Chapter Three – Dinner Party
"You will never guess who I ran into at the market today." My mother exclaimed one morning, having returned from her trip to get groceries. As she stormed through the doors she had that breathless look of wonder in her eyes. Carlisle barely looked up from his medical journal, and I did not look up from my novel.
"Who?" I asked after a long silence, playing into her game. Carlisle was certainly doing more noteworthy research than I was at this point. I was saving him the triviality.
"Charlie Swan." She said with rampant amusement. The name held no significance to me, but I suppose it did to Carlisle.
"Oh yes, he's sheriff around here." Carlisle grinned crookedly, still looking with diligent intent on his reading. I departed my gaze briefly from my own studies to see their exchange. Nostalgia glimmered in their eyes.
"He looks exactly the same, only a little less hair on top of his head." She giggled, her youth swiftly recaptured. "We spoke for quite a while, and I invited him and his daughter to dinner. I do hope you don't mind."
Carlisle shrugged, finally escaping the clutch of his studies. "I didn't realize Isabella was in town. Luckily tonight is my night off. An evening with the Swans sounds nice."
That tolerance Carlisle possessed right now eluded me. Stiff dinners with complete strangers. I shuddered at the thought.
"Oh, relax Edward." She shook me from my presentiment. "Isabella is your age, and she's a delightful girl."
My mother's definition of delightful hardly resembled my own.
"Wonderful." I muttered under my breath. While my mother chattered about dinner plans, what to cook, how to prepare, I threw my book under my shoulder and made my way outside.
There would be more peace out there, and a much more noble achievement than indoors.
A cool breeze came in from the west, sifting through the leaves, rustling my book pages. This serene quiet soothed me, kept me patient. This was not for my benefit, but for Carlisle's. Dr. Cullen, in his undying courage when it came to medical procedures, was absolutely terrified of talking to Miss Platt. Esme, as she preferred to be called, had similar feelings of shyness.
I knew it would not be a coincidence when he appeared a few minutes into our conversation. He felt it would be conspicuous if he were always waiting outside for her to stop by. So he concocted this little ruse for his own security. I would sit outside, long enough to start a conversation, and Carlisle would jump in.
It was endearing watching how timid they would act around each other, though both knew how in love they were. Both were too terrified to make the first move.
And I ended up their mediator. Lucky me.
Right on time, Esme appeared. "Mr. Masen!" She called, her slim figure slinking towards me fast. "Beautiful weather today, don't you think?" Her peaceful eyes lingered gratuitously up at the perfect azure sky.
I closed my book, the pages ruffling one last time in protest, and I gave her my most sincere smile. "It is! How are you today, Miss Platt?"
"Wonderful." She sighed languorously, her gaze fixed on the house. It did not take me long to figure out that the source of her good mood was not the weather, but a certain blonde doctor now making his way outside.
"Edward, your mother is...Oh, Miss Platt! I didn't know you were here." Carlisle exclaimed once he was within range. I bit my tongue to hold back the laughter at his blatancy. Acting was not his strong suit, evidently.
"It's Esme, and I was just talking weather with your visitor." She smiled so sweetly, it was hard not to grow enamored with her pure beauty. "I'm afraid this is only a visit of leisure, Mrs. Newton was being very fastidious...important company, I suppose." Her normally ample basket sat under her arm empty.
The joy radiating off of Carlisle was overwhelming. On the bright side, it made being near him congenial. It was suddenly as if my life's mission was to bring these two together. Carlisle's happiness was valuable at the moment.
Inspiration struck. We were already having company tonight, and since it was hopeless for me to enjoy myself, we might as well make someone happy. While Miss Platt was busy examining the clouds, rambling about the fortunate luck for her gardens, I nudged Carlisle. He looked startled, confused to what I was insinuating.
"Invite her." I whispered, not capturing the attention of Esme.
He picked up the hint, and cleared his throat. "Actually, I'm glad you stopped by. I was wondering…" He began weakly, but as soon as the words came out, his confidence disintegrated. With panic in his eyes, he looked at me seeking assurance.
"What Carlisle is trying to ask, is if you'd care to join us for dinner this evening. We are having a bit of a party, I supposed." I chuckled, and Carlisle smiled innocently.
Miss Platt's smile was polluted with acrimony. "I would love to, but my cousin is visiting. I would hate for her to feel abandoned by her favorite older cousin."
"You can bring her as well." I responded immediately. "I'm sure we can fit one more at your large table, don't you?" I looked to Carlisle, confident that he would not mind the extra company. Not if it meant he'd get the evening with his beloved Esme.
"The more the merrier." He choked out, an irrepressible grin on his face.
"Alright. We will be here. Good day, gentlemen." With a curtsy and a smile, she ran off, half skipping.
Carlisle probably could've flown back to the house, he was that thrilled. And somehow, both their anticipation made me giddy by association.
It still didn't take away my dread for this evening.
The rest of my afternoon was very pensive for me, still contemplating my motives for playing matchmaker with Carlisle and Esme. Why was it so important that these two, relatively strangers to me, end up together? Why was their happiness so crucial to my existence now?
Maybe I was feebly hoping that bringing them together would make my own match appear.
I only had a few more weeks to last. And then I would be 18, a legal adult. Capable of making my own decisions for once. I could get far away from this loneliness. Distract myself from these imprudent ambitions.
Only a few more weeks of this solitude. I could manage.
As I tightened the tie Carlisle had allowed me to borrow, it felt strangely like a noose. An evening with the town's sheriff. Even worse, his daughter. My experience with family friends' children was that they all were selfish, stuck up, and self-involved.
The incident with Mr. and Mrs. Stanley stuck out vividly in my mind.
Father went to school with Mr. Stanley, and insisted that I should spend time with his old mate's daughter, Jessica. My age, he claimed. Delightful girl, my mother insisted.
After fifteen minutes of conversation on how beautiful her perfect new earrings that matched her perfect new dress, I wanted to find the nearest gun and end my misery.
Jessica stopped bothering me once she got the clue that I wasn't interested. Mr. Stanley usually took my father out, spending their diminutive paychecks on booze, instead of stuffy dinners like my mother enjoyed. And my father, well, he proved his loyalty to his family quite radically.
A knock on the door jarred me from my thoughts. My mother, looking dressed up for the first time in who knows how long, stepped through the door. Her lips were pursed with absolute impatience. "Edward, our guests are arriving." Her tone proved that theory.
With a deep breath, I stepped into the hallway, into certain doom.
"This is my daughter, Isabella. She's been staying with her grandmother on her mother's side in Florida for the school year. I finally convinced her to spend the summer with me here."
A deep, raucous voice explained from around the corner, out of sight. I had only a few steps of safety until this evening truly began. If my mother hadn't been right down the hall, I could've ran and escaped. Holed myself in my room, or fled to the cellar with the piano... I glanced over my shoulder, and saw that disapproving glare. The kind that killed all hope of flight.
Begrudgingly, I turned the corner, bringing our company into my direct line of vision.
And then it was like all the wind rushed out of me, leaving me dizzy and motionless.
Time became flexible, and like I was moving in slow motion. Each step was lingering, and thoughtless in action. Motion was not something I could focus on any longer. Nor breathing, or even thinking.
The delightful girl, in all her glory, was my diversion.
Long chocolate curls delicately framed her pale face. Her eyes were pensive as she stood silently, shifting awkwardly with all the attention on her. There was the most delicious shade of pink as she blushed with every word her father uttered about her.
But it was her face...the beauty it possessed, that reminded me of my first night here. That exquisite siren that called to me in my dream. This was that girl that left me longing.
I was, instantly, unequivocally, and irreversibly enamored with her.
Her quiet eyes caught me gazing at her—the rose color in her cheeks intensified, and she ducked the gaze away as quickly as I did.
I suppose it wasn't very polite of me to stare like that.
"Good evening, Mr. Masen." She curtsied, her gentle voice sounding like the most beautiful of music. She already knew my name. My heart soared at the sound of those words she had uttered.
"You must be the Edward I could not get Lizzie to stop talking about!" The tall man, I assumed to be Sheriff Swan from my mother's balding description, spoke loudly. Enthusiastically.
I grinned sheepishly. "I am."
His grip on his beautiful daughter tightened, and her face scrunched up in awkwardness. "This is my daughter, Isabella."
She grimaced slightly at the sound of her name. My best guess remained she did not appreciate being thrust into the spotlight. She shifted around until there was space between them.
I knew I should not have been staring. But I was still bewitched by her beauty. For one moment, our gazes caught. Once she realized that I was looking at her, she turned a delightful shade of pink, and her eyes darted back towards the floor. It was apparent to all rational people in the room that she was just as introverted as I was, especially with meeting new people.
But I was not rational--I was still bewitched by her beauty.
Carlisle cleared his throat, his eyes attached to the door. Impatiently. Very obviously impatient. "Our other guests should be arriving shortly."
"Other company?" Sheriff Swan asked, a hint of offense in his tone.
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Carlisle's smile grew exponentially as he ran to answer the door.
Esme looked beautiful, as she always did, but tonight was different. She was very polished in comparison to her disheveled appearance I had grown accustomed to in our few meetings. She introduced her cousin, Miss Alice Brandon, in a very timid voice. Miss Brandon was a very petite girl, with long dark hair and wide eyes. She examined the room like a little child would, and she certainly was small enough to look like a child.
Shortly after our other guests arrived at the house, we were all seated in the formal dining room. The room I had not yet become acquainted with. To my absolute luck, I was seated next to Miss Swan. Being in close proximity with her felt like being jolted a thousand times with electricity. Only instead of excruciating pain jolting throughout me, it was pure excitement.
She pierced one green bean with her fork, and slipped it into her mouth effortlessly. I had to remind myself of the motions of eating. Mashed potatoes went down tastelessly; it was difficult to focus on anything other than her.
Sheriff Swan began to speak. "I must say, the way Lizzie spoke of you Edward, I was surprised she wasn't showing you off in town."
I was confused by this, but my mother laughed warmly.
"You know I'm not the kind to brag." Her voice was teasing, and her eyes sparkled with long-forgotten happiness. In Chicago, she was a poor, lonely, and abandoned wife. A fish out of water. Here, she felt at home.
"Still, there isn't much excitement for a young man, cooped up—he needs some adventure. Some entertainment."
"I'm plenty entertained." I spoke quietly, trying to disguise the indignant tone. Not gallivanting around town did not mean I was not amused. It most certainly was not a character flaw, by any means.
"He hardly ever leaves the piano. I'm amazed he ever gets away to sleep." My mother defended, that teasing still present.
"Perhaps a little later Edward could perform for us." Carlisle spoke softly
"You play piano?" Miss Swan asked, a hint of curiosity. It seemed like an obvious statement after the previous testimonials.
The others chewed their food quietly. Suddenly, Sheriff Swan had a most peculiar look on his face. An abrupt flash of intuition.
"Lizzie..." He cleared his throat. The silverware clanged loudly as he sat down his fork. "Say, I wonder if your son here would be interested in making some spending money? I have been meaning to get Isabella into piano lessons, and I just cannot seem to find anyone in town that is available."
Even though he turned to my mother for approval, I knew it was ultimately my decision.
And that brought a smile to my face like I had never felt before. Visions of quality time alone with the most beautiful girl in the world flashed before me. "I would love to."
My pleasure did not seem to mirror Miss Swan's. The muscles in her face quickly became taut—as if she were trying very hard not to frown right now. But her arms crossed her chest, folding there angrily. Sheriff Swan paid no attention, smiling with total satisfaction, continuing to saw at his meat. Miss Swan's already slow chewing stalled. Maybe she thought her eating was un-lady like, not that I, or anyone else at the table, worried. She was of perfect proportion.
I refocused on my two simple, yet very overwhelming, tasks: eating and not staring.
Steadily, all the food was devoured, except for Miss Swan's plate. That remained fairly full, thanks to her unhurried eating. She was motionless and quiet, as Esme's cousin had remained as well. So quiet, I had almost forgotten her presence.
It was when she spoke up, tugging at her father's sleeve and interrupting the reminiscent conversation, that I remembered her existence.
"Can we please leave, I am exhausted." Her excuse was paper-thin and nearly see-through. But Sheriff Swan accepted it, and the two departed. As they said their goodbyes, I saw something in her expression. It was brief, but it was there—a cross glare from Miss Swan. In her eyes, there was a pithy but flaming anger I had not seen. And it was pointed in my direction.
It passed long before I could interpret it any further.
They had barely made it out the door when I noticed the small white kerchief that Sheriff Swan had handed to Miss Swan at some point during the dinner. It rested in a small, white clump on her chair. Since they were still within range, my gentlemanly instincts kicked in. If I had left behind a personal affect at someone's home, I certainly would want to have it returned promptly.
In all honesty, I wanted one last glimpse of the beautiful Miss Swan.
I excused myself, as my mother and Miss Brandon began tending to the numerous dishes, conspicuously giving Esme and Carlisle some time alone. I pushed through the front door, my knees trembling. My heart thudded loudly, so loudly I was sure the soundless night would be filled with its throbbing. Perhaps this was how Carlisle felt whenever Esme was on the horizon.
From the bottom step, I could hear their barely distant conversation, yet I could see nothing. They could not see me, either, I suppose. They made no acknowledgement of my presence.
Her voice was piercing and whining, the way most young women are when they're cross. "Why? I thought we'd given up on the foolish concept piano lessons."
"Quiet. There was no official decision, and now it is."
"But I don't want to." The whininess increased dramatically.
"You loved the clarinet. Does this have something to do with Lizzie's son, Edward?"
Her long silence spoke leagues for her. There was something wrong with me, that made her so angry, she would rather argue with her father than spend one hour a week with me.
I slammed through the door, far too occupied with my calculations and sudden self-loathing to hold a conversation. Had she been so disgusted by my overexcitement? My tremendous enthusiasm in teaching her? Maybe she believed my staring was malicious, and not the captivated glare I had intended it to be. I had been so foolish tonight, and it was no wonder she hated me so dearly. But perhaps it wasn't my fault at all. Perhaps all the blame remained squarely on her perfect shoulders.
Irregardless, the angel from my dreams had turned my summer vacation into a nightmare, in only one silence.
And I could not wake from it.
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