[Disclaimer] Stephenie Meyer owns everything Twilight. I own the plot for this story.

[A/N] Thank you for the reviews. I love those. Also, thank you to those of you who put the story on their favorites. I am happy that you enjoy my writing.

*Don't ever put a fence down until you know why it was put up.*

(Robert Frost)

Chapter 2

She's a ghost.

The woman, who is lying on the bed in front of me, is a ghost. She is an empty shell. Her dry lips move upwards into a polite smile when she sees me. It's the smile for a kind stranger, not for a loved one. For Nana Di, we are all strangers now.

There are post-it notes glued to the wall next to her bed. They are from a time when she was still fighting against the forgetting. Nobody can fight the memory-eating monster inside her head. It made her forget her own children. It makes her forget whether or not she has brushed her teeth after breakfast, or the way back home from church.

There are still fragments inside her brain, little sparks of memories the monster hasn't fed on yet.

I hate Alzheimer. It's stealing my grandmother away from me without any chance of letting her go.

"What's for dinner, Sugar?" she asks, sitting up a bit straighter against the pillows behind her.

"Chicken and mashed potatoes." I tell her, placing the tray on her lap. My fingers tie the napkin around her neck to avoid any spills on her night gown. "Do you like chicken, Nana?"

She nods, but her eyes stare through me. She's always doing that. I like to imagine that one day the holes in her brain will be filled again. That one day she will smile at me and call me by my name. I would do anything for that to happen.

I cut the chicken and dip it into the gravy; then lift the fork to her mouth. She chews slowly while her eyes wander around the room. She looks up at the ceiling. Her gaze goes over to the closed window and finally to the white-framed pictures on her nightstand.

"Is it past seven now?" she asks, taking the fork from me to stir it through the mashed potatoes. She sighs when she tastes the creamy potatoes on her tongue. Alzheimer can't take away her taste buds. Grandma doesn't remember her own name, but her mouth still remembers her favorite foods.

"Is it past seven now?" Nana repeats her question. "My husband needs to be home by then."

I slice up the rest of the chicken and encourage her to eat a bit more of it. Protein is good for her. She has lost so much weight since she broke her hip last month.

"I bet he's working overtime again." She states, nibbling on a piece of chicken. "He's so stupid. They aren't going to pay him for the extra hours. Only dumb people work for free."

She finishes her meal with a deep sigh. "Are you my new nurse, Sugar?"

I shake my head. "I'm your granddaughter."

Nana's eyes become bigger. "I have a granddaughter?"

I take her wrinkly hand in mine and squeeze it gently. "You have four granddaughters and two grandsons."

Her lips press into a tight line. I wait for her to ask another question. She used to ask a lot of questions until her accident, when she slipped inside the bathtub. Who I was? Where was she? Why she couldn't remember how she got there?

"Is it past seven now?"

"It's around half past nine." I state. "Do you want me to read you something until it's sleep time?"

She nods tiredly. "He's so stupid for working overtime again. Aro Volturi found himself some simpleton with my husband."

I pet the frizzy gray hair on Nana's head. Mom says it's a waste of time to do her hair anymore. I don't agree with that. Looking nice was always important to Nana Di.

While I search for a book on the shelf standing in the corner of her room, a note book falls into my hands. It's scribbled full with cooking recipes. Among those are diary entries, though.

I hesitate. Reading Nana's diary is overstepping the lines of her privacy. It's wrong. However, forgetting one's life is wrong too. I need to read the diary.

When I turn back to my grandmother, she's passed out again. The new medication makes her drowsy all the time. At least she's not aggressive anymore. For a long time she was angry that Dad couldn't fix her condition. My father is only a doctor, not a miracle worker.

After bringing the tray back into the kitchen, I head back upstairs to check on Nana again. She's sleeping peacefully. I wrap the blanket a bit higher on her. My lips touch against her forehead.

"I miss you," I whisper, choking back tears. I hate that I always struggle holding back tears when I am near her. "Please, come back to me."

My chest feels too tight. I lean my head against the cold glass of the window. Then I remember the diary again. I grab it from the nightstand and walk out of the room.

Downstairs in the kitchen I pull out a glass and fill it with the blush wine we had with our lunch yesterday. It's cheap and fruity. I savor the rich taste of strawberries and summer on my tongue.

Wine like this always ends up giving me a headache like I sat in the sun for too long.

I flip the diary open. There's the recipe for the caramel crusted apple pie. It's asking for green apples, not the sweeter red ones. See? I knew it. I take another gulp from the wine. It fills my empty stomach with a pleasant warmth.

The phone rings. It's Tanya, informing me that she and the girls are going out after the restaurant closes tonight. I don't feel like dressing up, but I know my cousin won't take no for an answer.

"I'll pick your ass up at midnight, Cinderella." She laughs into the receiver before disconnecting the call.

My eyes stay glued on the little book in front of me on the table for hours. It's comforting to read through Nana's recipes. I can almost taste the food in my mouth.

The diary entries are short.

I went to the bank again, but they still refuse to give us the credit. What more can I do?

I flip to the next page and caress the ink on the paper with my fingertip.

How are we supposed to keep the girls in a good school when money is so tight?

The next few pages of the diary stick together. There's something sticky on the pages. Maybe she was cooking while writing in it.

My fingers flip though the book. I miss her so much. If she were dead, I couldn't be missing her more. Right now, she's gone but still alive. She's nothing but a ghost. I dig deeper into her lost past as I continue reading.

A couple of hours later my head is slightly dizzy from the wine. I am sitting squeezed between Tanya and Kate who are pushing a cocktail into my hands.

"White Russian." Tanya states, lovingly wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "Maybe it will help you lose that frown on your pretty face."

I sit up straighter, running my fingers though my hair. Usually I prefer straightening it when going out, but tonight I lost so much time reading Nana's diary. It's fascinating to me.

"She has no reason to frown." Irina states before gulping down her own drink by tilting her head back. She is the only one of my cousins who can handle alcohol worse than me. "My heart is broken."

Tanya runs her short fingernail along the edge of her glass to wipe a droplet of milk from its edge. "Get over it. You guys weren't even together."

"But we could have been." Her sister demands. "Imagine what pretty kids we could've had together."

I roll my eyes and nip on my cocktail. Like dating and cute guys are the only topics to talk about. In my head I count from one to ten. It won't take long until they start asking me those annoying questions again.

"We need to find a boyfriend for Alice. She might die a virgin." Irina says, holding her hand up to order new drinks for us. "Our pretty milk-chocolate heart over here is so shy."

Being shy and being gay while trying to hide it is two very different things. When I tell Kate or Irina, I might as well leave a post-it on my parents' fridge too. My cousins tell their mother everything. Aunt Sasha tells Mom everything. They are joined at the hip.

"Maybe Alice is just picky," Tanya states, squeezing my knee under the table. "Aren't I right, Sugar?"

The fake smile on my lips freezes colder than the ice cubes in my cocktail.

Sugar

Tanya knows me well enough to realize that something is wrong. "Are you okay?" she whispers, leaning closer to me.

I reach for the bowl with honey-crusted peanuts on the table and nibble on them. I should have eaten before we got here. "It's Nana." I tell her. "She always calls me Sugar."

My cousin sips on her drink. Tanya always manages to look like a lady while she is gulping down the hard stuff. "I know she calls you Sugar, Sugar."

I lift my glass to my mouth, smearing the lip gloss mark from it after putting it back on the table. "I wish she knew who I am."

Kate takes my hand and clasps it between hers. "We all wish she could get better again."

My mouth feels dry. I drink the remainder of my cocktail and order a soda. I need to slow down with drinking. Otherwise I will end the night throwing up.

"I found her diary today." I tell my cousins, taking a few more of the peanuts into my hand to nibble on them. What a sophisticated dinner for a restaurant critic. Aren't the peanuts in bars full of germs? I better not think of it.

"Did you read it?" Irina wants to know. It's her older sister who answers for me. "Of course, Ali has read it. Wouldn't you have read the diary, if you had been the one to find it? You love sticking your nose in other people's business all the time, Irina." Tanya says, sitting up straight to push out her chest when two guys pass by our table.

"Diaries are so romantic." Kate sighs loudly. "One of Cynara Parker's novels, Lovers under the Stars, is written entirely in Princess' Lydia's diary entries."

Tanya folds her arms on the table and starts playing with her silver bracelets. "Hello? We are talking about Grandma here, not some bullshit fake princess."

Kate sticks her pierced tongue out at her sister. "The only thing fake around here is your polyester hair." She tugs on one of Tanya's braids. "How can you dare to insult my heroine?"

"I bet Cynara Parker is a fat woman who lives with ten cats." Tanya teases her younger sister. "That's how you are going to end up too, if you keep on waiting for a fairytale prince."

She stands up, tugging her shirt a bit lower so that it falls over her right shoulder. In the corner of the club a brown-haired guy waves his hand at her. Tanya sure doesn't bother to wait for a man to make the first step. I admire her courage. She knows what she wants and isn't afraid to go for it.

Kate asks me about the diary. I mention the cooking recipes. However, I don't mention the other things I read in it. The countless struggles with money that Nana mentions. How she had to clean other people's houses at night to help keep their small restaurant running. It would have worked out fine for them. Nana and Grandpa were both hard workers. In the end they still had to sell the restaurant. According to the diary, he took it a lot worse than she.

"I knew he wasn't gay!" Irina calls out, smacking my arm so hard that I cry out in pain. "There's Jasper." She says, pointing to the entrance of the club. Next to Jasper is a Blonde. She's pretty but a bit too bony. Her long hair is pushed over her left shoulder, exposing a collarbone meant for kissing.

This is the dangerous thing about going out to straight clubs. You end up seeing beautiful girls that are completely off-limits.

Jasper puts his arm around the woman's waist and bends down to kiss her head. My cousin next to me mimics a puking noise.

"Look at that skinny ass! I knew he wasn't really gay. Maybe he just doesn't like black girls. Fucking racist!"

Kate laughs. "If I was a cute white guy, I'd be scared of you too. You suffocate men with your emotions."

"Stupid bitch! What do you know about love? You only know what's in your books." Irina snaps. "Alice, you are on my side, right? Tell me Jasper is not with that skinny white thing. Tell me she's his sister?"

I know that Jasper's twin sister, Rosalie, is heavily pregnant now with her first child. I watch fascinated how the object of my cousin's hate tortures her lower lip as if it was bubblegum. Her eyes wander around in the club like she wants to run away. She looks like Bambi right after his mother was shot.

My hand reaches for my cocktail. The ice has melted, making the milk and vodka taste watery. With a sigh I drink it down and stand up. "I'm going to say hi to Jasper. Save your temper for someone who deserves it."

Bambi Eyes doesn't smile at me when I step closer towards her and my co-worker. Her mouth is without a hint of lipstick on it. There's a bit mascara on her lashes but that's the only make-up she's wearing. I smile when I notice the freckles on the tip of her nose. Freckles are cute.

"Hey, Mr. Hale." I greet Jasper. "Are you switching teams now?"

He grabs a beer from the counter behind him and takes a long draft while I admire Bambi Eye's beauty. Her eyes are dark, a warm rich brown color with tiny gold flecks sprinkled all over them. My eyes move from the sharp lines of her collarbone down to her chest. Her breasts are small enough that she can go without a bra. Through the material of her sleeveless top, I can see a nipple getting a bit hard under the stretchy material.

"If I ever switch teams you'll be the first to know, Cullen." Jasper laughs. "By the way, this is my friend Bella. Bella, this is Alice Cullen. We work together at Culinary Jewels."

Bambi's mouth curls a bit upwards. It's like she hasn't smiled in a very long time, and has forgotten how to control the muscles in her mouth the right way.

I reach my hand out. Hers is small, cold and very soft. I rub my thumb over the back of her hand for a bit too long. She pulls back, hiding her hand in the pocket of her jeans. I don't want her to feel uncomfortable around me.

"It's nice to meet you." I tell her, leaning closer to speak into her ear so she can hear me over the music thundering around us.

It's the alcohol, that's making me braver than I usually am. I make it my goal to make Bambi Eyes smile at me tonight. "Likewise," she mumbles. Then I order Martinis for me and her. Jasper smirks like the moron he is and disappears through the back entrance of the club's kitchen. Thank you for leaving your friend alone with a complete stranger, asshole. Jasper is the most insensitive gay man I have met in my life.

"God, I'm starving." Bella calls out, snatching a couple of cocktail cherries from a bowl to stuff them into her mouth. Girl looks like she hasn't eaten in a while.

She steals an entire handful of olives from the bartender too. He smiles at her. Fucker

From across the room, Irina waves her hands. There is no way I am going to introduce them to each other. Bambi Eyes is no match for my love sick cousin. Iri can be such a bitch when she's frustrated. Damn it. Why do I feel like I need to protect Bambi from her?

"Would you mind going outside with me for a moment?" I ask her, fighting the urge to run my fingertip over that kissable collarbone. She's fragile. Mom would force her to eat syrup-covered bacon with every meal. I watch fascinated how Bambi – I need to force myself to remember her real name is Bertha…I mean Bella. I wrote a report about an Italian restaurant a while ago that was called Bella Italia. My feedback on their mushroom ravioli didn't win me over, for the chef there. Canned mushrooms are unacceptable.

"Are you too warm?" she asks back. "It's sticky in here. Isn't it? I had forgotten how clubs can be."

We head outside. I enjoy the view of her apple-shaped ass. I've always considered jeans to be boring. They definitely aren't boring on her. Right between where her shirt has rolled up a bit, I can see a strip of pale skin with a blue-inked tattoo. I want to see how deep the flower twine goes.

I want to see more of her.

I get to see more of her nipples as they tighten in the icy night air. My mouth is dying to close around the little nub and suck hard. I feel tempted to do a lot of things.

"Do you want an olive too?" Bella asks. "These are good. Not as good as the ones I had in Italy, but still good."

"You've been to Italy?"

We sit down on the fire escape behind the club. It's quiet. Despite the music, you can still hear out here.

"I went to Tuscany after finishing school last summer. It was lovely. You should go sometime."

"How about we go there together?" I ask, placing my hand on her knee. If she's not completely slow, she'll get the hint and will stop me. I need her to stop me; because I know I won't be the one doing it.