Page 5 of Living for Truth (Broken Shelves #2)

Hannah

I hate Sundays.

I’ve hated them for as long as I can remember.

But Sunday is for brunch and relaxing.

Not when you grow up Mormon— sorry —a “Member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.”

In the few instances I’ve met someone who hasn’t heard of the cult I grew up in, I consider them extremely lucky.

Lucky they didn't have to sit on scratchy, uncomfortable benches and listen to the same lessons and speeches and stories about someone losing their keys and an almighty being taking the time to help them find them because they “prayed.” Invest in one of those tracking tiles for yours and God’s sake.

They’re lucky because when they turned eight, they didn’t have to put on a white jumpsuit and be dunked under water in front of their whole family and then be told that if you sin, you’re going to hell.

Lucky because when they turned twelve, they didn't have to sit in a class for two hours—an hour now—every Sunday and be told their body was going to be what leads young men to sin.

Lucky that at eighteen, they weren’t forced into a new group of young single adults whose sole purpose is to get married and “multiply and replenish the earth.”

I stopped believing in this sham of a religion about two years ago in the midst of my fifth miscarriage, after my best friend told me the true history, and I started learning about the fallacies in the doctrine.

I haven’t stopped coming to church because I don’t know how to do that without causing a scene, especially now that I’m living with my parents again.

I haven’t talked to anyone other than my cousin Emma and my best friend, Sage, about it.

Emma moved to California with her best friend’s family a couple years after graduating high school. She’s living her best ex-mo life.

Even our cousin Elli left the church and is traveling the country with her boyfriend on his music tour.

I want to be free like them. Emma told me I could come live with her and her bestie if I wanted to, but I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. I think the familiarity of church helped during the divorce, but now it’s more of a pain in the ass than it is helpful. I dread going.

“Sister Layton, will you read the next scriptures for us please?”

Shit.

I really need to stop letting my thoughts wander when I should be paying attention. Where were we?

My only church friend, Lucy, discreetly points to where the last person left off, and I mouth a “thank you” to her.

“Of course, Sister Mayfield.” I clear my throat and read Doctrine and Covenants chapter eighteen, verses fifteen and sixteen.

“Thank you, Sister Layton. Any thoughts you’d like to add along with that?”

I politely shake my head, and she moves on with the lesson.

Lucy leans over to me. “You okay? You looked like you were in a completely different world.”

I fucking wish.

“I’m okay, thank you. Just tired.” I check the time on my phone and realize I still have thirty minutes before I can get out of here and internally groan.

As soon as “amen” is murmured at the end of the closing prayer, I book it out of the Relief Society room so I can make a quick exit.

Squeezing through the crowded halls makes my escape take longer than I want, which means the second counselor in the bishopric, Brother Bragg, is able to grab my attention and call me into a meeting.

I hate these meetings. It’s like a job interview, but instead of them asking you questions, they’re telling you “God called you to this position” and questioning your worthiness.

The offices smell like old men and look exactly the same. White walls, carpet halfway up the walls, big oak desk and a brown office chair. Pictures of Jesus and the nearest temple and a filing cabinet behind the desk.

“Sister Layton. How’ve you been?” Brother Bragg asks, leaning back in his oversized office chair.

He looks like a villain, to be honest. Like most of the other members of the bishopric, he’s a portly white man with a bald head and clean-shaven face.

His nose is sharp, and his brown eyes lack any real warmth, though he puts on a good show.

He’s wearing a crisp, black suit with the standard white collared shirt underneath and a blue checked tie.

“I’ve been good. How about you? How is Sister Bragg?” I reply, hoping I can distract him so I won’t have to answer any more personal questions.

“She’s good. Kyle is getting married next weekend to a nice girl from Logan, so that’ll be good. Hopefully we’ll have a grandchild next year!”

I force a smile. “That would be great for you.”

“Yes, very.” His face changes from polite casualness to serious.

“Now, Hannah, I noticed we haven’t had you in for a temple interview yet, and your recommend expired a few months ago.

The bishopric wanted to reach out and make sure everything was going okay, that you weren’t straying off the path or needing some extra guidance. ”

Damn it.

I was hoping they didn’t actually keep track of stuff like that. That I could slip under the radar and eventually just slip away without consequences.

I can’t answer the temple questions honestly without raising questions and being put on their “watch” list. Not that I want to go to the temple anyway. That place is creepy as hell, and I’ve never felt any semblance of peace there.

“I’ve been very busy with work, and it must have slipped my mind,” I say, hoping he drops it.

“Well, we can do it right now if you have the time? Then we just need to get in contact with the stake president to schedule a meeting after.”

I would rather kiss burger lips again than do this stupid interview. Luckily for me, I have an excellent reason why I can’t.

“I would love to, but we’re having a family dinner tonight, and I have to get home to make the jello salad.”

Brother Bragg nods like he’s trying to decide if he can force me to stay. Finally, he sighs and says, “Family is the most important thing. But you make sure you schedule an appointment to get your recommend renewed. It’s the only place you can go to be close to God.”

I should get an award for not rolling my eyes. I smile politely and nod, then he lets me leave with a firm handshake.

I wasn’t lying about family dinner. I was only half lying about the jello salad; we made it this morning. Everyone is coming to watch my brother, Jake, open his mission call.

When I pull up to the house, I already see Uncle Kent and Aunt Louise’s van parked in the driveway, which means Elli’s parents are going to interrogate me about their daughter’s life.

Elli and her parents had a falling out because she left the church and started dating Wes, a tattooed, pierced, long-haired musician. They blame her for Izzy, her little sister, also wanting to leave the church.

Now, Izzy’s the only person in their family who talks to Elli, so they resort to asking me sly questions to see if I’ll give them more information than Izzy does.

I won’t. My loyalty lies with my cousin, not with her mom.

I open the door to pure chaos.

“Oh, Hannah! Good. You’re late, but you’re here.

I need you to get the tablecloth from the closet.

The green one with the embroidered flowers.

It needs to go on the table. Oh! We need to put the leaf in the table so it will be big enough.

Then, you can fill water pitchers and wash the fruit,” my mom chitters, flitting from the stove to the sink.

I hate it when she does this. She stresses herself out when she hosts. Then, I get a task list a mile long just because I live here. I spent the day cleaning the house yesterday before my date, and now I’m doing the last minute prepwork while my dad and brother sit around.

“Got it, Mom. Sorry I’m late, Brother Bragg wanted to meet with me for a minute. Hi, Aunt Louise, Uncle Kent.” I wave to my aunt and uncle, who are helping in the kitchen and sitting on the couch with my dad, respectively.

My mom stops in her tracks and turns to me. “Why did he want to meet with you?”

I shrug. “Just checking in.”

She eyes me skeptically but drops it quickly and goes back to running around.

I make my way down the hall and into the linen closet to grab the tablecloth, and when I come back, Uncle Kent and my dad, Mitch, are putting the leaf in the table.

I lay the tablecloth on it and make sure it’s even on all sides.

I walk to the pantry to grab the pitchers for the water when Izzy comes and grabs them from me. “Hey, Han. Let me fill these, you can wash the fruit.”

“Thanks, Izzy. You’re the best.” I give her arm a gentle squeeze.

The place fills with more aunts, uncles, and cousins in the next hour, and our house barely fits the mass of bodies. Heaven forbid someone opens a mission call in private.

My mom has eight siblings, and if they’re all able to attend family gatherings, they do so along with their plethora of kids.

My mom, Aunt Pam, and Aunt Alice are the only ones with two kids, everyone else has at least five.

Alice doesn’t really hang around the family anymore because she left the church a long time ago. I miss her, but I get it.

Today, only two of my mom’s siblings are here; the rest of them will likely be at the farewell.

Aunt Pam, her husband, John, and their son, Nathan, and Uncle Kent and his family.

Pam and my mom are super close. Pam’s like a second mom to me.

At least, she was until she started distancing herself from not only me, but the whole family for some reason.

It probably has to do with the sect of Mormonism she and John joined.

While the whole religion is made up, there are different variations people sometimes branch off to, usually led by another white man who claims to have been chosen by God.