BPOV

"Our father who art in heaven..."

I listen to my mother say the Lord's Prayer, studiously trying to stop my mind from wandering. She'd asked me to accompany her to church today in hopes of guilting me into keeping my marriage from falling apart, though she'd never say those words. I knew that it hurt her and my father to see my marriage crumble into pieces through the past couple of years but there's nothing they or God can do to keep Jacob and I together.

I guess as with all other things, the destruction of a marriage not only affects the people in it but the people around it as well, particularly if it involves a child.

Our son, Ben is only six so he's yet to understand the impact of what is happening around him but I know that he suspects that his world is about to change. I wish that I could spare him the hurt, wrap him up in the warm comforter of my love and shield him from the confusion and chaos going on around him.

I wish someone could do the same for me.

"...thy kingdom come..."

I surreptitiously peek between my clasped hands and am thankfully met by empty pews, although the image of the sad Virgin gazing upon the Church with sorrowful eyes is enough to make me shut mine again. I'm unable to shake the irrational feeling that She's judging me. I try to tamp down the urge to yell, "It takes two to tango! Jacob's just as guilty too!" Instead, I purse my lips and try to focus on trying to pray.

Finally, I feel my mother shift beside me as she moves to sit back onto her seat. I hastily cross myself, pretending to have completed my prayers, as I sit beside her.

"I hope you had a good confession, Bella," my mother says as she gently pats my thigh.

"Yeah, yes I did." I lie. In a church. I'm going straight to hell. She doesn't need to know that while she was pouring out her misdemeanours of the week to Father Flannery, I was sitting out in the nave checking my Blackberry.

"Well," she breathes, putting her coat on, "we better head home. I've got to make dinner and we still need to stop at the supermarket."

"Sure mom. No problem," I reply like the dutiful daughter I am.

In the car, I fiddle with the radio, tuning it to the easy listening station. I know my mother doesn't like my taste in music, hence the fussing. Unfortunately, easy listening tunes seem to invite unwanted conversation. I curse the fact that I'm trapped in a moving vehicle with my mother. Would it be too crazy to unbuckle my seatbelt and jump out?

"So have you spoken to Jacob recently?" She asks and I cringe. Spoken seems like such a euphemism for what we do. Communication between my soon to be ex-husband and I only seem to have two volumes – loud and louder. I guess that's expected coming from two people who think talking is akin to a competition. That's what you get when you pair two lawyers together.

Jacob and I met when I came home after graduation and began working for McMaster and Associates. He was a junior associate who became my mentor. He was funny and confident and was a bit of a daredevil. He'd grown up on the reservation near Port Angeles and had moved to Seattle for college. Our romance hadn't been instantaneous. I was focused on my work and on proving myself. I didn't realize that he'd had feelings for me until the night he'd kissed me.

I'd been helping him on a slander case and we'd been working late. It seemed corny and cheesy and straight out of a movie when I dropped some papers on the floor and as I bent down to pick them up, so did he and we ended up knocking heads. A mutual "shit" erupted from both of us before we burst out laughing. His laughter died down causing me to look at him. I caught his eye and that was when I realized that there was something special in the way he looked at me. He leaned over and brushed his lips against mine and as they say, the rest is history.

"Do you think your Dad and Ben will be back yet?" My mother asked, interrupting my little trip down memory lane.

"I'm not sure," I reply. "It's only eleven thirty, unless Ben has been whining, I doubt they'll be back earlier than one."

I see the corner of my mom's lips twitch in amusement. "I remember when you were Ben's age. You loved going fishing with your dad. I remember you catching that small fry that one time...you were so proud."

I smile, trying to share her memory. "I wish I could remember that. The only thing I remember ever catching was a cold." We both chuckle.

"Oh Bella. You were always such a tough little kid. Always working hard. Always trying to show me and your Dad that you could do it," she turns to me then. "You know, you didn't have to try. We always knew you could."

Her voice sounds like she's trying to tell me something but when I look over at her she's looking out the window at the buildings whizzing by.

By the time we finish shopping it's almost one o'clock and I'm starving. We stop by a drive-thru and grab a couple of burgers and fries to take home. Time passes by quickly as we prep dinner – she's making the tomato sauce while I roll the meatballs. By the time my father and my son come home, the water is boiling for the pasta and the house smells like an Italian restaurant.

"It smells great in here," my father greets as he steps into the kitchen, placing a little cooler on the counter by the sink.

"Hey kiddo," he gives my shoulders a squeeze dropping a kiss on the top of my head before moving to kiss my mother.

"Hi Daddy," I pipe up, feeling like I'm eight years old all over again. I almost want to ask him what he brought home for me.

"Benji here caught a two-footer," my father says proudly and I look over at my son who's just made his way in beaming at his grandfather's pride.

"You should have seen it, Mom!" He exclaims his eyes as big as saucers. "I thought the fish was going to rip my arm off!"

I sidle up to my little boy and do a funny little hug, keeping my meatball-covered hands away from him.

"Well, I'm glad you came back in one-piece," I joke. "You did good baby. Now we have dinner for tomorrow night." I feel my heart swell when my little guy flashes me his pearly whites. His smile is like sunshine and birthday cakes all rolled into one.

"Now go get cleaned up," my mom exclaims. "You too, Charlie. You both smell like fish."

"That's because we were fishing, Grandma," Ben rolls his eyes.

"Don't be such a smart-alec," my mom admonishes. "Go get cleaned up so we can eat dinner."

I watch my son scamper out of the kitchen, hearing his hurried footsteps across the hardwood floor.

"Take a bath, Ben," I yell after him. "And you better scrub up. I don't want you to just play in the water. You better smell like soap when you come out!"

I shake my head and smile as I wash my hands. "Thanks for taking him out today, Dad."

My dad stops at the doorway, turning back to face me. "You don't ever have to thank me, Bells. I love that kid."

I nod and he leaves following my son and getting cleaned up.

Dinner feels familiar and comfortable. We laugh as Ben tells us about his and Grandpa's river adventures.

I look at the people that surround me and I know that everyone that I love and matter is right here. Once upon a time, I would have said that the picture was incomplete but I know that it's not true any more. Acceptance comes with a heavy dose of heartbreak.

I tuck my son into bed and wish him good night. I pad softly down the hallway, making my way to the living room where my dad sits in his Lay-z-boy watching ballgame highlights on TV.

"I hope he wasn't too much of a handful today," I say taking a seat on the couch and tucking my legs beneath me.

My dad takes his eyes off of the TV for a moment. The corner of lips tuck up beneath his graying moustache. "It was fun. Hell, that kid is like a big ball of energy. I was afraid he'd be bored but boy was I wrong. He kept telling me all these facts about trout and salmon," my father laughed.

I smile knowingly. Ben is like a sponge. He's pretty tenacious when something grabs his attention. Lately it's been facts about aquatic animals. As a by-product, my mind is filled with all sorts of trivia about fish. Unfortunately, unless I decide to become a marine biologist or appear on Jeopardy, it really doesn't do me much good.

"Yeah, he loves the Life series on the Discovery Channel. I don't know how he remembers all those facts though. Must be great to have the memory of a six year old," I joke.

The conversation dies down and the silence is filled by the news announcer on TV.

"Thanks, Dad," I say, keeping my eyes trained on the screen. My father and I are the same when it comes to emotions. We like to keep it bottled up and feel discomfort with sharing it.

"No problem, Bells. Anytime," he replies, taking a sip of his beer.

"I mean it, Dad. Thanks for everything. For letting us stay here," I continue.

I hear him place his beer down on the side table and sit up on his recliner. "This is your home too, Bella. You and Ben can stay here any time for as long as you need to."

I look over at him and smile. We make eye contact and I can see the understanding and the love in his eyes. And just as soon as it began, it was over. We both settled back into our seats and proceeded to watch the news. Soon enough, eleven o'clock rolled around and it was time for bed. I got up from the couch and touched my father's shoulder, bidding him good night.

I passed my mom in the kitchen letting her know I was headed to bed before making my way up the stairs.

There is something humbling about being back in my childhood bedroom. Despite the fact that I was thirty five, being back in my old room and sleeping in my old bed made me feel like I was fifteen again. I could almost see the New Kids on the Block posters on the wall as my boombox pumped out The Right Stuff.

I guess there's really something to be said about a parent's love. I'm sure that at their age, neither of my parents expected to be supporting their thirty-five year old daughter, let alone their grandchild. But yet, here they were doing exactly that.

I really hope to give Ben the same support should he ever find himself in my shoes. Although I really hope he doesn't. No one deserves to go through the hurt and anger that you experience from a divorce or the utter feeling of failure it evokes.

I guess out of all the things to feel – it's failure that stings the most. I've never failed at anything in my life. Not in school and not at work. So this...divorce is a tough pill to swallow.

As I get myself ready for bed, I think that perhaps divorce is like medicine and medicine never tasted good, but it was always good for you. Maybe this separation will be good for us in the end. I guess until then I just have to grimace and bear it – maybe wash it down with distraction. It worked for me before. Maybe it'll work again.

Disclaimer: Twilight and all its characters are the property of Stephenie Meyer. Little Ben is my creation. This story is a work of fiction and any similarity to real life is purely coincidence.

June 1 prompt: Heaven