The sun cooked that apartment complex rooftop. It had been some time since I had seen my dad's side of the family, but they and too many random fourteen-year-olds to count were all up there.

The day before, I had bought new sunglasses. Chrome with mirrored lenses, by the way. I was excited to wear them, especially knowing I was going to such an exclusive setting as a rooftop party. The family always saw me as "just another cousin," but I hoped those sunglasses would make me stand out a bit.

My relatives seeing me as more than just an audience for them was a funny thought. The shades were also a much-needed confidence boost going into several socially stifling hours. They made me feel like somebody when all my relatives made me think I was a nobody.

The stereo thumped a top forty hit with mumbling lyrics. I stood under the gaudy congratulations banner to the left of the stairwell, bobbing my head slightly. My modest smile hid my inner dread. After a few awkward seconds, I looked down at my phone for a text I knew wasn't there.

"Sleek," I heard someone say to my left, followed by an unconvincing laugh.

The family had this thing where common courtesies like basic greetings were too much to ask for. They'd always try to start a conversation in any other way.

"Mirrored shades?" the voice asked, after I pretended not to hear.

The smell of exotic, citrusy cologne was an airborne spoiler. I looked up from my nonexistent text and there he was: cousin Vince.

He was laughably overdressed for an eighth-grade graduation party with his cream-colored pants and white loafers without socks. We were the same age and came from the same upbringing, but he was dressed like he owned his own nightclub. I did not know where someone would even buy the outfit he had on, but it was clearly expensive. His father, my dad's brother, was a lawyer.

Vince was the type to think that claiming to be a social media influencer meant you were one. He carried himself like he was some fashion expert. He complimented the mirrored lenses that hid my rolling eyes behind them.

"So, what brand are those, man?" he asked.

"Not sure," I answered.

I wanted to show interest, and not about something trivial, so I asked if he planned to go back to college. His clearly threaded eyebrows crunched together as he rattled off several brand names instead.

I didn't know much about fashion, so every brand he name-dropped sounded like the name of a foreign country to me. Already exhausted from only a couple minutes of social interaction on that rooftop, I could only bring myself to shrug in response.

"Dude, how could you not know?" he asked, clearly irritated.

Although he was looking directly into my mirrored sunglasses, he couldn't see his materialistic, one-track mind staring back at him.

"Let me see them," he said.

I pretended to wave to anyone on the other side of the rooftop, excusing myself in the process.

I pushed through the mob of troublesome teens, trying to get to the other side of the roof and far away from Vince. It was moments later that I heard a long, piercing shriek. I didn't hear actual words.

I turned to my left, but my Aunt Val already had her long, lime green fingernails dug into my shoulder.

"I didn't know you were coming," she blurted, holding a martini glass in her other hand. "You're never at these sorts of things."

That was true. I did try to avoid "these sorts of things." I found forced socializing to be unnerving.

When I was young, Aunt Val walked around these gatherings dolled up with lots of makeup. If she had any more on, she could have worked as a clown at birthday parties.

My dad would later tell me that Val went through an "ugly" divorce right around the time I was born. Following the split, she became all about herself. "No man's love could ever equal my self-love," she once drunkenly shouted out at a wedding reception.

Before I could properly greet her, Val was well into her usual spiel about her daughter. Cary was a year older than me. I never saw Cary at "these sorts of things" either, but Val would probably have taken offense if I pointed that out. My mom told me to watch my mouth.

On other occasions where I'd been trapped talking to Val, she'd always talk about Cary as someone I should model myself after. When I asked where Cary was, Val said her daughter was "toughing it out in the heart of NYC."

Cary ran a "jewelry business." Val would make you believe Cary mass-produced products for every store in the city. But she only handmade bracelets every so often and sold them online. I saw them on social media.

I mentioned that my friend from high school, an artist, painted and used a similar business model. However, as soon as I wasn't talking about her daughter, Aunt Val's attention quickly faded.

She began adjusting her platinum blonde bangs while staring right at me. I want to say she pretended to listen, but that would give her too much credit. Things became a bit uncomfortable as she leaned forward awkwardly.

As I tried to keep up the conversation I didn't want to be a part of, I realized something. Val wasn't even looking at me. She was looking at herself.

I stood in front of my aunt as she used my sunglasses as her personal mirror. Val only wanted an audience, and I didn't meet the job requirements once I opened my mouth. She could perfect her looks all she wanted, but she didn't see the glaring narcissism reflecting back.