Chapter Twenty Six. Now

Giselle: Why are you staring at me?

Robert: I don't know; it's like you escaped from a Hallmark card or something.

Giselle: Is that a bad thing?

From the movie Enchanted

I watched Bella sit down in front of the computer to type her hearts for Angela on Facebook.

She was healthy and beautiful, so damn beautiful. She had breasts again. She loved them, and so did I. It took her a year to do it. She didn't want a doctor touching her, and she didn't want to be violated with needles and scalpels or recover from anything. She just wanted to be for a while.

That's what we all wanted after the cancer treatment. We just wanted to be.

And we were, for two glorious years.

We had everything.

I think they will be the best years we will ever have. Maybe not, though. I'm not sure. Right now I think they will be.

We did a lot of living in those two years, the four of us, Angela and Ben and Bella and me. It was another chance at life for us, especially for Bella and Angela. They took living every moment to the fullest seriously, very seriously. There was always something they wanted to do or try or learn, and they never stopped for a second.

Living every moment to the fullest with them was sometimes exhausting and terrifying for Ben and me, but we went on the ride with them gladly and never regretted a moment. They wanted to go skydiving, and Ben and I were up for that or so we thought until we looked down right before we jumped. They wanted to learn how to play pinochle and bridge, and we said no and then gave in. They wanted to play strip poker one night, and we said absolutely not and didn't give in. We went camping and tailgating at football games and, of course, we danced. We danced a lot. We took the kids to the zoo and the movies and endured Disneyland for five days. We discovered the beauty of Mexico. They wanted to go bungee jumping and then chickened out after Ben and I went first, and we were all pissed off.

"We wouldn't have jumped off a fucking tower attached to a rubber band if it wasn't for you two talking us into it," we told them.

They just laughed, of course.

They always laughed.

They laughed about Bella's elephant nipples during her reconstruction until the doctor finally reshaped them.

They laughed at Ben and me as our eyes bugged out when we saw them walk out onto the beach in Mexico in the smallest fucking bathing suits we ever saw; well, on them anyway. They had a bet to see who would chicken out first, but of course, neither of them did, and we had to put up with every male on the beach drooling over our wives all day long. They thought it was hilarious.

Something Ben or I said or did was usually what they laughed about, but we didn't care. If two women ever deserved to laugh, it was them.

That's what I loved the most about Bella and Angela - their laughter, any time they were laughing. When they came home from dance class to show us their new moves and laughed while they tried to teach them to Ben and me. When they played hide and seek with Angela's kids and laughed when Lauren and Mike found them. When they looked at each other, knew just what the other one was thinking, and burst out laughing at some joke no one else understood.

There were so many happy days, and we lived as if we didn't have a care in the world. I suppose there was no other way to do it, not for us, anyway. Bella had an unyielding belief that Angela would be her miracle, that she would not lose her, and after a while, we all began to believe that. It was so easy to forget she was living on borrowed time. Now, when I look back, I can see so clearly that Angela knew she didn't have enough time and wanted to fit as much living in as she could in the days she had. I think deep down Bella knew also, but I'm not sure.

I walked over to Bella as she typed her hearts over and over, dozens of hearts, and grabbed her hands.

She did this every day, typing those hearts, crying when she didn't receive them back.

"It's okay, Bella. Come on, baby. You need to stop now," I whispered to her.

I held her while she cried and thought of the better days, the happier days, like the days Bella sat in that very spot laughing hysterically while she chatted on Facebook with Angela. I always wondered what the hell they were chatting about, but never asked. Somehow I knew that I would be better off not knowing. They could have just as easily talked to each other on the phone or ran over to each other's house, but they didn't. They just loved that damn Facebook chatting.

They were crazy, those two.

I held her while she said the same thing she did every day.

"Why Angela," she asked me over and over again. "She deserved to live just as much as I do. Maybe more," she said.

I hated when she said that, and I hated that I had no words to comfort her, no words to heal her.

We lost Angela on a Sunday morning, just as dawn was breaking.

She fought - God, how she fought - and stayed with us longer than we thought she would. We were grateful for that, and we found comfort from it, but it did not erase the unending heartache losing her brought. We were devastated. We mourned her loss and searched our souls to find some meaning in her death.

Ben was heartbroken, lost, and I thought he was just going to lay down and die with her. I know he wanted to, but he didn't. She made him promise to be strong, to not to give up and to live every moment of his life fully for the kids, for himself, and he kept that promise. It was the last thing he could do for his precious wife, he told me.

Angela wanted that for all us - we knew that - and as hard as it was, we tried to honor her wishes.

Bella could not.

She broke our hearts almost as much as losing Angela did. What happened to her is hard to put into words. She was just gone. Her light, her essence, her soul, whatever you want to call it, was gone. She was inconsolable, and her grief consumed her. Bella was disappearing, and we stood helplessly by as we watched this beautiful woman leave us piece by piece. I think the hardest thing was the silence. Bella didn't laugh anymore. She didn't smile. She didn't tell me funny stories or tease me when I was being an idiot. She was completely joyless, empty. She didn't believe in fate, love and magical moments anymore. She didn't believe in anything. When we told her Angela would not want this for her – me, our families, even Ben - she walked away.

"What difference does it make," she asked. "Angela is dead."

She was so incredibly strong for Angela during those last months. I know it took everything she had, and maybe that's all she would ever have to give. Maybe it all just used Bella up.

Those two years when we had everything ended one night at dinner at Angela and Ben's house. I remember stupid details about that night. We had broccoli, and the plates were red. It was raining, and Angela had yellow curtains in the dining room. I remember thinking how cheerful they were and how much I hated them as I listened to her.

She knew when we were in Mexico two weeks before.

"I didn't want anyone to know, not even Ben. I wasn't ready to ruin everything… the happy times, the laughing. I just wasn't ready to let it go."

I watched Ben hold back his tears as Bella asked me to pass the butter.

That's all she said. "Please pass me the butter, Edward."

She buttered her roll and looked around the table.

"Oh, shoot, Ang, we forgot to put the gravy on the table. I'll get it," she said calmly as she walked into the kitchen.

We waited for her, silently.

"I'll go see if she's okay," I told them.

The kitchen door was wide open, and I found her out in the rain, crying.

"This wasn't supposed to happen, Edward. It wasn't supposed to be this way. I don't know how to let her go. How am I ever going to let her go?"

I let her cry for a few minutes and tried to get her in the house, but she stopped me.

"No, I can't. I can't go in there right now. Don't you understand? I need to be strong for her, as strong as she is. I need to do this for her."

I stood in the rain with her. I put my arms around her, and she grabbed my shirt with both hands and held on tightly, so tightly, as if it was the only thing left to hold on to. She rested her head against my chest and took deep breaths, deep, deep breaths, one after the other, slowly, as she stopped herself from crying and found the will to travel those last steps with Angela.

Angela was waiting for us when we came back in. Bella went to her and hugged her. She took her hand and told her she loved her, and that's all that needed to be said. They understood each other, those two.

Angela kissed her on the cheek and smiled.

"You know you're getting me and my kitchen soaking wet, don't you, you fucking nutball?"

They laughed, of course.

They always laughed.

Bella took a leave of absence from work and was with Angela and Ben every day. She was with Angela on the day her treatment started, and she was with her the day Angela decided to end it. She took care of the kids, she took care of Ben, and she took care of their families. She cleaned, she cooked, and she did laundry. She helped Angela with her showers and read to her when she was too weak to hold a book. She cried when our family showed up to help. She was there when hospice delivered the hospital bed, and she was the one who put Angela's favorite sheets on it. She held Ben when he cried. She made sure I bought fresh flowers for Angela every three days. She laid in bed next to Angela and held her hand as they watched comedy after comedy so they could keep on laughing. She danced for Angela when she could not. I was there with her every night, helping her and trying to get her to stop moving, just for a few minutes, but she wouldn't. She went home exhausted, too exhausted to think, too exhausted to feel, and I suppose that is what got her through.

When it was time, she spent the afternoon with Angela, just the two of them, and they said their goodbyes. After, she stepped aside and left Angela with her husband and family in her final hours while she sat outside holding my hand, waiting.

I thought she would stop then, when the sun came up without Angela, but she didn't. She had one more thing to do. I wasn't sure she could do it.

"Bella, please. You don't have to do this," I whispered as I grabbed her arm.

"I have to. This is the only thing she asked of me."

She took my arm off of hers and wiped her tears away as she walked to the podium.

She stood in front of everyone Angela loved for a few minutes, trying to pull herself together. When she smiled, I knew she was thinking about Angela and their crazy eulogy conversation. I imagined Angela standing there with her arm around Bella, whispering in her ear, "Come on, Bella. Get your shit together. You can do this, kiddo," and I cried as she started to speak.

"Angela was my best friend, and we talked about everything. We talked about this. A few weeks ago, she asked me not to talk about how wonderful she was at her funeral. She didn't want that kind of eulogy, she said. When I asked her what the hell I was supposed to talk about then, she laughed and proceeded to tell me exactly what I should say.

What she wanted me to say was not about her, it was about all of you - how much she loved you, how much she worried about everyone, and how sorry she was to bring you such sadness. It was very important to her that you knew she lived every moment she had to the fullest and that she was so grateful for every one of those moments. She had some regrets, but not many. All in all, it was one hell of a ride, she said. She wanted you to know there is only one thing you can do to honor her memory, to make her happy. Tell them to keep dancing, she told me. They need to keep dancing.

When I told her that wasn't enough, that there had to be more because I wanted to talk about her and how wonderful she was, we started bargaining so I guess this will be the first negotiated eulogy you will ever hear.

She didn't want me to say anything corny or make her into some super woman. She was just a person, she said, a person who did her best while she was here. When I told her she was so much more, that she was everything, everything that mattered - kind, loving, brilliant understanding, courageous, funny, compassionate, hopeful - she said that made her sound like some sort of saint and tried to veto it, but I won on that one because she was. She was everything.

I pointed out what a wonderful wife and mother she was, and she agreed to let me say this because that was what her life was about – loving Ben, Lauren and Mike.

She didn't want me to remind anyone she was a lawyer because, you know, no one really likes a lawyer.

We agreed on the following things. She loved to dance, and she loved pink roses. She had a wicked sense of humor and told brilliantly funny cancer jokes. She also had the most wonderful laugh I've ever heard, just so carefree and joyous. I'm not supposed to say that, but I'm breaking my agreement because it needs to be said.

She didn't want me to say I will miss her every second of every day, that I loved her like a sister from the second I met her, and will continue to love her for the rest of my life because she thought it would make me cry, but it's okay, Ang; I can do this.

Angela also wanted me to personally ask every woman here if they were up to date on their mammograms and harass them if they weren't. I said absolutely not so we compromised on just reminding everyone to get a mammogram. Please, please, please. That last part is from Angela.

She asked me to share this poem and hoped it would bring all of us some comfort. It's actually a prayer, a Hopi prayer, and she loved it.

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet white doves in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.

I'm supposed to shut up now because Angela said there is nothing worse than making people sit through a long, boring eulogy that goes on and on and on, especially when they know half of what is said isn't true. I agreed to do that, but would like to add one thing we didn't negotiate. I think she will understand.

In all this sadness and heartache surrounding us today, we need to remember one thing, the only thing that's important. She loved us, she loved us so much, and that makes us the luckiest people in the world. To have had this extraordinary woman in our life, to be touched by her in any way, even if it was just for a little while - this is what we should all be celebrating at this moment instead of crying. I know Angela would love that."

By the time Bella came back to her seat, she was gone.

********************.

On a night when she sat at the kitchen table lost in her own thoughts after I pissed her off by making another attempt to convince her to see a counselor, the doorbell rang.

It was Jake, looking about as uncomfortable as I'd ever seen a person look.

"Hey, Jake. This is a surprise. Come on in."

"Yeah… I have…. I just came over to check on Bella."

"Nothing has changed since the last time you saw her, Jake."

I thought he was going to cry as he pulled an envelope out of his jacket.

"This is… it's for Bella, from Angela. She gave it to me about a month before she died. I have no idea why she picked me and didn't feel like asking. It's what she wanted, and that was good enough for me. Maybe because I'm not family, but still close to you guys? I'm not sure. She asked me to keep it and made me promise to get it to Bella if she needed it. She said she thought she would. She told me it was okay to mail and even put a damn stamp on it as sick as she was, but I couldn't just dump it in a mailbox so here I am. I'm worried this is going to make her worse, Edward. Maybe it's better if I leave it with you and let you decide…."

We both saw Bella standing in the doorway at the same time.

"Give it to me, Jake."

She walked over to him and held out her hand.

"Please, Jake, give it to me."

She held it to her heart as she went into the kitchen while I thanked Jake and walked him to the door.

I heard her as I walked into the kitchen.

She cried before, but not like that. I had never heard anything that sad and heartbreaking. There was so much heartache, so much sadness and loss and agony. I could feel her pain with every sob. It came flowing out of her all at once, all those things she could not face.

She looked at me and handed me a card and a picture, unable to speak. It was the first time I thought she actually saw me, saw anything, in a long, long time.

It was a picture of the two of them, both bald, both beautiful, looking at each other and laughing. The picture captured their love, their friendship, and their specialness when they were together perfectly, and it broke my heart and made it sing.

I looked at the card and smiled a little. It was a Hallmark card, an Enchanted Hallmark card.

I was overcome with love for Angela, this wonderful woman who loved my wife so much and knew her far better than anyone could have imagined, as I read the card.

To my darling Bella, my sister, my friend, my heart.

I know what you are doing, and I want you to stop. Please don't do this. This is not what I want for you.

I know you are asking yourself why. I'll answer that for you in the only way I know how. Why not me? Shit happens, kiddo. This is life - sometimes there are no answers. It could have just as easily been you, Bella, and I know you would have wanted me to live every precious moment to the fullest after you were gone. My peace in my new life will come from watching you and all of the people I love do just that. Please stop crying, and get off your ass and live. Dance, Bella, dance…all the time…for me. Fate, love and magical moments – I want you to believe in those things again. They still exist, even if I'm not there.

I'm alright, I promise. I love you, and I know I will always be in your heart.

You made my life better, Bella. You made everything better.

Watch over Ben and my kids for me, okay?

Angela

P.S. I'm off to find Marilyn. I'll give her a hug for you, Cullen.

She stared at the picture and gently touched Angela's face.

"I miss her so much, Edward."

I kissed her sweet face and didn't say anything. She needed time. I knew that.

I know she took long walks. I know she visited Angela's grave every day and stayed there for hours. I know she looked at photos and cried. I know she watched videos from happier times and laughed. I know she read that card over and over.

Days later, she smiled at me. It wasn't the smile that lit up her eyes that I loved so much, but it was still a smile. It was real, and it was a beginning.

"So, Edward…"

"So, Bella…"

"It's time to start living again. It's the last thing I can do for her."

I told her it really wasn't the last thing she could do for Angela. It was just the beginning of what she could do for her, just the start of all the days Angela wanted her to have.

She did exactly what Angela asked her to do because they understood each other, those two.

It took her a while, but she did it.

She lived.

Oh, how she lived.

Thank you for reading. xoxoxo