The Heir To Ishtar's Legacy

6 - Pièce de Résistance

Before finding out about the intended pièce de résistance, maintaining a pleasant demeanour had been difficult enough; now, it was almost impossible. On exiting the kitchen, I was greeted by another chorus of compliments and congratulations. My head was starting to pound and my throat felt dry. The cool beer I'd just finished no longer quenched my thirst; its taste was now soured by what Marrok had revealed. The noise of guests' chatter, laughter, the clinking of glasses, and music - all were closing in, giving rise to claustrophobia. I desperately wanted to escape.

My mother, all smiles and appreciation, wafted through the crowd toward me. Damn! My disappearing act was scuppered for sure. She frowned at my expression and asked everyone nearby if they would mind giving her a moment with her daughter. All obliged.

For a split second, I thought she was in danger of showing a modicum of affection. Her tight smile, however, clearly indicated otherwise. "What's got into you now?" Her tone was cold and unsympathetic.

My fury was peaking, overtaking my feeling of being caged, closed in. "Did you know about the transformation stint?" I hissed.

"The what?" Mum's brow knitted before she omitted a little chuckle - for the benefit of all observing, of course.

"Everyone is supposedly waiting to see me become Ishtar's bloody avatar!" I struggled to keep my voice low.

Grabbing my arm, my mother ushered me aside. "I think you'd better improve your attitude, young lady. These people are all here to honour your ascension within the community, so, show some appreciation. This is history in the making, especially for us Matthews."

I exhaled huffily. I was livid, predominantly with Marrok and his dad, but my mother's insistence on always presenting a grateful veneer infuriated me even more. "You know I hate all this attention, and when I heard that Mr Daniels had decided I was to transform in front of everyone..."

"Oh, that!" she scoffed, then nonchalantly sipped her champagne. 

My mouth fell open. But why was I so surprised? "So you did know about it?"

"He merely suggested it," she said dismissively. "We said no."

"Well, I should think so! I'm not something to be gawked at like a... like an exhibition piece!"

"Yes, yes, yes, I know. He was joking. Stop being so precious. Besides, the fact you haven't..." she subtly gestured to my body.

"Exactly! How embarrassing that would have been for m..."

"Us!" my mum quickly said, cutting me short. She rolled her eyes, but her tone revealed a feigned objection."We'd be the talk of the town!"

I knew full well that my mother's concern lay with her own dignity taking a knock and nothing else. To Hell with my feelings or my dad's. I was sharply reminded of the popular girls at school, for she was just like them; she loved her stance on a pedestal and being idolised while lacking for nothing.  Yet, even with my father's generosity and devotion, it never seemed to sate my mum's hunger for notoriety. 

During my informative years, she always made an excuse for missing school or leisure events in which I participated. Although it hurt me at the time, I soon developed a tough shell. As such, my feelings about my mother became complex, confused and mostly buried. But, moments like tonight brought everything screaming to the surface again.

My dad, on the other hand, attended everything, from school sports days to end-of-term concerts and graduations. He'd taken me to swimming classes, hockey lessons and matches, horse riding, and ice skating. He always encouraged and monitored my progress. If I didn't enjoy whatever activity I was involved in, he never objected or complained. I absolutely adored my dad and tried my best to show my appreciation for all he'd done for me. He was primarily a doting father, always there for me, no matter what.