Kissing Cousins
By Laura Schiller
Based on: Dangerous Angels
Copyright: Francesca Lia Block
"I need to know who my grandfather is," said Dawn Jah-Love.
Cherokee looked up from the sketchpad where she had been drawing ideas for her new spring fashion line. She closed her eyes and sighed.
"Why now?" she asked.
"I think you know, Mom."
Cherokee did know. Eighteen years of memories flashed by in her mind's eye: Dawn Jah-Love and Milton Perez, sleeping in twin strollers and on the same blanket. Shrieking with laughter as they played tag and pushed each other on the swings. Sharing a mint chocolate ice cream cone. Slow-dancing at Ping and Valentine's Golden Wedding, Dawn in a blue silk dress, Milton with a lily in his buttonhole.
"You're in love with your cousin, aren't you?"
Dawn tugged at her long brown cornrows of hair in a self-conscious way. "Yes. Ever since I can remember. Like when you told us about you and Dad, and how you used to paint on each other and sleep in a teepee? We've talked about it, and he feels the same way – we just belong together. There's never been anybody else."
Cherokee looked down at her wedding ring, remembering the night her friendship with Raphael had changed into something deeper.
"We want to get married," Dawn continued, green eyes shining with hope, hands clasped together in her lap. "As soon as we've graduated and I start at Weetzie's."
The boutique was Cherokee's responsibility now, ever since her mother had passed away. Since Dawn had inherited a passion for fashion on both sides of the family (from Ping and Weetzie), Cherokee intended to take her daughter on as a partner.
"And we want babies," said Dawn wistfully. "More than anything. But I'm afraid … you know what they say about the risk of disease … If Milton and I really do share DNA, we've got to find out. So we'll know to keep on – I mean, to use birth control."
Cherokee winced. So they were lovers already.
"It's not that simple," she said, "It might reopen a lot of old wounds. But I'll see what I can do."
In the living room of the big house in Laurel Canyon, as soon as Cherokee told the story, everybody started talking almost at once.
"You what?" exclaimed Lily, glowering at her black-haired, purple-eyed son. Milton glowered right back and demonstratively put his arm around Dawn.
"I should've known," said Max, folding up his newspaper with a irritated rustle. "They've been inseparable since they were children – "
"I thought they were just friends!" said Ping, shaking her head over and over. "So did we all. Dawn, baby, how could you keep such a secret from us?"
"Because she knew you'd react like this," Dawn muttered.
Raphael stood up, went to stand next to the armchair where Cherokee was sitting, and held up both hands. "All right, people, we need to calm down," he said. "Listen carefully."
They listened.
"I vote that we go through with it."
Lily grimaced, looking almost like the old Witch Baby again.
"No," said Max, in a low, gravelly voice which carried through the whole room. "We shouldn't. It's not what Weetzie would have wanted."
The oldest generation remembered the time a determined Weetzie had conceived and carried her 'three-dad baby', how she had made sure to point out how Cherokee had features that could have come from either Max, Dirk or Duck, and how the four parents had agreed to leave it at that in order not to jeopardize their shaken friendship.
Dirk, who had kept sternly silent throughout, suddenly spoke up. "You're not the only one who knew Weetzie, Max," he said tightly. "How can you be so sure what she would have wanted?"
"Yeah, dude," said Duck, supporting his husband. "She wanted her grandkids to be happy. If a DNA test can give them that, why not?"
"What do you think, Kee?" asked Max, appealing to the bone of contention herself.
Cherokee looked up at Raphael, who put his hands comfortingly on her shoulders. The truth was, she agreed with Max. She did not want to know. She did not want her relationship with her three loving fathers to change, as she feared it would once she knew which one shared her DNA.
She had speculated about it so often when she was younger, and never come to a definite conclusion. Maybe it was Max, because of her green eyes. Maybe it was Duck, because she was blonde and loved to surf (although the blonde could have come from Weetzie's side as well). Or maybe it was Dirk, because of the shape of her face, especially her cheekbones. She had picked up enough quirks and habits from all three of them, growing up in the same house, not to be sure.
Then she looked over at her daughter and nephew, with the same anxious, hopeful look on their faces. Both of them suddenly much older than she remembered. They were the youngest of the family, born in the same year, so often thrown together by the exclusion of their older brothers' and sisters' games. The other children were already scattered in jobs and colleges across the world.
With Milton's black curls and Dawn's sleek cornrows bent close together, they reminded her so much of herself and Raphael, or even Lily and Angel Juan. They should have their chance.
"Let's take the test," Cherokee said.
Lily threw up her hands and marched out of the room.
After what felt like ages more of arguments back and forth, Cherokee left the stuffy room and went towards the back porch, knowing who would be there. Lily was standing by the railing, tightly wrapped in her long black trenchcoat, her mouth like a slash in her face as she stared out at the rose garden.
"What's up, Witch Baby?" asked Cherokee quietly, coming to stand next to her.
"Don't call me that." Lily's hands gripped the wooden railing so hard her knuckles were white.
"Don't tell me the whole family thing still bothers you!" Cherokee shook her head incrdulously. "We were kids, Witch. What I said back then, about being luckier than you because I knew both my parents – I didn't mean for it to hurt you."
Lily's purple eyes flashed.
"Oh, okay, maybe a little. But seriously, I was eight! I wasn't thinking! Look, Witch – Lily – we're still sisters, no matter what. I still love you. You don't have to be always competing with me."
"That's easy for you to say," said Lily. "You always win. Look at you – you've always been prettier, nicer, more popular. You weren't left on anyone's doorstep. You don't have a husband who's away from home half the time." Angel Juan, an incurable nomad, worked as a location scout for a Hollywood film company. "Even your hair always behaves. So now you're going to have a full set of parents too, and either way they'll both be sane and happy, and you'll have won again. Without even trying. You know, I hate that the most. You don't even have to try."
Cherokee wanted to shake her. Thirty years ago, she would have. Now, she locked her hands behind her back and caught Lily's eyes.
"You honestly think you can envy me? Living with that uncertainty hanging over me my whole life? Getting bullied for it in school, along with my ridiculous name – how can you not remember the day Billy Collins called Mom a slut and pushed me in the snowbank?"
Lily smirked wickedly. "I broke his nose for that."
"See, you do remember! And now – what if I find out Max is my father? The children will be so disappointed, and so will I, and there's something terribly wrong about a situation where I'd be disappointed to be the daughter of a wonderful man like our Secret Agent."
"My Secret Agent."
"And there you go again, Lily! You're awful when you hold a grudge, you know – your negativity spoils everything."
"Thanks so much for reminding me."
"Ugh!" Cherokee rolled her eyes. "And besides, how do you think Max feels about all this? Losing Mother ... it hit him harder than any of us. The last thing he needs is to have one of the worst periods of their relationship dragged up again."
"Oh, you mean the one where he conceived me?" asked Lily, bitingly.
"You were the best thing that happened to this family!" Cherokee snapped, losing her patience. "So stop sulking and feeling all sorry for yourself. Yes, I mean that. You brought Raphael and me together, you got Duck to come out to his family, you rescued Angel Juan, and you rescued me when I went overboard with those animal clothes. You're the mother of my child's soulmate. If you ever go selling yourself short again, do you know what I'll do? I'll sneak into your house when you're asleep and dye your hair cotton-candy pink!"
The half-joking threat did the trick. Lily glared, snarled … and burst out into loud, raucous laughter. Cherokee joined in, slapping her sister on the back, giggling until tears came to her eyes.
"Clutch pig," she said affectionately.
"Bath mat brat," Lily retorted.
They laughed some more at the old insults, unable to keep their faces straight.
Dirk found Max in the bedroom he used to share with Weetzie, the one that looked like the inside of a rose. The slight, frail-looking old man was sitting on the pink bedspread, so neat and tidy you could see that no one used it, looking in the direction of the empty closet where Weetzie's wild, glamorous clothes had once hung.
"I'm sorry, man," said Dirk. "What I said about knowing Weetzie better … that was out of line."
"I don't mind," said Max. "It's true."
Max and Dirk watched themselves in the closet mirror, noticing how much time had changed them. Dirk's infamous hair was half gone now, much too sparse for any kind of Mohawk, but the rest of it was still dyed black. Max's brown hair had gone completely gray. They both wore nondescript, comfortable cords and flannels at which Weetzie would have been dismayed. They had gained weight as well, and it had been years since Dirk had gone surfing.
"I always hoped Cherokee was mine, you know," Max admitted.
Dirk said nothing. Honestly, so had he; so had Duck. In their secret hearts, they had all hoped for someone of their own blood to continue after they were gone.
"But now … if she is … since Lily really is my biological daughter, and depression and addictions run in the family … I'm so worried for Dawn and Milton. I don't want them to have a child with a double dose of my genes."
Dirk put a sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder.
"She always had feelings for you, you know," said Max abruptly. "Weetzie, I mean. She never said anything, but I could tell. When she touched you … "
"Max, no!" Dirk held up one hand, the lines on his face deeper than ever. "Even if it was like that … you know she loved you. It was always you. And it was always Duck for me. That's another thing that runs in this family, even those of us who aren't related – when we fall in love, it's forever."
Max smiled, a strange little half-smile. "I know. Still … that's why I found it hard to forgive you three, for what you did behind my back. I hadn't thought about it in decades … " He shook his head. "Oh, Weetzie. She looked so happy when she told me. After I'd told her all the reasons why I could never have a baby with her, she went ahead and … and I was so angry and jealous, I couldn't think straight, and suddenly I was waking up next to Vixanne Wigg … it feels like yesterday, Dirk. Why? Why can I remember this so vividly, and not the times when we were happy?"
Because you're an incurable pessimist, Dirk thought.
"I don't know," Dirk said. "Try to remember."
Still looking at the empty closet, Dirk found himself remembering a few things of his own. Weetzie in the cream-colored suit Cherokee had made for her. Cherokee busy at her old Sphinx sewing machine. Weetzie beaming with pride. Grandma Fifi, the previous owner of the Sphinx, making an aqua-blue silk shirt for Dirk.
The Sphinx …
Dirk found himself sitting very still, hardly breathing. To think he'd never considered that before. It was only a theory, but …
"It's me," said Dirk, at the next family assembly.
There was a beat of silence in which everybody processed the information – except Duck, Max and Cherokee, who had been told along with him at the laboratory.
Dawn and Milton exchanged a brief look and squeezed each other's hands, not daring to smile.
"I might have guessed it," Dirk continued. "You have the same gift my great-grandmother had, you know. She owned the Sphinx. The clothes she sewed on it had extraordinary powers; they gave beauty and confidence to anyone who wore them. Your creations are the same – Lily's wings, Weetzie's suit. The gift is in your blood, passed on through me. And I'm proud of that."
"So … are congratulations in order?" asked Valentine. Several people laughed, a little awkwardly.
Cherokee stood up abruptly from the sofa and held out her arms.
"I won't let this change anything," she said fiercely. "I love you all. Dirk, Max, Duck – as far as I'm concerned, you're all my real dads."
The three men joined her in a group hug, followed by Lily, who clung to Max as if relieved to have her father to herself after all.
Duck was a little bit disappointed, but not very much; he had taught Cherokee how to surf and cook, and knowing they loved each other was enough. Max wore a very serious look as he kissed Cherokee on the cheek; he found he regretted the possibility that Cherokee was his. He regretted that there was no living combination of him and Weetzie, no child of their love. He wished he had been less afrid.
But remembering the dark streak in his bloodline, he found he did not wish it on Cherokee or her descendants. He was sincerely glad that Dawn and Milton could have their chance, and he was glad of the source of Cherokee's powers.
He believed that Weetzie would be happy too.
"Can you make my wedding dress, Mom?" asked Dawn.
Cherokee disengaged herself from the huddle and went to hug her daughter instead. "Of course, honey-honey. Of course I will."