Second-biggest was falling in love with Felicia only to realize when Zen moved back from college that my wife was playing me more than my family ever had, wanting me to be someone else. Dress like this. Remodel your lab’s lobby like that. Someone needs to talk to Zen about that outfit. And about getting a real job. Your assistant? Seriously? You know how this looks, right?
Because looks were everything.
But not to Zen.
Zen taught me family.
Uncle Grey, you ever think about how rude it is for our parents to remind us of all of the basic needs of ours that they met when we were kids, despite us not asking to be born to them? I would’ve picked one of those reality TV families over this one, and I hate reality TV. And being on it. I assume, anyway.
Uncle Grey, what do you do when your siblings treat you like you’re an inconvenience despite the fact that you go out of your way to send birthday cards every year and ask about their friends and their dreams and their lives in a way they never ask about yours?
Uncle Grey, you really shouldn’t let them take advantage of you like that. You know the only reason they wanted you to marry Felicia was because her father promised Aunt Camille an introduction to his royal relatives, right?
Uncle Grey, this is who I am, and Felicia won’t change me, no matter how much she tries.
They see things that I always accepted, and they challenge the way they’re treated. They challenge the way I’m treated.
They challenge the meaning of family.
And I thought I understood, but understanding and taking a leap to trust people again are two completely different things.
Can I?
Can I risk letting someone destroy me all over again in the name of doing good instead of justice?
I might not be from a small town, but I know how gossip works.
I know Sabrina could turn the town against me with a single sentence. Probably no more than three well-thought-out words.
And instead, I have a fridge stocked with food courtesy of new neighbors or local restaurants, all of whom gave me discounts. We’ve received welcome gifts from other neighbors and shop owners, including six bottles of wine, two loaves of homemade bread, dozens of cookies and cupcakes, bags of vegetables, and a jar of local honey that has me intrigued but unable to track down the source just yet.
We’ve barely been here a week, and they’re taking care of us despite us doing nothing to deserve it.
I press my ear to the wall, straining to hear more of the conversation between Sabrina and her mother, but all I detect is silence.
Are they in the kitchen?
Is she making more coffee?
She hasn’t been more than three feet from a coffee cup or mug anytime I’ve seen her this week. She seems to live off the stuff, which shouldn’t be charming, but it is.
She lives what she says she loves.
But I don’t hear coffee maker sounds either.
Does she know I can hear her?
Are they talking about the café and my plans for it?
I deserve this, so I’ll take my punishment.
The number of times I thought that to myself when I was growing up…
I can’t do this.
I can’t get vengeance if it means hurting innocent bystanders.
It’s not about my attraction to her.
It’s about doing what’s right. What’s fully right.
If I can figure out what right is.
16
Sabrina
Normally on any given Sunday evening, Jitter and I would head out early to Silver Horn or the pub by City Hall and our statue dedicated to Ol’ Snaggletooth, our town’s proverbial original gold miner, and hang out with friends until it’s late enough that I know I’ll have regrets Monday morning.
But today’s been a hard day, and all I want to do is watch an old Razzle Dazzle film with a cup of coffee in hand and my dog acting like a pillow while I work up the nerve to follow through with the plan that my gut tells me is the key to getting my café back.
Unfortunately, nerves and coffee mean I sit still about as well as Theo, so I eventually shut off the movie that I can recite word for word and grab my coat and Jitter’s leash.
We need to go for a walk.
It doesn’t matter that Grandma took him for forty-three walks earlier, he’s still game. We head in the opposite direction of the dog park. It’s too dark to let Jitter off his leash, and even though he’s a solid deterrent to some of the larger mountain predators, I don’t want him running off and chasing deer or elk.
No one’s out and about. No neighbors to stop and casually chat with. I try calling an old college friend, and my call rolls straight to voicemail.