Fried Eggs

Winner of the 2008 Harold Sonny Ladoo Book Prize for Creative Writing.

Underneath the dinner table, I ran my toes down my cousin's shin. His sister, my brother, and our parents spoke over each other about gas prices and final exams and how long to boil asparagus. They passed around bowls of greens, filled glasses with water or wine, and struck utensils against the China. I brought a forkful of lettuce to my mouth, chewed it up and swallowed it down. All the while, I was trying to seduce my cousin.

Elliott had been in London working for a marketing company the past six years. Before he left, I had just started high school. I'd grown a chest since then, a rather nice one, I'd say, and my hips had curved out roundly. The blonde in my hair had darkened and had grown almost long enough to reach my elbows. I had longer legs, straighter teeth, and a lot more confidence.

When it came time to deciding where to sit, my uncle Bill offered my father the head of the table but my father refused it, saying the head of the house sits at the head of their table. He ended up sitting to Bill's right. My aunt Carol sat at the other head of the table because it's closest to the stove and she would keep getting up. My mother said she wanted to be close to the kitchen to help so she sat to Carol's right. My cousin Jenny complained that her father's chewing makes her nervous so she sat next to her mother. I sat between my father and Jenny, and Elliott sat between my brother Miles and my mother, leaving he and I across from each other.

Elliott, at first, moved his foot away from mine, maybe thinking I'd brushed his leg accidentally when crossing my legs or shifting positions in my seat. I might have done it all accidentally, I had no intention of doing what I was doing, but once I got started, I kept at it, a little brush every now and then, letting the side of my foot rest against the side of his, seeing what he would make of it.

"Eli, more coffee?" his mother asked. She stood over him, her hands on his shoulders, squeezing them it seemed. "How about some pie? Aunt Sarah brought you a strawberry rhubarb pie. Or, there's pastries if you want."

"Jesus Christ, Carol," his father said, "leave our son alone, we've been eating for hours let him rest. For the love of God he's not even finished his meal yet." I watched Elliott. He grinned at his father. His mother said she was just giving him his options. She said that if she can't spoil her own son who can she spoil? She was smothering him, with love and with all the attention in the world.

"That's right Aunt Carol," I said, "give him what he wants. He can have what he wants." His sister rolled her eyes and chomped on a mouthful of meat. I brushed up against his leg again, and this time he slouched into his chair.

I asked my brother to pass the red wine. I poured myself a glass. Elliott held out his glass to me and said please. I poured it slowly, Elliott asking for a little more, a little more. When Jenny asked for some her mother said, "Jennifer don't be silly. That's the last thing you should have."

"Like I've never had wine before, mother, you're so friggin tight," Jenny said.

"You can have some when you grow up, little one," Elliott said. He looked at me. Jenny called him a dickwad and her mother warned to her to watch her language or else.

I watched Elliott push the last of the pork on his plate into his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, up and down, and when he pressed his teeth down together his jaw flexed below the ear. When the light caught his eyes they looked the color of coffee beans. His hair was growing out of a buzz cut, shaggy but the same length the whole way round his head. Stubble poked out from his face, dark and spotted. He'd grown into a real man, strong and tall and grown. I couldn't keep my feet away from him.

Sometimes I think we love our family because we have to, or because love is what people who are family are supposed to feel for each other. Truth is though, I never felt that kind of love for Elliott. We'd grown up together but I was just a kid with a crush on him back then. He'd let me sit on his lap and jump on his back and when I wanted him to carry me around the backyard like he was my horse, he would. When I'd wrap my legs tight around him and told him to run faster, he did it because I was his little cousin. I doubt he ever thought that I was trying to feel pressure against my crotch, because you know, you're not supposed to want to fuck your cousin. And even though I was only a kid, and at the time it wasn't about fucking, I knew that I wanted to feel Elliott in a way I wasn't supposed to. Then all these years later, I was grown and he looked older and more beautiful to me than I remembered, and I imagined in my mind that same sensation, and the wanting to feel him. Next thing I knew, I tried brushing up against his leg again but this time he was slouching deeper into his seat and I felt his foot next to mine.

When I felt it, God only knows what look came over my face. I wrapped my fingers around my glass of water and brought it to my lips, taking three large gulps. I wiped my mouth with my napkin and then folded it in half, then in half again, and in half once more until it was a small, hard square. I kept staring at my napkin, opening it up and then refolding it. Unfolded it, refolded it.

Elliott's cell phone rang. He looked down at it, sat up in his chair, and I couldn't feel his foot anymore. He said it was Stacey and excused himself from the table. I watched him as he left the room, noting the color of his socks.

"Poor girl," my aunt said. "She must be having the worst time over there without Eli."

"The day she isn't glad to be rid of his skeezy ass, please," his sister Jenny said. "He's such a fucking player, probably's got the herp on his fork."

"Jennifer, keep it up with that mouth and see what's going to happen to you," her mother said. Jenny's still in that my-brother-is-a-loser-my-parents-are-so-embarrassing stage of her life. I imagine she spends all her time locked in her room filling diaries and listening to music.

I could only make out mumbles from Elliott's mouth in the next room. His mother said that maybe this one's the one, that Eli has matured a great deal since he's been away and maybe he's ready to settle down. Jenny responded with her eye-rolling thing.

Elliott sat back down in his chair. Our mothers had begun clearing the table. The sun outside was setting, and through the blinds rows of pink fell on the tablecloth. Elliott pushed his seat closer to the table and sunk low in it. He clasped his hands behind his head and I felt his toes on mine. I began to fold and unfold my napkin again.

"Everything okay with Stacey?" my aunt asked taking some dishes into the kitchen.

"Yeah she's alright, she says hello. Ma, mind putting on a coffee? I could use a coffee for sure right now," Elliott said. I mentioned that I'd love a cup and my Uncle Bill shouted for her to put on the big pot.

Elliott's foot felt good on mine, his big toe under the arch of my foot. When his mother returned from the kitchen, she stood over Elliott and asked him to stop slouching. I picked up my unfolded napkin and refolded it. Looking up at her I said that those pastries sounded delicious.

"Are there any with strawberry?" I asked. "You know those little cups with the big strawberry on top?" She went back into the kitchen and Elliott slouched slightly.

"God those are so nasty, that red shit on top is disgusting," Jenny said. Her mother returned and put the tray of pastries on the table.

"Who the hells asking you to eat it? Shit you're a brat." Elliott said. He grabbed a strawberry pastry from the tray and placed it in front of me. Jenny told Elliott to keep his fucking feet on his side of the table and looked at me. I clenched my napkin and Elliott sat back in his chair. I felt his foot sweep away from mine.

Elliott kept his feet on his side of the table. We'd eaten all the pastries, Miles had left to hang with his friends and Jenny disappeared upstairs. I'd heard enough about how smart Stacey is and how she's real motivated and all that shit. I excused myself and went to the washroom.

I sat on the toilet seat looking at the crotch of my underwear. It was wet and shiny. I wiped it with some toilet paper. Standing over the bathroom sink, I leaned on my hands and looked at my face in the mirror. I ran my tongue across my teeth making sure nothing was stuck between them. My nipples were hard and showing through my blouse like round buttons. I washed my hands, dried them off, and took a deep breath. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I watched myself in the mirror. I wondered what it would feel like to have Elliott do to me what he does to Stacey.

I closed the lid of the toilet and sat on it, thinking. Elliott's penis was the first I'd ever seen. He was changing in the washroom out of his swim trunks one summer; I must have been seven at the time. We'd been playing in the sprinkler. Jenny and Miles and I were still playing outside so I suppose that's why he didn't close the door all the way. I walked by the washroom to get us Popsicles and saw him changing. He was completely naked. I just stood, watching him. It hung between his legs and there was all this hair around it, like a black Brillo pad. I'd never seen anything like that, I couldn't look away. I went to my room and sat on my bed with my legs crossed, squeezing all my muscles tight. The pressure was the kind I wanted when he used to carry me on his back, but it was stronger and more intense. When I heard Elliott leaving the bathroom I went to grab the Popsicles from the freezer and followed him back outside.