Chapter Fourteen
Circumpolar Star: A star that never sets, but always stays above the horizon.
It's not as busy as I expected. Not as sickly, or depressing.
We walk through endless white hallways that are connected to more hallways that are endless and white. They smell like alcohol; a maze of wide passageways where life and death cross paths every second of every day. Yet, everything seems so casual. Nurses stand outside of doorways; some chatting with each other, laughing. Some flipping through charts that document lifetimes. All wearing cheery, colorful scrubs that pop out from the bland walls like fireworks.
This is one of the times when I acutely feel the difference between Edward's life and mine. There's a novelty about this place that makes me want to explore it, to see what goes on inside all of these whitewashed rooms. But Edward, he knows all too well what happens here. That's why his hand grips mine so tightly, and he walks two steps ahead, intent on our destination.
We take a left, and pass a metal cart that's taller than I am, stacked to the top with pink trays. This sick, sour smell emanates from them, hitting me in the back of my throat, and ugh, is that breakfast? Has Mrs. Cullen had to eat whatever makes this smell every day since she's been here? That poor, poor woman.
I crane my neck toward the clatter and clang as an orderly removes a couple of trays to take them to their unlucky recipients.
"What are you looking at?" Edward's voice is tight, a little unnerved.
"I keep waiting for a couple of doctors to pop out of one of these doors in various states of undress," I tell him. He probably wouldn't like the honest answer, and at least with this I have a chance at making him smile.
He does. Sort of.
"This isn't Grey's Anatomy, Bella." He wants to laugh at my joke; I can tell by the way his dimple starts to show. I want to laugh at the fact that he even knows what Grey's Anatomy is.
"I know," I say, smiling at him as we walk. "I just wasn't sure what to expect."
He slows to a stop in the middle of the hallway, and looks at me with his eyebrows all crinkled. "Have you...have you never been in a hospital before?"
"I mean, I've been to doctor's offices and those emergency care clinics they have in strip malls. I was pretty clumsy when I was a kid, and I wound up in the emergency room a few times, but all I really remember about that is Dr. Gerandy giving me a lollipop and a balloon when I left. Once I hit puberty, and gravity and I became friends, I haven't been back. The hospital in Forks is a lot smaller, though. Nothing like this."
"What, is it just one big room with a wall of hay separating the side where they treat the humans from the side where they treat the animals?" His sort-of smile turns into a full-blown one, dimple and all.
"No," I say, swatting his arm. "There's a barnyard out back for the animals."
Edward laughs. It's such a welcome sound in this sterile place, and it bounces off the walls as we start walking again. The more we move, the longer Edward's stride becomes, and the longer Edward's stride becomes, the faster we go. The faster we go, the more that beautiful smile fades. It fades until his lips press into a thin line, and his eyes become narrow and focused.
For someone who seemed hesitant to open up to me not too long ago, he sure is moving awfully fast.
"She had another small surgery on Wednesday, so her leg is stabilized, and her face has some scars, so she's not going to look like…you know, like you're probably expecting her to look. She's kind of self-conscious about it, so…"
He's so nervous he's fidgeting. His palm is a little sweaty against mine, and it makes my heart ache. As he pulls me around yet another corner, I begin to realize he might be moving so quickly toward his mother's room so that we get there before he talks himself into running away from it.
"Edward," I say, tugging on his arm as we gravitate to the right of the corridor and come to a stop. "If you're not ready for me to go in there, I don't have to."
We've come so far, but I'll stop right here if he needs me to.
"I can wait outside, or-"
"No," he says, his expression softening. "I want you to meet her."
"I'm not afraid of seeing her. And I promise I won't embarrass you." He holds both of my hands in his, and rubs the pads of his thumbs across my knuckles.
"I'm not worried about you embarrassing me. It's just…"
"I understand." I squeeze his fingers. "I'll go down to the cafeteria and try to locate the source of that smell coming from the trays back there," I say, trying not to let my disappointment seep through my voice. "You spend time with your mom, and I can come back another day."
This tiny smile plays at the corner of his mouth when he leans down to kiss me. "C'mon," he says, threading his fingers between mine as we start walking again.
A hallway over, we come to a stop in front of a large door that's halfway open. From where we stand, I can see the sun brightening the ugly, gray-speckled floor.
Edward knocks a few times before he pushes the door, and he squeezes my hand as we step inside.
"Mom?"
"Hi, sweetie," Mrs. Cullen says. Her voice is soft and welcoming, and her endearment for her son makes me grin.
I reach up to smooth my shirt, because oh, I just got so nervous all of a sudden. Edward's calmed down, but now I'm a little bit frantic. I'm scared she'll think my hair is too long, my clothes are too short, my personality is too much, and my appeal is too little.
But when I see her huge, beaming smile, I know none of that matters. Because I'm not here to see my mother, I'm here to see Edward's. And if a few seconds is any indication, one is definitely nothing like the other.
The first things I notice are the long bars and rings that are encasing her leg; it looks a lot like scaffolding that stretches from her ankle to her thigh. There's a pulley holding it up off of the bed at an angle, and I can see the bandages and a few bruises through the metal. Her other leg seems to have fared better, although a brace or something makes the blanket that covers it lumpy.
There's a brace on her left wrist. I can see the end, where it wraps around her hand, popping out from the sleeve of her robe. It's impossible not to look at these things the first time you see her, but when she starts talking to Edward, her lilting voice moves my gaze to her face.
Her hair is a soft brown, twisted into a pretty knot near the crown of her head. She's got an elegant neck, the kind that diamond chokers are made for, and petite shoulders that somehow manage to look graceful even under the weight of her terry-cloth robe. Edward got his green eyes from his mother, and hers crinkle at the edges like his do, only the lines that surround them when she smiles are a little deeper. Her smile is infectious. Even the jagged, angry red scar that cuts across her porcelain skin from the corner of her lips to the beginning of her hairline above her ear can't make that smile any less brilliant.
And none of the other small, pink scars that mar her otherwise flawless complexion make her any less beautiful. She is so beautiful.
"You must be Bella," she says, reaching her seemingly uninjured right arm toward me. Her grip is firm, but her skin is very soft.
"It's so nice to meet you, Mrs. Cullen." My voice is shaky. Stupid voice.
"Please," she says, laughing. "Call me Esme."
"Okay." Edward squeezes my hand, and I feel a little less nervous, and a lot more grounded.
"You're all Edward can talk about, and he's said such wonderful things. I was beginning to think you didn't exist," she says, grinning at me. "But you're just as lovely as he said you were."
"Thank you." My cheeks are on fire. I look over at Edward, expecting him to reprimand his mother or look embarrassed, but he does neither. He just winks, and gives me that dopey-cute dimple grin. "Edward speaks so fondly of you."
Oh, words get back into my mouth, please. Get back into my mouth, and never come out again. I'm talking to Edward's mother like she's some crazy great-aunt who gives people mortifyingly bad knitted gifts for Christmas. 'Edward speaks so fondly of you'? Who even says 'fondly' anymore? I'm not eighty! God help me. God, please help me.
"What I mean is," I say, my voice steady, "that Edward has told me so much about you." There, that's better. It's not 'fondly', at least. "Nice things." Shut up, Bella.
Esme smiles. "Can I offer you something to drink? Bottled water? Chicken broth?" She pulls the plastic lid off of a small white bowl, and ugh, there's that smell. My stomach turns.
"Broth is a little too rich for me," I say, crinkling my nose.
"I'm sorry." She looks a little disgusted herself. "It was bad form for me try to pawn this off on you, even as a joke. This should be banished to a nuclear waste pit, where it belongs." Esme has a sense of humor that I hadn't been expecting at all. "Come," she says, motioning us forward. "Sit."
Two chairs are lined up along the wall on the right side of her bed. Edward takes the one furthest from her, and I take the one that's closer. He sidles up to me so that our arms are touching, and his warm skin on mine eases my nerves.
"So," Esme says, "you two are off to an early start. Do you have big plans for the day?"
"Oh, well, my brother's coming into town later this morning, and we're-"
"We're meeting him for lunch," Edward interrupts. "We have some errands to run beforehand."
Edward looks over at me before smiling at his mother. I narrow my eyes at him, because why is he hiding? He just nods in return. If Esme's noticed our exchange, she doesn't let on. She just seems happy to have people here with her, so I don't press the issue. I want to, but I don't.
"I understand your brother is getting married soon, is that right?"
"Yes," I say, shifting in my chair. "In a couple of months."
"A string quartet will be playing the reception?"
My heart thumps, and I turn toward Edward. "Yes."
"String quartets are lovely. I always told Edward he'd double his business if he learned how to play the violin."
"I suck at playing the violin," he says. "I make that thing sound like I'm torturing a cat."
"So dramatic," I laugh.
"You wouldn't suck if you practiced," Esme says. "You have such a talent for music."
Edward rolls his eyes, and it occurs to me that this conversation isn't so dissimilar from a few I've had with my own mother. Although, with the two of us, gentle ribbing that starts out innocently usually turns into something much more cutting. But I guess every mother nags; even the one who gave birth to a son who sets my world on fire.
"Don't give me that look. Remember when you were little, and you used to hold your toy guitar up to your chin and try to play it with a ruler? There's a violinist in there dying to get out."
"Mom," Edward groans, lowering his head before he runs his fingers through his hair.
"Oh, hush. You're lucky I don't have my photo albums with all of your naked baby pictures in them. Then you'd have something to complain about." Esme winks at me.
"There's something to look forward to," he mumbles.
"Just wait 'til I get out of-"
"Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite patient. How are you feeling today?" A nurse who's wearing hot pink scrubs and has a poufy blonde perm that's tamed in a ponytail walks through the door. She's that a-little-too-cheery-to-be-real kind of nice, with a bright voice and wide smile.
"Good." Esme leans toward me and mutters, "Despite the fact that my nurse was being a complete dictator earlier."
"I heard that," the nurse says, playfully narrowing her eyes rimmed with way too much eyeliner for her delicate features.
"I meant for you to."
"You're not fooling anyone. You're gonna miss me when you're gone," the nurse says.
"I suppose," Esme sighs.
"How are you, Edward?" the nurse asks.
"I'm good, Lauren. You?"
"Eh, aside from my patients giving me a hard time, I can't complain," she teases. She grins as she looks in my direction. "I see we have a new visitor."
"This is my girlfriend, Bella." Edward's fingers slide down the inside of my arm until they're all wrapped up with mine. I grin when he gives my hand a squeeze, and I feel about ten feet tall. His girlfriend. I don't know if he realizes it, but this is the first time he's ever called me that. It's just a word, a title, and so simple compared to all the things we really are to each other, but I love it. I love hearing it, I love the way his voice sounds when he says it, and the smile it puts on his face. I love being the one he uses that word for.
"Huh," Lauren says as she claps Edward on his shoulder. "I never thought I'd see the day."
Edward looks at me with happy eyes. I grin at his grin, and when I see Esme, she's grinning wider than me and Edward put together.
"Bella, this is my mom's favorite nurse and dictator, Lauren."
"You got that right," she says as she shakes my hand. "It's nice to meet you, Bella."
"It's nice to meet you, too."
"You've gotta be careful with her." Edward leans in close, talking to me in a too-loud whisper. "You don't want to get on her bad side."
"Smartass," she says, laughing. "But he's right about that."
It's so weird to see Edward's rapport with people outside of the office. I've never really seen him interact with anyone we don't work with, aside from Emmett the couple of times he's been over. Edward's not quite as at ease as he is when we're alone, but he's not on edge, either. I'd always expected to see a different side of his life once he started letting me in a little more, but I never expected to see a completely different side of him. It's new, and comfortable, and makes this thing between us feel more concrete.
"I'm gonna go check on some other patients, but I'll come by again a little later," Lauren says. She peers at Esme's tray, which is empty, except for the bowl of nuclear waste-like broth. She raises an eyebrow.
"You can look at me like that every day for the rest of my imprisonment here," Esme says with a calm smile. "I'm not eating that. It's never going to happen."
Lauren doesn't fight; she just shakes her head, picks up Esme's tray, and disappears into the hallway.
"I really will miss her," Esme says as she smoothes her blankets, and the fabric dips and rises over what is most definitely a brace. I slowly turn toward Edward so I don't get caught staring. Since he said she's self-conscious about it, the last thing I want her to think is that her son is dating a rude, insensitive gawker.
"Do you get to go home soon?" I ask.
"Doctor says by the end of September or beginning of October." She pulls out a folded-over calendar with a bunch of red 'X's marking off the days.
"Not that you're counting or anything," I tease.
Esme laughs. "No, not one bit. I'm running out of things to do here," she says, looking out the window. "I miss being outside, sleeping in my own bed..." As she trails off, I know those are only the beginning of the things that she misses. A few seconds later, she lightly shakes her head, and looks over at Edward. "Did you bring my books?"
"Shit," Edward sighs. "I left them in the car." Not surprising, since he seemed so scattered before we got here. He stands, and fishes his keys out of his pocket. "I'll go get 'em. Do you wanna come?"
I want to stay. Even though the right thing to do would be to offer to go to the car myself, the chance at some one-on-one time with his mother is too much to resist. "I'll keep your mom company. If that's okay," I say, turning toward Esme.
She looks pleased. Edward looks hesitant. I should go with him, but I can't make myself do it.
"Okay, um…" he says as he slowly walks toward the door. Once he reaches it, he hangs out, like he doesn't want to go. "I guess...I guess I'll be back."
I offer him a soft smile to let him know that I just want to talk to her a little more, that he doesn't need to be nervous. When he sees me, he presses his lips together, and nods. He doesn't look mad, just tentative.
It takes a second for him to finally convince himself to leave, and once Edward's gone and the two of us are alone, I remember that I haven't come to visit emptyhanded. "I almost forgot that I brought a little something for you," I say, reaching into my purse. Esme looks curious, and excited; like a prisoner about to receive a cake that has a file baked into it. "Edward said these are your favorite."
I place the plastic baggie I brought from home in her hands, and she holds it like I've handed her the crown jewels or something. Edward said it was okay to bring her a few. They're just plain sugar cookies, but she treats them like they're a treasure. In a hospital, I suppose they are.
"Oooh," she squeals, sounding like a cute, overexcited child. "I think I love you." She opens the baggie, and takes a deep breath before she pulls out a cookie. She takes a bite, then closes her eyes and hums as she chews. "Edward tried making these for me not too long ago."
I get this odd mental image of Edward bent over a tray of blackened, smoking cookies, wearing an apron and huge oven mitts shaped like beer bottles or something ridiculous a guy would have. The thought of Edward baking for his mother makes me smile. Could I have found a sweeter guy?
"Did they turn out well?" I would bet my next paycheck that the answer is no.
"That depends on what you wanted to use them for. Edward and I had a good laugh about it, but these...these are heaven."
"I'm glad you like them."
"'Like' isn't a strong enough word," she says, reaching into the bag for another cookie.
As Esme chews, I look to her right, at the small table pushed up against the wall next to me. The bottom shelf has a stack of magazines and books that are precariously leaning to the side, and the table's surface is nearly overflowing with photographs.
There's something about pictures, especially the ones that belong to strangers, that make you want to look at them. Like they're tiny, colorful pieces of a puzzle that help you figure out who that person is. You can learn a lot about someone by the memories they hold dear, whether they're an animal lover, a nature lover, an adventurer, or a homebody.
By looking at Esme's collection, I can tell she's someone who loves her family.
"May I?" I ask, nodding toward the table. It's a little rude to just sit here and stare at her things without permission.
"Absolutely," she says before taking another bite of her cookie. "Pictures are meant to be looked at."
I stand and lean over so I can see them better. A few larger frames line the back of the table, all holding school portraits of a teenaged Edward. His face is rounder than it is now, not as defined, but he looks nearly the same as he did in the pictures I saw at Tanya's house. There's one of him when he was much younger; he's tucked beneath Esme's arm as the two of them stand in front of the castle at Disney World. Edward's lips are stained cherry-popsicle-red, and he's got those big, awkward, just-grown-in adult teeth that peek out from between lips that turn up in that goofy smile I love so much.
There's a smaller one of Edward as a toddler sitting in a walker. He's got chubby pink cheeks, big, inquisitive eyes, and drool lining the corner of his mouth as he gums a rubber dinosaur.
The pictures in front of all the rest, though, those are the real treasures.
There's a profile shot of Esme and a tall man who I assume is Edward's father, kissing on a church altar surrounded by flowers, and friends, and family. Next to it is one that I can't help but reach for; I'm drawn to it like a magnet. Protected by a simple silver frame is a picture of a smiling young boy and the man he wanted to grow up to be.
"Is this-"
"Yes," Esme says with a sad smile. She reaches out and grasps the right corner of the frame, then turns it so she can see it better. "That's my husband, Carlisle. I think Edward was about six in that picture."
Oh, he looks six. The skin on his gangly little arms and legs is tan from a day spent outside. His messy hair sticks up in a cowlick in the back, and a few sweaty strands stick to his forehead. It's the same reddish-brown that it is now, but the summer sun's highlights have made it lighter. He's carefree. He's a kid.
His father is so handsome. He's chiseled and lean, with wavy blonde hair. He's got perfect teeth behind a smile to die for, which brings out a dimple that's remarkably similar to the one he passed down to his son.
Edward and Carlisle sit side by side, surrounded by tools, their legs dangling from the edge of a tiny deck in front of a tiny tree house.
The tree house Edward tried so desperately to hold on to.
"Edward lost all four of his top front teeth at the same time," Esme says, this soft smile on her face as she lets go of the frame. "This little boy, Riley, and his family had moved in next door to us. He had a cleft palate, and a bit of a speech impediment. Some of his teeth were missing or hadn't grown in properly. The kids were relentless in making fun of that poor child. Edward came home from school one day, missing all four of the top ones. They were a little loose, but he pulled them; so he could be like Riley, he said."
The way she speaks of her son, with that soft, gentle voice and unrelenting glow of pride, makes me understand that she wants me to know how incredibly lucky I am to have him.
"That sounds like Edward," I say. I do know how lucky I am. So lucky.
"Carlisle would tease him about it, because he'd talk a little funny. Edward used to tell him that his tongue liked having a window," she laughs.
God, I love him. Who he was then, who he is now, and everything in between.
"He must've been adorable." I trace my finger along the edge of the frame before I put it back in its place.
"Tell me, Bella," Esme says, leaning closer toward me. "How's he really doing?"
This short twinge of panic bursts through me, because of all the things I had expected her to ask me today, that wasn't one of them. Then again, I hadn't expected the two of us to have any time alone together, either. Of course she'd want to know how her son is doing. Edward, being Edward, probably doesn't tell her, because he doesn't want her to worry about him. And now that I think about it, that's most likely the reason he didn't want her to know we'd be packing today, or at least why he hid that he'd needed to take my brother up on his offer to help.
I take a deep breath and tuck my hair behind my ear. "He's okay. He's frazzled; you know how he worries. But he's good. Better."
She sighs and runs her finger along her blanket, getting this far-off look in her eyes. "My son, with the weight of the world on his shoulders." She shakes her head and looks down, and I know she feels the guilt of putting him in this position.
"He's so much better than he used to be," I say, trying to lighten her load. "Honestly. He's more relaxed now." I'm careful not to elaborate, because I don't know if she's aware of how much I know about their situation.
She nods and looks out the window, a world of regret in her eyes. Then she softens, and turns toward me.
"He's changed a lot since he met you." She reaches beside her and picks up the picture of Edward and Carlisle in their tree house. "I knew that would happen the first time he mentioned you."
"You did?" I'm feeling kind of shy all of a sudden, so I look down and swipe at an imaginary smudge on the top of my shoe.
"Oh, yes." She turns the frame she's holding toward me so I can see Edward's bright, shining face. "He reminds me more of this boy now. He smiles like this when he talks about you," she says, grinning as she lays the picture in her lap. "You've brought him back to life."
There's a lump in my throat so tight, and my vision gets blurry as I blink away tears that start to fall. She pats my hand as I cry, and I can't stop, because…is there a more wonderful compliment a mother can give to the girl who's in love with her son?
Esme sniffles as she hands me a tissue, then she takes one and dabs at her eyes. "I didn't mean to make you cry," she says.
"Don't worry," I tell her, wiping my nose. "They're good tears."
She smiles. "I thought I'd upset you."
"No, not at all. I think that was exactly what I needed to hear."
"I'm glad." She balls up her tissue, and I throw hers and mine into the trash can in the far corner of the room. "Tell me, have you seen this apartment we're going to be moving into?"
Well, I guess she's aware that I know everything. That's a relief.
"Yes. I was with Edward when he rented it."
Esme purses her lips and nods. "I wish I could help. Do you two have it under control? Edward keeps assuring me it is, but he wants to take care of everything himself…"
"I know all about that," I tease.
"Yes, he's told me," she says. It feels a little strange that Esme seems to know so much about me, even though we've only just met. Even stranger is how comfortable I feel with her, how at ease I am telling her these things and discussing them so freely after knowing her for less than an hour.
"Bella," she says, turning toward me. "My son is a remarkable person. When his father died, Edward put every responsibility on his shoulders, and he's carried them around his whole life. He's never learned to let go, and I suppose that's my fault. He's spent most of his life being the parent, and…" She looks down, and a tear slowly falls over the curve of her cheek before she wipes it away. I hand her a tissue; we seem to be using a lot of those today. "Being stuck in this hospital for the past few months has given me some time to think. All I can do is think," she whispers. "We've been doing things the wrong way for a long time. Sometimes we take two steps forward, and three steps back. But we try. Don't give up on him, okay?"
There are times when watching two people put each other's happiness first can be painful; like when it leads to secrets, and lies, and burdens. But when it's done with honesty, and love, and the absolute best of intentions, it's stunning.
Her eyes are sincere, and just in case I didn't hear her the first time, she says it again. "Please don't give up on him."
"I won't," I say, smiling. At this point, giving up on Edward would be impossible. "I can't."
"You make my son happy, and that's all I've ever wanted for him. Thank you for that."
"You're welcome." I swipe the back of my hand across my wet cheek. "He makes me happy. So, thank you. For him."
She sighs, and her shoulders loosen as her lips spread into a grin. "He'll be back soon, and if he sees all this crying, he might be a little hesitant to bring you here again."
I laugh. "Quick," I say as I hand her another tissue. "Wipe away the evidence." Her eyes are a little red, but her cheeks aren't blotchy or anything. "If he asks, we'll just tell him I told you a really funny joke."
Esme and I chitchat about topical things for the next few minutes, careful to avoid any of the subjects that made our eyes all watery earlier. At this point, I can't even tell Esme had been crying, and we're laughing at a story she's telling me about her night nurse when I turn my head and see Edward standing in the doorway.
He's holding a small stack of books in one hand, and a bottle in the other. There's this serene smile on his face as he looks at the two of us.
"The cafeteria was open, so I thought I'd bring you some tea," he says, taking a step inside. He walks over and sets the bottle down next to the largest picture on the table, then sits on the edge of the bed as he hands Esme her books.
"Thank you, sweetie," she says, reaching up to gently pat his cheek. "I was just boring Bella with some of my hospital stories."
"If 'boring' me is the same as making me laugh, then yes, she was totally boring me."
Even though I have the feeling he'd been eavesdropping on our conversation for a minute or two before he walked in, I can tell he's wondering what we were talking about while he was gone. I can't blame him; if I'd left him alone with my mother after they'd just met, well...I don't even want to think about it.
There's something about his eyes that remind me of the boy in the picture that sits on the table next to us, and I'm amazed by just how much I've learned about him in the twenty minutes he's been gone. I have to reach out to him; I have to touch him. His left leg is the closest to me, and as I gently press my palm to his thigh, his fingers lightly trail over the back of my hand.
When he smiles, I know he knows that coming here today was right.
Seconds later, Edward reaches over and fiddles with Esme's hospital bracelet before he bends over to straighten the leaning tower of books at the bottom of her bedside table. While he's distracted, Esme plants her hand down on the mattress to push herself up a little, and she lets out this small groan as she moves, probably jostling her hurt leg.
Edward reacts immediately. "Do you need your pain medication? I'll go get Lauren."
His attentiveness is endearing. And as he fusses over his mother, I begin to realize that he doesn't see her the way I do. He can't. He can't see that even though her body is broken, her spirit is not, and that while she needs care, she doesn't need to be taken care of. To him, she's still the grieving woman who lost her husband, and needs a sturdy shoulder to lean on.
"Edward," she says, laughing. "I'm fine. I'm old, I get aches and pains. Having all this hardware wrapped around my leg isn't helping. Someday you'll know what it's like to have your joints pop every time you think about moving. Go sit."
Edward stands to move over to the chair next to me, and despite the remnants of a smile on his face, there's that ever-present worry line creasing his forehead. I wish I could take it away; make it disappear with love, and kisses, and so many good things. Maybe in time, I can. For now, I settle for holding his hand.
"Did you try these cookies, Edward?"
He nods. "About one or ten."
"Edward told me you're a spectacular cook, Bella," Esme says, reaching into the bag for another cookie. Then she closes the top, folds it over, and puts it in the table's drawer.
"I wouldn't say I'm spectacular," I say, looking at Edward. "But I try."
"She tries spectacularly, and she succeeds spectacularly."
The way Edward smiles at me, punctuated with this cute little wink, makes my insides flutter. I love that feeling; he makes me feel the best things. We hide so much at work. I have to keep myself from reaching out for him during meetings when he says something funny, and he struggles not to put his hand on the small of my back when we walk side-by-side. Even though it's not his fault, when we're with our coworkers under bright fluorescent lights, I feel like a secret. But here, with his mother, with someone who really matters, I feel like a treasure.
"Hopefully, when I get out of here I'll have a chance to try for myself."
I sneak a quick look at Edward, not wanting to promise anything that he's uncomfortable with. He's nothing but huge grins and hopeful eyes.
"I'd like that."
Esme asks after Tanya and her family, and once Edward answers, he launches into a full-scale attack, wanting to know more about the new round of physical therapy Esme started yesterday. Whenever she ticks off a new word or procedure, Edward spouts off with the benefits of said word or procedure. He's like a walking, talking medical Wikipedia, and even though I can tell the twenty questions annoys Esme, Edward's investment in the whole thing warms my heart. This knowledge can't be holdover from his med school days; he's obviously done a ton of research.
After about five minutes of back and forth with her son, Esme seems to be tired of talking about her therapy, and moves the conversation in another direction.
"Is the weather nice today?"
"Yeah," Edward says, turning to look out the window behind us. "But the sky is kind of grey over there. It'll probably rain at some point."
It's a good thing we won't be moving until next week.
"Can you leave the bed?" I ask before I have time to really think about it. The words feel clumsy coming out of my mouth, and given the way that she looked so longingly out the window earlier, I hate that I may have just suggested the impossible. But there's a wheelchair in the corner of the room, and I saw some patients being wheeled around when we got here. "Can we take you out to the terrace? Is that all right?"
I can see in Esme's eyes that she'd like nothing more than to go outside, but, for some reason, she shakes her head. "Now that I've got this hardware, it's such a production when I have to move. And if it's going to rain, well...I don't want to get all rusty. That would definitely put me on Lauren's bad side."
I smile. God, I love this woman.
"Besides," she says, looking at Edward. "I don't want to spoil your lunch plans."
I can practically see Edward's shoulders tighten as Esme speaks. There's something in her cadence that makes even my stomach clench, and it isn't until I see Edward's eyes slowly lift to meet his mother's gaze that I realize why.
He was just the recipient of some strange variation of The Mom Voice; the tone that, aside from the use of your full name, lets you know that you're in for it. I've been on the receiving end of it countless times in my life. It's never fun.
The cool thing about Esme, though, is that she's not over-dramatic or ominous about the declaration. She's got this little smile that comes from knowing your child like the back of your hand. From letting them know that while they may be younger than you are, they're still not smart enough to pull a fast one on you.
And as Edward sheepishly looks up at his mother, I start to understand that I'm not the only one he's having to learn to let in. It's a different dynamic, sure, but these two have lied and tried to protect each other for so long that I imagine it's a pretty hard habit to break. But they're trying, I've got to give them that.
I pick up my purse, and stand. "I think I'm gonna just go out in the-"
"No," Edward says, looking up at me. He laces his fingers between mine, and the feel of him pulls me back down to my seat. "No, Bella. Please stay."
Oh, this is big. Of all the big things that have happened today, this might be the biggest. The metaphorical door that he's been letting me into, inch by inch since we met, is wide open now. My muscles tense in anticipation.
Edward rubs the back of my hand with his thumb for what feels like minutes, until he finally speaks. "Bella's brother is coming down to help me...to help us pack. I'm...I'm worried that I won't be able to get everything together in time for the movers next weekend, and he offered, so..."
"We'll get it done," I whisper. I mean it as a soft encouragement, because I know that turning around years of habits is hard, and I want him to know that he's not alone. He has me.
He lifts my hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it before he says, "I'm sorry I tried to hide it from you, Mom."
Esme smiles. "Earlier I told you I didn't need the nurse," she says softly. "I do. My leg is hurting, and I need my meds. Would you get Lauren on your way out?"
"On our way out? But-"
"Go enjoy that sunshine before it's gone," she says emphatically. "Take a few minutes for yourselves today."
Edward doesn't seem so sure. "Mom-" he begins to protest.
She closes her eyes and shakes her head. "Go. I'd chase you out of here if I could. Maybe I still can..." She sits up, and Edward looks worried that she's actually going to do it.
"I'll go find her," I say as I stand. "That way you two can say goodbye." I reach over and take Esme's hand, giving her fingers a squeeze. "It was so nice to meet you."
"You too, Bella. You come back and see me again, okay?"
I nod. "Okay. I'll bring more cookies, too," I whisper.
"You don't have to bring anything but yourself. And you can let this one tag along too, if he wants to," she says, tapping Edward's arm.
I laugh and say, "You've got a deal."
I walk out to the nurse's station, and let the woman at the desk know that Esme's in pain. She gives me a polite smile, and tells me she'll send someone right in.
While I'm standing in the hallway opposite Esme's door, I can see her and Edward. He's turned toward her, sitting on the side of her bed, and she's cupping his face with her hands. She's definitely smiling, and I can tell he is, too. When her mouth starts moving and Edward nods, I wish there were some way I could hear what she was saying to him, even though it's none of my business. It's such a tender, quiet, parental moment.
It's been so long since I've had one of those with my own mother. Esme's looking at Edward the same way Mom used to look at me, and the image touches this place deep inside of me, relentlessly squeezing my heart, making my chest tight.
It's the first time I've ever longed for something that Edward has.
Tears prick my eyes, because what I'm seeing is so far away from anything I can have right now. I know it's not entirely my fault, but I have this nagging ache in the pit of my stomach, wondering how long I can go without speaking to my mother. There's no way I can cut her out of my life completely, and lately I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that we may never get along. And what do I do then? Do I never see my father and Em? Do I just sit there and take it? Isn't there some happy medium?
There's too much indecision, and not enough room to explore the possibilities. Every single possible outcome makes me ache a little, except for the one that ends with my mother accepting me and my decisions completely. I know it'll never happen, but the idea is there. It's just on the edge of my thoughts, making all the others seem a little brighter, and making the alternatives harder to swallow.
I look away, because I'm invading their privacy, but part of it is a measure of self-preservation, too. And as I examine the way my shoes contrast with the floor tiles, I feel this overwhelming need to call my mother. Not because she's right, and I'm wrong. Not because I'm giving up, or giving in.
I have to tell her I love her. Edward has taught me so much since I've known him; he's so strong and brave. He's lucky to have gotten a second chance with his mother, but he'll never have that with Carlisle. After seeing Edward with Esme this morning, I don't know what I would do if I were ever in his position. But I do know that if a police officer knocked on my door in the middle of the night and told me Mom had been in an accident, and things were the way they are between us now, I'd hate myself.
I don't want to live a life of 'what-ifs' and regrets.
I pat my pockets looking for my phone, when I remember that I left it in my bag in Edward's car. My heart sinks, but I know I won't lose my nerve. Maybe I can't change Mom's mind, and maybe we'll never see eye-to-eye, but I can find peace with her.
So, sometime today, I'll duck into a quiet place. And I'll take a few minutes to find my peace.
When Edward finally comes out of Esme's room, his smile is bigger than the Space Needle. It pushes away all the doubt and insecurity that's been pulling at me since I've been standing in this hallway.
"Let's get out of here," he says.
Edward wraps his arm around me, and I turn my head to kiss the hand that's resting on my shoulder before I reach up and twine our fingers together. I drape my arm around his waist, and as we walk, I swear there's a spring in his step. We navigate the hallways back to the parking lot with a different kind of urgency, and when we step out of the automatic doors onto the sidewalk outside, Edward pulls me close and kisses my forehead.
Even though the sun has ducked behind some clouds, I feel warm all over.
"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"
I don't think I've ever heard Edward say that before. Just to make sure I heard him correctly, I ask, "What?"
"It just...it feels really great out here, doesn't it?"
There's that hope in his voice again. And just like last time I heard it, I grab on tight, and don't let go.
"It's wonderful."
When we get to the car, he walks me to the passenger side and unlocks the lock. Taking advantage of the way his arms stretch out as he holds the door open for me, I wrap my arms around his waist and press my cheek against his chest. He seems surprised for a second, but then he squeezes me back, and rests his chin on the top of my head.
"What's this for?" he asks as I loosen my grip.
"For bringing me here. For smiling like that." I stretch to kiss his chin.
"She loves you."
The rush of his mother's approval makes my skin tingle all the way down to my fingertips. "She's amazing."
"Not what you expected?"
"No, it's not that," I say, trailing my fingers across his t-shirt, right above his heart. "She's just different than I thought she'd be. She's very funny, and..." I pause before I say the words, but they're right, I know it. "She's strong."
He swallows as his eyebrows knit together, and he looks down at the ground.
"You're a lot like her," I say. Just like that, the smile's back.
I take his hand in mine as we pull out of the parking lot, and we're quiet on the way to his house. Edward drives with this grin on his face, and every minute or two when I look over at him, I have to grin, too.
We drive across familiar roads that take us to ones that I'm not so familiar with. And as we go, the soft hum of the radio is drowned out by the squeaky swishing of Edward's windshield wipers swiping away fat little raindrops.
The car passes under trees that cover the roads like canopies, and fairly large houses that are close together fade into really large houses that are farther apart. They're all distinct and full of character, despite the Victorian style that seems to be a common element throughout the neighborhood.
When Edward takes a left into his driveway, my heart skips a beat. Beautiful doesn't even begin to describe this house.
It's set back from the road on a little slope of the greenest, prettiest grass. Trees and bushes line the perimeter, and even though they don't look as well-manicured as the ones that surround the other houses, they're still gorgeous, and I wonder if Edward's been the one keeping this yard in shape. He has to be, there's no way he could afford a landscaper.
The house is a soft yellow, almost light enough to be cream. White trim covers the railing of the wraparound porch, as well as the variously-shaped windows on both stories. The only spot of imperfection is the 'SOLD' sign that's posted in the front yard.
Edward parks at the bottom of the driveway, which seems weird. But when I look up and see the worn-out basketball hoop that hangs above the garage door, I understand why he wouldn't want to drive over that spot.
"We're going to get a little wet," Edward says, leaning over the steering wheel to look out at the sky. It's just a steady sprinkle, nothing too bad.
"I don't care."
His eyes are wide and smile-bright. "Sit tight."
He jumps out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Seconds later, he comes over to my side, pulls me up and out in one quick movement, and before I know it we're both running across the slick grass, laughing in the rain.
We pound up the steps and onto the porch, where a swing hangs, just like the one we have at home in Forks. A few locks of Edward's rain-damp hair fall down across his forehead, and his chest is heaving. He's alive, and beautiful.
"You ready?"
Normally, I would ask him the same thing. But something's shifted; something's different.
"Yes." I nod. "I'm ready."
Edward's keys clink together as he turns them in the lock. Then he reaches back, takes my hand, and smiles as we step inside.