"When the poet Paul Valery once asked Albert Einstein if he kept a notebook to record his ideas, Einstein looked at him with mild but genuine surprise. "Oh, that's not necessary," he replied. "It's so seldom I have one."
― Bill Bryson, A Short History of Nearly Everything

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On Tuesday, I arrive home at around dusk. I agreed to play corona with Emmett, Jasper and Edward, and they were supposed to order take-out and be here at around half to six. But the moment I step in the house, I hear a resounding crash from outside and a roar from upstairs. I drop the bags and open the front door.

The only recognizable piece of junk on our driveway is the computer's casing. A second later, a flying monitor fixes that.

Emmett threw our computer out of the window.

I run upstairs and I stop at Emmett's doorway to find him busting up his room. He's smashed a picture frame against the wall and overthrown his table. After kicking one of his two glass trophies against the wall—it shatters—Emmett lets out a shout and sits on his bed. He rests his head on his hands. His shoulders shake.

I have never in my life seen Emmett so furious. Heartbreaking, but furious.

But how do I help him? He's pretty big. I'm not concerned he'd hurt me, I know he wouldn't. But I can't really stop him from busting up our entire house if he felt so inclined.

He locks eyes with me. His eyes are brimming with tears, and he immediately looks away.

What brought this on?

"Let's go out."

Clearly still fighting with his emotions, Emmett clenches and unclenches his fists. He clears his throat, not looking at me. "Where?"

"Running."

"You don't run."

"I do. Let's go. Be dressed in five."

I turn around.

"Jasper and Edward will be over."

"I'll call them," I reply, stopping at the doorway. "Really. Let's go, okay?"

He stares at me before giving me the briefest of nods, and I know I have him. I change clothes, put groceries in the fridge and leave dad a short note about our whereabouts. Just when I've dialed Edward's number, the doorbell rings.

"Do you know there's a smashed computer on your driveway?" Jasper asks, already holding a pizza.

"No," I deadpan. "I wonder how it got there."

"Is everything alright?" Edward asks.

"Guys. Would you mind spending some time on your own? You can watch TV or play corona in the garage or just… you've been here without us before, Jasper, right? Dad won't mind."

"What happened?"

I shrug, and Emmett puts on his shoes. His hair is damp, but he puts a hat on. So do I. He avoids eye contact with either of them, and offers a dismissive wave when he runs to the driveway to wait for me.

He's afraid he'll break down in front of them.

"Emmett and I need to go out for a while. I'm sorry we're so rude, but you guys understand, right? You don't have to go, we just need—some time outside. I have my phone with me if you need anything."

Jasper, who has probably figured out what happened (other than myself, he knows Emmett better than anyone) taps Edward's arm and they enter the house. Edward tugs at his hair, looking at me, but I shake my head.

I'll speak to him later.

Emmett and I start jogging with a slow pace.

"Just tell me when you feel tired, okay?"

I nod. It's reasonably warm, it's drizzling, and in about a half an hour, we're in a forest-y park I've never been to.

"You tired?"

I shake my head.

"You sure?"

I nod.

"I didn't know you were into running."

Neither did I.

I stay quiet. Emmett needs to be the one to initiate conversation because it's easy to overwhelm him emotionally. If I start to ask all sorts of questions, he's going to get irritated and feel like I'm prying. That's the way he deals with life. We all have our way, and that's his. He needs to feel like it's his choice. It needs to be his choice.

He doesn't want words. He doesn't seem to need proximity, my hugs, whatever. That's not him. That's why, in Arizona, we didn't lock ourselves up in any of the multiple rooms in Phil's house. We had to be moving.

At the end of one straight road, Emmett hands me his stopper watch. "Time me. I'll raise my hand from the end of the road when I'm ready."

I nod. Road lighting offers enough light for me to be able to see him at the end of the road, and the park itself appears to be quite deserted.

I look down at the Michael Kors watch mom gave him for last year's Christmas. I have no idea whether this is one of those stainless-steel, high-quality watches, but it appears to be. Mom always sent us fairly pricey gifts, so I wouldn't be surprised if this Kors guy turned out to make atrociously expensive wrist wear.

I time Emmett several times, and I can tell he's starting to calm down. He no longer avoids eye contact. After he's left his lungs in the park, I return his watch and we start to jog back. No words are shared for a while. Just the sound of our footsteps. A few passing cars.

"Mom's gifts arrived," Emmett finally says. "She said she—she bought plane tickets to come and visit us on Easter.

"It's just—this entire situation is so fucked up," he continues. "She was thirty seven, Bella, thirty fucking seven years old. That's outrageously young to die of flu. A fucking flu. Who dies of flu nowadays? We could've had decades to get to know her again. Hell, we could've had half a fucking century."

There's really nothing I can say, so I don't. He doesn't need me to reciprocate. I decide it's his time to vent, scream, cry, whatever. I have Edward, and yes, he has Jasper, but he would never, ever admit to being weak around his friends. Not even Jasper. Even though Jasper is really cool like that. If anyone would understand, it would be him.

But Emmett's too proud, so that leaves me. And I understand that. So I let him vent. I mumble an agreement when needed, I reply when he expects me to, and I listen. Not before long, we're back in front of our house, and there's a new-looking BMW right next to the pile of junk that used to be our computer.

"Bella—thanks." Emmett stops me, and I look up at him. "You know me better than I give you credit for. And, uh, I'm sorry about the computer, I just—I got so fucking angry. But, I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"So what did you tell Michael Newton?"

I shrug. "I just bluffed a lot."

"But why did you need to talk to my coach?"

"You'll see."

Emmett smiles, and I return it. He throws a hand on my shoulder. "You've been pretty kick-ass recently, you know that?"

"Thank you." I grin. "You ain't seen nothin' yet, though."

He laughs.

Just when we walk to the porch, a fit yet elderly fair-haired man in a uniform opens the door, with dad right after him. He's tall. Dad smiles when he sees us.

"Ah! Here you are. This is my daughter Isabella and my son Emmett." We shake hands with the man. "This is Supervisory Deputy U.S. Marshal Al Stephens."

"Nice to meet you, sir."

"Likewise," he replies. "I look forward to working with your father." He shakes dad's hand, tips his hat and leaves with a light-hearted gait. He by-passes the pile of metal without even giving it a glance, and starts the engine. Confused, Emmett and I make faces at each other as we watch the man leave.

Dad ushers us inside. Unfolding his tie, he takes a breath. "Come on, let's talk in the living room." He sounds tired, hopeful, I don't know. I'm confused. Did he get sacked? How does anyone sack the Chief of Police?

"Should Edward and I leave?" Jasper asks.

"No, no—I'm actually glad you're here."

Emmett and I share a love seat, and dad sits in an armchair. He unbuttons his suit and looks increasingly uncomfortable.

"So, I resigned from Kirkland Police Department. I gave my resignation just before, you know. Starting from Christmas, I'll no longer be involved with any of my previous job duties."

Oh-kay.

"You might've noticed I haven't been around much lately, even before, uh—you know."

"Are you going to admit to having a girlfriend now?" Emmett asks.

"I just—" Dad starts. "What?"

"That's why you haven't been around lately. Bella and I figured it out a couple of weeks ago. We don't mind."

Dad frowns. "You thought I'd found someone?"

"Well—yeah," I reply.

"Why'd you think that?"

"Dad—you were never home at night. I doubt the Chief of Police has that many night shifts."

"But I was—I was training."

"For what?"

Again, he takes a breath. "I know this is, uh, a fragile time to do this, and if you don't want me to, I won't, but a few months ago, I was accepted to U.S. Marshals Service."

Jasper, who hasn't spoken a word until now, leans forward, rests his forearms on his knees, and smiles. "You mean, like, the real deal? Like the one that's about as impossible to get in as Special Agent training? But that one—there's like—only every 20th applicant gets in there! That is fucking awesome." He leans back, rubbing his neck. "I mean, sorry for the language. But congratulations. The training's pretty tough, huh?"

Dad nods.

"So have you spoken to my parents? Edward's?"

Dad nods. The guys seem to have a mutual understanding of what was just said.

"So, er, care to explain?"

Dad sighs, again, and rests his forearms on his knees, just like Jasper did. He locks eyes with me. "The training lasts for seventeen weeks, Bella."

"Oh–kay."

"It's in a place called Glynco."

"Okay."

"Glynco is in Georgia, Bella," Emmett adds. "Like, the State of Georgia."

Dad and I make eye contact, and I can see that for some reason or another, he's fearful of my reaction.

"So when are you leaving?"

"You mean—you, Emmett, you wouldn't mind?"

"It sounds like a brilliant opportunity, dad. If it's what you want, who are we to stop you?"

"You don't think it's irresponsible of me to just leave you here like this?"

"Not really," Emmett says, shrugging. "It's not like you're leaving for forever."

"And we'd be staying with—Jasper and Edward?" I ask. "For four months?"

"If they don't mind," dad says.

"Emmett's so used to being at my place, you know that's not a problem," Jasper says. "Of course we don't mind."

Edward stares at the floor before looking up. "What? Oh, right, of course I don't mind."

Contain your enthusiasm, Edward.

Dad smiles like the world's weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and I'm excited for him. I am. But at the same time, I can't figure Edward out. Emmett, Jasper and dad continue to talk about his training and what is to come, and Edward stares into the distance. He runs a hand through his hair. He's got a pensive, almost concerned look on his face. He's frustrated.

The expression is completely foreign in his face. I'm not used to it.

My stomach does a weird somersault-type of thing when I realize he was just cornered, and he doesn't actually seem to want me there. I feel pain. Literally, I feel like a fist is squeezing my heart. I understand, having your friend around 24/7, especially when said friend is a girl, can't be easy on any guy, but I'm just, I'm so confused, you know? It feels like he encourages me to be whoever I want to be and open up to him and stuff, but then he feels conflicted about unintentionally leading me on and gets frustrated about the possibility of me living with him. If only for a while.

If Edward's mind had a relationship status, it would be It's Complicated.

Because it's complicated, alright. In hieroglyphs.

I just need to speak to him.

Dad orders more pizza, we play corona (dad joins and makes it really fun), and when Jasper and Emmett want to watch Goodfellas (which is odd because I'm usually the one who's eager to see any film), I see my chance. Edward sits on the most distant seat from the TV, and I'm glad. I can talk to him that way.

"What's wrong?"

"What?" It takes him a few seconds to focus his eyes on me. Jesus, he's out of it.

"What's wrong?"

If you dare say 'nothing', I swear to God, I'll peel the answer off of you.

He shrugs. "Nothing."

Yup. I'll have to peel the answer off of him.

"Do you want me to talk to Angela and see if I can stay at her place?"

"What?"

Jesus, Edward. What the hell?

"Would you prefer I stayed with Angela?"

Finally, he seems to properly understand what I'm talking about, and when he does, I swear, it's like a switch, and he's sharp as a knife.

"Is that what you want?"

He searches my eyes in the dim light. The intensity in his eyes, it's almost desperate, and it kind of hurts me to see it.

"Can you stop answering questions with questions?"

"Is that what we're doing?"

"Edward, once upon a time, there was this boy who convinced his friend, who happened to be a girl, to always be honest with him. He helped her go through more than she could ever return, and one day, he suggested that she's acting like a hypocrite. How is said girl supposed to feel if said boy acts like one himself? Just be honest. Is it a problem, me living with your family for a while? Do you feel like I'd suffocate you? Like you couldn't even bring any girls home because I'd be there? Because if it's the latter, I wouldn't mind at all. It's your life and your decisions."

He stares at me, and I'm not sure if it's because he agrees with what I'm saying or because he doesn't.

"And don't you dare worry about hurting my feelings. I'd rather you tell me now and not suffer for four months and then hate me for a lifetime."

"I'd never hate you."

It's the most he's said during our conversation, well, my monologue. I grasp at the straw.

"Okay. Then what's the problem?"

I pull my legs underneath myself and wait. He puts his arm behind me on the couch, slides it on my shoulder and then pulls me to him. It's progress. It's how Edward deals with problems.

His words are quieter than before.

"Don't you think you'd grow bored with me?"

"What?"

"I'm pretty boring," he says like he's admitting a lifelong secret I've been blind to. "I guess I'm just, uh, not ready for you to get bored with me."

"That's what your uncertainty is about? Me getting bored with you?"

I laugh, loudly. Emmett and Jasper stop their own discussion (yes, still about U.S. Marshal Service) to eye us. I shrug, grinning at them.

Emmett wriggles his eyebrows at my proximity with Edward. "What's so funny?"

"Emmett, don't interrupt us like that. I was just about to have a wild make-out session with Edward." I sneak closer to Edward and place a loud kiss below his ear just to mess with my brother. I hear a rumble-like sound from Edward's chest.

"That's disgusting," Emmett says, throwing the remote at us before returning to his conversation with Jasper.

"Are you hungry?" I ask. "I think your stomach grumbled."

"Pardon?"

I reach for a slice of pizza and offer it to Edward. "Want some?"

"Uh, yeah, thanks."

"And, Edward—I won't get bored with you. That's ridiculous."

"How can you tell?"

"I can't. That's the thing. Just like I can't tell you I'll someday be super-confident about my appearance, or that you won't grow tired of me. It's impossible to promise stuff like that. But as far as I can see, I find the idea of growing tired of your company rather ludicrous."

"I find your phrasing rather poetic."

"What can I say? I'm a closet poet." I tug his arm as my eyes widen. "Hey—you write poetry, right?"

"I told you that?"

"Yeah, about a month ago," I reply. "Anyway—would you let me read it? I'd love to read it. I'm sure it's amazing."

"I don't think so."

"Why not? I wouldn't laugh or anything if that's what you're worried about."

"It's kind of personal."

"It's poetry, Edward—it's supposed to be," I answer. "So how about it?"

He keeps shaking his head. "No, Bella. Sorry, but no way are you ever reading that."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

"That's disappointing. What if we're sixty, and you're in Hawaii with your family, I'm with mine, we're still best friends and you still have it? Can I read it then?"

"No."

"You really don't want me to read it?"

"Ever."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay then. I understand. I have stuff I'd never want you to catch a glimpse of, too."

He shifts. "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

Like, you know, this diary?

"Are you like a writer or something?"

"Not really."

And I'm not. The only thing I write is this diary, so it's not like I'm into creative writing or anything. I just like to write down how my life is progressing, with as much knowledge I have, as well as I can remember. Maybe when I'm grey and old, and haven't burned this diary, I'll reread this and think of my silly high-school crush on Edward with happiness in my heart.

Speaking of which—do I only like him because he's the first guy ever to show any sort of affection toward me? Is that it?

"Ah, Edward—getting back to the topic at hand, I just want you to understand you shouldn't be worried about, uh, bringing girls home or anything. You wouldn't have to be celibate just because I'm there."

"Oh, I'm not worried."

Good. That's good. That's what I wanted to hear, right? He understands I'm not holding him back, and that's good.

In the evening, when Jasper and Edward have left, Emmett and I have cleared up the remnants of our computer, and dad has finally changed out of his suit, dad asks me to join him and Emmett in Emmett's room. My brother has cleaned up the mess. I sit on Emmett's bed, leaning on the wall, and Emmett sits next to me. I stretch my legs. Unlike me, Emmett has a double bed.

Dad straddles a chair and crosses his arms over the back of the chair, eyeing us.

I take a moment to look at him, and as I do, I realize I've been so preoccupied with everything to notice changes in him. Even the cardigan he's wearing doesn't hide his muscular arms. He's never been particularly out of shape, no. He's always looked quite young. People tend to be surprised by his occupation because of his youth. He's got tiny wrinkles on his face, a few barely noticeable strands of grey hair, but he's extremely fit. He's gained weight. In a good way. I remember when Angela once suggested that my dad was a total DILF, I burst out laughing and thought she was insane, but I kind of see it now. My dad is an attractive man.

Damn, maybe I'm adopted, too, because I am neither similar to my dad or mom. That is quite depressing.

"I'm not going to ask you about the computer," dad says. "Frankly, I don't care. I'm not going to ground you. We've got enough drama going on without it."

He's holding an envelope. "That's for you, Bella."

I open it.

"But that's—dad, this is more than what I gave you."

"I don't care. It's for you, okay? God knows I haven't spoiled you enough."

He's never complained about his salary, especially for the last five years or so, but not much of it stays in his hands because of mortgage payments and car payments and sports gear for Emmett and… everything seems to cost a lot nowadays.

"But how did you—"

"I got a Christmas bonus and compensation. Overall a hefty amount of money. I am going to give some of it to Jasper's and Edward's parents to cover the expenses concerning you. Then I'm going to give both of you the same amount for the next four months," he says. "Bella, you already have that. Emmett, I put yours straight on your bank account. But Bella gets more because I owed her more. Do you think that's fair?"

"'course," Emmett agrees.

"Good."

Dad rests his elbow on the back of the chair and fists his hair, looking at the both of us. I've never seen him look so, I don't know, exhausted but optimistic. Again, I see how tired he is, how hopeful he is, how much we both mean to him.

"So—bear with me. I have something to say." He sighs. "I know that my timing couldn't be worse, and I'm aware of how sudden all of this seems to you. I didn't mean to take off when we're all so vulnerable and need each other more than ever. I'd meant to suggest that you spend the next semester in, uh, Arizona. Clearly, that's not an option anymore. And I need you both to know, I don't regret making my decisions based on what's best for you, I don't regret having you here, okay? I've never felt trapped or stuck, and I don't want either of you to ever doubt that."

"We don't, dad."

"Good," he nods, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "But for the past few years, the routine, it's gotten to me. I can handle the workload, that was never the problem, but I… it's not challenging enough, not versatile enough. Mind-numbing routine and red tape. It just—I realized I didn't want to end up doing something I didn't like, even if it was a job about as respectable as you can get. So I cast about for an opportunity, a challenging one, and when I met Al, he taught me what it's like to do something you really love, something that challenges you and keeps you on your toes—and so I trained to try out for it, and they accepted."

"That's amazing, dad."

"Is it?" he asks. "It's great to have been accepted, but the timing could be better. What happened with your mom—and even if it hadn't, I could've at least waited until you've both graduated, but I—I got in right now, and the competition is about as tough as it gets. I can't postpone it. If either of you thinks you're not ready for me to go… I won't."

"Just like that?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Don't be stupid, dad," Emmett says. "We're all grown, Bella and I." He ruffles my hair. "It sounds like something you've set out to do. We're not going to hold you back."

"And Bella? Do you have anything against me going? Be honest."

"Of course not. Go. Spread your wings."

"Good," he says. "You two—I see you look out for each other, and I'm glad. I've considered and reconsidered just letting you both live here on your own. Emmett is eighteen. I trust you. That's not a problem. But I'll be happier if there's someone looking out for you, and both Jasper's and Edward's parents—they're good people.

"I also know I've always had temper. You've known it, too. I sometimes judge before I think and I know that can be a problem. But in the past, whenever I've raised my voice at you, I just want you to know—I've never criticized who you are, only your actions. Always your actions." He takes a breath, and I realize, I've never quite seen him look so… unprofessional? Uninhibited? In a good way. He doesn't let his hair down in front of us too often. "Also—I know, coming from a guy who got his first kid at the tender age of nineteen, you won't take this too seriously, but I can't not say this—please don't do anything reckless."

"Dad, we're not going to go off to have sex with everyone when you're gone," I reply.

"I know. But I'm not saying you should never engage in those activities. I'm saying, if you do, please make sure you're safe."

Okay, dad has definitely changed.

"You've got nothing to worry about," Emmett says.

"So when are you going?" I ask.

"On the 23rd."

"Of December?"

"Yes."

"Wow, that's—wow. Next week."

"It's before Christmas, I know. I'm sorry, Bella."

"It's okay, dad. I'm just surprised. This certainly feels sudden."

"Too sudden?"

"Dad, are you trying to squeeze it out of us that we're not comfortable with you going? Of course we'll miss you like crazy. It's four months. But—your happiness is important, too."

"And we're pretty fucking proud of you, dad," Emmett says, not ever remotely embarrassed about his language. Dad lights up at his words, and I can't help but smile, too. "So what did you have to do to get in?"

"I can't tell you. I signed a nondisclosure agreement."

"Are you kidding?"

"No, I really can't tell you."

"That's awesome," Emmett says, grinning.

"Dad, I'm sorry about my ignorance, but what exactly do U.S. Marshals do?"

"They're responsible for court security, serving arrest warrants, seeking fugitives, sometimes they cooperate with the FBI, stuff like that."

Yeah, stuff like that. That pretty much covers it.

"So, will you be seeking fugitives, too? Sounds dangerous."

"Hopefully. Not necessarily, but maybe. That's Al's specialty."

My dad, Charlie Geoffrey Swan, might start working with people from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Huh.

"So I have to ask," dad starts, and suddenly, he seems to be holding back laughter. "What made you think I was having an affair?"

Emmett laughs. "You were never here!"

"You avoided us like the plague. And you got really awkward after that night I spent in the auditorium. You said you'd talk about it later, and then you never did. Then I discovered a lip-gloss type of thing from your car, and it was just—so obvious. Except, as we can see now, it really wasn't."

"Hey, I've never avoided you." Dad frowns, still amused. "I just had to train so much. A full-time job left no other option but to do it in the evening and sometimes into the wee hours of the morning."

It sounds intense, but dad laughs, and so do we. It's like I see dad for the first time, in all his rugged hopefulness and exhausted happiness. I feel like I've always seen him as a father, not as a person, and I should really spend some time getting to know him as a person, too. Except, the fact that I now understand why Angela would consider him a DILF, that's incredibly disturbing.

"So, Jasper and Edward and their parents are having dinner with us on the 22nd."

"Okay, who's cooking?"

"I am," dad says, smiling.

"Really?"

He hums, gets up, and turns to leave. Before he does, however, he stops for a moment. "And guys—especially Emmett—I know this will be the perfect opportunity to have wild parties every day in our house, but I only ask this—if you're going to have a wild party, please don't do it in our home. If the word gets out, it will not help me gain respect if my kids are openly inciting illegal activities."

"So we can do it, just secretly?" Emmett asks.

Dad chuckles. "Knock yourself out. Just know that liberty means responsibility. That is why most men dread it."

"Dad! You did not just quote George Bernard Shaw!"

He looks at me, all tender eyes and smiling face, and winks. "I think I did."

I jump up and into his arms. "I love you."

He's startled, I can tell, because we never say those words. We never do. But I think I just did, and it feels good because my dad is amazing and I'm so proud of him.

"Love you, too, Bella," he murmurs, and then looks up. "You both."

I feel like I could just—fly. Or cry. Maybe both. I'm only seventeen, but it feels like it's the first time for me to really look at dad and see him for the incredible man he is, and look at Emmett, and see him for the incredible man he is. And Edward, too. I'm surrounded by incredible people. I feel so lucky.