Chloe, a close relative

I scrolled through my contacts list until as luck would have it it landed on a name: Chloe. I smiled at the thought of it. Chloe was my my uncle's stepdaughter; and has recently fashioned herself as a rather militant lesbian. I smiled to myself, knowing better. I texted her "Hey, Chloe.", waiting for a couple minutes before she texted "What?" in response.

"Listen, I'm gonna ask U.C (that is our childhood codeword for "Uncle Charles") if I can crash there for tonight, maybe a few days. I just wanted to give you a head's up." I typed, waiting for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time before she replied.

"So your loser ass is dragging itself back through the door again?" she shot back. I shook my head, a slight grin on my face. I knew from our last Thanksgiving that she was now openly engaged to Brittany, a rather attractive petite brunette. I'm sure my uncle had his own thoughts about his only daughter, even if it wasn't "technically" his, choosing to terminate the family line.

"What was that? Do you need a reminder of why you should behave? I could text it to you?" I responded. The line was silent. Chloe and I had had a few interesting interactions in the past, especially during her "experimental" phase. It was something of an urban legend in my friend group, as some of them were involved.

"Fine. Just...just don't make it weird, okay?" she replied.

"Why would it be weird?" I asked, fearing the answer.

"Listen. I'm serious here and I hope you respect that..." she typed, pausing for what I assumed was dramatic effect. "Mischa is really nice, and I don't want you messing this up, alright?" I'd never heard of "Mischa".

"What?" I asked, intrigued but slightly annoyed. I was just looking for couch to crash on.

"I...I told her. About. You know..."

I shook my head. "Wait, I don't even know who "Mischa" is! How can I fuck this up?!" It was as if I opened the floodgates.

"Oh MY GOD-my-dad-got-an-Eastern-European-Girlfriend-But-She-is-REALLY-nice-PLEASE-PLEASE-don't-ruin-this!" she blurted out. "Oh, shit!, you can't come over, anyway!. My girlfriend Brittany is staying here this weekend..."

I gritted my teeth in response. I was just as much a part of this family as she was. I started to scroll down my phone's gallery, and shot her back a brutal, but effective response. "Should I send her this?" I asked.

Or perhaps this: