Ch. 7 Gifts
A/N: Thanks to glorious beta NelsonSmandela, who not only catches me when I fall but will do it after midnight; to cabr, who asked for it; to the amazing Adorablecullens, who made this story a thread over on the Twilighted forums; and to everyone who reads and comments and keeps me going with your enthusiasm. Together, we will get Edward to loosen up, I promise.
Chapter Music (via youtube):
Erik Satie Gymnopedes #1
/watch?v=GAR0WkIQ6mg&feature=related
Bartok, 22 duets for 2 violins (my fav starts at 0:55)
/watch?v=Pj5lT-Fy_aU
~oЖo~
When I was much younger and still living with Renee in Phoenix, I was in our back yard playing, and saw a wasp hovering near a fence post. I froze, terrified that the wasp would sting me. As if it could read my mind, the wasp abandoned whatever it had been doing to do just that. It was as if my fears had pulled the wasp in and invited the sharp stinger to sink into the skinny flesh just above my ankle. As if my fears called for the fire that shot through my leg, making me cry out for my mother.
I had gone to Renee and told her all about it. In her typical free-spirit fashion, she told me that wasps can, in fact, read our intentions, and that the best way to deal with stinging flying things is to wish them long and happy lives. For some strange reason, this advice actually seems to work.
I don't know why, but when I dream of the man in the alley, there's always a wasp hovering above his head. I don't dream of him very often.
I always, however, dream of Edward Cullen.
~oЖo~
I'm thrilled to find Edward in our usual spot on Saturday, even though finals are over. I've got a list of things to do before driving home to Forks, but this is where I really want to be. He gives me a sad little hint of a smile as I try to sneak in. I slip under the piano, even though today I'd much rather look at his face while he plays.
This is my current torture. I need to be in his ring of sound, but I can't be any closer without sitting next to him on the bench. I can't just stand in the crook of the piano and stare at him, either. Part of me loves feeling this close to him, soaking in his music and every emotion and thought he puts into it. Another part of me wants to be able to see his face and beautiful hands while he works. My thoughts become less than pure any time I get to watch his hands, and there's only so much blushing a girl can do before awkward turns into a problem. So I stay underneath, and cheat glances from under my book. This way I only get flashes of pretty, so there's less risk of humiliation. Once or twice I catch him staring at me.
Today instead of a book, I'm working on my laptop. I say I'm working, but I'm really monkeying around on Wikipedia. Edward is playing wistful music today, most of which I recognize. Wistful is sort of his default mode, I think. He starts to play one I don't know, so I ask him what it is.
"Satie, Gymnopédies," he murmurs.
Wikipedia gives me nearly enough information about Satie and links to a separate article on the set of three pieces that make up the Gymnopédies. The piece was inspired by a poem by Contamine de Latour called "Les Antiques (The Ancient)".
Oblique et coupant l'ombre un torrent éclatant
Ruisselait en flots d'or sur la dalle polie
Où les atomes d'ambre au feu se miroitant
Mêlaient leur sarabande à la gymnopédie
Translation:
Slanting and shadow-cutting a flickering eddy
Trickled in gusts of gold to the shiny flagstone
Where the ambre atoms in the fire mirroring themselves
Mingled their sarabande to the gymnopaedia
As if to answer the question barely forming in my mind as I read the final line, he starts playing the Sarabande No. 1, which I recognize. While the first piece had been melancholy but beautiful, I don't like this one at all. It's morose and funereal, with no redeeming qualities, in my opinion. This just feels like pointless wallowing. It reminds me of the way I start to panic when he gets that hopeless, angry expression on his face. It reminds me of how hard I have to work to lure him out of foul moods on the rare occasion that I can. The song makes me a little sad and a little sick. Edward without beauty makes no sense. I don't know how he can see himself this way.
Further investigation reveals that the original version of the Sarabande held a dedication containing more verses by Latour:
"Damnation (La Perdition)"
Suddenly the heavens opened and the damned fell
Hurtling and colliding in a gigantic whirlwind
And when they were alone in the sunless night
They discovered they were wholly black.
Then they blasphemed.
The words blur in front of me, undulating tauntingly until a tear escapes. I'm careful to breathe quietly, happy to be under the piano where he can't see me.
Lying here, with the screen of music and instrument between us, it feels like I imagine a confessional might. Did he just make a kind of confession? Does he really feel … literally damned? If he can truly believe such a thing, doesn't he also believe in some kind of redemption? Perhaps I've become too fanciful in my research, and his playing is only connected with the mood; but knowing him, he is aware of every last detail about the historical background of every piece he plays. I don't know what he means by it, but I want to let him know I'm paying attention, at least.
"'Darkling, I listen'," I quote softly, giving him poetry for poetry.
He's still playing, and I'm wondering if he even heard me. I hold my breath, listening. The mood of the music shifts subtly from melancholy to reverie. He has shifted back to the Gymnopédies. I sigh in relief.
"You do, don't you?" he whispers.
I close my laptop and crawl out from under the piano to the first row of audience seating. Just before reaching the seat occupied by my backpack and coat, I stop, hesitating. I turn my head, but can't force myself to look right at him.
"I have something for you," I say, trying not to sound nervous.
There is a question in his careful approach. I finally look up, over my shoulder at him. When he's concentrating like this it's almost funny to watch. I can't say why, exactly, but he sort of looks hungry. I wonder if I'm giving him the wrong present after all. I think I've changed my mind about fifty times as to what to give him, if anything, and I'm about half an inch away from chickening out. But, I'm a Swan, and we sing till the end, guts blazing, so I take a deep breath and start to dig in my bag.
I search around for a moment and bring out a relatively large packet of brownies wrapped in tinted cellophane. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Edward's mouth drop open, but as soon as I can focus on him, he's got this totally believable fake smile plastered on.
"Jesus, Edward, I didn't make you brownies. Those are for Alice and Jasper," I say, laughing as he looks visibly relieved. "You think I don't notice your 'special diet'?"
"Special diet?" he asks, looking like I just called his mother something bad.
"Yes, Edward. I know you don't eat normal human food," I reply sheepishly, embarrassed to be revealing how much I notice his habits. "Unless you want these? I can always make more if –"
"No, that's okay," he interrupts, looking serious as a heart attack. In other words, looking like he always looks. "Please, Bella, explain what you mean by 'normal human food'."
Damn. I didn't mean to insult him by calling him abnormal, but still, he hasn't really made much of an effort to explain himself. I take a big, deep breath, because seriously, he must think I'm stupid.
"Number one, we've hung out together more times than I can count, and I've never seen you eat anything. Number two, remember, I've heard you talking to your parents on the phone. Your French may be better than mine, but I know I heard you talking about hunting deer. So I kind of guessed that you've got like, a freezer full of deer back in your bat cave."
"My bat cave?" he looks really surprised now. "Bella, what –"
"I'm sorry, I tend to babble when I'm nervous," I say, really unable to filter my thoughts now. "Here, Edward. This is your present."
My face is flaming, but I've found what I was looking for, and there's no turning back now. I thrust the rectangular package at him. It's wrapped in dark red paper with a bright green bow. It looks a little bit like I wrapped it with my feet, but I swear it didn't happen that way. He takes it from me cautiously and opens it. He stares at the labyrinth pattern on the leather cover, quickly tracing a route in the maze. That was all Barnes & Noble, not me, but it kind of suits us just the same.
It's a small leather book, blank when I bought it over a month ago. I started copying some of my favorite poems in it the evening after Edward first touched me. The first poem, of course, was "The Tyger". The remaining poems were fairly standard; things I had studied in school that had lingered in my mind, like The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock, by T.S. Eliot, Ozymandias, by Shelly, and quite a few others by Shakespeare, Keats, and the like. I had added some that I'd found on my own, by Neruda, Teasdale, Vallejo, and a few others.I'm not much of an artist, but anyone can make a collage, so I found online what I couldn't easily draw and illustrated every poem. The first was easy, and my inspiration, because William Blake himself provided the drawing. I copied the images using a cheap watercolor set, and the overall effect was surprisingly compelling. At the time I didn't consciously make it for Edward, but once the book was finished, I knew I wanted him to have it.
Carefully he opens the cover, and I blush, knowing what he's reading.
For Edward, and all the things I never say.
Yours, Bella.
His head snaps up and he stares at me, speechless. I need to let him off the hook here, so I lean in and turn the next page, showing the Blake poem. A creepier-looking tiger than I had meant to paint stares back at me with a yellow, piercing eye. I'm seeing the book upside-down, and it looks all kinds of ridiculous to me now.
"It's kind of silly, I know, but I hope it's okay. You can have the brownies, if you'd prefer them to some random poetry," I say nervously, itching to take the book back before I embarrass myself further. I reach for it.
"No way, Bella. It's mine. I want it," He clutches it to his chest and shakes his head at me, smiling broadly. I'm pretty sure he's teasing me, but who can care as long as he's this happy? "I made you something, too, but I didn't bring it with me. I was planning on giving it to you tonight. You did say you're going to the Fine Arts holiday mixer, did you not?"
"Are you kidding? Alice would murder me in my sleep if I didn't go. I'm supposed to take a turn in the DJ booth. Are you going to be there?" Tonight is starting looking much, much better.
"Yes. I was going to propose that I come pick you up around seven, and we could go together. I could give you your present then. Does that sound reasonable?"
It sounded almost like a date up until you used the word reasonable, Edward. It kind of sounds like a date anyway. I just nod, not trusting myself with more complex vocabulary.
~oЖo~
Edward knocks on my door precisely at seven. I smooth my skirt and adjust my blouse, checking the mirror one last time. I open the door and feel butterflies.
"Where's my present?" I blurt, to keep myself from telling him how hot he looks.
I'm an idiot. I close my eyes and lean my head against the edge of the door, but I can still smell his enticing scent and feel his magnetic draw.
"You look lovely, Bella" he murmurs, taking my hand and placing a slim, angular package in it, no doubt a CD. I finally look at him, and his dark eyes are sparkling with amusement.
"So do you, Edward," I sigh dreamily.
He really does. He's wearing a white button-down shirt with a jacket and jeans, which doesn't sound fancy unless you notice — and boy, do I — that his clothes all appear to be perfectly tailored to his lean, athletic build. I look down at his hand still supporting mine and notice the final devastating touch: shiny cufflinks bearing some sort of intricate design. Cufflinks — though generally worn by the very rich and/or very gay — seem to be my kryptonite. This is something I would never tell Jacob or any of the guys from Forks High, but had some of them ever opted to wear cufflinks, I have no doubt that my virginity would have been long gone by now.
"Sorry," I smile apologetically, "I didn't mean to sound so greedy."
"I wouldn't think that about you," he laughs. "Usually you're the one bearing gifts."
"Only little stuff," I say dismissively. "Never anything expensive."
"Maybe, but it's always thoughtful. You notice things about people. You're frighteningly observant, you know."
Not enough to figure you out, buddy. Not yet anyway, but I will. I hide my smirk as I open the package. It's wrapped perfectly, of course, in shiny white paper with a gold ribbon. Inside is a CD. The jewel case is semi-transparent with a blue tint. The CD itself is shiny and silver. I recognize Edward's elegant penmanship in the three words written on the shiny disk:
Lullaby for Bella
"This is you? Something you wrote?" I ask in disbelief.
"Mm-hmm," he says, nodding. He seems embarrassed.
When he said he had made something, I didn't know if my gift had put him on the spot. I had no idea what he was going to come up with. I can't believe he did this. I start over to my computer to put it in, but he stops me.
"Not now," he says, looking pained. " Just promise me you'll listen to it over the break."
I'm really happy I took a chance with the book now. Something tells me that if I hadn't given it to him, I wouldn't have a clue now that he wrote me a song. My self-doubt starts to fade, and I look at him with new eyes. Something sparks deep inside me. I don't know what it is, but it's so strong that I almost feel I should be afraid of it, but I'm not. It feels like an oncoming train, and it's either going to flatten me or give me the ride of my life. I can still see the hesitation and regret lurking in his expressive eyes, but I no longer think it has anything to do with any inadequacy of mine.
"I'll listen to it tonight," I promise, taking his hands in mine. "Thank you."
I bring his hands closer to my face and inspect his cufflinks. They look French to me: thick and gold, with a flat surface decorated by blue and white enameled crests. On each crest a lion stands over clover, and a disembodied hand hovers over his head, topped by a heart design reminiscent of a claddagh ring.
"Your cufflinks are beautiful," I say, trying to hide any trace of impure thought in my admiring tone. My heart is beating wildly.
"It's my family crest. We all wear something representing it at all times. It's supposed to remind us of who we are." He touches one of the crests lightly, then taps it a few times and takes a deep breath.
"You all wear it? How many of you are included in that 'all'?" I ask curiously.
"Five, including me. My brother, his wife, our parents."
"That sounds kind of serious, like you're trying to remember to be something … set apart, maybe, from the rest of the world?" I stare at the hand above the lion and think of Edward's formal, serious demeanor.
"That's my father. He's an amazing man, very compassionate. He would love you," he says, smiling at me softly.
I'm pretty sure my insides have melted, but I can tell he's thinking about his family, so I don't jump him. It takes a lot of willpower not to, frankly. If he weren't a good eight inches taller than me, I probably wouldn't be able to resist.
I grab my nicest coat from my tiny dorm closet, and Edward helps me into it, his hands lingering for a moment on my shoulders. I can feel his electric presence behind me, only inches away. I want to lean back into him, but something tells me not to, so I just remain still. Eventually I feel him move away, and I look up to see him holding the door open for me.
"Shall we?" he asks, like someone from a Victorian novel.
"Oh, let's," I reply, smirking.
When we get to the party, I notice that the mixing has yet to occur, except on the smokers' patio just outside the entrance to the Fine Arts atrium. I recognize a few jazz musicians from my music history classes. They all seem like stoners, but if you scratch the surface you find that they're smart as hell, second only to the pianists in order of general intelligence. Inside, acting students are clumped in together, competing for laughs and attention. There are only a few opera students, and they look pissy, as usual. A handful of dancers are testing their balance on a thin architectural ledge bordering a clump of ficus trees, and a massive showing of orchestra students swarms the refreshment tables like a hive of busy bees. I don't see any art students, though a few might have been outside smoking. You can usually tell who they are by the art stains on their clothing.
I'm wondering why the crappy techno music has stopped when a flash to our left captures my attention, and I spot Alice grinning at the screen on her digital camera.
"Here's a nice picture." She shows me, and I smile in agreement.
On the tiny screen, Edward is staring at me intently while I'm taking in the room. We're both smiling secretively. It's by far the most flattering picture I've ever seen of myself. Edward, of course, looks stunning. I hand Alice her camera, unsure as to whether Edward has seen it, because I'm too nervous to look at him at the moment.
"Send a copy to my e-mail?" I ask, a little embarrassed.
"I was planning on it," she grins.
"Would you mind sending me a copy as well?" Edward surprises me by asking.
"I was planning on that, too. Hey, Edward, would you mind terribly helping me out? Jasper and I are going to play a duet, and I would love it if you could take a lot of pictures for me. Bella, I need you to take over the DJ booth the second our set is over. Be ready when I nod at you, because there's this drama student with awful taste ruining my party play list. It's our stereo set from home, so you already know how to work the buttons. Edward, do you know how to use this camera?" You'd never guess Alice was originally from the South by how fast she's talking.
"Yes, my mother has one just like it. Nice camera, tiny boss lady." Edward flashes her a teasing half-smile as she slaps him in the arm.
"Damn, Cullen," she says. "You're way more solid than you look. Remind me never to hit you again. Good thing this is my bowing hand."
I'd be jealous, except Alice isn't flirting. Her hand is bright red, but her fingers seem to be okay as she flexes them experimentally.
Jasper approaches us carrying two violin cases. He kisses me on my cheek in greeting and nods at Edward, handing Alice one of the cases. She sets them on a nearby table and takes out her beautiful violin.
"Hey guys. You ready to watch me humiliate myself on the violin?" he jokes, stroking an amber-colored block of rosin on Alice's bow. He hands the bow to Alice and repeats the process on his own bow while she quickly tunes her violin.
"I didn't know you play," I say, delighted. So far I've seen Jasper play the piano, guitar, and double bass. He's not a flashy player, but very competent.
"Alice has been teaching me," he explains, pausing to tune his violin to hers. "I've gotten obsessed with Bartok harmonic structures recently and found these violin duos. They're hot as hell. Or maybe it's just how I feel about making music jump off the page with my pretty little gypsy girl."
It's her turn to blush as she stacks the violin cases neatly under a tucked-away podium. He kisses her neck softly and slowly until the blush deepens and she kicks his shin.
"You're in trouble, Mister," she warns menacingly, trying to compose herself.
"Oh, I'm counting on it, Angel," he grins back. "After you."
They step up to a small platform and Jasper addresses the room. He somehow looks taller, blonder, and somehow glows, and everyone stops to stare without him having to do anything drastic to get everyone's attention. His voice seems louder than usual, but completely natural and absolutely at ease.
"I'd like to thank everyone for coming to the Fine Arts Student Alliance holiday mixer, especially those of you who have worked so hard to help put it together. Alice and I would like to play a little song in appreciation."
"Is Jasper in charge of something?" I ask Edward, confused.
"You didn't know? He's FASA President, for the second year now," he replies. "I'm not very involved, but he's very popular with the students and administration. He seems to have a knack for delegating and figuring out how to solve conflicts, and he makes it look completely effortless."
I'm shocked that Edward knows so much about people's opinions. He rarely talks to anyone outside of our small circle. Besides Alice, Angela, Jasper, and me, he seems incredibly uncomfortable with most people. He catches me staring at him and points to the stage as the music starts.
Alice and Jasper are utterly captivating. The music sounds Eastern European and has a sly, mysterious quality to it. Pretty soon it takes off into a glorious chase, and I see that Jasper is right. They aren't moving their feet, and they're fully clothed, but somehow they manage to infuse an undeniable eroticism into their duet. Alice plays the more challenging part gracefully, her body swaying subtly, making me think of a nymph in the woods. A coy smile plays on her face as Jasper's satyr line chases hers with relentless determination. His body bows slightly towards hers, and they seem more like a matching set than individual people, despite their differences in height and coloring.
They're both charismatic performers apart, but together they light up the small dais as if it were center stage at the Met. The song ends, and the room erupts in raucous applause. Jasper kisses Alice lightly and lingeringly on the mouth, and I can almost feel a wave of vicarious lust pass over the crowd. I sneak a glance at Edward, who is indeed staring at me with a look that burns its way down to my toes. A few hoots from the audience finally get Alice's attention, as well as mine, and she laughingly gives me the signal.
"Oops," I squeak, as though I've been caught looking at porn, and scamper off to the DJ booth. I barely make it in before an ambiguously gendered but decidedly goth-looking drama student can get to the iPod of Power. I manage to find a decent song to play while trying to recover Alice's play list.
"Hey," she breathes, taking the iPod from me before I find it. "Thanks for saving us from more bad club music."
"No problem," I smile. "Alice, that was amazing! You guys were on fire up there."
"That man is wicked." She lets out a surprisingly deep, sexy laugh, and blushes. "He sometimes does that just to energize a performance. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I'm the only one who gets to see the amazing after-party, if you know what I mean. Performing in front of a crowd definitely turbo-charges his libido."
"Yeah, I kind of got that impression watching you two," I laugh, surprised that I'm not more embarrassed by our risqué exchange. "Hey, I had no idea that Jasper is FASA President. How does he have time to tutor?"
"Oh, you've seen him," she explains brightly. "He hardly ever stresses out about anything, but he loves to help people solve problems. He only takes students he likes, too. He says it's a double-bubble, helping good people feels good and always comes back to help you in the end. And he's right; people are always willing to help him whenever he asks. Most of them owe him favors, though he never looks at it that way. To him it's just lots of … I don't know, positive energy flowing back and forth. If someone gets on his bad side, he usually just ignores them and they usually go away."
"What happens if they don't go away?" I ask, sensing there's more.
"Bad news for them, is what. War, and nobody's better at war than Jazz," she says ominously. "Hey, what's going on with Edward? Are you two finally officially dating or what?"
"I'm not sure," I reply honestly. "I believe you now when you tell me he likes me. But something's still holding him back."
"Better find out, girl, before you both explode in sexual frustration. I think you guys were getting close to spontaneous combustion when I was trying to get your attention a minute ago."
~oЖo~
I'm thinking about Alice's advice as Edward drives me back to my dorm.
"Dorms close tomorrow for the break," Edward says quietly.
"Do you live in a dorm?" I ask, finally working up the courage.
He's quiet for a moment, as if in debate. I've never seen his place, and I start to wonder if this is part of his big secret. Maybe he's got a live-in girlfriend. He's sure as hell not spending a lot of time with her if he does. Most of my waking hours involve some form of Edward's presence, even if it's mostly just catching glimpses of him at the library or in the conservatory halls.
"I have an efficiency apartment not far from here," he says, finally. "It's perfunctory, not much more than a storage unit for my music and clothes, plus a sofa and bathroom. I've got keys to the music building, and I'm usually practicing if I'm not with you."
I have to steady my breath. I feel like we're circling around the big question of what we are together, and I keep sensing some nearly unbreachable barrier between us. I'm trying to formulate some kind of question that will help me break through when he interrupts the silence.
"Are you going home for the break then?" he asks neutrally. I hate that tone.
"Yes. I drive back to Forks tomorrow," I say, unable to keep the sadness out of my voice. "Are you going to visit your family in Europe?"
I can't imagine two and a half weeks without him.
"I've been invited, of course," he replies in that same tone. "But there's something here I really need to take care of, so I'm probably going to stay in the area."
A charged silence hangs in the air. We approach the curb next to the entrance to my dorm, and he puts his car in park, leaving the engine idling.
"I'll miss you," I say so quietly I'm not sure he can hear me.
He heard me. His head whips to face me, but I can't look at him. I'm staring at my hands, willing my face to cool down.
"I've been to Forks before," he says. "It's been a long time, but I wouldn't mind driving out to see you."
"It's a three and a half hour drive," I protest. "Maybe we could meet in the middle somewhere, like Port Angeles or Port Ludlow?"
"I really don't mind driving to Forks," he laughs. "But if you'd prefer it, we could meet in Port Angeles for a movie, maybe check out the bookstore there. There are some excellent hiking spots in Olympic National Forest if you're feeling adventurous."
Before I can talk myself out of it, I lean in quickly and kiss him softly on the cheek, near the corner of his mouth. He freezes, utterly still, eyes closed. I hope I haven't just ruined everything.
"Good night, Edward," I whisper, opening the passenger door to get out.
As I'm sliding my pass-card through the security lock, Edward is there, opening the front door to the dorm for me. I'm surprised because didn't see him, so quick and silent.
"Good night, Bella," he says quietly, but he doesn't kiss me back. "Sweet dreams."
~oЖo~
As I pack my suitcase for the drive home, I'm more confused than ever. It would be nice to know whether I've just been asked out on my second date or my first, or if I'm a permanent resident of the Friend Zone. I take the memories of him I've been collecting all semester, and examine them one by one. I try to see each moment clearly and strip away any romantic delusions or excess doubt. Every look, caress, and word parades through my mind, seeking pattern and finding none.
I mentally lay these treasures out in front of me as carefully as the physical belongings I pack to take home. As I touch the gifts I've wrapped for Charlie, Billy, and Jake, I'm reminded of the three wise men from the Christmas story. They're not three kings, but they certainly are chiefs, and I can't wait to see them again. The thought makes me smile.
I think of Edward's final words to me tonight, and finally take out my present from him after changing into sleepwear and climbing into my narrow bed. I position my small computer speakers so that I hear them right above my head, as I do when sitting underneath the piano.
The lullaby starts out simple, just a vaguely familiar melody with a spare supporting structure. Soon, however, the lush sounds of his music wash over me relentlessly, like waves against a pier. Every phrase of the lovely melody betrays his longing. A rotating harmonic pattern whispers desire and howls in frustration. This is a clash of mind and spirit. It's a call and response with no resolution. Above it all, the hypnotic melody holds steady, never quite overpowered by the chaotic chords beneath. I'm overwhelmed by the complexity of it all, but somehow, I fall asleep.
A/N: Canzone Twilighted Forum exists! Music suggestions also welcome, as long as it's not Phillip Glass, for the sake of Algie's fragile something.
Twilighted (dot) ?f=33&t=5051&p=580706&e=580706
ALSO, there is an outtake of this chapter, of what happens when Jasper and Alice go home from the party. Over in the outtakes. Where they go.
