Based on a true mess.
It was 1:43 a.m., that magical hour when everyone’s lip gloss is half gone, everyone’s judgment is fully gone, and someone says, “We should totally keep this going at your place.”
My place, unfortunately, was within stumbling distance of the bar, so suddenly I was the proud host of an after-party I had never consented to.
There were about ten of us: a few people I actually knew, three I vaguely recognized from “that one time at trivia,” and at least two who I am convinced just followed the crowd like migrating geese. Someone immediately went on a mission to find my speaker, someone else opened my fridge like they’d been paying rent for years, and a third person discovered that my lamp could be turned on and off with a clap and refused to stop doing it.
That’s when I noticed them: The Couple.
They were on my couch, lit softly by the TV’s idle Netflix screen, making out like a prom night. They were adorable. Like, disgustingly adorable. You know those couples who are so into each other it almost restores your faith in humanity? That. He was whispering something in her ear, she was giggling with this light, affectionate laugh, and between kisses, they kept looking at each other like the rest of us were blurry background extras.
“Wow,” I thought, sipping my questionably warm drink. A few minutes later, I realized, as the host, I should probably introduce myself and make sure nobody was breaking anything or burning my furniture.
I walk to them and introduce myself. They turned to me, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
“Oh my God, hi!” she said. “Sorry, we’re like… we’re kinda drunk.” She laughed, and he chimed in, “Yeah, a bit. I’m Ben.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear and added, “I’m Lee. Nice to meet you.”
They were extremely charming. She had that bubbly, earnest energy, and he had the slightly overwhelmed, grateful look of a man who can’t believe he’s pulled this off. I mentally stamped them: Cute Bar Couple of the Night.
We chit-chatted for a minute. I asked how long they’d been together. They looked at each other and did one of those couple-smiles. “Like… not that long,” she said, biting her lip.
“Yeah, but it feels like we’ve known each other forever,” he said, which is the sort of line that should be illegal once you pass the three-drink mark.
I made the standard “Aww, that’s adorable” noise, we all laughed, and then they slid right back into their couch-based make out marathon. I walked away, thinking, “Those two. So cute. So in love. Probably going to get married, have matching tattoos, and name their dog something like Waffles.”
Over the next few days, a bunch of us exchanged Instagram handles and followed each other. The Couple followed me too. Their profiles were exactly what you’d expect: mirror selfies, group pics, the occasional “deep” caption about sunsets.
One day, I noticed something: they had the same last name. Same last name.
My brain: Oh wow, they’re married already?
Then my brain, part two: Wait, they look like they still lose socks in the laundry and consider chicken nuggets a food group. Married? Already?
Then my brain, part three, the logical one I should’ve listened to: Maybe they’re just cousins or something.
I immediately rejected that. “No,” I thought, generously applying delusion. “No. They’re young and chaotic, but not…They’re probably just both have the same last names from different towns. Or their families immigrated from the same place. Or they just share a really coincidental last name. Happens all the time.”
Eventually, on some random Tuesday, I was scrolling through Instagram Stories. My friend called me in the middle of my session “doom scrolling”.
“Hey what’s up?”
“Not much just taking a break from the real world.” I answer.
“Are you still coming to the bbq this weekend?” She asks.
“Yes, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll be bringing my share which is……..” Looking at my list on my phone “Salad and drinks. Got it.”
“You are the best. Hey, quick question. Would you be able to pick up Ben and Lee are your way down? It would be such a huge favor to me.”
“Yeah, I can I suppose.” Since she is asking about the couple. “Hey, I have a question as well and a comment? I noticed on Insta that they share the same last names. What’s that about?”
“Ohhh you caught that. They’re actually cousins. They grew up together.”
My thumb froze on the screen. My soul popped out of my body, stared at my phone, then quietly lay down. Grew. Up. Together.
I started doing mental math like I was on some kind of game show.
“I gotta go!” I tell her and hang up.
Okay, so at my place, they were kissing.
Like, kissing kissing.
Hands on faces, squished together on the couch, the whole “we forgot other people exist” vibe.
I vividly remembered her saying, “We haven’t been together that long but it feels like we’ve known each other forever.”
Yeah. BECAUSE YOU HAVE. AT FAMILY REUNIONS.
I went to her profile, looking for clues, like a detective who never wanted this case. It was confirmed, but I needed to let it sink in.
Family photos. Thanksgiving. Matching ugly sweaters. Both of them tagged in childhood pics from back in the day, comments from aunts like “Look at my favorite niece and nephew!” and “You two have always been so close!”
I sat there in my kitchen, phone in hand, thinking, “Not… that… close, Carol.”
I scrolled more. She had posted a picture of them as kids: haircuts from the early 2000s, holding hands in what looked like a church parking lot. The caption: “Always been my day one.”
I slammed my phone face down on the table and stared at the wall. My mind replayed that night. Them, cuddled on my couch. Them, kissing. Me, smiling down at them like some kind of wholesome Hallmark host.
“Aww, how long have you been together?”
“Feels like we’ve known each other forever.”
Cut to: a family tree spontaneously catching fire.
I had so many questions and absolutely zero desire to know the answers. Had they always been like this? Was this a new thing? Did their parents know? Did Grandma know? .
The way they’d said they hadn’t been together that long. The way they looked at each other like they’d known each other forever. The way they’d left at the same time, probably to go… I don’t know… discuss shared ancestry?
For the next few weeks, their posts kept popping up. Couple beach pics. Couple brunch pics. Fire emoji comments from friends. And then, occasionally, the same last name reminder. The occasional aunt in the comments, saying things like “You two have always been such good friends!” with a heart emoji, and I’m just there, holding my phone, whispering, “Oh if only you knew.”
I had to lie down.
There are things in life you expect to deal with:
Student loans.
Work stress.
That weird noise your fridge makes.
Discovering that the cutest couple you’d ever met in your living room were actually cousins? Not on the list.
Now every time one of them posts something vaguely romantic, part of my brain involuntarily yells, “BUT THE DNA!” while another calmer part says, “Not. Your. Business. Scroll.”
The strangest part is that I’m still technically friends with them on social media. I still like the occasional photo. I still respond with a polite “Happy birthday!” comment when it comes up.
Because what am I supposed to do? Unfollow them and write, “Sorry, it’s not you, it’s your shared grandparents”?
So I carry this knowledge quietly, like some absurd secret:
I once hosted a party where a couple was making out on my couch.
They told me their names. I thought they were just two young people in love.
They were cousins.
Every now and then, I think about that night and how confidently I walked over and said, “You two are such a cute couple!”
~by anon. Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.