words


'Bonjour.'

'Hello.' He draws the word out, adding an extra syllable or two. She watches his lips, the way his tongue rolls across bleached teeth, and nods.

''Ello.' The word stumbles from her mouth, coming out fast and skidding. He clucks his tongue, and shakes his head. Close, but no cigar.

A sigh escape from between pursed lips, frustration furrowing her brow.

'Once more,' he whispers, 'You're very close.'

But she knows she's not, and could she ever come to live here in America, if she couldn't even speak the greeting for God's sake. 'Edward,' she grumbles, tired of his constant optimism on their situation. She doesn't know how to communicate it to him, how to tell it just won't work. She won't be the one to pop their bubble, to say their dream can never become a reality, but just- Another sigh.

'Hello, say it with me.' She feels his hands, soft and comforting close around her clenched fists. 'Relax, Bella.' He works her palms open, intertwines their fingers. But she's can't, ''Ello. No.'

'It's alright you'll get it.'

But I won't, she wants to say, though she can't conjure up the words in his language. She shakes her head, this barrier, this wall; they'd been climbing it for months, just trying to reach the top, and finally the other side. But how? Communication was such an important aspect, and yet, she'd barely said more then three words to him, besides 'I Bella.'

She understood him, and his mother tongue, yes. But he didn't understand hers, nor could they speak one another's. She dips her head, allowing the beret to fall over her eyes. He was trying so hard, taking classes, buying English to French dictionaries. And yet, what was she doing? Shaking her head and telling him, no this wasn't going to work.

Their relationship, their future, failing, and all because she couldn't say a stupid English greeting.

'Bella?' She feels his fingertips along her chin, pushing it up. He meets her eyes, and locks his gaze, 'L'amour, qu'est-ce que? Love, what's the matter? '

Steadily, she grips his wrist, pulling her chin from his grasp, 'No, I-I sorry.'

'Bella.'

And then there's the pressure of his lips against her, soft, but then harder. At first, she doesn't respond, she let's him lead, as if they're waltzing at some dance, instead of kissing between book shelves at some library a block or two from his apartment. But, then she pushes back, revealing in the feel of his lips against hers.

There's no need for communication. Or at least, none that includes a boundary of their differing languages. And she giggles, as at last he pulls away reluctantly, though gasping for air.

Once regaining his breath, he smiles, because she's happy. And as she leans closer, he's thinks she's looking for more, and he really hopes some stout little librarian doesn't show up and shoo them out for public affection. But instead, she opens her mouth, and utters a single word with a widespread grin;

'Hello.'