Sepia Tone
by Mackenzie L.
An exploration of how Carlisle and Esme would handle Renesmee growing up, going off to college, and becoming a woman.
*The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer
It was just lying on his desk.
So unprotected, so vulnerable. In a beam of early morning light that came through the window, it looked as fragile as a mere figment. As if its pages would suddenly burst into flames from the sun's stare. As if one touch from her would send it fluttering into a billion paper butterflies.
She knew she couldn't touch it. His journal was off-limits, and not because he didn't trust her. It was because he still needed to keep some secrets from her, secrets that he could control and reveal to her in his own time.
She didn't look inside his journal because she respected his need for privacy. Not to mention, he would notice her scent on the pages if she did dare to touch it.
But sometimes, on days like today, the temptation was so great it felt like a strong pair of arms pulling her closer and closer. Sometimes she swore it was that God-forsaken journal of his that kept Carlisle a mystery to her after all these years.
Esme sighed to herself and stood back, letting her granddaughter enter the silent room.
Renesmee's footsteps tapered across the floorboards. Her nightgown swished around her ankles, and her eyes lit up when she reached his desk. Of course, she went straight for it. Of course, she reached out and palmed the leather cover of the untouchable book with her innocent little hand. She turned to her grandmother with a precocious gleam in her too-mature gaze, clutching her grandfather's journal to her chest. "Read to me," she dared.
Esme swallowed hard. "Not that."
"Why not?" Renesmee quirked a curious eyebrow.
"Your grandfather wrote it," Esme offered by way of a meek explanation.
Renesmee was entranced. "He wrote a story?" She tipped the book out slightly so she could see the front cover, the edge of it still pressed to her belly.
"Many stories," Esme answered honestly.
"In here?" Little fingers crept along the corner of the first page.
"Don't—" In a flash, Esme's hand hovered above the cover, protecting it from her granddaughter's prying fingers.
The girl looked hurt and confused by her reaction, and Esme quickly tried to console her. "These stories are... secret." Slowly, she managed to pull the journal from Renesmee's hands.
"Have you read them?" Renesmee asked.
"No," Esme replied softly as her hand cradled the leather binding. "But I've lived many of them."
Renesmee paused to consider this, and as Esme expected, she interpreted it as a proposition. "Will you share them with me?" the little girl begged, hopping up to make herself comfortable in the chair behind his desk. "Please?"
Esme had shared many stories with her granddaughter. The story of how Edward became her son. The story of how Edward fell in love with Bella. The story of how she was born. But these were stories that Renesmee already knew.
All it took was one request from the little girl, and Esme accidentally started telling the story about how she met Carlisle. She did not spare a single detail, from the way she felt climbing to the top of the tree, and how she'd felt when he touched her leg with his bare fingers for the first time. And she was somewhat flattered when she opened her eyes and found a look of complete rapture on her granddaughter's face.
"Did he kiss you?"
"What?" Esme's breath caught, surprised by this sweetly whispered assumption.
Renesmee's big beautiful eyes blinked, moist with hope. "After he fixed you? Did he kiss you?"
Esme smiled wryly to herself, considering the unspoken truths hiding behind the question. "A very, very, very long time after," she conceded, circling her kneecap with her fingers. "Yes. He did."
-}0{-
There was really no appropriate or fathomable way to describe true love to a little girl. Esme wondered if Bella had ever tried to explain her relationship with Edward to their daughter. How could one succeed at conveying such a complex explanation? It was a tiny bit painful to watch Renesmee mature so quickly, her mind miles ahead of her age, endlessly inquiring after things she couldn't understand yet. Renesmee was frustrated by the concept of love—the kind of love she saw between these beautiful vampires who raised her. It was evident in the kinds of questions she asked. She had the curiosities of a pubescent girl, but the filter (or lack thereof) of a seven-year-old.
She was the source of much amusement to the family during that time in her life.
Esme took it upon herself to relieve some of the awkwardness that no one else was willing to face. She had brutally honest conversations with her granddaughter about the nature of mated vampires and what such a relationship might entail for her one day when she was ready.
It was a minor source of contention with her husband.
Carlisle was certainly not a prude, but out of all the men in his immediate family, he was the least fond of discussing explicit subject matter in a setting that was not strictly clinical. It was a bit ironic, but then again, almost everything Carlisle did had some amount of irony to it.
Sometimes while looking into his eyes, Esme could see the pages upon pages of poetry books he had read, juxtaposed indecently with the cold, sterile text of his medical tomes. Sometimes while staring at him, for a split second she would see the color blue instead of the color gold. When she was a young girl she'd thought he looked otherworldy, but once she became a vampire too, her thoughts of him changed. Carlisle had always looked more human than the others. Maybe it was his softness, his tame and gentle nature.
Still, she couldn't understand why that certain part of Renesmee's human nature seemed to frighten him.
As Renesmee matured, she became more interested in her grandfather's past. In fact, she became more interested in Carlisle in general. He was a figure of authority to be respected, not because he demanded respect, but because he did everything but demand respect.
It was like he'd turned around one corner and instead of facing a toddler, he was facing a teenager. It happened so fast, her growth. It took them all by surprise, especially him. Renesmee had become a brilliant young woman with an open and curious mind.
Esme was so damn proud of her.
-}0{-
A week before her high school graduation, Renesmee came to visit her grandparents. Esme made her a cup of sweet tea and they talked about all her future ambitions together.
It wasn't until Carlisle came into the room when Renesmee proudly announced, "I'm thinking about med school."
The look of utter surprise on Carlisle's face was hilarious.
He'd pretty much scooped her up and hauled her over to his study after that.
It was strange watching them interact now, both young adults, both intrigued by the same things, both nearly on level with intellect and eloquence. It seemed just minutes ago, Renesmee had been sitting on his lap beside the snowy window while he read her fairy tales, his deep voice a counterpoint to the hesitant movement of his hands. Now he was reading her research papers on emergency medicine, and she was still hanging on to his every word.
They stood in that same window where they used to read fairytales together, only it wasn't snowing out today. It was drizzling lightly, but there were still very bright, choppy bits of sunlight on the glass. The light framed their silhouettes and made them look like a vision from a dream.
Esme watched them from the doorway, shocked by how much Renesmee looked like Bella now. Her long hair cascaded down her back in endless curls, fire-red where it caught the sunlight. She dressed like the modern teenager she was, in low-rise skinny jeans and a flowy sort of top that fell off her shoulder on purpose. She had a scrunchie tied around her wrist, and dangly earrings that made annoying clinking noises whenever she walked, and she was wearing mascara and some kind of violet eye shade that made her look so stunningly mature.
And just beside her was Carlisle, looking just as college-age in his celtic green polo and khakis. He turned to his granddaughter, who really looked more like his classmate at the moment, and they shared a laugh over something. Then he glanced across the room and saw his wife watching, and he smiled; his reverent, Roman countenance all golden in the sun.
That was the day Renesmee decided what she wanted to do with her life. She wanted to be a pediatrician.
Carlisle was overjoyed.
-}0{-
She went pre-med at Bryn Mawr College. Edward and Bella bought a home in the Philadelphia suburbs, and Carlisle and Esme followed suit within a few months of her enrollment. She accused them all of "stalking her," and gave them the cold shoulder for about a week. Edward's insistence that she live under the same roof as him and Bella for the first year didn't go over too smoothly with his independent daughter either. But she still obeyed her father, even if she threw a fit about it every other night. Edward still had many dues to pay.
Every once in a while Renesmee would call her grandfather for help writing a paper, studying for an exam, or getting on a professor's good side. (She didn't dare give Edward the satisfaction of asking him for advice.) She called her grandmother for help with boys. She could have asked her mother for that kind of help, but that would have been awkward.
Esme didn't mind those sorts of calls one bit.
One young man in particular who had Nessie's little heart on a string was named Aaron. He was her lab partner in organic chemistry and he was an exchange student from Australia. He had long hair and tan skin, and he spoke with an accent. Esme immediately understood the reason behind her granddaughter's infatuation with the boy. He was exotic, coming from a land of constant sunshine, a place Renesmee knew very little about. Not to mention, he was utterly ordinary in every other way, and this more than anything was bound to attract the most abnormal girl on campus.
Even so, Esme was happy to have some small part in the drama of her granddaughter's life.
It was the first day of October when Renesmee first called for advice about Aaron.
"What does it mean when he avoids eye contact?" she asked.
Esme took her best guess. "He doesn't want you to see how he really feels about you."
"Do you think he hates me?"
Esme laughed, incredulous. "That would be impossible."
"You have to say that. You're my grandma."
"That doesn't make what I say any less true," Esme replied.
Renesmee giggled and muttered a "whatever," which was really a "thank you."
Their talk, though short, must have given her confidence the boost it needed to pursue a relationship. Aaron and Renesmee ended up dating for a month. Jacob was quiet about it after he first got word, but he still supported anything she did. Jacob and Renesmee had their own lives for the most part, and were happy living separately as friends. They communicated through Facebook every week or so, and they celebrated each other's achievements as good friends were expected to do.
Jacob learned about Aaron and Renesmee's tentative falling out while browsing his Facebook history one day. He called Esme about it just to check and make sure Ness was taking things okay. Beneath his brotherly guise of concern, Esme could tell he was secretly thrilled about their parting. In some ways, she was too. Ever since the Quileute hero had imprinted on her unsuspecting granddaughter, Esme had been silently rooting for him.
But for the time being, they lived on opposite ends of the country.
-}0{-
He was as complicated as those ancient artifacts that graced the shelves in his study. From house to house, Carlisle and his family had traveled across the country, moving all their belongings with them. But no matter where they moved there was never enough room for everything he owned to fit comfortably in shelves, so he always ended up with clutter.
Their current house in East Philly was way too small. Obviously there was more than enough space for two people, but for the amount of baggage this particular couple carried there was not nearly enough room.
Carlisle never threw anything away. That is, until someone in the family nagged him about it until he did what they wanted him to do. With just Esme around, there was very little nagging about throwing things away. Mostly it had been Edward and Jasper, who failed to see nostalgic value in such things, pressuring Carlisle into clearing out his study every two weeks.
Esme liked the clutter for the most part. But in such a tiny house, even she could admit that it wasn't ideal. She almost approached him about it, but decided at the last minute it wasn't worth it. She could put up with all these ancient artifacts blocking the halls as long as it meant he was happy. Besides, he was trying for her. Every day he moved more of his belongings into the cramp office in the basement, trying to create the illusion of more space for his patient spouse.
Carlisle was a contradiction unto himself. In everything that he did, he rarely considered how it affected him, only how it affected those around him.
When she looked too closely into his eyes, she could see shades of his past—shapes and colors that no longer existed in the current world; reflections of these strange objects he carried around with him from place to place. They lived only in his eyes, these spirits and mysteries of times forgotten to all but him. It frightened her sometimes. Sometimes she had to look away. Sometimes she stared into his eyes, and she was reduced once again to that helpless, breathless young girl with a broken leg and a starving heart.
Sometimes she pitied him, for no reason in particular. Once in a while she could see so plainly the years resting on his shoulders, weighing him down while he tried so hard to stand tall in spite of them. He looked lost in this time, like a child trying to find his way home through a blizzard. Standing in the vastness of nature, he sometimes struck her as small and helpless even though he was indestructible. He hated to face things alone, she knew, but sometimes he had to do it. And when those times came, he took everything upon himself and faced the things that everyone else was afraid to face. He carried burdens that did not belong to him with courage and heartbreaking persistence.
"Do we have any food in the house?"
Esme looked up from the dining table full of partially paid bills in confusion. "What?" she chuckled.
"There's a food drive at Arcadia tomorrow afternoon. I want to take something."
"There might be some cereal in the cupboard," she supplied, bemused. She watched him peek inside the empty cupboard and shake his head. "It's been a long time since we needed to keep food in our kitchen," she reminded him.
Carlisle sighed, suddenly looking sad. Renesmee had been away at college for just over two months now, but it seemed like an eternity since they'd gotten to see her.
"I think I'll go to the grocery store," he finally decided, counting a few loose dollars before stuffing them into his pocket.
"Don't get lost," Esme warned with a smile.
When he left the house, she felt very lonely. She began to wish he'd left some of his clutter on the kitchen table.
-}0{-
The next time they had food on the table was on Thanksgiving day. Bella and Edward brought Renesmee, and Alice and Jasper came too. Rose and Emmett weren't able to make it until the following day, but they still visited Renesmee on their own time.
Bella helped Esme cook the turkey, and they made enough stuffing to fill three birds. Alice decorated the table like something out of a Martha Stewart Living catalogue, and Jasper showed off his drink mixing tricks to impress a still-underage Renesmee. Out of all the Thanksgivings they'd spent with Renesmee, this one was the most awkward. She didn't care as much about the pomp and circumstance surrounding the traditional Thanksgiving meal the way she used to. She was more interested in playing videogames with Jasper and Alice, which was fine, but even they got bored with that kind of activity before she did.
Alice suggested that they go sit outside for a while, so they all crammed into the tiny porch out back. Renesmee was practically sitting on her father's lap because she had to share the loveseat with three people, but even that didn't stop her from texting the whole time. Eventually she told them she was going to go inside to grab a soda, and she never came back. The rest of the family reminisced, the way they always did during the rare holidays they all got to spend together. When they went back inside the house, Renesmee was there on the sofa with her eyes glued to the TV screen and the game controls in her hand.
-}0{-
Three weeks before the end of her first semester, Renesmee came to see Carlisle so he could help her prepare for her final presentation.
Esme made her favorite sweet tea, infused with extra sugar because Renesmee claimed she had a high metabolism. Like a normal college student, she downed four cups of the caffeinated drink in about an hour.
Meanwhile, Carlisle coached her on her presentation skills while Esme pretended to be the audience. It was both endearing and entertaining watching her husband try to teach their granddaughter the basics of eloquent speech. While his feedback always came from the most noble intentions, Carlisle was surprisingly nitpicky when it came to her posture and delivery.
Back straight, chin up, eyes focused. He repeated the phrase so often, Esme was sure poor Nessie heard it in her sleep.
His hands were all over, adjusting and pointing and gesturing, as if she were the mannequin to his artistry. It was all very funny, but it was too much for poor Renesmee, who was just trying to get some simple practice. Esme tried to send him signals when the opportunities arose, but because he was a man, Carlisle was conveniently oblivious to anything that did not support his cause.
Eventually she had to get up from her chair and interrupt.
"Renesmee, you're doing wonderfully," she said, as robust and resolute as a queen. Then she turned a warm glare on her husband, who suddenly looked wide-eyed with concern. "Carlisle, can I speak to you in the hall for a second?"
Their granddaughter could have easily overheard them in the hall, so they went to the basement instead.
Esme crossed her arms and waited.
"I'm just trying to help her," her husband defended.
"I know that's what you're trying to do," she said with a pitying smile. "I'm here to tell you, it's not working."
"She just needed to rework her thesis a bit. And she has to project more while speaking. And stand up straighter."
Esme pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "And tuck in her shirt, and pull up her jeans, and keep her elbows off the table..."
Carlisle swallowed resolutely. "I'll step back for a while."
When they went back to the study, Renesmee had already drained her fifth cup of tea. When Carlisle asked her to recite the latter half of her speech again, she managed to do it in half the time she had before. The caffeine made her words slur together and her face all red. Esme thought it was cute. Carlisle cringed after every run-on sentence. He clamped his thumb down on the stop-watch and shook his head at the time.
"Maybe try it a little slower next time, sweetie," Esme encouraged.
Renesmee nodded solemnly, looking to her grandfather for recognition.
"The content was perfect," he approved. Renesmee was visibly relieved. "But—" he continued, standing up, "—delivery is key."
"I know I'm gonna be nervous in front of everyone," she whined, clutching her stomach with both hands. "I can't help talking fast when I'm nervous."
From the corner of her eye, Esme noticed her husband turn his head with the intention of exchanging a glance. Out of respect to Renesmee, who was much more observant than he realized, Esme ignored him.
"You don't need to be nervous, honey. You have a lot of interesting and inspiring things to say. Your audience is going to love listening to you," Esme assured.
Renesmee looked vaguely convinced as she picked at a loose rhinestone on the pocket of her jeans. Her eyes wandered to the blond doctor who sat quietly by the desk with a mild smile on his face. Only Esme could tell that this smile was forced. In fact, Carlisle looked more fidgety than his granddaughter.
"I still feel nervous when I have to make presentations at hospital functions sometimes," he admitted.
Renesmee looked dubious. "At least you know that people can understand you when you talk." There was a little bit of snark in her voice.
This time Esme was the one to initiate a sidelong glance at her husband, who grinned bashfully in return. "Actually that isn't always true."
Renesmee looked suspiciously between her grandparents. The rhinestone she'd been picking at finally came loose and fell to the ground. "What do you mean?"
"Let's just say your grandfather still sometimes employs involuntary usage of ...ahem, 'expired' phrases when he gets nervous," Esme alluded.
A wry smirk appeared on Renesmee's face as she poured herself a sixth cup of tea. "Is that true?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Carlisle sighed, standing up to lean against his desk. "It's a habit I've yet to break."
Esme gleefully added, "At times he gets so flustered that he sounds like he's reciting The Canterbury Tales."
Renesmee laughed so hard she almost spit out her tea.
"To this day I'm convinced that I've been addressed as 'thee' more than 'you,'" Esme elaborated. "I believe I've also been advised to 'make haste' rather than 'hurry up' on more than one occasion."
Carlisle crossed his arms, hiding his humor behind a reluctant smile as his granddaughter clutched her belly with laughter. "Alright, alright. Have you gleaned enough humor at my expense, dear wife?"
"Oh, I could go on, but your pupil seems to have found relief from her nerves for now," Esme said kindly. "I've heard it said that laughter is the best medicine."
"As a physician, I must humbly disagree," Carlisle smoothly replied. In the afterglow of Renesmee's infectious giggling, Esme caught a profound gleam in her husband's eyes — a look she most often associated with an inevitable kiss.
Being that his granddaughter was in the room, he didn't dare act on the impulse... but Esme could see that it was there.
"You guys are too hilarious sometimes," Renesmee gushed.
Carlisle and Esme exchanged satisfied smiles, secretly flattered to hear such a refreshing assessment from such a young girl.
"Do you want to try reciting your speech one more time now?" Esme challenged, half-jokingly.
To their surprise, Renesmee began rattling off her introduction even faster than before.
Esme discreetly placed the lid back on the teapot.
Halfway through her speech, Carlisle politely interrupted. "It is my medical opinion that we should continue this practice session another time."
Although she looked a bit dumbfounded, Renesmee adjourned without argument. She shrugged, mumbled a cheerful, "Sounds good to me," and bustled her way out the door.
Carlisle went around and collected all of the textbooks she'd left lying around his study while Esme cleared away the empty cups and napkins.
And after they shut the lights off and left the room, Carlisle whispered warningly into his wife's ear, "No more tea."
-}0{-
Since Renesmee had begun driving herself back and forth from place to place, Carlisle and Esme rarely got to see their son as often as they used to. Bella called them at least once a week to chat but it wasn't the same as seeing them in person.
Alice and Jasper came in from Montana to visit earlier in the week, and Emmett and Rose somehow found time to skype during their trip to Norway. Living separately was a bittersweet reality for all of them nowadays.
At first, Esme had the hardest time adjusting to living apart. As time wore on, she got used to it and even began to enjoy having more time for her own hobbies, and more quality time with her husband. But as she grew to accept letting go of her children, Carlisle seemed to slowly grow more melancholic about the whole arrangement.
Esme wondered if his increased time spent with Nessie was a result of his trying to fill the void of his faraway children. All the focus he'd placed on helping her prepare for her finals seemed odd given that the other ninety percent of his day was spent in the local city hospital, putting in extra hours.
It wasn't unheard of for Carlisle to drift once in a while, but Esme hated having to confront him about it. Most of the time he came back to her of his own volition after he'd passed through a "phase." It could be weeks or months, but he was always faithful. Sometimes, though, it was hard for Esme to be patient.
After Renesmee left the house, Carlisle got very quiet. He would send a few emails, make a few calls, then usually watch the evening news. Sometimes Esme joined him, and sometimes she passed. Tonight instead of turning on the TV, Carlisle opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the deck instead.
Esme watched him from inside the house for a few minutes as he leaned against the railing, staring out at their backyard woods. Things about his profile still struck her, even after all the time she'd known him. His hair was so fair, yet his eyelashes were dark. It was strange to her at first, but over time she came to understand this mysterious inconsistency in his complexion. After all, with eyes so fiery, it was no wonder his lashes had been burnt to brown—just like candle wicks when they are exposed to flames, such things darken over time.
Unable to resist, Esme quietly joined her husband on the deck. The air was cool and balmy for mid-November, rich with that drowsy, after-rain feeling.
"Alright, Dr. Solemn. It's been three weeks. I'm ready to hear your confession," she teased as she came to stand beside him.
His cell phone buzzed at the worst possible time. Before he could use it to excuse his having to answer her, she swiped it from his pocket and ran back into the house with it. She didn't stop until she got to the garage, where she opened the trunk of her car, shoved the phone in the very back, and slammed the trunk shut.
Then she went back upstairs to continue her conversation with her bemused husband. All she had to do was stare at him expectantly before he gave her an answer.
"I miss Edward."
She was surprised by this. "You could call him."
He looked forlorn. "But I don't have anything to say."
"So be honest and tell him you're just calling to hear his voice," Esme shrugged. "I do that sometimes."
"And how does he react to that?"
"He's usually annoyed by it." They shared a laugh. "But he gets over it because I'm his mother, and I don't need an excuse to call my son."
Carlisle smiled faintly, admiring his wife's loving conviction. "I really wish that we could see them."
"Why don't we take Nessie out for ice cream tomorrow after speech practice and invite Edward and Bella to meet us downtown?"
Carlisle looked at his wife dubiously. "Darling, she hasn't eaten ice cream in five years."
Esme scrunched her brow, as if coming to the realization right on the spot. "Oh, you're right. She has been rather picky about food lately, hasn't she?"
"I don't think she'd be interested in any ice cream that isn't made from organic unicorn tears and the noble perspiration of passionate artisans."
Esme laughed at the sad truth in her husband's soft-spoken remark. Carlisle smiled reluctantly at the glorious sound.
"Do you think it's the venom that's infiltrating her taste buds?" Esme queried.
"No, I think it's the hormones," said the doctor.
"She can be a bit of a brat sometimes," Esme agreed. Her voice was hushed even though no one was around.
"Honestly..." Carlisle pushed his hands through his hair with an exhausted sigh.
"And she's been wearing really, really low-rise jeans lately. Have you noticed that?"
Carlisle groaned. "I do everything in my power not to."
"I can't imagine how Edward would react if he saw her wearing some of the things she wears."
"I'm sure she's become quite adept at avoiding him before she leaves the house. She's probably a master at clearing her mind, too."
"She is quite a sneaky little thing, isn't she?" Esme smirked.
"Mmhm." Carlisle nodded. "Although I've noticed she takes a ridiculous amount of pictures of herself on her phone, and then uploads them to the internet. I don't have the slightest idea what she does with them."
"Do you think Edward knows about that?" Esme sounded scandalized.
"He must," Carlisle confirmed. "Unless she only does it while she's at our house. Still, you would think he'd have looked through her phone by now to see what she's been up to."
"You could do him a favor and confiscate it for him," Esme suggested with a wicked little smile. "Imagine the positive effect that would have on your relationship."
Carlisle looked terrified at the prospect. "Mmhm, I can only imagine the positive effects that would have on my relationship with my granddaughter."
"So the tension I've been sensing between you two lately isn't just my imagination?" Esme asked.
"I wish it was. I can only trace it back to last Sunday when we had this argument about what she was listening to on the radio. Her taste in music is infuriating."
Esme shook her head in mock disbelief. "Why, Carlisle, I'm surprised you haven't acquired a taste for Dubstep yet."
"She's testing my limits, I'll say that much." He looked tentatively over at his wife. "Also I've noticed she uses this...tone whenever she talks to me now. Is that normal?"
"Oh, that? That's just the way teenagers talk, honey."
"Did you talk like that when you were her age?"
"Occasionally. I seem to recall my father's belt making an appearance soon after." Carlisle glanced down at his waist, looking disturbingly thoughtful. Esme reached over and tugged on his belt in playful warning. "Don't go getting any ideas, now."
Carlisle smiled. "You know I wouldn't dream of it... But I have to admit she's been challenging my patience lately. It's only been a few weeks since we started working on these projects together, but she already knows how to push all my buttons."
Esme feigned an exaggerated expression of shock. "You mean to tell me that you, Carlisle Cullen, have buttons? We've been married all this time and I've never known that you had buttons! Show me where they are!"
Finally, she had succeeded in her mission to bring real, solid laughter to his lips. After his throat was dry and the twinkle in his eyes had faded, he heaved a long sigh and stared up at the moon.
"God help me, Esme. Am I doing this right?"
Smiling, she reached over and rubbed his shoulder. "As long as you're doing your best, you're doing just fine."
His face had that pinched, determined sort of look he always got before he prepped for a difficult surgery. "I dont know."
"I do. Ness adores you. She has from the day you starting charting her growth in your notebook."
He hesitated. "You think I'm too critical of her?" It was more a statement of fact than a question.
"Sometimes," she gently admitted. "I'm sure you and Edward have that in common." She flipped a lock of hair out of his eyes. "But it comes from a place of grace, and I know that she's intelligent enough to see that."
His eyes were suddenly vibrant with adoration. Slowly he cupped his wife's cheek and pursued her lips with a languid kiss. Esme kissed him back roughly, distracted by her own subtle motives.
In the middle of the kiss, he paused to whisper, "Can you tell me where you hid my phone now? I'd like to call my son."
-}0{-
Edward invited Carlisle and Esme over on Saturday night. They talked about their respective neighborhoods, and politics, and how Renesmee's classes were going.
Renesmee was fidgeting the entire time, and she kept checking her phone instead of contributing to the conversation.
Bella pulled her aside at one point during the evening and talked to her about it. When they came back, Renesmee didn't look at her phone once more for the rest of the evening. She did agree to play a song on the piano for them, though. Something from Swan Lake. She was almost as good as her father.
Carlisle thought about getting a piano at their new townhouse.
"Where would we find room for it, sweetheart?" his wife asked him on their way home.
"It doesn't have to be a concert grand, Esme."
"Again, I'm asking, where would we find room for it?" she laughed.
That was the end to their conversation.
The following weekend, they attended a baptism for the son of one of Carlisle's friends at the hospital. When Esme exhibited concerns about attending the event, he explained it as "a necessary risk." Sometimes there were certain things Carlisle felt he had to do, and Esme knew by now that she shouldn't question them.
She'd made marked improvements at behaving naturally at social gatherings. It was one of those practices which involved relearning what one had already learned. Their last place of residence had been a remote tundra in Northern Canada. Living in the city of brotherly love put their social skills to the ultimate test. It wasn't as bad as Esme thought it would be, getting back into the swing of pretending to be human.
The most valuable lesson Carlisle had taught her was how to give limp handshakes. "Women never hold a hand that tightly. Especially when they're first meeting someone," he'd explained to her. She'd managed to perfect that trick with some practice. Esme prided herself on her expert limp handshake. She had many chances to execute it at the baptism, and she delighted in the reactions it got from the people she met.
Still, Carlisle was a lot better at it than she was.
He seemed to grasp human mannerisms so flawlessly. Somehow he made himself look less graceful in the way he carried himself. He fidgeted instead of standing still. He blinked an exquisite number of times per minute. He would hesitate on purpose when people asked him to recall things from long ago. He became a different man when he was around humans. Esme rarely had the opportunity to view her husband in his all-human-habitat. It was worth the effort on her part, just to watch him in this fascinating state.
It baffled her how obvious the other women were as they stared at her husband. He may have looked like a bumbling fool to her, but his efforts to appear human were so subtle to the humans themselves that all they saw was perfection incarnate. It wasn't that she blamed them. It was only that it'd somehow surpassed her notice before how magnificent he looked in that steel gray sports jacket. How comparatively young he looked next to all the other men in attendance. How he could do nothing to help the strange golden color of his eyes or the lack of gray in his hair or the ridiculously flawless proportions of his silhouette.
The best part was when they caught each other's eye from across the room while mingling with other people. They exchanged knowing glances every once in a while, just checking to be sure the other was holding up alright. She wondered if Carlisle even noticed how many women were staring at him right now.
It was positively demoralizing how her own stomach did a little flip at the sight of him.
His shift of expression and stance were subtle enough to everyone else. His smile was perfectly contained; his eyes, content at best. But to her, the change was undeniable and the signals were obvious. Only she could see that her husband was a cardinal, eagerly fluttering his bright red wings in the snow.
They went home to their bedroom that evening, and they made love, smoothly and silently.
Outside, the winter sky at dusk was a dead, crushed petal kind of pink color. The snow-covered ground was immaculate, and the trees were dark and still. Over the course of the night, a line of icicles had grown on the top of the window behind their bed. Like delicate, sparkling weapons protecting them from the outside world.
-}0{-
After one last long, appreciative kiss, he finally rolled over on the sheets into the hot daylight. His eyes squinted in response to the powerful blast of sun coming in through the window, but his lips turned up into an immediate grin. He shielded his eyes with one hand and peered up at her in a way that seemed to ask forgiveness.
An impromptu series of details blinked before her—broad shoulders, soft white skin, vulnerable eyes, and disarming locks of golden hair. He looked in that moment, centuries older and decades younger, simultaneously. He stared up at his wife from his pillow, and she praised him in joyful silence. "Perfect," her heart exalted over and over, growing warmer with every blink of his honey-colored eyes. "Perfect..."
She attacked him with more ruthless kisses, faintly aware of his pleas for her to stop.
For some reason she listened to him. Once he could breathe, he asked her to pass him his phone. She reached over for it on his nightstand, because during the night they'd both ended up on each other's side of the bed. He responded to the usual morning rush of emails, while Esme flipped through the newspaper they'd left on the floor all night. Carlisle peeked over her shoulder while she read silently to herself. Then they ended up reading out loud to each other—excerpts from the political section. It wasn't romantic at all. They laughed a lot.
It was different now; different than it used to be. One would think that being in an unchanging physical state for all eternity might cause things to grow stale in a relationship. Esme used to wonder if this would ever happen with her and Carlisle. Now, nearly a century of marriage later, things were definitely not stale. But they had certainly changed in ways she'd previously never imagined they would.
In a way, the changes were better. If they'd shared a morning like this in 1955, it would have looked quite a bit different once the sun came up. Like Adam and Eve on the dawn of eating the forbidden fruit, they would slowly come to realize their nakedness in the harsh light of day. For decades, stubborn instinct would force them to submit their bare skin to the protection of a warm blanket. Now, they didn't bother with the blankets. They would even make the bed while naked sometimes. Hell, if they happened to be on Isle Esme, they wouldn't bother putting their clothes on for days. In fact they'd stopped packing extra clothes altogether when they traveled to the island.
In decades past, the idea would have seemed scandalous, even for a married couple. The times had changed them, even though they were sometimes in denial. And yes, sometimes Esme had to admit that she missed that little glitch of intense modesty that infected her husband's behavior from time to time. With every year that passed she seemed to see it less and less. He no longer cared as much if his shirt was untucked, or if someone caught him undressing. He had no problem letting Alice buy his swim trunks for him, or lifting weights next to Emmett just for the fun of it. He didn't shy away from kissing his wife in public, or readily joining her in the shower when she was least expecting it.
Where in the beginning of their marriage, she would thrill at the sight of him shedding his trousers in the middle of the parlor, she now felt a reverse thrill when he urgently clutched the sheets to his lap upon remembering his nakedness.
That was what prompted the conversation. It started with the sheet. The hasty concealment of genitalia. The pretense that nothing strange had actually happened.
Esme felt her heart soar with mixed emotion at her husband's bashful moment. Before she could contain them, the words spilled out, "Do you remember why I fell in love with you?"
His eyes turned vague upon being put on the spot. She could see the swirling confusion, the silent wonderings of what he'd done to prompt such a philosophical turn of conversation.
When he didn't answer her for a solid minute, she took the liberty of responding to her own question. "It was because you were so different from all the other men I'd ever known in my life."
His phone vibrated between them on the bed. Esme's heart sank.
With a notoriously gentle hand, Carlisle reached for the offending device, stood up from the bed, walked to the other side of the room, and calmly tossed it out the window.
When he came back to her, she could see the little droplets on his forearm from the melting icicles.
"Go on," he urged patiently.
"I want to tell you something," she began again.
"I'm listening."
She hesitated for an instant, then reached out to lay her hand against his neck. "Charles never looked me in the eye."
It should have been awkward when she brought it up, but somehow it wasn't. It was a topic they expected to turn up at odd moments over the years. They just accepted it. Just like everything else, they treated the subject much differently than they used to.
She didn't see that flame of pure hatred burst to life in Carlisle's eyes anymore when she mentioned the name of her former husband. There was pity there, but no reaction in the way of anger or resentment. His calmness was almost irritating. But then, perhaps it was just another beautiful indicator of how much they'd grown and matured together as a couple. Perhaps they'd exhausted the subject so much to the point that nothing could ever surprise or offend either of them anymore. There was really nothing left that hadn't been said on the matter. She couldn't shock him with anything new. True, there were things she supposed she would never say out loud to him, but he had come to accept that out of respect to her privacy and to his own sanity.
Everything worth sharing was out in the open by now. All that was left was the occasional reassurance, the necessary time to revisit and accept and console.
And that was exactly what he was here for.
Usually Carlisle would say something profound in response, but today he was silent. He reached up to hold her hand against his neck, and he stared deeply and rebelliously into her eyes, challenging her accusation against his predecessor. She knew he wasn't going to be the one to look away first.
She held onto him for a few minutes until she couldn't handle it any more. Prolonged eye contact with Carlisle exhausted her soul. She surrendered by letting her head fall against his chest. Usually she cried around this time, but today she didn't feel like crying.
Maybe this was another one of those things that was changing forever.
-}0{-
The day of Renesmee's big presentation had finally arrived. They weren't able to see it because it wasn't an open invitation sort of thing. Only professors, college board members, and other select students would be part of the audience.
It made everything a little anti-climactic for them, but such was life.
Carlisle was deeply upset that he couldn't attend. He did manage to squeeze in one last practice round the night before, though. Even though she stumbled a few times, he told her she did a perfect job. And this time, Renesmee actually said "thank you" instead of "whatever."
Esme was very proud of both of them.
The next morning they thought of her while she was off giving her speech. They waited patiently for the phone call with the verdict.
This was the only time when Carlisle's phone went off and neither of them wanted to hide it or throw it out a window.
"I did it!" she was screaming. They didn't need to put it on speakerphone. "It's over!"
"How did it go?" Esme asked in place of her speechless husband, who was visibly shaking with excitement.
"I have no idea!" she responded just as enthusiastically. Carlisle and Esme exchanged confused looks. "I just can't believe it's all finally over! I'm so happy!"
Carlisle was tempted to remind her that this speech was only the tip of the iceberg if she truly planned to go through with her medical career, but he held his tongue so as not to spoil his granddaughter's first trivial victory.
"Congratulations, sweetheart. We're so proud of you."
"Thanks! Why don't you take me out to dinner to celebrate?"
That night Carlisle booked reservations at the most expensive restaurant in Philly.
-}0{-
Renesmee decided to go abroad over winter break. A small group of students was volunteering at an AIDS shelter for orphans in Puerto Rico. Carlisle thought the idea was fabulous. Edward was furious. "She'd better hope it rains while they're down there or she'll find herself wearing face powder and a hoodie the entire time," he grumbled.
Esme was tempted to remind her son that Renesmee's skin condition had never posed a threat to her identity before. However, it was fairly obvious that Edward was just coming up with any excuse not to see his daughter go away for Christmas. Sometimes he and Nessie put up a front that they despised each other, but the reality was quite clear to everyone that they loved each other too much, and that was why they caused each other so much pain.
The rest of the family spent a quiet Christmas together at one of their properties in upstate New York. They exchanged gifts and talked over possible plans for moving back under one roof in the near future. Esme always loved the holidays because they brought about this kind of talk. Even Rose admitted that she was starting to get bored with the current living arrangements.
With all the talk of the family coming back together, conversation naturally turned to Renesmee.
"You know, I've decided I'm glad she made the decision to go to Puerto Rico," Edward said, enlightened. "She might come back with a whole new perspective on life after she sees what the real world is like."
His remark was met with general silence, but that was only because everyone in the room was thinking the same thing.
They still managed to have a lovely Christmas in her absence.
-}0{-
Renesmee took a photo of herself on New Year's Eve and posted it on Tumblr. It had an exemplary amount of cleavage in it.
Edward discovered it and had a meltdown.
Edward and Renesmee fought, and they said a lot of hurtful things to each other, which they later regretted.
Bella managed to smooth things over.
This whole episode was public knowledge because Renesmee recounted the hysteria on her Twitter feed for a week after.
#UnfairDads
-}0{-
Carlisle took Esme to Tuscany for Valentine's Day.
It was so nice to get away from their cramp townhouse, the drama with Nessie, and the close-range humans. There was something about the European countryside that made them feel like they were traveling back in time. When they were first courting, everything was so much simpler, so much more catering to romantic seclusion without any ties or connections to the rest of the world. It was a little spot of heaven amidst endless fields of green and gold, dotted with majestic Italian Cypress trees. Above it all, the clouds were flat and wide. They looked like they were sprouting wispy wings, like large white paper cranes gliding across a clear blue watery sky.
Esme had offered to drive to their villa so her husband could enjoy the scenery without distraction. She was more entertained just watching him as he looked out the window, deep in thought. The backdrop of the rolling hills and earthen colors looked like a moving painting behind his peaceful countenance. His profile gleamed in the light of the open window, like some heroic knight posing for his portrait.
She smiled to herself. "It never changes."
"I know," he agreed with wistful eyes. "I love that."
They finally parked and got out of the car to walk the rest of the way. The air was crisp and free from pollution, such a difference from the city smog. The atmosphere here was instead tainted with the mingled scents of ripe apples, crushed grass, and the faint, persistent aroma of wild mint growing in the ditch by the road. February weather was more like autumn here.
Carlisle's hand grabbed her waist as he guided her over the winding brook that led to their villa. His hand was focused on her waist, but his mind was far away. He was quiet as they walked, but she could see flecks of humor written on his expression. Every once in a while he stifled a subtle chuckle about something or other, but he never shared.
Esme kept her eyes on the twinkling brook beneath their feet, admiring the brightly colored stones. Out of nowhere she spotted a tiny green lizard on one of the stones and promptly tore away from her husband's arms to dive down for it.
"Oh! Look! Look!" She caught the terrified creature easily with two fingers and held it up proudly for display. "Isn't it adorable?"
Carlisle laughed robustly, certain that his wife was the only vampire in existence who would say such a thing. Esme didn't care. She had a heart for all helpless critters roaming the wild, even if she did make them part of her diet.
As he swerved his head to look over at her, a voluptuous lock of blond hair fell boyishly into his eyes, and Esme was overcome by a crippling tide of nostalgia, and those absurd dimples of his.
The last time they were here, he had kissed her in this very same spot. He had lifted her up in his arms, and spun her around, and told her that he never wanted this moment to end. If she listened hard enough she could still hear the victorious echo of his voice proclaiming his everlasting promises to love her for eternity.
That was in 1948. And she still remembered how his hard cheek had felt against hers as he kept telling her over and over and over again how very in love he was. She hadn't exactly understood what was happening to him in that moment, but she guessed he'd had an epiphany of sorts for no reason at all.
Now it seemed the same thing was happening to her.
She caught his gaze, partially obscured by that obnoxious lock of hair, and in his eyes she saw the same memory flash like hot tinder between them. In one swift pounce she let her captive go scurrying back down the stream and she crashed into her husband, knocking him over. His back cracked the stones when he landed with a resounding splash beneath her, and he laughed uncontrollably as she mimicked his epic string of "I love you's", rowdy and wet and carefree.
Sometime later they made it into the house. It was just the same as they'd left it, furniture in odd places, curtains tied up to let more sunlight in, and that very same terracotta bowl perched on the window sill. Esme would always fill it with fruits even though they never ate them. She just liked the way those fruits would glisten under the sun, like many colored jewels.
She recalled briefly the last days they'd spent here; how, in the mornings, those delicate curtains lifted in the breeze, floating like bridal veils. How dawn flowed through the windows, just as champagne flowed through weddings. And at night, the moon was a strong, rich silver, sharp and curved like a warrior's blade. The moonlight spread like hoar frost over the hills and fields beyond their property while candles dotted the windows across sleeping towns in the valleys, like tiny golden pearls floating and bobbing in a sea of darkness...
She blinked, and daylight was back. So was the present day.
As soon as he came into the foyer, Carlisle peeled off his wet jacket and plaid tunic. The first thing Esme noticed was that her husband was wearing suspenders over his undershirt. Suddenly she felt the present day slipping away again. She wondered if he was being nostalgic on purpose now.
He looked at her like he knew exactly what she was thinking.
He was so close to her. Whenever Carlisle stood this close to her, she could smell the scent of him and feel the heat of his body. Sometimes just being near him was like being touched. His hands were hanging at his sides in a gesture of willing surrender. He wanted her to command him, to take the reins and decide whatever happened next.
There were moments—moments like this one—when she couldn't believe they'd been married for so many years. Little flecks of time where their eyes would meet and she would see him as an intense and stunning stranger. Dim evenings where she was startled by the sound of the door creaking open, and her heart was stirred by the sight of this tall blond doctor bending down to kiss her.
He was purgatory and candlelight, and silent fears and unresolved longings, and the endlessness of the ocean and music echoing in the night, and all kinds of ridiculous prose that didn't mean anything to anyone but her.
She was so lucky to have him in her life.
He breathed, and his breath touched her forehead. She took one step closer to him and shrugged free of her sweater. Then, delicately, she kissed the damp skin on his collarbone while he hummed quiet contentment above her.
Secretly, she was overwhelmed. It was what she imagined he must have been feeling back in 1948 when he lifted her into the air on a sudden whim and shouted for ten minutes about how much he loved her. She wondered if he felt that way more often than he let on. She got to thinking that maybe it would be better if they didn't hold back those kinds of whims anymore.
They made love at the foot of the stairs, and it felt like the first time.
Oh... but it was the first time.
-}0{-
Renesmee wanted to celebrate the end of spring semester at a bar near campus called The Grog Grill. She went out and bought a short black dress and ruby red heels just for the occasion, which induced much grumbling and head shaking from both Carlisle and Edward. She took a selfie on her phone and sent it to Alice for approval before going out.
She invited four of her friends out along with her parents and her grandparents, and they waited outside while the waitstaff scrambled to push enough tables together to accommodate a party of nine.
In order to interact with the four strangers, Esme and Carlisle claimed to be Renesmee's aunt and uncle who happened to live in downtown Philly. Edward and Bella continued the charade by posing as Renesmee's older brother and sister. It was an easy enough story to pull off. Liberal college kids didn't tend to question these things as much as the smalltown families at Forks did.
While they would have preferred to spend time with Renesmee in a more intimate setting, just with their family, they had to let her have what she wanted from time to time. She never saw the mixing of humans and vampires as something to be overly cautious about. Perhaps it stemmed from her being a hybrid herself. She looked through rose-colored lenses when it came to socializing in the world. Often times she would accuse her family members of "overreacting" when they expressed concerns about being stuck in public for too long. It was easy for her to forget that her family was in constant danger of being discovered every time they ventured from their homes.
They tried to keep it that way, for her sake. Their success had come with an unexpected cost.
Renesmee was a rampant social butterfly.
She spent the entire evening recounting "hilarious" tales of what happened on campus over the course of her first year. Her friends would all break into timely guffaws when she mentioned a particularly fond memory they all shared. She expressed overwhelming excitement about being able to live on campus next year (which earned a subtle glare from her pretend brother), and she sought advice from her upperclassmen friends about which classes to take and which professors to avoid.
Even while entertaining her four friends and her family, Renesmee still found an inevitable moment to check her phone. Somewhere in the midst of the multiple conversations being had across the table and the server placing plates in front of everyone, Renesmee turned to Bella and chuckled, "Look at this vine that Jake posted last night."
Pretending to eat was thankfully not a challenge tonight since Renesmee had a distraction already planned for that part of the evening. Happy hour marked the birth of unnecessarily loud music, compliments of a live DJ who had taken the stage without warning or introduction.
"Good Lord, what is this?" Carlisle was appalled.
"Skrillex!" Renesmee chirped.
Bella looked over her shoulder at her in-laws, her eyes sparkling as if to say "prepare yourselves."
Carlisle's eyebrows crashed together. Esme laughed loudly and pulled her husband aside while their granddaughter rushed to join the other teenagers in what they supposed was dancing.
"Give it a chance," Esme teased.
Carlisle frowned. "I don't like it."
His wife's laughter was muffled by the deafening slice of electro synthesizers. "That's because your delicate eardrums are so accustomed to Mozart." She tickled the back of his ear.
"Back in my day they had to include something called a 'melody' when they composed songs," Carlisle shouted defensively over the noise.
"Nowadays they just need a beat, darling."
"My, how things have changed," Edward lamented with a theatrical pout, patting his father on the back as he passed him. "Kids these days..."
Esme lovingly pushed him out of the way.
"Alice would have loved this," she whispered to her husband as they took in the scene.
Carlisle couldn't resist a smile at the thought of how his daugher would react to Renesmee's party habits.
"Do you think this is just a phase?" he asked his wife in genuine concern.
"The music?" Esme joked with a chuckle. Carlisle stared at her, unamused. "Oh, you mean our granddaughter."
He straightened up suddenly as something in the distance caught his full attention. Esme turned her head toward the dance floor to see a young man who was discreetly cozying up to Renesmee.
If her husband hadn't pledged his abstinence from human blood long ago, she would have assumed he was ready to hunt right here in this crowded bar.
"Oh, Carlisle, for heaven's sake. You're just as bad as Edward."
He shook his head vigorously and looked away from the distressing scene. "It's the music. I can't take it." He looked like he'd just been forced to swallow a very nasty medicine.
Esme dragged him back outside, laughing in spite of his agony, and they fell into an easy stroll along the moderately crowded sidewalk. The sound of the street was peaceful in comparison to the inside of the bar, a welcome change in scene.
After a little while, Carlisle asked his wife the burning question. "She wasn't wearing stockings, was she?"
Esme just barley resisted throwing her arms up in exasperation. "Carlisle, I climbed trees. You abandoned the pulpit." Her voice lowered to a more serious tone, "I know I don't need to mention what Edward did..." She took hold of his hand when he shifted uncomfortably at her side. "My point is, we all do rebellious things at some point in our youth. You should be glad the better part of your granddaughter's interests don't extend beyond loud music and mini skirts."
"Still..."
"No. She's a beautiful, smart, outgoing young woman. Let her live."
Esme watched her husband's face as she walked along his side, waiting for him to smile, to confirm that he understood her point, to show some evidence that he'd accepted her advice. When she didn't get what she was looking for, she reached up and playfully prodded his cheek until he gave her a begrudging grin.
Abruptly he stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk, turned to face her, and took both her hands in his. "What are we going to do?" he asked dramatically, his eyes misty with happy peril.
Esme's laughter was like music. "Nothing!" she freely declared, tearing her hands out of his so she could hold his head straight. "Just sit back and watch."
After thirty minutes or so of clearing their heads, they returned to the bar to find Renesmee waiting for them outside on the stoop. "There you two are!" she laughed. "Did you forget that I came in your car?" She reached to casually tug the hem of her skirt down, which still didn't reach mid-thigh.
Carlisle looked away in brooding disapproval.
"Where are your parents?" Esme asked.
"They ditched me."
"You asked for it," Carlisle replied smartly.
"Oooh! The doctor prescribes me a taste of my own medicine!" If anyone could appreciate a snarky reply, it was Renesmee. Only Carlisle could manage to look regretful and proud at the same time. Esme pretended not to be shocked by their loaded exchange.
"Alright, alright. What's in the box?" Esme changed the subject, poking the styrofoam container in Nessie's hand.
"Espresso cheesecake. Liam bought it for me," she added with a flutter of smoky eyelashes.
Carlisle's face was priceless.
"Wasn't that nice," Esme said casually. "I won't ask who Liam is."
Renesmee giggled as all they began to walk upstreet. "It's kinda cold out here," she remarked.
Before she'd even finished her sentence, Carlisle was enthusiastically shedding his jacket. On an altruistic impulse, he sealed her bare shoulders snugly beneath a load of conservative black leather.
Renesmee slumped beneath the added weight, adjusting awkwardly to balance herself beneath the too-large jacket. She turned suspicious eyes onto the silent doctor and mumbled, "Ummm, thanks."
Esme muffled an irreverent giggle with the back of her hand.
"So do you want to go anywhere else tonight, or are you ready for us to take you home?"
Renesmee failed at stifling a yawn. "I know you guys are probably ready to get out of here, so we can go home if you want."
Esme could practically feel the tension slough off her husband's shoulders. "Okay, sweetheart."
The car ride was pleasant because Renesmee agreed to listen to the last ten minutes of soul train hour instead of club techno.
"Who sings this song?" she asked, almost timidly, in the middle of a crooning 70's tune.
Carlisle and Esme looked at each other in tentative disbelief at what might be a musical breakthrough.
"The Delfonics," Carlisle answered carefully, afraid that one mispronounced syllable might cause her fragile inspiration to wilt.
After waiting the token three extra seconds so as to not get their hopes up, she asked, "And what's the song called?"
"Didn't I Blow Your Mind?" supplied Esme.
Nessie gave a little breathless kind of giggle and shuffled around with her phone for a few seconds before concealing it in her purse.
After the song ended they pulled up to Edward and Bella's driveway. The porch lights were off, a clear sign that they had chosen to stay out.
"Hm, wonder where they are?" Nessie questioned as she got her things together and prepared to get out of the car.
"Do you want to come home with us tonight instead?" Esme asked hopefully.
Nessie thought for a moment. "No, that's okay. I have my key, I'll be fine."
"Okay."
Carlisle parked the car and turned the engine off. Even though she could get into the house perfectly fine by herself, he insisted on getting out of the driver's seat and standing outside to watch her.
She returned his leather jacket to him, and shivered when the cold night air hit her bare skin. She started to walk towards the house, looking so small and skinny and vulnerable in her tiny dress and heels. Then suddenly she remembered something, and reached into her purse to grab her phone. She promptly turned around to start running back to the car.
"Oh, wait! I wanted to show you something, I forgot!"
She turned her phone around and there, illuminated brightly on the smooth screen was a candid photo of Carlisle's profile, taken earlier in the evening.
"I changed it to sepia tone. It's the effect you use to make photos look old."
Carlisle and Esme stared blankly at the picture, waiting for the punchline.
"Because I'm old?" Carlisle finally asked.
"Yup!" Nessie chirped. "It's very becoming on you. Don't you think?" She looked between the photo and the real thing with an expectant grin on her face.
Carlisle stepped back and pretended to appraise the photo with a thoughtful finger on his chin. "Yes, you're right. In fact, I think I should go jump in molasses right now."
Esme and Nessie laughed, but only Esme saw her husband hesitate for an instant of doubt before he reached out to pull his granddaughter in for a hug. Nessie fiercely hugged him back.
"Thank you," she murmured against his shoulder.
Carlisle looked over at Esme as if she had an explanation. She only raised her eyebrows.
"For what?" he ventured tentatively.
"I wouldn't have been able to get through my first year of college without you."
And just like that, that one sincere line of thanks made all the arguments, all the moody moments, all the inappropriate snapchats, all the loud music, and all the 'whatevers' worth it.
Time does change things, after all.