Page 109 of Resisting the Temptation
“It sucks they stopped doing those family campouts by the time I was old enough to go. It sounds like you guys had fun,” Izzy pouts.
“I think the camping trip with the mushroom was the first one in about a decade at that point. Then, they just stopped doing them for some reason. At least you got to experience Grandma and Grandpa’s Lagoon days,” Ellisays with a sympathetic smile before explaining. “They used to take the whole family to the amusement park and buy us ice cream after we rode on Rattlesnake Rapids. It was the best day of the year.”
“That’s true. But they stopped doing those when I was like eight. Grandpa’s knees got bad, and he couldn’t ride anything anymore.”
The room gets eerily quiet for a few moments after that. Elli and Hannah lean in closer to their partners seeking comfort, and Luke starts lightly rubbing Izzy’s legs in a soothing gesture.
Emma shifts her weight and starts plucking at the hem of her skirt like she’s trying to find a loose string.
“Tomorrow’s going to suck, isn’t it?” she finally says, breaking the silence.
“Yeah. But I’m glad we were able to hang out before. It’s comforting to know no matter what the rest of the family thinks, we still have our little group of black sheep to turn to. Sorry, Talmage, you’re the white sheep who keeps getting drawn back to our little outcast flock,” Hannah says.
Talmage waves her off. “I’d rather be accepted by the black sheep than have the herd accept me only if I live up to their standards.”
Chapter 52
Emma
Ifucking hate funerals.
I think it’s morbid having the embalmed body of a loved one sitting at the front of the chapel while people talk about their life.
Mormon funerals inevitably end up being a lesson about the gospel. It’s never truly centered around the person we’re here to celebrate and mourn and more about what the gospel says will happen in the afterlife.
Elli’s dad uses his speech to call all of the family members who have strayed to come back to church because if we don’t, we’ll never see Grandpa again. He talks about how Grandpa never wavered in his faith and never strayed from the path, and his only wish was for his posterity to do the same.
Elli and I lock eyes when he says that, and even though she subtly rolls her eyes, I know it hurts her because it hurtsme,and it’s not my dad saying it.
It hurts that, while we’re grieving a man who was so important in our lives, we have to be poked and prodded about our choices. They use our grief to try to guilt us into coming back to a church we no longer believe in. A church that—in mine and my cousins’ cases—has done more harm than good.
I tried to convince Ben to stay at the hotel. I told him I’d be fine alone for the funeral.
But as I realize again that my family will offer no comfort, I’m glad he’s here to subtly brush against my thigh letting me know he’s here for me.
When it’s time to sing with my cousins, I try not to let my eyes stray to Ben. But he becomes my anchor when the emotions of the music wash over me.
When I sit back down, he pulls a travel size pack of tissues out of his suit jacket and hands it over before gently squeezing my thigh and letting his hand linger. He leans in and whispers, “You sounded great up there.”
His words only make the tears flow harder.
I’m sure my mother will have something negative to say about my performance. She can never just tell me I did a good job. She always has to pick apart every aspect of everything I do and tell me exactly what I did wrong.
But not Ben.
After my chat with my cousins last night, I know I need to tell Ben how I feel and see how he feels about me, but the conversation feels too heavy right now with the funeral.
Plus, he may not want to be around me anymore after he meets the rest of my family.
I wouldn’t blame him.
My mom’s reasoning for having a family dinner only a few hours after the funeral luncheon is beyond me.
Ben and I opted for skipping the luncheon because I needed some time away from the sad, judgmental gazes of my extended family before being tossed into the lion’s den of my immediate family.
I also need to get out of these tights before I lose my mind.
I hate tights. But they cover the tattoos my dress doesn’t cover, so I opted for being uncomfortably squeezed into scratchy fabric that feels like sausage casings over everyone being “offended” over the artwork on my legs.
