We all ate and had dessert and coffee and then the members who didn’t live here anymore headed off, leaving Greyson and me with the dishes.
“Thank you, baby,” Mom said, giving me a hug. She didn’t look like a woman who’d had five children (and adopted two). People always thought she was at least ten years younger than she was. I’d gotten her eyes and Dad’s height. Somehow, even though they were adopted, Ezra and Falyn looked like they shared our DNA. One big happy family.
“You’re welcome,” I said. By the time we were done loading the dishwasher, I was utterly exhausted.
“Hey, come have some tea with me,” Mom said, grabbing my arm and steering me to the small breakfast nook in the kitchen where we’d eaten our pancakes in shifts when we were little.
It was an order, not a suggestion, so I sat as she put the kettle on, carefully packed some of her loose leaf tea into two tea balls and then poured the steaming water in the cups. I added honey to mine, while she had hers straight.
“You’re not happy.” It wasn’t a question. Lilly Benson didn’t fuck around. The woman had raised seven children and knew what was wrong with you before you did.
“I’m fine,” I said, dipping the tea ball in and out of the water.
“No, you’re not happy. And I feel like it’s my fault.” She sat back in her chair and sighed. Her back had mostly healed, but she had some permanent nerve and disk damage that prevented her from doing anything strenuous. I knew how much she hated that she couldn’t garden like she used to, or take her long walks in the mornings.
“It’s not your fault, Mom,” I said, reaching for her hand. She squeezed and then let go.
“I know. It’s no one’s fault, but I’m your mother and I feel responsible that you gave up everything for us.” I kept my mouth shut. The thing was, I hadn’t been happy at school, either. I didn’t even know why I’d gone into business, but by the time I figured that out, I was applying for master’s programs and there was no turning back.
The only thing that ever made me even remotely happy (if you could call it that) was art. But I’d never even considered it as a career. Why would I take the one thing that kept me calm and turn it into a soul-sucking job? I would do anything to avoid ruining it as an outlet.
“I didn’t. I didn’t have anything to give up,” I said, and that was the awful truth. I’d had nothing to give up. Nothing I’d been working for.
So here I was, and at least here, I was doing something to help. There was comfort in that.
“You’re so sad and it breaks my heart. I want you to start painting again.” Her eyes flicked to the cabinets, which I’d hand-stenciled five years ago. She’d let me go nuts with my art. The hallways were decorated with my finger paintings and watercolors and the stairs had my dark emo high school phase; the bathroom had a mural of the bottom of the ocean.
“I’m still making things,” I said, which wasn’t a lie. I’d started that charcoal drawing. That was something.
We both sipped our tea.
“You don’t belong here. You never did. It used to make me so sad. I knew, out of all of you, that you weren’t destined to stay in Hope Harbor.” Yet here I was.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere. Okay? I’m running the store and that’s final.” I got up and she grabbed my arm.
“I just want you to be happy,” she said. I leaned down and kissed the top of her head. Her hair was a bright blonde without a hint of grey. I’d inherited my father’s dark brown waves.
“I know. I love you.” I took my tea and slowly walked upstairs, calling goodnight to my dad.
Remi
It took me one week to feel like I was going to crawl out of my skin. There was a reason I’d left home and I was remembering it every minute I spent with my parents. They weren’t bad people, we just didn’t really understand each other. Well, my dad understood me. My mom, not so much. If she wasn’t criticizing my hair, the way I ate, the amount I swore, the clothes I wore, she wasn’t talking.
“I’m going to kill her,” I told Dad one day when she was out grocery shopping.
He gave me a big hug and kissed my cheek.
“She loves you. She’s just not real good at showing it.” What the fuck did that mean?
“Can you tell her to lay off? Just a little?” I begged. He said he would, but in arguments between Mom and me, he always took her side.
I took whatever time I could to escape and just drive around. There wasn’t much to Hope Harbor, but I found comfort in the air drenched with salt and the scent of pine. I’d missed everything smelling green and fresh.
It was lonely, though. I’d cut all ties with everyone I’d gone to school with and most of my high school friends had left the state in search of better job opportunities. Like I had; only now I was back.
I needed to do was find a job, but the search wasn’t going well. I even tried signing up for substitute teaching, but they took one look at my purple hair and my lack of experience and I knew I was never going to get a call.
While my parents were at work, I puttered around the house, reading all the books I’d left behind when I’d moved, doing laundry and finally, I broke down and started baking. I’d spend the whole day covered in flour and when my parents came home they’d find trays of snickerdoodles and cakes and pies. There were only three of us, so Dad brought them to his co-workers and they started putting in orders.
I made a triple chocolate caramel cake for an anniversary and a few apple galettes for a bake sale and before I knew it, I had a little business going. My parents were happy to let me use their kitchen, as long as I paid for my own ingredients. I also had my own trays and pans from New York.
“You should take some of your cookies and whoopie pies around and see if some of the local businesses will sell them on the counters,” Dad suggested. Sounded good to me. If I could sell enough, I might be able to turn it into an actual business and get the hell out of this house. Anything to get out of this house.
So I carefully made a batch of my regular whoopie pies, some oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, and some vanilla chai cupcakes and took them around to some of the local spots. Not having much luck, I decided to try Benson Variety as a last-ditch effort.
The screen inner door banged open and I looked up, hoping no one was staring at the girl with the purple hair and the Tupperware container she had balanced in her hands.
Fortunately, the place was empty.
Except for one person.
Brooks Goddamn Benson. Goddamn wasn’t his middle name, but it might as well have been. We’d graduated the same year, but we’d never been friends. Not even close. What was he doing here, anyway? Last I heard he was off earning a master’s degree, in a land far, far away from Hope Harbor.
He looked up and I locked eyes with him. Mine narrowed and he just sort of... kept staring. Brooks was one of those guys who looked at you like he might be picturing you naked.
He cleared his throat. Not my type. Not at all...
He scratched his ear. “What can I do for you?” I thought about just turning around and walking out, but I’d already come this far and if he was back in town too, I was probably going to keep running into him.
“I was just wondering if you’d be willing to sell some of my baked goods here on commission. But I haven’t had any luck, so I’ll just leave,” I said, but he was looking down at the container.
“Did you bring some samples?” he asked. I set the container down, crossed my arms and nodded. I didn’t want this dude eating anything I’d put effort into, but if it would help me get away from my parents’ house, fuck it. I’d do it.
“Yeah. So you can judge their quality.” I didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic. I was really blowing this. I needed better people skills.
“Do you mind?” Hey, at least he asked. I nodded again and he opened the container. I stood there as he tried each item.
“Wow,” he said when he got to the cupcake. “That’s amazing. Wher
e did you learn how to bake?” I was not making small talk with him.
“My mom,” I said. He finished the whole thing in three bites. There was some frosting on his nose. I wanted to wipe it off for some reason. Thankfully I caught myself and forced myself to stop looking at his face.
“Sure, yeah, I’ll have to run it by my mom, but I’m sure they’d have no problem. How about I give you a call and we can work out a deal?” Smooth. Real smooth. I wanted to tell him my number was 867-5309, but then I’d never make any money, so I reluctantly gave him my cell phone number. I was about to get the hell out of there when he unleashed that patented Benson smile that had made many a girl swoon in high school. Those boys left a lot of broken hearts in their wake. Thankfully, not mine. Not then, not ever.
“Can I have another one?” He pointed to the last cupcake. I sighed.
“Sure.” The grin widened and I hated how my hormones were responding to it. Simmer down, ladyparts. It’s not happening.
“Thanks,” he said, picking up the cupcake and finishing it, too.
“Seriously, that’s one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth.” He licked some frosting off his finger and I knew he meant it to sound exactly how it sounded. Bastard.
I snatched up the Tupperware.
“I look forward to hearing from you,” I said with a sweet smile.
“You have frosting on your nose,” I threw over my shoulder as I walked out, the door banging behind me.
Three
Brooks
Holy. Hell. Remi Wright got hot. I mean, way hot. Not that she wasn’t in high school but, holy shit. That purple hair and the attitude were totally working for her. I hadn’t seen her since graduation and clearly, she’d done a lot of growing up. The curves she was rocking hadn’t escaped my attention either. It was good. All good. Plus, I hadn’t been lying about the deliciousness of the cupcakes and cookies. Even my mom, a lifelong baker and an excellent cook, couldn’t top that. The taste of frosting lingered on my tongue for the rest of the day and I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl with the purple hair who’d made it.
****
I pitched the idea of stocking Remi’s baked goods at the store that night.
“Oh, I remember her. Nice family. Only child, right?” Even though she hadn’t been around for years, Mom still remembered her.
“I always thought she was a nice girl. Odd, but nice.” She had been a little odd in high school, but that hadn’t really been her fault. She just... didn’t seem to fit in with most of the people in Hope Harbor. Like she’d been born here, but was just stopping temporarily on her journey somewhere else. She’d always been intimidating, even in elementary school. Definitely not a girl I ever would have approached when I was younger and stupider.
What an idiot.
Well, she was back in town now, and, with any luck, I’d be seeing a lot of her.
I put off calling Remi to let her know that we would sell her baked goods at the store until the next day. I didn’t know why, but I was a little nervous about talking to her. She’d been totally hostile, and I’d spent quite a while thinking about why that would be. I’d never been overtly mean to her, but I had been a dumbass when I was younger. The chances I’d said something stupid that had stuck with her were pretty high. I made a mental note to ask her so I could apologize and maybe we could start over. For some reason, I really wanted to know why she’d come back. Where she’d been. What she’d been doing. She was... interesting. And I hadn’t been interested in anything for a long time.
****
“Yeah, Remi? This is Brooks. Benson. Brooks Benson. I just wanted to call you back and let you know that we’d be happy to let you sell your stuff at the store for a thirty percent commission. Uh, let me know if that works for you. Or doesn’t. Yeah, just call me back.” I hung up and wanted to strangle myself for sounding like such a dumbass. Why couldn’t I talk to her like a normal person?
“Idiot,” I said to myself as I put my phone away and went to make another pizza.
She didn’t call me back until two days later, and when she did, she kept the conversation brief and hung up before I could even get a word in. Guess she really didn’t want to talk to me, even though she’d agreed to the terms. What the hell had I done?
Remi
I let the voicemail from Brooks sit on my phone for two whole days. Two days of seeing that stupid little notification every time I used my phone. I had half a mind to delete it and forget the whole thing, but I needed the money.
Of course, because this was a small damn town and everyone couldn’t keep their traps shut, my mom found out that I’d talked to Brooks and wouldn’t shut up about how good-looking he was and how he’d come back from college to help his family and how wonderful he was and how great he would be to sire offspring. I had to listen, because she always talked to me when I was doing something else and couldn’t escape.
So he was good-looking. All those Benson kids were, for some reason. Good genes, probably. That didn’t mean anything. He was a total asshole. I couldn’t stand him and I was going to do whatever I could to avoid him as much as possible. I’d have to see him at least a few times a week when I dropped off new treats and settled up with him, but that was it. My mom had gotten it into her head that she wanted Brooks Benson as a son-in-law and wouldn’t stop telling me I should “make an effort” with him.
“Mom. Seriously. Stop,” I finally said when she accosted me as I was assembling whoopie pies.
“I’m just looking out for you, that’s all. Don’t get all huffy with me, Remington Rose. I want you to get married and have babies. You’re so...” She didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t need to. I was so not the daughter she wanted, and she was never going to let me forget it. When I was younger, I’d tried. I’d tried to wear the right things and do the right activities and say the right things. It was horrible I hated it. In high school I’d rebelled. At least as much as I could in a small town. Hung out with a different crowd, snuck out. The usual. Nothing too bad because I didn’t want to end up in jail or dead or pregnant. But enough to push my mom’s buttons and get her to sit me down for multiple lectures. Ah, memories.
****
I spent the next day making up all the packaging for my goodies. I’d come up with a business name—Sweet Shots. Because I was technically named after a gun, haha, I’m so clever—and a cute little logo that I’d designed in Photoshop. I had hundreds of labels to stick on boxes and bags for everything. My room turned into a complete disaster, but there was nowhere else to work.
Mom was semi-supportive, but kept grumbling about me monopolizing the oven. I told her that I didn’t have anywhere else to go, but as soon as I could afford to, I’d either move out or rent a kitchen. She got all upset about me threatening to move out and leaving the house so I didn’t say a bunch of things I would later regret. Instead I went for a drive, cranking up the volume on all my angry music. When I got back a few hours later, she’d calmed down. Dad must have had a little chat with her.
I baked overtime that night and by the next morning, I had three times as many items as they’d asked for at Benson Variety. Just in case. Now I just had to deliver them.
****
I got to the store just as Brooks was opening. I cleared my throat and he came around the corner with a broom in his hand.
“Oh, hey. You’re here.” He looked a little shocked to see me, even though this was exactly what we’d agreed on.
“I have stuff. In my car.” I hadn’t been able to carry everything and open the door so I’d left the stuff on my backseat.
“Do you need any help?” he asked, leaning the broom up against the wall.
“Yeah. Sure,” I said, reluctant to let him do anything nice for me.
He followed me out to my car and took the boxes, stacking them up. I tried to protest, but he just headed toward the door without another word and somehow opened it with his elbow.
“Thanks,” I said as he put the boxes down o
n the counter.
“So, I cleared a space for you last night,” he said, gesturing to the empty right side of the counter that used to display gum and flyers for fishing derbies.
“I don’t know if you have a display or anything, but if you need more room, just let me know.” He passed by me. I inhaled just as he went by and got a hit of his cologne. Nice.
Oh for the love of cupcakes, Remi. Don’t even go there.
****
I set everything up on the little cardboard stand I’d ordered to match my labels. They were purple, of course. Brooks didn’t talk to me as he swept the rest of the store, stocked the beer freezer and did other little chores. I almost forgot he was there until a voice said “That looks good,” behind me. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Shit, don’t do that,” I said, putting my hand on my heart and turning around to glare at him. He had the oddest expression on his face.
“I really like your hair. Like the color. It works for you,” he said. I had no words to respond to that. I just sort of floundered until he moved around the counter to get the register going. I was stalling and I didn’t know why.
I’d arranged and re-arranged everything like a hundred times. I had other shit to do today and here I was, hanging out at Benson Variety. Like a loser. A few of the townies had been in and out, getting sodas and chips and some of the premade breakfast sandwiches Brooks warmed up in the microwave in back. I’d gotten a few strange looks and a few hellos, but I hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone. They were part of the reason I wanted to get the hell out of this place. Small town, small minds. God forbid they encounter anyone who was even a little bit different or odd or unique.
I mean, purple hair wasn’t even that outlandish. At least Brooks didn’t look at my hair like it was freaky.
Ugh, not going there, Rem.
“Okay, so I’m done,” I said after Brooks rung up a guy who bought about fifty scratch tickets.
“Looks great. I’ll be sure to let you know how things are selling. And you’ll be back in three days to restock?” I nodded and there was that smile that made my insides flutter a little. I really needed to get control of my body.
Brooks Page 2
