Chapter 8
Someday I’m going to stop allowing Dad’s words to hurt me. Today is not that day.
Hazel
“I’m here!” I shout as I enter the Harris family farmhouse.
“We’re in the kitchen.”
I nearly groan at Mom’s answer. Of course, she’s in the kitchen. Dad is a big believer in dividing up chores based on gender. Women do all the work inside the house. Men do the farming and repair work on the exterior of the house.
When I enter the kitchen, Mom is removing a tray from the oven while Sadie chops up vegetables and Scarlett peels potatoes.
“Where are Thomas and Ian?” I ask because I will never stop poking at the gender roles my parents believe in.
Mom frowns. “They’re in the basement watching football with your dad and Weston.”
“Why do they get to relax when we have to cook?” Told you I can’t stop poking at my parents.
“Hazel,” Sadie mutters.
“What? Would you prefer to discuss your pen pal?”
It’s a good thing those lasers in her eyes aren’t real because I would be burned to a crisp if they were. Someone wants to keep her affair with a soldier a secret. Ha! As if it’s possible to keep a secret on this island.
“Shut up,” she grits out.
“Girls!” Mom yells. “Behave. Can’t we have one Sunday dinner without a fight?”
Weston chuckles as he enters the kitchen. “If I know one thing about sisters, it’s how much they love to fight.”
Scarlett rolls her eyes. “You only have one sister.”
“And you’ve met Sophia. You know how much she loves to fight.”
Scarlett pushes up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Only with you.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Have you not met her best friends, Chloe, Nova, Maya, and Paisley? Those five are always fighting about something. How they haven’t burned down their brewery yet is a mystery.”
I snort. “As if Paisley would allow anything to happen to her precious brewery.”
Paisley’s the master brewer of Five Fathoms Brewing. She’s also uptight about the brewing facilities. When a hurricane hit the island a while back and ruined the brewery, she nearly lost her mind. Until her archnemesis, Eli, stepped in. Now they’re in love and have a baby girl.
“I forgot Paisley and you are bosom buddies since she’s engaged to Miles’s brother.”
I scowl at Weston. “I don’t have anything to do with Miles.”
He opens his mouth but I slam my hand over it before he can speak. He’s not telling the entire world about New Year’s Eve. Although, guessing by how Scarlett is smirking, he already told her.
He peels my fingers away before sauntering to the refrigerator and pulling out a beer. “Anyone else want one?”
“Yes, please.”
Mom’s lips purse at my response. Women shouldn’t drink beer is another one of her mantras. She should give up, considering I am never going to follow her rules.
I keep my eyes locked on her as I take a nice, long sip of my beer. She huffs before returning her attention to the stove to stir a pot of gravy.
Ian and Thomas rush into the kitchen but screech to a halt when they notice Weston helping Scarlett with the potatoes.
“What are you doing up here helping?” Ian asks.
“You were supposed to bring us beers,” Thomas adds.
Weston motions to the refrigerator. “Help yourself.”
“Or do you need me to show you how to open the door?”
Thomas scowls at me. “Don’t be a brat.”
I bat my eyelashes. “I’m the brat? I’m not the one who was lazing on a chair watching television while the rest of his family works in the kitchen.”
He shrugs. “Dad and Ian aren’t helping either.”
“Not helping your case,” Weston mutters.
“Let it go,” Mom insists.
“Why should I? Do you realize what century we live in? It’s ridiculous to expect women to do all the cooking and cleaning while the men sit around watching television and farting and scratching their balls.”
She gasps. “Hazel Edith!”
“Someone got the middle name treatment,” Ian sings.
Guess what? I get the middle name treatment a lot. When I was younger, I tried to keep my middle name a secret. Who wants to be called Edith these days? But it was impossible considering Mom’s tendency to give me the middle name treatment.
Dad strolls into the kitchen. “I hear complaining. Hazel must be here.”
“I wasn’t complaining. I was pointing out the inequality of gender roles during Sunday family meals.”
Thomas groans. “Here we go again. Does the feminist need her soapbox?”
“What I need is to get out of this kitchen.”
Ian sighs. “I don’t know why you’re bitching. It’s not as if you’re never in the kitchen. Especially since you’re still working at Smuggler’s Cove Restaurant.”
Dad grunts. “No daughter of mine should be working at a restaurant.”
I throw my arms in the air. “Where else am I going to work? There aren’t enough people on this island for me to work full-time as a therapist.”
“I told you the physical therapy degree was a waste of time.”
Scarlett squeezes my hand but I shake her off. We are not the same. While I stayed on the island and pushed back against our parents, Scarlett escaped for a decade. She nearly didn’t stay, even after she fell in love with Weston. Dad has no idea how hard he is on us girls.
“Disagree. What I do helps people. For example, I helped Caleb learn to walk again without a limp.”
Dad scowls. “You said it yourself. You don’t have enough therapy work.”
“First of all, thank you for acknowledging what an awesome job I did with Caleb. I’m pretty proud of it.”
Mom clears her throat. “Hazel.”
“What? Am I not allowed to be proud of my work?” I ask even though I know exactly why she’s scolding me.
I’m not allowed to toot my own horn. And I’m definitely not allowed to sass Dad. Two things I do often. And well if I do say so myself. And there I go tooting my own horn again. I guess it’s a habit.
“You should find a good man to marry.”
I groan. “I’m not letting a man solve my problems, Dad. I can solve them myself.”
“You can?” He lifts an eyebrow. “You’re twenty-seven and still working at a restaurant.”
“First of all, there’s nothing wrong with working at Smuggler’s Cove Restaurant. I have flexible hours, and the tips are amazing.” Dad opens his mouth to respond. “And, secondly, maybe I’ll stop working there when I find another job,” I blurt out before he can speak.
“Another job?” Sadie asks. “You didn’t mention you were looking for another job.”
Because I’m not. I only said I was to stop Dad from making another derogatory comment about my life.
“But you also said there aren’t enough people for you to work full-time as a physical therapist here.”
Which is why it might be time for me to consider moving away from the island. I love my home. And I love my family – no matter how much Dad and Mom tick me off. But maybe it’s time to explore other possibilities.
I wink at Sadie. “There are more places in the world than Smuggler’s Hideaway. You know, places where soldiers are sent to defend our country.”
“What soldier?” Dad asks and Sadie’s shoulders sag with relief.
The rumors about her pen pal have not reached his ears.
She’s not ready to tell our parents about Ben.
She better get ready because the rumors will reach Mom and Dad eventually.
“Are you considering enlisting in the military? No daughter of mine will enlist.”
“Technically, I wouldn’t enlist. I’d be commissioned as an officer.”
I did my internship at an Army Medical Retention Processing Unit.
Before I finished the internship, the commander pulled me aside and basically promised me whatever I wanted if I joined the Army.
Except she couldn’t promise me a duty station near Smuggler’s Hideaway, which was the one condition I insisted on.
Weston wraps an arm around Scarlett’s shoulders and pulls her near. “We should get out of firing range.”
Dad slams a fist on the countertop. “I don’t care if you’re a sergeant or a captain. No daughter of mine is joining the military.”
“I’m confused—”
“Hazel,” Sadie interrupts. “Stop egging him on. You’re going to give him a heart attack and I have a shift at the motel this afternoon. I can’t be spending my evening at the hospital.”
“Fine. But only because you asked nicely. I’m not considering joining the Army. But I am searching for a therapist position on the Mainland.”
I haven’t exactly started searching yet, but I probably should.
I can’t keep going the way I am now. Scrambling together enough money each month for rent on my apartment and my practice.
Listening to Dad complain about my job at the restaurant at every family meal.
Watching YouTube videos to repair my therapy equipment since I can’t afford to update any of it.
Besides, if I leave the island, I won’t have to treat Miles. Or see him and his bright blue eyes anymore. Or touch his muscular chest. Or give in to him again.
Huh. This leaving the island idea is becoming more and more appealing by the minute.