Home

Olivia’s comments stuck with me over the next few weeks as I dove into editing my new book. Georgie and I had many conversations about my manuscript, and the changes she wanted me to make, and by the end of two weeks of editing, we had the next draft ready to submit to her superiors. I was also swamped with revisions on the After Midnight script, so I had very little time to dwell on anything personal. I went to bed every night almost cross-eyed with exhaustion, and had no trouble going to sleep.

But every day when I showered and dressed, a little part of me hesitated when I chose my clothing. I started trying different combinations of track suits and t-shirts, figuring out what colours worked best together, and what was flattering on me. Though I was limited in what I had to choose from, I gave it my best shot, and came up with some not-so-drab outfits. It surprised me to find that the more I liked my outfit, the better I felt about myself. Maybe Olivia hadn’t been too far off the mark.

Any confidence I was starting to feel in myself was quickly shot to hell, however, when I received a wedding invitation that I neither wanted nor expected. My mother had deemed it necessary to send me the hideous thing, covered in such loopy calligraphy that I could barely read it. The big day was a week and a half away, and her enclosed hand-written note told me she expected me to be there. I threw it down on the coffee table as I picked up the phone.

I’d known this was coming, had figured it would probably be unavoidable, given that she would use any excuse to trot out her semi-famous daughter in front of her completely awful friends. If there was one thing my mother cared about more than appearance, it was status, and from the way this wedding was shaping up according to the Society section of the local paper, she was pulling out all the stops to get the biggest and best names to show up. A little thing like a huge argument and a lifetime of hatred wouldn’t stop her from trying to cash in on what little esteem my best-seller status offered her.

I twisted a piece of my hair between my fingers as I let the phone ring. Part of me hoped she wouldn’t answer, and another part hoped she would, just so I could tell her off. There was no way I was showing up at this atrocity, and she was going to know about it. My need to piss her off won out and I found myself clutching the phone in anticipation.

“Yes?” came her shrill voice, giving away how stressed she was, despite her best efforts to hide it.

“I’m not going to your wedding, Mom,” I hissed, fighting for control. I wanted to scream at her, to ask her where the hell she got off even sending me an invitation after what had happened between us, but I knew she’d just hang up on me and it wouldn’t do any good.

“Well, well, well, look who’s decided to be an adult and actually call her mother for a change,” she trilled, her every word dripping with sarcasm. At least I knew I came by that little trait honestly.

“I don’t have time for this,” I snapped, jumping up to pace my living room floor. “I just figured you should know that I won’t be there.”

“Of course you won’t, dear,” she said, and she sounded a bit distracted. “You’d never go out of your way to do something for someone else. That’s just not who you are.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” I said, becoming increasingly agitated.

“It’s just a fact, Peyton,” she drawled, almost bored. “I didn’t even want to send you one, but Garret insisted. Apparently he thinks he’s the reason we’re not speaking.”

“Then you’ll just have to set him straight, won’t you?” I said, making sure my voice stayed calm. “He needs to know that the reason we’re not speaking is that you’re a selfish cow who’s hated me my whole life, and I’m the disappointing daughter you wish you’d never had. It’s a hard concept to grasp, but I’m sure if you use small enough words, he’ll get it eventually.”

“Don’t be rude, Peyton,” she said, disregarding everything I’d just said.

“I’m hanging up now,” I said firmly, though I don’t know why I didn’t just disconnect the phone without giving her warning.

“I’d really like you to be there.”

I stopped short at her whispered admission, not sure I’d heard her right. She sounded very young, very far away, and I suddenly felt guilty for being nasty to her. I reminded myself that she was a master manipulator, and was probably playing on my sympathies just to get her way, but I couldn’t shake the damned guilt away.

“What did you say?” I said when I found my voice again.

“You’re my only child, Peyton,” she said, her voice sounding a little stronger. “No matter what our relationship has been in the past, or how you may feel about me, can’t we put our differences aside so that you can be part of the happiest day of my life? Is it too much to ask that you try to be the daughter I deserve for just one day?”

My first instincts had been right, and I cursed myself for not following them. Of course the change in her had been a ploy to get my attention, to stop me from hanging up the phone. It dawned on me that she didn’t want her horrible friends to wonder why her own daughter wasn’t at her wedding. She didn’t want to explain that her own flesh and blood hated her, that we had a less-than-perfect relationship, despite whatever she said about me behind my back. She would do whatever it took to keep from looking like a bad mother, including putting up with my hideous appearance at her wedding. Her selfishness was astounding.

“Mom, I’m exactly the kind of daughter you deserve,” I spat, bile rising in my throat. I rammed my hand through my hair in frustration. “I don’t know what you tell yourself about how we relate to each other, or if you even register the fact that the very sight of you turns my stomach, but what makes you think that, after everything you’ve done to me, everything you’ve said to me, I would actually give a shit about this farce of a wedding anyway? Why would I want to be part of the happiest day of your life?”

“Wouldn’t it be nice to get out of your tiny little apartment and be with some new people for a change?” she almost purred, clearly changing tactics. Guilt wasn’t working, so she was going to try persuasion. “There’ll be good food, lots of champagne and wine, and it’s supposed to be a beautiful day. What’s the harm?”

“You really don’t know your audience, do you?” I sneered, shaking my head. “I don’t give a shit about any of that. In fact, the things you just mentioned are all the more reason for me to stay away.”

“It’s not like I’m forcing you to be in the wedding party, Peyton,” she said, for the first time sounding even remotely exasperated. Her cool façade was breaking and I felt a cruel smile twist up at the corners of my mouth.

“Not anymore,” I pointed out snottily. “But that change wasn’t at all about what I wanted, now was it? You just didn’t want your disgustingly deformed daughter parading herself for all of your beautiful friends to see. Don’t make it sound like you’re doing me any favours.”

“I’m sure there are ways we could make your…um…problem areas…less noticeable,” she stammered, knowing she was on thin ice with me at the moment.

“They’re called scars, Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes. Even at first, before she’d made it so blatantly clear that I grossed her out, she’d never been able to really call them what they were, unless she was yelling at some poor doctor about them. Now the only time she used the word was when she was throwing them in my face just to see me cringe.

“We can fix your hair to cover them, and you can wear something with a high collar,” she went on, as though I hadn’t even spoken. “I’m sure we can make them almost invisible if we try hard enough.”

“Why does it matter to you if they show or not?” I said, disgusted at her willingness to cover up what I was. I knew it wasn’t me she would be doing it for.

“I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable if no one sees them,” she said, as though she were coaxing an unwilling child to do her bidding.

“You know damned well you’re not thinking about me,” I snapped, unable to hold back the animosity anymore. “You just don’t want people seeing them, getting disgusted by them, and thinking any less of you for them. You’re worried your wretched friends will be revolted by them, and that my scars will take attention away from the spectacle you’re planning to make of yourself. Don’t insult me by pretending you even care how I feel.” I wanted to hurt her, to make her feel as awful as I did. With that in mind, I smiled again. “You know what, Mom?” I said slowly. “I think I’ll come to your wedding after all.”

I heard her quiet gasp before she recovered herself. “I’m glad to hear that, Peyton,” she said, though I could hear the uncertainty in her voice. “It’ll be nice to have you there.”

“Oh I’ll be there,” I said, my grin getting wider. “And my scars won’t be covered. I’m not going to hide what I am just so your friends can be comfortable. Maybe it’ll be good for them to see how you recoil from me, how you react when you have to look straight at me. Then maybe they’ll see you for the cold, heartless bitch that you really are.” I laughed, unable to stop myself, feeling like a madness was taking over my head. “I’ll see you there, Mom, count on it.” I hung up the phone.

I laughed again, a harsh, raw sound that I’d never heard before. The idea of humiliating her, of making her squirm and flinch the way she did to me, was too good to pass up. I could finally get her back for how awful she’d made me feel about myself. I wouldn’t have to do anything other than show up and not hide myself. It would be so easy.

Then reality kicked in. Going to her wedding meant I’d have to leave my flat again, and be around the type of people I normally hid from. I really hadn’t thought this through. To punish her, I’d be putting myself in my own personal hell, willingly opening myself to all the disgusted looks, the pity, the embarrassment, the shame. I knew what type of people would be there, the shallow, arrogant type, who wouldn’t have any qualms about letting me know I didn’t belong. My stomach rolled at the very idea of it.

But there was no way I was backing down now. I could just hear her shrill voice if I didn’t show up, taunting me, letting me know she knew I wasn’t strong enough to stand up to her. No, I’d be at her disaster of a wedding, and I’d make myself look as good as I possibly could, given what I have to work with. With that in mind, I picked up the phone again.

“Olivia, we need to go shopping,” I said when she answered.

“Peyton?” She sounded surprised, as I knew she would. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Okay, I don’t have time for long explanations,” I said, exasperated. “I have to make an appearance at my horrid mother’s wedding, and I can’t exactly do that in a track suit. Since I don’t own anything else, and have no idea what looks good and what doesn’t, I’d appreciate some help.”

“And you want me to go with you?” This shocked her even more than my request to go shopping. I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t have any other options, okay?” I said, trying not to snap at her. “Please, can you just help me out?”

She sighed. “On one condition,” she said after a brief pause.

“What?”

“You have to trust my judgment,” she said simply, and I could picture her shrugging in my head. “I don’t want any attitude from you while we’re shopping, and if you say one thing about how fat you think you are, I’m done. Got it?”

I hesitated, knowing that I’d probably break those conditions, given how opinionated I am and how much I hate my appearance. But I didn’t see any hope for it.

“Fine,” I said, resigning myself to being her plus-sized Barbie for a day. “I won’t be a bitch about this.”

“Good,” she said, sounding quite smug. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at noon, and we’ll get you ready for this wedding.” She paused for a second. “And thanks, Peyton, for trusting me with this.”

Now it was my turn to be shocked. “Sure, Olivia,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When I’d disconnected the phone, I went into my bedroom to see if I could find my old purse, the only one I had, the one I never needed. I didn’t have a bank card, just my credit cards, so I supposed they’d have to do. As I readied myself for the next day, I silently prayed it would go well. I didn’t want to know how I’d feel if it didn’t.