Disclaimer: We don't own Twilight. We just own post-holiday food guilt and tight leggings.

Very tight leggings.

For Franny, who owns a lot of leftover feast of the seven fishes dishes. Hehe. Fishes dishes. *giggles from the wine*

~*~ grinD ~*~

chapteR twentY-fivE

BPOV

My closet is a mess, a catastrophe of tank tops and short-shorts, most of which are piled in the bottom of the small, enclosed space. My tiny wardrobe consists of clothes that are too short, too revealing for a woman in her mid-twenties, but it is California.

And man, is it hot.

I'm blaming the heat for the beads of moisture accumulating on my neck, the back of my knees, and under my arms, but it's not the overwhelming intensity of the summer sun that's causing me to sweat. It's the fact that I'm digging through my closet, grabbing and then re-hanging clothes as I debate on what to pack for New York.

New York.

It might as well be a different country that I'm traveling to. Other than the few years I lived in Washington, I've never been anywhere outside of California. And I've never traveled with a boyfriend.

Boyfriend …

Is that what Bean and I are? Boyfriend and girlfriend?

It seems like such juvenile words, but the thought brings a smile to my face, a smile so broad, so bright that my cheeks hurt from the intensity of it. I toss a few more clothes into a suitcase and turn to my dresser, a new sort of anxiety creeping its way into my brain.

Holy shit, what kind of underwear do I pack? Boy shorts? Thongs? Do I go commando? Should I invest in lingerie? I've never cared about this sort of thing before, but things are different now.

I'm different now, and it's because of him. It's because of Bean.

A not-so-subtle cough near the doorway of my bedroom pulls me from my thoughts. I meet the nervous stare of my father who's leaning against the door frame wearing his cargo shorts, flip flops, and a horrible, Hawaiian-print shirt. The thick 'stache he dons twitches as he gazes from the open suitcases situated on my bed to the barely-there thongs I hold in my right hand. I quickly stuff the porn-panties back in the drawer where I found them and nervously run my fingers through my hair.

"Stalking is illegal in all fifty states."

Dad's 'stache twitches beneath his smile. "Bells, this is my house. I doubt this constitutes stalking."

"Yeah, but you're being a total creeper, standing there watching me and whatnot. What's up, Dad?"

"I can't check in on my baby girl without getting the third degree?"

I raise a doubtful eyebrow, then sit on the edge of the bed. I pat the empty space beside me, and my father joins me on the paisley comforter. Neither one of us are big talkers, so I'm comfortable with the silence between us as he quietly sits by my side and gathers his thoughts.

"I haven't done right by you girls." He waves a dismissive hand as I open my mouth to argue. "No, let me get this out. I've never been the one to go to with relationship advice. Renee did a number on me when she left all those years ago. Made me closed-off, but that's no excuse for the mistakes I've made. What happened with Esme, hell, I blame myself for her falling for that Carlisle character."

I work my bottom lip between my teeth at the thought of Carlisle, the teenage skater-slacker turned security guard. Dad's face had grown so red when I mentioned 'bumping into him on the beach' that I thought he was going to have a heart attack.

I conveniently left out the part of the story where I was buck-naked.

"Dad, you did the best you could."

"No, Bells. No, I didn't. I couldn't give you or Esme relationship advice without thinking about Renee. I couldn't … I didn't explain the birds and the bees to the two of you, and I still can't talk about … sex in front of you girls. I guess I can't completely blame that hooligan for getting Esme knocked up."

Dad grumbles the last sentence below his breath. Guilt consumes his face, and I find myself winding my fingers reassuringly through his. The contrite expression is instantly replaced with a sense of bashfulness.

"You didn't come in here to talk about safe sex, did you Dad?" I ask in a teasing tone.

"No," he replies, his slightly, bristled cheeks burning a deep shade of ruby. "I came here to tell you that I'm sorry for always being so … bitter when it came to love. I also came to tell you that I'm proud of you."

"Proud of me?" I parrot, stunned as he drops his shy eyes. "Proud of me for what?"

Dad squeezes my hand. "For opening your heart to someone. For tearing down those walls that your mother and I helped build around that big heart of yours."

My father's voice is so soft, so quiet, that I have to strain to hear it. Tears well in my eyes, remembering all the sad, knowing glances he gave me over the years as he watched me avoid each and every possibility of love. Dad's eyes go wide as I toss my arms around his neck, then pull him in for a suffocating hug.

"I didn't tear down those walls, Daddy. He did. Bean did."

"Must be a hell of a guy to win my baby girl's heart," he mumbles. "When am I gonna meet him?"

I release the tight hold I have on my father, and smile as he wipes away my tears.

"How about now?"

~grinD~

"What is he doing?" Esme whispers.

The two of us hide behind the curtains in the living room staring into the dimming, evening light. Bean has been standing outside for the past ten minutes, unaware of our quiet giggles from behind the window. The skateboard he normally rides lays abandoned nearby. He's conversing with himself, gesturing with his hands, and tucking, then un-tucking the Henley he wears into the waistband of his jeans.

It feels good to laugh with my sister, and to act like a couple of pre-pubescent teens, especially in the wake of me seeing Carlisle for the first time since I was a child. Esme has been especially quiet since I voiced my revelation of seeing him, but today she's full of nothing but laughter. I have Bean to thank for that, for her care-free nature, as short lived as it may be.

And he doesn't even know it.

"I think Bean's nervous," I muse aloud, my grin growing wider with each of my sister's soft snickers.

My heart spins in my chest as Esme gently unlatches the window. I shoot her a pleading glance, but she ignores it as she pushes the glass up. It's stuck at first, unmoving until it gives a sticky, popping sound. The two of us freeze as Bean pauses from his one-sided debate. He glances around the lawn, finds nothing of interest, then begins pacing and talking once again.

"Mr. Swan, uh, Charlie." Bean clears his throat. "Damnit. Charlie or Mr. Swan? What the hell do I call him? Sir?."

"Oh, my God. He's so cute," Esme murmurs.

I poke Esme in her side, terrified that he's heard her whispered words, but he hasn't. Something he's thought of or said has made him pause from his back and forth pacing. He stands rigid beneath the dwindling sunlight, silhouetted against the stains of pink and purple cast in the distance. Bean turns to the house, then stares directly at the front door. Shoulders squared, he tilts his chin up, then juts his hand forward as though greeting an invisible stranger.

"Mr. Swan, my name is Bean, and … and … I'm in love with your daughter, Sir."

My sister's muffled giggles fade away, replaced with my hushed gasp. I feel her awed stare beside me, but I can't pay her any mind, not when Bean's walking to my front door prepared to meet my father, with his head held high and a confession of love still fresh upon his lips.

Hoodfabulous here. Jonesn and I hope y'all had a wonderful holiday! She's up next, and pretty pissed that I've written her into a corner again. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! *throws hands up evilly towards the sky*

Peace and love,

Hoodie