i'm with the RA

one

"Do you think my name is a curse?"

My mom raps me on the forehead with her knuckles and rolls her eyes. "Why would I give my firstborn daughter a cursed name?" She turns to her pan of risen focaccia dough, and starts dimpling it.

"I've read so many interpretations of the Orpheus myth, Mom. They just seem doomed, is all." Much like my (very much under wraps) ambition to fall in love before I graduate college. I resist the urge to pick up my phone and check my notifications for a certain cursed name, who I have muted both in messages and on Instagram.

My mom continues poking at the dough, and I watch as the olive oil sinks into the valleys that she creates with her perfect French manicure. "I only wanted to name you Eurydice because she was loved so deeply, Orpheus defied the order of the world to be with her again." My mom wipes off her hands on a towel and puts her hands on her hips, looking back at me. "Is it such a curse for your mother to want that for you? Besides, I didn't go through with it, Edelyn."

"Thank you, Mom," I say drily. "I just feel like intent matters. Your Clash of the Titans phase is not lost on me, by the way."

"Your dad wanted to name you Andy," she says and shrugs. "If you wanted a pretty name like Charlotte, you were going to lose either way."

My brother Keith walks into the room, pulling out a string cheese from the fridge and chomping straight down on it. I shiver dramatically at him, and he sticks his tongue out at me. "You talking about why you condemned Edie to a lifetime of spinsterhood?"

I punch him in the shoulder, wincing when my knuckles rebound. "That's only okay when I say it!"

My brother runs his hand through his dark hair, forgetting that he buzzed off all his curls with the rest of his frat, and shrugs too. "Feels kind of on purpose, don't you think? My name is Keith, and mom went and tried to name you Eurydice before Gran stopped her."

"Well, Dad named you," I reply. Our dad named our orange cat Garfield. He was not a very creative man. "When are you leaving for school, Keith?"

My brother plops himself down on a barstool, which brings his large frame to about my standing height. "Gotta head out soon. I'm picking up Brandon on the way."

We live in a city called Mission View, not so far from San Diego, with the same sunny beaches and surfer attitude. My brother wanted that experience on steroids, so he chose to go to UC Santa Barbara. UC Mission View doesn't have the same perky laidback exterior, but we do have strong Greek life on campus and really nice research facilities. We've got a beautiful botanical garden, and a shuttle to the beach, to boot.

"I'm going to leave right around then, too, Mom."

Keith spent most of the summer in the frat house, only coming back on the odd weekend for some of my mom's cooking and a Costco fridge raid. This week, he was back for our dad's birthday and graced our parents with his presence for the entire seven days, while I joined for the weekend. He told us he was sick of waking up to Delta-something or other's mess, but I knew it was because he missed us. My brother spent the week living like a king: ignoring his laundry, eating all the chips, and sinking a hole into the couch.

I pack up my humble little Corolla, Cobb, parked in the driveway next to my brother's hand-me-down truck. We stand side-by-side, loading in silence, until I get to the huge box full of pots and pans that I took for my new cooking endeavors.

I try to pick it up myself, but it falls back to the ground with a large bang.

"Keith?"

My brother grunts and loads it for me, but not without complaint. "Geez, E. You need all this shit? You're not gonna cook for the entire building," he says. He's being a bit dramatic; I didn't pack 'all this shit,' but rather the works, just enough of everything. I can't get myself sick on campus food.