I guess I should start by specifying that we’re
not first cousins, but I don’t know if we qualify
as second cousins or not. His mother and my
grandfather are brother and sister, in a family
where there are as many aunts, uncles, cousins,
and siblings as trees in a forest. The two of
them are separated by fifteen years, six
siblings, and enough difference in upbringing
that they would often talk about how they felt
more like uncle and niece than brother and
sister. I think that their disparity in childhood
is probably a lot of the reason why we felt it
was okay to do at first, because it was barely
even like they were siblings.
We were so used to the big family reunions
where everyone would get lost in the mix, and
there were always new babies being born and
new marriages and new extensions to the family
tree — it was easy to pretend like we didn’t know
what the situation was. But we know, and since
we first kissed outside a bar just over a year ago
(on a night that was more about having shots
and finding excuses to get close to each other
than it was about welcoming him to Austin), we
have been a couple. We are very private about
our relationship — no PDA, only a few select
friends know, never any evidence or anything on
Facebook — but it’s a huge part of both of our
lives. We are lucky to live far enough away from
our family (they are almost all back on the east
coast, we are here in Texas) that we can be
pretty free with who we are. But if we are being
honest with ourselves, we know that we share
the kind of history and family relationship that
would make most people cringe at the idea of us
being together.
No one who knows that we are a couple know
that we are from the same family. And although
I often wish that I could confide in a close friend,
I am simply not ready for the kinds of questions
and judgment that would follow. They would tell
me that it’s wrong, that it’s gross, that it is
unnatural, and that I’m insane. And there is a
good chance that they’re right, but the situation
is just so hard to understand unless you’ve lived
in it. Although it’s true that we are blood
relatives, we only saw each other about once or
twice a year. As I said before, the difference in
age between his mother and my grandfather is
enough that they are amongst the least close of
all of their family, and I am much more familiar
with a lot of my other cousins than I am with
him. Even though I knew I could always see him
at a family reunion or a wedding, I never really
got that “close-knit upbringing” feel that you
share with someone who you knew well in
childhood. Hell, I even have friends from
elementary school that I feel more of a kinship
with because we were together for a lot of our
important moments. Nick (a fake name, of
course) was only there for the big stuff.
But I knew I loved him pretty young. We would
always be the two kids at the event who would
go off and play by themselves, and when we hit
our pre-teen/teenage years, the bond that we had
formed playing in the backyard at a family
gathering turned into something much more
profound. I could tell him things, he listened to
me, he knew who I was in a way that almost no
one else did — even though we saw each other
very rarely. By the time I kissed him that night (I
was 23), it felt like the release of something I had
been waiting for my whole life. I wanted him to
be with me, and only me, because I had always
felt like I had to share him — with my family,
with the girlfriends who would ask if he was
single because they knew I could never be with
him, with my parents who would make us leave
an event early and take me away from him. For
once, I had him all to myself, and I finally knew
that he felt the same way about me that I did
about him. I could be honest for the first time,
even if it was only with him.
That night, we spent about three hours frantically
Googling everything from local laws, to genetic
risks, to “How to tell your family you’re in love
with a relative.” We were insane, and scared,
and completely lost — but so happy. So in love.
Every day I look back on that night fondly, going
from the computer to the bed trying to find out if
the way we felt was okay, even though we knew
that nothing we were going to find would change
our minds. On some level, we realized that day
that we were going to need to tell our family
members. But at least, at the time, it was
something we could procrastinate on.
I thought a long time about writing this, in a lot
of ways it felt like the first real step to telling our
family, because I finally have to put it all in
words and acknowledge that it’s true. We
decided, out loud for the first time not too long
ago, that we would accept the consequences if
our family could not have us around anymore.
It’s a terrifying idea, and the loss of a family as
big and amazing as ours would be a lifelong
wound, but it’s something that is simply
necessary. It is legal for us to get married, and if
we won’t have our parents at our wedding, we’re
going to do it some day. Nothing in the world
makes me happier than the prospect of telling
Nick, in front of anyone who is willing to watch
us, that he is the love of my life. In many ways it
feels unfair that we were burdened with the
same blood, that we could have been just like any
other couple around us who has the full support
of everyone they love. But if we hadn’t been
born who we are, we may have never met. And
even if it costs me my family, it is a choice I am
willing to make.
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