Page 75 of Small Town Boy

I crinkle my nose, confused as to why she thinks I would bail.

Yes. Just have to pick up a quick RX at the drug store then on my way. Mtg went long.

Kenzie

Take your time, we won’t start without you!

I sputter out a laugh, Willa’s voice ringing in my ears, saying “speak for yourself.” Sliding my phone back in my pocket, I weave my way through the rest of the small store, all the way to the back to the pharmacy. I round the last corner and stop, noticing the two figures leaning against the counter, talking with Mr. Hovland, the town pharmacist.

“It’s more than just that breakfast at Dolly’s,” Mrs. Chamberlain says. “Err, wait, what word did she use?”

“Brunch.”

I can hear the sneer in Mrs. Burch’s voice. She’s good at that. Something I’m sure has come from years of practice. These two women are Thing One and Thing Two of the local rumor mill—stirring up trouble no matter where they go.

Logically, I know I should ignore them. And if this were my neighborhood back in Boston, I’d have no trouble doing that. Simply roll my eyes and walk on by, their words sliding off me like water off a duck’s back.

Hickory Hills is different though. I’m still finding my footing here. Still figuring out who I am in this town. A couple of months ago I would have told you I didn’t care what people thought of me. It didn’t matter. Only, I’m finding it does. I want to fit in here. I want to make the kind of connections I see in the townspeople. I want to have what I didn’t have back in Boston.

Noel makes me feel like there’s a chance I could have it too.

“His truck has been parked outside her place almost every night for the last month. I’ve seen it when I go for my nightly walks.”

I swallow hard, letting that new piece of information digest. I had no idea that Mrs. Chamberlain lived that close to me. Making a mental note to keep my blinds closed, I shift my weight, trying to make sure I’m not seen.

“Certainly things aren’t serious between them,” Mrs. Burch comments, her tone so sure you’d think she was Stephen Hawking giving a lecture on physics. “She’s new and intriguing, that’s all.”

“But a Yankee?” Mr. Hovland says. “Not at all who I saw that boy with. He needs a nice hometown girl.”

“I agree. A good southern girl who’s gonna treat him right.”

I slink back into the aisle, half recoiling from what I’m hearing, half stunned. My stomach drops, my lungs contracting, making it harder to breathe. For a split second I try to convince myself they aren’t talking about me, but that’s not possible. I know they are. I’ve known since the second I heard them. It’s why I started eavesdropping. After all, I’m the only Yankee around. Probably for miles. And it’s not like either of the women standing here chatting welcomed me with open arms.

I just hadn’t realized there was quite so much disdain.

I force myself to take a deep breath, stretching my diaphragm. That does nothing to solve the fact that my stomach is knotting itself up worse than Christmas lights, but it at least gives me something else to focus on for a second. Something other than hearing that the town thinks my boyfriend needs “a good southern girl who’s gonna treat him right.”

Which means they think I won’t.

That stings. A lot.

“There’s always Em. We’ve got to get that girl someone or she’s gonna end up a spinster,” Mrs. Burch says. “She’s already a little too comfortable in her singleness.”

“You know who might be a good match,” Mr. Hovland offers up. “Brenna Rawlins. She’s finishing up pharmacy school up in Augusta and should be back after graduation in the spring. If we got her paired up with Noel, that might go a long way in gettin’ her to stay here in town, take over this place.”

“Brenna’s not a bad idea,” Mrs. Chamberlain pipes in. “But with that fancy degree of hers, is she gonna stay? I think she’s gonna be too career focused. Her mind is not on having babies.”

Seriously, you’d think it was 1954 the way this conversation is going. Tamping down my rising insecurities and hurt, I work up my courage, ready to be outraged—for both this Brenna person and myself—and give them a piece of my mind, but then I stop, a little voice in the back of my head reining me in.

Because it’s possible all my insecurities aren’t wrong.

Just because I want those connections doesn’t mean I’ve made them. Or will make them. If this conversation is proving anything, I’m not winning this town over. At all.

I’m not good at trusting people—my relationship with Willa and the others a prime example. I haven’t fully let them in to my world. It’s no wonder anyone watching—and they have all apparently been watching—thinks that I’m not good enough.

Then there’s Noel.

Things between us are serious. At least to me. I want to believe they are for him too. But all this talk about what he “needs” in a partner and babies is going a long way to plant rows and rows’ worth of seeds of doubt in me.