Somewhere Like Here

by adharmic

"I thought living in an idyllic small town was supposed to uncomplicate things...but now I'm raising a teenager and being driven insane by the interference of my friends, family, and a guy I can't stand. It's okay, I've always got the threat of my inn just being steps away from financial collapse." All our favorites in a fic that's inspired by the Gilmore Girls universe. E/B.

1. Growing Pains

Disclaimer: Own nothing of Twilight, written by Stephenie Meyer, and nothing of the television series, Gilmore Girls, which was created by Amy-Sherman Palladino and aired on the WB/CW network. I'm trying to get rid of a bunch of fanfic I wrote a few years ago that never made it off my hard drive. In the interest of finishing things that I started eons ago, I'm going to post and finish this story (it's a Gilmore Girls based Twi-fic) as well as try (try being the operative word here) to finish up the rest of my existing fic.. Enjoy!

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BEEP!

BEEP!

Heh, heh, heh, heh.

Panting?

I cracked an eye open, squinting at the mournful face of my lazy, overfed pug. The alarm continued to blare, unabated.

I pushed against the massive ball of folds and fur that had taken to sleeping in my bed.

"Grendel, off the bed, now." My grunt of a voice petered out as I willed him to go slobber at the bottom of the stairs; or be useful and paw the snooze button.

In response, he lolled his tongue out and continued to pant.

A different, human voice then sounded from outside the house.

"Sprinklers…early…won't notice a thing."

Scraping, banging? Christ, who is actually up at this ungodly hour?

Another, louder, voice made its way into my consciousness. "No Emmet, that's not in the right spot…it's cutting on to Bella's lawn. No, see, you have to tilt it to the right…wait…see now it's tilted too far." The voice sounded annoyed as well as annoyingly familiar. "Ugh, just give it to me." it ordered.

Crack. Splash. Pffttttt!

Jets of water noisily sprayed upwards, hitting the glass of the west window, adding to the cacophony of sound that was my wake-up call this beautiful Monday morning.

Monday, there's something so familiar about Mondays. Maybe even something important?

I snuggled deeper into the Egyptian cotton sheets, tugging on the white down comforter, praying for an end to the noise that would not require any mobile effort on my part.

Oooooohohoh, 600 thread count sheets. That was a good investment. I don't think I'll move anytime soon.

The foreboding sense of urgency that was gnawing at the corners of my mind would have to wait until I was done drowning in comfort.

Mmm, so nice. I would take this over a man any day. Ha, what are you even saying? As if a lack of men in the bed is a new development. Even before this past year with Renee and helping to bring up Ren. Ren. REN!

My thoughts scattered frantically as I recalled exactly what made me so resistant to this particular morning.

First day. Ren. Platt Academy. Oh no! Crap, crap, crap!

I turned over and the sun landed squarely in my eyes, as if to punish me for entertaining the idea of staying in bed when there was a horrible morning to be had. As my mind fought to complete a full thought in my sleep-addled brain, I leapt up from the bed in one fluid motion: If one fluid motion consisted of me wrapping my ankle around the curved legs of the night table, knocking my head against the scrolled spiral work of the antique oak headboard, and for the finale, twisting my arms together over my head to hold my balance. My jerking finally unstuck me from the confines of the table, and I stood awkwardly, still a little frightened I would fall on my ass.

Wow, this is light-years beyond what I was capable of doing in that free yoga class Alice dragged me to last week. If only it could be summoned on a voluntary basis.

The basking in my minor accomplishment faded as loud clatters emerged from the top of the house, and the annoyed-turned-angry buzzing of voices escalated from outside. I listened for a moment before it broke myself out of my daze and reconsidered my drenched window.

What the hell is going on out there?

Before my bewilderment at this unforgiving morning could increase tenfold, a charmingly sarcastic voice sounded from the bedroom doorway.

"Wow Bella, you look like a prima ballerina who overdosed on Ritalin. It suits you." Leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed, smugness radiated from the features of my beautiful, annoying Ren. Dressed in a plaid blue wool skirt, knee high socks, and matching jacket she could be construed as the epitome of school girl innocence

Or the drone-like, poster child of a life-sucking, money-draining beacon of arrogance and snobbery, I inwardly sneered.

I automatically sighed, attempting to twist my limbs out of their current pretzel shape, and noted that my disdain for anything associated with prep schools had not lessened in fifteen years.

Ren straightened at the apparent lack of humor in my gaze and gave me a knowing look, tinged with anxiety. She knew of my discomfort of the situation and she unsurprisingly went through with the arrangements to transfer to the new school. Apparently, my ranting had done no good in educating her of the evils of rich class prejudices and how legacy was a poor substitute for originality of the individual. The day after she refused to budge, I drove her to Hartford to get measured for her new school uniforms. I also attempted to plead with Carlisle and Esme to call off their interference in what were supposed to be my parenting duties. Nonetheless, they were ecstatic over their hold on me via Ren's decision and my words fell on deaf ears.

Well not exactly parenting duties. More like these are my responsibilities as a twenty nine year old surrogate mother for my adolescent sister.

My familial title had become tangled in the drama that had unfolded in the last year.

I pushed away the painfully resentful reminders and focused at the task at hand. It was now - I craned my head towards the still bleating clock and glanced at the screaming red numbers - 7:45!

Oh no, no, no, no!

I choked. I had fifteen minutes to make myself presentable for the chancellor, dean, or whatever of Platt and once again wished I could beg Ren to reconsider the offer that had dragged me in with its ulterior motives.

Glancing at my body scantily clad in a tank top and cotton boyshorts, I realized I could maybe try my hand at persuasion in the car on the way to Platt. I sprang into action.

"Ren. Breakfast. Now. Then to the car. And why the hell didn't you wake me up?"

"I thought I could soften you up by letting you sleep another hour, so I changed the alarm after you went to bed."

As I sped towards the hallway bathroom to start the shower, I let out a growl in her direction, making her fully aware that her actions had in fact exacerbated my current mood.

"Besides when do you ever need to be woken up? It's not my fault you chose last night to be insomnia free." Her words drowned out with the sounds of the water hitting tile and I rammed my toothbrush into my mouth while simultaneously scrubbing down my torso.

The miracles of multitasking.

As I once again sped through the hallway, the towel half flying behind me, Ren threw me a Nutri-Grain bar that I caught with uncharacteristic ease.

Tearing off a bite, I pondered my outfit as a disconcerting reminder of, "Ten Minutes!" flew in followed by the sound of steps retreating down the stairs.

"Yeah, yea-."

I suddenly remembered the fact that would be my downfall this morning. Oh shit, all my upstanding, fiercely independent, "I am woman, hear me roar" outfits were at the cleaners. I had delivered them on Friday in an attempt to be fully prepared for what I would face this week. Every single respectable piece of clothing I owned was now hanging impatiently at Lin's Dry Cleaning.

Shit, shit, shit. Okay just put on the first things you see. Underwear, jeans, shirt. Okay, ready? Go!

I threw on whatever had been surrendered to the floor of my room, vaguely registering the ongoing commotion outside, and managed to pull on a pair of New Balances while frantically hopping towards the stairs.

Ren's auburn curls flew as I captured her in a whirlwind out the door, narrowly missing a nasty spill over Grendel who had taken it upon himself to provide his body as an extra stair.

My arm still clutching her waist, I slammed the wooden door to the house, leaving it shaking on its hinges as my red truck loomed into view.

Rosalie and Emmet were arguing to the side of our yard, and I managed to realize that they were voices I had heard earlier. They were staring anxiously at a dented steel pipe half submerged in the ground at the border of the two lawns, demarcated by a towering maple tree.

Both their heads snapped in the direction of my self-powered tornado and they began to spew out apologies, garbling each other's words in their haste.

"Bella, so sorry-."

"Damn pipe, hole wasn't deep enough. I'll be sure to get it off the roof-."

Wait, the roof? Huh?

"No time, gotta run." I interrupted, allowing Ren to make her own way into the passenger's seat and then throwing myself behind the when of the driver's seat. I threw the gearshift into drive.

The roar of the truck sounded over their mouthed apologies. It groaned again in protest as I mashed my foot into the accelerator, urging it to go beyond its breaking point of 50 miles/hour, and we jerked in reverse towards the end of the drive.

"Geez Bella, calm down, it won't be terrible, just a small meeting with the dean -."

"When has anything positive sprung from the statement 'small meeting with the dean'? Honestly." I was flustered, panicky, and I was barely placing the minimal amount of caution in avoiding my fellow motor bound citizens.

I hurriedly curved the truck around the small-town streets, ignoring the all too common glares that my bulky vehicle often received for clogging the road. I finally took a breath as we reached the highway.

Ren, silent until she was sure we and the townsfolk of North Meadow would escape unscathed, narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"What is your deal? It's the first day of school, not the opening scene of a Roland Emmerich movie." she accused.

I set my mouth in a firm line as I bit back a bitter response that would reveal the truth of how I actually felt. Honestly, I had worked very hard to gain the reputation and career I held today, refusing the insincere handouts and promises of a fake legacy I felt institutions like Platt had to offer. I did not mix with my Aunt Esme's social circle, despite her numerous attempts to coax me into her "cotillion ball, charity gala, golf on Sunday" world. In spite of all of this, I obviously had my insecurities in facing this elite group, feeling as if they were ready to pounce at my first misstep. However, I was determined to never give them the satisfaction. This meant showing up to places on time, as opposed to rebelling against the standards they set, and presenting myself as the serious adult I saw myself to be. I would never give anyone a reason to doubt whether I was capable of standing on my own. I would be seen as independent and successful, and the sole provider for the sister I would now raise.

I stepped up and they will not see me fail.

Even if it means feeding directly into their hands, like a hog with a trough.

The imagery of me bent at the waist, slobbering and grunting into a wooden trough labeled "Flaming Sell-Out Opportunist" was disconcerting to say the least.

I finally answered, giving an edited response. "This is by no means a small meeting. This is a test. You do realize that every single word that leaves our mouths will get back to Esme. They work quickly."

"And…," Ren questioned expectantly with a roll of her hand.

Goddamnit, she just can't grasp it. They would love to pull her in at the first tell-tale sign of a screw-up.

I sighed as I realized that Ren going to Platt, and all the implications that came along with it, was the first pull in a perpetual tug of war. The next fifteen minutes filled with silence as we each stewed over each other's words.

"Bella, we're coming up on the exit."

I pulled myself back, relieved that Ren hadn't questioned me further. She had obviously thought what I said to be an exaggeration; she did not -could not - fathom the inner workings of this world. Pulling onto the exit, I swiftly turned onto the school road. After a few moments, Platt Academy made itself known through the looming ivy-covered, stone buildings and signpost: Austere enough to demand respect and exude prestige. The sun highlighted the intricate masonry of the buildings, showcasing a quaint courtyard that was unassumingly placed as the central feature between the three main buildings. Wide expanses of manicured green lawns abruptly ended in the flagstones of the outdoor reception area. Stone benches, rosebushes, and rustling green leaves in trees gnarled with age completed the scene. It was all welcoming enough to not initially intimidate you, and lull you into acceptance.

That's how they lure you in.

As I parked, Ren fingered the black straps of her backpack. I undid the clasp on my belt, not sure when I had actually buckled it, and gave another sideways glance. Fear for Ren flooded through me as I realized the suspicion on her face had been replaced with nervous anticipation.

She was scared. Hell, she should be scared. I'm freaking terrified.

Almost relieved, I gently took her hand. "We really don't have to go in. This is completely your decision. We will do what you want, no one, not even Esme, can force this upon you. I -."

Her grasp tightened as she let out a silvery laugh.

"What are you talking about? I'm fine." Little liar. "You on the other hand could probably benefit from looking into a mirror." She gestured her hand up and down my body, chuckling as she flounced out of the truck. She started heading towards the front office.

Confused, I ran my eyes over the torn dark wash jeans fraying at the hems and the red, plaid, flannel shirt that had been haphazardly buttoned. A sliver of skin was showing where the unmatched button holes hiked the shirt up. I'm positive that my hair resembled a makeshift Amy Winehouse beehive and since I wasn't wearing any makeup, well, I pitied any innocent school children who would undoubtedly shriek in fear as I passed them.

Eh, is that it? I've done worse.

Not necessarily comforted by this fact, I slammed the door behind me and walked through the stone arches of the central building to catch up with Ren.

"Did you remember your lunch?" Did I even pack her one? I'm such fail.

"I raided your wallet for lunch money. I'm good." she replied breezily, patting her bag.

Ha. That translates to 'you're down about forty bucks and I'm coming home with the spanking new Decembrists CD.'

I made a mental note to stop by an ATM later in the day.

Once again we stood motionless before a massive entrance, a lacquered plaque signifying that it was in fact the dean's office. The large oaken doors brandished an uncommonly large, bronze door knocker.

My hand hesitated above the eyesore, unsure of what was the actual protocol of entering a dean's office.

"Do I knock?" I whispered to Ren. "Or maybe we should have waited out front. You know what, let's just go."

As I turned, the doors creaked open and a distinct "Ms. Swan" rang out.

Crap, too late.

I whipped around, preparing myself for Dean Etrusca: Dean and scholar of all things pretentious, the least of those being Platt Academy.

"Ah Ms. Swan." He turned to look at me "And the elder Ms. Swan. We have been expecting you. I was afraid we maybe had a miscommunication over the start of the school day. As you can see, we are behind in our orientation, and we would not want Ren to be late for her first day of classes." He was the perfect balance of smug and condescending, with a dash of contempt.

Give me a break, ten minutes late.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes as I stepped into the stifling office, realizing the silent reprimand in his words.

The room was what I had expected exactly. A dark, plush rug lay over the glassy hardwood and conservative antiques and oil paintings were spread throughout the room. Most of them bore the portraits of the Dean's esteemed predecessors who were former deans and chancellors. I grimaced as my eyes settled on the portrait of the wizened, brush-stroked face of Charles Platt III.

Hi, Grandpa.

The present, human Dean markedly took in my appearance and tangled, wet mess of hair and managed a look of annoyed resignation as we seated ourselves in the hard backed chairs. He then continued with a speech explaining and outlining the expectations and decorum that were assumed of students when representing an institution of this magnitude. Halfway through his snore worthy spiel, I looked over to Ren, noting the earnestness in her eyes and nodding of her head.

She is honest, naïve, and I'm throwing her to the freaking wolves. She's actually going through with giving this place a fair chance. Well, it's not too late for me, I wonder if there's an escape hatch.

My face fell again at my sister's unwillingness to judge as I surveyed the room for any possibilities.

"Is that amenable to you Ms. Swan?"

Hmm, what?

My head snapped to attention, meeting with a third disapproving glance from the Dean

He continued. "As I am confident, based on her prior transcripts, that your younger sister will be sure to thrive in the academically challenging atmosphere Platt provides, we would like nothing more than for both of you to be further involved in school programs and activities. All of this will serve to place your mark in the Platt legacy-."

I immediately, and possibly rudely, interrupted. "I work full time and have several other responsibilities in addition to caring for Ren." Pause. Well, you've gone this far, you might as well continue. "Her welfare, and in turn her needs academically are the number one priority. But I do not see myself joining, uh, the Booster Club?" I was going for firm and unshakable, and instead ended up in the land of interrogative inflection under his impassive stare.

I said brrrr. It's cold in here.

"Ms. Swan," he forced out. "We require that all of our parents meet a certain quota regarding involvement in school activities, ensuring that the students and their families form networks, gain a sense of community within our walls. I am aware of your…unique…situation. Your family here in Hartford has been the heart and soul of Platt and both Carlisle and Esme have been our top beneficiaries for quite a number of years. You may not be a parent, but as a guardian, if I am correct, you are a voice of authority in Renesmee's life. Her attending this school would entail certain sacrifices on your part in order to meet our requirements. If you have any issue with this, I'm not sure what can be done. Maybe we should schedule a conference with your aunt and uncle." His pointed stare spoke volumes.

Oh, hell no. He did not just use my family dysfunction as leverage…smug bastard!

"Dean Etrusca," I said again, glancing down at his nameplate for distraction. DEAN CAIUS ETRUSCA, the letters stood proudly. "Oh,Caius? Really?"

WTF? Is that really his name? He sounds like he belongs in a Roman crypt.

"I actually prefer to be addressed as Dean Etrusca," he coldly remarked.

"Oh, of course," I quickly stated, eager to leave this meeting behind as a bad memory. "If you send me some sort of calendar guide of events, I can work out what I should be participating in-."

"It was included in the acceptance packet that was delivered to your home by post. It is an integral part of the standard preparatory materials." His voice of authority hardened and I may have crossed my eyes attempting to hold level with his stare

Ohhhh you mean the packet that Ren gave me to look over and is currently lying crumpled and water-stained by the kitchen sink. That one.

I had been found out.

I attempted to "I'll look right into that. Er, ASAP."

When I put it on the radiator to dry off a little bit.

Realizing my stammering had probably added to my painfully obvious lack of sophistication, I stood up, the Dean mimicked my actions, and Ren followed. All of us were left standing, slightly unsure of how to break the tension that accompanied my sudden movement.

Ren, the least affected of us all, finally ended the awkward silence. "Dean Etrsuca, I am extremely grateful for the opportunity to attend Platt. Both of us are. Please let me know, if there is anything I can do to catch up on what I missed in the last two years. I respect what the school asks of me academically and I would not want to fall short."

The Dean's face softened slightly, taking in Ren's inflated yet sincere words.

Smooth, you shameless brown-noser. I wasn't about to complain at her attempt to get the heat off my back

"Ms. Swan, I know that to be highly unlikely from what I see of your records. However, let's place a trial period of let's say…two months…and we can have another group conference to mark your progress at that time."

He then turned to me, all warmth fading. "Please extend my regards to Carlisle and Esme and tell them that I look forward to seeing them at the hospital charity dinner tomorrow night. I heard they made quite a sizable donation…"

Ha, as if he or his wife won't be dialing up Esme before I even get a chance to reach work.

"Well, yes, considering Carlisle is an attending surgeon…." I trailed off. Exchanging pleasantries with Dean Etrusca was a step above what I was willing to do to maintain a semblance of civility.

We finally bid each other farewell, and it was now time for me to leave and reclaim the shreds of dignity that I had inconveniently left at home. Ren abruptly turned to face me as she reached the outside of the wing that held her first class.

"What was that? I have never seen you that flustered…definitely never at that much of a loss for words. I was half expecting you to either sink into the floor or climb onto his desk yelling 'Viva la Résistance'."

Ah, she also noticed me as an epic fail.

I reddened and tugged her shoulder, conveying my desperation. "Ren, I just lost my composure for a few minutes. If Esme asks, you deny everything. I need to initiate damage control. I'll go see Esme later today," I muttered to myself.

Ren just shrugged, adjusting the bag on her back. Nothing ever seemed to faze the girl. Her face was oddly at ease, but there was something not right. It was a façade, a good one, but her worry broke through in little spurts when the mask faltered.

"Ren, sweetie," I said, realizing she needed support and not an exit strategy. "You will be brilliant, you're unstoppable, you…"

"Bella, I don't need a comprehensive list of my redeeming qualities," she said as she took a shaky breath and bared her teeth in an obnoxious smile worthy of a Crest commercial. "Look at this shiny, happy face. I'm Shirley-freaking-Temple on the Good Ship Lollipop."

I laughed in resignation. God, she's as good as deflecting as I am. I wonder if it's genetic. Of course, it is – Charlie.

Wrapping her in an immense hug, I let all the love, worry, and pain I had held for her in the last year flow through like an emotionally charged river, hoping she would recognize that she was the most important to me.

"I love you, kid."

The sentiment was lost on her.

"My, you've gotten soft." She pushed back after a squeezing my woefully apparent love-handles and I scowled at her, still clasping her hands in my fists.

"I'll be here at 2:45 sharp to pick you up."

"Bella, no, the bus comes in to North Meadow-."

"2:45 sharp," I repeated with a note of finality.

"Fine." I let her go and she gave a small smile before walking into the building, head held high.

I took a deep breath. In addition to the anxiety that had been dredged up this morning, I now had an impromptu visit to pay Esme.

I noticed the staff slowly trickling in from the assigned parking area, gawking at my less than appropriate attire as they passed.

But first some clean clothes…and coffee.

---

The friendly chime of a bell sounded as I pushed against the paint embossed glass of Em's Diner. The door swung open as I took in the glorious odor of beans grinding, wafting out from the back kitchen.

"Morning Bella. Coffee?"

Emmett towered behind the counter, his intimidating stance only lessened by his boyish face, dimples flanking his bright smile. His Chattanooga roots shone through with his deeply Southern accent. As a matter of fact, he happened to be laying it on very thickly at the moment. The charming scene was slightly more idyllic and heartwarming than I usually encountered on a daily basis. He was up to something.

But with coffee within actual reach, I chose to ignore his oddly cheery disposition.

I sighed gratefully and nodded, extending my arm to press the steel thermos onto Emmet, while seating myself on the red vinyl covered seat of a rotating bar stool.

I had left the vestiges of my embarrassing morning back in Hartford and was now looking a little more presentable. My slacks and blouse were freshly pressed, the rest of my clean clothes unceremoniously dumped on the living room couch, and my hair somewhat coiffed so that it lay tamely against my shoulders.

When he finished filling my thermos to the brim, Emmett leaned back and gave me an appraising look. As I was already downing a good third of what he had given me, I eyed him curiously back over the rim of the lid.

"What?" I managed to ask between gulps.

"You're not pissed," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Uh, why would I be?" I was too intent on getting enough caffeine in my system to bother making any sense of his words.

Emmett then scratched the back of his head sheepishly, muttering something concerning sprinklers and roof tile. He seemed reluctant to divulge the full extent of the situation that I should have been upset over - and then I recalled the incident from this morning. Finally putting the pieces together, I realized some sort of damage had been inflicted on my house due to Emmett's mechanical genius.

"Emmett," I warily asked, "What exactly happened…and how much will I be paying for it."

"Uh…well, Rose and I were just installing the new sprinkler system, you know, I didn't want to have to pay someone else to do it. So I dug it and connected it myself. We, uh, didn't take into account water pressure or the slant of the pipe and it, uh, the water jets I mean, managed to hit your window. Sorry about waking you up like that, by the way."

"That's fine. But what about the roof?" I pushed impatiently.

"The, uh, pressure built under the pipe until the pipe literally exploded up out of the ground, and landed on your roof. It, well, it dislodged a few shingles."

I groaned. A few shingles would not normally be too big of a deal, but the outside of the house was already in slight disrepair and this added to my infinitely long to-do list. Add to that autumn leaves cluttering the gutters and a shudder that hinged loosely to the back window, and my house was a bona-fide fixer upper. I had no qualms in admitting that I was the least inclined to accomplish any task that required a ladder and a nail gun.

Where's Bob Vila when you need him?

"Alright Emmett," I started coolly," I forgive the fact that you are on some type of campaign to demolish my house piece by piece, but in turn you have to repair my shingles, unclog my gutters, and fix that loose shudder."

Emmett glared disapprovingly. "You know I was going to offer to be your shingle repairman, but the other two? Really milking it for all it's worth, huh, Bella? I for a fact know that you are entirely capable of all the handyman shit. Don't be a princess." Oh princess, I am not. "I saw you fix your indoor plumbing single-handedly last spring, you didn't even spray yourself."

I smirked. "That doesn't mean I enjoy it. Besides, I think outdoor repairs are beyond my scope of ability…that's what I keep you and Rose around for."

"Aw, you really are a sweet talker. Next time save me the trouble and get yourself a man."

"Hmm, are you implying you aren't a man Emmett? If that's the case, tell Rose to come on over and join the singles brigade." Ah, the verbal spars Emmett consistently got himself into. Rose would have definitely seen that coming.

Not to be outdone, he pushed on. "No, I'm implying that you have not had a solid relationship in the last five years." Oh, low blow, Emmett. Right in the ovaries. He hesitated a second before continuing, ensuring his own safety in uttering those words by backing away from the counter. I eyed him hostilely, daring him to go on. "No, no. The uber-scary 'I'm going to burn you to ash' look isn't going to work. Far be it for me to comment on your love life. Rose put me up to it." Why am I not surprised? "I just think you may have forgotten the dynamics of one. You know, take me and Rose for instance. We both sure as hell know who wears the pants in our relationship."

It was true. Rose could shred a man's ego with a look. She was what I would like to call the original man-eater of the "Whoa, whoa, here she comes" variety.

I grimaced. I had no idea how the hell a ritual banter session had turned into a reflection onto my personal life, and I really didn't care for the direction this conversation was headed. This was one aspect of small town life I abhorred; everyone knowing the sordid details behind everyone's closed doors. In this place, Emmett, Rosalie, and Alice were close to me, so obviously they felt- even though I did not- obliged to have opinions and insights into my personal life. However, I don't know how others in the neighborhood thought it acceptable to pry into the personal affairs of single ladies. Just last week, Alice and I were ambushed by Ms. Cope and her veritable collection of 'man meat', photos of bachelors she had somehow scrounged up in the past year. I'm still unsure of how she went about collecting those, something along the vague lines of "the sons of friends of a friend". I was willing to believe she had actually acquired them by way of the black market. It was not that the photos were unappealing, but it was just the principle of the matter: These men were most likely unaware that their pictures were exhibits in Ms. Cope's matchmaking service, and I resented the idea that I needed to be pitied solely on the basis of being single. When she realized our lack of response and interest, she suggested that she even had a few prospects for Ren that would I would find acceptable. I staunchly refused and we high-tailed it to the next street. I drew the line at pimping out my baby sister.

"It's not about a power play on either side, Bella. You know it's not. We just want to see you happy." Emmett voiced softly again after a pause.

I straightened my back, taking in Emmett's sincere gaze for a minute. I guess he's really serious. I then took note of the lingering sympathy on his face, no doubt a little bit of it reserved for what I had gone through in the past year, and I immediately snapped out of it. No, no more pity. Pity was for the hopeless; I considered myself to be at least one step above that.

"Wow, Emmett, you're waxing poetic this morning. I don't mean to interrupt your sermon on love but my day job calls. And while my happiness to you apparently means jumping into bed with the next male stranger that comes my way, I'm going to have to pass on your advice. Tell Rose her interference is well meant but not necessary and I'm giving you both until the end of month to whip my house back into shape." I stood to leave, while fishing through my purse for some paper bills to hand Emmett. His idealistic, bordering on naïve, outlook on relationships was a part of Emmett's increasingly simple outlook on life, and was frankly very irritating. He should have recorded his philosophies as a DVD set and sent them out as self-help guides years ago for a hefty profit. The American public would have eaten that shit up.

Emmett just chuckled lightly, shrugging off the comment. Our friendship was secure enough that he knew that my sarcasm was meant as a sign of endearment, as opposed to a biting critique.

"Ah Bella, for the amount of crap you dish out to other people, you sure don't take a lot of it back. And how many times do I have to tell you that your coffee money is no good here." He waved off my cash laden palm with a sweep of his coffee pot wielding hand. The hot liquid sloshed over the rim and onto the Formica counter, narrowly missing the eggs of the breakfast patron two seats down from me. It earned Emmett a lukewarm glare from the guy, to which he responded with a look of amusement.

I rolled my eyes. Coffee cost a paltry sum that I was willing to part with. Emmett's grand gesture of refusing to take my money was cancelled out by the fact he charged me for meals. He might as well charge for the coffee.

"Whatever, Emmett. It's your livelihood."

He just shook his head. "I know you Bella, I've been providing your coffee-fix since you got here. For the amount you drink, I'm doing you a service."

Well, that is true.

Conceding with a nod, I asked for a refill.

I finally made my way out of the diner, letting out a laugh when the other surly customer started harping on Emmett over the consistency of the eggs.

As I walked towards work, the sights and sounds of small town New England gradually swept over me. This was what I loved, the leisurely morning walk, the sky a brilliant blue and sun lazily glinting. This washed off whatever ill omen the start of the day held and allowed me to wipe away my fear of things to come later; my state of mind was in the present, not the past or the future impinging upon it. Right now I would enjoy Newton haggling with his fish and meat providers outside his grocery, and the self-proclaimed town bard making his rounds with nothing but the clothes on his back and a battered guitar. Heck, even the pigeon defiling that ridiculously showy sports car parked across the street was brightening my mood. To think of it, the car seemed oddly out of place; striving to be noticed against a backdrop of mediocre vehicles. I glanced, still walking, at the rusted hull of a blue Toyota that contrasted sharply to the canary yellow of its superior neighbor.

Yup, definitely out of place.

Putting it out of my mind, I finally made my way up Harper Street and into "The Hollow." This place held the entirety of my savings. I had invested time, money, and a healthy dose of both blood and tears for this inn, restoring and revamping it while reassuring Alice that we would not lose the shirts off our back if we took it on as a project. The circumstances that led me here in the first place were nothing short of bizarre. I could still see myself as a bright eyed college graduate, wandering aimlessly amongst the landmarks of the quaint Connecticut town that I had been stranded in after taking a wrong turn on Route 56. This had been before my goodwill towards all was replaced with the embittered persona we've all come to know and not-so-much love.

My truck had still been as unreliable as ever, and coughed to a standstill at the junction of Route 56 and the boondocks, of course in the dead of night. Triple A, admitting themselves that it would be a good chunk of time before they would be able to send someone to tow the truck, took pity on me and contacted the owner of the auto garage the next town over. Lost and believing that I was to undoubtedly star in the opening sequence of my very own slasher flick, I locked myself in the cab of my truck until the headlights of the tow-mobile brightly steered themselves in my direction.

I was saved.

Springing out the door in joy, I came into contact with- not a tobacco chewing, grizzled, middle aged man with a beer gut – but a statuesque blond with blue eyes, who was sporting an oil stain on her otherwise flawless face.

Her name was Rosalie Hale McCarty and she was beautiful.

In short, she introduced me to her equally beautiful and rugged husband Emmett, and offered me her couch for the night. In the morning, I took it upon myself to explore the slice of Norman Rockwell heaven that I had stumbled upon. Originally burdened by the purpose of my visit to this region of the country, I found my mood lightening as I physically mapped my way through North Meadow, admiring the simple-heartedness that fueled such a place. When I had finally stumbled my way through to the outer town limits, I came across a dilapidated brownish gray ruin - complete with entangled weed growth and a caved in porch. Where others most probably looked and cringed or shielded their eyes, I uncovered opportunity.

Opportunity to throw away caution and begin my life anew.

I had no plan, no experience, no goals, no timetables, nobody, no money, but I wanted IT and everything IT had to offer. Hell if I knew what IT was, but I was eager to find out. I excitedly went through town record archives, the community zoning committee, and all the other bureaucracy just to learn that the owner had not yet kicked the bucket and had willed the building as a town landmark after their death.

Not to be deterred, I tried my hand at convincing the sweet old matron that it would be put to much better use if she would just sell the crumbling ruin to me, rather than allow it to rot into pile of compost. She was agreeable at first, serving me a cup of tea and a slice of peach cobbler, while asking how much I was willing to give for purchase.

Oops. I tried explaining my situation, drawing out a rough proposal that inevitably ended in an I.O.U. Bold, I know. But that's how fully committed I was to the IT.

I was summarily kicked out of her shop and labeled an "out-of-town" hussy, whose only goal was to exploit the elderly of the town.

Dejectedly, I made my way back to Rose and Emmett's, thanked them for their hospitality and picked up my useless shell of a vehicle. They asked me not to be a stranger, and the kinship I felt towards them made me feel as though I wouldn't be if I traveled there again. I made my way into Hartford for the funeral of my great aunt, acting as the obligatory family representative for Renee's wayward branch of the family tree. She had insisted that I go, as her aunt was the only relative that had not cringed in disdain when she married Charlie, but she did not want to face the myriad of others who had. Of course, I was eyed like a circus freak for being the rebel progeny. I was not on speaking terms with my grandparents, though they sidled curious looks every so often. Esme was the only lifeline I had through all the tedious family drama for my entire life, and she had already shown how she could manipulate my trust.

Freaking A. Somehow Esme manages to squirm her way into my waking thoughts even when she's not here.

After my less than exemplary stay, I surrendered to the idea that what I wanted out of life was not something so easily attained, not to mention the incredulous looks and questions I would get if I had actually followed through with the IT plan. I moved back to the West Coast, after graduating from Swarthmore, to be closer to my family, especially little Ren. Renee was still alive and in Phoenix, and I hadn't really bonded with Charlie since our summer excursions throughout my childhood and teen years.

Renee and Charlie had separated when I was six; Renee had cited Charlie's inability to communicate as a serious issue. It was true; he wasn't much of a talker unless it came to reeling in a fishing line or cursing out the Seahawks starting lineup. Though he loved her more deeply than she could outwardly comprehend, he mostly tried to stay out of the way in order to not be consumed by the rollicking ball of energy that was Renee. In the following six years she spent her time raising me, and I spent a few weeks each summer with my father. Not the most exciting of adventures, but our dynamic was easy and comfortable.

It was different in my case: Charlie and I were more alike than I'd like to admit and we had a mutual understanding. It was that I was now in charge of ensuring the well being of our small family, as he had been exiled through distance and a broken connection with my mother. They had been so young, my mother a flighty hippie of an art student and my father a rookie cop in Seattle, who moved to be chief of police in the small town of Forks, Washington. She had fought her family to marry him, but had then become steadily disillusioned with his simple town life. Their strained marriage was a direct product of her family's disapproval and, in their eyes, Charlie's less than stellar family pedigree. How they could have treated him with such contempt also was beyond me and fueled even more of my resentment. The moody, dour faced teenager stereotype had nothing on me. When I was twelve, he and my mother…um…briefly reconnected for nostalgia's sake when he came to visit in Phoenix. She had been uncommitted and Charlie had seemingly taken a vow of chastity after she left Forks. In other words, baby Renesmee had been quite the surprise. Charlie, knowing Renee still had no plans to commit, sadly left for Forks and parented from afar. He was never late with a support check, and then some, and came as often as he could for birthdays and other special occasions. But Forks was his home and Charlie was the undeniable source of my stubborn streak. In my absence, after leaving for college and then work, Renesmee had completely ceased her visits to Forks, insisting he meet her in California or any nearby region that had the luxury of sun. He gladly complied, but their relationship was slightly strained. He loved her unconditionally, but she could not remember him as a live-in-father. As a result, he had not fought Ren on her decision to leave Forks after six months, when she had been originally placed there following Renee's death, understanding her preference in coming to stay with me. I had been a constant for Ren, more like her mother than older sister with our vast age difference. Charlie's presence had unfortunately been insubstantial comparatively, and they had drifted even further apart when Ren was sent to live with him. Ren had never been averse to Charlie before, but with the death of our mother weighing on her mind, coupled with her melodramatic teenage tendencies, she needed familiarity. I had gladly complied, missing her terribly ever since we had been separated through my leaving. I was dreading the day in two years when she would leave again for college. Esme had been even more delighted, jumping at the chance to bond with her youngest niece. I know Charlie was incredibly saddened over the loss of Renee, but it grieved him even more that his daughters had unwittingly abandoned him. It's something I struggled with immensely, and I had no idea how to make it right.

Not surprisingly, I still don't. Brainstorming may work for advertising prompts but is not exactly conducive to alleviating family dysfunction.

While my family affairs were a steaming pile of hot mess, I had a stroke of luck personally. After two years of working on the West Coast, through the corporate sludge and the unending monotony that accompanied a marketing analyst job that did not live up to my expectations, another golden opportunity was shoved my way. My college buddy, Alice, was fired from her job

Let me start again.

My friend Alice, who I also had in mind with the previous IT venture, had a bit of a rebellious streak and wanted to wipe the slate of her previous employment. After two years of college, she began culinary school and was taken under the wing of a family friend who also happened to be a transcontinentally renowned chef. As a culinary artist, however, she needed the independence and space to develop her own style and technique, or so I was told by her with dramatic flair. Apparently she had thrown down her apron in defiance and left the polished interiors of a high end French restaurant kitchen in New York, of where she was a line cook and culinary apprentice. She had not received the appreciative applause that she had hoped would accompany such theatrics, and in addition was not given severance payment. I had been living something akin to a hermit, only opening my bank account to pay for food and rent, while Alice had a family full of wealthy doddering, old relatives who would not notice if she dipped slightly into her unopened inheritance. It was free reign for darling Alice to discover her passion and she was unencumbered by silly things like money.

Bitter much? Yes, a little.

My dream of IT clawed its way from the bowels of my memory and I was struck with sudden inspiration. If I took responsibility for the financial and business aspects, while Alice unleashed her well…Alice…on the decrepit building I had longed for from afar, the possibilities were endless!

Okay, there was one possibility and the chance of it coming to fruition was slim…but I finally had an excuse to pursue it. Alice had no job and I hated mine. I proposed for her to take a look at the property, and she accepted my offer in a manner of "Why the hell not."

Convincing Alice was not as difficult as I had first imagined. After careful planning and mapping and spending hours trying to pinpoint where exactly I had become stranded and saved, I was confident we would find what we needed. When we picked up the rental car from the airport, and attempted to make our way into Connecticut from JFK, we became hopelessly lost. Four pit stops, two gratingly annoying Hootie and the Blowfish CD's, and a highly emotional slap fight later, the sign for North Meadow shone like a beacon of hope, and we entered the town's confines. We came to an abrupt stop where the pavement crumbled and transitioned into loose earth. The "little building that could" had now become a town landmark, and an ill-maintained one at that. Stepping over the tall wispy grasses and various debris that found its way scattered along the property, I chanced another look.

IT was marvelous. Antique and decaying…but marvelous.

Alice, with a look of deep inquiry, stooped to extract a stray stone from the dirt and skipped it across the steps. Three panels of wood fell out with a groan, and settled at her feet.

With a giant smile splitting her narrow, sharp face, she turned and asked when and where we should start.

We moved, much to the consternation of my family and the joy of Alice's (they thought small town life to be so novel), and made the appropriate arrangements. The current owner was much more obliging this time than in our last encounter and we closed the deal. It didn't occur to us until a few weeks later that we should probably restore it for its original purpose (duh) as an inn. We cosigned on a loan, I was at least dependable enough to have good credit history, and drew up plans for the repairs and furnishings. In the meantime we won over the town's trust and heart, as the two little strange, yet endearing young woman entrepreneurs who shared a crummy one bedroom apartment and lived off the Pop-Tart supply at Newton's. Our troubles weren't over yet, though. Despite her initial enthusiasm, there had been many a night in which I had had to talk Alice down from the ledge over the entire ordeal. Rosalie and Emmet graciously helped out in any way possible, supplementing the work on the repairs, and Rose and Alice bonded over a mutual love for the art of amateur interior decorating. Alice spent her time as a cook for the Lantern Inn two towns over while I attempted an education of "Hotel Managament for Dummies" as an assistant manager in the same place. I had also taken night classes at Hartford Community College to complete an advanced business program for adults that would leave me with a degree akin to an abridged MBA. It was an undertaking that spanned another year into my ownership of the Hollow. When I graduated, Alice had thrown a celebratory bash which had ended in Rose, Alice, and Angela warbling drunken renditions of Bob Marley songs while Emmet lay passed out in a feather boa.

Yeah, another story for another time.

The Lantern Inn had been incredibly sour over our leaving, as they had not anticipated that we planned to go out on our own, and planned on blacklisting us. It would have definitely worked, except for the fact that they had a horrible freak, arson incident in which there were no casualties, but thousands of dollars in damage. Alice swears to this day she had absolutely nothing to do with it. They quickly lost any credibility they initially possessed, and we were left to pursue loftier ambitions.

Our inn was born a year to the month that we had moved to North Meadow, after a dual, painful labor of love and we had not looked back since. Well, except for the fact that we were, and still are, SO in the red. But so far, we had taken it one debt-ridden day at a time.

Coming to a halt before the intricately carved wooden door, I took in a sense of pride and accomplishment, realizing what IT was. IT was home, and my future.

Turning the wrought iron knob and stepping inside onto the cherry polished hardwood, my blissful reminiscing was brought to a halt by what sounded like a battle of epic proportions.

My peaceful morning reflection was over. Extending good mornings to the guests, up and eating breakfast in the dining room, as well as the nervous wait staff, I made my way towards the ruckus. I pulled the sous chef to the side after she silently crept out from hostile territory, aka the kitchen.

"Angela, what the hell's going on?" I asked in a harsh whisper. Her hand flew up to her chest in surprise.

"Oh, Jesus Bella. I didn't see you there." I waited as she regained some composure and as another flying piece of kitchenware clanged against the inside wall.

We both cringed in apology to the perplexed breakfast guests.

"Those two have been going at it since before eight, I swear, I think blood might have been drawn this time. Something over Alice secretly wanting Laurent to go off his diet and become an 'artery clogged fatso'."

I cocked an eyebrow.

"Hey, his words not mine," she responded with her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Plus, Jasper's here to drop off the vegetable delivery, and we know how well all three of them get along." She sauntered towards a particularly shaken table to relieve the family's mind of the chaos taking place behind closed doors.

Oh God, it's a powder keg waiting to explode. I let out a disturbed whine and stomped my way through the double swing door, hoping to evade any flying ladles and grab one of Alice's freshly baked chocolate croissants.

It was truly a sight to behold.

Sunshine streamed ironically through the wide-paned windows, onto the three figures before me. Alice was poised to spring like a mountain lion on the hunt with a lumpy, white rock like object in hand. She was positioned to strike poor Jasper over the head as he cowered against the wide stainless steel sink. Medusa and her snake hair minions had nothing on the rocky stare that graced her face. Laurent was continuing his rant to Alice, his body stretched as far as he could extend it above the island, as his hands grasped a plate of waffles.

As I entered, the aforementioned snakes seethed venom as Alice tried her damndest to impersonate a Gorgon. "It's a freaking rutabaga! Does this lump of crap look like something I would ever feed my guests? I asked you specifically for the butternut squash. Butternut squash logically happens to be the main component in butternut squash soup…oh, but I'm sorry, you're an idiot and can't distinguish between a root and a squash! You are so useless!"

Alice was nothing if not incredibly committed to her somewhat bizarre interpretation of food.

"Zis waffle has ten more chocolat cheeps than I prefer. Alice, listen to me! I am on a very ztrict diet. God you are zo insensitive, you want me to bloat up like one of you uncouth Americanz."

"Alice, you called in this order freakin' last night! I don't have everything readily available at your disposal. For Christ sakes, put the damn vegetable down."

I was in complete shock. Nothing had ever escalated to this point. It had to be stopped.

Placing my middle finger and thumb in my mouth, I whistled long and hard and they froze mid argument, their heads swinging in my direction.

It would have been comical if it didn't occur on a weekly basis.

Alice dropped the depressing white lump to the floor with a sheepish look, and it miserably rolled into the dusty corner shadows in rutabaga shame. Laurent simply sniffed in greeting while Jasper just seemed relieved that he wasn't going to be brained with something he grew himself.

"Alright, you all are scaring away potential future guests, and we really don't need a bad review. Here's what we're going to do." I massaged my forehead in preparation of potential fallout. "Laurent, are you kidding me? Ten chocolate chips? This is really what's causing today's special brand of hell? "

"I reserve ze right-."

"Eat the damn waffles. And then it would be in all our best interests if you go to the front desk to check out the Zimmerman's."

Laurent "hmphed" and left the kitchen, all the while cataloguing under his breath exactly what he thought of Alice and, additionally, the Zimmermans.

Alice, jumping down to the floor, crossed her arms and glared at Jasper. He gave me an exasperated look, as he removed his knit wool cap and ran his fingers through his wild blond hair, shooting like demented stalks of golden wheat from his head.

"Alice, just make do with…that…I'm sure you can work it into something amazing."

"Bella, the squash was slated to be part of the autumn menu, which starts today. Now I have two weeks worth of crappy turnip. You can't improvise with art." she cried out desperately.

I interrupted, "Alice, just deal. Jasper, I'm sorry about this. But you have gotten the last two orders mixed up. One more mistake and she'll have to seek a provider elsewhere."

"Bella, these weren't mistakes. I'm trying to better the quality of your food, I can't help that your chef is too inexperienced and rash to notice my superior selection in produce. Rutabagas are rich in carotene and are an excellent choice for this menu. I've done the science, I know these things."

I had to grab a hold of the back of Alice's chef jacket before she took a swipe at him with her clawed hands. Jasper cringed back against the dual wide fridge.

"I don't care. Just bring what Alice tells you to bring. And Alice, don't put in orders so late even if you struck with inspiration at three in the morning. The rest of the world sleeps, even if you manage to evade it for days at a time."

Through Jasper's annoyance, a glimmer of thoughtful curiosity passed over his face. "Actually, I'm usually up that late, too. I've been recording the progress of my new fall vegetable cuttings in the hothouse."

Huh? What now?

"Jasper?" Under our alternately confused and belittling stares he shifted in discomfort.

"What? Are you surprised?"

"Uh, no." I really wasn't. Jasper seemed like the type whose spark of crazy genius was inversely proportional to the amount of sleep he received each night. "But that has to do with what, exactly?"

"Oh." His non-sequiter hung anxiously awkward in the air, begging for someone or something to put it out of its misery. "Nothing, I guess. Just an observation."

Alice simply grumbled over how her meat, fish, and grain guys never gave her this much trouble. The odd, seemingly hopeful glimmer faded from Jasper, and he huffily finished unloading the rest of the vegetables. He ducked out the back door with a glare in Alice's direction and a small wave in mine.

"I've done the science," she mimicked in mockingly high screech as the back mesh door slammed shut. "Yea you're a burn out academic who left a real job to become a mad scientist who grows organic produce in the middle of Nowhere-Ville, USA. Pathetic! Don't even try to peg me as inexperienced," her mutterings continued.

I let out a burst of disbelieving laughter at the ridiculousness of the entire situation and even Alice cracked a grin while she started putting together the lunch menu. The remainder of the kitchen staff hesitantly filtered in, realizing the worst was over.

I noticed a tray of pastries abandoned to the side and quickly swooped in to grab one.

Mmmm, come to Mama!

"So Ren's off to big, bad Platt today?"

Alice's question broke through my croissant induced stupor and I found myself frowning once again.

I shook my head in response. "Big, bad Platt sounds like a nickname I would have given my grandparents."

Alice chortled and began chopping the innocent rutabagas left behind, with a vengeance.

"Maybe it won't be as bad as your making it out to be. I come from the same world and I turned out more normal than I could hope."

I turned towards quirky Alice and her diminutive stature, delicate features, and the stiletto boots she insisted on wearing in the kitchen to assert her authority. Even with a red bandana pulling her inky strands back and flour dotting her hands and forehead, she looked fantastic. She may have bugged me from time to time with her high maintenance tendencies, but a 'Platt drone' she was not.

"Yea, well you're the exception to the rule…and even then, I'm not so sure that wielding produce as a weapon counts as normal behavior."

She let out an evil snicker, no doubt replaying the related scene in her head. She had a bit of a sadistic streak when it came to her local food providers, especially Jasper.

I relayed the full events of my morning to her in detail and she listened on in amusement.

"Only you, Bella, would get on the dean's bad side on the first day. Not even your first day of school." She chuckled as she tore some parsley. "What happened to the calm, poised Bella you insisted you were going to channel."

"Yeah, well she eloped with a tall, dark, and hopefully handsome stranger and they're halfway to Rio about now. I'm going to have to settle for tail-between-my-legs Bella." I grimaced as I remembered how boorish I had seemed. "All that matters is that he loved Ren, I mean how could he not? On top of everything, I have to go see Esme before I pick up Ren to straighten everything out."

"Hmm, I like your aunt. She's a classy lady. Remember when she asked me to cater the hors d'oeuvres at the wine tasting she hosted at her house in the Hamptons?" Oh, how could I forget? I was the one who got you the gig. "Chorizo and shrimp en croute and glazed fruit tart. That was one of my best professional experiences to date. And Carlisle." Oh, boy. "He may be older and your uncle, but damn he's fine." Alice was staring dreamily at the spare woks she hung from the ceiling at this point, and I rolled my eyes in half disgust. Alice always thought I should make more of an effort to speak freely with my aunt and work out our issues. And become better acquainted with the so-called 'studly, doctor men' that flocked under Carlisle's authority. Neither of those would be happening anytime in the near future.

Leaning against the counter, searching my mind for a different route this conversation could take, I recalled something. "Oh, by the by, I saw this incredibly ostentatious car on the walk over this morning. It was like this blinding yellow, one of those racy, compact cars you always go on about. My day got somewhat better when a pigeon did its business on the hood."

Alice's smirk at my description fell at the last words, and her face notably blanched. She looked close to losing it.

"Yellow? Was it a Porsche?"

"Uhhh, I'm not su…uhhh…maybe?"

"Bella, Bella," her eyes formed wide, hypnotizing chasms as she attempted to reason an answer out of me. "I need for you to remember exactly the make of this car."

Oh Bella, just give it up. Of course you know it was this alleged Porsche.

"So the horsepower on that baby, eh? You must be getting your fix, you little speed-demon you." My voice became legitimately smaller with each stalling word that passed my lips.

"THERE'S BIRD CRAP ON MY NEW PORSCHE?! BELLA!" She gave an agitated glare, somehow blaming me for not having the power to keep Mother Nature in check.

I choked on the croissant and glared back at Alice in defensive shock. "How the heck was I supposed to know it was your car? When you said 'new car' last week, I thought you meant something reasonable…c'mon a Porsche? How did you afford it anyway? God knows we have the same financial woes we did yesterday…"

"Oh, calm down, cheapskate. I took a loan from my parents, and am paying them back. Unlike you, I know that sometimes you have to swallow your pride and go with the flow….of your rich relatives."

"Jesus, a Porsche."

"Give it a rest, Bella. Now I have to go out after lunch and clean it off before it dries. Poor baby's not even a week old." She continued simpering over the Porsche and I was forced to roll my eyes again while internally snickering at the mention of dried bird droppings.

"Whatever Alice, you got anymore of that chocolate hazelnut blend lying around here? I'm in dire need a refill."

She turned to lift the pot and warily poured half of it into the thermos I pleadingly held out before me. "This stuff gets lethal after your 10th cup or so," she informed me, raising her eyebrows.

I shrugged in defeat and left Alice to her issues with my caffeine intake and frugal ways. We could talk health and money later; I could already hear Laurent chewing out one of the maintenance guys and labeling him an imbecile.

Oy, it's going to be a long day.

---

"And then I told her that she could just keep her opinions to herself, and she just looked aghast, as if I ran over her puppy or the like. I swear some of these other society women… you would think all they did was discuss…Bella? Bella!"

"What, what?"

I jumped in surprise on the brocade sofa in which I was currently seated. The cuff of my sleeve caught onto the rich fringe and my fruitless attempts to free myself were looked on in distaste. My eyes had been inevitably closing during Esme's inane retelling of an argument with her completely dimwitted society friends/arch nemeses, and her loud reprimand pierced straight through me. She had somehow convinced me to remain for some lemonade and cookies in the open air parlor after I came to discuss the incident, and I was currently wishing I had incurred her wrath instead.

"My goodness, I'm just trying to tell you my day and you aren't even listening. What on earth is going on in that head of yours?"

"Not thinking of running over your puppy, that's for sure," I grumbled under my breath. Actually, Esme and Carlisle did not own a puppy, so I would have to settle for mentally running over Esme's prized hydrangea bushes.

"Dear I may be pushing fifty, but I'm not going deaf." She eyed me speculatively and I groaned, pushing myself further into the sofa. She sat a little straighter and cleared her throat, and I rolled my eyes at her noting of my bad posture. I would sit how I damn well pleased. I defiantly stared back as I looked her over.

Esme looked gorgeous today, her caramel hair tinged with gray at the roots in loose curls and her blue sweater dress hitting just below her knees. The sunlight streaming through the glass panes gave her skin a minute glow. She sure as hell did not look fifty. It was not fair that her face evaded frown lines completely, while they had seemingly taken permanent residence on mine.

"Esme, I really have to-."

"Nonsense, you have another fifteen minutes." She waved her manicured hand dismissively. "Now I heard you made quite the impression with Dean Etrusca today. I know he's a bit-."

"Crusty? Highfalutin? Condescending?" I offered, hoping she would for once be in agreement.

"Bella, really. Highfalutin? Yes, he's a bit old fashioned but he is the head of Platt and an exemplary academic and administrator. I won't go into your, well, your wardrobe choice or your other strange behavior this morning, but please use more discretion next time. I'm only telling you this for Ren's sake."

Holy Crap!

"God, how did you even find out before I told…you know what? Never mind. It was all a big misunderstanding. Thanks for taking my side, as always."

"My pleasure, dear," she shot back with a hint of a smirk as she refilled her glass.

"All that matters is that he thinks Ren is God's gift to the teenaged student population."

"Yes, we are all so proud of her. We are also proud of you." she emphasized, as if I was a three year old who had just proudly hoisted up an arts and crafts hand turkey for her to coo over. "I've been saying since day one that I would like the chance to introduce you to some of our better connected friends and colleagues. It could do wonders for your business. If you weren't so stubborn."

I opened my mouth in protest and she held up her hand. "I know, I know. With us paying half the tuition for Ren to attend Platt, you have already agreed to formal Friday night dinners. I am ecstatic we came to closing a deal," she finished sarcastically.

"I think the deal definitely shifts in your favor, Esme," I huffed. It certainly did with the amount of pain it was causing in my life.

"Bella, would it be that horrible?" She questioned. A sudden clatter and terrible scraping noises sounded from the outside patio, and interrupted her.

"What was that?"

"So sorry. You're uncle and I hired stone masons to redo the mosaic design on the patio and in the landscaped garden out back. You know, I usually do restoration and design projects myself, but we've so busy been planning the next Daughters of the American Revolution charity dinner."

"Uh, Daughters of the American Revolution? Didn't your great grandfather immigrate to New York during the Irish potato famine? I'm not exactly sure how that ancestry plays into American independence…"

Esme rapidly cleared her throat. "Great-great grandfather and that's neither here nor there, Bella."

"Oooof course."

She shot me a warning glance. "Anyway, would it be so horrible to attend some social functions in our circle from time to time. I'm not asking permission to throw you a coming-out-cotillion, but we would love for our friends to see how accomplished and lovely you have grown. Think of the opportunities for Ren. You could be her gateway, she looks up to you so much!"

Esme was trying to be sweet, but the manipulation in her words countered her tone. She always used Ren as a convenient excuse to get through to me.

"I'm sorry, but the next time I want to be stuck in the company of oversized blowhards smoking Cuban cigars and their haughty, pearl-necked trophy wives, will be….never." My voice had risen as I emphasized the 'never'. Not the most mature of responses, but I was already tired of this bit of conversation. I mean, did she really believe there would be a chance that I and her friends would mesh well?

Esme's face fell as she digested my comment.

"After all this time, is that what you think of me?" she questioned in a low whisper, her eyes averted.

Oh, no. That may have been a little harsh.

I exhaled in guilt. "Esme, of course not, I mean you are wearing pearls…but anyway, I don't think that about you. It's just…" She eyed me skeptically, clearly not buying the shame induced retraction. "It's just your friends. And Grandma."

Esme let out a little snort and we both laughed. That was one thing we were on the same page about.

"Honestly, I just wish you wouldn't interfere so much. I have a handle on this."

"Isabella, you are only twenty nine years old and are attempting to single-handedly raise your sixteen year old sister. Who has only been with you for the past six months." she added in a disbelieving tone. "I don't care how capable you think you are, you can't fool yourself into believing you can do it all on your own. You have your own life and what about well…your work, your needs? You can't always put that on hold. My goodness, I sometimes lay awake on the edge of a breakdown with how worried I am for you girls. I know how responsible you are, compared to your mother. My goodness, she took you both so far away."

"Don't Esme. Just don't." I demanded with a final glare. She had veered into dangerous territory and I would not allow her to say another word about my mother. Not after everything.

She took a calming breath. "Alright, this may have gotten a little heated. But you are family, and I will help…whether you take it or I have to force it upon you. You may not be my children, but you girls are the most important things to me. I can't just turn a blind eye."

I sighed in defeat. There was no way we could properly conclude the ongoing feud at this moment. We'd been at a stalemate for the past year. I stood up and made a motion to leave by heading towards the foyer. Esme followed as she considered the question of her 'help' settled, and continued to prattle over details for the coming Friday dinner.

"Oh by the way, in addition to you both, we have some dinner guests on Friday. I would usually insist that we put it off for another day; you know how precious to me one on one time is with you girls, but they are stopping in the Northeast for only a short amount of time to visit their son. Carlisle is very fond of them. He talks about them often, maybe you heard him some time ago? The Masen family of the Chicago Masens?"

My eyes rolled as far as they reach to the back of my head, and I shrugged on my coat. Of course, they would be that upper-crust brand of family. "Since when are families referred to by cities? I didn't realize their legacy preceded them." I bristled.

Esme pondered that seriously for a minute. "Well, there are quite a few of them and they are spread far and wide across the Continental United States. But they're lovely people, the whole lot of them."

"I'm sure."

"Anyway, it should be just Edward Sr. and Elizabeth. Elizabeth was only a few years ahead of me in Dartmouth. Carlisle knows Edward Sr. from his residency days in Chicago before he moved here and met me. However, their son may make an appearance, depending on whether or not he has to travel to Hartford for business. He's an incredibly capable executive - my goodness, he's only twenty eight now- and is heading the East Coast branch of the marketing conglomerate Masen-Philips. Really admirable of him to do so, dropping his career plans to hold the business steady after Edward Sr.'s coronary three years ago. You know what's so peculiar is that he revered Carlisle growing up, was in such awe of your uncle that he was stubborn about going into medicine. He even completed four years at Harvard Medical, before he was to start residency at Mass General. Oh well, I guess the alternate career-path did not turn out so badly. I also hear he's quite a catch, Bella," she ended with mischievous approval in her voice. I almost turned to tell her that she shouldn't let Carlisle hear her speak that way about another man she's lusting after, when I realized she was hedging for a reaction. Esme was always under the impression that love and hate operated in the same vein, and one usually gave way to the other. With the way I was feeling towards her right now, I couldn't have agreed more.

I gave another sigh, and kissed her on the cheek, refusing to acknowledge her last statement. In due fashion, she willed me not to leave by quietly grabbing my hands and intertwining our fingers. I stood frozen, automatically sensing that she was about to lay down another one of her worthless excuses, concerning my mother, for my sake.

"You know I miss her, too. Renee? She was my big sister. You don't realize how much…," she paused briefly as her voice caught in her throat. "I really did try to help. You know this don't you?" Esme asked somewhat pleadingly, trying to catch my eye.

No, Esme, no. I don't really know, because you didn't do enough.

A traitorous tear slid its way down my cheek at her words and I quickly dispatched it with the cuff of my sleeve. Uncomfortable with the sudden change in the dynamic of our conversation, and afraid that I would voice my actual thoughts if I stayed any longer, I disentangled my fingers. She again followed me to the door.

"I know. Bye, Esme."

Her face darkened slightly before resignedly brightening again. We both knew we believed each other's words to be a farce, but carried on as if nothing happened.

"Goodbye, sweetie. I'll see you and Ren on Friday, 7PM sharp. I mean it Bella, be punctual."

"Yes, yes, okay, bye." I slammed the door carelessly behind me and entered the cool, autumn air. It's not like it mattered what I had to say. I had no choice but to be there on Friday.

---

Pulling up to the outdoor courtyard, I parked next to the flagstone plaza and waited for the school dismissal. Leaning against the door, I watched as the ever prompt Dean Etrusca made his way through the stone arches to the east wing of the building. My form caught his eye and he paused. Giving me an appraising look, he then continued onwards, nodding his head in acknowledgement as I gave a desperately exuberant wave. I wanted to ensure that my together-ness was fully comprehended by him.

Good. Now he's seen that I can dress like a professional adult.

Inwardly gloating over my small victory, I noticed the uniformed students flooding out into the plaza and was relieved that I would finally get the chance to see how Ren's day went. I spotted her hunched form making its way to the front and her head lifted. An expression of overwhelming dejection was clearly conspicuous on her face. Once I caught her eye, the misery was replaced with desperation and she half-flew across the distance between us. Dropping her backpack, she dashed into my arms. As she let out a pitiful sigh against my shoulder, I filled with rage and confusion over what could have caused her to react this way.

"Ren, sweetie, what's wrong? What happened? We can go to dean right away. I'm sure we would be able to get whoever bothered you expelled," I continued frantically. Her pain caused me to weirdly lash out in a dangerously maternal fashion- fangs bared and claws at the ready.

She let a watery laugh and dried her eyes on my shirt. Then the events of her day came out in a deluge of high pitched words. "No, Bella. I can handle it. Typical, private school hazing. All the teachers attempted to pronounce my full name, even though I kept insisting they call me Ren. I sat alone at lunch because I was too terrified to approach anyone. There was this psychotic over-achiever who thought I was trying to threaten her acceptance into Harvard, even though I only answered a question in class. Oh, and there was just this one guy who kept calling me Mary - I wanted to string him up by the balls - but I didn't even know what he meant, so I couldn't do anything about it. And all I want is to go back home. And for mom to be-." Her half formed admission lashed at me like a lick of flames. She didn't want me, she wanted a ghost. And in that moment, I almost wished for the same thing.

Then I remembered I was the closest thing she was getting to the grave, and bucked up, letting her finish.

"I mean, all I want is for this day to be over." She finished with a deep breath and placed her head back on my shoulder.

Oh my God. I am going to mess up those kids.

"Ren, I...," Fury aside, I honestly did not know what to say. Or do.

Should I discourage her and put her back into North Meadow Public? Despite what I think, Platt does offer better opportunities. It definitely got Esme off my back. Should I tell her it can only get better now? Should I even leave such a huge decision up to her? Gah, she's waiting for you to speak. Think of something!

"What do you want to do, Ren? I'm leaving this entirely in your hands." Please say you want to leave. Please say you want to leave.

She frowned in concentration for a full minute before sweeping her curls back from her face.

"No, I can do this, Bella. I just needed to vent. First days suck hard!"

Damn.

"Oh Ren, I know," I assured her in defeat as I rubbed her back soothingly.

Maybe, it will take her a couple of more days to change her mind.

I then pursed my lips to keep me from laughing out loud as I recalled the Mary comment she had seemed so upset over.

Oh, to be young and clueless.

"What? What is it?" Ren looked up questioningly as she felt the vibrations in my chest.

"When he called you Mary…he meant like the Virgin Mary."

Her eyebrows knit in confusion.

Ugh, I hate explaining this.

"You know, innocent, immaculate, Mother of God, ring any bells? They were trying to label you as the new, virginal school girl." My ire flared at the subtext of the teasing but there wasn't much I could do except approach the topic of sexual harassment if it continued. I would be damned if it did.

Ren's face cleared and she groaned, as I chuckled alongside in sympathy.

"Oh, there are so many worse things to be called." I assured her in false cheer. Worse things, my ass! What the hell kind of things are they teaching here? "C'mon we'll go to Em's and see how much he charges for taking out snot-nosed, arrogant, preppie high school punks."

My visions of me slowly extracting the limbs of schoolboys, like a hyperactive five year old with a daddy-long leg, would have to wait for another day.

---

After an enthusiastic reassurance from Emmett that he would unleash a can of whoop ass on any high school punks that harassed Ren, for free, we took our respective coffees and left for the Hollow. Ren liked the atmosphere and volunteered to help with some of the administrative aspects after school, and I had yet to shelve the adequate amount of hours at work, today. Yes, yes even the owners had to give some face-time to those who take residence in their kingdoms- or in this case, ten-bedroom inns.

Unable to steer clear of the polished mahogany front desk, I was met with the disapproving and snippy frown of Laurent, who was fulfilling the role as The Hollow's concierge in addition to the less fun role as my "daily dose of migraine". He always took this time of the day to harp on any subject ranging from Alice to the new bath products we stocked each room with, and then he would return to Alice.

"Good, you are back. Where 'ave you been? I've 'ad to deal with ze idiots who insist on occupying zis place and I refuse to take any orders from ze other tiny, boss from hell. Why I bother even coming 'ere-."

"Laurent, not now," I pleaded wearily.

Although Laurent could be quite antagonistic, acerbic, and a plain pain in the ass, we all knew how much he loved us and the Hollow and that it would have killed him if we had not asked him to follow and join us from the Lantern Inn. So we always chose to disregard his diatribes and hissy fits – for the most part.

Shutting up, he turned his attention to Ren. She gave a bright smile and wave in his direction and his features softened marginally. Ren found Laurent and his attitude…amusing, and he tolerated her.

God knows the differences between the two were so apparent that they could pilot their very own hit sitcom.

"You brought ze 'elp, good. Bella's leetle brat, please follow me, I need you to 'elp take inventory of ze office and front desk and organize ze gift baskets for ze guests arriving tomorrow…"

He trailed off as he swung through the office door, leaving Ren and I standing there alone.

"Yeesh. Are you sure you'll be alright? You don't have to work after the day you've had. Why don't you go watch some TV – I mean get started on some homework?"

You're a responsible adult, Bella, act like it!

"Bella, it was the first day, homework is kind of non-existent at this point. Plus, Laurent's really fun. Last time we got into a debate over the works of Maupassant from the La Belle Epoque era, and I swear steam actually shot from his ears. I'm hoping for a repeat to take my mind off what happened today."

"Alright, just make sure he doesn't explode. I have a feeling his ghost would come back to haunt us until the end of days." A sour faced spectre floating over the inn and giving me hell was not the friendliest image my mind could conjure.

"Duly noted." She swung her arms and cheerfully left to harass Laurent.

I chuckled and took over the front desk, hoping to get some much needed time alone with our books. Luckily, our records had been converted electronically, after we discovered Stone Age technology put us at a bit of a disadvantage business-wise, and all the numbers were mapped before me in Excel spreadsheets.

Now if only a click of the mouse would magically erase the overdue balances and provide us with a ridiculously large profit.

Though we had a steady stream of business and our loans had magically kept a low rate of interest, we were just able to make enough of a profit to properly distribute the various salaries. Alice had worked out the current predicament by letting go three of her kitchen staff, which was not a pleasant experience, and I had taken a little out of my paycheck each month to reserve for maintenance and other miscellaneous tasks that needed taking care of around The Hollow. I still needed to move some money around to make do with our infinite bills this month, but I groaned when I realized how disgruntled Alice, Laurent, and the rest of staff would be with a pay cut. They, of course, didn't realize the even bigger sacrifices I was making. I guess I could have made do with another cut, but now I had Ren and the monetary demands of Platt to think of. And even through Esme and Carlisle were contributing and Charlie religiously sent checks every month, I was in a bind.

Letting my head fall into my hands and rubbing my eyes, I let out a frustrated growl.

I heard the click of heels against hardwood as a plate of large yellow, citrus squares drizzled with chocolate slid onto the desk, underneath my solid curtain of brown hair. I was a little disappointed that despite the fact I used my hair as an impenetrable shield, it didn't even slightly guarantee that I was completely hidden from view.

Accio Invisibility Cloak!

It didn't work. The hair crept slowly back from my face as Alice slipped bony fingers onto my scalp.

Oh Alice, what are we going to do?

"I'm going to balloon up if you keep feeding me like this," I protested weakly in a muffled voice.

"Too bad. I need these lemon squares evaluated by a seasoned taste tester, but I'm going to have to settle for you. I'm planning for these to be dessert tonight and I don't think the lemon is proportional to the square."

"Alice, what the hell are you talking about? That doesn't even make sense." I wasn't exactly in state of mind to go along with one of her fanciful culinary expressions. I straightened my back and looked up into her clear, blue eyes as they anxiously searched my expression.

"Hey Bella, are you okay?" She lightly traced a finger under my eyes, outlining the evident dark patches that vigorously signified my lack of sleep. I batted her fingers away while rubbing slightly where they had been. She continued her observations, unfazed. "You haven't been sleeping much?"

"When have we have ever slept 'much', in the past five years? You harassed poor Jasper at three in the morning. Between work and beating on him, when was the last time you slept a full eight hours?"

"You're assuming that I don't fall asleep right after."

"Then I'm glad you're keeping to an undisturbed REM cycle."

"Bella…"

"What!?"

"Stop being difficult. What's wrong? You look like hell." Oh wonderful, it's not just me thinking that, then. "That and I heard moaning and I figured you were looking over our finances again. It's that bad, huh?" She chewed her bottom lip a bit before I puffed my cheeks and let out a slow breath.

"Yeah, things are tight, but I'm going to figure it out. I can cut the "Old Town Tour" carriage rides for the upcoming month and if I take out some money from my check…," Alice interrupted my mental tabulations with a condescending scoff.

"Bella, honestly. The whole martyr thing? You don't pull it off very well and I'm frankly tired of the daily dosage of Catholic guilt."

"I'm Episcopalian."

"Whatever. That's not the point." Her eyes twinkled sympathetically and she rubbed her knuckles softly against mine, releasing a resigned sigh. "I know what you've been doing, with the secret reverse embezzlement of your money into the Hollow accounts, and I was incredibly dense to not offer this before so…,"

Say it. Say it. I raised my eyebrows in expectation as she huffed in frustration

"I'm the one who bought the fancy, foreign car. I'll take the cut for the next four or five months." she doled out in an unusually rehearsed manner. She had obviously taken the time to think this over, even if only reluctantly.

Guilt and relief flooded my entire body in equal parts. "Alice, really, it's ok."

She lifted her hand to cut off my weak reluctance. "Bella, I've offered. Now have the decency to gratefully accept it before I pull a Richard Gere jewelry box stunt. Besides, if you smile any wider you're going to burn my retinas."

Oh, is that my face splitting in ecstasy? I didn't even notice.

My maniacal grin subsided to a softer, grateful smile and I mouthed a thank you. Alice in my corner had me wanting to bellow out a desperate 'Adrian' and take Apollo Creed out with an uppercut for a well-deserved victory.

But I'm no Rocky. Or Stallone. So I'll settle for mocking.

"Not enough lemon per square, huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "What? I needed a way to broach the conversation, and you looked like you needed a pick-me up." I just let out another chuckle and she continued earnestly. "Honestly though Bella, four or five months and then Laurent's getting the ax if things don't pick up. If the cut isn't enough…we'll have Grendel gnaw through Laurent's brake lines and make it look like an accident. Then we won't have to go through the trouble of firing him and paying him for it." she finished in half-seriousness.

"You really think we could get away with that?" I asked hopefully. We weren't the Cosa Nostra but Alice could pull off the attitude of a steely, disenchanted hit-man any day of the week.

Laurent came hurriedly bursting through from the office as we were overwhelmed by uneven fits of laughter. I'm sure Alice had hoped he had been eavesdropping.

Hurriedly looking back and forth between the both of us doubled over, he rearranged his face into a murderous glare.

"I 'ate you both," he let out in an obnoxiously nasal tone and proceeded to leave again.

Ah yes, oh happy day.

"Bella, Rose just called my cell phone. She told me to ask you if you're completely deaf because she's been pounding out the number to your cell for the past fifteen minutes." Hey now, no need for that, it's on vibrate. "Anyway, apparently Grendel's been uhh…fertilizing her lawn. She says she's two seconds away from calling the pound, and that you need to clean up after him ASAP if you want the roof repaired in the next decade." Ren conveyed the message with an unfitting trill.

Ugh, maybe not.

For the second time that day I left the inn, this time embracing not my role as loving sister, niece, or guardian, but that of poop-smith.

---

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