Page 88 of Scent of Home

Am I repeating their hateful words? Do I mean the things I say? Of course, not.

I like Bray. I like him a lot. More than a lot. I’ve spent my entire life being compared to him and seeing that no matter how hard I try, Bray effortlessly lets their words roll off his back. I have envied him; I have obsessed over him, fantasized, pined, hated, loathed, loved-

I stop, frozen, my mind racing.

So, why do I say them?

Because I have a reputation, and I’m supposed to be the good one, and he’s supposed to be the bad one. The expectations they trained into us, the weight of the pressure, the responsibilities.

Oh, god, Locke is right. I’m a toxic part of this problem.

I turn back, listening to the conversations, the gossiping. Tuning into the words that I tuned out. Letting the poison seep in, really hearing the cruel and cutting remarks.

Has it always been like this? Listening with one ear while they talked shit about him, while I stared at him and imagined him as mine? In my darkest fantasies, he wasn’t looking at Shane that way; he was looking at me.

My head dips, and I focus on a conversation like any other.

“Yeah, his truck didn’t get fixed last week. No, I heard Bray up and just abandoned young Benny to run the shop alone.”

Bile races up my throat. Rage makes my blood fizzle.

I can recall all the times they’ve had conversations like these in front of me. I never say anything. My stupid need to avoid upsetting anyone means I say what’s expected of me. I say what they want me to say.

And I never defend him.

Why don’t I ever say anything?

Because I don’t want them to look at me badly, because then I might tarnish my family’s memory. They wield my family’s memory like a weapon and turned me into this.

And he might not want me. He might find my weakness, and he might laugh at me.

This town and the resort are all I have left of my family, but it’s been feeling hollow and empty for years. But this last week with Locke, Bray, Erin, and Shane have made me feel alive.

If I had to choose?

I want him.

I choose them.

“STOP!”

I’m not aware I’ve spoken until the word echoes back to me.

The diner goes quiet.

“Stop picking on Bray-”

“Now, listen here, lad, it’s not picking when it’s the truth!” Willy grumbles and wipes a fry in the gravy on his plate before shoving it in his mouth. He doesn’t have teeth and his face is lined. Normally, I really like Willy, but right now, everything about his wispy hair and scrawny arms irritates me.

“Yes, exactly,” Eustice snaps. She’s well into her sixties with a loud mouth and black hair threaded with silver. She’s half the backbone of this town, while Alma is the other.

“But it’s not the truth. It’s your truth, but it’s not his or mine,” I snap.

“You’re too young-”

“Don’t give me that!” I shout. “I’ve been full grown for years, and I’ve had enough of this hypocrisy.”

I glare out over all the faces I’ve known all my life. Some are shocked, others are angry, but they are all watching me. The silence is heavy, and I feel betrayed by them, disgusted.

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