My Only Bitchy Cousin Is A Yankee-type Guy- The... «Original»

The room went quiet. My mother put her hand on my arm. Bradley just looked at me for a long moment. Then he did something I’d never seen him do.

Turns out, Bradley’s parents didn’t talk to him. They just sent him to schools. His whole perfectly curated, bitchy little world was a fortress he’d built because nobody at his boarding school or his empty house ever said “bless your heart” and meant I love you even though you’re being an ass. My Only Bitchy Cousin Is a Yankee-Type Guy- The...

I pushed him off the dock.

We grew up in the sticky, kudzu-choked humidity of central Georgia. He grew up in a gray, tastefully expensive suburb of Boston. And every summer, his parents would ship him down to my grandmother’s farm for two weeks of “family connection.” Those two weeks were my annual descent into hell. The room went quiet

He raised one perfect eyebrow. “Yes?” Then he did something I’d never seen him do

“Why do you come down here every year if everything we do is wrong, everything we eat is garbage, and everything we say sounds stupid to your fancy Yankee ears?”