The Keys to my Diary: Trixie E-Book

Ann Omasta

• Herausgeber: More Happily Ever Afters
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Do you ever wish you had an identical twin?

I bet you think it would be like having a built-in best friend.

You might imagine that the two of you would spend all of your time together, finish each other's sentences, and share a special, secret bond that only the two of you can truly understand.

For me, the reality of being a twin is far removed from that wonderful fantasy.

Despite our almost identical appearances, Nixie is better than me at everything. She is the smart one, the pretty one, the athletic one, the one with the magnetic personality, the witty one... the list goes on and on.

I have gotten used to it, but that doesn't mean I like it.

A couple of years ago, I moved down to the Florida Keys because I wanted to escape from my sister's shadow and begin building a life of my own. I think I have done a great job of it, too.

When a tragic twist of fate suddenly pulls me back into Nixie's shining orbit, I feel like my newly found confidence and autonomous lifestyle are at risk.

Am I ever going to find someone who will choose me over my twin? You can take a peek inside my diary today to find out.

Leseprobe

The Keys to my Diary: Trixie

Ann Omasta

Contents

Free Download!

1. Entry 1

2. Entry 2

3. Entry 3

4. Entry 4

5. Entry 5

6. Entry 6

7. Entry 7

8. Entry 8

9. Entry 9

10. Entry 10

11. Entry 11

12. Entry 12

13. Entry 13

14. Entry 14

15. Entry 15

16. Entry 16

17. Entry 17

18. Entry 18

19. Entry 19

20. Entry 20

21. Entry 21

22. Entry 22

23. Entry 23

24. Entry 24

25. Entry 25

26. Entry 26

27. Entry 27

28. Entry 28

29. Entry 29

30. Entry 30

31. Entry 31

32. Entry 32

33. Entry 33

34. Entry 34

35. Entry 35

Getting Lei’d Sneak Peek

I Love Hot Reviews

The Davis Twins Series

About the Author: Ann Omasta

Let’s stay in touch!

Free Download!

Escape into the enchanting Hawaiian Islands by reading Leilani’s heartwarming tale of friendship, love, and triumph after heartbreak.

Free when you join Ann Omasta’s VIP reader group. Just tell us where to send your free novella.

Get Aloha, Baby!

Entry 1

My name is Trixie Ross, and I am addicted to Pirate’s Booty. Those delicious corn puffs covered in white cheese dust are my version of crack cocaine.

Is that the kind of thing I’m supposed to write in here? I’ve never kept a diary before, so I’m not positive about the protocol. I guess this journal is mine, so I can write whatever the heck I want.

My friends, Fern and Marina, are always scribbling in their journals, so I decided that with this new year, I want to join in the fun. They probably think I’m not smart enough to pursue such an academic activity, but I am. Apparently, all it takes is hiding one turd in your purse to be known as the group’s airhead for the rest of your life.

Even though I am not familiar with the rules of journaling, I am NOT, in fact, a dummy. That is how you spell ‘dummy,’ right? Dumb has that silly silent ‘b’, but ‘dumby’ doesn’t look right.

There, I just Googled it, and I was correct. That’s tangible proof of the fact that I am smarter than I look. Wait, that didn’t sound great either.

I guess I’m a little paranoid about the whole intelligence thing because I always seem to get labeled as a ditz. That detail might be mostly my own fault because I do have a tendency to speak before completely thinking through my words. I’m not sure how else to actively participate in conversations, though. If I scrutinized each sentence I planned to say, the discussion would have moved on, and I would have missed the opportunity to speak. Sharing a well-thought out statement that pertained to the previous topic would make me seem even denser than just blurting out whatever is on my mind at the moment.

After rereading what I just wrote, I realized that I used the word ‘pertained’ without even really thinking about it. That is very much a smart person’s word, if I do say so myself.

Despite the fact that I have an inferiority complex about my brains (or lack thereof), I feel like I have my life in pretty good shape. I love living in the Florida Keys. Who wouldn’t? It’s a tropical island paradise, but is still in the United States.

Key Largo is like living in a quaint village where the locals mostly know each other, yet it has the benefits of a large city just up the road. How many U.S. citizens get to say they live south of Miami? Just a lucky few, I would think, and I am one of them!

My friends are fantastic, especially Fern and Marina. We have a relaxed group that flexes between six and ten people. Group members come and go, but the core remains the same. We eat, celebrate holidays, and hang out together whenever we feel like it. It’s almost like having a substitute family, since our blood relatives live elsewhere.

I get to live my life in a place that most people scrimp and save to come visit for one week out of the year. The Keys are one of the most naturally beautiful places I’ve ever seen. Oh, and my job is to don a bathing suit and go out to a gorgeous coral reef on a scuba diving boat every single day. How I get paid to do such a wonderful thing is beyond me, but I’d say my chosen occupation makes me smarter than the office workers who get dressed up in real suits to go sit in a cubicle and stare at a screen all day, every day.

The daily dose of intense Florida sunshine keeps my skin tanned dark and my hair bleached light. The swimming, anchor pulling, and line work keep my body in shape. I also set aside nearly half my income to build equity in my home.

If I can stay on the savings regiment I’ve been on, I’ll have my house paid off in 11 years. It’s not a big place, but it’s two properties away from a canal, has killer views, and is going to be all mine in the foreseeable future.

My friends all think I’m a tightwad for always ordering tap water and grilled cheese sandwiches, hot dogs, or whatever the cheapest option is when we eat at restaurants, while they eat whatever they are in the mood for and pay the huge beverage mark-up eateries charge. They are all paying exorbitant monthly rental rates for canal-front apartments, but I feel like they might as well just throw all of that money into the canal because at the beginning of the next month, they start all over with nothing gained. Maybe they are right about living in the moment, but I have a plan for my future, and I’m sticking with it. I know I won’t be able to work on the boats forever, and I don’t want to end up middle-aged with no real job skills and no assets. My parents would love to gloat about that, since they had been vehemently opposed to my decision to forego college in favor of moving down here.

I was always their problem child, especially when compared to my perfect twin, Nixie. We might be physically identical, but our personalities couldn’t be more opposite. I’m sure I will write more on her in future entries, but I want this first passage to be just about me––for once. Nixie has overshadowed my life for as long as I can remember. She doesn’t get to dominate my very first diary entry.

Back to my life… I have a boyfriend, Ryan. We moved in together a while back, but I think that may have been a colossal mistake. I like having a plus-one to take places, especially since Fern and Marina now both have significant others. He doesn’t treat me right, though. It’s not like he beats me, or anything like that. I wouldn’t put up with that. There is no denying that he is emotionally abusive, though.

His favorite thing is to pick on me about anything that I am already self-conscious about. This morning’s pre-work conversation is the perfect example. I was up and getting ready. I even went to the extra effort of making him a pot of coffee, even though I don’t touch the stuff. He didn’t bother to thank me for that. Instead, he opted to point out the “stupid” things I said last night at our favorite bar and grill, The Flamingo, with our group of friends.

As he replayed word by word everything I said and made me feel foolish for opening my mouth at all, I decided it is high time for me to give him the boot. He’s been living here for free. He doesn’t even contribute to the household expenses. I guess I am kind of dumb for allowing that to happen, but it has been nice to not feel like a fifth wheel with Fern, Marina, and their love interests.

The more I think about it, the more I can’t believe he has the audacity to get on me about what I say around my friends. It’s not like he is Albert Einstein. I mean, he made a remark about “Iz-la-muh-door-a” last night, but did I correct him in front of everyone? No, I did not. My friends all know the pronunciation of the island to our south is Islamorada, so it would have just been mean to point out the faux pas. If the situation had been reversed, I’m sure he wouldn’t have hesitated to do it to me, though.

I’m fairly used to people thinking I don’t have a brain in my blonde head, so I probably wouldn’t break up with him if that were his only flaw. Unfortunately, it’s not. He also likes to point out how skimpy my clothes are and call me a tramp for wearing them. His words make me feel like a cheap floozy, but I don’t know what else he thinks I could wear in this tropical climate… leggings and turtlenecks?!? I would sweat to death. Bathing suits and short-shorts are standard attire down here, and I hate it when he insinuates that I am flaunting my body for wearing them.

As I’m writing, I’m trying to think of something positive to write about him. After all, he could go snooping and find this journal. It’s hard to think of anything good to write. I must have liked him at some point because it was my idea for him to move in. Let’s see… He’s a good kisser. His dick isn’t massive, but it’s big enough to get the job done right. (I’ve been with a man who was totally lacking in that area, and it was worse than I would have imagined. I won’t mention his name because that would be mean, and I prefer following Ellen’s credo of being ‘kind to one another.’) Ryan is passably attractive––not movie-star handsome, but slightly above average. He doesn’t hit me.

Okay, I just realized that as I struggle to think of good things to write about Ryan, the best thing I could come up with is that he doesn’t physically abuse me. That is absolutely sad. No doubt about it… It is time for him to go. Resolution time…

My first resolution for the year is to write in here at least once a month. I’m not going overboard with a plan to write in here daily, like Fern and Marina do their diaries, because I don’t think I could keep that up. I do think I can stick with once a month, though. It can be a regular checkpoint on what is happening in my life and what needs to change. Maybe once I figure out what to write, I’ll start to actually enjoy it. Besides, it should be fun to read back through it and see how things have changed over the course of a year.

Resolution number two is a biggie… Get rid of Ryan. I know it is time for him to go. I don’t see a future with him, unless I want to be ridiculed and verbally beaten-down for the rest of my life, AND I DON’T. It’s not going to be easy because he won’t have anyplace to go. I’m really wishing I hadn’t asked him to move in, but I guess that’s the price I have to pay for being spontaneous. At least we aren’t married and we don’t have any kids or anything jointly owned. We had talked at one point about getting a dog. I thought it might help bring us closer together, but we had never made the leap. I’m thankful for that now. I might get one after Ryan moves out.

I feel like the longer I let this relationship linger, the harder it will be to end it, so I’m adjusting my second resolution to… Get rid of Ryan before next month’s diary entry. There. A deadline. Now comes the hard part.

I’d rather be broken up with than do the breaking up. He’ll probably never end things with me, though. Why would he? He’d have to give up the gravy train of free rent and living expenses that I’ve inadvertently let him ride on for too long.

Okay, I had been planning to come up with a third resolution, but I feel like the first two are big enough to count as three. Now, if I can just stick with them. Wish me luck…

Entry 2

I’m thrilled because it’s the first of February, and I was excited to sit down and write in here. That’s proof that I’m well on my way to keeping my first resolution.

Dear future self, are you wondering if I kept the second resolution and dumped Ryan? Hopefully, your memory is still accurate enough to remember, but just in case… YES, I did. I am so proud of myself. It wasn’t easy because I have always hated any kind of conflict, but I managed.

On the night in question, we were relaxing in bed together. I evidently became too comfortable because I accidently let a little toot slip out. I was so flustered, I lost track of what I had been saying. Ryan started calling me ‘FF’ (which he indicated stood for ‘fart and forget’) and laughing hysterically at his own inane joke. I sat up, turned on the bedside lamp, looked him directly in the eye, and told him in no uncertain terms that we needed to end things. It probably seems like a petty reason to call off a relationship, but it was really just the final straw in a long string of unkind and unflattering things he had said to me.

I don’t need his kind of external negative influence in my life, especially since I have a tendency to let doubts swirl around and build inside my head anyway.

He took it pretty well. I think he knew it was coming. He probably would have ended things with me a while back if I hadn’t been providing him a financial incentive to stay with me. Anyway, he is gone, and I feel like a 200-pound weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

It sucks being the only single lady in our little group, but it’s better than having a boyfriend who tries to make me feel inferior.

I think I’ll spend a little bit of time being single. I prefer having a man in my life, but I’ve been making terrible choices lately and am better off alone than with someone who makes me feel unworthy.

After living alone for a few days, I’ve noticed some unintended perks of the situation… the toaster stays on the setting I prefer (Ryan preferred his darker than mine, so he would adjust the knob and leave it, which left me with burnt toast), the toilet seat is always down (as it should be), the drawers are completely shut with nothing hanging out, I can be as messy or as neat as I want and there’s no one to come along and change it. It’s actually rather fabulous.

The only downside of living alone is that I don’t eat nearly as healthy as I did when I had a man around to judge my dinner choices. On the nights when we don’t go out as a group, I’ve been eating Pirate’s Booty and mint chocolate chip ice cream. I told Fern and Marina it was the dinner of champions. When they exchanged a concerned look, I made a joke about how much weight I’ll put on if I keep living alone. I told them that the bigger my ass gets, the more it eats my bikini bottoms, which had them both cracking up. At least I can always be counted on for some comic relief.

I guess if one has to have a stereotypical role in a group, being the funny, self-effacing airhead isn’t all that bad. At least I’m friendly and fun to be around. I often get told that I’m the life of the party, and that makes me feel good. It would be nice to be taken a little more seriously, though.

My features probably add to the impression that I am a bubbly bimbo. It’s not like blondes with big jugs are generally thought of as rocket scientists. I usually try to be a good sport about the unfair assumptions and dumb blond jokes, but sometimes it would be nice to not have so many preconceived notions attached to me each time I meet someone new.

I guess that probably sounds bitter. I’m sure there are those who don’t automatically assume that I’m a dimwit before giving me a chance to prove otherwise, but most people I meet think they know things about me before I even speak. It’s frustrating.

Rather than whining about it, I think I’ll do something about it. I’ve had long, light blonde hair for as long as I can remember. I’m not quite ready to become a brunette, but I think I’ll have my locks chopped off at shoulder length. Maybe a nice, smart bob will help me to be taken seriously. It can’t hurt, right?

Okay, decision made… by my next entry, I’m going to have a fresh, new haircut. Last month I cut loose a deadbeat boyfriend. This month I’ll lob off a few inches of dry, frizzy hair. I can’t wait to see how smooth and healthy my tresses are going to be. In fact, I think I’ll go right now. Until next time…

Entry 3

I love my new haircut! I can’t believe how free and healthy it feels. It was a definite shock, especially how it felt as I was shampooing it in the shower, but I’m getting used to it. I’ve had long hair my entire life, so it’s a big change. I feel so sophisticated. Well, my hair does, anyway.

I guess two entries is my maximum for not writing in depth about my twin. Even living halfway across the country from Nixie, she still feels like such an enormous part of my life. I suppose it’s some kind of weird ‘twin-connection’ type of thing. I never really believed in any such nonsense, but there is an undeniable bond there.

People always ask me what it is like to have an identical twin. I find it to be such an odd question. I have no idea how to answer it because I don’t know what it’s like to not have an identical twin. Nixie has always been there, since the moment we were conceived.