Commitment

I bustled around in the bathroom and came back to my room when a strange sensation came over me like an egg cracked on my head. I felt amusement—not mine—and the intuitive feeling that someone was watching me in a non-creepy way—mine. I crept over to the window and spread the curtains, gently raising the window a little bit. "Jasper?" I stage-whispered.

"Yes?" an amused voice stage-whispered behind me.

"Oh!" I shrieked, jumping and rounding to find him stretched out on my bed, showing his dimples in a lazy grin. "You scared me!" I exclaimed, shock flooding my system.

"Sorry, darlin'," he drawled, still smiling at me languidly. "Told you I'd see you soon, didn't I? After all, you forgot something."

I rolled my eyes as I put my shoes in the closet. "I thought you meant, like, tomorrow." What had I forgotten? I couldn't think of anything.

He sat up. "I can leave if you want." He gave a meaningful glance over to the window where I'd been moments before. I followed his gaze to see the old green bottle that had contained my single poppy now holding a small bouquet of them.

I went over to the bed and stretched out next to him, staring at him. "How did you do that?"

He flashed a grin. "It's a secret."

I rolled my eyes again. "Fine, keep your secrets. You don't have to go…maybe I want you to stay. But I might be really boring," I warned.

"Why's that?"

"I might sleep. A lot." I really didn't want to, and I knew he could feel my reluctance, but exhaustion was rolling through my body.

He chuckled. "Go right on ahead. It's your birthday; you can do what you want to." In a flash he threw the covers over me and appeared on the other side, sitting on the edge of the bed. He sighed.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I was just thinking…" I felt flooded with nerves—his nerves.

"Why are you nervous, Jasper?" I asked, scooting closer to him.

He stared out the window through the curtains. "I don't trust myself around you," he confessed. "For someone who should understand emotions better than anyone else on the planet, you make me feel like a teenage boy."

I giggled. "You almost are," I pointed out.

He pushed me playfully and started humming lowly. I didn't recognize the tune, but it was lulling me closer to sleep against my will and to my extreme annoyance. I didn't want to sleep. I didn't want to deal with human weaknesses, especially since he didn't look remotely tired. I wanted to stay awake and talk, but I slipped under.

I woke up bright and early on Sunday morning. Dad stomped up the stairs with the occasional moan and cracked my door open. I looked around my room quickly to notice Jasper was gone. I thought I'd dreamed that he was here, and then I noticed I was still wearing my dress. Dad was clutching his back. "I see you made it in okay," he grumbled. "Hurt my back sleeping on the recliner. Made you a cake. Don't know if it was any good. Didn't know what to get you so I put some money in your bank account. That boy better not have spent the night here."

"You are so grouchy. Are you hungry?" I half-realized that I was doing what my mother always did—whenever there was some sort of family crisis or someone was in a bad mood, she automatically tried to feed them. "I came in around ten; I was going to introduce you to Jasper, but you were already asleep. You wouldn't budge. The Cullens cooked me a feast. It was great. Actually, my whole day was great—thanks for asking!" I couldn't resist teasing.

He rolled his eyes as he smiled slightly. "Really, honey, I'm glad your birthday was good. I'm getting in the shower. Please try the cake I made. Please lie to me if it's not very good. And bring that boy by so I can meet him, and that's an order." I threw my pillow at the door he closed behind him and rubbed my eyes. Bring that boy by. I guessed I had to make up for the totalitarian stance he hadn't taken in my life up to this point. I wasn't too worried for Jasper, though. He could hold his own; he was strong. Born to fight, like he said. I swung myself out of bed, slid my plastic-rimmed glasses on my face, and yanked on some pajamas. I hadn't cut it since the first day; it was growing back out again. I couldn't decide what to do with it; for the short term, I crammed it into a bun on the back of my head and cranked on the gas range to heat water for tea. I noticed with relief that Dad had thought to cover the cake, although even after studying it closely, I had no clue as to what sort it was. It looked like craters. I poked it with a fork cautiously and was about to take a bite when the doorbell rang and kettle whistled simultaneously. I turned the range off and went to answer the front door, thinking how strange it was that someone had come to that one. Everyone who frequented our house came through the kitchen door. I almost dropped the coffee mug that I forgot was still dangling from my fingers when I saw Jasper through the glass of the front door. Great, my boyfriend…friendboy…something was at my house, and I was wearing pajamas. I cracked the door open and attempted to duck behind it. "I'm wearing pajamas; please go away," I said.

He burst into laughter. "I see that. I didn't know you have glasses. May I come in anyway?"

I groaned and pulled the door back. "Well, as Marilyn Monroe always said, 'If you can't handle me at my worst, you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best,' and yes, I'm practically blind without some sort of correction."

He scrutinized my appearance—no, he looked me up and down. If it had been anyone else, I would have smacked the hell out of him. But coming from him, it was flattering. "If this is your worst…" he caught himself, plucking my glasses off my face and looking through them himself. His eyes crossed immediately. "You really weren't kidding. Esme commanded me to bring you breakfast. And leftovers," he added apologetically.

I stared at the casserole dish in his arms. "Is that an omelet?"

"Yep."

"That omelet would feed a family of four. Good thing my dad eats a lot; maybe I'll have him take some to the Blacks'." I took the casserole from his arms and noticed the bag by his feet; he carried it in for me. "I never expected vampires to cook…"

He smiled, showing his dimples. "Esme likes to cook. She also likes you, so the two go hand in hand. I hope you don't think she's overbearing. She's very motherly."

I poured the hot water over my teabag and arranged omelet and cake on my plate while he plopped himself down at the kitchen table. "Nah, on her, it works. I know she can't possibly be that old, but she feels much older."

Jasper eyed my cake. "What is that?"

I poked it again and giggled. "Theoretically, it's cake. My dad made it. We'll see how it goes." I sawed a bite off with the edge of my fork and popped it into my mouth. I chewed slowly. It was too spongy. Like rubber-tire spongy. I still couldn't tell the flavor, so I swallowed painfully and took another bite. A cloud of flour erupted in my mouth, and I barely choked it down. Jasper was trying very hard not to laugh. "This is terrible," I laughed as I sloshed tea down my throat. "I think he used baking soda for baking powder, and he definitely didn't stir the batter…but you know what? He tried," I smiled, though I couldn't resist a shudder as I scraped the rest of the cake into the trash. "I'd take the rest out for the birds, but I don't think even they would eat it."

I sat back down and took a hearty bite of omelet. It was delicious—all egg whites, nice and fluffy, just the right amount of cheese, with added green peppers and mushrooms. I was trying not to think about the fact that someone's mother got up and made me an omelet when she herself never ate. Not only had she made me an omelet, but it was also damn good. It would make me emotional to think about. Instead I said, "Would you mind to meet my dad today? He's in the shower right now. Since you're here, you can just meet him before he goes to work. I'm hoping he won't mind the surprise, but it's best to get him while I know he's in a good mood."

He didn't have time to respond; Dad's heavy booted footsteps stomped down the stairs, and Jasper rose from the table as Dad came in. He looked from the massive collection of food on the counter to the tea kettle—whistling again—to me in my pajamas to Jasper, who, of course, was nicely dressed. "Uh…hi," Dad said lamely.

"Hello, Chief Brandon, it's nice to meet you. I'm Jasper Hale," Jasper said flawlessly, sticking his hand out.

Dad seemed to recover his senses, shaking his hand. "You must be the boy that my girl is so taken with."

"Dad!" I hissed at him. They ignored me.

"Have a seat, son," Dad indicated. "Where did all this food come from?"

"Well, my family made dinner for Alice's birthday, and we thought it was only fair that you guys got some of the leftovers. This morning, my mother made omelets, and she thought Alice might like one, too." Oh, Jasper Hale, you are such a dazzling liar, I thought.

Dad considered this. "That's mighty nice of your folks. I think very highly of your father and all the help he's given Alice."

I loved being talked about like I wasn't in the room.

"So, you're originally from the South, correct?"

"Aw, Dad, don't grill him; leave him alone," I whined.

They ignored me again. "Yes, sir, from Houston. Carlisle and Esme adopted me and my twin sister," Jasper answered. Twin sister, indeed.

"You seem like a clean-cut sort…no disciplinary records, no speeding tickets. I take it you're smart?" Dad asked.

The question threw Jasper for a loop, and he looked embarrassed. "I don't like to brag…" he said.

Dad actually cracked a grin. "That's okay, son; I know about your academic reputation; I know you're not stupid. But what are your intentions for my daughter?"

I didn't even bother to protest, since at this moment in time, I didn't exist.

"Well, sir, I plan to get to know her better. Alice is an incredible woman. I'd like to be better acquainted with her and with you, and hopefully, at some point, she'll agree to be my girlfriend," Jasper said, looking down and smiling.

Oh, of course I existed when I turned neon red. Dad and Jasper both seemed to remember suddenly that I was still standing there, and they stared at me for a few seconds. "Hmph. Well. Can't argue that you're respectful," Dad grumbled slightly. I knew he didn't want me to have a boyfriend. It was nothing against Jasper personally. "I see you tried the cake," Dad said cautiously. "How was it?"

I tried to pass my grimace off as a smile. "It was so good that Jasper and I ate all of it," I said sweetly.

He broke into laughter and looked twenty years younger. "Ali, you're a good actor, but you're a really rotten liar. Thanks for trying anyways," he said as he poured himself some coffee, packed a lunch, and bade us good day and not to roam too far, which was code-speak for "Stay at home today, please and thanks."

I stood up to start washing the dishes, and Jasper dried them. "Did you mean what you said about wanting me to be your girlfriend?" I asked, looking over at me.

His amber eyes met mine. "Yes," he said seriously.

I dropped the plate I was holding and sloshed soapy water all over myself. "Oh!" I said, both in response to the suds and his answer.

He laughed and handed me the towel. "Did you think I made it up?"

"No, it just surprised me, that's all," I mopped water off the kitchen floor.

"What do you have planned for today?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, entirely too much. I need to work on my essay on that James Joyce novel, and I had a bunch of phone calls yesterday that I should return…they're probably from my family," I sighed.

He thought about this for a moment. "You know, actually, I lied when I said that Esme likes you. She is so ecstatic that you could probably have a rhino horn and she'd love you just the same. She's spent the last seventy years worrying about me being alone. Last night, her hugging you was a restraint. She was practically choking with satisfaction," he joked.

"Oh, so it's not about my personality or my wits and charm, but about my very existence?" I joked back.

"Don't get me wrong; personality and wits and charm help, too," he said with mock seriousness. I sent a wave of water on him, but he knew how to fight back. Very quickly we found that there was no water in the sink, but there was an awful lot on us and the floor. I was laughing so hard that I had trouble breathing. He pulled me against his side and I leaned my head against him, listening to the bass laughter reverberating in his chest. We stood like that with arms draped around each other and my head on his chest when he looked down at me and said, "You know, I'd ask you to be my girlfriend now, but I have difficulty being around you."

I brought my heel down on his toe and probably gave myself a bruise. "No, let me explain," he said, loosening his grasp but pulling my hands as we sat down at the table again. "I don't think you realize something, and I don't think I did a good job of explaining it. Because I have not been…'vegetarian' for as long as my family, I have less self-control. It is much harder for me to do what is relatively easy for them—be around humans, ignore the thirst that burns constantly. I'm not less committed; after all, I joined on my own, but having a full century of blood at my disposal has made this a very hard adjustment. I don't think you realize just how good you smell to me. I told you about the whole vampire-human match theory. I told you the truth: the pull is so strong that almost no one resists it. I care about you too much to hurt you, but it's hard to allow myself to be more vulnerable than I already am. What can I say?" he grinned. "You disarm me. Do I scare you?" he added.

"No," I said confidently, rolling my eyes as I felt his amazement, yet again. "I trust you. You should trust yourself more." I tried to put myself into his shoes. I knew how good he smelled to me. "What do I smell like to you?" I asked quietly.

His expression carried a hint of pain. "Honeysuckle. The best and sweetest honeysuckle that's ever bloomed. And something cleaner, but I'm not sure what it is—like a cut-open apple or mint leaves, maybe. But mostly honeysuckle."

I smiled wryly at the irony. "Honeysuckle has always been my favorite scent," I said lightly.

He rolled his eyes. "I have no idea what you actually try to smell like, though I suppose if I concentrated, I could tell." He pulled me gently toward him and sniffed my hair delicately. "Mint and lavender?"

I nodded. "My shampoo and conditioner." I plopped down on the floor in front of his chair and leaned my back into his legs. He eased the elastic out of my hair and let it fall around my shoulders. He curled his fingers around the waves dexterously. I couldn't see what he was doing, but it felt good, and I imagined he was twisting and untwisting it into coils. I felt that he was gently amazed with something—my hair, I assumed, and I sighed with contentment. I felt myself growing drowsier and probably would have fallen asleep entirely except that I was shivering. "Jasper?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm cold," I said lamely.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry; I forgot about our water fight. You'd probably like to shower."

"That would be correct," I sighed. "Might as well knock out today's to-do list," I tried to be enthusiastic as I handed him the newly washed casserole dish. "Could you do me a favor?" I asked.

"Of course."

I grabbed my camera off the kitchen table, popped up the spindle, and started winding the wheel to rewind the film. I really wanted that film back. "Could you drop this off at a pharmacy for me if I ever get it rewound?"

"Only if I can get doubles," he said innocently. It worked entirely too well—a honey-colored curl had fallen over his forehead.

I pursed my lips in pretend thought. "Well, okay, if you insist," I said, popping the film canister out of the back and tossing it to him.

He grinned at me, catching it deftly, and promised to bring them back. Then, so fast I wasn't sure it really happened, he ghosted his lips across my cheek and flew out the door. I laughed and shook my head as I trudged up the stairs to the promised sanctuary of the hot shower. Knowing I wasn't leaving the house today, I let it dry naturally and didn't do anything to it. I pulled on a long sleeved t-shirt and yoga pants and flopped on my bed to return phone calls.

I dialed voicemail and immediately pulled the phone an inch away from my ear. Cynthia's bubbly voice overflowed into the room as if she were right next to me. "Hi, Ali, happy birthday!" she squealed. "I miss you a lot; I wish you could come home. I'm having so much fun; I've made lots of new friends at my new school. I model now, and it's just great." She giggled. "Hey, did I tell you I won that big regional pageant? Well, I did! I'm going to be in a magazine, and I think that the lady might call you for some questions. I hope that's okay!" The message cut her off while she was still going strong. I missed my sister's youthful enthusiasm even if I wasn't sure I missed her. I'd never had the close bond with her that I wanted because I'd always thought we were too different. Now I wondered if I should have given her another chance.

The next phone call was from my Tante Chantal, and I grinned to hear her lilting Franglish—she and my mother both lived in France as kids, but you'd never know it from hearing my mom. "Bonne anniversaire, ma chérie! I hope you're enjoying yourself up there in the North, pas non pour moi. Too chilly! Oh, wait; excusez…bourée!" I started laughing; she was playing this cutthroat game she and her friends loved. "You know you're always welcome here, chère; I could care less what my ridiculous sister has to say…Anyway, I love you, baby. Don't you forget your tante; you better call me soon." That put me in a good mood; Tante Chantal was one of the most genuine people I'd ever met, and her heart was as big as a whale's. Not to mention her cooking was fantastic.

Lastly was the phone call I didn't expect and very much dreaded. "Well…happy birthday, daughter," my mother's voice said. "I've thought a lot about you"—that surprised me—"and I truly am sorry I couldn't make you happy. I'm a selfish creature, but can you blame me? I'm only human. Well, tell your father hello. Enjoy your birthday. I wired you a check. I'll call soon."

Even if they went relatively well, phone calls from my mother crippled me. After they were over, even if I hadn't said a word, I still had an urge to make like an ostrich and bury my head in my covers. But I managed to shake it off this time. I had too much to do, and I was too buoyed by the pleasantness of the past two days to let it bother me. After I did a load of laundry and cleaned the bathroom, I started to work on the essay for English when I remembered I hadn't actually finished the book, so I curled up in my chair and resumed A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. The class had grumbled when it had been assigned, a last minute change from Macbeth, but I really enjoyed the book. Joyce's thought pattern was similar to mine. The wind gently whisked leaves from the trees, Sufjan Stevens sang at me, and all felt well with the world. I was so relaxed that I dozed off.

While I dozed, I dreamed. My dreams were vague and fast-moving. I saw an overnight flat-rate envelope sitting on my bed, and I knew I did not want to open it. My dream shifted, but the image was blurry, like I was looking at it from underwater. Next I saw a door being slammed in my face, but I couldn't see where I was or who was doing the slamming. I woke up by a real door being slammed, and I jumped out of the chair and ran down the stairs. Jasper was standing at the kitchen table eagerly pulling the pictures out of the paper wrappings. He spread them out across the table as I came to stand next to him. "Nice afternoon?" he asked.

I chuckled. "I didn't get a lot done," I confessed. "I cleaned the bathroom, listened to the birthday wishes on my voicemail, and started to finish my book when I dozed off."

"Who called?"

"My sister, who won a regional pageant; my mother, who was uncharacteristically pleasant; and my Tante Chantal, my mother's sister, who is as different from her as a pineapple is from a dog."

Jasper laughed. "That's quite a comparison."

"It's true! Tante Chantal is one of those delightful sorts of Cajuns who stayed Catholic and drinks and plays cutthroat card games and got married and had lots of kids. She's a wonderful cook, and she has a good heart. Oh, that's a good one," I pointed at one of the pictures. It was the picture that I took on the ferry with Jasper smiling at me over his shoulder, just caught off guard.

Jasper made a face. "I think this one is a good one," he said, pointing. It wasn't just a good one; it was perfect. It was one that was taken of us at the gardens. Jasper was standing behind me with his arms around me, his fingers laced in mine, and my face was crinkled in laughter. He was looking down at me with a fool's grin on his face like he'd never seen anything quite like me before. It was…breathtaking. The joy rolling off the picture was tangible. Actually, I could feel Jasper's joy and quiet wonder, too. He plucked the picture off the table, revealing its double underneath. "I'm glad I got doubles," he chuckled softly. We peered over the rest of the photos of the fiery trees, frail roses, and other snapshots of life as I saw it.

He smiled at me suddenly, hugging me against his side.

"What?"

"You're one of a kind, Alice Brandon," he said slowly, smiling as he formed the words. Then he sighed. "I would like to stay here all day, and I mean, really would like to stay here all day…but Emmett and Edward and I have to go hunting."

Oh, right. For the first time I noticed how dark his eyes were, how prominent the circles were under his eyes. Sometimes it was easy to forget. He acted so human. "You bring it out in me," he said, responding to the statement I didn't make.

"How do you hunt?" I asked cautiously. He ran his tongue along the edge of his top teeth. Oh. Made sense. "What do you hunt?" I asked.

"Whatever is plentiful. Emmett prefers grizzly—he likes to play with his food. Edward likes mountain lion."

"And you?"

He looked at me thoughtfully. "Deer," he answered. "Deer was my favorite when I was human," he mused. "You're very good at talking about this."

I shrugged. "I'm good with weird. I mean, things don't shake me up easily."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

I nodded slightly. "Can't do anything about weirdness. It is what it is."

He shook his head. "At least I don't have to worry about you suddenly going crazy while I'm gone."

"When will you be back?" I felt my face slip involuntarily into a pout.

He chuckled. "As soon as we can be. Hopefully sometime tonight, maybe tomorrow morning. We'll be at school tomorrow for sure."

"Don't you need to sleep?"

He'd turned to leave, but my question stopped him in his tracks. His gaze was somber and so sad. "I can't."

"Ever?" I was slightly amazed.

"Nope. No vampire can…so whatever time I get back from hunting doesn't affect school too much," he finished conversationally. "I do hope you have a pleasant Sunday, Miss Brandon," he said chivalrously, though I could see the mirth in his eyes. He took a breath as if to say something, then he fell short. He took another breath, held it, seemed to change his mind, and opened his mouth. "I think…"

I raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" I said, turning it into several syllables.

"I…well…I think that I'm a little bit in love with you," he smiled at me before practically taking flight out the door and across the yard.

Oh, Lord. The image replayed itself in my mind a thousand times in half a minute; my heart galloped wildly. I sank down against the kitchen cabinets under the counter, no longer able to support my own weight. I tried to control my breathing, tried to focus on my heartbeat. This was altogether too wonderful for me to handle, but my reaction was still absurd, as was the other emotion I felt, and I was pretty sure it was…panic? Yes, panic. I let the memories roll over me as I remained slumped in my reverie.

Commitment issues, some had said. Others had just said "bitch" and passed on. Still others had used the terms "overly virtuous" and "ridiculous". They'd asked what I was trying to protect, why I couldn't joke with them. Why I couldn't return the simple and half-intended "I love you" that they'd say to me, arms slung around me at a party when they'd had too much to drink. How was I supposed to tell the drunken beauty queens, the boorish jocks, that I was trying to protect myself? I'd never done well with love. Weird I could handle. Panic was okay. I was a good woman to have in a catastrophe, or so I'd been told. But love? Weddings? Most chick flicks and TV shows? Nope. I could only deal with books because I couldn't see real live people acting out their flowery visions of everlasting partnership. Too many times in my naïve and misunderstanding youth had I wasted my impetuous, childish affections on my stoic mother, who would never be able to return the gesture. She didn't even tell Cynthia she loved her, even though she openly favored Cynthia over me. That was one more cog in my biological machine that bore my mother's seal. She couldn't stomach love either. I had never been sure what her problem was; maybe it was her souring marriage and subsequent inability to find a man and keep him. But mine was too much wishful thinking. I spent too much time in my fantasy world dreaming of the perfect man who would love and adore me irrevocably, but I was so terrified of rejection that I'd never so much as breathed the sentiment to anyone, even in jest.

Something shifted inside me then, a permanent and irreversible change from one state of being to another. I was loved, and it was declared openly, never to be taken back. Once you said something out loud, you couldn't take it back, even if you wanted to—you meant it at one point. And as of right now, Jasper Hale loved me. He said so himself. And I had no idea what to do with it. I just hoped he was a very patient soul while I got over myself and mustered up the courage and certainty to tell him my feelings. "Good Lord Almighty," I said out loud, letting my head fall against the cabinets with a small moan. "Whatever next?!"