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Leah's hip sway slowly side to side, sinuous little movements to the song she's got playing. In the living room her old school stereo still soldiers on, its scratches and smudges testaments to the years. In high school she'd had it tucked onto a dusty shelf, sandwiched between books and stuffed animals.

I can't believe she still has it.

"When was the last time you saw them in concert?" she asks, mincing a clove of garlic.

I pluck a cherry tomato out of a bowl near the sink, rolling it between my fingers as I listen to the lyrics."2001 maybe? 2002? Before Sophie was born."

"I saw them last year; it was great," she says, nodding toward the bulb of garlic to my left. "We should go again, next summer."

"Okay." I hand her the garlic. I'd help but she won't let me; too many hands in the pot and all that. Leah's kitchen is her castle.

"So Edward's wife is okay?" she asks, out of the blue but not really.

"She's fine." I shrug, popping the little tomato in my mouth, pleased at the tangy gush between my teeth. "I feel kind of bad for her."

"Why?"

"She seems lonely. Edward works all the time."

"So? Jacob worked all the time too."

"So they're not us, Leah. Not everyone is built that way," I say, wondering why I bother to defend things I myself have wondered about.

Leah glances at me, smirking. "She sure as hell doesn't mind the money he makes, I bet."

And then, "how do you feel about him?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, reaching for another tomato.

The song ends, and I hear girly giggles whispering out from Natalie's bedroom down the hall.

"You know just what I mean. It's a slippery slope, Bella. Watch it." There is an edge in her voice, and her jaw is set hard.

"Don't do that," I breathe, hating how my heart lurches at her words. "Their issues have nothing to do with me. Neither do your issues."

But Leah knows this. Speaking her mind has little to do with my moral character and all to do with her past pain.

Nodding, she slides a loaf of fresh French bread toward me. "Here. You can slice this."

The next song starts and wouldn't you know?

It's the one Edward played for me weeks before.

Fate has a hurtful sense of humor.

The frost comes and with it, the holidays. Sophie and I divide our days between my family and Jacob's, the way we always have around Christmas.

It is a little easier than it was the year before, and I find myself thinking I'm glad Sophie was relatively young when her daddy died. She misses him, but she's resilient, not having the Pandora's Box of memories I must contend with.

The house next door is dark; they've gone again to Juneau. Tanya said once they took turns celebrating various holidays each family, but it's looking like Juneau is winning out. I can't say I blame her, but I have to wonder how Edward feels about it. His parents and brothers and sisters have always been tight, and I can only imagine how his absence, and his wife and child's, affects them.

One evening in late December Garrett is on the couch with Sophie, watching a movie while I make snacks in the kitchen.

He has become one of my best friends. We spend hours in conversation; he often comes by after work and then stays for dinner. He remains patient with me, and I think he senses that I am finally allowing myself to feel things for him.

I have just embellished Sophie's cocoa with extra whipped cream when Garrett comes quietly into the kitchen and leans against the counter.

"She's asleep, you know."

"She is?" I glance at the clock; it's hardly nine. "Guess she was worn out."

"I can… bring her to bed if you want," he offers.

"Um… you don't have to do that. I like tucking her in."

He nods, hands in his pockets, reminded of his limitations.

"You can finish topping these though." I give him a smile and the can of cream.

I love my daughter's softness and smell, and I bury my nose in both as I struggle up the stairs, filled with wonder and nostalgia.

She hardly stirs when I snuggle her into sheets and blankets, when I click on her night light and shut the door.

Downstairs, the television is on but muted, and Garrett waits for me, mugs in hand. One sip makes me laugh a little and I peer at him, thumbing cream off my nose.

"Did you put Kahlua in these?"

"And vodka," he says, winking.

Sometimes, he makes me forget to be sad.

Garrett wants to take Sophie skiing before school resumes and I'd like to get away from Forks for a while so we spend New Year's in the mountains, where Garrett has a place. Three days of sunshine and snow bring us closer together, and when he begins to hold my hand as we walk from place to place I find I have no reason to ask him not to.

The night we return home he kisses me on the corner of my mouth and it makes my heart pound and my hands shake, partly because I don't want it and partly because I do.

So intent am I on watching him drive away I barely see the approaching shadow until it is practically in front of me and I gasp in shock, my heart racing for different reasons now.

"Tanya! God, don't do that! You scared me…"

But then I see that she's crying, almost hysterically.

"Where's Jaime?" I ask, grabbing her arm. "What's wrong?"

"He's fine, he's – he's asleep," she sputters, wiping the back of her hand across her nose. "I'm sorry, I just…. I have no one else. No one else."

"No one else to what?" I pull her inside and sit her at the table, my own stomach in knots.

She sits for a moment, trying to collect herself, leaving me to think the worst types of things.

"I think I'm pregnant."

Nausea swells faintly through me and I collapse in to the chair beside her, taking her hand.

"You don't want that?"

She shakes her head, fresh tears streaming down her face. "I can't do it. Not again. I can't. "

"What did Edward say?"

"He doesn't know."

"When did you find out?"

"I'm about a week late."

I settle back into my chair, trying to make sense of things. "So you don't really know, then."

"No." She shakes her head again, breathing deeply. "But I'm never late. And there was a time, about a month ago, when we…"

I'm glad when she trails off.

"But I won't do it, Bella. I'm not like you. I can't be alone all the time and I can't keep staying home all day year in, year out."

Her words are tactless but I don't quite mind; not everyone is like me. Not everyone can work from home. My alone-ness is not a choice, but she's too wrapped up in her crisis to remember that. She's only ever known me this way.

She never knew the other me, the Bella that was one half of a happy whole.

"So what will you do?" I ask cautiously, irrationally terrified of what I think she's implying.

Her eyes are watery and blue.

"Whatever I have to."

* Dave Matthews Band #41