Chapter 2

"Wait," I said, my voice a little shaky. "Who exactly is Cousin Leo?"

Aunt Carol smiled brightly. "Oh, you know Leo! Such a great guy. He’s tall, works in construction up in Boston. Always has some funny story."

Dad frowned slightly. "Tall? I always thought Leo was more on the shorter side, stocky. Isn't he a park ranger out West somewhere? Always talking about bears."

Cousin Jake, pouring wine, added, "No, I remember Leo being kind of quiet, really bookish. Last I heard, he was a software developer in California. Super smart."

I stared at them. Boston, out West, California. Tall, short, bookish. Construction, park ranger, software developer. Their descriptions were all over the place. It was like they were talking about three different people.

"Okay," I said slowly, trying to keep my voice even. "Which side of the family is he on? What are his parents' names?"

A sudden silence fell over the room. They looked at each other. Aunt Carol tapped her chin. "Well, he’s… you know… Leo." Dad cleared his throat. "He’s family, Emily. That’s what matters." No one could name his parents. No one could say if he was Mom’s relative or Dad’s.

My unease grew into a knot in my stomach. This was beyond weird. It was impossible. "Does anyone have a picture of him? A recent one?" I asked. "Or his phone number? Maybe I can just call him."

Mom pulled out her phone. "I’m sure I have his number somewhere…" She scrolled, her brow furrowed. "Hmm, that’s odd." Dad did the same. "Yeah, I thought I had it saved…" Aunt Carol, Uncle Ben, Jake – they all checked their phones. Blank stares. Puzzled murmurs. "I know I talked to him last month," Aunt Carol insisted, looking flustered. "He told me about his new project." "And I’m sure he sent me that article about Yosemite," Dad said, equally confused.

But no one could find a single photo of Leo in their digital albums. No contact information. No texts, no emails. It was as if he existed only in their conflicting memories. I thought back to the Polaroid, the boy who had been there and then wasn't. "He was in a photo," I said, my voice flat. "An old one. With me." I didn't mention he had disappeared from it. They already thought I was just tired.

Later that evening, I cornered Mom alone in the kitchen. "Mom, seriously. I don’t remember any Cousin Leo. And that photo… it changed. He was there, and then he wasn’t." She sighed, putting an arm around me. "Emily, honey, you had that really bad fever when you were little, remember? Around that age. Maybe it muddled some things for you. Don't worry about it. Leo will be here, and you’ll see." Her explanation felt too easy, too dismissive. The fever had caused memory gaps, yes, but this felt different. This felt like a tear in the fabric of reality, and I was the only one who could see it.

I spent an hour on my laptop, searching old family emails, scanned photo archives my dad kept on a hard drive. Nothing. No mention of a Leo. No unfamiliar boy in any group shots from Thanksgivings past. It was like searching for a ghost. A ghost everyone else insisted was real and on his way for dinner.