Snake Bite
an excerpt

“Dinner's a bad idea unless you're open-minded.” At his confusion, she proceeded to explain that she and Lorraine had a food color schedule. Mondays were red, so they had to eat something red during the dinner meal. They both believed it helped to keep their diet balanced. Max thought it sounded ridiculous, but in a ridiculous way he could get a grip on. He liked it.
“You just need to eat something red in the meal.”
“Yes.”

---

While he should be working on placing an order, or flipping through a few applications to see if any valuable personnel might be awaiting a phone call, or something relating to his employment at the Loca Mocha, Max found it difficult to concentrate on much of anything except creating an entirely red meal, and when he found himself home that evening, with a spread of red food laid out on the table, and Amelia sitting in what could only have been a planned red dress, concerns of work were far from his cognizance. In fact, it was hard to focus on a meal when Amelia had a large red flower pinned into her hair near her temple.
He had made lasagna, a simple dish, but plenty of red. To accompany it, a salad of strawberries and apples, and he had thought of red wine to drink, then remembered that his dinner guest was a minor, and as he already wasn't on Adam or Dr. Greene's gold star boyscout list, he refrained. A message from Adam had awaited him after work, and while his words said that he was pleased that such a dear friend would find an even dearer friend in his sister, Adam's tone suggested he would break Max's knees with exuberance if given the private opportunity. Though Adam often took delight in torturing his baby sister, Amelia had no idea what Adam was capable of doing to her significant others. Max was thankful they hadn't crossed that line just yet. In fact, he wasn't sure Adam should know if and when they did. It seemed personal enough information to stay just between the two of them. But back to Amelia.
She smiled at the pan of lasagna, made goo goo eyes at the strawberries and sipped at her milk with a grin in her eyes. He spooned her out a square, but she promptly made him put it back in the pan and cut her a larger rectangle. The girl had no qualms about eating in front of him. That sat well. If all things could be that easy. With lasagna and cheese sitting in his mouth with the appropriate flavors of fresh mozzarella and homemade pasta, he was privy to discover that not only did she not watch baseball, but she hated it, along with his favorite band, favorite author, and favorite TV show. She said she found hockey fascinating, enjoyed indie music much too mellow for his taste, read literature he found pretentious. Amelia did not watch TV, only the occasional movie.
The conversation built a status of tension between them, but Max found even this fascinating. While she would interact with her brothers and kick and scream and nearly break their shins with her frustration, when it came to anyone but them, she sat docilely and shoveled lasagna into her mouth as though a desolate famine killing off 93% off the population would hit the very next day, and food would become an endangered pleasure, afforded only by the proletariats of the economy. And when she finished off her plate of pasta and tomato sauce, she dug into the salad without suggestion and grew a mound of fruit in her salad bowl (appropriately red as well, but only because Mrs. Simmons believed in a red and white kitchen.) Then Max scolded himself for watching her too closely and taking note of her every action when he'd barely had three bites of what admittedly was one of his best lasagna platters of all time. And if the famine would hit tomorrow, he would need his strength, so he dug in while the pasta was still warm.
“You eat slowly,” she said.