The Talk

Edward and Carlisle Cullen

Every parent dreads this conversation. I was lucky though, I had a hundred year reprieve before it ever came up. To say that I was well prepared would be an understatement. I'd prepared when Rosalie came along, who was intended for Edward. I'd even re-worded my little speech when Tanya expressed her desires. He would have none of them. So it was one hundred years after his birth, I finally got to give him "the talk".

He had gone to his brothers first. Emmett, in his gruff and wild way, detailed the physical aspects in a way that I knew made Edward cringe. Everything he spoke of, the exhilaration, increased adrenaline and constant movement, only made Edward more fearful. He didn't wish to hurt her.

Jasper spoke of the emotion which was much more to his brothers liking. He told him of the bonds of love and of the passion that was nearly tangible. The Edward I know, and I know him well, was entranced by this idea. He loved so deeply and so dearly that the mere thought of expressing it in a tangible way almost made his heart begin to beat again.

I was in my office, reading a new manual on heart transplants, when I heard him approach the door. I whispered, "Come in, Edward" before he hit the landing, knowing that he would hear.

When he opened the door I already knew what he was there for. The look on his face was one I hadn't seen before. He seemed almost hesitant to speak with me. Not in many years had he been afraid or anxious to discuss something with me.

"You have prepared for this," he said before sitting down in the chair across from my desk. "Tell me what I need to know."

The brilliant and often annoying thing about Edward was that he could hear my thoughts. Some things, however, were important enough to be spoken aloud.

"Which are you more frightened of; displeasing her or hurting her?" I asked.

"Both," he responded immediately, having heard the entire question in my mind before I'd finished asking it. "I fear the latter the most."

"I fear neither," I said coolly. "You have proven that you can temper and control your true self. Her love for you will not allow her to be displeased with her wedding night."

"Your faith in me knows no bounds," he said with a huff of disagreement.

"You have rarely given me reason to doubt you, Edward."

He nodded and took a moment to look down at his hands, thinking deeply. I was patient, many centuries taught one patience. He would speak when he felt comfortable doing so and I was perfectly happy to sit statue like, humming a tune in my mind to help him along.

"Do you think that, perhaps, you could advise me on how to go about this without hurting her? What is the safest way?" he finally asked me.

I turned my attention back to him and smiled. "You must control yourself and be of a right mind. It will be difficult, Edward."

"Why?"

I sighed. "Edward, physical love is a beautiful and terrifying thing. It brings you to great heights but often you lose yourself in its grasp. It does, for lack of a better phrase, complicate things."

"How so?" he asked with a look of true concern on his face.

"Well," I tried to form a proper reply. Some things were hard to put into words, even when you had the privilege of a centuries old vocabulary. "You know the mechanics of it, I am assuming," he nodded promptly. "Think of it this way, you are giving her something and she is accepting it into her body. In reality, she is giving you just as precious a gift. It is accepted and given by both parties." He nodded in understanding, his eyes staring off into the distance again. "The heart often follows the body, my son."

He moved to leave then, nodding his understanding. The conversation was over. With his hand on the doorknob he whispered, "In my case the body follows the heart." Then he was gone.