Chapter 11
The In-Between
Bang, bang, bang! "Edward, Bella, get dressed, dinner is ready!" a loud voice booms through Edward's bedroom door. Edward and I are in the middle of an epic Halo battle on his Xbox—epic meaning I haven't died within the first two minutes—and I stare at him questioningly.
He laughs then shouts back towards the door, "We're playing Xbox, Emm, you can come in!"
There is a lighter knock on the door before it opens very slowly. Edward's brother is a lot larger than he is, and he has one hand over his eyes and is peering through his fingers as walks in. "Are you guys decent?"
Edward laughs again and throws one of the pillows from his couch at him. "Yes, I was just introducing Bella to Halo…"
Emmett drops the hand covering his face and offers it to me. "You're Bella, I presume. Emmett Cullen. Glad to see I didn't interrupt anything…interesting." I shake his hand and can't help but smile back at his boisterousness. This is my introduction to the humor of Emmett Cullen.
Jasper joins us for dinner, and the whole atmosphere is cheerful. Esme teases Emmett that he should have brought his girlfriend too, since he is the only one not 'coupled' at the table. Emmett rolls his eyes at his mom, and Edward interjects that Emmett has a new girlfriend every week so it would be hard to invite someone for the holiday weekend.
Edward drives me back home, since Jasper and Alice planned on watching movies at the Cullens' house after dinner. He carries the ridiculous amount of shopping bags up to the front door for me, before dropping them quickly by my feet as I search in my bag for my keys. He stops me before I open the door and turns me towards him. "I had fun today, Bella," he says softly, and then brushes his lips gently on my forehead.
"Me too," I say, returning his crooked smile with one of my own. My smile does not fade as I watch him get back into his car and drive away.
When I walk into the living room, my mom is pouring over a photo album. There are more albums on the couch beside her and all over the coffee table.
"Hey, Mom," I say, placing all the bags next to the coffee table so I can join her. She looks up and I notice that her eyes are puffy and there are several tissues next to her. "What's going on? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Bells," she says, her voice slightly coarse from crying. "Really," she continues when I raise my eyebrows at her. "I was just looking for a picture for Maddie's wall."
"Maddie's wall?" We had visited her earlier in the week after one of my appointments. Her bone marrow transplant went relatively smoothly, but it was too soon to tell. She was in isolation—meaning limited visitors and those who visited had to scrub their hands thoroughly and wear masks and special gowns—for the next four weeks at least while waiting for the transplant to 'take'.
"Tammy covered one wall of her hospital room in poster paper and asked everyone to bring pictures in for Maddie."
"That's a good idea," I say, knowing how much Maddie loves pictures.
"Yeah, she's drawing all over it too…it's a good way to occupy her time."
"So, Mom, are you giving her a really old picture?" I ask when I realize that she is flipping through one of the albums from when I was a baby. There is a picture of the three of us in front of our old house in Washington, a picture of my parents on a fishing trip, one of me toddling on the beach.
"No, I already chose the pictures…I guess I just got carried away." She hands me an envelope with two pictures in it. The first one is from last summer—my parents and I on vacation in San Diego. The second is a picture of Edward and I at our makeshift homecoming dance at the hospital. We are standing in a traditional dance picture pose—he has his arms around my waist, and I am leaning against his chest with my arms cradling his. I bite my lip briefly to keep from criticizing my mom for including this picture with Edward since I know how much Maddie adores him.
We make hot chocolate and curl back up on the couch together, flipping through old albums as I fill her in on my day of shopping and at the Cullens' house.
"So Rosalie seems to be doing okay?" she asks. I know that she's met with Rose's mom and they have had several phone conversations about the Royce situation.
"Yeah. She and her mom are spending more time together…Rose has volunteered with her on some charity work."
"And Royce isn't bothering her?"
"Actually…um, Jake said that Royce got kicked out of Benedict for the homecoming incident." My mom nods her head in understanding. I don't add the details of the big fallout once the chaperones heard that Royce hit someone, much less a girl. Jake, on the other hand, got away with just a suspension since he was defending Rose. Mrs. Hale started to make more of an effort to get to know Rose, and Rose seemed to be doing much better. "Mom?" I start.
"What, sweetheart?"
"Um, thanks for always being my friend." She puts down her mug of hot cocoa and places an arm around me and squeezes.
"Same here, Bells."
We flip through one of the older albums together—another one of our time in Washington. I trace lightly over a photo of my dad pushing me in a swing, a fluffy hoodie tied snug around my chubby face. We're both smiling and laughing and just carefree in the picture. The next shot is one of my mom alone, standing in front of a slide, presumably at the same playground. Her hair is windswept and in contrast to ours, her smile looks forced. "Were you really going to leave him then?" I ask.
"Yes," she admits. "I packed our bags but he came home early…you went running up to him…just seeing the two of you together made me change my mind." I ponder her words for a moment instead of responding. I had no idea that she had actually packed our things or, more importantly, that she was going to leave without saying anything to my dad to his face. "He was always a good father," she continues in a softer tone.
I nod my head in agreement. There is more to her words that she isn't saying.
-0-
The next few weeks pass in a blur as everyone starts to get ready for the holidays. While Thanksgiving is cheery, somehow the Christmas holidays are looming ahead of us like a black cloud. My mom usually shops last minute for the holidays, and this year she announces that she is already done by the first week of December. I know what it means even though neither my mom or dad will admit it—they want to be ready just in case I am in the hospital for the holidays.
Alice found me a gray newspaper boy hat with a small bill to match my uniform. Most days I wear that or my favorite burgundy soft beanie, depending on if it is an exam day. Even though I know that my teachers trust me, I don't want to be accused of cheating or having the answers on the bill of my hat. Most days I don't bother wearing my itchy wig underneath the hats—somehow I feel more comfortable without the fake hair, no matter how nice a wig it is.
Edward joins me for another one of Vanessa's games after school. This time Rosalie and Jacob sit next to us, and the four of us make up silly cheers to embarrass Ness as she dribbles down the court. Edward is relaxed and happy and, just like last time—minus the initial glare, he and Jacob get along very well.
"What next?" Jake asks as we wait for Vanessa after the game.
"We promised one of our other friends we'd stop by the diner after the game. You guys want to join us?" I look back and forth between Jake and Edward and they both smile their agreement.
We walk out of the gym and wait in the lobby area. It is only then that I notice the rain streaming down outside. I tug at my wig nervously. It is a lighter brown color than my real hair, and also shorter and straighter. I don't miss the frizzies that would pop out with my real hair in this type of weather, but suddenly I feel self-conscious. Jake and Edward politely made no mention of the change in my hair. Rosalie and Vanessa know that I hate the wig, which is why I hardly wear it at school. Even now I have my trusty beanie to cover most of it up.
"Um," I whisper to Rose as Jake and Edward talk about the game. "Do you have an umbrella?"
"In the car," she replies. "Don't worry—we can just make a run for it."
"But I haven't worn my wig in the rain," I say urgently. "What if it gets all…gross?"
"It's made of real hair, Bella," she whispers back. I frown, nonetheless.
Edward notices us whispering and puts his arms around my waist from behind me. "Are you okay, love?"
"Yeah…just worried about the rain," I confess.
"Just wait here," he says, then releases me. He pulls his hood over his tousled locks and runs towards the parking lot. The rain is coming down harder now. Vanessa joins us and she and Jake decide to just run to his car as well. I watch their silhouettes start to blur as they get farther away, hand in hand. Rosalie waits patiently with me for Edward. Edward returns with two umbrellas—he hands one to Rose, places his arm around me, and opens up a large umbrella over us as we exit the gym. Despite the pouring rain, not one drop touches my wig.
At the diner, a few of Vanessa's teammates join us in a large booth as we wait for another one of our friends to serve us. Edward drapes his arm around me casually, and he and Jake joke around about being the only two guys amongst five girls. I happily sip my strawberry milkshake and not so surreptitiously steal curly fries from Edward's plate. I am so pleased that Edward and Jake are actually getting along, and am so overwhelmed with this sense of normalcy sitting in a diner amongst friends that the panic and insecurity over my wig dissipates.
While the rest of the group is chattering away, Edward leans towards me and whispers in my ear, "Is this okay?" as he motions towards his arm around me. I nod my consent as I look down shyly. It's perfect.
-0-
The next day my mom drops me off to school just before the late bell rings and I am off running to my locker. Vanessa is quickly grabbing her Chemistry book from the locker next to mine and I barely glance at her as I throw around my own books and reach for my Spanish one. She slams her locker door shut as she greets me and starts to dash down the hallway. That's when I notice her hair whipping around her head. Her short hair. Vanessa prizes her long locks as much as I do mine—we have similar waves to our hair, but hers is a darker, almost black shade.
"Ness! Your hair!" I squeak out. She has straightened her dark strands and it hangs in a sharp bob, ending just below her chin. She looks beautiful, the angles of the cut complementing her cheek bones.
"Yeah, I chopped it off yesterday, Bells" she laughs hurriedly. "Time for a change and all that. See you at break?" I nod then run towards homeroom before I'm late.
At break time, I wander over to the small kitchen at the far end of the school to get a breakfast burrito. I am busy half-walking, half-eating my burrito while trying not to spill hot sauce on my white uniform shirt when I glance up to the junior benches where I usually hang out with my friends. Rosalie and Vanessa are casually sharing a bag of chips as they face outwards towards the grass area. No one is sitting on the grass—muddy as it is from the previous day's rain. They look similar as they tilt their heads up towards the sun, but then it hits me that they look similar. I almost drop my burrito at the realization; Rose has chopped off her golden tresses as well. She left her waves in and styled it so that it looks almost forties in style, with a bit of something to keep the curls in place.
"Um…what did you guys do?" I ask as I get closer. They turn back towards me on the sidewalk, squinting slightly.
"Hey, Bells," Rosalie answers, ignoring my question completely while she smiles back at me. She is breathtaking with her shorter hair, looking really like a model in some vintage issue of Life.
Finally realization dawns on me as I tug on my gray newspaper boy hat with my free hand. I am not wearing my wig underneath today so it is a useless gesture. "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't shave your heads," I say softly, but accusingly to my two best friends.
"We haven't shaved our hair off, Bella," Vanessa responds, in her matter-of-fact tone.
"But…why?" I am at loss for words for a moment then I continue. "I mean…you both look great with short hair…I just don't understand."
"We donated our hair," Rose responds casually. "To Locks of Love." Locks of Love. The organization that gifted me with my wig that I hardly wear, but would complain if I had to do without.
"It'll grow back, Bells," Vanessa adds. "Just like yours. Besides, we know we both look gorgeous."
I laugh at her pretend look of smugness, and agree with her completely. And—as much as I know they would never admit it to me—I know that they both feel a bit self-conscious without their long hair. It is a big change for all of us, but a reminder that we are in it together. I tug on my hat one more time before sitting down next to them on the bench. We sit outside and enjoy the bright sunshine of the day, the sweet smell that only comes after the rain, and the promise of new beginnings.
A/N: For more info about donating hair: www(dot)locksoflove(dot)org
or www(dot)pantene(dot)com/en-us/beautiful-lengths-cause/pages/default(dot)aspx
