A/N- in honor of the FANTASTIC fandom love day going on, you all get this early :) your reviews have been phenomenal, i'm so glad so many of you relate to this story. warms my little heart.
this story was chosen to be featured on a blog (squeals) check it out :)
http://www(dot)whynotrpattz(dot)com/2010/02/fickalicious-week-in-fan-fiction-and(dot)html
sah makes this possible in full error free form. she's the peanut butter to my jelly :)
***
Guilt is a tiring emotion. My whole body feels weighed down, worn out. I take the turns leading to my parent's house slowly, hoping to calm my mind with the drive. It's been a long time since I've willingly spent an entire weekend with my parents, but I need this. I can't be left alone with my thoughts. Any distraction is a welcomed distraction from the memories of that night.
I know I stopped him. Stopped him from saying something that could have made this more than a minor indiscretion. But then again, maybe he just wanted to thank me. The possibilities and implications drown out all other thought.
The outline of my childhood home appears around the last curb, and my whole body relaxes slightly. I probably should have called, should have told them I was coming, but it wasn't planned. After work, I came home and just hit my breaking point. Every part of my empty apartment was taunting me with its mocking emptiness. So I shoved some sweats in a bag and left.
I switch off my car and lean my forehead down against the steering wheel for just a moment. Before I go in, I have to build up a small defense system. The last thing I need is to see my mother and spill the details of my poorly chosen crush. If I can even call him a crush.
I force myself out of the car before my thoughts can plague me any further. The silhouette of the house hangs over me and I already feel better.
"Momma?" I call out. I wait for her usual response, but am met with the sound of distant voices and laughter. I drop my bag to the floor and start towards the noise. As I turn the corner into the kitchen, I stop in my tracks.
"Look who it is," my mother says cheerily. I smile stiffly, not able to take my eyes off the other person at the table.
"I didn't know you were coming home," I state. Blunt I know, but this wasn't what I hoped for when I thought about a quiet weekend at home.
"Maybe if you answered your phone or called me back, I could have told you," Emma quips. My mother's eyes dart between us, fighting off the urge to intervene. Suddenly, I crave the solitude of my apartment, away from the obvious reminder of my overindulgence.
"The shop has been insane. I left you a couple of messages, texted you," I offer. Emma's eyes are unrelenting. I can feel them burning into my skin. Her face is cold, firm. For a moment, I panic. Maybe she knows. And then her face breaks into a smile and I almost collapse from relief.
"No excuse. Work has been hell and I needed one of your mix CDs, or at least your lame attempts at distracting me," she explains heavily. And now it's a different guilt plaguing me. Of course I should have answered. That's what we do for each other, we vent, we complain and then we feel better. I slump into the chair next to her and lean my head on her shoulder.
This is why it would always be her, why I couldn't risk her even for him. She's my constant and I'm her rock.
"I'm sorry Em. Promise it won't happen again," I sigh. She shifts her body to make it a better headrest.
"It better not," she replies. Two mugs appear in front of us and I smile up at my mother. Maybe this is what I needed, a solid reminder that I made the right choice. It doesn't make my heart ache any less, but it feeds the nagging question of 'what if'. There was no other choice.
"Tell me all about work then," I instruct. I'm anxious for the distraction and for the chance of redemption. My fingers play with the handle of the mug as she talks about her overzealous boss and a conniving co-worker. It's easy work playing the role she wants me to. I gasp at the appropriate places, make nasty comments about the villains, and laugh when she attempts a joke.
The room darkens with the fallen sun and we move to the living room, curling up on opposite ends of the couch. The work chat teeters off and I start steeling myself for what I know is next. His name is bound to come up. It's only a matter of time.
But, it doesn't. She rambles on about the usual crowd, parties and bars, but never him. I begin to read into all her words, trying to place him in a pronoun, but can't even do that. The curiosity begins to bite at me, pushing for more information.
Emma pauses to take a long sip of her drink and I swallow, trying to coat my dry throat.
"What about Edward?" I ask. The words sound out of place, odd even to my ears. Emma pauses mid drink and takes me in. Her motions are slow as she puts the mug back and rearranges herself across from me. My whole body is quivering in anticipation of her answer. I shouldn't be doing this to myself, but I'm glutton for punishment.
"What about him?" she answers. I almost groan out loud at her attempt at naivety. Everything about the way she is looking at me screams that she knows more than I want her to. The guilt bubbles up again. Maybe he did tell her. Maybe it was all innocent, and they had a laugh about my insane idea that he could have wanted to say more.
I quickly shake that thought from my head. The reality of Edward and Emma doesn't allow for such a scene. Neither of them are cruel. I know that at the very least.
"You haven't mentioned him all night," I point out. All I want is for her to slip him into one of the stories, confirm what I already know. I keep my eyes down, picking at the seam of the couch as I wait. My attempt at feigning disinterest won't throw her off, but I can't back away from the questions now.
"Well, he wasn't in any of those stories," she states simply. I resist the urge to whine and roll my eyes. Why must she do this to me? I glare at her slightly. This is a common game for us. When she knows I want something, but don't want to say it. She enjoys forcing it out of me. Evil.
"Because….." I press. She grins at me, knowing she has me right where she wants me. Why can't she just say it? I don't want a play by play of their time together. I just want his name dropped casually once in a while. Like I can keep track of him that way. She sighs and wets her lips. I lean forward in anticipation.
"Bella baby, can you look at my laptop now? It's still giving me trouble," my mother interjects. A smug look crosses Emma's face and I know she's won. I should have never shown my interest. She'll hold this over me as long as she can.
"Sure mom," I sigh. There's no point in saying no. Emma's clammed up and my mother will drop not-so-subtle hints until I comply. I wind my way back towards her small office and settle into her desk chair.
My mind is full of Edward. Every moment I had stored away rushes forward and plays over and again in my mind like a never ending loop. I absent-mindedly fiddle with the laptop, not being able to concentrate.
"Did you fix it?" My mother's voice breaks through my turmoil and I click a window closed. Her problem was simply her computer trying to do a simple software update.
"Mom, when it asks to update, just click yes. I promise your computer won't explode," I tell her. She peers at the screen like it's an enemy. I can't hold back the laugh. It feels good, breaking up some of the shit clogging my mind. I move from the seat and push my mother down into it.
"Shelly told me that pop ups can give my computer a bacteria that leads to porn," she states simply.I laugh again. Just the thought of my mother having anything to do with porn has to be funny. The alternative is it being nauseating, and I want to avoid thinking aboutthat.
I lead her through updating her computer and then watch as she pulls up her blog. The roll of my eyes is involuntary. All her friends' blogs. They have lunch once a week to talk about their blogs. It's ridiculous.
I watch her page load and my eyes scan over the last few posts. It's only natural to begin counting the number of times Emma's name is listed. There's even a picture of her in her winning cubicle. Apparently, she won the decorating contest.
She scrolls down a little further and I feel my breath sucked from me. I watch as a post about my shop comes up, complete with pictures from the first wedding we did.
"I didn't know you had pictures from the Calvin wedding," I breathe. My mother grins at me over her shoulder.
"Well, I had to bribe the photographer with brownies, but it was worth it. Verna was thinking about using you for her anniversary party," she says. My eyes are misting. I wipe at them quickly.
"You think you could send them to me?" I ask. I should put them on the shop's website. Thinking about the shop keeps me from thinking about the fact that my mom actually traded brownies for pictures of my arrangements.
"Of course. Personally, I think he could have done a better job, but if you want them," she answers nonchalantly. I wrap my arms around her from behind and she stiffens slightly in my hold. Then she reaches out and pats my arm softly. I've never been one for a ton of affection, but I can't let this moment pass without showing her how I feel.
I pull away slowly and leave her to her blogging. I make my way back to the living room, but Emma is gone. I fall onto the vacant couch and throw my arm over my face. My brain is overloaded and I just want to vacate my mind for a bit. Several deep breaths later and I feel at one with the couch.
My mind slows and unfortunately settles on the last time I was laying on this couch. The memory is clear, and I can't help but turn my face into the cushion, curious to see if any of his smell lingers there. It doesn't.
Sleep starts to take me and I give in willingly. Just as I'm losing conscious thought, the couch dips and a weight settles on my legs. I groan.
"Why do you insist on sitting on the only occupied piece of furniture in the room?" I whine. She laughs and squirms on my legs. I pry my eyes open and give her the stink eye.
"Why when you so obviously want to share?" she teases. I squirm out from under her and curl back into the far end of the couch. She stretches out and plops her feet into my lap. I lean on my hand and my eyes flutter, wanting nothing more than to close again. How is it that I never realize how tired I am until I actually sit down?
"You seem awfully interested in Edward," she starts. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to ignore her. Maybe it will all go away. This is what I get for being curious.
"I was just being polite. You seemed like you wanted us to get along, so I was making an effort," I lie. It actually sounds plausible. Way better than my usual efforts. Silence fills the space between us and I revel in it.
"He wasn't in any of the stories because he wasn't there," Emma sighs. I open my eyes and stare. Her face is tilted down, taking interest in the floor and her socked feet. My heart slams against my chest and I feel my breathing increase. I will her silently to continue, but she doesn't get the message.
"I know he's been traveling a lot with his interviews," I offer. It's a logical conclusion. He can't be with her if he's traveling. That, coupled with her work, maybe they've just been busy. Emma's eyes rise and meet mine, confusion written all over her features.
"How do you know that?" she asks. And I just now realize my slip up. He didn't tell her. My mind can't even start to comprehend what that means.
"I saw him. When he came here. We went to dinner, with Lindsay," I stammer, hoping the addition of Lindsay to the situation doesn't make it a crime. Emma continues to just stare at me. The nerves and guilt are back, making my fingers twitch and my lips chap.
"Oh yeah? Well you've seen him more recently than I have then," Emma says. And time stops for just a moment. This doesn't make sense, doesn't fit.
"What?" The word slips out before I can stop it. It's all I have, all I can supply. Emma sighs heavily and turns to face me.
"B, Edward and I broke up in February. Probably should have broken up before that," she states. My mouth falls open. It falls open and hangs open and I can't close it.
"What do you mean? You told me he was amazing, that you really liked him," I choke out the words. He came here, he came to my store, and not because I was Emma's sister. They were already done then. Done for weeks. I can't even place the emotion blanketing me.
Emma lets her head rest against the couch. She looks tired. Why didn't I notice before? I was so busy avoiding my own demons, placating her that I didn't even really look.
"He was, is amazing. And I did like him, but it was always too comfortable. Never any spark or, God, I don't know," she groans. Her pauses are killing me. I scoot closer and place my hand on her arm.
"It just wasn't working. It was easier to spend time apart. And then I went a week without seeing him and didn't even notice. I figured that said something," she continues. I feel a spark of hope and then just as quickly its put out. I take in my sister's weary features and my hope is washed away. If she has any type of feelings for him…
"So, we went out separate ways. I felt like such a shit Bella. I mean who is actually relieved when they break up with someone like him?" she laughs bitterly. I search her face and try to make sense of it all.
"If you're upset about it, you could always call him, pick things back up." Just saying the words is painful. It's the last thing I want to happen, but she comes first. She had him first. All the rules of dibs apply. Emma smiles, finally.
"That is not the issue. Thinking about Edward, just makes me feel like I wasted time. His time, my time. Andrew's time…" she trails off. I raise an eyebrow. The plot thickens. I've stopped trying to make sense of all this, pushing my emotions down, placating the onslaught by assuring them that I'll let them out later.
"Andrew?" I whisper. Another faint smile appears on her face. She ducks her head, her cheeks turning pink.
"This guy I work with. He's just been fantastic through all the drama. Like, he's just witty and has my back against the wicked witch of the office," she breathes. I smile as she begins to build the picture of Andrew. And it makes sense. He likes fashion just enough, but not enough to be considered at risk of liking men. A knight in shining Armani.
"So, you like this guy?" I smile. More pink in her cheeks. Wow. I feel the excitement build, for her.
"He's just incredible and so funny. He's always sending me these emails at work, just to make me smile. I just wish I had figured it out earlier," she says. I mimic her position and settle in to listen. The story isn't fairy tale-esque, but it makes sense. Every part of it matches Emma and her life and what she needs. And it heals part of me I didn't even know was broken.
I study her as she talks. Watching her expressions and the rise and fall of her blush. The jealousy is so different this time. I don't want to know any tiny details about Andrew for my own knowledge, don't itch to replace Emma with myself in her stories. I envy the rush I know she gets when talking about him, the hum of energy I know she's feeling.
I'm jealous because I've felt it and I want to feel it again.
"You jump his bones yet?" I tease. Emma flushes again, but giggles like a teenager. She smacks at me and rolls her eyes.
The tension that had taken up residence in my body melts away slowly. I slump into the couch and take comfort in the sound of my oldest friend's voice and the faint smell of my dad's pipe tobacco.
I'll take one fix at a time. Today, I got my sister back. The wedge I had placed between us is finally moved, for now. A small piece of me is already crying out for a chance. A chance to be with the only person who has ever mirrored me so completely.
But, that piece has to wait. Tonight I have Emma. The possibility of Edward is looming, but not certain. The uncertainty tears at me a little because as much as I want him, I won't lose my sister over it. And that surety comforts and torments me.
***
i've heard murmurs of an Edward POV.....what do you all think?