Don't Look Down

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

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."