Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and its related characters.
Author's Note: Many thanks to Chieri for her encouragement.

Happy Birthday, Edward!


A Century of Celebrations

I pouted as Edward fastened the final button on his shirt, the green fabric completely covering his chest—a chest I'd become closely acquainted with over the past few days. He smirked, seeing my pitiful expression, but said nothing. I raised an eyebrow. "No witty one-liner this time?"

He blinked innocently in response.

I wasn't fooled. Edward rarely missed an opportunity to poke fun at my inability to resist his charms, vampire or otherwise. "I intoxicate you with my very presence, Bella," I quoted, attempting to mock his mellifluous voice. The result was disastrous, of course, but Edward found it hilarious. "That was probably the most arrogant thing anyone has ever said," I continued, undeterred by his loud laughter. "Intoxicating? Really?"

"And yet... you still fell for it," he deadpanned.

"Unfair advantage," I quipped. "The venom on your breath—on any vampire's breath—makes a human vulnerable to attack. You told me yourself." My grin was wide. Triumphant. I wanted to pat myself on the back.

"I believe you used the word 'dazzle' last time, love."

My smile faded, turning into a perplexed frown, while his stupid smirk became more pronounced. I needed a clever comeback. A sharp retort. Something to slap the smug off his face. And fast.

Edward didn't wait for an answer. "Am I dazzling you now?"

"I hate you." I had resorted to third grade insults instead.

He shook his head, his smile condescending. "You're supposed to say 'frequently.'"

"You're supposed to—" My sentence died in my throat—a quick, happy death—as Edward leaned closer, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. He was going to breathe on me. Jerk. I closed my eyes, letting him think he'd won, before taking a deep breath and exhaling it in his face. "Oops," I laughed, watching his eyes shut tight and jaw lock into place, "I must have dazzled you."

Edward opened his eyes, recovering from my sneak attack, and nodded in approval. "Well played."

I gasped dramatically. "Did Edward Cullen just admit defeat?"

He ignored my jab, making me squeak when he pulled me onto his lap, and kissed me. His tongue traced my lips, never entering my mouth. A hand rested on the back of my head, holding me to him; and the other slipped under my shirt, skimming the exposed skin but not exploring. The combination of passion and restraint—in his kisses, in him—always left me wanting more. He pulled back after a few minutes, allowing me to catch my breath. "What defeat?"

I should have known. "You're such a cheater."

"You liked it."

"That, right there, is pedophile jargon."

"I am a hundred years older than you, Bella."

"Eighty-six, actually," I corrected, "and you still have the body of a seventeen year old." A seventeen year old who was turning one hundred and five on Monday. "That's all that really matters."

He feigned hurt. "Only after my boyish good looks. Who knew you were so shallow?"

"Don't you wish you had passed me up for Jessica Stanley?"

His phone spoke before he could, buzzing loudly. He gave me an apologetic look after scanning the message he'd received. "Emmett's waiting. I should go."

Edward had started taking weekly hunting trips since we began practicing for the wedding night. He claimed he needed the strength, but I knew he was taking extra precautions for my safety. The thought warmed me. It was easy to forget how difficult it was for him to be with me. Still, I didn't want to spend the weekend away from him. Wedding preparations had kept us busy all week, limiting our time together.

Two days alone would also mean two more days of fretting over Edward's birthday present. I didn't know what to do; I'd had no experience buying him gifts. Edward hadn't even bothered telling me it was his birthday last year. He, apparently, had just as much of an aversion to birthdays as I did. I must have made a face because he squeezed my hand. "Don't look so disappointed," he teased me, "I'll be back on Sunday night, and I've made Alice promise not to bother you with wedding details until then."

"Really?" That was a relief.

"One of the bookstores in Port Angeles is having a sale tomorrow. Have fun," he replied, giving me an indulgent smile and a kiss on the forehead, before jumping out of the window.

-x-x-x-

I've attached directions to Port Book and News should you need them. I love you.

I smiled fondly at the note, tucking the map in my purse. Edward must have had Alice drop it off in the morning. We tended to go to the bookstores in Seattle, the stores in the city offering a larger selection, so I wasn't as familiar with the ones closer to home. And we both remembered what had happened the last time I ventured into a bookstore in Port Angeles.

I drove faster than usual today, excited to spend the day surrounded by books. Between choosing china patterns and floral arrangements, and placating Charlie and Renee, I hadn't been able to devote much attention to my favorite hobby after Edward.

I arrived at the store in the early afternoon, going straight to the fiction section, like I always did. I browsed the titles, stopping at nothing in particular, until I came across a copy of Notes from the Underground. It was a recommendation from Edward; he often insisted that I broaden my literary repertoire. I decided to give it a shot. It wasstill a classic, not a major stretch from my usual reading material. I opened the book to the first page, and "I am a sick man; I am a spiteful man" were the first words to greet me. I rolled my eyes. Typical Edward. I kept the book with me, though. Edward always read the books I enjoyed, trying to understand why they appealed to me, even if he didn't care for them himself. I figured I could do the same.

Eight books accompanied me to the cash register after an hour had passed. Most of them were used copies, but I'd splurged on an illustrated edition of Jane Eyre. The cashier, a bored, middle-aged woman, rung up the items, and asked me if I'd found everything okay. I nodded noncommittally, distracted by the display next to the cash register. It was full of journals and magazines and sketchbooks. What caught my eye was a brown scrapbook embellished in gold.

I had decided to ask Alice for help with Edward's present last night after he had left, having lost too much sleep over the idea already. If anyone could find a good gift for a vampire who had everything, and in less than two days, it was her.

Seeing the simple, elegant design of the book, however, made me change my mind.

There was a regal feel to the worn cover, a sensitivity to the soft, yellowing pages.

It was perfect.

It was Edward.

-x-x-x-

After raiding my room for scissors and glue, I went to my closet and dug up an old shoebox. It contained my most prized treasures. I spread them out on the bed, reminiscing.

Sheet music for my lullaby. Class notes about drunken pilots and penguins. Prom tickets. Wilting wildflowers from our last trip to the meadow. Biology assignments. Pictures of us in Jacksonville.

Each keepsake was a compact memory, transporting me to another time and place.

Picking up the note that said Be safe, I began working on the scrapbook. From the uncertainty of first love to the comfort of lazy summer days, each page reflected a different stage in our relationship.

I stopped when I reached my eighteenth birthday, though.

I focused on the final picture of us before our separation. We looked stiff and awkward, guilt and insecurity, our respective demons, weighing us down like the repeated folds and creases on the picture itself. I moved to put it away, but quickly decided against it. The picture, even in its association with painful events, was proof of the resilience of our love.

I carefully glued it to the page.

A couple of hours and a few finishing touches later, I was done. Holding the book out in front of me, I admired my handiwork.

I had never understood the fuss about gifts. Growing up with a single parent who earned a substitute teacher's salary taught me to appreciate the simpler—cheaper—things in life. Fancy gifts seemed unnecessary and superfluous to me.

With Edward, my distaste for gifts became disdain. They were representative of the inequality I resented so much in our relationship.

My thoughts were far from the subject of equality, though, as I stared at the scrapbook. I wondered if Edward would rip the wrapping paper or unfold it neatly, piece by piece. I had never seen him open a present before. I imagined his reaction to some of the silly comments I'd included on the pages. Would he chuckle? Roll his eyes?

I couldn't wait to find out.

"Bella?"

I looked up to see Charlie standing in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"The pizza just got delivered. I figured you must be hungry. You've been holed up in here since you got back..." He trailed off when he saw the pictures and papers scattered around my room.

"Let me clean up a bit first. I was working on Edward's birthday present."

He mumbled an "okay" and left the room.

I quickly tidied up the glittery, gaudy mess I'd made of my room and made my way downstairs. Charlie was at his usual seat in front of the TV with a slice of pizza in one hand and a beer in the other. Opening the box, I noticed two slices of vegetarian in an otherwise pepperoni pizza.

"I know you're not that big on meat," Charlie shrugged, staring intently at his food.

I wanted to argue. I would have eaten the pepperoni pizza without complaint. He didn't have go to the trouble of ordering two slices just for me.

Then suddenly I understood.

Charlie, in his own way, was showing me he cared. Edward did the same. He wasn't always as subtle in his methods, but the intent remained the same.

Giving—in any form—wasn't a business transaction.

It wasn't about money or equality or materialism.

It was about love.

I took a large bite of the pizza, vegetable goodness filling my mouth. "Thanks, Dad."

-x-x-x-

"Happy birthday, Edward." I nervously presented him with the square shaped package. Alice had told me he would love it, but I had my doubts.

He ripped the paper away and began examining the scrapbook. I smiled briefly, now knowing his unwrapping etiquette, but went back to fidgeting when he didn't say anything. "Do you like it?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you like the scrapbook?"

"What?"

I narrowed my eyes.

His face was expressionless. "I really didn't hear you. Could you repeat that one more time?"

I gritted my teeth, all signs of nervousness gone. "Why are you being so difficult?"

He laughed, pulling me into his arms. "I love it, Bella. No one has ever gotten me such a thoughtful gift. Thank you." He kissed me. Once. Twice. "As for being difficult... consider that payback for all the times you've pestered me about not getting you gifts," he shrugged, unrepentant.

"I had an epiphany about that, you know?"

"Those are always enlightening," he commented dryly.

I tried to pinch him. It didn't work. Impatient with my antics, he motioned for me to continue. "You buy me things—ridiculous, expensive things—because you love me."

He smiled. "I do."

"I started figuring it out when I was working on your scrapbook," I admitted. "I realized that I wanted to get you the perfect present for you, not for the sake of spending money. I know you've been trying to tell me that all along, but I guess I've been too stubborn to see it until now."

He kissed my neck. "Does that mean I get to buy you a new car?"

"Shut up."

"But you said—"

"You're one to talk, Edward. You didn't even tell me it was your birthday last year."

He had the decency to look ashamed. "I didn't want our age difference to make you uncomfortable."

I thought back to the passing comment he'd made on Friday night. His words hadn't been completely in jest. "Don't you pay attention to the books I read?" I asked him. "Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre. Cranky, old men are my favorite."

"Man," he corrected, "and in that case, you owe me a century's worth of kisses, Miss Swan."

I happily obliged.