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George Michael and Maeby lay in the same position where they had fallen asleep the night before—on the floor of their bedroom, she cuddled up against him—when they awoke.
George Michael opened his eyes to something he had never awoken to—Maeby's face filling his vision. He inhaled deeply, luxuriating in the faint, sweet, smell of wine as Maeby breathed. The wine. Maeby. He frowned in recollection.
Maeby awoke to something she had never awoken to before—George Michael's face filling her vision. His breath smelled vaguely of cheap wine. Wine. George Michael. She frowned in recollection.
With screams of fright, they both jumped upright.
George Michael looked down at Maeby. "You're almost naked!" he shouted in panic.
Maeby looked down at George Michael. "So are you, you idiot!"
They both screamed again. Maeby ripped the comforter from the bed and wrapped it around herself as George Michael scooped up his clothes. Holding his clothes in front of him, he backed towards the bathroom.
"I… you…" he stammered.
"We…" she stammered.
Backing into the bathroom, George Michael slammed the door shut and slumped onto the toilet. His mind was racing as the fog of sleep lifted and the events of last night came flooding back. Maeby's failed sixteenth birthday party, the bottle of wine…
Maeby sat down on the bed, trying to collect her thoughts of the previous evening. The bottle of wine, George Michael's confession of his love for her (she smiled at that thought), their rather passionate kiss…
…their making out, Maeby laughing at his inadvertent exhibition, the pain and embarrassment of flopping on his belly when fully aroused (George Michael grimaced at these thoughts), how she was instantly contrite when she realized she had hurt him. How gently she kissed and held him as they fell asleep. George Michael smiled and proceeded to dress himself.
…their awkward attempt at more physical intimacy, how George Michael was so quick to forgive. How good it felt to fall asleep with him in her arms. Smiling, Maeby got dressed.
As good as they felt, they still managed to avoid talking to each other for the next couple of days. Lingering between them remained the question of their relationship. Their marital status was
never in question, having been legally married in what was supposed to have been a fake ceremony at the retirement home a few weeks ago. The question remained, was Maeby truly Aunt Lindsay's daughter? Gangey had implied otherwise, but just the doubt was enough to keep them from pursuing their feelings.
George Michael and Maeby were finally forced to confront each other when…
"George Michael, I'm going to need both you and your cousin to work the Banana Stand this weekend. It's Spring Break and you're going to need all the hands you can get," said George Michael's father, Michael, as he entered the kitchen.
George Michael looked up from his cereal in alarm. Across the room Maeby's head poked up from behind a copy of Variety she was reading, panic crossing her face.
"Uh, no, I already have a hand on her. Uh, it. The situation," he stammered. "Yeah, I think I can, umm, handle things. Myself."
A brief quizzical look crossed Michael's face. "Nevertheless, it's going to be busy and you'll need the extra help. You're Mr. Manager now; you have to learn to plan ahead."
George Michael protested. "I really don't think that's a good idea right now. You see, Maeby and I…"
Maeby's eyes rose in concern over the direction her maybe-cousin was taking this, but Michael cut his son off before he had a chance to continue.
"I don't want to get into it right now. Hey buddy, I'm late for work. Just pencil you and your cousin in the schedule for this Saturday. I'll see you this evening." With that, Michael was out the door.
George Michael looked over at Maeby. He wondered if he looked as helpless as she did.
Saturday found George Michael and Maeby behind the counter of the banana stand. Michael had been right, it was indeed busy. Busy enough that they managed to avoid talking about the events of last week or their relationship. It was only that evening as they were closing up the stand did the silence grow heavy.
"You know, if we really are cousins, everything ends right here," said Maeby, finally breaking the silence.
George Michael looked up from where he was counting the day's take. "So if we're not cousins, things continue?"
She laughed and flashed him a grin. "Oh, George Michael." George Michael's heart fluttered. Close enough to a yes for him.
"We could ask Aunt Lindsay," he suggested. If anyone knows the truth, it would have to be her."
"Not Mom, she'd be way to suspicious. We need someone else who would be in the know but clueless enough not to ask questions."
"Dad, is Lindsay my real Mom?" Maeby asked her father, Tobias. She and George Michael had to wait until Sunday afternoon before they found both themselves and Tobias alone in the house. Tobias was sitting on the sofa in the family room when they approached him.
"Huh?" Tobias pulled the earphones out of his ears. Strains of "YMCA" emanated from the plugs before he fumbled for the Off button.
Jesus, Maeby thought to herself. He's still listening to that stupid disco, excuse me, parody music.
Sighing, she repeated herself. "Is Lindsay my real mom?"
Tobias cocked his head. "Now that's an odd question." He thought for a minute. "Oh, I see. You've been listening to your grandmother and are afraid you aren't cousins. Let me assure you that you are very much cousins just as Lindsay is your mother and I may be your father. In fact, we documented the entire process. Now you'll have to remember, they didn't allow pictures at the fertility clinic where you were conceived, but we did get everything after that."
Maeby's eyes shot open at the sudden revelation but Tobias continued as if he had said nothing amiss. "Here, sit down." He patted the sofa.
George Michael and Maeby sat down on either side of Tobias, who reached under the coffee table and pulled out a photo album. It was wrapped in red velvet, with "The Funke Family" stitched in gold metallic script.
George Michael thought it odd that he had never run across that particular album in his earlier research into Maeby's lineage.
Tobias patted the book. "Do you like it?" he asked no one in general. "I made it in a scrap booking class I took last month." He flipped through a few pages until he came to one entitled "Lindsay's Pregnancy".
"We documented her entire pregnancy and your birth." Tobias turned the page. "We took a picture of your mother every month of her pregnancy."
Sure enough, George Michael thought to himself, as he looked at the photos. Under each photo was a caption—Month One, Month Two and so on. Each photo was of a progressively more pregnant Lindsay, and in every single photo she was either grimacing, frowning, or yelling.
"Why is there no photo for Month Nine?" George Michael asked.
"Funny answer that. After eight months of being pregnant with Maeby, your Aunt Lindsay refused to carry her anymore. You know, you'd be surprised how difficult it is to find a doctor to induce labor at eight months for no valid medical reason."
Maeby's head snapped up, a look of shock and hurt crossing her face before she hid it. George Michael's heart ached for her. She really did have awful parents.
Tobias turned the page. "Here's the delivery room where you were born. Here's the delivery room floor. Evidently I passed out while they were inserting an IV into your mother's arm."
He pointed to the next picture, one of a large black man dressed in an orderly's uniform. "This is Ronald, the nice orderly who revived me after I fainted. Oh, and here's another one of Ronald." The next several pictures were either of Ronald or Tobias and Ronald.
"Now get ready to experience the miracle of birth!" Tobias exclaimed loudly as he turned the page. There were two sharp intakes of breath as George Michael and Maeby looked at the pictures.
They were of Lindsay giving birth. Gynecological, graphic, ROUGH pictures.
"There's Maeby crowning," Tobias said, pointing to a picture. "Oh look," he said, pointing to another. "And there you are Maeby, coming out of your mother's third base."
He wrapped his arms around the both of them. "You guys really are related!" he exclaimed happily.
Tobias continued to point to picture after picture but neither Maeby nor Michael were paying any attention. In fact, neither of them were even looking. George Michael had his eyes closed and was moaning softly. Maeby had her hands over her face, gagging quietly. The pictures were really that rough. Thankfully, the sweet hand of Fate intervened and Tobias was soon interrupted by his cell phone.
"Tobias Funke speaking. Carl Weathers, how ARE you? No, I'm not in the middle of anything. Did your casting director friend get the gift bag of scented soap and…" Tobias continued talking as he got up from the sofa and walked off.
George Michael slowly opened one eye and Maeby parted her fingers enough to peak through. Seeing Tobias exit the room, they both scampered up and ran out.
Maeby sat alone in the secret room. While it seemed to be an open secret, nobody came up much except for her. She came up here when she needed time alone to think, get away from the family, or sometimes, to cry. She was up here a lot. Right now she was just numb. Or maybe she was
just tired. Tired of a clueless, tactless, self-indulgent father. A lazy, self-centered mother. A mother so lazy and self-centered she couldn't even carry her own daughter to term. Greedy, manipulative grandparents.
And then there was George Michael. Nervous, insecure, innocent, LOVEABLE George Michael. Who would listen and CARE, instead of tuning out or walking away. Who remembers her birthday. George Michael, who… is so George Michael.
George Michael walked forlornly through the undeveloped development, tripping on the same foxhole where he discovered Pop Pop hiding last year. He was grieving a loss then also. The thought made him too tired to get back up. Lying there in the scrubby grass and dirt, he thought. Thought about how that was it. They were cousins and that was the end of it. Thought about Maeby's awful parents and how horrible it must be to have grown up with them.
But mostly he thought about Maeby. About how she laughed. About the freckles that danced across her face. About how she… he pushed that thought out of his head, they were cousins after all. About how she could talk him into breaking into a permit office, skipping school, or any number of things he would be too scared/nervous/cautious to do on his own. Feeling better, he got up and dusted himself off.
That evening, George Michael was in his pajamas, getting ready for bed when Maeby walked in.
"You're not sleeping in here now," she said.
"Yeah, you think that's a bad idea?"
"What so we can make out every night?" she exclaimed.
"Does that not work for your schedule? I mean, I'm sure we can…"
Maeby pushed George Michael up against the bed, kissing him deeply. George Michael surrendered for a second before pushing away. No matter, how they felt about each other, this wasn't right, two cousins kissing.
"I'm going to go sleep with my dad," he said hurriedly.
"Yeah, I'm going to get my old job back," she exclaimed.
As the door slammed shut behind them, the half-empty bottle of wine from the week before rolled across the floor.