My sister called last night to tell me about a hot job prospect in the Bay Area. She’s hoping she gets the job so that she can move back into her house at the end of the renters’ lease term. I don’t blame her for hoping that her days as a traveling sonographer might be over.
Just as she called, I received a text from my cousin on the east coast. This is starting to get freaky. First, my sister, who I often don’t hear from for months, calls me twice in one week. Then my only first cousin, whom I haven’t seen or spoken to since 1996, appears out of nowhere. “Who is this?” I asked when he texted me. I didn’t even recognize the area code.
I am guessing that my cousin, who is only two weeks older than I am, is trying to reconnect with family for some reason. Apparently, my brother-in-law in Texas finally accepted a Facebook friend request that my cousin made two years ago. In our younger days, my cousin had a little crush on my Texas sister, but of course nothing came of it since we’re first cousins and all. Instead, he ended up marrying one of her best friends.
Putting two and two together, I suppose my Texas sister or her husband gave my cousin the phone number for my Bay Area sister. Then she gave him my number.
My cousin and I are such opposites that, from childhood on, we never had much to do with one another. He was always a thin, tall, good-looking guy, while I’ve always been short and obese. I was always well-behaved and did well in school, while my cousin had a sassy mouth, was constantly in trouble and struggled with grades. My earliest memory of my cousin is when, at the age of five, in a fit of pique he took off his shoe and threw it at my grandparents’ console television.
I’m sure that a good part of my cousin’s early problems were related to his upbringing. His parents were constantly screaming at each other and, I am told, had fistfights. His father was a skinny little 98 pound guy, while his mother was a huge woman with a huge voice. They both had huge tempers.
My parents bought a house in the suburbs and moved us out of New York City when I was six years old, while my cousin slept in the living room of a tiny, roach-infested apartment until he graduated from college.
When we were in our early twenties, my cousin bemoaned his bad luck with women and wondered aloud why a fat guy like me always had a girlfriend. I didn’t bother mentioning that personality might have something to do with it. There are not a lot of people who find a wiseass endearing.
I haven’t felt the need to keep in contact with my cousin over the years. At some level, I think I associate him with bad childhood memories. So now he gets in touch with me via text and says he wants to call. What can I do? It would be rude to tell him not to call. Maybe I need to give the guy another chance. However, considering that he lives 3,000 miles away, what hope would we have for a normal familial relationship even under the best of circumstances?
I texted him back, telling him to call me on the weekend. This should be interesting.
In text, I explained to him that I work in state government and that my wife and I enjoy a happy life. “That’s good,” he responded.
Then he texted me a photo of himself with his wife.
His third wife.
My cousin has always chosen his partners badly. When we were younger, I thought that, because he had difficulties with women, he settled for whatever he could get. First it was his New York wife, my sister’s friend, with whom he had two sons. Then he divorced her and married his New Jersey wife, who referred to him as “my prince.” Then he divorced her and married his North Carolina wife, whom I hear has cancer and is undergoing the hell that is chemotherapy and radiation.
My sister says that, if NC wife passes on, Cuz will quickly move on to a fourth wife. Her theory is that some people have a “marriage gene,” an innate trait that compels them to hitch their wagon to “anyone with an XX chromosome.”
My cousin’s mother died of cancer about a dozen years ago, and his father, already past the age of 70, remarried. His new wife suffers from a variety of serious illnesses. Sis is laying bets that, should she pass away, my uncle, now well in his eighties, will marry again.
My father says that a second marriage represents the triumph of hope over experience. I wonder what a third marriage represents.
When a relationship fails, we often resort to the defense mechanism of blaming the shortcomings of our partner. After a couple of failed marriages, however, what would make one think that a subsequent attempt would fare any better? At some point, a reasonable person would take a good hard look in the mirror and say “maybe it’s me!”
After my sister divorced her husband, he stated that he “doesn’t want to die alone” and promptly remarried. Someone should have broken the news to him that we all die alone. Nevertheless, I get it that some people just can’t stand to be without a steady bed partner, particularly after years of marriage. I get it that having lots of family, friends and coworkers isn’t the same thing as having a life partner. Or an until-I-get-divorced-again partner, at any rate.
Or maybe my sister is right. Perhaps there really is a marriage gene.