I don't own these characters. They are the sole property of Stephenie Meyers. I only borrow them. No humans are permanently harmed through my actions, though I do confess to harassing, annoying, torturing, and exasperating them – just because it's fun. I make no money from my little stories, sad day. I only play in the sandbox, I didn't build it.
#2 In This House
The door closed behind the movers one last time, and I heaved a sigh of relief. At last, we were alone in our new home. Upstairs I could hear the boys good-naturedly arguing with each other. Fortunately, being Army brats, moving never bothered them much. Even this one, which they took in stride like they always did. They expected to move because we always did. Like me, they had learned to make friends quickly in any new place they found themselves. My own father's constant relocations had forced me to overcome my shyness. Now, I was grateful. It had been good preparation for my adult life. Like me, my boys adjusted quickly to new people, new places, and new situations. Of course, nothing could have really prepared for this new life. A life without Mac. Even now, it was hard to comprehend.
I sat down on the couch and sank into like an old friend. I rubbed my hand over the nubby fabric. It was in an earth tone. Mac and I had both like the earthy colors, the shades found in nature. Besides, it was Scotch-Guarded, and with four boys, that was the most important thing. Practical was better than pretty when you had kids. I closed my eyes, remembering the day we had picked it out.
~THTF~
"God Bella," Mac had been bitching. "We've seen a thousand couches. And you're telling me that not one of them is right?" He hated shopping unless it was being done in a hardware store. The man could spend hours in the screw and fasteners section along. One Christmas I'd given him a huge box of assorted screws, fasteners, bolts, and nuts in the hopes of avoiding that section of the hardware store for a while. No such luck.
"I'll know it when I see it," I promised him. Mac had rolled his eyes and shook his head, but a smile tugged at his mouth. He was annoyed, but not too much. I knew he'd indulge me. And he had, following me to easily half a dozen stores. Then we had walked into a small, family-owned business called Polk's – and there it was. My couch. It was like we had been made for each other.
I sat down on it and patted the seat beside me. "Come here, soldier," I invited. I fluttered my eyelashes at him in an outrageously exaggerated motion.
Mac grumbled and muttered, but he sat down beside me. "So…do we have a winner?" He sounded tired and cranky.
I laughed and leaned over to kiss him. He looked around guiltily. My husband was sometimes reticent about showing affection…in public. He hadn't grown up with a hugger for a mom like I did. In private, it was a whole different matter.
"It's a good cuddling couch," I whispered.
"Yeah?" Then he winked. "Well, if our boys let us have any actual cuddling time we'll have to give that a shot."
I rolled my eyes. "I know, I know." Our lives had been increasingly hectic. Our youngest son Jake was just about to turn two and was into everything. Any trouble he might have missed, his brothers obligingly pointed out for him. I was exhausted most days, and Mac's hours had been long too.
We had the will, just not the energy. We'd make time tonight, I vowed. Even if I had to chug Monster to do it. "I love you," I said, snuggling up next to him for a moment.
I felt his lips touch my hair. "I love you too, Bells."
~THTF~
"Mom!" It was Seth calling my name. I sighed, knowing my moment of peace was over. It had been good while it lasted, I mused. "Emmett won't leave me alone!"
"If I have to come up there, you're all going to be sorry!" I yelled back up. Then I heard Emmett.
"I told you!"
Then Sam piped up. "Guys, come on. Let's try and give Mom some quiet time."
"Yeah," Jake added. "Geez." He sounded completely disgusted, and at six years old, he had a knack for it. "Just try, why don't you?"
I laughed in spite of myself. My boys were trying so hard to be good, to be absolutely perfect little gentlemen so I wouldn't be stressed. The only problem was, they weren't perfect little gentlemen and to be honest, I didn't want them to be. I just wanted them to be…themselves. I wanted them to be the kids they had been before Mac's death, sometimes whiny, sometimes good, and just generally the adorable little pains in the ass that I knew and loved so well. Even when they drove me crazy, they were mine and I loved them - the real boys I knew they were.
Still, I had to admit that they had handled this move with far more grace than I had. I had been prone to tears, panic attacks (always when I was by myself even if I had to run into the nearest bathroom), and just generally been an emotional wreck. If it hadn't been for the boys, I had a suspicion I might have curled up in a ball and just mentally checked out. But I couldn't do that; I had a responsibility to them to try and make things normal again. A new kind of normal, not as good as the old normal, but it was all we had.
Part of what made this move for me so very difficult was that this was the first time we'd moved without him. Sometimes we had had to wait a while for Mac to join us, or sometimes he would move ahead of us, but we always known that the reunion was imminent. Now, of course, there was only this painful knowledge that he would never unpack these boxes, or argue with me over the placement of the silverware in this kitchen, or ask me a thousand times where the remote or the shovel or his lucky pair of socks were hiding here.
Mac wasn't coming to this home. He would never sit in this living room or help me decide what color to paint it. He would never sweat and swear as he tried to fix the fence out back, or change the oil in the SUV on this driveway. His tools would not fill this garage and his book would never rest on the nightstand in that bedroom upstairs. He wouldn't groan and roll over when the sun came streaming in that bedroom window and plead for five more minutes. I wouldn't hear him stumble to the bathroom and hit the wall on our first night here, as he invariably would have. He wouldn't go up to those rooms where the boys were supposed to be sleeping and warn them to quiet down. He wouldn't steal samples from the pots on this stove, or keep opening this oven to check on the brownies. He wouldn't fling open this door and yell out, "I'm home from the salt mines!" He wouldn't try to be quiet as he made love to me in our bed upstairs, or laugh at me when I got too loud, as I usually did. He'd never sneak in that blue and ivory bathroom and try to shower with me, or slam its door when he was annoyed with me. Mac would never bitch about mowing this lawn or planting flowers in this yard or putting up bird feeders in these trees. He wouldn't be here to make this house a home.
That was up to me now.
I sighed. I had the boys, and they had me – and that would have to do because we didn't have a choice in the matter. Our choices had been taken away by a single piece of shrapnel in the middle of a desert half a world away. We'd work through this adjustment period as we had done everything else – together. I closed my eyes and let the normal sounds of four boys permeate my senses. This was the music of my life, except now there was a note missing. Mac. It had only been two months so I knew it was much too soon to expect my grief to start to dull. But I wondered if I would ever not feel this terrible ache that threatened to overwhelm me every moment of the day. Right now it felt sort of like a forever thing.
I decided that I needed sleep more than I needed to supervise the boys at that moment. I was fairly certain that they wouldn't kill each other in the next hour or so. I reclined on the couch and closed my eyes and gave myself up to slumber. It was shockingly easy, especially considering how little I'd been sleeping lately. Or maybe that's why I slipped under so easily.
I soon found myself in that strange place just before waking and yet not quite asleep. Mac's lips were tracing a teasing pattern up and down my throat. "Mac…" I whispered, half-protesting, but not too much. It had been so long… I was tired, but maybe not that tired.
"Sweetheart," he whispered. "You've got to take better care of yourself."
"What?" I shivered at the feel of his warm breath against my ear. God I loved it when he did that – and he knew it.
"I'm worried about you, Bells," Mac said. "You're not eating like you should. And I can't remember the last night you actually slept all the way through."
I murmured and shifted against him. He was so solid and warm behind me and somehow we fit perfectly on the couch together, tucked up against each other like when we were newlyweds and would watch old movies together. "I'm trying," I said. "It's just so hard. I'm so lonely."
Our conversation made no sense, but that was all right. How could I be lonely? Mac was right here with me. I felt too peaceful to worry about it.
"Try harder…for me, Bella," Mac murmured. "I love you so much, and I don't want to see you go down this road."
"The road is wide and long, Mac." I had no idea why I had said that, but my body felt languid and contented to be near his. I didn't want to think; I just wanted to feel. Feel him next to me.
"Promise me something?" His voice sounded softer, as if he was getting farther away, which made no sense at all because I could still feel him behind me.
"Anything for you, Mac…" I was getting so very sleepy again. I knew in just a few seconds I would be out. But I had a promise to make. What was it again?
"Promise me that you'll let yourself be happy again," Mac said in his ever-fainter voice. "Fall in love…be happy again…please…find what I can't give you anymore…I won't be able to stand it if you're miserable forever…"
"Mac?"
Nothing but silence.
"Mac?'
I woke up, startled and gasping for breath. It had been so real; he had been so real. I had felt his arms around me, his breath against me, the length of his body pressed to mine. But it had been no more than a cruel illusion. Nothing more.
I was still alone and that was the cruelest thing of all.
