The Drop Out
Summary: Esme is feeling a little under appreciated, and so the family gives her some time alone. How will she spend it? One shot. Post BD.
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, sadly. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer. "Marks" belongs to Linda Pastan.
"Marks"
My husband gives me an A for last night's supper,
an incomplete for my ironing,
a B plus in bed.
My son says I am average,
an average mother, but
if I put my mind to it, I could improve.
My daughter believes in Pass/Fail and tells me
I pass. Wait 'til they learn
I'm dropping out.
I reread the poem on the page again. This anthology of modern poetry was a gift from Carlisle, so is it ironic that lately, this is a poem I connect with? I don't know, I have just been feeling under appreciated lately. Bella and Rosalie have been best friends since the Nessie incident, and while I don't mind that in itself, Rosalie's tendency towards iciness is rubbing off on an otherwise sweet, fantastic Bella. Edward is on my short list right now because he is being completely unreasonable about allowing Bella to tell her father what is going on. Carlisle has been working non-stop since the move, and I barely see him, and he's been working with a paediatric patient lately, which is always hard on him, but he really, really doesn't need to take it out on me. I WILL bite him, so he'd better watch out. Emmett is lost with Rosalie's recent, intense attention to Nessie, and as such, he's been whiny and destructive. Alice and Jasper, who are usually the calmest and most level -headed of the children, are fighting with each other. Needless to say, my only ally is Nessie, when I can get her away from one of the girls. So last night, I went a little nuts on the family. I yelled, and I haven't done that in YEARS. Not since 1994, when Carlisle and I had a big fight about Edward and an incident where he crashed a car. And that was the first time I'd said anything strong and harsh to my husband or my children. I really do know how blessed I am; it's just that not a single other person in this house understands what I do. Who does the laundry? Me. Who does the grocery shopping? Esme. Who balances the checkbook? I love my husband, and he's brilliant at medicine, but he's kind of crap at much else. So mom does it. When someone is feeling down, who do they turn to? Not Carlisle, usually, and certainly not each other. Nope, me again. So I yelled, and said somethings I now regret about being unnoticed and unappreciated. So they decided to go out, and give me some peace. Carlisle somehow, I'm sure through massive amounts of bribery, cajoled the children into cleaning up the place, and so here I sit, at my desk, in silence. They have gone for a group hunt, and mom is all alone. It's odd; I imagine if I was any other mom, I'd be in a big, large bubble bath scented with lavender oil and Harry Connick Jr on the stereo. But instead, I am a little lost.
I troop downstairs, and am drawn to the stereo. I pull out my stash of music; a collection of music *I* like and downloaded from the internet; I think my children would be surprised by my varied taste in music, but Carlisle has seen it. I am unsure what he thinks, but I don't care. I put it on, and skip the first song, which is Edelweiss from the musical Sound of Music. This song is rock and roll; I need something to get me going. I rock out to Janis Joplin's "Mercedes Benz", dancing around the living room. I want a cat, I think. Yes, that would be fun. The next song is Colbie Callait's "Falling for You", which I first heard when Carlisle and I went to the mall together to get some things for Nessie. It reminds me of us, a little bit, and Edward and Bella. By the third song, "Margaritaville", I have myself in the Bahamas, singing backup for Buffett, sipping margaritas with the girls while our men scuba dive in the aqua water. I stop dancing, and cross into the kitchen. My next act will probably have me sick for a week, but who cares? I pour myself a glass of red wine, and pull out a Hershey's kiss that I swiped from the hospital when I went to drop off Carlisle's briefcase last week. I eat it in one bite, then sip at the wine. I turn up the volume on the stereo, and plop onto the couch, enjoying the silence. I stand up equally quickly, and rush into my bathroom. I retrieve my beauty kit, and pull out a vampy red lipstick I have never worn and a matching nail polish, and apply both. I feel good, lighter, and giggly, probably from the food, and so I pull out an old dress and heels I haven't worn in years, and only wore once when Carlisle got some award at the hospital when we lived in Memphis. I put it on, and go back downstairs. I switch the radio, apologizing out loud to Sam Cook, and instead put on some jazz. I dance with myself in the living room. I spot the photographs I have artfully arranged on the piano, and sit with my wine on the piano bench and rifle through the memories that the pictures bring back. I am immediately ashamed; I am blessed, and my children are well behaved, I have a gorgeous, adoring husband, and a fantastic home. Dusk is settling, and I realize I have been wandering around in a daze for about four hours. I swallow the last sip of wine and wash the glass and replace it in the cupboard. I go into the living room and flip back over to the rock and roll but turn it low; I want to savor my last few minutes of quiet aloneness before they all return. I dance around a bit more to Abba, and wonder then if I am, through my taste in music alone, going just a little crazy. My favorite song is next, and, unthinkingly, automatically, I turn up the volume full blast and have Aerosmith's "Don't Wanna Miss a Thing" blaring from stereo and lungs when, out of the blue, a strong, familiar pair of hands is on my waist, and a sweet, twinkling voice is whispering in my ear. It is Carlisle, and I turn into him suddenly, embarrassed to be caught dressed up in silly clothes and dancing like a schoolgirl after my first date. He smiles, and tells me that the children are staying away for a little longer. I smile and turn down the music, but he turns it back on, and asks me to dance with him. I oblige, of course, and we dance around the living room for three songs, slow dancing even though the songs are angry-girl rock and roll songs, No Doubt, Alanis Morrisette, and Avril Lavigne. As Gloria Gaynor reminds me that "I will survive," the children arrive, and they follow the music, silently standing in the living room. Carlisle stops spinning me around, and I turn the music down, and smile, slightly embarrassed. They look from Carlisle to me, and then to each other. Alice steps forward, and envelops me in a hug. I hug her back.
"I'm sorry for being so rude earlier, Esme. I love you. Thank you for all you do for me." She lets me go, and Jasper kisses my face and murmured a similar sentiment, then pulled Alice up the stairs, saying that it appeared that Carlisle and I need some alone time. Rosalie, who is never good at expressing her feelings, whispers "I'm sorry, Esme. I've been a terrible bitch, and you really deserve better. Let me know when you need help with anything." She turns and dashes into the den, and I smile after her, aware of the supreme sacrifice she just made on my behalf. Emmett looks at the ground, and then at me, and reaches out to squeeze my hand. He smiles a half smile, and looks back at the ground. He is the least mature of the boys, but occasionally he has his moments, and I see one in the making. Sure enough, he raises his head and says loudly, "I'm sorry for breaking the vase, and also that I've been distant. Rose and I talked; we wanted to let you know that you can always ask one of us if you need a hand around here." He smiles again, and I nod, and he flies down the stairs after Rose. I shake my head, and look around. Edward is sitting at the piano with Bella and Nessie in his lap. He looks at me, sheepishly, and smiles. Bella jumps up and envelops me in a large hug. We embrace as Edward plays my song, then they excuse themselves. I smile at Carlisle, and he reaches over and flips off the stereo, takes my hand, and leads me to the stairs. As he leads me towards our bedroom, he looks sheepishly at me, too.
"Honey, I have a confession." I look at him, annoyed. He stops on the stairs and puts a finger to my mouth.
"Shh, let me finish. I didn't go hunting with the children. I realize that it is I that owes you the largest apology. I am truly sorry for snapping at you, and if you'll let me, I plan to make it up to you. I spent the afternoon rearranging my work schedule for the next few days, and you should keep that dress handy, because I also secured us some tickets to the Opera. It's Pirates of Penzance, but it might be fun. We can go out somewhere after, if you'd like." I smile, and nod.
"Thank you, dear. Before you continue with whatever you have up your sleeve tonight, though, I need to be sick. I really should not have eaten the chocolate." I fly up the stairs and into our bathroom, and I hear him follow me. He rubs my back as the wretched chocolate wreaks havoc on my stomach. Luckily, it passes quickly, and Carlisle leads me to the bed.
"Chocolate, huh?" I nod, and shrug lightly. He grins, but then looks at me, serious.
"I really am sorry, and I want you to know that I love you in more ways than you can know." I smile, and lean in for his kiss.
"I know. Thank you. I have enjoyed myself immensely today. But I missed you all." He nods.
" I missed you, too. The children spoke to me; they were sincere earlier. Even Rose." I nod at him, and he kisses me, and flips on our stereo, with OUR music-a lot of sexy jazz. His mouth moves over my neck as I tell him about my day, and by the time Ella Fitzgerald is crooning "Someone to Watch Over Me," I have forgotten about my day alone, my children, and my plan to drop out.
The End.