Page 50 of Small Town Shy Omega
My body was burning, and I couldn’t wait to explore my heat with them.
But my heart sunk when I was in my glassworks studio, and I received a very unfortunate phone call.
I wished things could be easy breezy. Stay calm and sunny forever.
No, I thought with disappointment,that’s just not how life works.
I’d been blowing a glass vase. The vase was the color of bubblegum, and I recollected blowing gum as a girl, as that’s what the bubble of glass I shaped reminded me of. Luckily, my safety goggles were protecting me in case it popped.
In my studio, I could create anything from ornamental fruits and vegetables to air-and-glitter moons.
“That should do it,” I’d said happily, setting the small orb down to dry. It wasn’t a crystal ball, but it could sure pass as one.
The phone call brought me out of my happy creative space.
“Hey, girl,” my stepsister Jasmine said sweetly, and I fought the urge to groan.
My sister always called at the most inopportune times.
What I’d hoped for was an afternoon of creative solitude. I wanted to work, shower, then read the novel Josh purchased for me at Whimsical Wonders. It called to me from my plump sofa where I’d left it, along with a few cookies.
“Jas,” I tried to warn politely, “I’m really not in the mood to talk right now.”
I didn't wish to sound rude, but Jasmine was the type of stepsister who had trouble understanding boundaries. I wasn’t a firm or direct person, and I frequently wilted—like a rain-soaked rose—in the face of conflict. Still, Jasmine required a hard no. Otherwise she monopolized conversations, talking my damn ear off.
I often felt my spirit suppressed when others talking “at” me for extended periods of time, and I hated being my sister’s sounding board.
“I only wanted to talk to my baby sister,” Jasmine let out a laugh. I fought off a groan, knowing that Jasmine likely called to rub her wedding preparations in my unbonded face.
“Jasmine…” I tried again, a dejected sigh escaping me. Once Jasmine got going I wouldn’t be able to stop her.
I’d told my sister to please not call without letting me pencil it in on my planner first. And of course, Jasmine didn't respect that boundary.
I often felt uncomfortable when it came to applying boundaries. I never wanted to make another feel bad, though others rarely returned that courtesy to me.
“Aren’t you excited for my upcoming wedding?”
Jasmine’s voice was sweet. Bubbly, like the glass I blew in my artist’s studio. And she was very cloying.
I sighed, tears pricking behind my eyes. Why was I being so dramatic? It wasn’t just today—every time I spoke to my stepsister, I felt less-than. Judged.
My ideas and lifestyle weren’t respected. Not like Jasmine’s.
All my life, Jasmine had been the favorite stepsister. She was the one my stepparents picked, leaving my grandfather to have to take care of me, even though he was in his late seventies.
Jasmine had racked up more credit card debt than I ever had. She assumed a wealthy pack would fix her problems, and now that was happening.
A pack full of sexy, eligible Alphas had chosen Jasmine to be their Omega, while I spent my nights on my sofa, fantasizing about fictional Alphas that didn't exist. She won the pack lottery.
“Yes, veryyyyyy excited,” I said sweetly, trying my best not to let my real emotions bleed though. Not because this was a war or anything. It wasn’t. I merely didn't want my stepsister sensing my unease. My discomfort over hearing about Jasmine’s perfect life.
The wedding would occur in the Applewood Falls chapel, right beside the altar that held the two candlesticks I blew last autumn.
Jasmine would wed beside those custom glass candlesticks before me. I had created them. I blew life into them. That seemed unfair.
“We’ve already settled on bridesmaids’ dresses,” Jasmine said tenderly, as if she wasn’t listening to a thing I said. “You’ll absolutely love yours, Layla! It’s pink and the frills on the sleeves really match your eyes. Yeah, we picked them out just for you. The other bridesmaids all said pink was passé, something from a different age. Dated. Like something Mom would’ve worn at her wedding.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “You can stop now, Jas.”
