short chapter. it's been a busy, busy week. i'll try to update really, really soon. i mean it.
merci, Nina and Tracy.
I don't own Twilight
"You still hide like that. You're so funny." He's laughing at me, at the way I've hidden my face inside this hoodie, my hands, too. Lost and sleepy and so content. I used to do it because I liked hiding from people, taking little breaks from conversations. Now it's just something I do.
"I'm sleepy." I've been studying extra hard these past couple of days, and he stops by in the afternoon to "help"—most of the time just sits and watches me do endless multiple choice questions.
"That's it. I want my sweater back. I didn't let you wear it so that you can take naps in it."
"But I always nap in your stuff," I whine.
He pulls back the hood and messes up my hair. I start snapping away, like I'm going to bite his hand, and we're giggling and stupid until Mom walks in.
"Edward, I just saw Rose throw some bags into the car. Are you two going on a trip?" she asks.
"No, we're just staying with her mom until I get someone to install a new air conditioner. Well, Rose is. I don't think it's that hot."
I kick him under the table. I'm up now, a little feisty and playful, maybe in the mood for an argument or two. "Why don't you install it yourself?"
"Me?" Edward smiles. "Too much work."
"So lazy. I've installed plenty of units, I can do it," I offer.
"Are you serious? You installed them yourself?"
"I had to. So if you need help..."
"It's fine," he says. "I'd probably have to help you, and I just want to sit back and let someone else take care of it."
"So, so lazy."
"Rose isn't lazy, she's waiting for me to do it. It's the principleof the thing... Women."
"Was that you doing Rosalie's voice?" I ask with a giggle. Mom leaves the kitchen, shaking her head.
"Yeah. How'd I sound?"
"I wouldn't know. I don't remember what she sounds like."
Unless she's shouting.But I don't add that.
"It's been a while, huh?"
"Long time," I whisper with a smile.
"Why didn't you visit more often? Stay longer?"
"Busy... school, internships. And you know, Mom always wanted to visit, or meet up in Phoenix to see Grandma. I was going to spend the holidays here two Christmases ago, but she decided she wanted to spend Christmas in Paris. It was nice."
"Rose wants to go to Paris."
"Take her."
"I don't think she wants to go with me."
What a sad thing to say, but he's smiling a lot, so maybe it's not that sad.
"Who would she want to go with?" My voice is soft, my words come out slowly, like I'm testing the waters. Is this okay, Edward?
"I'm just kidding. I mean, I guess we'd go together. It's just... I don't know, things have been tough lately."
"What's wrong?" When did my voice get even softer? When did my hand reach out to brush the hair out of his eye?
"Nothing's wrong. It's just always the same thing."
"You mean, marriage? Like, it's boring?"
"It's not boring, it just is.But I meant, it's always the same fights, same arguments. You get tired, you know?"
I nod. "I bet."
"For example, the thing I told you about leaving this place. We've been arguing about that for years. She won, we bought the house. I figured hey, it's an investment, it's something. Owning some property, you know? We could always sell it. But now... it's like, it keeps me here, and she hates it, because every penny we make goes toward fixing it up, or new furniture, and it's still a piece of shit."
He leans back in his chair and takes one of those really dramatic deep breaths. Long exhale.
"I thought she loved it. She's always in the back..."
"She loves the garden," he confirms. "The only time she spends here, she's working on the garden. She closed off the patio in the back, and has her own little space now. If I leave anything lying around... I don't know. The house was a mistake."
"You could always sell it."
He looks at me like I'm stupid. "Youtry selling that thing. It's hopeless."
"I think it's a great house, Edward. Dad used to be so jealous of Mr. Stanley. The garden, the front yard, the porch. It's beautiful. It feels like home, you know? It's your home, and it's gorgeous."
"Thanks," he says. I don't think he believes me, though. "But it really is a mess."
"And it's so big."
"Too big."
"Come on, be positive," I tell him. "I used to live in the smallest apartment ever. Nowhere to move. My bed took up my entire room. No space for clothes. There was a mouse. But I was so happy there."
"This was in New York?"
"Yeah."
"You know, I haven't been since our trip."
In my fantasies, you were there a thousand times. Back then, when we were tourists together with your mom and dad, I imagined us living there, walking together along the big avenues, kissing in narrow streets. All places New Yorkers would stay away from, but I didn't know anything back then. Just that I wanted you there, and you would've been so beautiful there. I'd pretend it was happening, and then when it was, but without you, I'd pretend that you'd be joining me. Our reunion after a phone call that would fix everything. I'd daydream about it, I'd make changes to each scene I imagined to make my skirt cuter, your arms tighter around me, but you were always there. I wish I could tell you about all the things you saw, all the things we did.
"It's so different when you actually live there. Like, when I think about that trip, it's like we were visiting another city. It's nothing like that. But sometimes I'll be walking through Times Square, hating everyone who's in my way, and I remember how scared I was that first time."
"I remember that. You kept grabbing me. I loved it... that place was crazy," he says.
"Then I look up at the Marriott, and think... oh man, it's been so long."
He looks away, I can't tell what he's thinking, feeling. Is this awkward? It doesn't feel awkward.
"Rose went to New York with her friends from school. She went to a bunch of shows. She liked the shows, hated New York. She thought it was dirty."
I'm irritated. I don't want to show it, but sometimes you just can't stop, right? And the words just come out, not as bad as I'd expected them to be, and maybe I don't sound irritated, bitter.
"Someonehas terrible taste in cities, towns. I guess I'm not surprised, though, I mean, she seems to love Forks so much."
Our eyes meet, and he's shaking his head, the smallest of smiles on his lips.
"I should get going," he tells me. "Dinner's probably ready. You're welcome to join us. I'm not going to keep repeating myself."
"I'm good, thanks. I need to listen to a few lectures."
"You really don't want to come over, huh?"
"Not really," I admit.
"I guess you two were never really friends."
"We weren't."
He gets up, and I do the same. I take off his hoodie and hand it back to him. He brings it to his face.
"It smells like you now."
"Lucky you." I wink.
We laugh. And this weird flirting that's not really flirting feels like it belongs back in high school, like we're saying or doing silly things that we never got a chance to do, because we went from brother and sister to something I still can't define, because all the terms for it are ugly and wrong.
I'm standing here after my wink, waiting for him to leave, my eyes on the hoodie I was just wearing, then up the arm that's holding it now. It's so different from the younger one I knew, and maybe I'm not just blushing. Maybe this heat is something else. I can't stop staring.
And the way he looks at me. Looks at everything. Up and down and into my eyes and over and under and I just stand here, letting him, maybe just distracting him a little when I shift a bit, moving my hips, then capturing some hair between my fingers. What is he doing? What am I doing? Absolutely nothing, but that's a lie. And it's hot between my legs, and I don't doubt that he feels the same heat. And once a day we stand or sit like this, saying nothing, and it reminds me of mistakes I've made in the past, but those mistakes are the only memories that are fun or interesting enough to keep bringing back, to think about. And what a mistake he would be, but it won't happen, and this summer is the worst kind of tease.
"See you tomorrow."
I shake my head. "I'm going to Seattle tomorrow for a couple of days. Liam and I are going to go through some practice tests. Real testing conditions, or whatever."
He tightens his fingers around the sweater. I notice, because it's where I'm looking, because I know him, and I know what to look for. I can't describe the triumph I feel, the accomplishment. He's jealous.
It's only after our casual goodbyes that I realize how pathetic this is. He goes home to have dinner with his wife, and I'm celebrating a second of jealousy, all alone. And he's the same boy he was years ago, nothing has changed. I bet if I just let him... if I suggested... if I touched... And it makes me angry. I want to think of him as good, as perfect, as lovely. All the things he was before he met her. Or all the things he was before that first time he placed his mouth on my chest. But I think he's the same. And I want to be evil and delight in the fact that she's still nothing to him, that he'd climb up the stairs and into my bed with me if I let him. But then what about the sweet boy I knew before those brief few months? Shouldn't I be mourning his loss? Shouldn't I want him to be good?
And this is why I'm leaving tomorrow. I need a break. A break from Mom and Edward and the idea of Rosalie living right next door. Just a couple of days to remind myself that I've been a person, an actual person, for years now. Someone who didn't think about these people every day, every minute. Someone who worked hard, learned a thousand new things, loved, played, and forgot.
But then when he texts me "goodnight" a few hours later, I know that I don't want to leave.
A couple of you asked, so I thought I'd bring it up… the little e/b thing I sent in my review replies took place back in high school. I'm sorry that wasn't clear. I'll be sending out more, and I'll probably add a date or something to the stuff I send for this chapter.
Thanks so, so much for reading. Tell me things.