Meg and Susan sat at their small, cluttered kitchen table, the morning sun casting a golden hue across the mismatched dishes and the remains of a chaotic life lived together for over a decade. Meg had a large mug of black coffee in one hand and today's mail in the other, while Susan sat across from her, meticulously spreading beans on a slice of toast.

Susan's plate featured a breakfast that Meg had once jokingly dubbed "the most pretentious meal on the planet"—bangers, beans, eggs, black pudding and marmite-covered toast, all arranged with the precision of a royal banquet, if only it didn't have the typically nasty appearance of British food. Susan had, of course, accompanied it with tea, steeped just long enough for Susan to make a long-winded speech about the virtues of a proper British brew.

Meg yawned, lazily flipping through the mail. "How do you manage to make breakfast feel like a Shakespearean play every day?"

Susan lifted her nose a fraction higher and took a delicate sip of her tea. "One must uphold standards, Meg. Unlike you Americans, who seem to think an artificially colored cereal and something called 'Pop-Tarts' are suitable ways to start the day."

Meg rolled her eyes but grinned. "Right, right. We get it. The King personally blesses your breakfast each morning." She flipped to the next letter. Her brow furrowed. "Huh. This one's for you."

Susan set down her teacup with an aristocratic clink. "For me? Who on earth would be sending me anything? Probably some bureaucratic nonsense from your side of the pond."

Meg examined the envelope. "Nope. This came from your side, actually. Hmm, what a weird name. Toadclack!"

Susan dramatically spat out the tea she'd just sipped, spraying it across the table and even onto Meg. This was followed by a beat of silence as Susan's eyes widened and her body went rigid.

"Oh my God, Susan!" Meg jumped back, waving her arms in alarm. "What the hell?"

Susan's face was paler than usual. "Did… did you say Toadclack?"

Meg gingerly held up the envelope again. "Yup. Toadclack. Addressed to you. What's the big deal?"

Susan's hands trembled as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin, muttering under her breath, "Of all the places… all the people..."

Meg leaned in, giving her cousin a knowing look. "What are you hiding, Su?"

Susan looked away, clearly fighting an internal battle. After a moment, she exhaled dramatically, pushing her plate away as though breakfast had suddenly become unbearable. "Fine. You deserve to know the truth. Meg… I've lied to you."

Meg raised an eyebrow. "About… what? That you think Boston clam chowder is 'pedestrian'? Because, yeah, I already knew that."

"No, no, this is serious." Susan's voice wavered as she fidgeted with her napkin. "You see… I'm not really from Berwick-upon-Tweed."

Meg blinked. "Uh, okay? And?"

"I'm from Toadclack," Susan said, wincing as if the very name hurt her.

Meg stared at her. "Toadclack? So it is a real place?"

Susan sighed, lowering her head into her hands. "Unfortunately, it's all too real. Toadclack is… well, how do I put this… It's a tiny, wretched little village in the middle of nowhere. Population 27 people. And 89 sheep."

Meg couldn't help but snort. "Sheep outnumber people, huh? That explains a lot."

"I knew you wouldn't take this seriously!" Susan's eyes flashed. "Toadclack isn't just some picturesque, forgotten hamlet. It's mud, Meg. Constant mud, everywhere. Since it rains every bloody day. And when it's not raining there's fog. The people are… let's just say rustic, and the family I left behind is… they're... well, not exactly refined."

Meg smirked. "Not exactly refined? Su, you live with me, a woman who ate leftover pizza for breakfast yesterday. I think I can handle your muddy origins."

Susan's eyes narrowed. "This isn't a joke! I've been running from Toadclack for years. I wanted to escape. Become someone else."

"So… why now?" Meg shook the envelope. "What do they want?"

Susan's face turned pale again. "I… I might know."

"Well, I don't," Meg said, ripping the envelope open.

Susan watched, dread growing on her face as Meg unfolded the letter and cleared her throat dramatically before reading aloud.

"Dear Susan, we recently learned of your performance at the Burping Olympics in Boston." Meg paused, her voice suddenly full of amusement. "The Burping Olympics? Really? That was ages ago? What took them so long?"

Susan groaned, putting her head in her hands again. "It was years ago! I thought I'd buried that memory."

Meg continued, grinning. "It's embarrassing that we found out so late, but we have an excuse. That gassy Berta that you wiped the floor with bribed the village newspaper from printing this story and it worked until she no longer had a penny to spare. What a loser! To make up for this we will be arriving in Boston soon for a personal and private conversation. We hope, unlike the last time we spoke, this one will bear better results. Yours sincerely, the family."

There was a beat of silence. Then Meg burst out laughing.

"Are you kidding me? They only found out now? I nearly forgot that you—prim and proper, tea-sipping, toast-perfecting Susan—won a novelty burping competition?!"

Susan's head jerked up defensively. "It wasn't just any contest! It was the Burping Olympics, alright? Burping is what Toadclack is world famous for and I was among the best! In fact, the first thing I did when I was born was to burp, so my parents trained me all my childhood to be the best burpist of them all!"

Meg was practically wheezing with laughter now. "No wonder you lied about your past. Every near detail I find out is hilarious. And your family is coming all the way to America because of it? I can't breathe!"

"Stop laughing, Meg! This is serious! The last time I saw them—years ago—they… they were very upset with me about a similar… er… situation."

Meg's laughter slowed, and she wiped a tear from her eye. "Wait. What do you mean? This happened before?"

Susan shifted uncomfortably. "There was… an incident, back in Toadclack. I, um, I had enough of the career my parents enforced on me. I refused to be a burping showgirl for the farmers of Toadclack. So, I faked getting surgery that would prevent me from burping. In reality, I drank chemicals that inflamed my throat resulting in me barely even being able to speak, let alone burp. I lost my burpist job and my family was devastated since they planned to live off my career. Now they have found out that I faked the surgery and they'll be furious!"

Meg leaned in, fascinated. "So, let me get this straight. You're hiding from your family because they raised you as a burping cash cow? How much money could you have possibly made? Tell them to get lost, like the last time."

Susan sighed, exasperated. "It's not that easy Meg. Until now they were under the delusion that my burping talents were gone. Now they won't accept a simple no as the answer and I can't possibly fake not being able to burp the second time. They'll never buy it."

Meg chuckled, her laughter gentler now. "Oh, Su. You've been running from your burps all these years."

Susan rolled her eyes. "The problem is that they'll force me to burp and then I won't be able to get rid of them. What am I going to do when they show up?"

Meg started to look worried as well "They can't take you away, we'll get through this together!"

Susan then looked at Meg and said "That's it! You're going to face them and pretend to be me! None of their tricks can work on you. We look identical, you just need to learn to talk like me and you'll be able to fool them!"

Meg looked confused "You can't be serious. I should face them?

"Please Meg. I'm begging you. I'll do everything! I won't make haggis for a decade!"

Meg wasn't pleased, but the thought of not needing to taste Susan's concoctions for ten whole years was very tempting. "Fine, no haggis and also no jellied eels!"

"Not my jellied eels! They're a British staple!"

Meg gave Susan a dirty look. Clearly, she still hadn't gotten over the ordeal that happened when the neighbors called the police because of a foul smell emerging from her house. It turned out it wasn't rotting corpses; it was just the smell of Susan's food.

Susan realized she had to make compromises "Fine, but I can eat that when I leave the house!"

"Deal" commented Meg, before sighing. She knew that a tough week awaited her.