was less embarrassing with her than it would have been with the Home Ec girls. Maybe because she was older, or because they barely knew each other, or because she had tried to kill him when they were small, Nolan felt Elsa was the sort of person around whom he could say anything. Do anything. With Elsa, it would not be the end of the world if he was embarrassing or made a mistake and this was a kind of comfort, of rare ease—there was no other person in Nolan’s life who made him feel this way.

  Elsa pressed her hand to the bulge of his tented shorts and worked her thumb in circles, and Nolan thought he would die. Her other hand, she moved beneath her own swimsuit. Nolan watched.

  Do you want to see it? she asked.

  Nolan did. He stood and Elsa lay back on the chaise, tilting her legs open. She left her swimsuit on.

  You’re not going to take it off? Nolan asked.

  You take it off. She rocked her legs. There were fine blonde hairs on her knees.

  Nolan wasn’t sure. Pulling off her bathing-suit bottom seemed too much. What if someone came to the pool and she couldn’t get it back on in time?

  Nolan knelt on the Astroturf, which pricked his knees, hooked a finger through the bottom of Elsa’s suit, and pulled it to the side, so he could look. It was like what he’d seen in the porn he’d watched, but gentler. There was corn-silk hair, which he had not expected, because the women in porn did not have hair. His hand shook holding the suit taut.

  He had not anticipated this, but Nolan found he wanted to lick Elsa there. An animal urge. And he knew this was a thing that people did.

  He pressed his face into Elsa’s crotch, and she made a small noise, surprised. She smelled like chlorine from the pool, but he tongued her all the same. There was a yeasty humidity to her body. He lapped at her, and she gasped and sat up, breathing hard, pushing his shoulders away.

  I said look, not touch, Elsa said. Her face was serious and alarmed, and Nolan apologized profusely. He was so sorry. So—

  But then Elsa started laughing, she was laughing at him, and this made Nolan want to die, so he scrambled up, shaking out his towel, pulling it around himself, angry and ashamed.

  We should go back up, Elsa said. She straightened her suit and squinted at the stairwell beyond the glass door as if she could imagine nothing more horrifying. When she stood, her legs crossed at the ankles, her thighs pressed together, and Nolan wondered what it felt like to be a girl.

  Nolan felt the sick guilt that came whenever he did anything that would disappoint his parents. He knew they were not supposed to be doing what they were doing. His parents would be mad if she were any girl, and she was not. She was Elsa. He was still hard in his trunks and the whole thing was so confusing that Nolan threw down his towel and jumped into the pool and furiously paddled.

  I’m going to swim a few more laps, he said.

  Elsa shrugged and left. Once the glass door had squeaked shut behind her, Nolan breast-stroked slowly from one end of the pool to the other, his eyes just above the surface of the water, blowing bubbles, only coming up for air as often as he absolutely needed to.

  * * *

  ——————·

  The adults had been drinking and were having a grand time. Their mood had improved with the absence of their children. Keiko and Ingrid were holding each other by the shoulders, and it was decided that Elsa and Ingrid would stay the night, Ingrid being in no condition to drive back to their hotel.

  Ian was a little flushed in the face, merry in the company of the two women he loved. He was in a charming mood, charming being a thing Ian could be but seldom was, because it seemed a waste of energy. But the tension of the meal, the worrying over Elsa, the desperate way Ingrid had pleaded for his help, the way Keiko had reminded Ian that she had always said they should have told Elsa the truth but hadn’t wanted to overstep her bounds by insisting…yes they all remembered…yes, Keiko had perhaps been right…it was all too much. Elsa was furious, wanting to talk, the parents knew, but they were cowardly, fearing the fight they knew would come but which they wanted to delay. They were afraid how Nolan would take the news too; one furious child was enough, too much, really—they couldn’t bear the thought of two. And wouldn’t it all be easier in the morning? They’d had a hard week and would cut themselves this slack. Give themselves one more night before they had to face up to the effect that their lie, their lie of omission, had had on Elsa’s life.

  After the children went down to swim, and they had finished the first bottle of wine, they opened a second. And when they had drunk that, they had started to feel better about the w
hole thing, so they opened a third. And suddenly, everything did not seem so bad. They were good parents! They were muddling through the best they could. Keiko and Ingrid and Ian felt safe and in control, like they were outnumbering the children with the three of them there together. Three parents! What could three parents not do against one surly teenager? Twenty years old today, Ingrid reminded them. Of course, of course, but with Elsa out of the room, they were able to say to themselves: She’s just barely beyond a teenager. She’s a sophomore in college. Remember yourself at that age. Of course she’s taking it badly. But she’ll be fine. She’ll get better. This too shall pass. They would talk to the children tomorrow. They would explain things to Nolan. They would assure Elsa that nothing would change, that Ian was still her father, even though he was not strictly, biologically, her father. They would propose a family vacation. They would propose family therapy. They would propose joint Thanksgiving. They congratulated themselves for waiting to make these decisions as a triad, for co-parenting so effectively by prudently delaying the conversation one more night.

  In the warmth of the third bottle of wine, a Pinot Grigio that they all agreed tasted like green tomato stalks, like narcissus flower, like steel, just as it said on the label, the parents truly felt that everything would be fine.

  Ian was a little drunk when the children returned from the pool. Elsa, then Nolan, bolted upstairs, hair mussed from the water.

  We’re staying the night! Ingrid shouted after Elsa.

  Ian prepared the pullout couch in the living room with panache. He made a big show of flipping out the sheets, white with little red flowers, like a toreador. Letting the sheet billow and then fall neatly, perfectly smooth. He was a man who appreciated seeing any small task well done.

  You’re showing off, said Keiko, who came bearing an armful of pillows, and who knew it was terrible to resent a child, but who sometimes resented Elsa for bringing this drama into their lives. She wasn’t even her child or Ian’s. Keiko caught herself. She didn’t mean that. Elsa was still theirs. She dropped the pillows and retreated upstairs. It was only for the weekend.

  Tucking the corners in tightly, Ian turned to Elsa, who, in her pajamas, a t-shirt and pair of cotton shorts with clovers printed on them, was now leaning against the doorframe sulkily, arms crossed. He saw they were alone.

  Come here, Elsa, Ian said. I’ll tuck you in.

  I’m twenty, she said, not moving.

  She waited for Ian to say something else, but he didn’t. He pulled the sheets taut across the bed.

  You’re not going to apologize? Elsa asked. Or explain?

  We’ll talk about it in the morning, Ian said. He could not look at her.

  It’s decided, he said.

  He made a show of whistling as he continued to make the bed. He was drunk and he knew he was being cowardly. He wanted to pull Elsa to him and tell her that it didn’t matter, he was still her father, but how did one go about proving such a thing? Had he not been there, all this time? What could he possibly say to convince her if the past twenty years of their lives had not done the job? He could tell her that it had been shocking, had been hard, at first, but that had been years ago. This was all ancient history for Ian. But of course, the wound, the news, was still fresh for Elsa, and the way she held herself, tense and curled, made him wary, as if she might spring at him if he tried to comfort her or explain.

  It was absurd, but frankly, Ian was afraid of her.

  So Ian said nothing. Ian fussed with the sheets. He made the bed, because it seemed the sort of thing a father would do for his daughter, and he hoped it would be enough.

  You’re really not going to even talk to me until the morning? Elsa asked. Why can’t you—

  Ingrid walked into the room, and he was saved. Ian patted Elsa on the shoulder. As he left, he kissed Ingrid on the forehead, holding her face in his hands, as if bestowing a benediction.

  Good night, girls, Ian said, and he left. He went to bed. All the parents did.

  * * *

  ——————·

  Nolan could not sleep. He had faked brushing his teeth because the taste of Elsa was too strange and new for him to wash away. He lay on his back beneath a green quilted down comforter with a flannel underside. He ran through the memory of what had happened again and again, as if there was some necessary essence he could glean from it. Eventually he pulled down his boxers and took himself in his hand. He couldn’t not think about it. He knew it shouldn’t have happened. And now that it had, the best thing was to forget about it. But he kept thinking of Elsa’s hand on his dick, of his tongue inside her, and the smell of chlorine. He thought of how it felt when she was toweling his hair. He stroked himself under the covers and it got uncomfortably warm, but Nolan didn’t throw off the blanket because he was too embarrassed to even see what he was doing. The door creaked and his hands flew up over the covers.

  Nolan.

  He didn’t say anything.

  New Baby.

  What?

  It was Elsa in the doorway. Her hair was long and loose around her head, and she was backlit by the nightlight green of the hallway. She glowed like an alien or the swamp thing in silhouette. She eased the door closed behind her.

  What are you doing?

  I couldn’t sleep.

  Where’s your mom?

  Passed out.

  You have to go back.

  Just let me lie here with you for a moment.

  She pulled some of the covers to the side and got in. They stared at the ceiling.

  Why couldn’t you sleep? Nolan asked. His boxers were somewhere around his ankles.

  Isn’t it weird how they all get along so well? Elsa said. I fucking hate them.

  This was not what Nolan had expected. He did not want to be reminded of their parents now.

  Why is it weird? he asked. He drew his knees up.

  That’s just not normally how things work.

  I think it’s nice.

  It’s creepy. I hate it.

  You’d rather they screamed at each other?

  Sometimes you should scream, Elsa said.

  Do you want to scream?

  All the time.

  Me too.

  Liar.

  I want to scream right now. You don’t know about me.

  I think I do, Elsa said.

  We never even see each other, Nolan said. You’re only my half sister.

  A look passed over Elsa’s face, of pain or worry. Nolan could not place it. She rested her head on his chest.

  They were quiet. And in the quiet, really, anything seemed possible. Maybe no one would notice. Maybe even they would not notice. Right now, strands of Elsa’s wet hair plastered across his chest, hard under the blankets, Nolan was focused on keeping his breathing deep and even, but there was something catching at the base of it which he knew revealed too much. If he didn’t focus on breathing, he would groan like an animal. The girls in Home Ec would be repulsed by this, Nolan decided, but Elsa did not seem to think his wanting was embarrassing, and he felt again that every part of himself might be allowed by her. That she would not judge him.

  Elsa took Nolan in her hand and then he did groan, pressing his face into the comforter his mother had bought him for Christmas, because the old one had animals printed on it and he was too grown up for that.

  He should stop this, should just wait until the Home Ec girls were older and he could figure out how to be with them. But what if he felt this turned-on and lame forever, and it never got any easier? What if he never figured out how to ask them out? Or to speak the things he wanted?

  What if he didn’t want to have to be the one in charge?

  Elsa seemed so certain of what they were doing, and when he thought of giving in to her certainty, letting her run this experience, he felt a pleasure so intense that he rolled his shoul
ders as the feeling traveled down his spine.

  Elsa twisted and slid under him and then she took him by the hips and canted him toward her, tipping him toward the inevitability of it all. Elsa stroked him again and she was only using one hand, the other gone, doing something to herself that Nolan could not quite fathom, but when she took his hand and pressed it to her he felt that she was wet, and Nolan knew what to do, but—

  Elsa, he said.

  Put it in, she said.

  Elsa, I—

  I want it, she said.

  She helped and he sank into her and he grabbed her shoulders and squeezed as hard as he could because suddenly he wanted a hundred new things he’d not even imagined before.

  Elsa rocked her hips to meet him, and Nolan shut his eyes, and as they moved he was afraid and also he could not stop. The feeling was everything and the feeling was almost too much.

  But then he opened his eyes, and when Nolan saw the way Elsa looked at him, it was wrong.

  She looked determined. They were still fucking and it still felt good, but it was like she was thinking about something else too, like she wasn’t really there, and this made Nolan feel incredibly lonely.

  In the privacy of that awful moment, realizing that Elsa had left him rocking inside of her alone, he came. He gave a small wail. Elsa clamped his mouth, but the noise was enough.

  Ingrid woke to find Elsa out of bed. She hunted for her, wine drunk and sleepy. She had been dreaming of trees, of a forest, of home. Ingrid pressed the flats of her hands against the hallway walls of the apartment the way she had gripped the trunks in the dream, and she feared Elsa had perhaps run away. She’d been so angry. Had so clearly wanted to have it out with Ian. With all of them. And maybe Ingrid should have let her. Should have sided with her daughter instead of the adults. But it had seemed too big a decision to make on her own. Had seemed so much easier to ally herself with the parents and to push off the hard conversation until morning.

  Ingrid opened the door to the bathroom. She opened a linen closet. Where was her daughter?