Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this story. The remainder is my original work. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.

Chapter 20

The Interim

At the closing of a day, people climb into their cars and head home. They close their stores, they clock out, they wave to those being left behind. I can see the traffic building on the freeway from my hospital window. It is one of many freeways in the area, one of many interlocking thoroughfares that get us where we want to be. Sometimes it takes a while, but we get there.

The closing of the day goes by unnoticed in the insular world of the hospital. My nurses and doctors shift in and out, giving each other updates, and the end of the day is marked by the nurses' change of shift at seven p.m. and the darkening of the yellow fluorescent hallway lights.

I mark time by counting back how many different nurses have taken care of me since my arrival. Usually I'm up to ten before it's time to go home. Sometimes it's just four or five if my cultures are all negative. Then I say my goodbyes and head back to my house where it's just my mom and me now. Until it's time to return again.

-0-

During my second round of chemo, I clock a lot more time at the hospital. I miss a lot more school and finally I drop out, unsure if even summer school will get me through. I may have to repeat my junior year, or take my GED. I'm determined to finish either way.

The second round of chemo makes my fuzzy peach, almost mahogany again, hair fall out in waves. Alice buys me ridiculous fake eyelashes from a high-end Japanese line. She buys herself extra long ones that mimic peacock feathers. We laugh and practice gluing them on each other. Edward laughs at us as well and gives me butterfly kisses with his perfect natural lashes on my dry cheeks. I smile sadly.

"It's just temporary, Bella," he reminds me.

After eight weeks of my second round of chemo, Dr. G schedules me for another bone marrow biopsy. My dad takes the day off to take care of me. Mom does too, but decides at the last moment that she cannot go with us. It's not the separation or divorce or whatever you want to call the interim, but it's the procedure. She wants to have hope but she doesn't know how to anymore. And she doesn't want to take the hope away from me.

How do I know this? My dad whispers these words, along with other ones of encouragement while I'm sedated for the procedure. He holds my hand—even though I am seventeen years old and almost an adult—and I can feel the calluses of long years of work on his fingers. These calluses are reassuring. I have many long years ahead of me too.

In the recovery room, I wake up to see my dad frowning down at his phone. He moves his fingers quickly then smiles before he notices that my eyes are open. "Hey there, sleepyhead," he jokes.

"Hey."

"Any pain?"

"Not really."

"I…uh…I learned to text while you were sleeping."

"Oh yeah?" My dad is reluctant with new technology so this news makes me smile.

"Yeah. That boyfriend of yours wouldn't stop texting me. Checking up on you, I guess." My smile widens.

I fall asleep on the way home and my dad practically carries me out of the car and onto the porch. At the front door, I lean heavily on him as he unlocks the door. I don't feel weak…just tired, I guess.

We shuffle in and find my mom and Edward in the living room, waiting for us. The couch is set up with a fresh sheet and my afghan, and I spend the rest of the afternoon there, in and out of consciousness. My parents play board games with Edward and I pretend to participate in between naps. I could go to my room instead, but it feels so warm to be amongst such love and concern from the three of them. I don't want to miss out on a second of it.

Both my mom and dad accompany me to my next appointment. We want to pretend as if it is no big deal, but it is. Mom starts muttering about some fashion disaster or another in some celebrity magazine and Dad and I nod our heads. Aside from that comment, most of the rest of the drive and our time in the waiting room is silent.

We enter the clinic like we have a multitude of times beforehand. This is different. We are all three here together, for one thing. And, there is something in the air…anticipation, maybe?

Hope. It's this strange foreign feeling that bubbles up. It comes in waves, small ripples like the ones that come up the little cove near Edward's house. It's been fleeting throughout this year, but today it feels like a tangible thing to me.

Hope. Such a simple word. If hope had a color, what would it be? A deep forest green, the exact shade of Edward's eyes. That's what is in the air. That's what hope is to me.

The minutes tick by as my parents sit on plastic chairs and I jump off the examining table, hearing the familiar crinkle of the tissue paper beneath me just as Dr. G knocks on the door. He walks in quickly with Angela following him. Her face is glowing, a wide smile underneath the twinkling of her eyes. I sit back carefully, fidgeting with the paper underneath me and the soft cloth of my gown.

"Mr. and Mrs. Swan. Isabella," Dr. G greets us. "I won't keep you waiting. It's good news. Isabella is in remission."

Angela claps her hands and, I think, shrieks. I'm not sure because my ears are buzzing, burning and I think that my mom is bawling and my dad is yipping—actually yipping—in happiness.

"You are officially in remission, Bella," Angela repeats.

The words run through the blockage in my ears and bounce off my eardrums before processing in my brain. I can't say anything even as Dr. G explains the details.

Silently, the tears stream slowly down my cheeks.

Emerald green. It's the color of hope. The color of relief, of joy. The color of love.

-0-

"Did you bring it?" Edward asks. He's a different man since we got the news that I'm in remission. In the last few weeks, the purple bruises underneath his eyes have disappeared and he just seems so much…lighter than before.

"It's in my backpack." He pulls off my backpack that he's carrying onto the sand and quickly spreads the blanket he brought onto the ground. He picked me up for an early picnic dinner and brought me straight to the little cove by his house. The late spring air is warm but the ocean breeze counterbalances it. A perfect California day.

"Do you mind?" I shake my head so he unzips my bag and pulls out the journal he gave me for my birthday so many months ago. I've filled it with ramblings, poems, random quotes and song lyrics, and a picture or two of him. "You can read it," I add, but he hands the book to me instead of opening it up. I have nothing to hide from him.

"No. That wasn't my idea." He places a pen in my other hand before he continues, "I thought we'd make a list."

"Okay…"

"A bucket list," he clarifies.

"I'm not dying, Edward." It's a statement but it's also my mantra. I'd been repeating it for months, especially to get through that second round of chemo.

"I know," he pauses. "It's a not-a-bucket bucket list. For…all the things you've been wanting to do. All the things you would have been doing this year instead of…" he trails off, but I understand anyway. This list isn't just for me; it's for him too.

"That's a great idea," I say, then lean over to kiss him quickly on the lips, just because I can.

He sets up some cheese, bread, fruit and drinks as I work on my list. In the end, there are only a handful of things.

Ride a motorcycle

Skydive or cliff-diving

Go to prom with Edward

Graduate high school

First time

I write them in that order but the priority is opposite. I just know that I can't write that one first without Edward teasing me. Edward leans over and I can feel the soft scruff of his jaw on my neck. It's sharp, unlike the tiny hairs that are starting appear more and more all over my body. Peach fuzz.

"Motorcycle?" he smirks.

"Yeah. I—" I start to explain but he cuts me off.

"First time for what?"

"You know," I smile because I know he's going to make me say it. "Sex," I whisper.

"You're not a virgin, Miss Swan."

"I want us to have our first time together."

"Okay," he concedes. "When you're better."

"I am better," I counter.

"When you're stronger."

"I am stronger." And I am. I'm getting stronger every day even though the side effects from all the drugs still haunt me now and then. Fatigue hits at the oddest times but I'm making my way back, even hoping to do summer school and catching up in a few of my classes.

"Prom?"

"No, not at prom," I scoff. "Or after. It's too cliché."

He laughs, tiny crow's feet crinkling near his eyes. "I didn't mean we'd have sex then. At least not our first time."

"Then—"

"I meant that I'm surprised that prom made the list. I thought you didn't 'do' dances."

"But I already have this great date lined up," I shrug. "Plus it's your last prom. I want us to go."

"Me too."

The springtime sun starts its slow descent as we finish our picnic, bathing Edward's face in hues of pink, purple and orange. He is wearing his Ray Bans and his cheeks and jaw glow a beautiful magenta color. I rest my head on his shoulder and can feel the ties of my scarf dip towards him like the ends of a ponytail. Even though I don't feel as bad that I only have bits of hair, I still wear the scarf to protect my skin from sunburn.

Our fingers are linked together and the silence between us is as calm as the slow ocean waves rolling in. Except for the scarf, we are like any other pair of lovesick teenagers at the beach, enjoying our stolen moments while we can. For the first time, I contemplate a future with Edward. Together. Maybe we'll have that happily ever after, after all.

-0-

At once I'm lost and drowning in the moment—in the electric hum, in the mixture of scents, in the heat and softness, in the tangle of sheets, and the indescribable feeling of Edward and I together. Except it's wrong to say that I'm drowning—that we're drowning—as if it's out of control or overpowering us.

Somehow our clothes end up in a jumbled mess in our frenzy. Our movements are a juxtaposition of rapid impatience and slow veneration. I am lost in the burning bright fire green of Edward's eyes, the sensation of his skin on my skin, the partial weight of his body on me, the warmth of him in me. He whispers gently as his lips are lost in my hair, "I love you, Bella," and "Only you, Bella," and nothing coherent leaves my own lips. Soft and wet kisses from my jawline to my collarbone, then our tongues are full of motion and emotion. It is too much and not enough all at once.

We're clumsy at times and instead of feeling embarrassed or awkward, I giggle slightly. It's so different from my first time that it's really my first time because nothing has ever felt like this before. It's deliberate and reverent, then hard and fast and alive. I'm focusing on anything and everything that is Edward. The inimitable bronze of his hair falling down on me, and the same color smattering throughout his beautiful body. The light sheen and slickness of perspiration covering both of us. The sparks that bounce back and forth, the husky sound of his voice, the soft and sometimes load moans emanating from each of us, the lightness of feeling that encompasses my body at the end as my hearing seems to disappear and all senses dissipate except the sense of just Edward.

The feeling of lightness evaporates and transforms as a sense of…pride overcomes me when Edward free falls over the edge after me. Beyond the passionate fire in Edward's eyes, I can see wonder and the depth of his love for me, and the unbreakable bond that is just us, just Edward and Bella. Nothing else exists.

A/N:

The Japanese eyelashes: www(dot)shuuemura-usa(dot)com/_us/_en/accessories/false-eyelashes(dot)aspx