Chapter 2: Big Eyes
Note: Bella and Edward have a conversation of a controversial nature in this chapter. There's a reason they have it, and it's not to provide me with a vehicle in which to put my own opinions across. Consider Edward's reasoning for broaching the subject, please.
My most enormous thanks to believeitornot for her thoroughness and patience. Go read her new story In the Debris; it's shaping up beautifully. Love you lots, Tam.
Song: Big Eyes, Matt Corby.
"Blackout the light
Maybe you're tired fall
Or stone cold
You fumble and fight
With all the time you spend alone."
September 2008.
As it transpires, I'm not home when cousin Bella moves in.
In fact, I don't even cross paths with her during the first few weeks she's around. I wouldn't have even been aware she actually moved in, if Garrett didn't mention it. There's no girly hair stuff left in the shower, no creams and lotions on the counter, or are any girls' shoes left kicked off in the hallway. I don't see her laundry lying around, and there's no trace of any books left in the living room.
It's, therefore, quite a surprise when I stumble into the kitchen in search of coffee on the first Monday of the new semester, to find a really cute ass poking out of the fridge. It's a really round and curvy ass, sitting snuggly in some dark wash jeans, and I kinda want to pinch it. I decide, however, that it's probably not the best way to introduce myself, so I keep my hands to myself.
"Uh, hi." I mumble as I head for the coffee pot. I have to stifle a laugh as she jumps in surprise, smacking her head on the roof of the refrigerator.
"Hi," she mutters, not looking in my direction. I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she emerges with a tub of yogurt. She's cute, I decide. Sun-streaked hair, tanned skin, soft curves. She throws me a wary glance as she takes a seat at the table.
"Coffee?" I offer.
"Uh, yeah. That'd be great." Her tone is cautious and I can't help but smirk. I can't decide if her short answers are due to shyness, or whether she's just an antisocial bitch. I'll give her the benefit of the doubt, though. Garrett did say she'd had a difficult few years.
When I place a mug of freshly brewed Nicaraguan coffee in front of her, she immediately reaches for the sugar.
"No!"
"What the fuck?" Cousin Bella jumps again at my outburst.
"Please," I cringe, "try it without sugar and milk first."
"Are you seriously going to tell me how to drink my coffee?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow at me.
"Just … " I sigh. "Please, just try it black first. If you still want to defile it then, I won't stop you."
Cousin Bella looks at me curiously, before she rolls her eyes and sighs.
"Fine."
I snort in amusement as she lifts the cup gingerly, eyeing it warily. I meet her dark eyes over the rim of my own mug, watching her expectantly. She takes a small sip, then swirls it around in her mouth exaggeratedly before she swallows it.
"Well?"
"It's really good," she mutters. She seems displeased about this and I grin at her as I take a seat. "You're one of those coffee snobs, right?"
"I guess," I shrug. "I like it, and I don't just drink it for the caffeine, if that's what you mean."
"Well, as long as you make me a cup every morning, I can deal." She offers me a small, tense smile, at odds with the sincerity in her eyes. It's almost as though she's not really sure how to respond to a simple gesture of kindness, like she's forcing the muscles in her cheeks to move in an unfamiliar way.
I chuckle.
"I'm sorry; I'm Edward."
"Bella," she says, accepting my offered hand and shaking it firmly. "It's nice to meet you, Edward."
"So, you ready for school today?" I ask her.
"Uh, yeah, I guess so," she sighs.
"What are you studying? You're starting at Northwestern, right?"
"Yeah, I am. I'm majoring in English and linguistics."
"Cool."
Bella's shrug is non-committal.
"I find it interesting," she says. Her tone suggests she doesn't expect me to agree. I wonder who has given her a hard time about her majors.
"What do you hope to do with it?" I'm struggling to keep the conversation flowing. If we're going to be living together, it'd be great if we could get along, but I'm feeling out of practice with making conversation. I spend my days staring at a computer screen, rarely interacting with people, and I spend my nights alone, my only company my guitar.
"I don't really know," Bella shrugs. "I'll figure it out eventually. So what about you, are you studying still?"
I get the feeling this is a deflection from the subject of her future, but I go with it.
"Yeah, it's my final year," I sigh. "I'm doing Business at UChicago."
"Business?" She quirks an eyebrow.
"Uh-huh, I'm part of the CCIB program," I shrug.
"I don't know what that is," she points out.
"Sorry, Chicago Careers in Business. It just means I get lots of opportunities for internships and I get to sit through extra seminars and shit; stuff that will supposedly help me get ahead."
"I assumed you were a musician," she says, hesitantly. "I can hear you playing some nights."
"Does it bother you?
"Not at all. So, it's just a hobby?"
I shrug.
"I enjoy playing; it's not really a viable career option for me though."
"Okay."
It takes me a moment to understand why Bella's response surprises me. Usually people respond to this kind of comment in one of two ways; they either chastise me for not chasing my dreams, for not making a go of carving out a career in music, or they remind me that it's no great loss, given the impressive salary I can expect to receive once I graduate. Bella, however, does not offer her opinion. Either she just doesn't care, which is fair enough, as I've only known her for fifteen minutes, or she doesn't feel the need to offer her opinion on how I should be living my life.
Bella takes another sip of her coffee, before she glances toward the clock on the oven. She jumps to her feet immediately, shrieking and swearing, startling me out of my thoughts.
"No way! Shoot. I'm going to be late –"
"Wait, Bella!"
"No, I can't. I'm sorry, thanks for the coffee, really, but I have to go."
I'm on my feet and grabbing her wrist before she can leave the kitchen, and she looks up at me in complete shock. She's really tiny, I realize suddenly; her head would fit under my chin easily. I shove my watch under her nose, laughing. She goes cross-eyed trying to focus on the hands of my watch, and I can't help but chuckle again. Her eyes are an unusual shade of golden-brown, and they're really quite stunning.
"What the hell?" she mutters, looking between the watch on my wrist and the clock on the oven. She fishes her phone out of her back pocket, and glances at it, confirming that my timepiece is not lying to her.
"Uh, I was trying to tell you, the oven clock is wrong," I shrug.
"Sure it is," Bella sighs. "Why is the clock on the oven an hour and a half fast?"
"Uh … Well, it reset when the power went out one time, and we can't figure out how to change it." I run my hands through my hair reflexively; my explanation seems a bit lame.
Bella rolls her eyes and starts to move toward the oven. I let go of her wrist as she steps away, surprised to find I'm still holding it. Bella fiddles with the buttons over the oven for a few seconds.
"What's the exact time?" she huffs.
"Seven-fifty-four."
She nods, and steps away from the oven. I look at the display, surprised. The little green numbers mock me as they wink the correct time.
"How did you do that?" I ask, amazed.
"I'm a girl. It's an oven." Bella snaps. I'm taken aback at the acidity in her voice. I'm also slightly pissed off; I met her all of sixteen minutes ago and she's accusing me of being a sexist? Oh, fuck no; please don't let her be one of those hyper-feminist types who abuse the men who open doors for them … or make them cups of coffee. Bella catches my expression and sighs, looking suddenly weary. It's amazing how her face transforms; exhaustion is suddenly written across her features, and she looks utterly defeated.
"I'm sorry, Edward, really. That was uncalled for. I, uh, I've used ovens similar to this before."
I nod, wary of provoking her temper again.
"Thanks for the coffee, Edward. I should go get ready." Bella picks up her coffee mug, and makes to leave the kitchen.
"No problem, Bella. Any time."
"Like I said, every morning." Again her smile is small, forced, and it is only her eyes that reveal her genuine appreciation.
I stare aimlessly out the kitchen window as I finish my own cup of coffee, mulling over my first encounter with Bella. She's attractive, certainly; her body curves lusciously at her hips and breasts, and her tanned skin is clear and smooth. But she's obviously closed herself off completely. She seems even more out of practice with human interaction than I am. What on earth could have happened to cause a pretty young girl to be so closed off, so unused to companionship?
With our first cup of coffee, Bella and I establish a routine of sorts almost immediately. It's not unusual for Garrett to stay over at his girlfriend's flat four to five nights a week, so early mornings frequently find Bella and me sharing the newspaper, and sipping the various micro-lot coffees I procure for us to sample. On the days I leave for school early, I leave Bella's coffee in a thermos-style travel mug.
At first we don't talk a lot, other than the exchanging of softly spoken greetings, but it's pleasant enough. Bella's silent companionship doesn't bother me at all; in fact, I come to enjoy it. It's easy. Simple. With all the drama that continues to rage in my circle of friends, Bella's company is uncomplicated. She's just … there. Sipping her coffee and working on the crossword, lost in her own silent world, which just happens to overlap with mine for a few moments each morning.
I realize, about a month after she moves in, that Bella is quite literally fading before my eyes.
With the Chicago fall, Bella's tanned skin fades quickly. She spends most of her days indoors, or bundled up to ward off the cold, and her skin has little chance of retaining it's warm, golden color. Now, her skin is flawless, smooth and silky soft, she is almost translucent in her fairness.
The sun-streaks in her hair begin to grow out, and she arrives home one evening with her hair dyed a very dark brown. The color serves only to accentuate her now-fair skin, and the new bangs she's had cut in draw attention to her huge brown eyes. Still, I can't decide if I like this haircut or not. Certainly, she looks gorgeous, but the bangs seem to be yet another shield she's raised, another way to hide herself.
Bella's preference for solitude doesn't seem to change as she eases in to her classes and her new school. As far as I'm aware, she doesn't ever bring any friends around, and she rarely goes out to socialize. I think she occasionally meets up with one girl to study, but other than that, she makes no mention of any friends she's made.
She rarely even ventures out into the living room to watch television. It concerns me a little – a fact that I find both puzzling and frustrating. I've been choosing to exclude myself from any form of social activity for months now, so why does Bella's solitude bother me? Why do I already care?
November 2008.
It's a surprise to me, when I arrive home from class one Thursday evening to find Bella seated in the living room with Mike Newton. The scene is so odd – so wrong. My former roommate and my new one, sitting in front of the television together, laughing loudly. Wait, Bella's laughing? I'm almost hurt that I've never seen her this cheerful. I study her closely, curiously. No, she's not really laughing, I realize. She's faking it. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes and she looks incredibly uncomfortable. She's folded herself into the only armchair, forcing Mike to sit on the couch opposite her.
"Hey, Mike. How you doing, man?" I ask loudly, alerting them to my presence. Though I direct my greeting to Mike, my eyes are on Bella. I notice the flicker of relief in her eyes before she offers me a small smile.
"Edward! Hey man, it's been a long time!"
"Did you leave some shit here or something?" I ask shortly. There's a reason I haven't seen Mike in a few months, and I don't really want to think about it right now.
"Nah, I was just in the area and I thought I'd drop by, see how things were going."
"Uh-huh. I, uh, I see you've met Bella."
"Most definitely." Mike winks at Bella and she tries to suppress a grimace with another fake smile. I see it, but Mike doesn't, returning her expression with a beaming grin.
"Mike used to live with us," I explain to Bella.
"So I've heard," she replies mildly. "Mike is very interested in seeing the changes I've made to his room." Mike grins again, completely oblivious to the derision in Bella's tone.
"Mike! You asked to see the girl's bedroom? That's incredibly rude, my friend."
Mike shrugs, still grinning stupidly at Bella.
"So, uh, how long have you guys known each other?" Bella asks.
"Since middle school, right?" I shrug as Mike nods enthusiastically. Bella nods once, and it occurs to me that she's trying to analyze whether or not she needs to feel threatened by Mike. She's clearly uncomfortable, and I feel a stab of annoyance toward my old friend for his inability to respect people's boundaries.
"Do you want a beer, Mike?" I motion toward the kitchen.
"Yeah, that'd be awesome." Mike grins, and, instead of following me toward the kitchen as I intended, he kicks back on the couch, clearly expecting me to retrieve the beer for him. I roll my eyes and Bella bites her lip to keep her smile from appearing.
"Bella?"
"I'll get it," she says, jumping to her feet.
As soon as we are safely in the kitchen, I put my hand gently on Bella's forearm.
"Has he been here long?" I ask quietly.
"About half an hour," she murmurs.
"And how many times has he tried to hit on you?"
"He hasn't stopped," she mutters, shuddering slightly.
"He's harmless, Bella, okay? He thinks he's smooth, and he can be a bit of a douche, but he's not … " I sigh, trying to think of the best way to explain. "He's like an annoying lapdog, you know? He'll yap a lot, jump all over you, and slobber everywhere, but he's not dangerous."
Bella grimaces but nods her understanding. She bends over to retrieve three bottles of beer from the fridge and a low whistle causes us both to jump. Mike stands in the doorway, his eyes trained on Bella's backside.
"Dude! Knock it off!" I punch him in the shoulder, harder than is warranted, but not as hard as I'd like to. As much as I'm a complete hypocrite, having admired Bella's ass myself on a number of occasions, the man has no subtlety, and Bella brings out a strange protective instinct in me.
Mike laughs loudly, accepting the beer Bella offers him with an exaggerated wink.
"So, Edward, you coming out with the gang tomorrow night? You should bring Bella."
"I, uh, I wasn't planning on it."
"Aw, man, you gotta come. It's been too long since we all hung out."
"There's a reason for that Mike."
Mike shrugs.
"I don't see why what happened with Jazz and Angie needs to affect the rest of us."
"You don't, huh? So, are she and what's-his-face going to be there?"
"Ben? Yeah, for sure, dude. He's such a cool guy; you'll love him."
"I'm sure. And is Jazz going?"
"I haven't talked to him yet, but why not?"
"Seriously, Mike?" I'm sure my eyebrows are nearing my hairline. "You don't see why Jazz might not want to hang out with his ex-wife and her new boyfriend?"
"Edward, man, it's been six months. It's time we start putting that behind us."
"It's been five months, Mike, and don't you think that it's up to Jasper to decide when to put it behind him?"
Bella looks between us nervously, and I squeeze her forearm in reassurance.
"We'll see, Mike. We might see you tomorrow; I'm not sure. But, uh, Bella and I need to start dinner and stuff, and Garrett should be home in a few minutes …" I trail off, hoping, perhaps foolishly, that Mike will take the hint. For once, he does.
"Yeah, well, let me know. And Bella, you should come, regardless of whether this stick in the mud does, okay?"
"We'll see," Bella echoes.
When Mike is gone, Bella slumps down at the kitchen table, her head in her hands.
"Who are Jasper and Angela?" she asks quietly. "If you don't mind telling me."
I briefly explain the details of my best friend's failed marriage, and the disruption it's caused among our friends.
"Wow, that's really hard," she murmurs as I finish. "So, you're not going to go tomorrow, I guess?"
I shake my head.
"I was thinking I'd see if Jazz wants to go to the brewery or something. You're welcome to join us, if you'd like?" I make my offer hesitantly, anticipating Bella's rejection.
"Maybe another time," she smiles gently.
"I'll hold you to that," I tell her.
"Please do."
February 2009
Over six months of sharing a cup of coffee most mornings, Bella and I begin to spend less time in silence. Our conversation develops slowly, awkwardly, almost painfully, starting with my tentative question as to how Bella is finding the Chicago winter. We gradually build up to other subjects: one of the novels she's studying in school, a particular news report that catches one of our eyes, or sharing stories about Garrett, who is our only mutual friend.
As I tell Bella about the day Garrett met Kate, it suddenly occurs to me that I don't actually know Bella any better than I did when we shared out first cup of coffee. We can chat about anything; even the taboo subjects of politics and religion, but I do not know Bella at all. I know she's clever and opinionated, but I have no idea who she is, or what makes her tick. Really, I acknowledge, though we've spent six months talking, I don't know anything about what makes Bella Bella.
To be honest, it's not like I've really tried to draw her out. I've never asked her about her life before she moved to Chicago; I've never asked her how she's feeling about having uprooted her life; I've never asked her what prompted her to take off to Europe for two years. I've never asked her about the people that matter to her. Though, to be fair, Bella has never asked me anything remotely personal either.
As we sip an Ethiopian micro-lot one frigid winter morning, Bella is ranting about having to read Kerouac, when I finally put a finger on what it is that is so unusual about conversation with this girl. It occurs to me as I listen to her careful argument, that, unlike most people, Bella avoids using emotive words when expressing her opinions.
I know what Bella thinks about any number of subjects, but how she feels about them? I wouldn't have a clue. The girl is able to separate her intellect and her emotions in such a deliberately careful manner, that one might never realize that she's doing it. It could come across as spectacular logical prowess, that she is able to maintain some level of objectivity on almost any subject. But surely that can't be the case. At some level, she has to feel something about, I don't know, something.
When I ask her for her opinion, be it about literature, or proposed legislature, or anything at all, Bella will thoughtfully provide me with several different points of view, then carefully tell me which position she agrees with and why. She takes delight in playing devil's advocate. It's starting to drive me crazy. The more I think about it, the more it infuriates me. I deliberately broach controversial topics, trying to draw her out of her carefully worded answers.
It's brazen, and perhaps a little harsh, but I decide to broach a dangerous subject one morning as we breakfast together, one I'm sure most people can't avoid getting riled up about.
"So, Bella, what are your thoughts on abortion?"
Bella blanches, and I immediately realize the stupidity of my question. I know nothing of Bella's history, and for all I know, she may have had one herself, and she may carry deep hurt over it. I'm about to tell her not to worry, to beg her forgiveness for asking something so insensitive and stupid when she surprises me by answering.
"I think it's a far more complex issue than people make it out to be," she says softly. "I think it's something you need to consider on a case by case basis."
"That's not really an answer," I tell her.
"Why don't you tell me your thoughts, Edward?" she replies tightly.
"I get the feeling I'm disqualified from the right to an opinion on the subject by my gender, Bella."
"That's such a cop out," she sighs.
"Bella?" I ask, abandoning my less than subtle attempts to engage her. "Why don't you ever talk about what you feel? I know what you think about so many things, but you never give any indication about what you feel."
"Maybe I'm an emotionless shrew?" she suggests coldly.
"Bullshit," I challenge.
"You want to know what I feel, Edward? I feel that there are always extenuating circumstances that you can't possibly know observing from the outside. But," Bella sighs, then presses on, swallowing nervously, "I also know I've felt grief for a child that too many people have tried to tell me wasn't truly a child yet."
I watch Bella carefully, expecting her to rebuke me for my lack of sensitivity. She doesn't. Horrified, I watch as a tear tracks its way down her soft cheek.
"I'm so sorry –"
"Don't be. You couldn't have known." she says quietly. Bravely, she meets my eyes. "So, yes, Edward, I feel things. I keep them to myself, much like you do, but they're there nonetheless."
"You … had a miscarriage?" I ask, hesitantly.
Bella nods once, her eyes downcast.
"Please don't ask me to talk about it," she whispers. "Not yet."
I study Bella carefully. Though a million questions are cascading through my consciousness, I push them aside and focus on the girl in front of me.
"Of course not," I whisper. Tentatively, I reach out my hand and take her smaller one in my own. Her fingers are so delicate, and I'm forcibly struck by her fragility. This is a side of Bella I very much doubt many people have seen. Scared. Vulnerable. Hurting. Broken.
I say nothing for a few minutes; I simply give her hand a gentle squeeze and allow her the time to recover her composure. Eventually, Bella lifts her head and gives me a small smile of thanks.
"So, listen, Bella," I say quietly. "You told me to hold you to having a beer one evening." I feel a bit like an ass for changing the subject. It seems the typically male thing to do, avoiding the emotional elephant in the room, but Bella is clearly not ready to divulge that kind of information to me, and I'm certainly not going to press the issue. I'm all too aware of the irony of the situation; I went into this conversation determined to get to know Bella, and I've certainly learned more than I anticipated.
"I did?" she asks in surprise.
"Uh, yeah," I murmur. "It was a while ago, but I think I'm going to have to enforce it tonight, okay? When you get home this evening, we'll go grab a beer and a burger at the brewery."
Bella considers my offer for a while.
"Okay," she replies softly. "But, uh, listen, Edward, can we not talk about …" Bella trails off, her eyes darting to mine nervously.
"Of course, Bella. We'll just go hang out, get to know each other on a more superficial level, alright? I, um, I'm so sorry for pushing you, before."
"It's okay, Edward. You couldn't have known." Bella smiles slightly. "Yeah, let's get that beer, then. Tonight. I think I'd like that."
I'd love to hear your thoughts!
Love, Shell xx
