Skylines and Diamond Rings

Edward

I wake up alone. I try not to read anything into it. Today is just a day. But it's not. Not to me. Not to Bella. Not to this entire country. It will never be just a day again. Not in our lifetimes.

Questions about babies float around in my mind. I wonder if we could do it. If I could do it. Be a father. If I would flail about. If I would become my own father. If I could ever love that little baby from the orphanage the way that Bella already loves her.

If we would get our hearts broken.

My father's words from last night echo in this barren room.

But last night's revelations are pushed down by the weight of today's date. While it seems like Bella and I were apart for an eternity, it doesn't feel possible that it has been eight whole years since that fateful day. Eight years.

I'm grateful that we don't have cable yet. Or even a television. We don't need to spend the day that way.

But I want to know. I want to know what it was like for her. I want to tell her what it was like for me. Driving cross-country without sleeping. Not being able to get a hold of her. Panicking. Imagining the worst. Not knowing.

It's early. The sun is barely up. My open palm slides against the cool sheets to her side of the bed.

I pull her pillow up to my face. Memories of last night. The taste of her skin. The sounds she makes when she's about to come undone. Making me wish that she was still here beside me. Below me. Above me.

But she's not. The room is starkly empty in the light of day. Walls still bare. Closet empty.

Lying still, I can hear her downstairs as she rifles through the kitchen cabinets of this tiny house. Our tiny house. I can't help but smile even though I'm not sure that this is a day for smiling.

I pull on my boxers and my shirt from yesterday and make my way down the creaky staircase.

Her back is to me, in nothing but my old T-shirt. I watch her and her silky smooth legs, from the doorway to the kitchen.

I try to figure out what this day means to her.

I try to accept the fact that I may never know. I wasn't there.

She turns around. Startled, but smiling. She stands there, holding a spatula up high, as if in victory.

I'm walking towards her. My hands plant themselves firmly on her hips, and my lips find their way to her forehead. "What are you making me for breakfast?"

She pulls away slightly to look at me. "Blueberry pancakes."

The words are stuck in my throat. Choking me.

Marry me. Bella. Marry me.

She looks up at me through her lashes. "We need blueberries." Kiss.

"And milk." Kiss. "And eggs." Kiss. "And flour." Kiss.

It feels good to smile with her. The world is inexplicably brighter.

My fingers toy with the hem of her shirt. And with a sigh, her entire body sags into mine, relying on me to hold her upright.

She says the words into my chest. "I love you." And I'll never get tired of hearing it. A little louder, "I loved you then, too." And I know.

"Bella?" I wait for her eyes. "I know."

She nods. Eyes glistening, lips parted, she wants to say something. She doesn't.

I hold her there in our kitchen. Swaying back and forth. Until eventually she pulls away, busying herself in the cabinets once again.

I get dressed as she tinkers in the kitchen.

I kiss her before I leave. Really kiss her. Not because we have something to prove. But because I want to. Because I want her. I will always want her.

I swing by Dad's house to pick up some clothes on the way to the market. And something else. I creep up the stairs quietly. This house is suddenly ridiculously huge. I make it to my old room without seeing Alice or my father. I quickly stuff whatever clothes are nearby into a shapeless duffle bag. I find what I'm looking for and slide it safely into my pocket.

I turn to find Alice standing in the doorway. Fresh out of bed. Face puffy.

She leans her head against the doorframe. "Edward, I'm sorry."

"What exactly are you sorry for?" I want to know.

"Edward, don't do this."

"Don't do what?"

"That thing you do."

"Enlighten me."

"Don't be a prick."

I scoff at her. I brush past her. I'm down the stairs and out the door. I want her to suffer. For no reason at all. We're the same. I know how it feels to not want to know all of it.

I'm glad that I didn't have to face my father. Because maybe I understand. And I don't want to. I understand why he is the way he is. The way he was. When we were small. Because I know what it feels like to lose Bella. In a different way. But it's enough to understand.

I go to the market. I can't help but glance over the newspaper headlines. Every last one of them is paying tribute. Every year. It was a long time before I could even say the date out loud.

I leave the newspapers in their stands.

I wait in line with my basket of ingredients for blueberry pancakes. Wanting nothing more than to get out of here and get back home to Bella.

"Well, well, well. Where have you been hiding?" Her voice startles me but it doesn't grate on my nerves like it used to.

It's almost comforting to see her. Today, of all days.

"Hey, Rose."

"Alice said you were home. I was going to call, but…. So, you're here for good?"

"Yeah, we're here for good."

I'm waiting for the sneer but it doesn't come. She watches me without saying a word. Pensive.

She pats my arm. "I hope you know what you're doing, Edward." It's not condescending. For once.

I think Rose might always think of me as the Edward who came back from New York. When I was a disaster. When Alice asked her to babysit me in LA. And if I'm being honest, I'm not sure what I would have done without her. Because I was ready to drop out of school. To give it all up.

She was the one to force me out of bed each morning with her incessant calling until I would answer the phone. She was the one who made sure I ate. She was the one who convinced me not to throw everything away.

She hated Bella. She wasn't shy about telling me. And it was okay. Because maybe I hated Bella too. At least I wanted to hate her.

I tried.

Somewhere along the line, probably about the time I realized that Rosalie wasn't trying to seduce me, we became friends. I relied on her for so much.

She was the one who introduced me to Tanya. She wanted me to be happy.

I tried.

That was before she met Emmett. Before she understood. Before she had any concept of what it was like to love someone.

The gruff voice of the checker brings me back. "Next in line."

Rose and I make promises to meet up for dinner before Alice flies back to San Francisco. Everyone. The first time we will all be together since Alice's wedding, over a year ago.

She doesn't say anything about today.

I leave her there by the newspapers and carry my bag of breakfast to the car.

I sit in the parking lot, engine running, remembering a different drive.

-PC-

My cell phone is dead. "Mother fucking, useless piece of shit!" I want to throw it out of the car window. I throw it in the glove box instead.

I'll wait until I need to fill up on gas to try calling again. I don't want to waste any more fucking time. I can't keep stopping. Putting money in a pay phone. When I could be getting there.

I smack the dash with an open palm. Again. Again. Until my hand burns. Until my eyes burn. Fear and anger.

I want to turn the radio off. I've heard enough. But I can't bring myself to do it.

The images from the TV screen play over and over again in my mind. Like a movie. A horror movie.

I sat there watching the TV for hours. Calling Bella's phone for hours. Not being able to get through. The uncertainty clawing at my insides, until I couldn't sit there any longer.

Until I had to get in my car and drive.

I'm taking her back with me. And if she refuses, I'm leaving UCLA. She can't stay in New York. Alone. I won't let her. I can't.

She's fine. I'm sure she's fine. She has to be fine.

My heart pounds in my ears. My skin on fire. My breathing short.

The coffee turns sour in my stomach. I pull over on the deserted highway. Car still running, I open the door just in time to empty my stomach in the dirt.

I pull Mom's ring from my pocket. I clench my fist around it. Until it's painful.

Desperately needing the sound of Bella's voice. The touch of her skin. The heat of her mouth.

I tuck the ring away and I drive.

Pulling into the gas station, I immediately scan for a pay phone.

I hold my breath as I dial her number. The cold, metal buttons are harsh and mocking.

I slam the receiver down. Fuck!

I call home. It barely rings once.

"Hello?"

"Dad?"

"Edward, she's fine."

"You talked to her?"

"Yes, Edward, she's alright."

"Where is she?"

"In her apartment. The mayor is encouraging everyone to stay put. Only people south of Canal Street were evacuated yesterday."

"Dad, I have to go."

"Edward, wait…" But I can't wait. I drop the phone. I have to get to her.

The next two days pass in a blur of road signs and energy drinks.

I listen to the radio. I listen to it unfold for days. Time goes by so slowly.

And then I'm in New York and I'm not quite sure how I even got here.

It's her birthday. I've talked to her twice. She's fine. She said she's fine. But her voice.

One day, one moment, can change everything. The skyline. Priorities. Our future.

I'm at her apartment and I'm beating down the door.

And then she's there in front of me and she's clinging to me.

And I'm grabbing. I'm grabbing at her. Until we're in her bed. Naked and grabbing.

And I'm taking. And it's fast and rough. And it's fucking. And it feels like I'm chasing something that's not real, but I can't stop.

What should be relief, release, ecstasy, is only desperation, grief and fear.

It's over. I'm apologizing.

And she's crying. And maybe I'm crying too.

We lie there silently in her bed. The sun filters in through the window, and I focus on the bits of dust floating through the air, as if they could save us. A twinkling flash of light catches my eye on the floor. The diamond ring is lying on the hardwood next to my jeans. I turn to face her, hoping that she doesn't see it.

But her eyes are fixed on that ring. "What is that? Why do you have that?"

"It's a ring." Because that's the only kind of truth I have right now.

Her eyes are dead. Her voice is dead. "Why is it here?"

"Because… I want you to…"

"Edward, don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't do this."

"Don't do what?"

"This."

"Bella, marry me."

"What?"

"Marry me. Let me love you. Forever."

She shakes her head. Her eyes pool with tears. "No."

"Bella…"

"I said no!"

I flinch. The power of her words. Definite and sure.

The rejection burns. The anger is easier.

I shut my eyes and open my mouth. "Then I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you say that you don't love me. Because I know you do."

I feel her roll away from me. And I think I've won. It's the most hollow of victories. It's not a victory at all when she speaks.

Her voice is vacant and steady. "I don't love you. I never have."

It's choking and drowning and being burned alive.

My eyes flash open. "You're lying. Look at me when you say it. Your eyes are the only honest part of you."

She turns to face me. Venom and bite. "I don't love you."

She's out of the bed, walking naked to the bathroom.

I stare at the ring. On the floor.

-PC-

I sit in our driveway with the engine off and the world is standing still.

I pull the ring from my pocket. I roll it between my thumb and my pointer finger. Ask me again someday. I imagine sliding it on her finger. I imagine her hand. Her face.

I wonder if it's bad luck to propose with a ring she's already refused. I don't care. Because this is the ring she'd want.

Today doesn't need to be that day. It doesn't need to be her birthday.

Her birthday. My mind is swimming. I have two days.

And I decide.

I make a phone call to Alice. By some grace of God, she answers. I apologize. I ask for her help. This is how it goes with us.

I hang up the phone, hands in my hair. I'm suddenly nervous that Bella may have seen me sitting out here. In the driveway.

I just need a minute. To remember it. Because it's been so long since I've let myself remember any of it.

The way the whole country banded together. The way Bella and I fell apart.

I slide the ring back into my pocket. I beg it to stay there.

The house is quiet when I open the front door. I drop the duffle bag filled with our clothes at the bottom of the stairs and bring the groceries to the kitchen.

The kitchen has exploded in the time I've been gone. There are pots and pans all over the floor. Every cabinet door, every drawer is open. She told me once that kitchen cabinets are windows into a person's soul. I hope she's right.

I can hear the water from the shower upstairs. And maybe I need another shower.

The noisy pipes go quiet by the time I've reached the top of the stairs. I kick off my shoes and I sit on our bed. The room is drowning in mid-morning sun.

She leans up against the doorjamb in her towel. I wonder how much of our lives are spent standing in doorways.

I wonder if we can ban towels in this house. Before I can comment, the offending fabric is on the floor. I sit on the bed, smiling wide, at the sight of her naked in front of me.

She walks towards me slowly, all awkward and shy and sexy as hell.

I took her virginity ten years ago and she still blushes when I stare at her breasts. I love the way her skin looks when she's fresh out of the shower. All rosy and vibrant and alive.

She stands in front of me. Only naked. Her hands run through my hair. Her thumbs rub out the worry lines on my forehead that have been there all morning. My own hands try not to be greedy.

She tilts her head to the side. "You said that my eyes were the only honest part of me. Do you still believe that?"

My skin is covered in needles.

"No, Bella, they're not the only honest part."

"What do you see? What do you see when you look at me?"

I wish I could tell her. I wish there were words.

I pull her face slowly to me. Everything in slow motion. "I see you. I see joy and fear and hope and sorrow and love and determination."

I hold her there, in the palms of my hands. Until we're both falling to the bed.

She's the one who's naked and yet I've never felt so exposed.

She unbuttons my shirt, taking care with each button. The feel of her hands against my bare chest is something I will remember forever. When we're old and gray.

I can imagine it. In this house.

I roll her onto her back. I start to kick my pants off and then I remember my pocket. I stand at the foot of the bed, taking them off slowly.

This will not end with a diamond ring on the floor.

I feel for the ring through the outside of my pocket, my eyes trained on hers the whole time. Her chest is heaving. I fold the pants up, ring inside. Because I'm not proposing when she's naked.

Before long, I don't care about rings or forever. I am only here in this moment.

I kiss her toes. Her perfect toes. Those toes.

I kiss every inch of her skin.

Until she's panting. Until she forgets what day it is.

Until I'm buried inside of her.

"Look at me." The way the heel of her foot rests along my spine. This is honest. I can see it in her face.

It's not desperation, at the foot of the bed. Until it is.

Until I'm thinking and speaking in one word sentences as she's convulsing below me. Until I follow her. Until I'm collapsing on top of her.

Cloudy minds in a sunlit room.

My fingers run lazy trails over her rib cage as my lips seek out her lips and my hips test her hips. Ready to go again.

Maybe we can spend the rest of the day in this bed.

My stomach is growling in protest. Betraying me. Making her giggle and leading us down to the kitchen.

The afternoon is spent with blueberry pancakes.

In the kitchen with Bella.

She's laughing and shaking her head as I take another pancake from the plate.

"What?"

"You know that this won't be the last time I ever feed you, right?"

And then teasing is suddenly serious. Neither of us wants to think about the last time for anything.

I can feel it creeping in. I want to ask her about that day, but I don't want to have to ask her. I want her to tell me willingly.

She washes the dishes. I dry. We don't have a dishwasher. Eight years ago I would have thought a kitchen without a dishwasher was ridiculous. I imagined us in a brand new house. I wanted to give her everything. I wanted to prove to her that she was worth it.

Standing here in our kitchen without a dishwasher, not needing to prove anything to anyone, we're Bella and Edward.

She rinses the soap off of a plate until it's sparkling. The water runs off the edges. I hold the dishtowel in my hands. They say patience is a virtue. Instead of handing it to me, she lets it drop back into the soapy dishwater.

"I barely remember anything from that day."

"Bella…"

"I barely remember anything."

I don't ask her to tell me. The words trickle out of her all on their own.

She holds her dripping hands out in front of her and I'm drying them. Slowly. Carefully. Because getting what I want is sometimes painful.

"It's all mixed up. My memories of that day and the earthquake. They're all tangled up in my mind. I can remember the disbelief. And then the confusion. And then the panic, because what if you were on a plane, Edward? I could hear your voice. Maybe I'll fly out for your birthday. I could hear your voice and I remember thinking that you were on a plane. And then the smell. And the ash. And it was all too familiar. And then I was back in that car with her. Trapped and smashed."

She thought I was on a plane.

"And then you were there. And you were different. And your eyes were wild. And the way…" Her voice trails off but her eyes stay.

"Bella, I know the rest." Because I don't know if I can hear about the way I fucked her. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't about desire or love or even lust. It was desperate, selfish fucking.

"And my city was bleeding. And the entire country was bleeding. And Charlie wasn't mine anymore. And I felt like I couldn't possibly lose anything else. And you drove across the country. And you were down on one knee. And you were asking for forever."

And she let me go. To ensure that she would never lose me. It makes no sense and perfect sense.

The grief surges through me. I feel it in waves. The grief for the thousands of people who lost their lives. For the loved ones they left behind. For the unborn children who would never meet their fathers.

My own grief. For losing Bella. For reasons that had everything and nothing to do with that day.

I take her hand and lead her to the living room.

We sit on our couch and we talk it all out. For the first time. We don't tiptoe around any of it. Until the sun has set.

Wrapped up in each other, covered by a familiar plaid blanket, we don't hide.

"I know we aren't ready to be parents, I was just thinking…"

"You were just thinking, what?"

"What if we're never ready? What if we're never ready and we spend our lives waiting for that moment and it never comes? What if she spends her whole life in that place? What if she spends her whole life without a family? What if we're just what she needs, but she doesn't get to have us because we were too afraid?"

I have nothing to say to that.

"Tell me about her?"

Her whole face lights up. From a question.

"Alright. What do you want to know?"

"Anything."

"Her eyes are deep and dark." Like yours, I want to say. I'm a goner.

"And she was so little. But it's been months since then. I'm sure she's changed. I'm sure she's grown. They say she's eating more. She's growing." I don't ask her who they is, because I know she's been in contact. Her lips purse together, eyes wandering. Trying to imagine her.

"Bella, we don't know anything about international adoptions. About what the regulations are there. It could take years."

She doesn't want to hear that. She keeps going.

"She has these impossibly long fingers."

I chuckle. "Like E.T.?"

"No!" She's scowling and I kiss it away. And then she's giggling and I want that forever. She pushes me onto my back and snuggles into my chest. I pull the blanket up, covering us. Her fingers run along the edge of my pocket

"She holds her hands out all dainty like." She shows me with her own hand, stretching her fingers out in front of my face. I can't help but kiss each one of her fingertips. Her knuckles.

She's suddenly quiet. So serious. But she looks at me like she's just found the answer. To everything she's ever wanted to know.

And this is the moment. This is the moment when I want to ask her. But I'm not sure I can even speak.

I fold my fingers around her other hand. The left one. I pull it out from under the blanket.

I freeze.

She holds her hand up, still clasped around mine, in front of her face. In awe.

I can't breathe.

"Bella, what's that?" I know what it is.

"It's a ring." And I'm sure she can feel my heartbeat through my chest. Or is it hers? There is no way to know.

Eyes wide and staring, my words are a whisper. "How did it get there?"

She swallows. "I put it there." And it's my mother's ring. She's wearing my mother's ring.

And I only stare. And stare.

My cheeks hurt. The best kind of hurt.

"I was going to ask you, you little thief."

She's squealing and wiggling her little body. Like a fish out of water. Her face buried in my neck. Kissing me. Laughing and kissing me.

And then I'm laughing too.

Because she stole it from my pocket.

And then she's scrunching up her face again, nose to nose. "Well, ask me!"

When I open my mouth to say the words she's kissing me. It's a yes.

I think my face is wet.

"Bella, grow old with me?"

She nods. Again and again and again. I don't need the word but when I hear it, my whole body is shaking.

"Yes."

When we think of that date, September the eleventh, it will conjure up new memories. These memories. Memories of the day we decided. Together. Forever.

-PC-

A/N:

I know that September 11th is a sensitive topic and my intention is not to make light of what happened on that day, to real people and real families.

Susan, thank you for being awesome and talking me down.

See you in a couple of weeks :)