Laura Steven - The Love Hypothesis

My belly flutters with excitement. My veins fizz with the potential.

Beneath the curiosity, though, there’s a curdling sensation. Like nerves, or dread. Something fear-shaped. What if something goes wrong? What if I have an allergic reaction to the pills? Sure, my regular life is dull and often humiliating, but I still want to keep living it. How much would I hate myself if I woke up in the hospital with a shaved head and a scar down my cranium from emergency brain surgery? What if I lost the power of speech, or the ability to walk, or, god forbid, something happened to my tastebuds? A life without ever tasting Dad’s brisket again would not be worth enduring.

Oh god, my dads. What if the pills did work – too well? Would my dads be attracted to me? Or would their deep-rooted familial love for me override the effects of the pheromones? Is that even a die I’m willing to roll?

Shuddering, I realize I can’t do it. Getting Haruki to fancy me is not worth the long list of risks. I’ve just decided not to take them when I hear footsteps climbing up the stairs. Panicking, I stuff the pills into my school backpack just in time. There’s a polite tap at my door – it must be Dad. Vati never knocks.

‘Come in,’ I call, trying and failing to make my shaky voice sound as normal as possible.

Dad walks in and immediately freezes. That’s when I realize I’m still cradling the deformed zucchini in my left hand, the condom perched on the bed in front of me. Dad looks at me, aghast.

‘Oh, no! This isn’t . . . I’m not . . . Vati, he was giving me a demo –’

‘I’ll come back later,’ Dad mutters, even though he believes both contractions and poor vocal clarity to be signs of a weak mind. He shuffles back out the door, closing it too fast behind him, and practically sprints back downstairs. From a man who is usually so controlled, this is nothing short of bone-chilling.

Sighing deeply, I pull out my phone to text my group chat with Keiko and Gabriela.

Why do vegetables have to be so phallic? It’s a serious design flaw.

Gabriela does the crying-laughing emoji, and Keiko replies instantly.

Vegetables have no redeeming qualities. How many times do I have to tell you?

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