So this is supposed to give you the family dynamic. There is no Edward anywhere to be seen...I know, I know but he isn't important to her yet. You have to wait for her to like him first. Um so overnight I thought I became SM but then I woke up and I realized that I wasn't. Everything twilight related still belongs to her. :( Read on. I admit it's a little boring but important to me.
Day 50:
All to soon I hear pots and pans clashing together in the kitchen. Charlie can't find his way around the kitchen with a map. And, like me, my father is a bit quieter in his mannerisms. We are more conscious of our surroundings. The noise that is banging and pounding through the walls can only mean one thing.
Mom is home.
I turn over and try for sleep again. A few minutes later go by without incident, just as I am beginning to relax again and then there is a musical, tinkling crash. Unmistakably glass and a lot of it.
With a groan a kin to what I've heard from dad I sit up in my bed, not bothering to wipe the sleep from my eyes. My blurry vision tries to seduce me back under the covers, but I know my mother. She is terrible at cleaning up and impossible when it comes to glass. I've earned enough shards wedged into the soles of my feet to learn that lesson. Grabbing a mix-matched pair of sneakers I trudge towards my mother.
Our house is old, but sturdy. Built in a time when they made things to last, and last it has. The foundation is strong, it's part of the reason they bought this house. A house that, as a whole, could withstand the wrath that is Renee Swan; the features, the floral wallpaper, the tan carpet faded and worn. Mom's been planning to spruce her up for as long as we've been living here, almost five years. But intentions often slip her mind and dad doesn't care enough to 'spruce'. He likes the character of the house. As long as he has his 50 inch he's happy.
When I step into the kitchen mom is looking at the broom and dustpan like it's a piece of alien technology. I take the broom from her and she hands it over without complaint shooting me a grateful smile. The linoleum is covered from the stove to the kitchen with the glass glinting in the light.
"Did I wake you honey? I give her a look and she shrugs at me with a smile.
"I had a hankering for some pancakes. Did you sleep in your uniform again?"
I shrug, no need to answer, it's obvious I did. "What time did you get home last night?" I say sweeping all the glass into a pile.
"Oh I don't know darling sometime late. You were already tucked into bed tonight." When I bend down to sweep up the shards I finally realize what broke. It's her nice crystal bowl, it was an anniversary present from their friend Phil. He's been around so long he might as well be part of the family. I call him my uncle. I helped him pick out this bowl. I knew mom would love the whimsical design carved into the side.
"Mom! Do you know what this is?" She looks around her guiltily. Trying to find an escape, "Why didn't you use one of the metal or plastic bowls?"
"This one is so pretty and there's hardly ever an occasion to use it." She whines. Never mind the fact that you aren't supposed to use crystal to mix pancake batter. It's supposed to adorn your house and be a pretty center piece.
"Was. It was pretty. Now it's a mess on the floor, trash. A mess you won't be able to use anymore." She pouts but doesn't stop her mission of pancakes. I hate that look on her face, it's the face of fear. She's afraid of disappointment. No one with a light as bright as my mother's should ever where that look.
"Uncle Phil is gonna be so mad," I say teasing her.
"Oh, Please. He'll hardly notice, it's not like he comes around all that often anymore anyway." She sighs, and whisks the mix a little more passionately than necessary. Not sure why that surprises me actually. My mother is an overtly passionate person. I say goodbye to the bowl as it hits the bottom of the garbage pail.
"Thank you sugar," She says when she hears the tinkling. I shrug I did it for selfish purposes, but I guess she doesn't need to know that. I guess it doesn't matter either way.
As she waits for the pan to heat up she turns and gets a good look at me. My eyes are wide his stomach somewhere near my toes, I didn't take a good look at myself before I left my room this morning. I have no idea what sort of state I'm in.
"You're eyes are a little glassy Bella," I take a deep breath to steady my voice to respond.
"That's what happens when I'm suddenly awakened from my sleep at seven o'clock in the morning." I joke, the picture of nonchalance. She purses her lips and inspects me further.
"Your face is looking a little thin too. How have your levels been?"
"Geez mom, their fine, I've just been working out since you've been gone. I lost a little weight that's all." I turn to put the broom back in the closet.
"Have you checked it this morning?" She's using her mom voice. Warnings are screaming in my head: PROCEED WITH CAUTION.
"No."
"Go do it please." She sounds exasperated. I sigh loud enough for her to hear and trudge back to my room. I look around the small space there are clothes and papers and beauty products everywhere. I can barely take one step in my room without stepping on something on the floor. I'm not sure where anything is in here, especially not my blood monitor. I haven't used it in at least a month.
I do a half-assed search before giving up and heading back out to the kitchen. I know what I'm going to say and how I'm going to say it before I can even hear my mom cooking. The guilt eats at me but not more than the fear of telling her the truth does.
"Umm…mom, my sugar is kinda low, do you think you can make some pancakes for me too, please?" I look her straight in the eye, hoping she won't call my bluff.
"Of course, dear, go sit down. I'll bring you a plate. I sit at the little round table in our kitchen. The dark mahogany doesn't match the lighter cabinets that came with the house, one of the many things mom is going to renovate. I fidget a bit playing up my symptoms so she won't ask me too many questions.
"Baby," she hands me a plate with pancakes, eggs, bacon and a glass of milk, most of which I didn't even see her cook. "You should have had some orange juice or something while you were waiting. You're shaking."
"You told me to sit and wait for you." The smell of carbs and grease waft up to my nose and the smell knocks me off my chair. Not literally, but it does make my mouth water. Man, can my mother cook.
I shouldn't eat this. I haven't checked it but I know my sugar is nowhere near low. More than likely it is a lot higher than in healthy. But the promise of the sweet, buttery carbs filling up my mouth and coating my tongue, tempting me, beckoning me to dig in. I gulp loudly, bringing the first bite up to my lips. Syrup slides down my lip and I quickly lick it off with supreme pleasure. Mom even used regular syrup for me, I haven't had regular sugar in ages; this is really a treat. Mom's always gone for work she doesn't cook for me often.
I savor every bite and sigh when the plate is finished before I give it permission to be done. If I were the only one home I would eat a whole other helping of everything, egg and bacon and milk included, maybe even two extra servings. This intense sense of hunger is not a good sign. If I feel normal than I am not sick! I chastise myself.
But I do not feel completely normal. My muscles are tightening and straining under my skin and I am confused as to why. Usually this feeling doesn't present itself until much later in the day. I can pretend I'm healthy a lot longer than this and then I remember. I forgot to take a shot before I ate. Shit! I run to my room as mom busies herself making her plate. Shuffling through papers and trinkets I catch sight of the edge of a vial. I draw up a random dosage I concoct in my head and take a shot, hoping for instant relief and knowing I won't find any. I am asleep within ten minutes.
***DBD***
"Bella," Charlie peeps his head in my room to find me in bed. I haven't really left it since after breakfast. But at least he didn't find me sleeping I'm curled up with an old edition of pride and prejudice and he doesn't question seeing me tied up with a book, "Hey, Isa."
"Hi daddy," he steps all the way in and I know it must be around five; he's still in his uniform and is in the process of taking off. I see his white wife beater peeking out from the first button of his shirt which is pulled from his slacks. His shoes will be lined up at the door as well as his harness which he locks in a table by the door.
"What are you doing holed up in here?" He doesn't ask what he really wants to. Where are the twins Alice and Rosalie? And why have I turned into a recluse? I hold my book up in answer. I've read this more times than I can remember but there is something comforting about the manners of this time that keeps drawing me back to it. This book is a haven of good and predictable outcomes.
He nods, apparently this is an acceptable answer to him, "Renee is prepping dinner, come stretch your legs with your old man." He smiles pulling his shirt off and hanging it on his forearm. "If your mother wants help with the meal I'm offering you up as a sacrifice."
I laugh full and hearty from my belly. On the few occasions he's caved to my mother's whims the outcomes were edible at best but mostly just scary. He could feed it to his suspects, the few he encounters, and they'd cave immediately. I know I would.
"Alright, Rachel Ray, keep your culinary genius from the masses. That's just being selfish."
His beard wiggles like a worm when he tries to fight off his smile. "Oh Please, Rachel has nothing on me. I'm on that Lagasse status."
"BAM!" I shout and we both laugh. "Dream on Big guy."
In the kitchen mom's making lasagna and I know my father's concern was unfounded. She doesn't let anyone touch this gift. Lest her name be tarnished by our novice hands. This is her specialty; it is her baby in the kitchen. No one messes with Renee Swan's baby.
Dad comes up behind her and wraps her arms around her middle, humming something bluesy in her ear off key. She hums alongside him while still layering the noodles, meat and cheese, in perfect harmony. Eventually he lets her handle the food and the music and he just handles her, something he's good at, swaying her back and forth to the melody he gave her.
The PDA is adorable if not a little embarrassing. But my parents are always touching in public. They claim each other for the world to see even after all this time. I turn away praying their love fest stays PG.
"I decided after our conversation this morning Bella that it's been too long since Uncle Phil came by. So he's coming to dinner." Mom tells me over her shoulder. Dad takes that moment to surprise her with a kiss and she squeals. I roll my eyes.
"Okay," I call out trying to get them to untangle themselves. "I'm going to set the table. Is Mike coming too?" Mom raises her thumb above her head deepening the kiss. Shudder, "You two are gross. The chuckle a little but barely pay me any mind. I wonder what it must be like to be in love with someone so much that you can forget everything else, even your child comfort, for them. I make exaggerated gagging noises and they pull apart, a little too reluctantly if you ask me. Why do they subject me to this?
Charlie is pulling beers out of the fridge when the doorbell rings. I run to go get it giving my parents one last chance to get all their love out of the way before we eat. Pulling the door open Phil greets me with a smile and a big hug.
"It's been too long Hell Bells."
"Don't call her that!" Mom yells from the kitchen.
Then Mike makes his way in. He smiles slyly at me before slinking into the house. And planting a big kiss on my lips.
A/N: Yep. You read that right, he planted one on her. Um, just don't be too alarmed. Mike is no Edward (no offense to any Mike Newton fans out there. Oh and he's not a Newton in this story. Just fyi.