The grown-ups called it "enthusiasm." My mom said he was lonely. My dad said he'd grow out of it.
The turning point came at a cousin's wedding. I was 22, Danny was 24. I hadn't seen him in two years. He found me by the dessert table and wrapped an arm around my waist before I could step back. "There she is," he said, breath hot on my ear. "My favorite cousin." my cousin the creep
By high school, Danny had discovered the internet. He'd send me long, rambling messages at 2 a.m. about how we were "connected spiritually" because our birthdays were six days apart. He'd show up at my school events uninvited, claiming he was "in the area." He'd comment on every photo I posted within seconds—not with anything threatening, just overly familiar. Miss you, cuz. Thinking of you. You look so grown up now. The grown-ups called it "enthusiasm
When we were kids, "creepy" wasn't a word I would have used. Danny was just weird—the kind of weird that made other aunts whisper and uncles exchange glances over holiday dinners. He was two years older than me, and at every family gathering, he'd find a reason to stand too close. Not touching. Just... hovering. Like he was waiting for something. I was 22, Danny was 24