February 16, 2013 – Word Prompt: Artificial.

. . .

"I just have to pick up the arrangement Esme wanted for tonight's dinner," Alice says, and once again the pang of envy at her role as surrogate daughter niggles at the edges of my mind. "Would you mind going with me? You can hold on to it so it doesn't tip over and I'll drop you off afterward."

"Okay."

At the florist, I hang back while Alice chats with the woman behind the counter and settles Esme's bill. I wander around the tiny store, gazing at the displays of arrangements in all the shades of harvest, red and gold and burnt sienna blooms amid clusters of artificial berries and pinecones. In the middle of the store, an enormous cornucopia sits on a stand with colorful ears of corn and sunflowers spilling out of it.

"Here," I hear from over my shoulder, and turn to see an elegant arrangement of flowers in the dappled hues of autumn. "Are you okay to hold on to this?" comes Alice's voice from behind the blooms, and I nod before realizing she can't see me.

"Yeah. I got it." Clutching the base of the arrangement, I follow the sound of her voice to the car and ease myself into the leather seat before she pushes the door gently shut and reappears beside me as we navigate the damp roads. It doesn't really hit me until we're turning onto the Cullens' street that I'm about to be back in the house of Scrabble and blanket forts and hot chocolate, and a sudden swell of panic crests behind my breastbone. My mind flashes briefly to Alice's words from earlier, and I try to convince myself that seeing Esme before the party is advisable, given that the last time I saw her I was screaming curses at her son and dissolving in a flurry of tears.

When she parks in the driveway, Alice grabs a paper bag that I hadn't noticed from behind the passenger seat and glances at me. "Do you think you can handle that?"

"If you can open my door," I say, and she nods before slipping from the car and reappearing on my side of it. I grunt rather inelegantly as I get out and cradle the base of the arrangement in my arms. "Just don't let me trip up the stairs or anything," I say, and I hear her laugh as she slips a hand into the crook of my arm.

As she pushes the front door open and I step over the threshold, I'm assaulted by recollection even though I can't see a thing past the cluster of flowers in front of my face: the childhood home of the boy I loved is an olfactory memory I would have thought I'd forgotten, but as it envelops me, I swallow the lump that rises in my throat.

"Hey, Alice." The lump becomes a tight knot at the familiar voice, and I'm suddenly grateful for the shield. "And hey…floating flower arrangement." There's laughter in his voice, and for some reason I don't want to examine, I yearn to retain my anonymity for just one more moment so that he can say something else. I haven't heard levity in that voice in years, and it makes parts of me hurt that I thought were long dead. "Mom probably wants that in the kitchen for now. Here, let me…" The cheerful voice trails off and I feel warm fingers brush against mine as they relieve me of my burden. When the flowers are lowered from in front of me and I meet familiar yet foreign green eyes over top of it, they widen in surprise.

"Bella!"

"Hi." I see the moment the shutters come down and feel stupid at my regret: I am, after all, the one who wanted them. Not for the first time, I wish there was a way to erase the past, wish there was a way to go back to seeing the boy I loved who would never hurt me instead of the boy I loved who did. "I can't stay," I say, even though no one's asked me to, and I'm too aware of the fact that Edward hasn't taken a single step toward the kitchen, clutching the gargantuan arrangement at his waist and watching me silently. I'm uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and while he's never felt more like a stranger, the familiarity of his green eyes takes me back to the boy with the pillow forts and the hot chocolate and the gentle words instead of the teenager with the inadequate apologies and someone else's kisses on his lips.

. . .

"What?" I shake my head, as if there's a fog in my brain that could have made me mishear her words.

"I don't know." Alice looks unsure, scared, apologetic. "It was just something I heard. I don't know if it's true, but I couldn't not tell you. I don't think it's true. I mean, I don't think he would have…" She trails off, apparently not willing to say the words "kissed someone else" twice in the span of two minutes.

For the rest of the day, when I see Edward in the hallways, I turn and walk the other way. When he tries to catch my eye across the room in Trig, I look away; when the bell rings, I bolt before he can catch me. After school, he snags my elbow in the parking lot before I can make it to my truck. "Bella, what the hell? What's wrong?" I lick my lips and meet his gentle eyes, his brow furrowed in concern. "What happened?"

"You tell me."

Deeper frown. "What?"

I swallow down fear, muster up courage. "You tell me, Edward. Tell me you didn't kiss someone else."

His eyes widen, then narrow, then go flat, and I have my answer before he says it aloud. My own eyes fill, and I turn away before any tears can escape.

"It didn't mean anything."

"It does to me."

"Bella."

"How can a kiss with me be 'enough,' and a kiss with someone else mean nothing?"

"Your kisses are more than enough," he says, desperation heavy in his words, and my mind flashes to all the times I have apologized for not being ready for more. Not being ready to take things further. In this moment, I am equal parts grateful and sorry that I was such a coward.

"Apparently not."

"Please," he says. "Let me explain."

"No." For the first time in my life, I walk away from him without a backward glance.

. . .

Here's where things get bumpy. Rough few chapters ahead, just so you know. Remember when, at the very beginning, I mentioned that this Edward isn't perfect? We're there.

Also, thank you so much for the well-wishes for the little one, and for the suggestions – you're all so kind! She's feeling much better, and we got our first giggle, so it more than made up for days of snot-baby.

Thanks, as well, for the lovely reviews. I wish I could respond to all of them, but the tiny humans barely give me time to post these already-written chapters. Know, though, that I read and cherish and appreciate every last one. xo