A/N - I wrote this a little while ago for an Edward/Angela community on LiveJournal, but I have tweaked this ever so slightly since posting there. This is just a little one-shot inspired by a song by the wonderful artist Plumb. I'm pretty much blocked on everything I've been working on, but thought to share this on this site. Hopefully, I will become unblocked soon.

Warning: If you're not one for anything remotely non-canon, I recommend not reading this.

---

Real – Plumb

When you hear her voice five years after your wedding, your heart – if it could actually beat – stops, as does time and space. You freeze in the middle of a busy sidewalk then all you see is her, sitting on the patio of a street side café in Greenwich Village, laughing as she talks on her cell phone. She does not notice you – at least, not yet. You quickly seek refuge in the bookstore across the street from the restaurant to observe her, hiding behind a copy of a silly teen vampire novel as you stare out the window. You cannot help but marvel at how time has changed her.

Physically, her hair is a little blonder, her figure a little fuller, her face a little more made up. But what you notice the most is that the quiet shyness that had enveloped her in her youth has melted away and she has evolved into a bright and vivacious young lady. One who, no doubt, proverbially found herself while in college. One who blossomed and bloomed away from the scrutiny of a small town and the stigma of being the minister's only daughter. You do not doubt that there is still the same pure sweetness and loyalty inside of her – she is still the one that would do anything for her friends and family, no questions asked. You try to fight it, but you succumb to the ache to talk to the sweet angel from your past and toss the book aside, striding towards her once she ends her call.

Miles away, you can hear your sister Alice call out to you. You try to shut her out of your mind. You cannot think with her barrage of questions. It will only be a harmless conversation with a girl you used to know, you tell yourself and your sister. That is all – nothing more, nothing less. You do not doubt the love between you and your wife. Nor do you question her devotion to you or yours to her. You are partners, bound to this world together for the rest of eternity.

Angela, you ask innocently. Angela Weber?

She looks up at you with her large chocolate brown eyes. An odd sense of warmth washes over you when you see the raw happiness and exuberance in them.

Edward, she exclaims as she leaps up to hug you. Edward Cullen, how have you been?

You cannot help but smile at her honest jubilation as her warm body molds to your cold stone marble one. She asks if you have a moment to spare and share a cup of coffee with her. You oblige, taking the seat across from her.

You lose track of time as the two of you begin to easily converse. You enjoy the effortless flow of conversation with the woman in front of you. You talk of your past together. You reminisce of your old friendship, your shared love and appreciation of music and art. You snicker as you conspire about your former classmates and the trivial callousness of high school. She wonders what you are doing in New York City and apologizes profusely for losing touch with your wife after the wedding. She earnestly asks how you are, how your wife is.

You tell her the truth – it is a couples' weekend in New York with Alice, Jasper, Bella and yourself. Jasper is currently at the New-York Historical Society while the girls are out shopping somewhere on Fifth Avenue. You make up a story about your time in college with your wife; it is mostly a composite of your last four trips to a higher education institute. You lie about your acceptance to medical school in Boston and Bella's job as a kindergarten teacher.

You gush and regale her with stories about the joys of being married to your best friend. She smiles and nods along with you, drinking in your contentment. She laughs as you retell the trails and tribulations of being married to a perpetual klutz, but you cannot help but notice that the laughter is not as loud or appreciative as the one you overheard earlier, her eyes do not sparkle quite as brightly.

You finally pause and notice the ring on her left finger. You congratulate her and ask if she and Ben Cheney have a date picked out. She flinches slightly at the name. She tells you that they broke up years ago. You try to apologize for the gaff, but she waves you off. Instead, she oddly rewards you by telling you her story.

She left Seattle University after her freshman year and transferred to University of California – Riverside, changing her major from education to a double major in studio art and psychology. You are confused by her choice in majors until she tells you that she is currently enrolled in the Art Therapy masters program at NYU. You are surprised yet extremely proud of her. You can sense it has been a difficult journey. Her parents and everyone you both used to know had expected her to become a teacher and marry her high school sweetheart. Though you know little of this program or this mystery man, you can tell that this new direction fits her better. You are glad that she has found happiness and that someone has been by her side through it all. You politely ask her who the lucky man is.

A deep red flush spreads across her cheeks as she begins to fidget, nervously twisting the ring around her finger. It is then that you truly look at the piece of jewelry. You suck in your breath at the sight of a wolf and an eagle engraved into the silver band, surrounding a cluster of diamonds. One look at the design and you instantly know who it is.

How is Jacob, you swallow, tamping down the hurt as old wounds reopen.

There are times when you wonder if you and Jacob Black could have ever been friends. The two of you are truly not mortal enemies – you a vampire, he a shape shifter and not a true lycan. But you know that there will always be a wedge between the two of you even if you never speak of it. The damage has already been done. Your competition to get the girl.

He is well, she tells you quietly. He was getting ready to board the plane to come out here when you... she trails off.

You don't know why there is suddenly a palpable tension between the two of you. You got the girl, didn't you? Bella loves you. She married you. She chose to – heck, she bullied you into making her become an immortal like you. So why can't you explain the constriction in your chest you are feeling?

Then it hits you. You have always loved the woman sitting before you. Not in the same chaotic fashion that you fell in love with Bella Swan, but in a quieter, more subtle and steadfast way. You had always sought refuge in her calm mind. You found comfort in there. When she spoke to you, there was never a hint of malice or an underlying shallow desire for gossip. There was never an ulterior motive like with Jessica Stanley or Lauren Malloy. No, your sweet Angela had always sincerely wanted to know how you were. She showed genuine interest in your thoughts and words. What you had found in her was a sense of kinship, something real.

For a moment, you let your mind wander and you picture what life would have been with Angela. You try to imagine how different the last seven years would have been. You suppose that it would have been calmer, with no trips needed to Volterra or meetings with the Volturi. No need to pester her into marrying you before she became immortal – if she even wanted it. Your life would have been full of maddeningly serene happiness.

Or would it?

Wouldn't have Jacob imprinted on her anyway? He apparently is the one that was made for her – not you. You could have had her for a short period, but then he would have taken her away from you. You would have been left alone at no fault of her, Jacob, or your own. It is the way nature and fate intended it to be. The realization hits you like a punch in the stomach. A life without her in it seems unfathomable. Perhaps there still would have been a trip to Volterra and a meeting with the Volturi…

The woman across from you clears her throat, bringing you crashing back into reality. She apologizes to you again, this time sorry that she cannot stay any longer. She has a meeting with her advisor in an hour. She gives you her cell phone number. She hopes that perhaps she and Jacob can meet with you and your family for dinner while you are all in town, if that will not be too awkward. You nod numbly, slipping the napkin into your coat pocket. You both stand and she gently places her palm on your icy cold cheek. Hesitantly, she kisses your other cheek before saying goodbye.

You watch her walk away, resisting the urge to chase after her and the perfect world you have created for the two of you in your mind. You're a married man, after all, and she is not your wife. You remind yourself that she is a friend from your past – nothing more, nothing less. But when she glances over her shoulder at you, only once, and gives you a secret smile, you are once again filled with the warmth of the sun's glow. It is then that you realize that though you do not get to be the one who makes her laugh or her eyes sparkle, you are content to you know that there will always be a place for you in her heart just like there is one for her in yours.

---

A/N 2 - For those interested, here is a picture of Angela's ring. Just picture it silver instead of gold. http://www .davidneel .com/images/1%20eagle%20wolf%20dmd%20cluster%20ring%20edit .JPG (you'll need to remove the spaces - silly FF .net)