Chapter Three
Dark Matter: A term used to describe matter in the universe that cannot be seen, but can be detected by its gravitational effects on other bodies.
I've been one-half of a whole for six years.
I know that doesn't seem like a very long time, but I'm twenty-four, and looking back, it feels like a lifetime. Jake was front and center at my high school graduation, only a few months before I turned eighteen, and he helped me pack the back of my truck with boxes before we drove off to U-Dub together. We sat side-by-side in the Student Union as we filled out our first credit card applications. We argued about politics as we waited in line to cast our first ballots, and we clinked our shot glasses in a toast the night I got my first legal taste of alcohol (he held my hair back the next morning, too).
Jake's lips were the first ones that ever melted against mine, that learned every inch of my skin and made me feel like I was more than just an ordinary girl from some small town in Washington. I covered his neck with short breaths, soft sighs, and loving kisses the first time his body taught mine what it felt like to be a woman. His arms were the first ones I fell asleep in, and his heart was the first one I ever trusted with my own.
Six years of firsts. A quarter of my life.
Now it's just me.
No one to my left or my right, no one else to consider when I make plans, and no one to catch me when I fall. It's just me, alone, left to discover a whole new world of firsts on my own.
Sometimes, the firsts are exciting. Like when I made fried chicken for dinner two nights ago; something I'd avoided for years, since Jake hated the smell of it. So what if I made so much that I've had to eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day since? Each crispy bite is like a tiny taste of freedom. Sweet, batter-encrusted freedom.
I've done my first bit of redecorating, too. I bought a chair to replace the one that Jake took with him when he left; an overstuffed light-colored chaise that won't get stained by motor oil or greasy hands. A pretty lavender comforter covers my bed now, over soft, high thread count sheets that feel luxurious against my skin and lull me to sleep when my mind starts drifting to sad places.
Then, there are times when the firsts aren't so great. Like this morning, when I wrote my first rent check on paper that has my lonely name at the top, drawn from an account that only has my money in it. Or when I took a left out of the parking garage at work yesterday, and a deep, unsettling thud came from the front of my car.
I could've called Jake to take a look at it. I could've dialed his number and heard his voice, then waited for the rumbling of his truck to vibrate through the air as he pulled up outside of my apartment. I could've stood there and watched as he ducked under the hood, the thin cotton of his T-shirt stretching across his back to reveal that sliver of skin that I know so well. I could've handed him a wrench and then a screwdriver, and let him swoop in and save me.
I could've easily done all those things. But I didn't.
This is what my life is now. Curbing old instincts and changing what Jake's Bella would do into what Bella's Bella does do. And it's hard. Sometimes it's really, really hard.
But I'm doing it. Slowly and surely, I'm doing it.
Coming out of this breakup is like learning to live again; like waking up from a deep, dark sleep and opening my eyes to look at the sun. It hurts, and it takes some adjusting, but I do it. I smile, and it feels like taking a breath, like filling my lungs with warm, fresh air after being underwater for too, too long. And then I laugh, and it's tiny at first, but it gets bigger and bigger the more I do it. With each joke and smile, the laughing grows, and it's a step that moves me in the right direction. I smile and I breathe, and I laugh and I move, away from one thing and towards something else. Out of the darkness and into the sun.
I stumble sometimes, I do. Like last week, when I was going through some boxes in my closet. I came across an old bracelet Jake gave me on my sixteenth birthday, back before we'd messed everything up by falling in love with each other. Then, we were just us, smiling and laughing, friendly and uncomplicated, and that was what I missed. When I held the small, wooden charm he'd clasped on the bracelet that cold late summer day while we sat on the swing on my front porch, I let the tears fall; down my cheeks and onto my palm, covering that tiny carved wolf. I crawled across the floor and into the closet, and I cried until I couldn't cry anymore.
Even then, when I was curled up on the carpet with our past wrapped in my hand, I wouldn't have changed a thing. If we've lost our friendship forever, I can't bring myself to regret any of it. I still care about him, and I want what's best for him. But I have to look out for myself, and what we had wasn't good for either one of us. Pain and all, it's better this way. Now we both have a chance at being happy.
When night fell and my room grew dark, I pushed the sleeves of my blouses aside, and I stood up. I stepped out into my bedroom, and got into the shower to wash everything away. Then, I started over. And every day I make it through without having to start over is a victory.
I smile, and I breathe. I laugh, and I move. And I'm surer of myself now that I know what it feels like to fall.
I breeze in and out of work, not letting anyone or anything get to me or make me stumble. Not Jake, not my mother, and certainly not Edward Cullen. I stand straighter when I walk; I pull my shoulders back, and I have confidence. I'm becoming me again, and it feels great. So great, in fact, that even Shelly notices.
"You look good, kid," she says, as I walk past her on my way to get some tea. She sounds proud, and it makes me smile.
"Thank you."
She nods, and moves forward in her chair so she can rest her arms on top of her desk. Shelly is old, but sometimes, when the light hits her a certain way, I can see how beautiful she was as a young girl. Now, she's all wiry gray hair that's pulled up into a bun, black cat-eye glasses connected to a jeweled chain that hangs from her neck, and severe red lipstick that makes her mouth look like a paper cut.
"Broken hearts come and go. But the good times, well, they make everything else look like peanuts."
My eyes widen, and my mouth hangs open for a second before I ask, "How did-"
"I've been around the block a few times, honey. I know how it goes. The lunkhead probably didn't deserve you anyway," she says, lifting a long, shaky finger to her lips as she flips through an office supply catalog.
"No, it's not..." I begin, but I think better of it. It won't do me any good to rehash my personal life with the office manager, who's probably old enough to be my grandmother's grandmother. "Listen," I say, pointing at the door. "I'm going down to the cafe for some tea. Do you want to come? Or I could bring you back some coffee…"
She chuckles, and shakes her head. "Nah, I have a whole pot brewing in the kitchen. You're welcome to have some if you want."
I know she has a pot brewing, because the air in the office is so thick with the smell that I feel like I'm standing right next to Juan Valdez. I tried a cup a couple of weeks ago, and it was so strong that it took five creamers just to get the slightest bit of color. It looked like tar, and tasted like it, too.
"Oh, um..." I stammer uncomfortably, trying to figure out an easy way to tell her I don't want any, without hurting her feelings.
"It's okay. I'm sure Michael has warned you about it. I know he's said something."
He told me it tasted like piss, actually, but I figure it's probably best not to let her know that.
"I'm a lightweight," I tell her. "I can't handle the strong stuff."
"Fair enough. More for me."
"Okay, well, I'm just gonna..." I turn to leave, and get two steps away when Shelly calls me back.
"Edward's down there, and he's in a bit of a mood. Just thought I'd warn ya."
I groan. "Maybe I'll wait a few more minutes."
She shakes her head. "You will not. That boy is all bark and no bite. He gives you lip, you give it right back to him. And if he still gives you lip, send him over to me."
"Thanks," I laugh.
"Good luck," she calls after me, right before the heavy office door clicks shut.
One short elevator ride and seventy-six footsteps full of trepidation later, I'm standing at the end of a long line that nearly stretches out into the hallway.
Unfortunately, I'm standing at the end of this long line behind the aforementioned Edward Cullen.
I know he knows I'm behind him, because he saw me when I was walking up. Yet here he stands, right in front of me, without even bothering to acknowledge my presence by wishing me a good morning or even saying hello. Of course, I could say something, but I'm not at all inclined to be nice to him, and he's busy typing away on his BlackBerry anyway. Given how often I see him with it, I'm fairly sure that phone is his lifeline. I think his heart may stop beating if it's extracted from his palm for more than five minutes.
When we finally make it to the front of the line, he visits his cheery early morning disposition on the cashier.
"What do you mean, you're out?" Edward asks in that haughty tone I've grown to recognize and could probably identify in a room full of strangers, even with my eyes closed. "This is a coffee shop, you can't just be out of cups!"
"I didn't say we were out of cups." The cashier plants her hands on her hips as she squares off against him. "I said we were out of small cups. You can have a medium or a large."
"I don't want a medium or a large," he says indignantly. "I get a small here every morning."
"Well, unless all that wanting you're doing is going to magically make a stack of cups appear, if you want to drink some coffee today, you're going to have to buy a medium or a large." The cashier's head moves pointedly from side to side as she throws every bit of Edward's attitude right back at him, and I love her so much that I decide I'm going to give her a five-dollar tip.
Edward sighs so loudly that I can hear it over the grating noise of the coffee grinder behind the counter, and he shoves both hands in his pocket and searches for some change that probably isn't there. If I know Edward, and by now I think I do at least a little bit, he's probably only brought enough money with him to pay for the small, because he's a born accountant: all checks and balances, black and white, precise preciseness and exact exactness.
The people behind us are starting to get restless, and I've seen how cranky Edward can be without his hit of morning caffeine. So I take a step forward to stand right next to him and say, "I'll take a medium green tea for myself, and a medium coffee for him."
The cashier looks at me like I've just lifted a ten-ton weight off of her shoulders, while Edward just stares at me, completely dumbfounded. His mouth is hanging open, and the exact change for the small cup of coffee he'll never have sits unpaid in the palm of his outstretched hand.
His speechlessness sends a small thrill of victory coursing through my veins, until he opens his mouth and ruins it all.
"No, just give her the tea," he says, and turns to walk away. He can't even stop being an asshole when someone's trying to help him out.
I grab his elbow before he can leave. "Just take the damn coffee, Edward." He glances down at my hand, where it's wrinkling the sleeve of his shirt, and I immediately let him go. His expression changes for a moment, like he's debating his next course of action, until a look of resignation finally makes its way across his face.
The testy woman behind the counter gives him his cup, and I hand her my money and tell her to go ahead and keep the change. Edward doesn't wait for me to complete the transaction; instead, he turns and hightails it to the condiment bar in the middle of the cafe. I follow closely behind him, and as I take the top off of my cup, I notice how methodical he is about concocting his coffee.
One packet of sugar. Stir. Taste. One container of cream. Stir. Taste. Another packet of sugar. Stir. Taste.
I want to dump a rogue packet of Splenda in there to see if his head explodes.
When he finishes with his odd assembly, he shoves a few packets of sugar in his pockets, then takes his cup and stands awkwardly. His body is turned toward the door, as if he's unsure whether he should stand here and wait for me to finish what I'm doing before he takes off. He probably thinks he has to walk me to the elevator and back to the office now, and I don't feel particularly rushed to release him from his nonexistent obligation.
He watches me throw my trash in the trash can, and he's bouncing up and down as if his shoes are on fire. The second I make a move toward the door, he shoots out ahead of me like a gunshot just signaled the beginning of a marathon, and I'm out of the cafe before he finally slows his pace. I walk leisurely, enjoying the tension he exudes as he seems to use every ounce of control he has not to dart away from me. It must be comical to watch the two of us: me, slow and steady, and Edward, taking three steps ahead just to have to stop and wait for me to catch up.
"You don't have to walk with me." I'm still hoping that Edward might thank me for the coffee, but I'm beginning to realize that's probably a lost cause. He looks back at me out of the corner of his eye before his pace quickens and he leaves me behind. He slows a bit when he gets about fifteen feet away, like maybe he's second guessing himself, but that only lasts a few steps or so. When he turns the corner into the elevator bank a few moments later, he's completely out of my sight.
I turn the very same corner right as the elevator dings and the door opens. I follow Edward inside without a word, and before the door closes again, a pretty young blonde in a bright red dress enters. Edward and I each gravitate toward opposite sides of the elevator, just like we did the last time we were in here together. The young woman stands between us. She looks about my age, maybe a little younger.
She reaches forward to push the button for the sixth floor, and when she stands back, she fidgets as if every nerve in her body is buzzing. The toe of her right shoe is tapping against the floor, and her fingers are drumming against her hips as she impatiently checks her watch. She moves a medium-sized leather portfolio from underneath one arm to the other, looking nervous all the while.
"I like your dress," I say, hoping to relax her. The dress is rather plain, not anything out of the ordinary, but she looks like she could use a compliment and I want to be the one to give it to her.
The woman looks over at me, and her ruby red lips that match her dress turn up into a radiant smile. I notice that her hair is impeccably done and her makeup is flawless.
"Thank you," she says, and her voice cracks a little. She clears her throat before she speaks again. "I have an interview, and I wasn't sure if this was okay." She turns toward me and smooths her free hand over the fabric, from her waist to her thigh. I think she might be asking for my approval and on the off chance that she is, I offer it without hesitation.
"I think it's perfect." I give her the warmest smile I've got.
"Good."
It seems I've put her mind at ease, and I feel an odd sense of accomplishment. I look over at Edward, and I'm surprised to see that he's watching me. It doesn't last long though, because the moment my eyes meet his, he looks down at his cup.
When we finally reach the sixth floor, the woman turns and gives me a tentative smile.
"Good luck!"
"Thanks," she replies, and as she walks out of the elevator, Edward takes a huge step forward, like he's going to follow her.
I look down at the floor and watch as Edward's brown oxford plants down on a long stream of toilet paper stuck to the heel of the blonde's shoe. He pulls his foot back in the elevator as the doors begin to close, leaving the stream of paper on the landing, and my mouth practically hanging open.
He steps back almost immediately, as if he didn't even do anything out of the ordinary. He just rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably, then takes a sip of his coffee.
"That was nice of you," I say, and I know I sound shocked, because I am. The elevator is so quiet that I feel like I'm shouting into a cave or something, and I wait for my words to echo.
Edward doesn't reply, he just shrugs his shoulders and looks at the numbers as they rise, probably counting down the seconds until he can sprint out of this elevator. When the doors finally open, he does exactly that, and I shout a quick, "You're welcome for the coffee," in his direction as he scurries away from me.
An hour later, I'm sitting at my desk working on a spreadsheet when Garrett calls my name.
"May I have a word?" he asks, standing in front of his door with his hand on the handle as he holds the other one out toward me. I like the way he phrases his question; as if I have a choice, when clearly my only option is to have a word with him.
I grab a pen and a notepad and follow him into his office, then sink into a comfortable dark brown leather chair directly across from him. My face is hot, because I feel like I've just gotten called into the principal's office. Oh, why does this make me so nervous?
"I'm glad you brought a pen," he says, smiling. "Always prepared. I like that." Even though the compliment is simple, I bask in the praise he's just given me. I don't know why it feels so good to have his approval, but it does. It makes me feel more competent. "I want to talk to you about the retreat we have coming up."
I shift in my seat slightly, sitting up so that I can write. This is the first thing I've heard about a retreat.
"Well, it's not a retreat so much as it is a camp out. My wife says that calling it a retreat makes it sound more interesting, more corporate." Garrett laughs as he lifts some papers off of his desk so he can look at his calendar. "Every year, I take everyone in the office out to Dash Point. I know you all have lives and family commitments and other important things, so I'll only keep you for one night, but I think that it's good to get away from the monotony of work and spend some time together getting to bond with one another. It's nothing too strenuous, just some team-building exercises and all that. It's fun. Attendance is not required, but I do encourage everyone to come. You'll be paid for the two days, and I'll pocket the expenses."
I nod, ticking off little snippets of his speech into bullet points on my notepad. I strategically cover the doodles that decorate the top right corner of the paper, because I don't want him to know that I'm a doodler. It's dumb really, but I feel like those hearts and flowers and things tell him more about me than I'm ready to share.
"Most of it has already been arranged," he says, reaching over to wiggle his computer mouse, "but I just need you to follow up on a few things, and make sure everything is confirmed."
"I can do that. When is it?"
"Three weeks from now. We'll leave on Friday morning, and be back late Saturday afternoon."
I write that down, too. "Doesn't take long to build a team here, does it?" It's one of those stupid things I tend to say every now and then that makes me wish there was some kind of verbal filter attached directly to my mouth.
Garrett laughs. "We all work well together, don't you think?"
Except for Edward, I want to say. But I remember that he's Garrett's golden boy, and manage to keep my mouth shut. "Like a machine that squeaks a bit from time to time," I reply, cringing. I want to smack myself in the face for sounding so utterly ridiculous.
"Just think about this as a little bit of oil." He's grinning at me, probably thinking I'm an idiot. "It'll be fun, and I hope you'll come."
"Of course I will," I reply, nodding. Don't say anything else, Bella. Shut it.
"Good. I'd like you to call the van company and the campground and make sure they still have our reservations." He shuffles some papers around on his desk, and finds a yellow Post-It, then presses it against his calendar and scratches off some writing as he talks to me. "I'll send you the contact information."
"Okay. Anyone else for me to contact?"
"I'm sure there is, but I'll let you know when I think of it." Garrett is not so big on organization; that's something I'm trying to help him out with. He probably has two other Post-Its with more information written on them somewhere he's yet to find. "We'll need to arrange to bring some food, but we can figure out the logistics of that later."
"All right," I say, making some kind of awkward attempt to stand up. It's one of those situations where I'm not sure whether he's finished with me or not, even though it seems like the conversation is over.
Garrett leans over and picks up the phone receiver, cradling it against his shoulder. "Oh, Bella. I have this conference call, and it's probably going to run long." He shifts in his chair and pulls out his wallet, then hands me a credit card. "I've asked Mike to lead the staff meeting; why don't you go ahead and get sandwich orders from everyone and make it a working lunch?"
"Do you want anything?"
He shakes his head and smiles at me as he dials a phone number, and I turn and walk out, shutting the door quietly behind me.
I solicit for lunch orders, and of course, the one person who's reluctant to give his to me is the one person I'd least like to badger. But it's close to eleven and if I don't order soon, the food won't get here in time for our meeting.
"Do you know what you want?" I ask Edward impatiently as I stand on the other side of his desk. He's been looking at the menu for at least five minutes, pouring over it like it's ancient text. For someone whose diet seems to consist mainly of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and coffee, he's having a hard time figuring out what he wants to eat to change the monotony.
"This isn't your last meal."
He rolls his eyes as he jots something down, then hands me a piece of paper with what has to be the longest, most specified sandwich order known to man. Two hundred years earlier, this thing would've been on a piece of parchment so long it would stretch down the hallway.
"Do you order like this everywhere you go?"
"Not that it's any of your business," he replies, "but no. Why?"
"Well, I worked at a restaurant my freshman year in college, and a complicated order like this is just begging to be tampered with." I don't know why I'm goading him. Maybe it's residual anger because he never thanked me for his coffee, or maybe I just want to take the first shot for once. I want to mess with his head like he's messed with mine.
He sighs, and turns to face me. "What do you mean?"
I lean over his desk to get real close to him, and in my most dramatic storytelling voice I say, "One of the waitresses I worked with used to spi-"
I'm interrupted by the buzzing of his cell phone. He doesn't even think twice about me, he answers the call and pleasantly says, "Hi," before glaring at me, giving me my cue to leave.
I retreat back to my desk to call in our order, and as I read off the list of sandwiches that my coworkers want to eat, I watch Edward as he stands looking out the window again, his phone pressed to his ear. He gets a call right around the same time every day, and his demeanor changes so dramatically that I'm beginning to wonder who it is on the other line.
Forty-five minutes later, I'm sitting at a long, mahogany table in the middle of our biggest conference room, with the rest of my coworkers sitting in nearly perfect intervals around it. Mike's standing at the head of the table, looking like he's holding court. It's obvious that he relishes the free rein Garrett's given him to lead the meeting, and his enthusiasm makes me smile. I do wonder, however, why he gave the honor to Mike, and not Edward.
It seems like Edward's wondering the same thing, given the way he's sitting here all sullen, scribbling in his notebook and punching the numbers on his calculator furiously, not even paying attention.
"Guys, it's so important that we enter our billable hours on time every Thursday. If we don't get them in, not only does it hold up our pay, but it holds up the firm getting paid as well." Mike turns a green fountain pen around and around in his hands as he talks. "We're accountants, let's act like we care about the money, okay? I don't think Garrett wants to have to dock anyone for negligence." Mike eyes Tyler Crowley, who is notoriously lax in adhering to deadlines, and everyone else in the room follows suit.
Tyler looks embarrassed at first, then the right side of his mouth lifts up into a guilty grin. "Okay, okay," he says. "You don't all have to be so obvious about it. I know I'm forgetful."
I haven't had much interaction with Tyler, but he seems like a nice enough guy, and I want to help him out. "Maybe I could send out a reminder email to you, and-"
"The fact is that Garrett has given us all a method of timekeeping that's easy to use, and we should be using it," Edward says, like I hadn't even been talking. "If you can't remember to enter your time in, you probably need to reevaluate your priorities."
Mike is taken aback for a moment, and everyone's eyes are on Edward, and then they move to me. My face is so hot, and I'm embarrassed, even though I didn't do anything to be embarrassed about. I look down at my sandwich, as if it's going to drain some of the tension from the air. If Edward were Emmett, my elbow would be introducing itself to his ribcage right about now.
"Reminder emails would be helpful Bella, thank you." Mike doesn't even acknowledge Edward or his outburst.
Jessica looks at me and rolls her eyes, mouthing something that I don't quite catch.
"I know you're all eager to finish eating," Mike says as he sits down and scoots his chair in. "Before we end, Garrett just wanted me to remind everyone about the retreat coming up on the twenty-sixth of June."
Everyone groans, and the sound makes me wonder what exactly is so bad about camping.
"What exactly do you guys do at these retreats?" I ask, before I take a bite of my sandwich. Even though Garrett's already given me the details, I feel like I'll get more information from these people.
"Trust falls, team exercises, bonding, that kind of shit," Mike says before shoving half of his sandwich in his mouth.
"Michael!" Shelly says, looking offended. "Watch your mouth."
"Stuff," Mike replies with his mouth full. "That kind of stuff." He glances over at Shelly, and gives her a sheepish smile.
I reach over to get some salad from the huge bowl in the middle of the table, and just when I grab the tongs, something pulls on me. I look back to my left, and Edward is holding the hem of my shirt up as it dangles precariously over my plate full of salad dressing. If he lets go, I have no doubt that with the oil and everything that's on there, the shirt will probably be ruined.
"Thank you," I say as I sit down. Edward says nothing; he just gives me a faint smile and returns to his calculator and the jumble of numbers on his legal-sized yellow notepad.
As I watch him write, I'm unsettled. Edward is a haughty jerk one minute, a polite do-gooder the next, and I can't help but wonder what his deal is. He should turn me off, but I can't figure him out, and my mother would be the first to attest that I've never been one to back away from a challenge. He fascinates me; his attitude and the small glimpses I get of his kindness. I'm like a kid with a jigsaw puzzle; I know I won't rest until I figure out how all of his pieces fit together.
"Are you going to come to the retreat, Bella?" Jessica asks.
"Yes," I reply, and I notice in my peripheral vision that Edward has stopped writing.
"It's pretty fun," Mike says, and the look on my coworkers' faces tells me that Mike's idea of fun might be a little different from theirs. "Last year, Edward fell off of a rock when he thought a wolf ran through our campsite." Mike stifles a laugh by shoving some potato chips in his mouth. "He squealed like a five-year-old girl."
I smile, and a few other people snicker. Even though I'm sure it didn't happen the way Mike is insinuating, the mental image of Edward being scared of a wolf is kind of amusing.
"If I remember correctly," Edward replies, not even missing a beat, "you got poison ivy all over your ass after you took a dump in a patch of it."
Everyone's eyes slowly shift over to Mike, who's just staring at Edward. The only noise in the room is the piece of chicken salad that falls on Mike's plate from the sandwich he's holding about a foot away from his mouth. Edward cracks the tiniest bit of a smile and Shelly starts laughing, a loud guffaw that echoes through the whole room.
"That's what you get for telling people my coffee tastes like urine," Shelly says, elbowing Mike's arm. She's smiling at him, teasing him, but he's too embarrassed to respond.
Jessica looks over at her guy, and her cheeks are flaming red. Mike doesn't look up, doesn't even move a muscle, and I feel so bad for him that I have to look away.
I turn and look at Edward. He grins at me, and even though it's only for a moment, his eyes dance, and his whole face just glows. It's the first time I realize just how handsome he is, and I was right; he really does have a wonderful smile.
My gaze moves over to the plate of food sitting in front of him, where he's deconstructed his sandwich and has all the different components sitting separately, side by side. Lettuce, turkey, pickles, and onions around the edges, and two slices of fresh red tomato right in the middle. He's got the bread they were on all sealed up in a plastic baggie. I don't even know where that thing came from, since all of our food was delivered in aluminum foil.
He was too cheap to pay for a thirty-cent up size in his coffee earlier, so I'm not exactly surprised that he wants to stretch someone else's dime for all it's worth, but I am curious why he took the whole thing apart. I lean forward and reach for a napkin to nonchalantly check and see if he's hoarding plastic ware or wet wipes, or something weird like that. There's nothing but Edward's little OCD plateful of dissected sandwich, so I sit back in my chair, more curious about him than ever.
Does he not like to eat in front of people? Does he get grossed out if his food touches? I wish I'd paid more attention to him earlier, because he's starting to remind me of Charlotte, the redheaded nerd I used to sit next to during lunch in high school. She'd always cut her paper bag in half, then spread it out, and set a piece of her meal on each corner. She'd eat her food going clockwise, always saving her dessert for last, which sat right in the middle.
It was one of the weirdest things I'd ever seen someone do with their food. Until today.
Edward notices me staring, and his fingers touch the edge of his plate, moving it over about a foot, as if that will somehow make it invisible.
He grinned at me earlier, so I tease him.
"Storing up for the winter?" I ask, nodding toward that strange plate of leftovers.
My good-natured smile slowly fades as I watch the heat rise to his face, and his eyebrows knit together before he turns away. He slowly wraps a sheet of foil over the plate, carefully crimping it around the edges, before puts the plate on top of his note pad and stands up.
"I have to go," he mutters. He puts a few packets of mayonnaise in his pocket before he turns and walks out.
I tuck my hair behind my ear as I watch him disappear, wondering what exactly it is that I've done wrong.
Later, as the sky burns a bright orange through the windows in Alice and Jasper's dining room, I sit across from them at the table as I eat the last cheesy forkful of burrito that's left on my plate.
They're so in love with each other that it's everywhere in this house. On the walls, where picture after picture of the two of them hang, side by side. On the mantle, where framed copies of their wedding vows sit; forever staring back at them every time they warm themselves by the fire. In the air around them as they look at each other, all googly-eyed and smiling, like they're the only two people in the world.
Jasper's telling me a story about the little girl next door, and I tune in halfway through. This makes me a horrible guest, I know, but I've been too preoccupied with my surroundings to be able to pay full attention.
"Poor thing was shaking, just terrified to go out in the backyard. Her mother carried her over here to introduce us, hoping that she'd calm down a bit. When I opened the front door, Bree-her name is Bree-had her face all tucked up into her mom's neck. She didn't even want to look at me," Jasper says, sneaking a sly sideways glance at Alice.
"Why was she so scared?" Of course, there are a multitude of possibilities. Jasper's big on home improvement, and he's always got a table saw or something loud going on the weekends. Or maybe she saw him walking around outside during that month he had to wear the eye patch, after he took a cleat to the face during one of his baseball games. Alice and I had taken to calling him 'Jasp-arrrrr,' since he looked so much like a pirate. It could be because of Alice and Jasper's infamous Halloween parties, where they both go all out to decorate the garage for the kids to come Trick-or-Treating. Jasper and Jake always loved to think up the scariest costumes…
Jake.
"Alice's sister had the kids over here the other weekend, you know, when it was so nice out, and I was playing with them in the backyard-"
"Terrorizing them, more like," Alice says, reaching over and clasping her hand with his. Jasper keeps talking, but I focus on their fingers, the way they intertwine. It's a never-ending zigzag of fingers and flesh and togetherness that I've forgotten I miss until now. "Poor Bree heard the kids screaming, and Jasper chasing them, she thought they were being tortured or something!"
"So what happened?"
"She and Jasper became fast friends," Alice explains, looking at Jasper adoringly. "She invited him over to a tea party next week. I'm making the finger sandwiches."
Jasper eyes her suspiciously, and Alice quickly corrects herself.
"I'm buying the finger sandwiches." Her face is red, but she's smiling, so big. She's beautiful when she's happy like this.
Jasper laughs and leans over to kiss Alice's cheek, and they look at each other with secrets and love and everything that I don't have. They used to sit like this when we'd team up and play poker here, the third Saturday of every month. She and Jasper on one side of the table, and me and Jake on the other. They'd smile at each other like two sly dogs, and when Jasper would get up to fill the pretzel bowl so Alice could try to cheat, Jake would put his hand on my thigh and lean over to kiss my neck...
It happens so fast I don't even realize what's going on until I feel that horrible tingling shooting down my neck to my fingertips, and my heart is pounding so fast, so fast. I rub my sweaty palms across the denim on my thighs, and I keep staring at the empty seat next to me, the one that felt so much more comfortable when Jake was in it. Now it's just empty, and I could move over and sit there if I wanted to. It shouldn't be that easy to just move, should it? He should be here, right? He's always been here, and it felt right, and this feels so strange and empty, and-
"Bella?" Alice asks. I look up, and my eyes meet hers. "Did you hear what I said?"
"What?"
Her eyebrows crease, and she frowns. She looks worried, because she knows something's up. Alice shouldn't frown, and Alice shouldn't be worried. So I lie.
"I just got...I was thinking about something Em asked me to do. I forgot, and..."
I smile, and I breathe.
"What did you say?"
"I was just wondering how you were getting along with that guy at your office who has the stick up his ass," she asks, looking over at Jasper.
"Edward?"
"Yeah," she says. "Edward with the stick up his ass."
"He's still, you know...full of wood."
I laugh, and I move.
"You cooked, Jasper. I'll get the dishes," I say. I don't want to talk about Edward, or Jake, or work. I grab my plate and Alice's and walk over to the sink on unsteady legs; then I walk back to the dining room and pick up some more dishes. By the time I have the table clear, I'm sure-footed and relaxed. My heartbeat is normal, and the awful tingling is gone.
I held myself up.
I don't think anyone's ever washed a sink full of dishes with a bigger smile on their face.
When the leftovers are put away and the dishwasher is churning, Jasper brings dessert to the table. He places small plates in front of Alice and me, then he takes the top off of the pie plate that sits in front of us.
"Oh, God." Alice clasps her hand over her mouth before she runs to the bathroom. Jasper follows right behind her, and before the door even shuts, I put two and two together.
While they're gone, I stare at the pattern on the tablecloth and try not to think about the empty space beside me, or the new family that's forming right there down the hall. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room seems so loud, and the longer I sit here, the louder it gets. I've never been so aware of time before.
I'm happy for them, I am. But this happiness comes along with such an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I grab my water glass and bring it to my lips, then gulp it down, hoping it will fill up that empty spot and leave me with the happiness.
I want to keep the happiness. I grip it. I cling to it, hoping it will help me push the other thing away. I drink and I drink, but the emptiness stays, the stubborn bastard.
When Alice and Jasper finally come out of the bathroom, I stand and rush over to them with outstretched arms. "Congratulations," I say, tightly squeezing them both. The happiness flows through my fingertips and across their shoulders. With every beat of my heart, it pumps out of me and onto them. I feel selfish, because I want them to have it, but I need it, too. I want to keep it, but I give it away.
"When?"
"November twenty-second," Jasper says, beaming. "We're having a turkey."
I laugh, because that is just such a Jasper thing to say. I wait for him to make a joke about basting, because he's twisted like that. I wait and wait. I need the joke. I need to smile and breathe, and laugh and move. I need the push he'll give me, but it doesn't come.
When I let go of them, I stand back and watch how they are together. Jasper is as attentive as ever, and Alice just blooms whenever she's around him; all red cheeks and grins and glowing skin. I've never really envied their relationship...until now. It's a strange kind of envy though; it's not jealousy of what I'm missing now, but anger that I didn't realize that this was what I'd been missing while I was with Jake.
Before Alice returns to the dining room, Jasper throws out the pie in the trash can in the garage. We talk for a little while, but as I sit here and listen to their plans for the baby's room, and the cold, gloppy goo Alice hates getting squirted on her at the doctor's office, I begin to feel so very out of place. I'm the unsure, unsettled child, and they're the adults with the mortgage and the rings and the soon-to-be bundle of joy.
They have roots, and I drift. Just like my mother said. Realizing that she was right makes my stomach sink all the way down to my toes.
When I pull out of Alice and Jasper's driveway, I dial the first saved number on my cell phone, and I attempt a smile when Emmett answers on the second ring.
"Tell me I'm not a bad person."
"You're not a bad person."
"Thanks," I laugh.
"What are you not being a bad person about?" He sounds worried, and I love that about him. It's like he knows what I need to talk about before I even open my mouth.
"I just had dinner at Alice and Jasper's," I say as I slow to a stop at a red light.
"Yeah, that would upset me too. Remember that time Alice made potato salad? Turned me off of the stuff forever."
"Yes." Then the quiet comes, and my turn signal gets louder and louder as the seconds pass. "Alice is going to have a baby," I finally say, and I start to cry, even though I don't know what on earth I'm crying about.
"Bell, don't," Emmett says, soothing me just like he always does.
"I don't even want a baby!" I'm nearly shouting, and definitely laughing. I swipe away at the tears on my cheeks, because these emotions are so ridiculous.
"Well, I guess it's good you're not the pregnant one, then," he teases, but his voice is very gentle, very Emmett.
"I don't even want a baby, and I'm jealous. I'll get to be cool Aunt Bella with gum in her purse who plays fun games and never has to spank the kid. I won't have to change shitty diapers and wake up in the middle of the night to warm bottles. I get the best end of this deal. What's my problem? Why am I jealous of something I don't even want?"
Emmett sighs, and he's quiet for a while. He's probably formulating a plan in that beautiful brain of his.
"I don't know why you're jealous, Bell. It's probably the same reason I get jealous whenever I see my neighbor's Corvette. I don't even want a Corvette. What in the hell would I do with it? I'm too tall, and even though it's flashy and nice and stuff, it's not me. I'm stuck with my shitty old Jeep, and sometimes, when I look at that 'vette, I think I'd like to have one just to see what it's like for a while. Then Rosie catches me daydreaming, and reminds me that my legs would cramp up and my knees would kill me if I drove that thing, and that I'd look like an asswipe going through a mid-life crisis just sitting in it. But it's kind of cool, and when I see it, I can't help but imagine, you know?"
"Okay..."
"But...I'm saving up for that Expedition I want; it's just my style, and I know I'll love it once I find the perfect one. When the time is right, I'll have it. You're just saving up for your Expedition, Bell. Jake was your Corvette: a great guy, but just not practical for your lifestyle. Alice and Jasper's life is a flashy thing to look at right now, but it's not you. When the time is right, you'll find the person who fits."
I smile. Of course Emmett would try to reassure me about my love life by using a car metaphor.
"Besides, you and a baby? Don't you remember what happened to Donatello?"
"Oh, you're gonna bring up the hamster again? That wasn't my fault! Mom told you not to put him in that ball!" And now I'm laughing. Not laughing through tears; just laughing, and it's wonderful. It makes my face light up and my heart feel full. So very, very full. The emptiness is gone; chased away by my brother's kindness, and that stupid hamster who used to roll around Emmett's bedroom in that see-through pink ball.
I was wrong when I said I was alone in this thing. Because I have Jazz and Al. And I have Emmett.
I'm breathing, and I'm moving. I'm back on steady feet. Only the ground beneath me is sturdier now, because Emmett helped me reach up and snip that last cord that tied me to Jake, my Corvette. I can do a little car shopping now; look around to see what fits me. Until I find it, I'll just have to walk. And that's not so bad, really.
I'm free. It feels so scary and wonderful. So peaceful and light.
"I love you Em," I say. I don't think I can ever tell him this enough.
"I love you, too."
For tonight, it's all I need.