Don't Look Down

thirty-three: don't put the blame on me

"Yeah, doesn't matter." He takes a gulp of his scotch. "You ready to spice things up a bit, shit starter? Or do you need another drink first?"

"Nope. I need to get away from this table."

He eyes me skeptically. "You sure?"

I'm about to have a conversation with my mother, in person, for the first time in nine years. Of course I'm not ready.

I nod.

"Then let's go."

Seth stands, offering his hand, which I take. I'm not oblivious to the sulking from the other members of our table as we depart, but like Seth I ignore them, focusing on the eminent task at hand. The barn suddenly feels as vast as the ocean and with each step closer to my mother, my heart slams. The nerves kick in. My palms get sweaty.

"You look stunning today."

My cheeks flush at Seth's compliment and I'm momentarily distracted by his camouflaged means of support before it dawns on me how similar my dress is to my mother's. She's a few steps away and from this distance, the lace detail on her ivory gown mimics the details dawning the top of my lilac floor-length dress.

My gaze frantically travels the room, revisiting the floral arrangements, the blush table clothes, and mango ribbons tied on the chairs. The color choices, fabrics, accents, and patterns all resemble my taste—the taste I'd gotten from her. If I was getting married, these are the exact decorations I would choose.

My mother is still part of me. She's in my blood, she's in my head, and I'm terrified of what that means. I never want to be like my mother. I never want to control people and hurt them the way she has with me. The thought that she's inside me, infecting the good, makes me sick, same as it did when I first experienced this sense of panic at our apartment.

But when I feel the acid at the back of my throat, I remember Seth's words.

There's also another part that's all you in spite of her.

With his hand in mine, I repeat the words, recycling their importance and add a few of my own.

I'm Ellie West. I share my mother's taste and, for years, I was a victim of her abuse. But in spite of that abuse, I found the importance of inner strength and self-worth. I will never be the woman she is. I'll be better.

The last words sound in my head as we approach my mother's side. She and Oliver are finally separated from the crowd and neither notices us until I find my voice.

"Hi, Mom."

Her head swivels from Oliver to me, revealing nothing. She's porcelain, pristine and composed. The smile on her cherry lips is tight and the emotion I once found in her eyes is gone. My mother is nothing more than a beautiful, lifeless doll.

"Ellie, darling." It's her default tone– pleasant and professional, the way one would greet an old acquaintance. "I'm glad you could make it today."

Of that, I'm sure. A mother's wedding without the presence of her daughter would cause quite the gossip train.

Biting back the remark, I shift my focus on her new husband and give him a curt nod. "Oliver."

"Ellie." His eyes run the length of my body. "I guess we're family now."

"A marriage certificate doesn't make us family."

Seth snickers softly beside me.

Oliver remains unaffected. "But a relationship could. It'd be nice to have you in our home for a weekend." He lifts his hand. "It's very accommodating. Eight spare bedrooms and even a guest suite with your name on it."