Persephone’s Fall – Page 41
Chapter 7
I’m not a patient person.
So when Demeter steps into the bridal chamber, the little room in the church I’ve been sequestered into as we wait for this nonsense to be over with, I don’t waste any time with pleasantries.
“What do you want, Demeter?”
She looks up at me, and the expression on her face is almost comical. It’s a combination of surprise and disgust. She doesn’t even make a token effort to disguise it. “When did we reach a first-name basis, Persephone? Where are your manners?”
“Does it really matter anymore? I’m not a child, Demeter. You don’t gain my respect simply by being older than I am.”
“Perhaps then you might consider everything I’ve done for you?”
“Mmm. Yes. You married Zeus, and apparently went through labor to have me, although I can’t picture that at all. What am I missing? The next twenty-six years seem to be mainly blank.”
Demeter is silent, for once in her life. Thank god for small favors. Finally she says, “I don’t know why you hate me, Persephone.”
I shrug. “I don’t hate you, Demeter. I just don’t like you. And if we’re being honest, I think it’s safe to say you don’t like me either. You think you’re supposed to, because I’m your daughter, and maybe for some people it works that way. But not for you. Not for me. So why don’t you go back outside, and sit down with Zeus, and pretend to be happy for me, like every other fake piece of shit you invited to this wedding?”
Demeter’s mouth forms a perfect “O”, but I don’t wait for her response. I’ve had enough, and Zeus isn’t here to stop me.
“My entire life, I’ve never been what you wanted me to be, Demeter. I never dated the right men, attended the right events, knew the right people. Now I’m marrying the wrong guy, and we’re going to go live in the wrong part of town, and he’ll make the wrong career choices. Christ, don’t even get me started on the potential disaster that having children would be. I can’t even imagine your response to that. You don’t like me, Demeter. You think you’re supposed to, because I’m your daughter, and so you put up the pretense, but enough is enough. I’m twenty-six, which puts you on the darker side of fifty. Don’t you think you’ve pretended for long enough?”
“Persephone…” Demeter’s voice is shaky.
“I don’t even want to hear it, Demeter. I don’t care anymore. Nothing you could possibly say is going to have any effect. What is it? ‘He’s wrong for you,’ maybe? Or how about the old ‘he can’t provide for you in a manner that befits you,’ line? That what you were going to say?”
Demeter casts her glance toward the floor. It’s a momentary twitch, and she corrects it almost immediately, but she might as well have tilted her head back and exposed her jugular. I sweep in, ready to end it. Not with fire and brimstone. Not with raging and screaming. My voice is ice: collected, detached, distant.
“Just leave, Demeter. Go sit down in the church and wait for this to be over. Make your token appearance at the reception, stay the hell away from Hades and me, and privately tell all of your idiot friends how it’s not going to work. I don’t care. Hades doesn’t care. So go.”
Demeter opens her mouth, but I’m not having any of it. “Just go! This is the end. Goodbye. Thank you, and fuck you, and goodbye.”
A moment more of silence, and then Demeter whirls on her heel and storms out. The door slams behind her, and I grin. Goodbye, Demeter. Thank you, and fuck you, and goodbye.
