Page 129 of The First Taste

I suck in a deep breath and get off at my stop, my heart hammering the entire three blocks to my parent’s house.

I trot the last forty feet up the yard, ringing the doorbell on the off-white brick house. Out of the corner of my eye, I see ivy starting to climb a corner of the house.

My father hates ivy. One corner of my mouth lifts in the ghost of a smile as I wait for someone to open the broad oak door.

But as soon as it opens, my smile vanishes. My sister stands there in her dark blue Catholic schoolgirl outfit, her blonde hair pulled halfway up with a long dark blue ribbon. Her lips twist with humor as she eyes me, wearing jeans and a black sweater.

“God, you look wretched,” she says. “As always.”

I repress a sigh. “Hello, Hazel.”

She rolls her eyes and leaves the door open, heading down the long hallway into the kitchen. Pressing my lips into a thin line, I step in and close the door behind myself. Although I’ve just come from the blustery day outside, it feels colder inside. As I head in my sister’s wake, I guess that Dad has been on a money saving kick again.

The heating is usually the first to go when he rages about how everything costs him too damn much.

It’s a frequent complaint because the costs of heating a house of this size here in Hartford are significant.

I walk into the kitchen, bracing myself. But my father is nowhere to be seen. Instead, my sister sits at the kitchen counter, absorbed in her phone.

My mother turns from the stove, her eyes hazel lighting up. She brushes off her aprons and hurries toward me.

“There you are, Chickadee,” she greets me warmly. She hugs me hard, kissing my cheek. When she pulls back, there are tears in her eyes. “It’s been too long since I’ve last laid eyes on you.”

I pat her cheek. “You look good, Mom.” My gaze slides around the kitchen and dining room. “Shouldn’t the cook be doing your job?”

My mother flushes as she steps back, shaking her head. She heads back to the stove. “Esmerelda was let go a couple of weeks back. Your father caught her and the new maid stealing.” She clucks her tongue as she pulls oven mitts on. “I mean, can you believe the nerve of some people?”

My father usually discovers that his housemaids are treacherous once per season; it happened so often during my childhood that I could almost time it down to the week. I feel bad for the servants who are hired here, to put it bluntly.

“Well. It smells good in here,” I say, changing the subject.

My mother blushes and smiles at me. “Thank you, Chickadee. We should be ready to eat soon.”

Slipping my backpack off, I carry it over to the bar where my sister is sitting. I set my stuff on the ground and slide into a seat.

“How is school going, Hazel?” I ask politely.

She doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Better than it did for you, I assume.”

I squint at her words. She’s almost certainly a worse student than I was. Ballet academies don’t screw around when it comes to grades. Mine was no different.

“Girls, be nice,” my mother says. “Hazel, we only have Kaia here once a month. Let’s keep it civil.”

Hazel looks up at me and sticks out her tongue. I flip her the bird and she immediately tells on me. “Mom! Kaia just told me to go fuck myself!”

“I swear, you two,” Mom says, whirling around. “Quit it, both of you.”

My dad’s steps suddenly break the tension, sounding like thunder coming down the stairs. I bite my lip. Hazel smirks.

My mother tucks her hair behind her ear nervously. We all turn toward the doorway, waiting. Three little arrows, primed and quivering, just waiting for him to release us.

Eventually he stalks into the room, muttering angrily. Tall, blond, and heavyset, my father is dressed in khakis and a white polo. He rakes his hand through his thinning hair and glances at the three of us.

“That was the fourth call I’ve gotten that was pre-recorded JUNK!” he declares. “I’ve told you time and time again, Serena. You sign up for these…” He makes a gesture. “These lists and then I’m left getting my fucking phone called twenty times a day! It’s fucking ridiculous!”

My mother doesn’t even blink at the accusation in his tone. “They are the worst. I’m sorry, honey.”

My father hikes his belt up, shaking his head. “I’m not dealing with that shit anymore, Serena. You can’t expose us like that.”