That Houman Fire

As nearly identical cousins, Greta and Meg had inherited the Houman family attitude. Both were confident, self-assertive, stubborn, and often loud. But most of all, they were competitive, just like the rest of their family. Family reunions meant unusually aggressive soccer games, scuffles over who would lead the hiking party, arguments that lasted for days, and the ever-growing “my fish was this big”. 

“One-two-three-four-five-” Greta counted as her stone skipped across the surface of the lake. “-Six. Beat that!”

“I will, thanks,” replied Meg, pulling a stone from her pocket. It was the perfect skipping stone, immaculately smooth, flat, and round. She flicked her wrist and skipped it, counting the jumps. “One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven-”

“What?!” Greta gaped. “No way--that was, like, nine!”

“Twelve.” corrected Meg. “Twelve perfect skips.”

“No, I counted nine!”

“Learn how to count, then,” said Meg, “‘Cuz it was twelve.” She turned and ran off before Greta could reply. The Morrainfeild house lay just up a grassy slope from the river, and Meg could see her mother and Greta’s mother in the window. In the reflection on the window, she could faintly make out the form of Greta coming up from the river. She had a sudden memory of the endless hours she had spent combing the riverbed for the perfect skipping stone to impress her cousin with.

A little worm of guilt gnawed at her mind, and she wondered just for a moment whether it counted as a deception to pull out a perfect, pre-chosen stone in the middle of a skipping contest. But she brushed this doubt away quickly. It’s not wrong that I have better luck… though, even the word luck wasn’t quite right. She shook her head, returning to the present. 

“Hey Meg, think fast!” Greta called behind her. Meg turned around just in time to catch a soccer ball flying at her head. 

“HA!” Greta pointed an accusing finger at her. “You touched it with your hands!” 

“No way that counted, cheater!” Meg said.

“Oh yeah, it did!” Greta stuck her tongue out, and Meg drop-kicked the ball toward one of the goals set up in the yard.

Meanwhile, Greta’s mom, Claire, and Meg’s mom, Lucy, were sitting at a table by the window, sipping their coffee. The conversation had paused, and Lucy stared out the window absently. 

“You know,” said Claire, following Lucy’s gaze to their children, who were playing soccer, “Meg really should’ve been a Kathrine.”

“Oh, no,” said Lucy, “Don’t even start that conversation.”

“Too late,” replied Claire, “You had no right naming your daughter Margaret.”

“I’m the one who came up with it,” countered Lucy.

“When you weren’t even pregnant!”

“So?”

“It’s not fair to come up with the best names and just put them on hold until you have a child. It could have been years before we had a Margaret in the family!”

“But it wasn’t.” Lucy stirred her coffee a little more aggressively than was necessary. 

“But it might have been!”

“But it wasn’t.”

“But it might have been!”

“But it wasn’t!” Lucy slammed her fist on the table. Claire struggled for a moment, then took a deep breath.

“Look at us,” she said, forcing a tiny laugh, “Arguing back and forth like children. This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Lucy said.

“Of course it is,” said Claire, “It’s in the past.”

“It’s not, though,” said Lucy, and much to Claire’s dismay, she went on, “Our girls are growing up together right now. In the present. And right now, in the present, they look extremely similar.”

“They’re our lovely little twins,” Claire said uneasily, “What about it?” She felt like she knew the answer already.

“What did you think of the substitute teacher yesterday?” Meg panted, dribbling quickly to protect the ball from Greta’s prying feet. She pretended the ground was made of hot coals so she had to hop and kick nimbly.

“She was fine,” gasped Greta, sending a clever kick over Meg’s foot and stealing the ball.

“Just fine?” said Meg, “I thought she was awesome. Mrs. Caroll never lets us just shout out answers.” She blocked a shot and took off toward the opposite goal.

“Dude, you answered, like, every question,” said Greta, recovering the ball and winding back for a huge kick, “Nobody else even had a chance.” The ball went sailing into the goal before Meg could stop it. The girls stopped to catch their breath.

“Well at least you got to chew gum,” said Meg. “Don’t think I didn’t see that bowling ball-sized bubble in the back of Geography. I’m surprised you didn’t get called out for it.”

“Oh, man,” Greta laughed, “I can’t believe it, either! I could barely fit all that gum back in my mouth!”

“You really didn’t need to chew three packs at a time.”

“Yes I did,” said Greta, “Alex Martins dared me.”

“And you’ll do anything to impress Dearest Alexander,” teased Meg. Greta rolled her eyes, but a faint blush crept across her cheeks.

“Hey, want a snack?” Greta asked, changing the subject. 

“What’ve you got?”

“There’s a stash of Tally Munch bars under my bed…”

“Race ya,” grinned Meg, and the girls took off running for the house.

“Think about it,” said Lucy, “They look the same. They’re from the same family. They even have the same name! Now, because you stole my name idea, they are cursed to go through their life as rivals, always having to live up to one another’s success.”

“The whole family is competitive, Lu,” Claire pointed out. “It’s nurture, not nature.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” said Lucy, “Now, our competitive family is forever going to be sizing them up, deciding who the better Margaret is!”

“No!” said Claire, “We’re stubborn, yes, competitive, definitely, but above all, we care about each other!”

“Then why,” replied an exasperated Lucy, “Did you have to steal my name?” 

“Alright, listen,” said Claire, “You didn’t make up the name Margaret. I could have found that name with or without you, and I loved it just as much as you did. We were both pregnant, we both liked the name, it was all chance, okay? Fifty-fifty. I just happened to have Greta before you had Meg.” 

“You’re right, it was chance, so how come you get to use the name just because Greta was born first?” 

Claire just looked at her sister. Lucy sighed.

“Look,” she said in a resigned voice, “I just want them to have their own identities. It was unfair of you to name your daughter Margaret when I was already planning on it.” 

“Fine,” Claire nodded, “You’re right. Maybe it was a little bit unfair. But don’t you think when I named Greta ‘Margaret’, you should have accepted it and just picked a different name?” Lucy looked at her hands and smiled a little.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said finally, “I guess it’s just the Houman blood in me. Trying to win a battle I’d already lost.” Claire put her hand on Lucy’s arm.

“We’re all stubborn,” she smiled, “But we love each other. Even when we track mud in the house,” she added, raising her voice as the two Margarets came bursting into the house, eyes fierce and alive with that Houman fire.