Suit Girl 26

Earlier, while he was grilling, I had said, "Where's your mother?" And he had said, "She has a headache." And I said, "Edward…did you…is it okay between the two of you?" And he wouldn't look at me, he fiddled with the grill and said, "It's fine, Bella. I told you, she'll be gone in a couple of days. Don't worry about her." And I said something brilliant like, "I'm not worried. It's her home." And he said, "It's my home." Then he did look at me, his heavy brows raised like I needed to remember that. And we'd taken our food to the table, he'd poured the wine and….

But now, here she comes carrying a tray with slices of cake, the gentle breeze toying with a purple sash she'd tied around the waist of her silky dress and ruffling the hair brackets, or page boy around her very…tight face…not a zombie face, more a vampire face…frozen by time…not ravaged.

She is looking straight at me like she knows there are thoughts. She's underestimated me. I. Q. one hundred and forty. Not even Dad knew that. But I know it. I never, ever forget it.

"The meal wouldn't be complete without some of Rosa's Flan," she says, her teeth so unnaturally white. But I'm used to that. I see people, help them with the illusion, like I said, with the truth beneath the illusion, we've all been bitten, we're all turning into something else…something eternal, we're all getting ready to shed the husk of ourselves to really be ourselves. I don't know why I'm thinking this, but I am. I have been opened.

In the end, what's inside wins. In the end, what you tried to hide…takes over.

I don't know a thing about mothers, I'll admit. But maybe I do. I know my version. Renee gets a C-. I've always been thankful she wasn't an F. But this mother—Esme Cullen, she has new things to teach me and I only signed up for the Edward course.

I watch to see if Esme favors a certain slice of the cake. I imagine crushed razor blades carefully folded into the fruit topping just for me.

"Bella first," she says, setting a plate before me with blinding smile and long purple nails on display.

"Thank you," I say, but I don't really say it because, for all the wine, my throat is suddenly too clenched to make sound.

Esme has a desert wine, and she pours that, moving around like a fairy. Then she almost flits away.

"Where are you going?" Alice says. I kick her under the table, and she says, "Ow." Honestly. A few sips of the vine and she's lost all ability to read my subtle clues. Reminds me of Jacob.

"Oh," Esme says. She shoots a look at Edward, one briefly at me. "Am I allowed?" she says.

Alice is scooting her chair making room. I feel bad that Mommy has to ask permission. I know she thinks it's me holding her out in her own home. At least I think it's hers. It was. She must really hate me now. Don't get me wrong. She's not conciliatory or sheepish. She's bold if anything. If Edward told her to make herself sparse, she's showing she does what she wants.

Alice is gushing. It's beautiful here. Has Jasper always dressed avant-garde?

"His duds hardly qualify as avant-garde," Esme says. "I've been to all the runways—the important ones. No. Our Jasper has expensive taste. But other people," she gestures toward Edward, "tell him how to dress, and if you spend enough money, you get a reputation…avant-garde." She swats at Jasper. She doesn't seem to take him seriously.

He has maintained the crazy suit pants but added crisp white tennis shoes and a T-shirt that is also as bright as his California teeth. He merely smirks at Esme's words, makes no attempt to defend himself, seems unruffled by her privileged snark.

And the one she is giving credit for dressing her nephew? She looks at Edward now. There is such a depth of satisfaction in her eyes. Possession. Disappointment that he…doesn't adequately reciprocate? Oh. And she's angry.

In the Esme course, I think I'm getting an A. Of course, I'm grading myself. She might have another idea.

Edward is quiet, toying with the slosh of wine still in his glass. He adds more and continues to note its clarity perhaps. He seems very far away except for the fingers lightly grazing up and down my arm. I suspect he is tolerating Esme. After all, he'd assured me I wouldn't have to see her again. And here we are.

And the wine is helping. It really is. The smell of damp earth, the cool breeze and green. All the green. Named after me. And Edward, his love…. We'd christened the place. For me, the first since Jacob. A door has etched itself clearly in my mind…finally. I'm not afraid…to look inside. Here. Now.

We'd lost a baby.

Mourning was over, but I hadn't gotten on with it. I'd poured myself into my work. It felt like…creation of one sort. And I needed to keep creating because my greatest…reason…had been taken from me.

And I had wanted her, loved her when she was the size of a bean. My love, making up for all my mother didn't give me. I'd square it by how I'd love her. I'd make it up to the world. My mother got it wrong. But not me. I wanted my child. I fiercely wanted my child.

But fierce want is a dangerous thing.

That's what kept me with Jacob. The fierce want turned to trying to fix what couldn't be fixed and that became control. Habit rooted in fear. I couldn't let go. I'd been so cruel.

I sneak a look now, at Edward. I'd been afraid to feel. Things leave. The most important things…go.

Mom. My father. Even my degree. My baby. So I held Jacob in place. Held him and held him until he stopped struggling and became some strange, unlikeable version of himself. And I grew so angry at him for the very change I'd demanded.

The only thing I'd been able to keep, the constant, was Alice…and the shop. But both would leave me now. Alice would heal. The shop couldn't throw its arms around me at night and take me over the moon. It was a living. Not a life.

Marriage. I know what it means. Does Edward? I think he's strong enough…I pray he is.

So he stares at the red sway in his glass and I stare at him when I can get away with it. We seem to reach a conclusion. We need to be alone. He stands and I stand and we walk away, between the neat rows. We hold hands and walk.

"I don't know what I ever did to attract you. Not really," I end up saying.

"It's there," he says, moving our joined hands behind my back as he pulls me into him. I fit there so well. It's like the wine. Intoxicating. I am tight against him, looking up.

"I don't have it all worked out," I say.

"It'll work," he says.

"I have objections, in my head. But I don't care," I say.

He laughs a little, smooths over my cheek. I lift my face…I lift…and we almost kiss.

"What's that smell?" I say leaning closer to sniff Edward's collar.

He laughs. "It's the grapes—the developing clusters. They flower. It's my favorite time. Pruning is over…and cultivation. Now it happens. Fertilization. That…creates the fruit. Usually no one is watching. The growers have their attention on their barrel stacks and if you blink you miss this completely. But ever since I was a kid…I'd come out here just to breathe. It's…creation.

"What?" he says seeming amused at my reaction to his use of that word. My hands are on his cheeks now.

"I just…thank-you."

"For what?" he says taking one of my hands and pressing his lips against my knuckles.

"For…telling me that. I don't ever want to miss it. This time. I don't ever want to be too busy or forget…the creation."

"So…that's a yes?" he says, a tender smile.

"Yes," I say. "I love you, Edward. I want to be with you. I want to be your wife."

We kiss then. Long. Soft. Then he holds me.

"This is the beginning," he says, stroking my hair.

My arms move to hold him closer.

"The beginning," I whisper.

Fade and wrap….