And We All Grow Up

by chase the rain

As Bella juggles her final year of high school, taking care of her brother and avoiding her dad's girlfriend, 21 yo Edward steps into her life, a child in tow and no idea how to raise him. A story about change, about first love, about self-discovery and growing up. Short chapters and a few minor changes... ExB/AH/AU/Rated T until further notice.

11. Chapter 11

BPOV

11

"Bee, Mason said can I go to his house to play on Saturday?"

"Where's Sue? Ask her." I drop the keys on the side table. Launch my bag at the bottom of the stairs and take off my coat, hat, gloves.

"She's in bed. I asked her and she told me to go away." I raise my eyebrows. Wait. Em scowls. Then continues reluctantly: "I said it's our house so she can go away herself and then she started crying and I thought she was gonna hit me so I ran away." Nice touch, adding your thoughts, Em; he's learning guilt tactics. I make him sit on the bottom step of the stairs. Tell him to think about what he's done.

In the kitchen, I boil water, prepare herbal tea. Jasmine, says the box. I pass Emmett on my way upstairs. He's sulking, head in hands and pout in place. I ignore him. Turn left in the hallway and stop outside a door left ajar. The hallway lights flood in and Sue stirs under the covers of the bed. The room is hot, sweltering, but she's shivering. I put the tea on the bedside table and crank the heat down. Push back the covers and feel her temperature. She's radiating warmth like a road in heat.

In the en suite, I find her pills. Head back into the bedroom and drop two into the tea. Wait. Then make her sit up. I watch as she drinks it. Her face, pale and unwashed, is waxy with sweat and lack of sleep. I get a hairbrush from the bedside drawer; attempt to sort her hair out. She groans, I give up.

In the bathroom again, this time for a washcloth. Soaked in water, unscented, I bring it back to her. Wipe her face gently, she nuzzles me like a child. I push her back into the pile of pillows. They plump up around her face, under the familiar weight of her head.

I take the empty cup and leave the room. Shut away her misery, her pain.

Downstairs, Emmett has migrated to a patch of carpet in front of the TV, engrossed in a nameless cartoon.

The phone rings, I pick it up. Quiet.

"Bella?"

"Dad."

"How's Sue? I won't be home tonight." Like that's unpredictable.

"She was burning up. I gave her pills."

"How many?"

"Two."

Dad sucks in a breath. "Don't make her too dependent on them. She'll never let it go."

Something bristles in my throat, laughter or anger.

"OK."

Quiet. And then: "Well, I'll see you tomorrow. Got another emergency." And there goes Saint Charles Swan at the beck and call of his never-ending mission of heroism.

In the kitchen, I start dinner.