We walked up to Keith’s black-haired, brown-eyed donors of photogenic traits, and I shook both of their hands.
“Mr. Lipsch—”
“Call me Ken, and this is Kendra.”
The woman gave me a friendly hug, squeezing her small boobs against my D-cups. As she pulled away, she said, “We’re Kenny Squared, Ken and Kendra. And what’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Ursula?” I looked to Keith for guidance, but he only raised his eyebrows. “I clean house,” I said.
Kendra gave me a sidelong look. “What accent would you say that is, Ursula?”
“Polish?” I bit my lip.
“My Keith would never hire a cleaning lady,” she said. “Too much of a control freak. So, what’s the real story, you two little jokers?”
Keith ruffled my hair and pulled me in close to his chest. We hadn’t even made it in the door and his mother had already figured me out. I made a note to watch myself around her.
“This is Peaches Monroe,” Keith said proudly. “She designed the clothing line I’m modeling this week.”
Kendra wrinkled her nose. “Oh. You’re still doing that?”
“He’s an incredible model,” I said. “He helped me out on set so much yesterday.”
Keith’s father waved us into the house. “Everybody, get in the house. Our business is not the street’s business.”
We all went in, and were shown to the dining room, which was around the corner from the kitchen and separated from the front room by a rounded archway.
My least favorite new acquaintance, Keith’s sister Katy, sat at the table, drinking what appeared to be white wine with ice cubes in it. She gave me a look that was so acidic, it could probably remove stubborn bathtub mildew.
“Why’d you say you were the f**king cleaning lady?” Katy spat at me.
“So you wouldn’t be jealous of my awesome career and act like a jealous twat. Oops, I guess it didn’t work.”
Keith’s father exclaimed, “Peaches! Katy! Such language. Keith, go and fetch the cayenne.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, holding my hands in the air. “I come into your home and immediately insult your daughter. My bad. Even though the bag of hair deserved it.”
Keith had already gone to the kitchen and returned with the cayenne pepper.
“You don’t have to do this,” Keith said to me.
“Do what?”
Keith explained that punishment for swearing in the house was holding cayenne pepper on your tongue for thirty seconds. The rule was for everyone, all ages.
“Oh, please. Twat isn’t a swear word. In England, I hear it’s as common as toast, but heaven help you if you say fanny.”
Ken said, “That’s two and a half now.”
“Hit me,” I said, and I stuck my tongue out to be seasoned. What a ridiculous punishment.
Keith’s mother administered the cayenne to both me and Katy, as kindly and lovingly as if she was giving cold medicine.
As I held the cayenne on my tongue, I had the following thoughts:
I wonder what’s for dinner.
Keith’s parents look exactly like the wholesome types who buy books about kinky BDSM.
Fuck me three times and never call, but this pepper is hot as f**k.
Twat, twat, twat!
I wonder what Dalton’s doing. Not that I care.
Did I ever finish reading the final Harry Potter book?
Ow, pepper is hot.
Keith’s dad is a fox.
Is something burning?
I will not cry. I will not cry. Oh, shit, my eyes are leaking.
“Time,” said Ken.
I didn’t move, didn’t close my mouth.
A dish of sour cream and nachos was placed on the table, between me and Katy. Cooling, soothing sour cream.
Katy didn’t move. Tears of pain were also streaming down her cheeks.
Still refusing to swallow first, I gestured with a jerk of my chin for Katy to go ahead and take the first cooling bite.
She returned the gesture, not budging.
No, you.
She glared back at me. What was up her fanny, anyway? Was she just born pretty and never had to develop a personality like the rest of us? Keith was gorgeous, and he still had tons of character and goodness, but maybe it was different for girls.
The burning of the pepper didn’t bother me anymore. I was floating, my emotions free and ecstatic. The discomfort was there, but solely in my mouth, and it was only temporary, because all things are transient. I’d transcended the sensation, distracting myself with higher thoughts, and—
Oh, f**k it.
I grabbed a fist full of chips, scooped a wide swath through the sour cream, and gobbled it down. Never before have I had such delicious sour cream. My whole body tingled, the endorphins flowing from the pepper. Keith took a seat next to me and squeezed my knee casually, and I melted from his touch.
Everything around me came into focus, sharper and brighter. The silverware picked up light from the chandelier overhead, the tines of my fork tipped in diamonds.
His mother brought in some covered dishes, wearing oven mitts, and then a green salad in a giant wood bowl.
“We’re a little odd,” she said apologetically. “We like to eat our salad alongside the dinner instead of before.”
Right. Having salad with dinner is odd, but the cayenne punishment isn’t. Interesting family you have here, Keith.
“That’s a beautiful dress,” his mother said to me, admiring the purple dress with the leopard print accents. “I’d like my Katy to wear something pretty like that, instead of those little shorts that show her bum cheeks for the whole world to see.”
“Mom!” Katy howled, sounding fifteen, though she looked about my age.
We passed the wood bowl around the table, all helping ourselves. The greenery looked suspiciously like either kale or the plastic stuff Christmas wreaths are made of, so I didn’t take much, obviously.
Keith leaned over and rubbed his chin on my shoulder affectionately. “You doing okay?” he whispered.
I nodded, yes. I hadn’t called anyone a twat or a bag of hair for several minutes, so things were going better than expected.
Keith’s mother started to tell us about the farmer’s market where she bought the greenery, but Keith cut her off, sternly saying to his sister, “All right, Katy. That’s more than enough.”
Katy smirked and widened her eyes, trying to look innocent, but failing. “What was I doing?”
“Stop glaring at Peaches like you’re a nasty little female dog and she just took your Milk Bones.”