Don't Look Down

thirty-four: don't touch me

Throughout the remainder of the reception, Seth and I spend our time dancing, drinking, and occasionally socializing at the table. My mother doesn't attempt to speak to me. There's a half hour left before the event ends and, at this point, I've accepted the harsh truth she's not interested—in me, in my life, or how I feel about our relationship. If she did, she'd have sidelined her reservations and made a beeline for me during any of the moments I've been alone.

Which I am right now. Seth just ordered us another round from the bar and as I watch him return to our table, my eyes go wide when he veers off course to speak to my mother. He's shared a few heated moments with Oliver during the afternoon, but this is the first with her. Her posture is stiff as he approaches, lowering to speak into her ear, and with nothing more than a flip of her hand she shoos him away as if he's a pestering mosquito.

There's disappointment slumping his shoulders when he reclaims his seat next to me. Instead of mentioning the conversation, he hands me my Seabreeze and takes a sip of his scotch.

"What did you say to her?"

He doesn't look at me, instead finding something fascinating about the ice in his drink as he swirls it around his glass. "I said her time was running out to get to know her daughter."

An appreciative smile curls my lips. "I thought she wasn't worth it?"

"She's not." He quiets, his focus on the glass. "But you are."

Valued. I feel it seep into my bones.

I lift my hand, combing my fingers through the onyx locks above his ear, drawing his attention. When I have it, I kiss his cheek. "Thanks for trying, but I'm actually ready to get going."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, it's clear she's not interested in my life so I'm tired of trying to make myself a presence in hers. I'm ready to go." I want to spend the rest of this day with him, the one who supports me in everything I do, untainted by the smog that is my mother's disapproval. "Plus, I think Snatch is showing on AMC tonight. I wouldn't want you to miss that."

He gives me a cheeky grin. "You just want me back in your bed."

"That too."

He chuckles, setting his drink down. "Let me just hit the bathroom first and we can head out."

I watch as he stands and heads across the room, feeling confident in my decision to leave. I switch my gaze over to my mother. She's standing in a circle with her bridal party, laughing as though none have a care in the world. They probably don't. But although my mother is content in letting me leave without hearing about my life, I'm not. I'd come today, not only to stand up to her, but to tell her I'm doing okay. That I'm making it on my own, my own way, without her help.

She may not be worth an attempt at rekindling our relationship, but I deserve the moment to express that.

Standing, I approach her circle. My steps are assured as I weave throughout the crowd and bypass the now familiar dance floor. Just as I'm within earshot, I hear my mother gabbing about my life—the one she knows nothing about. It's embellished and fabricated. According to her, I'm flourishing in a bustling city where so many fail; I'm steadily climbing the corporate ladder at Wright Publishing and am one of the most acclaimed editors in the industry. We speak daily so she can fill me in on words of her wisdom. As she begins rattling off details about my potential engagement to my wedding date, I can't resist my frown.