EPOV
"Are you sure there's enough room for us?" Esme asks, glancing at Bella. Bella rolls her eyes and stoops down, grasping the handle of my mother's suitcase.
"You're practically family," Bella says, swatting my hands after I pry hers from the handle. "Don't be ridicu- Edward, stop."
"I've got it, Jesus. Let's go show my folks to their room," I say, nodding at the staircase. She attempts a glare, but it falls flat.
Esme grins at the two of us, her earnest smile stretching wide. Carlisle wraps one arm around her waist and she rests her head on his shoulder. For a moment I see the parents of my childhood; my mother without the worry lines she's developed the past two years, my father without the gray frosting his temples. But that younger couple fades away, replaced with my parents, two people who continue to love each other just as much then as they do now.
I can only hope Bella and I can be like them after years together: happy and carefree. And loving. Always loving.
She catches the thoughtful expression on my face, that intuitive girl. Winding her fingers through mine, she follows me upstairs, silently smiling as my mother drones on and on about the interior of the house, something she has a keen eye for, considering interior design is how she makes her living.
"Here it is," Bella says, flicking on a light in an upstairs bedroom. A soft, yellow glow floods the room. I drop my mother's suitcase near the foot of the bed, and my father does the same. There's probably two more in the trunk of the car. Esme Cullen doesn't do anything half-ass, including packing for a short-notice trip.
"Are you sure you don't mind? We're not imposing?" Carlisle asks. His hands are in his pockets, his weight on his heels. There's an easy smile on his face, one he's perfected through years of practiced patience. A cell phone buzzes in his front pocket; probably hospital related. Even on vacation, the hospital never fails to call, begging for help when short of employees or overwhelmed with patients.
"There's no way you're staying in a hotel when there's extra room here." Bella runs her hands over the duvet, spreading out the wrinkles. I can tell she's nervous. Through her smiles and laughter, I see the anxiety. Not only did she meet my family for the first time only hours before, her family will be her tomorrow for supper, at her insistence.
"How about I get freshened up and help you with supper?" Esme asks, grasping Bella's hand, calming her frenzied fingers. "Carlisle babbled on and on about a good, old-fashioned hamburger on the flight here."
"Bella's already bought the ingredients for Hawaiian burgers," I say, chuckling at her sheepish grin. "She thinks of everything."
"I do not," she murmurs.
"Yeah, you do, sweetheart," I say. Esme steps away and I take her place, rubbing soothing circles on the back of Bella's hands. She stands on her toes, placing a light kiss on my lips. Someone makes a strange sound behind me; a sniffling, sobbing sound. I turn, catching a glimpse of my mother's dress as she disappears into the attached bathroom.
"Is she okay?" Bella asks, gnawing her bottom lip.
"Everything is excellent. She cries when she's happy." Carlisle shrugs. "She's a crier."
"She's a crier," I agree, snickering at Bella's worried frown. "Crying is a good sign. Means she likes you. If she raises her voice, or her right eyebrow, or taps her fingers on something … watch out. Those are sure signs she's about to explode. Trust me, you don't wanna be anywhere near my mother when she explodes."
Carlisle nods, his face mockingly serious. "True story. I have scars to prove it."
"Bella, tell me about yourself," Esme says, leaning on the patio table.
Flipping a burger on the grill, I let my father's rambling die out as we both sip our beers. He's schooling me on the perfect burger, but I couldn't care less. Curiosity wins out and my father's voice fades away as I eavesdrop on the conversation nearby.
"I think," Bella says, sighing, "I think you already know the best and worst parts."
"So tell me all the things in between," Esme responds, squeezing her hand. "I want to know everything about the woman who makes my son so happy."
"Well, I'm a teacher." Bella pauses, pursing her lips. "I was a teacher. But being around children-" Bella laughs, a dry, bitter laugh. "That's not the in-between you wanted to hear. Let me think … I love cooking, but I'm easily distracted and sometimes burn water."
"I'm an excellent cook," Esme whispers, her tone conspirative. "Let's go inside and toss those Hawaiian rolls in the oven, shall we? Then I'll reveal all my cooking secrets."
Hand-in-hand, my mother and the girl I love walk across the patio, laughing and disappearing inside the house. Past the glass, patio doors, Bella follows my mother around the kitchen, her face bright with curiosity and attentiveness.
"Looks like she's been missing something in life," Carlisle says, tipping his beer in Bella's direction. "A mother figure, perhaps?"
"You're a surgeon, not a psychiatrist." I smirk, removing the burgers one-by-one from the grill. "When did you begin channeling your inner Dr. Phil?"
"I spent some time during my residency in a mental institution," Carlisle replies, finishing off his beer. "Where do you think I met your mother?"
"Har, har. Let Mom hear you say that."
"Let Mom hear him say what?" Mom asks. She's holding a couple of bowls in her hands, filled with pineapple slices and onions. "Edward, throw these pineapples on the grill for a second."
"Sure thing." I take the bowl from her hand and toss the slices on the grill. Crackling and sizzling sounds fill the air. "Dad was just telling me how he met you in a mental institution."
"Really, Carlisle." Mom huffs, releasing an exaggerated sigh. "You'll have Bella convinced I'm some sort of psycho."
"No, that title belongs to my mother." Bella laughs, faux fighting with me to snatch the spatula from my hand. I let her win this time, and place my hands on her hips, my chest against her back. She flips the pineapple slices, humming in approval with the seared lines marring the fruit.
"A good leeway into an uncomfortable subject," Carlisle says. He pops open his third beer of the night, ignoring my mother's frown. "Edward says she's quite a character. Your mother, that is."
"She's a sadist." Bella fidgets in my arms. I soothe her with a kiss to her neck, well-aware of my father's eyes dissecting our every move. "She's not happy unless I'm sad. This has been going on since .. well, my entire life. She pushed me into everything … cheerleading, pageants, debutante balls. Didn't matter that I couldn't stand all the glitz and glitter, all the fake smiles and false enthusiasm.
"For years I thought our relationship was a normal one between a mother and daughter, but then she started nosing into my dating life, insisting I date people "in my league." Her words, not mine. She pushed me into dating Eric, pushed me into marrying him, telling me I'd never find another man who'd love me like he did. She told me I was lazy, worthless. I had no ambition. After Eric and Ben's death, I gave up on myself and became the person she always thought I truly was."
"Anyone would have given up," Esme says, "in that same situation. Even if just for a little while."
"Not my mom" Bella replies. "She would have held her chin up and found a way to work through the pain. She's tough and set in her ways, which is what worries me so much about the relationship between me and Edward. I don't expect her acceptance, but being on amicable terms would be wonderful. I try to keep the peace for my dad's sake. It's not his fault she's so vindictive."
Esme lifts her chin, waving one, dismissive hand. "Tomorrow night we'll have a little chat, wife to wife, mother to mother. I'll make a softie out of her before the night is over.. Don't worry about a thing, sweetie. Let Mama Esme take care of everything."
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