*Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.
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The digital clock on the stove tells me I have way too much free time to fill. The microwave is set a minute ahead of the stove, but it's telling me the same thing. It feels like a never-ending hourglass, but there's no room for sand in my life, so what else would I fill it with? Today, my agenda includes waiting for my dad to get home and make us dinner, and hoping Edward texts me. The waiting feels daunting. I used to be good at occupying myself in an empty, silent house, but now it's as if I've forgotten how.
I decide to change up the usual routine and attempt to cook my dad something for once. I know he's disappointed I no longer join him on his trips out to La Push, but he likes to tell his friends mundane details about me as if they are prideful stories, so my cooking dinner will give him something to brag about. It'd be nice to be there to hear him gush, but knowing how it will probably go will have to do.
My culinary skills are limited. I look through the fridge and pantry before settling on canned soup and grilled cheese, but then I decide if I'm feeding my dad, then he needs to eat something healthy. The soup has bits of meat and vegetables, but I don't think there's enough to satisfy the serving size of the food guide pyramid. I grab ham to add to the sandwiches and then laugh out loud as I get out apples and carrot sticks. I'm pretty sure I ate more fruits and vegetables in the first few months I lived with my dad than I had throughout my whole life.
The sun reflects off the glass from the window above the sink as I get out a pot and pan. As I stand, light flashes in my eyes. Unlike in my bedroom, where darkness is warranted for sleeping purposes, this window always seemed like the perfect place to let the sun in. It's why I chose the spot to display the seashells and sand dollars I used to collect with Jake. Memories with those with sunny dispositions were best suited in sunny places. Too bad Forks tends to be overcast. Maybe for a time, I found a piece of Phoenix in Jake, but now he's as dark and gloomy as the region we're living in.
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Charlie's old pickup truck was smaller than mine, but nowhere near as old. It meant not being in a cop car, but it had me feeling the same claustrophobia. I couldn't say which was worse. At least the cop car gave me a rational excuse for being uncomfortable.
Charlie kept fiddling with the heater vent as he drove. We were heading out to visit his friends, a meeting he'd been talking about almost daily for the two months I had lived with him.
"You warm enough?" he asked for the third time.
"Yes," I said, staring out the window at the trees that seemed to zoom by. As much as I didn't like being in the truck, I would have liked to have slowed down, taken our time, and even delayed our arrival. I should have gotten really girly in my preparation and made us late. That would have been a normal teenage thing to do, but no. I was ready to go on time.
"Too warm maybe? Are you too warm?"
I clasped my hands in my lap and squeezed. He was always fretting over me. My mom just tried to make sure there was something in the fridge for me to eat.
I thought I was prone to worrying, but Charlie worried about things that never occurred to me.
He lowered the volume on the radio, quieting the sports reporters who spoke of things I didn't understand fully, or care to understand, things that were easy to tune out. Music would have been nice, giving me something to fill my mind.
"You're welcome to change the station if you want."
"Thanks," I said, glancing at him and forcing a smile. "This is fine."
He changed the station anyway, choosing a top forty station, Alice's favorite and one that was becoming mine, as the lyrics ran through my head of the many songs I had memorized.
Yellow dandelions freckled the roadside for miles like the rampant weeds they were. Blackberry bushes stretched on and on, creating a barrier between the road and the woods.
Charlie turned off the radio and rolled down his window, winding the crank around and around. "You can't see it from here, but can you hear it?"
"What am I hearing?" I asked, as the sound of air whirling through the open windows and the amplified sound of the truck filled my ears now that the window was rolled down.
"The ocean," he said.
I sat up straighter, closed my eyes, and tried to tune into the sound. I had photos of me at the beach from when I was very young, but I had no memory of the ocean.
"I love it out here," Charlie said, breaking my concentration on the nearby water. "The Clearwaters have a daughter your age, Leah. Really nice girl."
"Hmm." My stomach clenched, as if a vice was being tightened, ruining any excitement the ocean had provided. Coming out here, I'd thought I'd find a corner to sit with my phone and headphones, so I could text Alice and watch videos. If I knew I'd be expected to interact with his friend's daughter, I wouldn't have agreed to go.
"Jake will be there too. Billy said he was really happy to hear you're coming out."
"Okay," I said, and it's exactly how I felt. This was going to be okay.
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My eyes are caught on all the dust settled on the window sill. I'm not sure it's been cleaned since before the shells were removed. There's probably still sand amongst the dust when there should be no remnants at all. I get out a rag and clean it off until I'm satisfied there's no trace of sand left and wash any that might be on the rag down the drain. I loved the beach once upon a time, but I never thought about it back then; all that time I spent thrilled to be with Jake feeling the sand between our toes and cold salt water lapping at our ankles as we were gathering seashells, we weren't collecting memories. We were collecting corpses.
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I stare at the two wireframes I've created. This is my first attempt at earrings and making sure they are as similar as I can get them is going to be tricky. I've already started over a dozen times.
My phone screen lights up and dings. What's your favorite food?
Edward's been texting me questions like this all evening, making me smile and teaching me new things about him and myself. Some questions have me really pondering what my answers are.
I lift my phone and answer back, thinking of my favorite dish my dad makes. Spaghetti. What about you?
Pizza.
I'm about to ask his favorite toppings when another message comes in. So Italian? There's a good restaurant in Port Angeles.
Smiling, I type,I've never been.
An Italian restaurant with Edward Cullen sounds like a dream. When he texts back, I'm expecting something like We should go, but what I get is,Are the earrings working out?
My disappointment is short lived. I like sharing what I'm working on with him. I send him a picture of what I've done so far. Does it look like they're the same size?
Yes,he texts and then adds, How do you put them on your ears, though?
I snap a picture of the hooks that I haven't added yet and ask him what he's doing. He sends a photo of several cardboard boxes and a box cutter.
He still hasn't told me where he works. This is the biggest clue I've gotten. I zoom in on the boxes, but they're nondescript. How many businesses in town have use for cardboard boxes? It's just a guess, but I'm going to go with all of them.
The texts from Edward slow down since he has work to do. As he cuts boxes, I'm wrapping the wire around that makes up the veins of the leaf. The steady stream of texts coming from him all evening kind of feels as if he's here with me.
My phone alerts me to another message. This time, the incoming image flashes with Alice's name. Her painting of two birds perched in a whimsical tree with looping branches and a full moon in the background fills my screen.
I tell her it's beautiful. I want to show her what I'm working on, but I haven't decided who I'm giving the earrings to if they turn out okay. I only know two people who wear big earrings: Alice and my mom. Looking at their size, I question whether they are even large enough to suit either's taste. Maybe I should have chosen another design.
By the time the earrings are nearly done, I now that Edward's favorite place is a trail near the waterfront in Chicago, and as far as favorite places go, I don't really have one. I wanted to say anywhere he is, but it seems like too much too soon… maybe. It's all I can think of, so I'm getting back to him on that. It'd be nice to say that I have to choose between several places, but I can't think of a single one. There were no places I cared about in Phoenix, and for a time, I loved that tainted, skeleton-infested beach, but now I don't know. My favorite place is a mystery to me unless with Edward counts. If he asks again in the future, maybe I'll tell him that even if it sounds corny.
I hold the earrings side by side and then adjust the veins, so they are even. No matter how much I adjust them, I keep finding spots where they don't look the same. I should have chosen a simpler design for my first try, but when I stop adjusting, they don't look too bad… except for here, here, and here. It never ends.
My dad yells at the TV, causing me to startle and drop the earring I'm working on. I look at my closed bedroom door as if I can see him through it. I don't know who's playing to get him so riled up, but it doesn't matter. He gets riled up watching any sport. The first few times he'd yelled in front of me, he was full of apologies and notable restraint, but now he lets it out. When a player messes up, my dad takes it personally. Sometimes, it's amusing, but I'm often surprised when it gets so out of hand that he sulks over the game for days.
I get back to adjusting the earrings, but my phone alerts me to a video call.
Mom.
I should have expected the call. It's been awhile. It'd help if she kept me in the know about her traveling schedule. She tends to call before she leaves for her work trips and has to end the call early but makes as if she'll miss me while she's gone and may be too busy to talk. She never calls on the days between her trips, so I see through her empty reasoning.
She looks as tired as I expect. She's in pajamas with her hair piled atop her head in a messy bun. I know this means she's already spent time relaxing in a hot bath scented with whatever fragrances are known to set the mood she'd like to achieve. It's also a guarantee that at least one glass of wine has already been consumed.
"Hey, baby. What are you up to?" she asks, squinting her eyes as she looks at me. She needs glasses, but she insists she doesn't. I don't say anything anymore. I know if I say anything in this moment, she'll say, "It's just this damn phone."
"Not a lot." I dangle the earrings in front of me. "Just finished making these."
She moves closer to the phone, her failing eyes narrowing for a better look. "Oh, baby girl. Those are amazing."
"Yeah, you think so?" I hold them up for myself. I guess they do look pretty good, and I don't need glasses. We got my eyes checked last month. "I could send them to you, if you want."
She lifts her wine to her lips, White Zinfandel I'm sure, although, that's the only wine I know. It's the only kind she buys. She gulps down a few swallows. She never sips. "Make twenty more pairs or so and send them down. I'll sell them for you next time Jodie gets a booth at a farmers' market or craft show."
"Okay," I say as I set the earrings down. "How's Jodie?" I ask, and she's off, full of gossip, loving words, and criticism of her closest friend.
I smile and nod, grateful for video calls because I don't have to say anything at all.
I get a text from Edward while my mom is mid-rant about a salon Jodie recommended.
Do you have a favorite flower? Before you ask, no, I don't, but girls do, right?
I laugh as I read his words.
"Bella, it was not funny. It was mortifying." She laughs. "Okay, you're right. It was funny."
I don't have the slightest clue what she's talking about. I hear the glug of the wine bottle pouring and see only her shoulder, as she leans forward to pick up her glass. I used to know how her mood would differ depending on how many glasses she'd had, but I don't know that anymore. Tolerances change, and it's been too long for me to be in tune with hers. I still watch for signs in her speech patterns that show how the wine is affecting her. There's a point where the things she says will be more information than I like to hear, and she gets nosey. I'd like to be off the phone before she gets to that point.
"Well, I know Jodie means well, but I should have known better than to trust her judgment right now. You should see this new man she's seeing."
"Oh, really?" I ask, letting her get out her gossip as I clean up the supplies still laid out on my desk.
Edward sends another text. Everything okay?
I want to answer him, but my mom's still talking.
Are you busy?
Should I stop texting?
I don't really want to.
So, I won't.
I have five minutes before I can clock out, so I'm just waiting for the time to go by.
I have to hold my breath to keep from laughing as he continues texting and my mom continues talking.
Wow! I'm being annoying. I'll leave you alone.
I'm about to answer him despite the fact that my mom will see that I'm messing around on my phone as she's talking because no way is he being annoying, but then another text comes in.
Not really. I'm getting ready to go. I'll try to text you again when I get home.
I relax against my chair.
"Anyway," my mom says, the bun on top of her head falling forward. "Enough about me. What else have you been up to?"
"Not much," I shrug. I'm not going to tell her everything I've been up to. "I made dinner. It turned out all right."
"Of course, he has you cooking. That man, I swear."
"He didn't tell me to," I say before she can rant about my dad any further. "He was surprised. He makes dinner all the time, and I was bored, so I just made something. Don't get all worked up about it."
"That town, boring? No way."
"Mom," I say with a clipped tone. If she doesn't let up, I'm getting off the phone.
She rubs her eye, smearing remnants of mascara. "All right. All right. I'm sorry. What'd you make?"
I fight the scrunch of my nose at her sudden mood change, knowing the lecture that the action will set off in her when she tries to convince me it's unattractive and wrinkle-inducing. "Grilled cheese."
"At least I taught you something, huh?" She lets out a yawn, not bothering to cover it. "I better get to bed. I've got an early flight to Dallas."
"Okay, have a safe trip."
"I will. Kiss. Kiss." She ends the call.
Maybe I want to return her kiss kiss. I don't, but she doesn't know that. Oh, well.
I step out on the landing and yell a goodnight down to my dad.
"Goodnight, kid. Love ya."
His offhanded versions of I love you always throw me off.
"You too," I say and get ready for bed. My mom tends to make me feel bummed, but at least she called. Besides, I have other things to be happy about, so I try not to let her get me down.
My dad's footsteps are heavy and slow up the stairs as I turn off my light and settle in bed. I could probably fall asleep. I'm tired enough, but I'm staring at my phone instead, waiting for a text from Edward to come in.
It feels like forever floats by as I wait for him to light up my phone with a message. Biting my cheek, I pick up my phone and start texting him instead. No favorite flower, huh? What about plants? Do you have a favorite? I follow the text with an image of a stargazer lily to answer his earlier question.
Two minutes tick by, but then he responds. No, not that I can think of. You're around now?
Yes, sorry. My mom called.
Oh, so I was being annoying?
I try to muffle my giggle, so my dad doesn't get suspicious. He'd probably think I was recording myself or something equally ridiculous.
No, you made it more interesting.
Next, he's calling, and the intensity of my elation is so strong that I might be glowing in the dark. I pull the blankets over my head as I answer. "Hi."
"Hey," he says, voice low, but not as low as mine. "What are you doing?"
"Talking to you and that's it," I say whisper soft, trying to be quiet enough for my voice not to breach the blankets and the walls that separate me from my dad.
"Are you trying to sleep? Why are we whispering?" he asks, in a whisper that's too loud to be referred to as such.
"Because I already said goodnight to my dad, and if he hears me, he'll think I'm recording videos of myself."
He chuckles the kind of laugh I've learned is out of humor. He has another one, a nervous one. A few times I couldn't find the humor behind his laughs, but I've figured it out. Edward Cullen has a nervous laugh. "Is that something you do often?" he asks.
"No, it's Alice. She's always taking pictures and videos in front of him. He thinks it's what we do, but I don't have those apps on my phone. I don't even know what I'd make a video of."
He laughs again. "Are you in bed?"
"Yes." The air beneath the covers grows warmer, like the body heat of two people even though it's just me.
"Then I'll get in bed too," he says.
"Okay." I close my eyes despite the darkness, giving into an illusion that my phone isn't here, that he's beside me, talking into my ear.
"So, what's your middle name?" he asks, and an hour later, we're still talking.
I'm still under the covers. It feels more intimate this way, but every once in a while, I pull down the blankets and take a few breaths of cooler air.
"You smell good," he says.
I stifle a laugh. "Are you sure? How do you know?"
"Because my bed smells like you. You were just here yesterday. Did you forget already?"
"No way," I say, and smell the pillow he laid on when he was here. It doesn't smell like anything. "Mine doesn't smell like you, though."
"We can fix that," he says. "What days does your dad work late?"
I like the idea of him here, but unlike his parent-free Tuesdays, I don't have anything like that. If I were back in Phoenix, he could have probably lived with me, and no one would have known. "He doesn't usually. Last time was just a fluke."
"Okay," he says, a huff of air leaving his mouth. "Maybe we can figure something else out because Tuesday seems really far away."
My smile grows. "Yeah, we can figure something out. Are your parents home early other days?"
"At least one of them, yeah. The practice they work for has an office here and one in Port Angeles that they switch between, but the only day they're both in Port Angeles at the same time is on Tuesdays. They usually just eat dinner out there after work."
I hum my understanding. I didn't realize Denali Family Medicine had an office in Port Angeles. I try to think back to who I saw the one time I'd been in that office when I first moved here. I had to get a vaccine for school that wasn't on my records, even though I was fairly sure I'd already gotten it. I was too annoyed at being there to pay attention to the staff. Being in the building that employed Edward's parents wasn't something I knew about yet. The man that stuck the needle in my arm wasn't old enough to be Edward's father, and I briefly saw Dr. Sasha who I later learned is Tanya Denali's mother. I don't recall seeing Edward's parents, but maybe it was a Tuesday. "Is your mom a doctor too?"
"No, a physician assistant. What does your mom do?" he asks.
"Software training for a hotel software company. It used to be local, but then she got a position that required traveling, and I moved here, so I wasn't alone all the time." I wonder about the reasoning. I would have been alone all the time anyway.
"I like that you're here," he says, "but do you miss her?"
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I don't want to voice my first thought that I missed her even when she was in the same room. I missed the nurturing parent she never was. "I've gone back to visit a few times, so it's fine. She was never really home much anyway, so I'm used to not seeing her."
When I change the subject, he lets me. We talk a while about the friends I left behind in Phoenix and the ones he left in Chicago, but neither of us kept in contact with our former friends. The attachments weren't strong enough, causing me to question if they can even be considered friends.
"Okay," he says, and I can hear in his voice that this call is coming to an end. "Well, I should let you go to sleep. I won't be there to caffeinate you in the morning, so I'll be worried about you driving and everything."
"All right," I say even though I don't want to get off the phone. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight. Oh, and, Bella?"
"Yeah."
"Text me in the morning again if you want to."
"Okay," I say, not saying out loud how much that is something I really want to do.
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Author's Note: How are we feeling now? Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews. If I didn't have so much editing to do on future chapters, I'd post more because there are so many of you that have me really excited to share this story. Even though I'm unable to post extra chapters, please know that your words are the push I need each day to keep editing and writing. Your thoughts are inspiring. Chapter 8 will be up next Wednesday and the teaser will be up on Facebook on Monday. My name there is Mylissa Denicks for anyone interested in teasers that hasn't added me yet.
Thanks to sri ffn and YourVixen for prereading and to dazzled eyes22 for her beta work. Some of these chapters I get mostly right the first time around and some go through so many versions, and they have been so amazing in helping me get everything to work.
Okay, leave me your thoughts, and I hope you'll be back to read ch 8 next Wednesday.
~M