My cousin’s house

me (left), izzy (right)

2024/12/10

My cousin Izzy was born February 1st, 2002. Since then, she has lived in many houses.  

The first house I remember was across the boulevard, between the library and the yacht club. It was a quaint neighborhood, familial, and the perfect suburban dream - tree-lined streets and brick houses with new roofs. It was within walking distance.

Izzy’s room was in the basement. She had an IKEA bed, and I think the walls were lilac. The kid's bathroom was downstairs, too, and she shared it with her brother, Mark, three years older. I vaguely remember being bathed with Izzy before my brother was born - maybe it’s just from the pictures. The bathroom was next to the playroom, a carpeted room with an incredibly low ceiling where we played kitchen and argued. Izzy was a bossy kid. She still keeps a controlling streak. We whined and cried over Barbie dolls until it became so ridiculous it made us laugh. In the hall were bookcases where my uncle displayed his National Geographic collection. He scolded us because we were looking at the magazines without his permission and disorganizing them. We were too young to understand: pictures of poverty, war, cultural festivities, foreign cities, and tropical birds. Izzy and I fought a lot, and I punched Izzy in the face once, apparently. 

It was a bungalow. The entrance led to the living room, which connected to the dining room, which connected to the kitchen that was in between the family room and the mud room, which circled back to the garage and the entrance. The backyard was accessed through the family room, and it was huge - we used to eat leaves off the bushes behind the swing set. I only have faint memories of being in the kitchen and the playroom, like for Izzy’s birthday party doing crafts, for an afternoon snack, fighting with her some more, etc. 

with our aunt

Izzy’s second house was a short drive away. It was practically the same neighborhood, just copy-pasted somewhere else - quiet, safe, humongous houses, and parks. 

The house was double, or triple the size of the first one. It had so many half floors and a ton of spare rooms. The driveway was wide, and so was the yard, with an artificial pond (where I lost some of my Playmobil parts), a hedge contouring the lot, and a big fat front lawn. It was nice. Izzy had her big-girl room with a desk and Bethany Mota bed sheets. That’s also when the family adopted Sylvester, Mister tuxedo cat. 

I used to love sleeping over at that house. We ate bowls of popcorn with Nesquik drizzled over and tzatziki from Adonis. 

My mom was a bit of a freak then. She got nervous when I slept over because she thought I would get sick from the cat dander. She didn’t like me sleeping over because I’d come home itchy (I’m mildly allergic to new cats) and because Izzy and I would make our Barbie dolls hump.

As we got older, we got closer. One of the best days of my life was when the parents let us go to the mall with our allowances and we got matching floral snapbacks from Ardène. We were probably 11 or 12. I loved Izzy. Some summer days we’d meet up and go to Provigo to buy Oreos and Doritos and eat them outside. We would walk around with our iPod Touch and try so hard to take Tumblr aesthetic pictures. 

The basement holds so many memories. We played Clue in blanket forts, and she climbed the DVD shelf and fell smack down with the entire shelf unit, we’d scavenge through the storage room and the computer room even if we weren’t allowed. We’d ditch family reunions and play Minecraft on Xbox. We’d put up a fight and kick out her little cousins (unrelated to me) but let my brother watch us (but never play) because he was chill. We did that until we were 16-17 years old, without fault. 

In high school, Izzy started throwing house parties. There were all of her German school friends and mine from St-Louis, and I looked forward to getting drunk with my cousin and making out with some boy I met that night. I never cared for beer pong or any drinking games but Izzy would bet her whole life on them. I greened out in her living room, we cleaned up puke from the half-bathroom sink, we violently argued with some randoms because we didn’t invite them and they were threatening to crash the window panes. 

Izzy threw one last party after the house went on sale, unbeknownst to our parents. Someone broke the thousand-dollar glass stovetop. I slept in Mark’s room. The sun was up high the next day and we went to McDonald’s on St-Charles after we cleaned it up spotless, except for the stove. 

I loved that house. There is so much to remember: my aunt's falafel, Easter egg hunts, doing our makeup in the bathroom, trying to bake macaroons, Snapchat, feeding the cat, Starbucks, homework, fruit cake, going to the municipal pool and making Izzy promise she won’t splash me, getting turnt with fucking West Island randoms at the gazebo, staining my aunt’s couch with beer. 

izzy (right), me (left) in 6th grade lol

Izzy’s third house was on the blue line: get out of Côte-des-Neiges station, and trek an ungodly uphill street. It was an apartment. That was my aunt's place, after the divorce. My cousin had her room in the back. It was on the second story, and the kitchen was small but airy, and it was such a beautiful home. 

I used to pick up Izzy after class at Marianopolis and go home so we could cook dinner together. We’d talk about self-help books and journaling. She threw one of her parties once, and I was tripping balls on the couch from mixing stuff, freaking out because “I saw God”. Izzy let me ride it out and I was so grateful. It was always us together getting in trouble and never getting caught. We were good at that. That place was short-lived, and I didn’t get to go much because Covid hit. We’d FaceTime all the time during the pandemic, and I’d see her room on the screen. 

her team won beer pong (summer 2024)

Izzy’s fourth house was near Rosemont. My aunt moved out and got a bigger apartment with a loft and a rooftop terrace. Izzy’s room was pretty much the same, with the big bed, the round mirror, and the cat litter box in the corner. I also didn’t get used to it too much because it was right at the end of the pandemic and I was already moving to Tokyo. It was short, but it was everything. We’d drink Monsters, smoke, and do karaoke on the TV while her mom was away, and we’d take the car in secret and go places. I gave Izzy a tattoo on her bed. There was always good food with Izzy, but she never put the seasoning packet on her ramen because it was “too spicy”. I remember Marie calling me about a parking ticket, all irritated, in the middle of the night, while Izzy snored next to me. We were 19. The life ahead of us felt huge, almost insurmountable. She cried when we said goodbye - we had no idea when we’d see each other next. 

her rooftop, her clothes (summer 2023)

Izzy’s fifth house is in the center of the “McGill ghetto”, with Sylvester the cat and her American roommate. It’s clear that my cousin had most of the say when it came to decorating and furnishing the flat, but she works hard to keep it clean and hospitable. Her room, the same, with a big white bed, the round mirror hung up, the same desk since forever, except for a huge flatscreen so conveniently facing the bed, combined with her cosmetic collection that she lets me use and borrow freely - it’s the most luxurious student apartment I’ve ever stepped foot in. She let me paint a mural on her porch. My cousin always goes out of her way to show how proud she is of me. 

The rooftop access is the cherry on the cake. I love visiting in summer and getting all high and goofy and having a blast on the roof, in her kitchen, in her Ritz-level bedroom. It was at that house where I was vomiting and having liquid, flaming diarrhea for an entire afternoon. Izzy got me meds and food (plain bread) to soothe the food poisoning, and she made me a bed in her roommate's room so I could rest while her garbage asshole situationship was over. 

The spice rack, the black and white peel-n-stick kitchen tile, the wood cabinets, the squeaky front door: so much to love. Izzy is as hung up on order and organization as I am. She’d be up vacuuming and mopping the place at 10 am sharp after a night of hosting one of her parties while she let me sleep off my jet lag in her big bed. 

sylvester <3

I miss these homes, all of them. But I miss her the most - sure, I have my own house, and now I rent in Tokyo, and it’s fun, but Izzy is home. She can read my mind. It’s the best feeling. Thank you for being a home to me, Izzy. Thank you for sharing your toys, your clothes, your dinner, your weed, and your expensive perfumes. Thank you for sleeping on the floor in Ottawa. Thank you for driving. Thank you for getting me breakfast. Thank you for confiding in me. We will always be cousins, but how fun is it that we get to be best friends. 

Love you, see you soon <3