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back to the fireplace. “So … who wants to tell me Erin’s most embarrassing story from her childhood?” I crunch away on my leprechaun nipple, ready to be regaled with tales from her dark past.
    Erin is always such a mystery; she never wants to share stories about her family, friends, or home country. Now’s my chance to get the goods on her. Of course I plan to use every bit of it against her in the future, because that’s just the kind of friend I am. I cross my legs and grin at the family, one member at a time.
    Erin closes her eyes and tips her head back to rest on the seat behind her. “Kill me now.”
    Uncle Miley is the first to bite. He wiggles his ample bum to the edge of the seat and leans towards the center of the group. “Well, I suppose there was that time when she opened up a kissin’ booth on the corner, just down the road.” He gestures with his chin. “Made herself quite a tidy sum before she was shut down by the coppers. Bloody bastards.” He grimaces and takes a long pull from his fresh beer.
    I grin. “It was probably great for earning gas money.”
    They all laugh as Uncle Miley responds. “Oh, they don’t let six-year-olds drive in Ireland. Too many drunks on the road.”
    I snort, looking at my friend. “Six? You were six? Running a kissing booth?”
    She’s still leaning her head back on the couch but her eyes are open. “What can I say? I was an entrepreneur from a very young age.” Her voice is monotone, but I can tell she’s battling not to be proud of herself.
    “And you can’t forget the time she swindled twenty quid out of those poor lads in the playground,” says Aunt Ger.
    “At the church, no less,” adds Mum, giggling until her cheeks are pink. “We had a heck of a time convincing Father Michael that she wasn’t the devil’s spawn, didn’t we, love?”
    “Aye, we did,” agrees Dad, nodding his head, appearing lost in a bittersweet memory.
    Erin picks her head up. “I was providing a service for which I was paid. I take offense to the term swindled .”
    I lean forward, resting my elbow on my knee and my chin in my hand. “Oh, this has got to be good. Tell me, Erin. What service did you provide?” If she says blow jobs, I’m going to piss my pants. It’s a done deal. I will. Explode my bladder. On this chair.
    Her lower jaw juts out a little. “I was providing matchmaker services, if you must know. And I was very successful at it.”
    “Oh, do tell,” says Aunt Ger, clearly loving this part of the story.
    “No.” Her chin goes up. “It’s not important. I paid everyone back.” Her voice lowers and she mutters the rest. “Even though the bastards got what they paid for. I’m the one who was swindled if you want to know the truth.”
    Uncle Miley points out into the air distractedly. “Didn’t ye set up some sort o’ kissing game?   A bit like kick the can but with a twist?” He looks at his brother. “Isn’t that right?”
    Erin’s father looks up at his daughter, a very slight smile transforming his face as he joins in the fun. “I believe she called it Kissy Tag.”
    “I’m sensing a theme here,” I say, pretending to be serious.
    “Ah, right,” says Aunt Ger, “ye had to run around and catch a boy and then he had to kiss ye.”
    “But how did she get paid?” I ask, like I’m a reporter gathering my facts. “What were the services?”
    “Can I pay you all to keep your traps shut?” Erin asks the group.
    They all answer together as one voice: “No!”
    “Here’s where the genius part comes in,” says Uncle Miley, smacking his lips after a long pull from his beer. “See, she claimed to have supernatural powers. And if the girls slid her a few shillings, she’d use her powers to slow the boys down.” He looks at her and grins, ignoring her rolling eyeballs. “And she used half the money from the girl to pay the boy in question to run slower. On the sly, though. The girls were never the wiser.”
    Aunt Ger joins in.