My Only Bitchy Cousin Is A Yankee-type Guy- The... May 2026

The family acted like he’d set fire to the nativity scene. But my only bitchy cousin—this Yankee-type guy—had done something radical. He said the quiet part out loud. Over the years, I’ve come to understand that Liam isn’t actually "bitchy." He’s direct . There’s a cultural chasm between how we handle discomfort. Here’s the breakdown:

Let me paint you a picture. Thanksgiving dinner, 1998. A humid Georgia evening, the scent of pecan pie still clinging to the air, and the sound of college football roaring from the den. Then he walked in. Crisp, collar-popped, talking about "Masshole traffic" and asking where the real coffee was. That was the first time I met my cousin Liam. And within fifteen minutes, I had already mentally filed him under the title that would stick for twenty-six years: My only bitchy cousin is a Yankee-type guy. My Only Bitchy Cousin Is a Yankee-Type Guy- The...

Liam, on the other hand, grew up outside of Boston. His father (my uncle) married a woman from Connecticut, and they raised Liam in a world of efficiency, sarcasm, and blunt-force honesty. The family acted like he’d set fire to the nativity scene

That’s bitchy. And it’s also the best advice I ever got. You don't really know a family member until you’ve had to share a hospital waiting room. In 2019, my father had a stroke. The whole family fell apart—people crying in corners, refusing to make decisions, arguing about whose turn it was to call the insurance company. Over the years, I’ve come to understand that

His "bitchiness" wasn't cruelty. It was competence disguised as irritability. Growing up, I thought love was soft. Love was never raising your voice, never disagreeing, never making waves. Liam taught me that real love is sometimes abrasive. Real love says, "You’re better than this." Real love holds up a mirror.

He didn't hug me. He didn't say "everything happens for a reason." He handed me a black coffee (no sugar, "the way adults drink it") and said, "Here’s what we know. Here’s what we don’t know. And here’s the list of questions you need to ask the neurologist. Stop crying. We have work to do."