Page 51 of Small Town Shy Omega
“Ohhhhh, and the caterers are serving shrimp. It’s Michael’s favorite, though obviously I don’t mind it either. And you like shrimp, right? We’ll also have tuna, and roast too for anyone who preserves anything a bit heartier.” Layla let out a laugh. “And an open bar, of course. All I ask is that you don’t make a fool of yourself. No going overboard on the rosé, like you did at Mom and Dad’s twentieth-anniversary party.”
I loved how she kept referring to my stepmom as Mom. She was no mother of mine. She rejected me, like I was a wolf cub rejected by her adopted pack.
“Jasmine, we both know you’re the one who had too much atyourparents’ anniversary party.”
“I was only teasing,” Jasmine said in a way that definitely did not sound like teasing. “Yes, I have the drinking problem. Of course, it’s always me. The big, bad evil sister. Yep, can’t do anything right. I forgot who I was talking to for a second,” Jasmine said sharply, and the laugh I heard over the phone didn't mollify the sharpness of her words.
Jasmine frequently liked to exaggeratemynegative character traits, likely to deflect criticism ofheractual deficits.
“Your wedding sounds divine,” I said sweetly, and I meant it. Though tears dotted my eyes, and though my sister’s words felt oppressive and mean, I could give her credit where it was due: and Jasmine sounded as if she’d planned a marvelous wedding.
“Shrimp, tuna, pink bridesmaid dresses. Do you think we should change the bridesmaid dresses? Will they steal the attention from the chapel?”
“You mean, you?” I knew my sister obviously didn't care about the chapel as much as not receiving one hundred percent of the attention at her wedding.
Jasmine's frilly laugh hung in the air, forcibly amused—I was not fooled.
“Well, of course I wouldn’t want my sister to outshine me.” Jasmine’s voice trailed off, clearly amused at the thought. But I knew better.
I knew Jasmine was only saying this because the prospect of me ever, in any conceivable lifetime, outshining Jasmine was nil.
In no universe could I ever pull that feat off. And Jasmine knew this. Jasmine was rubbing her popularity and charm in my face, as usual.
I huffed, my orb cooling. The mist no longer puffed around my face, like the vapors that sometimes rose off the cooling water baths I plunged my glass creations into.
“Okay, thanks for the chat,” I said peppery, seeking to end this call. I felt like a fool—a fool talking to my stepsister, phone calls with Jasmine always made me feel less-than.
Less-than. Less-than worthy. Unseen.
Unheard.
No matter what concerns I might voice, my stepsis shot them down.
Jasmine never listened to me speaking aboutmydreams, or lifestyle choices in a positive manner.
She always sought to imposeherdreams on me, which coincidentally is what my stepmother also did before she rejected me.
“Sis, don’t hang up,” Jasmine said blandly, as if she knew damn well I was two seconds away from not only bursting into tears, but slamming the phone down. “On your stepsister? Right before her wedding?”
The unspoken epithet charging the air like lightning during a storm was selfish.
She was… calling me selfish as she often did, without actually using the word.Selfish,me.
But no, I was not selfish.
I’d spent too many years thinking I was the selfish one, the self-centered Omega who shunned her family’s affection.
My stepfamily’s care was always a ruse, and every bit of rope they fed me was really a trap: they wanted to loop the rope around my neck, and they delighted in choking me.
Some people were just sadistic. When the call finally ended, I left my studio, brewed some tea, and took it to my sofa— where I did have a good cry.
I read a book, too. My paperbacks transported me to a better realm. A superior realm, where Alphas were an Omega’s found family, where they cared for and nurtured her no matter what she’d gone through.
The pages transported me to a magical world. A world full of whimsy and fresh smells and tender, gentle care.
Blake.
Josh.
