The reception is in full swing. My mother and her new husband entered the rustic barn an hour ago and not only are Seth and I not seated near her table, we're located at what we've deduced is the singles table. Four women who can't seem to take their eyes off Seth and two men desperate for their attention are seated around us. They're not exactly boring, per say, just not entertaining. When your conversation wavers between knitting techniques and the remodeling of the town's library, it's hard to resist falling asleep over your plate of glazed duck.
I'd forgotten how simple small town life is. Now I'm grateful I had.
"We having fun yet?" Seth asks.
Groaning, I lower my voice. "How many hours before we can leave?"
"I'm sure there's a closet somewhere we can pass the time."
The all familiar twinkle is in his eyes, alerting me he's not joking. "As tempting as that sounds—" my gaze slides to the ladies across the table who are now engaged in a riveting conversation about hanging flower pots, "—I think our tablemates would be disappointed with your departure."
Right on cue, one of the girls spare a glance at Seth.
His attention remains trained on me as mirth trickles in. "Is that jealousy I'm picking up?"
"It's mostly boredom." And an even bigger chunk of irritation. "I came to this wedding to support my mother and she hasn't once glanced over at our table." Instead, she's parading around with a glass of chardonnay as she gabs with the town mayor and surrounding tables of founding families. It's like my attendance means nothing to her.
And to think I'd wasted time last night bracing a near panic attack over this event. Turns out I had nothing to worry about. With the way things are progressing, I likely won't get within ten feet of the bride.
"Then we go to her."
When my mouth pops open in shock, Seth tilts his head across the table at the brunette talking animatedly with her hands. "As titillating as Sarah's daffodils are, I have a bone to pick with your mother." He snatches the crisp white name card from the table, lifting it. "Seth A? The response card clearly stated Asshole Damon."
Despite my aggravation, nerves, and overall disappointment, I laugh. The victorious grin on his face proves it was his goal.
"You've been shedding your asshole tendencies lately." I glance in my mother's direction. It would be easy to sit here for the next three hours and never have to face her. The idea is tempting, but I'd come here to stare down my demons. To prove to myself I'm stronger than the fear she lashed into me. So I turn back to Seth. "You ready for them to make a reappearance?"
"I've been storing them all for your mother." He spares a glance in her direction. "And that excuse of a husband standing next to her."
"His name is Oliver."
"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."
He shoots me a wink before his gaze drifts to my chest. The contact makes my skin crawl. I remember him being a vain womanizer in the past, but he's a sick piece of work for undressing me in front of my mother, whom he just married an hour and a half ago. From what I recall, everything has come easy to Oliver—money has a way of making that happen—but he's more likely to get a stiletto to the nut sack than me.
Unlike my mother, Seth picks up on Oliver's inappropriate invitation. His grip on my hand tightens. "I think she's gonna pass on the family retreat."
At his intrusion, my mother's focus shifts to Seth. Her chocolate eyes shimmer with interest as she shakes her head. It's followed by a short, painfully fake laugh. "Excuse my manners. Who might you be?"
"I'm Ellie's date. The one you printed incorrectly on my name card."
Recognition dawns in her lifted brows. "Seth."
"Asshole Seth." He smirks at her discreet flinch. "It's important to get that right."
Oliver locks his shoulders. "You have quite the mouth on you, young man."
"You're what?" Seth says. "Five years older than me?"
My mother takes a deep breath, never dropping her composed disposition as she swoops in to calm the raging storm of testosterone. "Thank you for escorting my daughter today, Seth."
She raises her hand in polite greeting, but Seth simply stares at it.
"You can look but not touch."
I bite back my laugh while my mother balks at his statement, clearly shaken by his audacity. But in true elitist form, she brushes it off and hones her focus back onto me.
"You should have worn earrings, but I'm delighted you're here, honey." Her arms lift to embrace me in a hug when all of my muscles tighten. Speaking to her and touching her are two completely different steps and although I'm strong enough to take the first, I'm not sure I'm ready for the second. The last time her hands were on me, I was thrown to her feet.
Seth reaches his hand across my body to shield me from my mother's contact. "The touching bit stands for her, too."
It takes everything in me not to push out the relieved gust of air trapped in my lungs. I release it slowly, along with the tension.
My mother's bewildered gaze flicks between Seth and myself before understanding sweeps in. When she comes to the realization Seth knows more about her than she ever imagined, she purses her lips. "I see." She plays with the pearls around her neck, grinding them between her fingers. "I hope you understand today's guests don't know the full details of our separation and I'd like to keep it that way."
"Of course, Mother. I wouldn't dream of spoiling your big day with any truths."
"But how satisfying would that be?" Seth says. His voice is chipper as he turns toward me, lifting his hand and making a trail through the air. "Scandal in Bumfuck's Inner Circle. I can already see the headlines."
Ignoring Seth, she narrows her eyes at me and lowers her voice. "Control your guest and keep your mouth shut. Can you do that for me?"
A harsh laugh leaves my throat. "You see me for the first time in nine years and the thing you address is me keeping my mouth shut?" Seth's hand squeezes mine, signifying he's with me if I need him. "How about asking how my life has been? How about asking if I'm healthy and happy?"
"Don't turn this around on me. You're the one who left me. Not the other way around." She appears almost wounded, which is absurd. I find it hard to believe her view on our past is that clouded by her rose colored glasses. I left her, but only because she'd forced my hand. I needed to escape. I needed to break free.
I needed to live.
I bite my lip, feeling the moisture developing behind my eyes from my frustration, but I blink it back. I won't let her see me cry.
"The mother I once knew left me long before I left the woman who remained."
She scoffs. "I don't have time to hash this out with you. I have guests and a reception to enjoy." She flicks her hand like she's shooing me from her presence. "When your temper has settled, we can restart this conversation."
As she walks around us and back into the crowd, I dip my head. That woman will never understand my loss; I'm not even sure she remembers the person I lost. Realizing it's a memory only I can cherish feels like a knife to the gut, but I resist the urge to keel over at the pain. Instead, I suck it in, storing it in a locked place in my heart, the same way I've done for the last nine years. It's how I survive.
Oliver clicks his tongue in his mouth. "Upsetting your mother on her wedding day wasn't very nice."
I sense Seth's intention and before he has the chance to step forward and defend me, I pull him back by his hand so I can defend myself.
"You wouldn't be saying that if you knew what she did to me."
At our motions, Oliver glances between Seth and me, chuckling disrespectfully. "Life is hard. You have to learn how to cope in a healthier way."
I inch my face forward. "Your words would mean more if you actually knew how true they were."
Oliver primes for another comeback, but Seth beats him to the punch. "I'd stop and walk away. You see, I have one hell of a temper and I wouldn't want to have to mess up that pretty face of yours on such a monumental day."
Oliver gives Seth a hard stare, only to realize it's an uneven match. He shakes his head and steps around us to enter the crowd and rejoin his bride.
Rage swarms through my bloodstream, from both my mother and now Oliver. I can't believe I've gotten to this point, but they deserve each other. I hope they're happy in their perfect, affluent life; just as long as they stay out of mine.
I run my free hand through my hair in irritation when Seth says, "I didn't even get to tell your bitchy mom I've been locked up."
"She's not worth the effort." I roll my eyes. "Coming here was pointless. We wasted money we don't have on a rental car, gas, and a shitty motel, and for what, to hear my mother deflect everything I say?"
Shaking his head, Seth's smile begins to form. "No. We came here to have a good time." He tilts his head to the left where a cluster of couples sway to music. "There's a dance floor."
"I've never seen you dance before."
"It's a wedding. There are shitty violinists in the corner and a spare spot between pompous couple number one and arrogant couple number two. It'd be a shame not to dance."
I spare a peek at the dance floor where couples are wrapped up in each other, lost in the melodic sounds. After the confrontation I just endured, being wrapped up in Seth seems like a pretty good offer.
"I wouldn't want to offend the bride."
"Fuck her." Lifting his hands, he dips his thumbs into my cheeks. His expression is all hard lines and rough edges before he drops his hands and relaxes.
I'm pulled to the dance floor, settling against his chest. One of his hands takes mine while the other glides to my lower back. We fit together seamlessly.
We're silent for a while, swaying to the slow tune of the violins. Unlike my interaction with my mother, this is natural. With my head resting against his chest, I feel safe and sturdy. I'm not alert, my defenses aren't up, because with him, I'm valued.
"I meant what I said." Seth whispers against my hair. "Someone who can't see how incredible you are doesn't deserve your love."
He sees it, though. That recognition has become an everlasting stream pouring from his eyes. If I looked into them now, I'd see it. I'd feel its power. But I stay where I am, content in its existence, with my head pressed against his heart, literally feeling its pulses beneath my contact.
It's why I'm certain that although my mother doesn't deserve my love, he does. Eventually I'll tell him. Just not today when we're surrounded by so much negativity.
"I just wanted her to be proud of me." It's an admittance against his chest, one I'm certain he'll understand. He knows far too well the disappointment that comes with a disenchanting parent. "But she couldn't even find the interest to ask about my life."
His fingers play with the tips of hair along my back, stroking them with great delicacy. "Because she's bitter. And besides, asking would have meant potentially hearing you're fine without her."
The justification speaks of experience—of a boy who was abandoned by his father and terrified of the truth that maybe his father never doubted that decision. That maybe he's fine without his son and always will be. I find it hard to believe after experiencing Seth's light, anyone's life would be acceptable without him in it anymore.
But that's the difference between us and our parents. We know each other's presence is important, that it doesn't just bring balance and warrant trust, but also offers something bigger, something deeper—a sense of belonging that is finally absolute.
Without breaking apart, I speak what we both finally accept. "We're better off without them, aren't we?"
"Yeah. We are."