A Big Enough Umbrella

by bornonhalloween

Even a superhero has to pull on his tights one leg at a time. An "Old School" sequel as told by Umbrella Man himself. Rated M because they can't keep their hands off each other.

21. Graduation Day

21 GRADUATION DAY

The wood folding chair under my ass is no match for my fidgeting. It doesn't help that I've been here since 8:30 this morning, saving the row of seats for Bella's entourage.

I check my watch for the umpteenth time: 10:48. According to the program, the conferring of degrees will begin at 11, and it can't come soon enough. The esteemed speaker is nearing the end of her remarks, thank goodness. I couldn't repeat one word of the speech that has lasted eighteen minutes and counting.

Mom reaches across the armrest of her wheelchair and wraps her hand around my left arm. "You're squirming," she whispers with that stern look I used to get in church. "Sit still!"

"I'm trying!" I grumble.

Sitting still is about the last thing I feel like doing right now. This is a huge moment for Bella. Officially, she started on this path three years ago, but realistically, she had to have dreamt about graduating from college the first time she enrolled at USF and subsequently failed out. This day has been a long time coming.

Even so, my anxiety is unwarranted. Bella and Riley rocked the presentation last week. It irks me that he received the same A as Bella on their project, but I can't fault the philosophy behind it. As much as I hate to admit it, Riley carried off his duties like a champ. He owed Bella that much, at least—that, and buzzing off for good. Dasvidania, and don't let the door hit your sockless loafers on the way out!

The panel of faculty judges awarded high marks on the merits of their work, but it couldn't have hurt that Pop-Pop showed up with dossants for the entire class. Either way, Bella and Riley locked up the A for the semester, which means my girl is graduating cum laude today. Still, until Bella is safely across the stage with the diploma in her hand, she won't exhale—and neither will I.

And then, of course, there's the not-so-minor matter of the survival of the bakery. The Save Orlovs' campaign started with a bang and picked up steam the first ten days, slowing down a bit after hitting the $10k mark but well on its way to $15k as we sit here today. With my additional capital injection, who's to say what will be in six months or a year? I know Bella doesn't plan to let up with the publicity campaign until she's sure she's done everything in her power to help.

A large, dark cloud moves across the sky. Forty percent chance of rain today, but could I convince Bella to take an umbrella this morning? "How am I gonna hold an umbrella?" she says. "Left hand out for the diploma, right hand to shake the dean's hand."

"Fine. How about a raincoat with a hood?"

"Have you seen the size of those caps?" She pats me on the cheek as she walks out my door, leaving me shaking my head.

The speaker thanks the audience for our attention; polite applause follows. The class of 2019 stands on cue. It's go-time.

I lift the camera to my eye, the weight and feel of my equipment immediately calming my restless soul as it always has. "Edward, there's a pretty bluebird outside. Go get a picture," Mom would say when I couldn't sit still to do my homework. "You can bring your camera," Dad would say when he wanted to coax me to a Giants' game. The camera has taught me many things over the course of my life, but maybe the most important lesson of all was how to be still when I'm feeling anything but.

I angle toward Mom and take her picture first. Is she missing Dad today? I'm sure if it were me up there crossing the stage, she'd be thinking how sad it was he didn't live to see the day. At the click of my shutter, Mom turns and graces me with a beautiful smile. When you put a camera in your child's hands, you sign up for a lifetime of smiling for it. Mom has always been a good sport, but today's smile has a little something extra in it, something that cuts through the gray day and gets right to the heart of the matter.

I can't resist stealing a few more of her while I have the excuse of the occasion. It's all too painfully obvious otherwise that I might be taking "the last picture before Esme fill-in-the-blank-of-inevitable-misery."

It's been a long time since I've shot a wedding, but my practiced eye takes over without a need for conscious thought, and the hands follow, doing what they need to do to produce the right combination of shots for the event: candids of small groups and individuals, a general sense of ambiance, and—quite obviously—the star of the show. Training my zoom lens on the stage, I grab some close-ups of Bella's advisor and the dean as they move into diploma-conferring position. I'm able to locate Bella's long brown hair below one of the mortarboards as her row waits to file out, and I capture several of Bella in her cap and gown before going in for a close-up.

This is the money shot: Bella's face in semi-profile, chin angled just so toward the stage. The face of a woman whose now is in clear focus even if her future is pleasantly blurred. I see the exact picture I want, but I only have a few seconds before Bella's row starts filing toward the aisle, and there are three rows of restless students standing in my way.

Patience, I remind my trigger finger. You always get one good window for every picture.

I chase an opening, listing to my right, unaware my upper body is hovering over Raoul's lap until I hear his laughter behind me. Never mind; I'm here now, and I have an important job to do. Acting every bit the seasoned pro, I catch the image I wanted. A quick check of my display confirms it.

I lower my camera and round on Raoul. "What's going on back there?"

"Is that a Zoom lens, or am I just happy to see you?"

"Oh, good god."

A raindrop plops onto my head. Now? Crap. I can't imagine the rain will hold off until they get through the S's. If only Bella were a Cullen already . . . My stomach flips again, and this time it's not about Bella crossing the stage.

Today is the day. Well, tonight is the night. The room at Duckhorn is waiting for us. My suitcase is in the trunk. I packed a few things for Bella after she left this morning, but if all goes well, my fiancée and I won't need much clothing for the next four days and nights.

"Justin Aarons, Amelia Abadi, Patrice Adams . . ."

It took all my powers of persuasion to convince Charlie and Renee to change the surprise dinner celebration to a not-surprise luncheon. I finally appealed to Charlie's appreciation for logistics; how could we surprise Bella if all these people were already there for the ceremony six hours earlier?

I could have saved myself some wear and tear by letting her folks in on my plan. It's not as if Charlie hasn't shamelessly hinted, pulling me aside before Thanksgiving dinner last year to "casually" mention that I seem like a man with honorable intentions, wink-wink.

Under most other circumstances, I would have been that guy who asks the father for his daughter's hand. Perhaps Mom is right, and I am overly sensitive, but with this parent-daughter dynamic, I would never put Bella in a subordinate position to her parents. Even an old-fashioned guy like me can recognize when adhering to custom is the wrong choice for the current day.

Frankly, with all Bella and I have been going through the past few months, I'm grateful I never reached out for Charlie's blessing. Our relationship didn't need the added pressure of a pending proposal—not until I passed the "eyes wide open" phase. So, no; Charlie and Renee will find out about my proposal after the fact.

Squirm.

"Riley Biers . . ." That's one moment I won't be capturing on film, but I can't resist watching Riley cross the stage, his blond hair nearly touching his shoulders. I guess the bun didn't fit under his cap. Shame.

"Alanna Brown, Anthony Bucco, Samuel Buchanan . . ."

A fat raindrop darkens my slacks, quickly followed by another in my hair. I lift my face to the sky. Dammit! It's about to pour.

Raoul taps my knee with a folded-up poncho and gestures across my body toward Mom. I duck out of my seat and past Mom's wheelchair, fluff out the poncho, and settle it over Mom's head and shoulders. She pats my hand, but her focus never leaves the stage. She wouldn't miss Bella's moment of triumph for anything.

Raoul gives me a wink as I slide back into my seat next to him. He is going to have one hell of a time rolling the Esme-mobile back to the car over this soggy field, but I'm sure he'll make it look easy as he always does.

Maybe today has me feeling especially mushy, but as my gaze travels from Mom to Raoul to Shelly to Bella's parents and brothers, I can't help but reflect on how this motley crew have come to be family. Woven together through the bonds of love, family, friendship, and even illness—and soon I hope, more officially, by marriage.

I grab a few candids of Garrett and Alec at the end of our group, Bella's brothers looking more bored than anything right now. Charlie and Renee are taking it all in, surveying the scene with anticipation on their faces. What catches my eye is the knot of their intertwined hands on Renee's knee.

A lump forms in my throat as I try to imagine what must be running through their minds right now. As I capture a few frames of their complicated expressions, I can't help but reflect on how far they've all come as a family. I'm sure the parents' joy has to be mixed with some measure of relief that Bella made it through at last. I have to wonder at the nature of the pride they're surely feeling. Bella did this on her own steam, in large part. She made the commitment almost in spite of her parents' lack of support; she paid for her classes and books. She pushed to the finish line with her last ounce of energy. They would not deny any of those things . . . and yet were it not for their tough love, would Bella have pulled her life together and reached this point?

Lord knows, Charlie and Renee have made their mistakes, and Bella hasn't always been the easiest daughter. I hope when my time comes, I'll be a good father. At least I know I've been a good son and a decent boyfriend.

Shelly catches me pointing my lens at her and shoos me away with the handkerchief hanging from her fist. I lower the camera, look her straight in the eye, and shake my head. Oh no, you don't. You can't escape that easily. When I lift the camera again, she turns to face the stage and allows me a clear profile shot. I let her off the hook for now—there's always lunch.

Raoul meets my lens with a sly smirk. "Finally! I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Cullen," he says just loud enough for me to hear. "You know, I'm available for private sessions anytime . . ."

I'm laughing too hard to take his picture. On top of that, the rain is now impossible to ignore. The audience buzzes with activity, everyone reaching for umbrellas and pulling on coats. I feel sorry for the D's and E's, whose names can hardly be heard above the din.

I scan the line of black robes for Bella, but the sea of umbrellas and steady rain make it impossible to see more than a tiny frame of the activity up front. I do the bob and weave, but it's no use; I can't find the long, brown hair. Dammit! Where is she?

I slide the umbrella out from under my chair and scoot past Mom again. Standing to the side of the crowd, I pan along the line of students until I locate Bella's profile with my zoom. I now realize why I couldn't find her hair; it's tucked inside the back of her gown à la Quasimodo.

The photojournalist in me can't resist taking the picture; it really is so Bella. The biggest moment of her life, captured for posterity with a giant hump on her back and rain streaking down her face.

But damn, the boyfriend in me can't watch this scene a moment longer. My girl is drowning up there, and I'm standing here taking pictures like some paparazzi lowlife!

I take off toward the back of the crowd, camera clasped tight in one hand and umbrella handle in the other. I've reached a jog as I round the last row of chairs. I turn the corner and head toward the stage with a singular thought propelling me forward: shelter Bella.

I attempt to sidle up to the line quietly so as not to detract from the proceedings, but enough of her classmates know me by now, or have at least heard of Umbrella Man, that a buzz starts once I reach the end of the line. The message jumps backwards through the alphabet like an old-fashioned game of Telephone, and there's nothing I can do about it now. Word of my rescue mission reaches Bella just before I do. She whips her head around, shocked to see me running toward her.

"Oh my god! What are you doing?" Bella mouths.

It occurs to me then what a sight I must be: out of breath, drenched mop of hair plastered to my head, sports coat heavy with rain. Oh, and holding an umbrella that might have actually prevented some of this had it occurred to me to open it!

I push the button now, not a moment too soon, and the bright red fabric pops open and stretches wide over the metal spokes. I only relax when I get the umbrella over Bella's head and stop the rain from pounding down on her.

The girls on either side of Bella huddle closer, giggling and thanking me while Bella shakes her head at me, slack-jawed with an expression I'd like to interpret as wonder and awe. A titter of laughter ripples through the crowd, which really doesn't help my cause.

I lean in and whisper in her ear. "Sorry, I didn't mean to create a spectacle, but you were getting soaked."

"So is everyone else," she whispers back.

"I'm not everyone else's boyfriend."

Having, of course, no answer for my brilliant logic, Bella rolls her eyes in that you-shouldn't-have-but-I'm-glad-you-did way she sometimes does, then turns to face the stage. I step in close behind her, and she leans back against my body—the slightest, sweetest surrender that tells me I'm in exactly the right place.

"Can you hold these?" I reach around her with the camera on one side and the umbrella on the other, leaving her little choice but to do as I asked.

With my hands free, I gather up her hair and release it from the awful polyester gown. Goosebumps rise on her neck and shoulders where my fingertips brush against her skin. I'm aware we're being watched by many sets of eyes, which is the only reason I don't nuzzle her neck with my nose, because it is damn tempting right now.

"Derek Park, Hinda Pataki, John Pelletier . . ."

The line shuffles forward; sadly, we have to break our intimate embrace to move with the crowd. The rain beats down harder all around us, and a funny thing happens. Another man jumps out of the crowd with his umbrella and rushes over to one of the graduates . . . and then someone's mother, and another person, and another. Soon, the whole line is protected by umbrellas of all shapes and sizes.

The dean pauses to acknowledge the spectacle with a chuckle. "Well, there's something you don't see every day!"

Lucky me, I happen to have my camera! I snap a couple dozen photos of the umbrella line, the audience, and the highly amused faculty.

Bella tips her head back and snickers at me, and I take her picture, too. "Look what you started, Umbrella Man!"

"What I started? You're the one who refused to take an umbrella today!"

"You really don't get it, do you?" She smiles so hard, it almost hurts my heart.

"Yeah, I think I do." As proud as I am of Bella's independence, I need her to need me—and she does.

"Thomas Rowbottom, Orlando Ruiz, Kenneth Sabaj . . ."

"Hey, they're on the S's. You ready?"

"I guess," she says, then spins around to face me. "Wait—you're not going to walk across the stage with me, are you?"

There's a makeshift roof over the proceedings. "Wasn't planning on it . . . but come to think of it, I'm not that keen on running around the whole audience again just to get back to my seat."

She shakes her head and laughs. "Why don't you just crouch down, run across the front, and meet me on the other side?"

"Donald Seaboldt . . ."

"That doesn't sound very dignified."

"Do you want to be dignified, or do you want to be there for me?"

"Oh! So, now you want me there, do you?"

"Obviously." She's facing the stage, but her smile reaches high into her cheeks. "Hey, remember the day we met, how you sat next to me on the bus and talked to me so I'd forget how nervous I was about my interview?"

"Of course I do. I remember every single detail about that day."

"William Smalley . . ."

She whirls around, spinning the umbrella above our heads. "You do?"

"Of course, Bella. It was the best day of my life."

"Sandeep Sodhi . . ."

"Know what?" she asks, getting a little misty-eyed. "I think this might be the best day of my life. Right here, right now, standing under this umbrella with you in the pouring rain, about to walk across this stage."

It's tragic that I can't kiss her right now. "Rain's kind of our thing. With our luck, it'll probably pour on our wedding day."

"Glen Stinson . . ."

Bella blinks. "Um . . . did you just say 'our wedding day'?"

Whoops. "Uh, yeah, I think I did."

"Edward? Did you just . . . propose?"

Oh shit! Abort! Abort!

"I didn't mean to!"

"Isabella Swan."

"What?" She squinches her eyes, then realizes I'm not the one who called her name.

I jab my finger toward the dean.

"Ohmygod!" She scurries halfway up the steps to the stage before it hits her—she is still holding the umbrella.

I run alongside her in front of the stage, and she tosses the umbrella down to me. The audience applauds my impressive catch, and a roar of laughter bubbles up from the crowd. I hope I haven't just turned Bella's best day into Bella's worst day, but all I can do now is try not to call any more damn attention to myself.

I scurry as quickly as I can to the other side of the stage and look up just in time to see Bella receive her diploma. Fuck! The picture!

Bobbling the umbrella in one hand, I nearly knock myself out hoisting the camera to my face. Whatever settings I used last will have to do. I barely have time to snap one or two frames before it's all over.

Edward Cullen, professional at work.

What a mess. Not only did I probably miss getting the picture, I didn't even see the moment.

I'm waiting with the umbrella when Bella reaches the bottom of the stairs. She seems completely shell-shocked, but I'm not sure whether it's the gravity of this occasion, the insanity of the umbrella brigade, or the accidental proposal I'm hoping she's forgotten.

"Congratulations! You really did it, baby!"

All things considered, it seems a bit silly not to kiss her at this point. I lean in for a quick peck since the line is still moving toward their seats.

Bella grabs me by the arm and pulls us both right out of line. Not that it's my biggest concern right now, but the rain is coming down in buckets, and it's not so easy to keep the umbrella over our heads.

"So, are we getting married or not?" she asks.

So much for amnesia.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" I can't tell if she's angry, confused, or amused.

"Well, you never answered me!"

"So you did propose!"

"Not very well . . ." Sigh. "Ah, screw it! Hold this?" I hand her the umbrella again and take a knee on the sodden grass. "Bella, will you marry me? I'm sorry I don't have a ring—well, actually, I do have a ring, just not on my person, because I wasn't planning on doing this right now, obviously—but I promise you'll like it if you say yes. It's a very nice ring."

She stares at me for a couple of terrifying seconds before bursting into giggles. "When did I become the stable person in this relationship? You are a hot mess, Edward Cullen!"

"It's customary for the propose-ee to answer the question at this point in the process," I inform her as patiently as possible under the dire circumstances.

She steps close enough to straddle my thigh and sits her ass down on my knee. "Oh, Edward! Of course I'll marry you!" She leans in to kiss me, and her mortarboard whacks me on the forehead. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Bella flings her cap away, grabs me by the knot of my tie, and kisses me till one of her friends yells out, "Get a room, you two!" loud enough for everyone standing in our vicinity to hear.

Our kiss dissolves into mortified laughter. "I'm sorry, Bella. This is definitely not the proposal I had planned."

"Oh?" She climbs off my leg and helps me up. "You had a plan?"

"Have you met me?"

"Am I going to get to hear about this plan?"

"Yes, but do you think maybe we could save it for a more romantic moment?"

She surveys the crowd, two thousand drowned rats and a voice still droning away at the microphone. "More romantic than this?"

I take the umbrella from her and wrap my free arm around her shoulders. "Do you think you can come sit with your family now?"

"What are they gonna do, take away my diploma?"

Every step I take feels like stepping on a saturated sponge. Squish, squish, squish. "I'd offer to put it inside my jacket to keep it dry, but I'm pretty sure there's a small lake sitting in my pocket."

"Nah, I like it like this," she says. "Gonna take it home and frame it. Captures the spirit of the day, y'know?"

"I don't think this will be a day we'll soon forget."

Bella chuckles, her laughter so close to my ear, I can feel the breeze through my wet hair. "I don't think anyone here is going to forget this day, thanks to your shenanigans."

"I took some great photos of all the umbrellas. I should send a few to the school paper."

"Speaking of news . . ." She pulls up short, tugging me back by our joined hands. "Are we telling everyone our big news right now?"

"That's up to you. I don't want to steal your thunder. That's why I wasn't going to propose till later."

"They're going to ask how you proposed."

"I have no idea what came out of my mouth," I admit.

"Whatever you said, it worked, Mr. Sweet Talker," she says with a twinkle that makes me forget the deluge for a minute, "though we might not want to tell our grandkids your proposal started with 'Screw it.'"

"Whoa! Grandkids? Can we back it up a generation please? I don't think I'm quite ready to be a grandpa."

"Hmm, are you saying you're ready to be a daddy?"

"Not right this second . . ." This is definitely not a conversation I'd anticipated having here, now, or huddled under an umbrella. "But I sure like the idea of getting started on it."

"You're thinking about sex right now?"

I shrug because duh. "Not just sex . . . I was also wondering what you were wearing under that gown."

"I don't think you can handle the truth," she says, somewhat cruelly.

"You might know me too well."

"I certainly did not know you were going to propose just now," she says with a chuckle.

"That makes two of us!"

We start strolling again, the lone graduate to leave her flock and the crazy umbrella guy, in no particular hurry to do anything but stay close to each other.

"Maybe we should wait to tell everyone."

"Whatever you want, Bella."

"I think we should enjoy our little secret for a while longer before we share it with the world."

"Speaking of the world . . ." I tip my chin toward Mom's wheelchair, only a few rows away now. I'm sure she'll know everything as soon as she looks at me, but if there's one gal who can keep a secret, that's my mom.

"How's my hair holding up?" Bella asks, pulling the ends through her fingers. "Frizz central?"

I could lie, but she'll eventually look in a mirror, and then we'll have trust issues. I shake my head like a surgeon with sad news. "Honey, you've had better hair days."

A very unladylike snort comes out of my fiancée as she looks me up and down. "No offense, darling, but nobody's taking your picture for the cover of GQ right now."

I follow her gaze to my mud-covered, grass-stained slacks. "We are a pair, aren't we?"

"A pair of engaged people," she says, and we grin at each other like a couple of lovesick fools. Mom is so going to know.

Renee and Charlie spill out of the row of seats, unrecognizable from the sea of beige rain gear but for their proud, shining faces peeking out from their hoods. I catch Charlie's eye while he visibly struggles to restrain himself so Renee can have the honor of the first hug. I step back, holding the umbrella over Bella and her mother while they share a long, tight embrace.

Every hug has its rhythm; the grab, the pull, the embrace, and the release. There's a somewhat standard length of time that feels natural for each phase, depending on the relationship, the occasion, the mood . . . a host of factors. By every reasonable measure, Renee and Bella's hug extends beyond the norm—and keeps going.

Both women's faces are buried in the other's shoulder, but I hear a sniffle . . . and then another. And then I see the shaking, and I know big, ugly crying is about to happen. Tears tug at my eyes, and I have to look away.

My gaze falls on Charlie, who has drawn his upper lip between his teeth in attempt to head off the quiver, but it's of no use at all when the tears start. He passes the heel of his hand across both cheeks, but the tears fall faster than he can push them away. When he can't take it anymore, he strides under the umbrella, wraps his arms around his wife and daughter, and releases a muffled sob that shakes my soul.

It's a catharsis I'm not sure Bella realized she needed, while at the same time, one she's been heading toward in some form for the last ten years of her life—sometimes in baby steps, sometimes in giant leaps, and other times in heartbreaking backward slides.

My fingers itch to pull my camera to my eye: to see it, to record it, to hold onto what is so obviously a pivotal moment. But this moment is not mine to capture. It is for this mother and daughter and father who have been through hell and fought their way back to share in this moment of intense healing.

"Edward."

I don't think I'll ever get used to Bella's raw, broken voice when she cries. She lifts her head from the family huddle. Her eyes are red and puffy but not sad.

"Hmm?" I step to her side, and she finds my hand and wraps hers around it.

"Mom, Dad . . . Edward and I have something to tell you."

My heart drops about down to my soggy loafers. Renee and Charlie lift their heads and blink wet eyes at me. This is not happening.

"What is it?" Charlie asks.

The umbrella lists to one side, and I remember I'm supposed to be keeping everyone dry, supposed to be breathing.

"Bella?" Renee now looks worried. "Is something wrong?"

"Nope," Bella answers, smiling at me, "everything is exactly right." She angles her forehead toward me and waits.

Gulp.

"Now?" I ask, because this is not something to screw up—again.

"YES," Charlie, Renee, and Bella all answer at once, our four heads so close I can feel their exhales on my nose.

"Okay. I, uh, asked Bella to marry me andshesaidyes!"

Charlie's head tips sideways at an unnatural angle. "When?"

"Just before she crossed the stage to get her diploma."

"And then right after I got my diploma," Bella adds with an angelic smile that has no business anywhere near her face right now.

Renee sucks in a loud gasp, then squeals at the top of her lungs. "You're getting married? Charlie, the kids are getting married!" She grabs everyone by the shoulders and yanks us up and down like we're all strapped to a giant pogo stick.

Charlie's confusion gives way to joy, and he crushes us all into another breathless hug. "What a day! Congratulations, kids."

A firm hand lands on my back. I turn to find Raoul giving me the c'mere chin-jerk.

"Excuse me," I mumble as I ease out of the family embrace. "What's up, Raoul? Is Mom okay?" I peek around the huddle of Swans to find Mom smiling at me.

"She wanted you to have this." He thumps me in the hand with the little velvet box I asked Mom to hold for later.

"Now?"

"You already proposed, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, what's the problem? The girl's not gonna say no."

At this point, holding out for a quiet moment to give Bella the ring seems a bit absurd. I can still stop the car at "our spot" just before the Golden Gate and propose as I'd planned. Our romantic suite at Duckhorn will still be waiting for us tonight with candles and champagne and roses. Why not give my mother this pleasure?

I reach into the tangle of arms and shoulders and coats and find Bella's hand. "I need to borrow my fiancée, please."

Bella lifts her tear-streaked face and lets me draw her into my body. "Sorry about springing that on you," she says. "It just felt right to tell them."

"It's all good. I think my mother would like to congratulate us."

"Of course." Bella nods, and I lead her to a spot in front of my mother's chair.

"Raoul, would you be so kind?" I hand him the umbrella, my camera, and Bella's diploma. "For the official record books . . ."

I take Bella's left hand, drop to the flooded lawn onto my muddy, ruined knee. Ignoring the splash and the water seeping up my leg, I open the box. "Isabella Marie Swan, would you please do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Edward Anthony Masen Cullen?"

Bella's eyes are wide as saucers. "Yes—for the third time," she says. "Oh, Edward, this ring is gorgeous!"

"Put it on her finger, Edward!" Mom coaches me from the sidelines.

As I slide the platinum band over Bella's slender finger, I hear my camera's shutter clicking away. Raoul's got game . . . and a giant grin on his face. "Carry on as if I'm not here," he says.

Bella brings the ring close to her face, then moves her hand away in that way girls do when they're studying their jewelry or nails.

"My stone looks beautiful on you, sweetheart," my mother says quietly.

"Oh!" Bella turns to Mom, her shiny new ring now pressed firmly to her heart. "This was yours? That makes it even more special." Bella reaches under Mom's poncho to hold her hands. "Thank you so much for allowing Edward to give it to me, Esme."

"I couldn't imagine a more wonderful girl to share my son's life. Edward chose the setting, by the way, said the contemporary style was more 'you.'"

Bella studies the ring again, then glances over to smile at me. "What a beautiful blend of traditional and modern."

"Aren't we though," I say.

Bella humors me with a very sweet kiss as I stand and join their hand-holding chain.

"I'm so happy for both of you," Mom says. "Wasn't this a perfect day?"

As I lean in to kiss my mother's cheek, I notice it's stopped raining—just in time for our indoor luncheon.

---

Author's Note: Many thanks to Pa and Chaya for helping me keep this one real-ish. Hope you enjoyed the messy proposal(s)!

XXX ~BOH