Author's Note - Meh. It sux. But at least it means that my writer's block is gone! YAY!!!!
All characters and plot belong to Stephenie Meyer, not to me. And even if it did, I probably wouldn't claim it.
"It's a good thing you're bulletproof." I sighed. "I'm going to need that ring. It's time to tell Charlie."
He laughed at the expression on my face. "Highly dangerous," he agreed. He laughed again and then reached into the pocket of his jeans. "But at least there's no need for a side trip."
He once again slid my ring into place on the third finger of my left hand.
Where it would stay — conceivably for the rest of eternity.
The ride back home found me nervous to the point of nausea, especially at the high speeds at which Edward preferred to drive. By the time Edward finally pulled into my driveway, I had the window rolled down, and Edward, fearing for my health at the sight of my green face, had his cold hand pressed to my left cheek.
"It's going to be okay, Bella," Edward insisted, his face concerned—yet there was almost an undertone to it he couldn't quite keep from his perfect face, but I couldn't figure out what that undertone was… Rather, I couldn't be bothered to figure it out when my lunch was threatening to betray me.
We sat in the parked car for some time, just waiting for my stomach to ease enough for me to walk on my own two feet. It seemed to take forever; every time I would think my pain was about to end, suddenly it would come rolling back in waves. Eventually I had to open the door of the car and lean out, my arms crossed and pushing deeply into my stomach, as if that would hold everything in.
Immediately, Edward was in front of me, one of his palms rubbing bold shapes on my back. "Are you sure you want to do this now?" he asked, kneeling in front of me to look me in the eye.
I nodded. "If I don't get it done now," I affirmed, more to myself than to Edward, "I'm just going to have to do it later. I'll just be prolonging the…" I paused as another shot of pain roiled through my stomach. When I could speak again without having to worry that I wouldn't immediately spew something nasty right into Edward's perfect face, I groaned, "I can't remember the word!"
Edward chuckled once. "'Inevitable'?" he supplied, brushing back some hair that had fallen across my face. "Is that the word you're looking for?"
I nodded.
"Well, it looks like the inevitable has arrived early, because Charlie's home."
Sure enough, there was the sound of Charlie's cruiser pulling up slowly next to Edward's in the driveway, then the bang of the car door slamming, and suddenly Charlie was right there next to Edward, looking down at me.
"Bella, are you okay?" he asked, taking in the situation at a glance. "What happened?"
For a moment, nobody spoke: Charlie was waiting for an answer; Edward was too much of a gentleman to spill the beans for me; I was currently incapable of speaking, since Charlie's appearance had almost doubled the intensity of my torture.
Finally, I was able to respond: "Edward didn't do anything to me, Dad, so you can stop glaring at him like that." Unfortunately, that was all I managed to say before I had to double over again.
"Here—Bella—Help me get her into the house, will you?" Charlie asked, looking at Edward for the first time while he bent to grab my ankles.
Of course, Edward quickly rose to secure my torso, and thus began the most painful seven minutes of my entire life. Since Edward couldn't reveal his Herculean strength to Charlie, he had to pretend to help my father carry me all the way from the driveway, through the front door, and to the couch in the living room. The force of gravity heavy on my body, and then the holds on my ankles and under my arms, and the pain in my stomach, made for a very uncomfortable and painful journey.
Finally, though, we made it to the couch. By that point, Charlie looked worn out, and promptly fell into his recliner, leaving Edward to make sure I was comfortable on the couch.
"So what happened?" Charlie finally asked, after Edward had "run" around the house to supply me with a blanket, a pillow, and a pot to throw up in—just in case.
Edward sat lightly next to me on the couch and busied himself wrapping the blanket around me to keep me warm; I was thankful that he was going to let me do this on my own.
However, my stomach had other plans: as soon as I so much as looked at Charlie, the nervousness increased, making my stomach burn all that much more.
Apparently the nervousness began to make itself known in the room, until the time came when poor Charlie just couldn't deal with the pressure of it anymore: he dug through the sides of his recliner, feeling along the walls of the armrests until he found the remote, and then there was a basketball game on TV.
The sudden noise was too much; my stomach couldn't take it. I flung myself onto the floor and grabbed the pot just in time to heave out a well-digested portion of what had once been food.
"Oh, Bella, honey, is that it?" Charlie sighed, sounding almost relieved.
The surprise would have made me stare in amazement if I wasn't busy throwing up even more.
Edward stood and went into the kitchen, only to return a few moments later with a wet cloth, which I took gratefully—I didn't want to sit here next to his perfection with vomit running down my chin.
It wasn't until I had wiped my mouth and returned to the safe embrace of my pot that I realized what Charlie had meant, and how he had discovered it: the way in which my arms were tightly curled around the pot clearly displayed my ring.
I dove into the pot once more.
When I was done, I found that Charlie had not only turned the television back off, but he had also abandoned his comfortable seat on the recliner to come and kneel in front of me.
"Bella, Bella, Bella," he sighed, and then looked at Edward. The two shared a tense glance before Charlie turned back to me and said tiredly, "I already figured you two were going to get married… Edward asked me for permission months ago."
"He what?" I asked, surprised. The sudden stimulation caused another lurch, and I found myself bent over the pot once again. When I was finished, I asked in a raw voice, "So all this time… and you approved?"
Charlie stammered, looking embarrassed. "Ah… not quite…" he said. "But you're eighteen, so… I realized that couldn't really keep you from just running off, especially since I didn't give Edward my permission… Which is why I asked you not to do anything major without telling me about it first…"
It took a moment for this information to sink in, and then I found myself feeling more relieved than I had ever felt in my entire life… maybe with the exception of my reunion with Edward in Italy, but I guess there wasn't time for relief until well after that event had taken place…
Edward laughed, reminding me that my thoughts were probably not quite as private as I might have wished. "I told you it was all going to be okay," he remarked, leaning down to kiss my hair, and then murmured against the dark strands, "You should listen to me more often."
Charlie coughed, reminding us that he still had not given his permission or his blessing. Now that the hard part was done, though, I found my stomach easing up, and allowed myself to lean back against Edward's legs.
"So…" Charlie asked, clearly anticipating excitement at the end of his statement, "Have you called and told Renee yet?"
The pot was my constant friend for the rest of the night… and so was Edward, although Charlie didn't know about him.