Disclaimer: All recognizable elements contained herein belong to their respective owners.
AN: This chapter is LPOV. Just to remind you of what she was thinking the last time we saw her:
From Ch. 5: Lemon Wedge & Bitters
I missed Cullen. Not just his hands or his cock. I missed his piano and his smile and his soft voice in the mornings and when he was inside me. I missed the feel of his hair in my hands and how he would furrow his brow and chew his bottom lip when he was concentrating. I missed how sweet and playful he was with Bella, so sweet. I wanted to cook him breakfast and be sweet, too.
But I wasn't patient and I wasn't kind. I knew I'd yell again. I knew if I had him back I'd just throw shit and call him names, and he'd jab me again with the crack about my "stellar nurturing instincts." Neither of us was very kind, I supposed. Maybe that's why he was so silent now, letting this breathe, giving it space.
One Saturday in late February I walked into the studio and found Sam cleaning up after the early morning CrossFit session. I had taken him up on the offer to partner in his business, and he welcomed me with open arms. Once I started, we immediately began planning for other studios in the region.
"Morning," Sam greeted me, loosely twining a red tension band around his fist, back straight, head held high, looking as much the drill sergeant as ever. Sam was a good guy-upstanding citizen, a gentleman (if I could use that word to describe any man), honest, and fearless. But he was wound tighter than anyone I had ever known, including that cunt Alice Cullen.
After weeks of brooding over Edward, wondering what he was doing, what he thought of me, what I had done wrong, I was finally starting to see things more clearly. I had started journaling, spent a lot of time with my mom-annoying and naggy as she was, she was a pretty wise old broad-and I had ramped up my workouts to neutralize my aggression. I also cut back on drinking since Cullen wasn't around to egg me on. I had learned a lot about myself. I was exhausted enough and sick enough of seeing things the same depressing-as-shit way, so I started to look at things from a different angle. I started to have a little more faith in me.
"Morning, Sam," I answered. "How was the class?"
"Good," Sam responded, as he hung the bands then moved toward the office where I was unloading my computer and lunch bags for the day ahead. "I've got some good news, too."
"Yeah?" I stopped what I was doing to give him my full attention.
"Yeah." He grinned. "McMillan called back. We got the big studio in Portland."
McMillan was the broker for one of the properties we were trying to lease in Portland. The big studio in Portland was larger in size than our current space, but also had extra offices where we could meet and conduct the sales side of the business. Sam and I could move into that studio and maintain this one as a satellite location. It was definitely a step up.
"Oh, Sam!" I launched myself at him in a tackle/hug. He grunted and laughed before wrapping his arms around me.
"Whoa there, little sis." Sam laughed lightly, but squeezed me just as tight as I was squeezing him.
I was happy for Sam's and my first step toward success, but I mentally rolled my eyes at Cullen's ignorant words about how Sam looked at me. I knew then that it was really about Edward; he was so jealous. He just didn't want to feel vulnerable. He would try to turn it around to be my fault,my weakness. Jealousy meant I could hurt him, gave me too much power. Whatever…
"We need to call Jake," I told Sam, pushing out of his hug and turning to find my phone. "And Emily. She's going to be so proud of you!"
Sam and my cousin Emily had been seeing each other for only a few weeks, but they already had that baby-making look in their eyes. They couldn't keep their hands off each other. Jake and I had a pool going on how long it would take Emily to get knocked up and Sam to hand the business over to us. Seth told us both we were both acting like immature, teenage boys.
At the end of the day, I was proud of Sam, too. He was the beginning of my turnaround. I won't credit him for everything, but he opened the door. Not only did he give me the opportunity to move away from the job at the boutique that made me feel like a second-class citizen, but that opportunity also helped me begin to overcome the thought that I was worthy of being defined as more than sexual congress.
After Alec, that crazy fucker, I swore I wouldn't let those kinds of thoughts drag me down again-that's why I had come home, to reset-but Cullen and his clan put me right back there. Of course, I let him. Hell, I helped. I opened myself up to it, and I'm sure I was coloring his words as well with my shitty opinion of myself and of relationships. Regardless, I didn't feel safe with Cullen; I wasn't sure if I ever had. So I needed to find my own place. I needed to not just feel like I could stand on my own; I needed to know it and do it.
"Emily knows already." Sam sounded hesitant. "She stayed over last night. McMillan sent the email at about three A.M. I hope it doesn't bother you I told her first."
It didn't bother me. Much. But I knew why he thought it would. I didn't have anybody to share anything with at three in the morning.
"No." I scoffed and turned my back, fumbling in my bag for my phone. "Why would it bother me?" I shrugged, knowing that it shouldn't bother me at all.
No, I shouldn't feel resentful that Sam has someone to confide in and celebrate with, but I do feel that way. I just need to remember that it isn't his fault that I don't have that, too.
There was a time when I had someone to share life's little victories with, but I realized that Sam had more than just someone. He had someone who was happy when he was happy, even happy just because he was happy. Cullen's usual response to any hint of my success was to find out which sexual favor had moved me up that next rung on the ladder. He'd have also been less than thrilled if I had ever woken him at three A.M. to tell him anything other than I was about to give him head-assuming he'd have even been home, that is.
I took a deep cleansing breath and dialed Jacob's number then turned back to face Sam with a smirk on my face. He chuckled and rolled his eyes at my mischievous demeanor. We both knew Jake would be pissed that I was calling him at dark-fifteen. He had probably been up until the wee hours screwing that little girlfriend of his. She was all red hair and sass. I dug her, but I'd never let Jake know that.
"This better be good, or I'm gonna beat your scrawny ass," Jake grumbled into the phone. His threat was such a joke. I could take him down with a flick of my wrist at this time of the day.
"We got the big studio in Portland, asshole." I laughed quietly into the receiver. I could hear him gasp and a shuffling of the phone.
"No shit!" he said, and I laughed louder.
"No shit," I responded. "Now, pull your dick out of your girlfriend. We've got some planning to do." I hung up the phone. Sam eyed me critically then shook his head and walked away.
"He's my cousin!" I defended myself. "I can say that shit to him."
We conducted the rest of our sessions that day and met to talk about moving into the new facility. I would move to Portland immediately, and Jake would commute between the two studios until we built our staff to sufficiently accommodate the clientele. I decided to buy dinner that night for Mom, Seth, and me to celebrate.
Mom was characteristically charming throughout our meal, simultaneously commending me for propelling my career forward while making me feel like a crude slob for my eating habits and table manners.
"Lee-lee, honey, get your elbows off the table. This is a fine dining establishment."
Seth sat across the table and snickered like the little shit he was until I finally called it a night. I had to get home and start planning for my move. I needed to find housing and sort through my crap. Moving out of my mother's house was a definite benefit of this positive development, but it was still going to be work, and some of it would flat out suck. Even though I didn't have a lot of stuff, I wasn't looking forward to what I had to do.
When we got home, Mom made her requisite evening chamomile and kissed me goodnight. I poured a glass of Chardonnay, switched off the kitchen light, and headed up the stairs to my attic bedroom.
I opened every drawer and door and pulled out all my bags. I estimated that I could put everything I needed and wanted to take with me into the luggage that I had. I didn't think I'd need any boxes.
I went to my computer bag and pulled out my laptop, then a steno pad and pen to make notes of what to take and what to leave, how I would pack what item, and in what bag. I opened my laptop and turned on my iTunes before picking up the pad of paper and setting to work.
Twenty minutes into my project I happened upon my white North Face down jacket. The hood was barely used and looked much less worn than the rest of the coat. I rolled the hood up and tucked it into its little hiding place in the collar, then checked the pockets for that Lucky Twenty everybody I know purports to find, but I never do.
What I found instead momentarily stopped the proverbial clock. I didn't hear the music and I didn't feel Felix's soft coat against my bare thigh as I sat cross-legged on the floor. All I heard was Cullen's voice.
"I'm not too drunk to keep track of my own shit, Leah. Give me back my fucking keys."
I never thought he was too drunk to keep track of his keys. I thought he was too drunk to drive. He was always too drunk to drive, and I was forever running interference. I guess I forgot to leave them the night I left the cabin. I was so worried he'd drive somewhere after I left.
"Just let me drive, Cullen, for once let me drive us home."
"I always let you drive," he said under his breath, giving up and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
That wasn't the first time he made reference to me "driving" or "controlling things." It was always a struggle for us-back and forth, push and fucking pull.
He could never just let me fucking take care of him! I growled and threw the keys across the room. Felix stirred next to my leg. I looked down and watched him as he rolled and grunted then settled down to sink back into kitty sleep.
I laid a hand on his warm fur as thoughts swirled through my mind.
"I bought those boots you wanted… they're fucking ugly."
Cullen on a ladder, patching my leaky roof…
Cullen telling me to take his Audi because he thought it was safer than my truck…
"Tell me you want this."
"I'll do whatever-get a job? Get a bigger house? When do we need to start doing these things?"
God, I wished I could've taken his words at face value and trusted him. I wanted to rely on someone to love me and take care of me and let me take care of him. But just one set of keys, or one bartender, just one ripple, and shit could change in the blink of an eye.
Maybe we were right before we were wrong. Maybe the shit we carried around was getting in the way. Maybe he was Mr. Wrong Now, but none of that meant either of us was bad or a failure. Our pieces just didn't fit.
"He must've found the spare set, huh, Felix?" Felix didn't stir again. He lay like a clump of fur, purring and snoring. I shook my head and looked over at the keys on the floor by my closet. They mocked me.
Okay, so I had Cullen's keys. I would need to give them back to him, right? Or, I could just toss them in the wastebasket with the old receipts from Target and gum wrappers I'd found instead of the Lucky Twenty.
I sighed and accepted that I would definitely have to give them back, but I didn't have to do it in person. I could mail them to him. I could give them to Seth. I was certain that once I was out of the picture, Seth and Cullen would once again become BFFs.
No, I'd give them back in person. This was a good opportunity for closure. I needed to say goodbye, didn't I? We hadn't even spoken since I'd left almost two months before. All I knew was word-of-mouth, like Cullen had hooked up with that bartender, Nina, and was frequenting the local strip clubs. I think he got a new tattoo, too, but that didn't surprise me, either.
I moved to my laptop, reconsidering a quick email saying "Hey, I have your car keys. Gonna leave them with Seth. See you around."
But I couldn't. I didn't even want to.
I wanted to see him again.
I settled on my bed with my laptop and thought about writing other emails. All of them made me sound like an asshole, making up reasons to see each other and asking if he wanted to grab a cup of coffee-as if Cullen would ever step foot in a fucking Starbucks.
Dear Edward, I typed.
Then I realized I could count on one hand the number of times I had called him "Edward" and laughed out loud at the thought of calling him "dear", so I quickly tapped 'delete' eleven times.
Cullen, I typed.
I stared at the screen thinking of what to say next. Just his last name sitting there on the page looked so cold and impersonal. Or like I was referring to him as a buddy or something. Calling him by his last name wasn't the most intimate thing I could've called him.
delete delete delete delete delete delete delete
I have your keys. Leaving town on Thursday. Call me if you want them back, I typed.
And that looked like a ransom note.
What did I want to say? I wanted to say a lot of things; I've missed you, I'm leaving, goodbye. Email was not going to allow me to do that the way I wanted to do it.
So I flopped back into my pillows and yanked my phone from its charger.
"Hello?" he answered on the second ring. It was late and he sounded tired, but I could tell by his tone that he knew who was calling. Apparently he hadn't deleted my number from his phone.
"Hi," I replied, simply. I lay silent for a long moment because my brain was busy with other things, like his voice, surrounding me like soft, warm cotton, and whether or not he was alone. I curled onto my side and waited for his response.
"Hi," he replied just as simply, not sounding as dumb as I did. He sounded relieved. "Are you… okay?"
His question sent my mind reeling. In all the times he expressed concern for me, the boots, my truck, my roof, he never sounded quite like this. His concern was pure, without condescension or accusation. He sounded sincere. I didn't know how to respond.
When my brain sped up again, I blurted, "I'm fine. I have your keys."
There was another brief silence and then a soft laugh.
"I figured." I heard the switch and spark of a lighter followed by the inhale of breath. "I s'pose I should get those back from you. When are you leaving?"
He knew I was leaving. I thought about driving across town and beating the piss out of my jackhole brother for telling him, but then I remembered I knew an awful lot about Cullen as well. Maybe Sam or Jake had gone to Billy's and told Cullen's bartender girlfriend about my move.
"Thursday," I answered, feeling my skin break out in a cold sweat. I knew what was coming, what had to be done. I wanted it, but it scared the shit out of me.
"When can I see you?" he asked.
I thought about what his question meant. Did he just want his keys? Did he really want to see me, to say goodbye? Did he want to push me up against his refrigerator and fuck me into Thursday?
I closed my eyes and shook my head. I heard my mom's sage advice.
"I'll bet good money that he felt the same way about you when he was being cruel as when he was being sweet. I'll bet that he cared, Lee-lee. But I'll also bet that when he was a child he wasn't ever made to clean up after himself. He doesn't know consequence."
It really didn't matter what he was thinking, or what he wanted. I was going to say goodbye. I needed to have the courage to say goodbye.
"I have Monday off," I offered, extending the olive branch.
"Good," he replied and I hung there, waiting for him to take the branch. "Why don't you come over? I'll make coffee."
I released a breath of air I'd been holding in anticipation. I felt so accomplished that we had resolved something together without one of us throwing elbows to take over. Granted, it was a minor little thing, but the results were huge.
"Coffee, Cullen?" I teased lightly. "What're you, a teetotaler now?"
"Coffee is the preferred morning beverage, Leah." I heard a smile in his voice and felt warmed by his words. "And yes, I quit drinking."
I thought I knew it all. I thought he was predictable and the rumors were all true. I had spent the last seven weeks imagining Cullen drinking the state of Maine dry and fucking everything with two legs and a g-string. My mind was blown.
"Are you there?" he asked with that soft, soft voice.
"You quit drinking?" I asked.
"Yeah," he responded.
"Huhn," I wondered aloud. I pictured him stretched out on his couch with Bella curled on his chest. He was probably wearing those pajama pants that he never took off unless I made him. I wondered if he had substituted his whiskey with the apple spice tea I'd left behind.
"I guess I never asked you to quit," I said. "But I have to say I'm a kinda pissed that you're making the change now that I'm gone."
I was only half joking. The other half of me was trying to make sense of a sober Cullen.
"I don't blame you," he said, and I could hear him exhale. He had quit drinking, but not smoking. I imagined him being responsible and emptying his ashtrays, cleaning Bella's litter box, checking the mail so it wasn't overflowing with junk and bills, folding his laundry.
"But we need to talk before you leave town," he continued, and for the first time in the history of Edward and Leah, I agreed with him.
"I'll bring donuts."
Edward and I used to go to Congdon's on those hung over mornings when I didn't have to work at the boutique. We'd sit on the patio and smoke cigarettes with our coffee and bear claws. We had some of our best conversations on those mornings, in the beginning, before we stopped communicating.
"Bear claws?" he asked, laughing softly and sounding hopeful.
"Of course."
We confirmed the time I'd come over on Monday. Cullen said he'd hike and be home by nine. I had to pinch myself because that meant not only had he quit drinking but he was exercising. I still couldn't imagine him without alcohol in his system in some form or fashion, let alone doing something like hiking without some kind of shiny prize at the end of the trail.
After we hung up I wrapped up my moving plan for the night. I pinned my hair on top of my head before taking a warm shower, then pulled on some boxers and a t-shirt to sleep in. As I slid under the covers some things started to settle in my brain.
Cullen was cleaning up his act, maybe even growing up. I sighed and curled into a ball, burrowing into the mattress, thinking about my own steps toward growing up. I thought about him making progress, making an effort. It seemed so foreign to me to think of Cullen as the guy who would clean his kitchen rather than sit around on the deck smoking and sipping whiskey, discussing the meaning of cleaning the kitchen.
Maybe he had figured out the meaning. Or, at least he had figured out how to find it. As I fell into a deep sleep, I felt lighter, hopeful, like I could move on with my plan. I even started to look at my move to Portland as the opportunity it was instead of another escape from a shitty situation. It was time to move toward something. I was done running away from things.
I was going to go to Edward's house on Monday, wish him well, say goodbye, and mean it.
Thanks to Moojuicey, Einfach_Mich, Chele681 for pre-reads, and to KrisBCullen for the red pen.