Author's Note: Thanks to guest reviewers Blue Moon (800:-) and Amanda Morais from Brazil!
Chapter Twenty-nine
"Valentine's Day"
If there was anything worse than Friday the Thirteenth, it had to be Valentine's Day. Bella stood in the candy aisle of the Chinook Pharmacy, wondering what to do about Jacob.
Last night had been weird. Paul scared her. Something about him wasn't right. It was more than the violent harassment, the theft of her windowsill, and his habit of running half-naked through winter nights. Sure, those things were all strange and threatening, but there was something more. And she didn't know what it was. All she knew was that she hoped to never see him again.
Jacob was another weird problem from last night. She was cool with the unlabeled cuddles. A couple weeks ago, she would have run screaming from that, but maybe she really was like Jake's pet ice cube. Ever so stiffly, she could let him run his hands over her, and as she thawed she could like it, and she could even hug him back. It felt safe. Not safe in the sense that he wouldn't hurt her feelings by going around hugging some other girls—she knew he wouldn't—but safe in the sense that somehow, that nothing bad would happen to her when she was with him.
But then there was that thing he said about her toes.
That was the weirdness she was trying to deal with now.
It was Valentine's Day, damn it, and she had to do something about Jacob. Last night, he had said he'd come see her in the morning. Sure, she said, just like it was any other day. She wished she'd remembered the holiday and made up an excuse. Now what?
Skipping it was out of the question. That would be insensitive, maybe just plain mean. But there really were no greeting cards appropriate for their kind of relationship. She had balefully regarded the card selection in another aisle. Images of hearts and flowers, people holding hands. Lacy paper. Cartoon drawings of champagne glasses clinking together, and sentiments like, "I love the smile that lights your face. I love the warmth of your embrace," and "To my wonderful wife, you came into my life." The bad poetry made her want to barf. Worse, there were other cards embossed with red foil letters that said things like, "Hey, there, sexy cakes," and this made her want to barf more. What the heck was a sexy cake? Would Charlie give a card like this to Mrs. Ateara? Blurgh. And in between these sappy romantic cards and the nauseating sexy cards, there was nothing appropriate for Jacob.
Happy Valentine's Day to the guy whom I know I torture, but who is too stupid to stay away from me.
Happy Valentine's Day to the guy who holds the dustpan into which I keep refusing to sweep the pieces of my shattered heart.
Happy Valentine's Day to the guy who better not have hung up a laminated Smurfette poster in his shower.
Happy Valentine's Day to the guy who rides me around on the hot rumble of a Harley between my—
Oh, hell no.
Cards sucked. That was why she was now in the candy aisle. Unfortunately, candy sucked, too. Was there anything here not in a heart-shaped box? She considered a little package of jelly beans, thinking that it might send a message like, Eat these instead of my toes, and never mention those thoughts again. Unfortunately, it might also send a message like, I remember what you said. I'm still thinking about it. Or worse, Practice on these because I want you to be really, really good at eating jelly beans.
Her face felt hot. She swiped a fifty-cent box of conversation hearts from the shelf and plunked down a couple of quarters at the cash register.
At home, she tidied the living room, straightening the blue rug that belonged near the fireplace and fluffing the pillows on the green couch. She even lined up the pictures on the mantle and smoothed the sleeve covers on the arms of Charlie's recliner, which was upholstered in brown corduroy. Charlie was just finishing a late breakfast and getting ready to go to work.
"Jacob coming over?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Okay. I'll be home around three o'clock. If it's any earlier I'll call so I won't surprise you."
"Why would you surprise me? Nothing is going to happen."
Charlie took a sip of his coffee. It seemed he was trying to hide a smile behind his mug.
"Nothing is happening!" Bella screeched.
Charlie took another sip of coffee. "You know, I'm never going to worry about you because you chaperone yourself."
Bella looked around for something to throw. The nearest thing was the morning paper, but it just came apart when she hurled it toward the kitchen, its large pages fluttering everywhere.
Charlie raised an eyebrow at her, and she turned and stomped up the stairs. "Goodbye," he called as he opened the front door. "Have as nice a time as you can manage to let yourself have."
Ugh. Her father was horrible.
She straightened up her bedroom, too. Not that there was any particular reason for that. In the bathroom, she brushed her hair till it shined, and then she brushed her teeth two times. For no particular reason, of course.
She was wearing clean jeans and her new, pink, close-fitting sweater. Since she had trashed all of Alice's dresses, this was the most beautiful outfit she owned. She had put it on thoughtlessly, and now she wondered if she ought to wear something else. Maybe one of her gigantic, boxy, plaid flannel things. She would definitely not look like a sexy cake in that kind of shirt. Not even like a sexy muffin, or a sexy bagel, or a sexy burnt piece of toast. But then Jacob might think she was pretending not to care about the holiday, which would imply that she did care. So she did not change her outfit, and in her room she lay on her bed, writing in her journal to keep herself from fidgeting until he arrived.
February 14, 2006. It's 10:00 a.m. and this day is sucking already. Jacob is coming and I should have told him no. He wants to eat my feet. Add that to The Sock problem and he has a thing for my feet, I think, which is totally weird. They are covered with scars anyway.
My mom has been bugging me with emails. I don't know what to say to her.
Charlie very narrowly escaped being alone with Mrs. Ateara last night. Must thank Quil for his help.
Jacob is coming over soon and I should have told him no. Oh, wait, I already said that.
She tried playing her guitar to relax, and after a while she got an idea for a song. She set it to the tune of "Mr. Sandman" and returned to her journal to write the lyrics.
It's just Jacob. Why should I care?
It's not like he will see my underwear.
Oh, never mind, that already happened.
Way more embarrassing than I imagined.
It's just Jacob. Not a big deal.
I'll keep my shoes on; he won't cop a feel.
We share so many not-quite-platonic
cuddles and hugs that it's become ironic.
It's just Jacob. I see him every day.
He won't show up with some obnoxious bouquet.
He understands the way that I feel.
It's not like I have anything to conceal.
It's just Jacob. Just me and him.
My dad is gone. The lights are dim.
But nothing special will occur
because Valentine's Day is not something that I'm paying any attention to.
Hmm….. That last part didn't rhyme right.
Why am I so nervous?
The doorbell rang. She smoothed her hands over her hair and descended the steps with dolorous dignity.
On the porch, bending his tall frame to peer through the little window in the door, stood a red-faced boy who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Hi," mumbled Jacob when she opened the door. "I forgot it was Valentine's Day when I said I'd come over."
"It's okay. I forgot, too."
In the kitchen she offered him a glass of water and they sat at the table.
"You look nice," said Jacob. "Not any nicer than usual, though. I mean, you usually look nice, so this is not un-usual."
"Thanks, I guess. I considered looking much worse."
There were a few dirty dishes from breakfast beside the sink. Bella thought about getting up to wash them, but she also thought it might be rude.
A bird flew past the window.
Jacob had combed his long, shining hair carefully and parted it down the middle, tucking the sides behind his ears. He wore his black "Shut Up, Quil" T-shirt. It seemed smaller than before. Or his biceps were bigger. Must be all that wood chopping for the birthday party, she thought.
"You look nice, too," she said. "Sort of. Well, definitely. I mean, you look like you usually do. Which is nice."
Jacob sniffed his armpit. "Mostly I look nice. I smell like yesterday's spaghetti."
Both of them flushed and looked at the floor. Charlie had a clock in the kitchen. She had never before noticed how loudly it ticked.
"Uh, where's the bike?"
"Library. Didn't want to piss off your dad."
"Mmm."
Bella got herself a glass of water, too, and sat down again, watching the way the light refracted through the glass. Sunlight passing through it made a little circle on the table.
"I know this must suck for you," said Jacob. "Festival of love. People making promises and eating red velvet cake and stuff like that. But I would just like to say that for me, this is the best Valentine's Day ever. I'm with a beautiful girl who does not hate my guts, who isn't my cousin, like most of La Push, and who actually let me in the house. For me, this is a win."
Her nervousness left her in a laugh.
"So I got you this cheap-ass box of conversation hearts to show how very little I care." He tossed his package on the table.
"Me, too," she smiled. "I don't even like you one dollar's worth."
Things were easier after that. They traded boxes and shook out the hearts. Most of the sayings were cheesy and laughable, but a few were worth passing across the table. "U R CUTE" and "U + ME." One said, "TXT ME," and Bella lifted the receiver from her father's landline, stretched the cord across the kitchen, and smashed the heart to powder with it. "Analog me, bitch."
"Yow. Too much Leah for you."
Bella gave her box another shake and two hearts tumbled out. A green one said, "BEST FRNZ." A red one said, "MAY-B L8-R." She sat staring at them long enough for her to realize that she was staring at them, and that Jacob was staring at her.
Was she really considering this?
Could it be possible to—
Jacob crushed the red heart with the bottom of his water glass. "No drama. We're good."
She passed him the green heart.
Jacob said he was really hungry then, and could they make lunch?
"It's ten thirty in the morning."
"Brunch? I'm starving."
No brunch, she decided. Lasagna. Bella hadn't made it in almost a year. It took a lot of effort and time, and she had to be in a good mood, too, or she'd make mistakes that ruined it, like over-boiling the pasta or burning the meat. But today seemed like a great day for it. Jacob was game to help. She asked him to brown the ground beef while she set a pot of water to boil and assembled the other ingredients.
It was nice to cook with him. He listened to her talk about oregano, basil, and garlic, the holy trinity of Italian seasoning, and she was pretty sure he wasn't just pretending to be interested. As he stirred the beef, she added onions, tomato paste, and her seasonings, and then she placed her noodles in the boiling water.
The bubbling tomato sauce was bound to stain her new sweater. She was glad she realized this before it happened. Looking through her father's kitchen drawers yielded no aprons but more than one of Mrs. Ateara's hot pink dishtowels. Why did everything have to look like lipstick with that woman?
"Oh, Joy," Jacob said flatly, holding one of the towels.
"This is really bad, Jake. What are we going to do?"
"Nothing. Charlie's a grown-ass man. And Joy is great, really, in small doses. You might like her."
She could not be persuaded. Upstairs, she buttoned one of her old flannel shirts up to her chin, over the pink sweater, and when she came down again, Jacob was leaning sideways to check on the blue flames of the gas burning under his pan.
"Hair, Jake!" she cried.
He stepped back just in time. "Good save."
Swathed in a protective layer of boxy, blue plaid wool, Bella layered the lasagna in a baking dish and set it in a 350 degree oven. She and Jacob washed up while it baked. And after that, as she set the table, she looked at their candy hearts. She felt a little funny about the way he had smashed that red one so quickly. This shouldn't have bothered her, but it did. Why?
She didn't have much time to contemplate that because the doorbell rang then.
"Angela?" said Bella when she opened the door.
"Hi," said her friend. She was dressed in an old green sweatshirt that said, "Forks High" and a pair of raggedy sweatpants. Her long brown hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun that looked like nothing more than a ponytail pulled one and a half times through an elastic band. "I hate Valentine's Day. Figured you must be miserable, too. Can I come in?"
"Of course."
Bella remembered Angela's eagerness to meet Jacob. As she introduced them in the kitchen, she was cringing with fear that Angela would say something embarrassing. She had to content herself with the fact that Angela's "Oooooh! Nice to meet you!" could have been much worse.
The three of them made a salad. In the back of the freezer, Bella found a package of frost-bitten garlic bread. Charlie must have bought it. Last year. It was not up to her standards, but she opened the package anyway and set it on a cookie sheet to toast in the oven. Bella had put three plates on the table when the doorbell rang.
"Mike?"
"Hi," he said. There were dark circles under his eyes. Under his brown parka, he wore a white polo shirt with "Newton's Outfitters" embroidered on the breast pocket in green thread. "My mom scheduled me to work tonight because she says I'll have nothing better to do. Rub it in, Mom. God, I'm so miserable. I figured you'd be all sad here, too, so I thought I'd come cheer you up. Or maybe you can cheer me up."
"Come on in. We're having a party."
Mike kicked off his shoes on the doormat and joined everybody in the kitchen. The lasagna was nearly done and smelling delicious. Bella put another plate on the table as Mike shook hands with Jacob.
"So you two are a thing?" he said, looking from Jake to Bella.
"Not really," she said.
"Sort of," said Jacob.
"Well, we're something," amended Bella.
"They're totally a thing," said Angela. "And I'm alone."
"We're friends," said Bella. "And you're not alone. You, me, and Mike hate this day."
"I'm fine," said Jacob. "I got lasagna."
Angela lay her head on the table as Mike filled a couple glasses of water. He passed her one, but she didn't sit up to drink it. Bella was about to take the lasagna out of the oven when she heard the sound of car tires crunching over the gravel beside her mailbox. Looking out the window, she saw a hot pink Ford Fiesta.
"Oh, no."
Mrs. Ateara was in the passenger seat. She waved to Bella. The driver's door opened, and out stepped Quil with a huge grin on his face. Mrs. Ateara climbed out and kissed him. He squirmed as she ruffled his curls. Then, to Bella's relief, she drove away.
Quil bounded up the steps and entered the house without knocking.
"I thought you'd be here," he said to Jacob. "I just got my license. Woot! Woot!"
Bella introduced Angela and Mike and set a fifth plate on the table. The lasagna looked perfect when she pulled it from the oven. The tomato sauce was bubbling and the ricotta and parmesan cheese she'd sprinkled on top had browned nicely. The others were impressed. It needed to cool a little before they could eat it, though, so she decided to make chocolate cupcakes for dessert. Quil volunteered to stir the batter. She regretted taking him up on his offer when she discovered he'd eaten nearly a quarter of it by the time she got her cupcake tins ready.
"You're such a pig," she said.
"It's food. I'm holding it. What did you expect?"
She declared the batter forfeit, and Mike, Angela, and Jacob got spoons and dug in while she mixed a new batch. "You're all going to get stomach aches," she said. "There's raw egg in there."
"Don't care," said Angela. "I'll get fat and lots of pimples, too. Doesn't matter."
"My stomach is a cast iron pot," said Quil. "Nothing makes me sick."
"You make me sick," said Jacob.
Bella took the garlic bread from the oven and sliced it. She felt too warm in her sweater and flannel shirt, but the risk of stains made her keep the flannel on. In another bowl, she mixed a second batter for black bottom cupcakes: a package of cream cheese, a cup of sugar, and one egg. Then she stirred in a pile of chocolate chips. She spooned her chocolate batter into the cupcake tins and added a dollop of the cream cheese mixture to each one. It would sink slightly while baking and give her cupcakes a cheese cake-like surprise in the middle.
"Genius," said Angela.
Bella mixed a batch of chocolate frosting, too. Quil gave her a naughty look and a smirk.
"You better shut up," she said. "Or you can't have any."
The crunch of tires on gravel made her look outside again. An unfamiliar, old blue Toyota Tercel stopped near the mailbox. To her surprise, it was Embry. He yawned, stretching his arms over his head, and climbed the porch steps.
Like Quil, he had guessed that Jacob would be here. Bella introduced her friends and set a sixth plate on the table.
As they all sat down to lunch, the three Quileutes sat in a row on one side, making Bella feel self-conscious about her petite size. The boys suddenly seemed enormous. All elbows and long legs. The forks looked tiny in their hands. They wedged their tall frames into the space between the table and the wall and held their arms close to their sides so as not to jostle one another. Seeing them side by side made Bella think about their similarities: all very tall, with dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. Jacob's and Embry's straight noses. Quil's soft curls, so girlishly different. She knew he'd cuss her out for calling him girlish, so she kept that to herself. They all had strong jaws and high cheekbones. Broad shoulders. And sharp white teeth that flashed when they smiled. As if they could feel the others staring at them, they all blushed at once.
"You're like gorgeous and gorgeous-er!" Angela blurted, and then she turned pink as well.
"It's me," explained Quil. "These other guys look good when they're near me."
"Think about that for a minute, Quil," said Jacob. "I think you just called yourself the ugly one."
Embry just looked at his plate, and when Bella served him a piece of lasagna, his eyes welled with tears.
"Emb?" said Jacob.
"It's nothing." He smudged his hands over his cheeks. "I'm just really hungry. And tired."
"No, it's something else. Last night—"
"It's nothing. Let's eat."
Jacob didn't look convinced. He exchanged worried glances with Bella. Mike and Angela seemed uncomfortable, like they weren't sure what to say, but Embry made a heroic effort to have a normal conversation as they ate. He asked about Bella's job, and this got Mike talking about the Outfitters, and then Quil joined in with his hopes of getting a job in Forks, too, maybe at the grocery store.
"Or at my store," said Mike. "You like camping, hiking, stuff like that?"
"Sure."
Oh, Lord. Bella didn't want to find out what having Quil for a co-worker would be like. But she remembered to thank him for his interference last night.
It had been a close call, they agreed. The others were interested in their story of the car ride from hell, saved only by the world's gassiest grandpa. "He's still a warrior," said Quil, which made Embry look like he wanted to thunk his forehead on the table. "And an expert in chemical warfare," finished Quil.
Bella served the salad and garlic bread, too, in between circulating tins of cupcakes in and out of the oven. She had four dozen when all were baked, but they, too, would need to cool before being eaten. Plus she still needed to frost them.
Mike described the responsibilities of a job at Newton's, and Quil was genuinely interested. As they talked about that, Bella looked at Jacob. He still seemed worried, watching his brother shovel in the lasagna as discreetly as possible. Embry cared about table manners, she could tell, but he was also starving. Jacob seemed distressed by this. Bella wanted to put her hand over Jacob's, but she thought it might draw attention to their ambiguous relationship, and she didn't want to reignite the others' curiosity. Under the table, almost against her better judgment, she slipped her shoes off—so she wouldn't bruise him with the sole of her shoe, of course—and bumped Jake's shin with her toe. She had a little smile ready for him, but he didn't look her way. She bumped him again.
Quil and Mike kept talking about Newton's, and Angela joined in, too, saying that it was really a great store, and she asked if Mike's parents were nice to work for. "Ugh," said Mike, "don't get me started." He had to admit that his mother was kind of difficult. Bossy. Always in his business. "I hear you," said Quil. And while they talked about that, too, Bella nudged Jacob again.
He didn't look up. He had one eye on his plate and one eye on his brother. He seemed to have retreated into himself. Bella slipped off her socks, thinking he'd notice that. She found his ankle and stroked her toe over it, but he made no response.
Was she crossing some kind of line, she wondered. Did this count as footsie? Surely footsie was only when you were flirting with someone. This, she figured, was more like concerned-sie. Cheer up-sie. His ankle was warm and he wasn't wearing socks; she could feel the tiny, soft hairs on his legs, and it gave her a strange thrill. Maybe she should stop. But his poker face was just so good.
Feeling a little wild, she scooted her chair closer to the table so she could reach farther. She couldn't believe she was doing this. She found his shin bone and stroked her foot over it. This was not what friends did, not exactly, but if he was going to snuffle his nose over her hair and neck and not label that, then what the hell, she could put her toe on his shin. She could feel the warmth of his leg through his jeans.
Jacob speared a cherry tomato from his salad and chewed on it thoughtfully.
Reaching still farther, Bella found his calf muscle. She stroked her toe over that, too, and she was ready for the time when he'd look at her, ready with a reassuring smile and a nod toward Embry. Then she'd stop, because of course that was her only motivation in doing this. In the meantime, she might as well press the sole of her foot against him.
Quil turned from Mike then and picked up an imaginary telephone.
"Hell-Oh!" he sang. "Quil's leg speaking. What? Oh, he's not here right now, Bella. But I'll tell Jake you called."
Bella turned bright scarlet and Embry choked on a piece of garlic bread.
Jacob's eyes shot between her and Quil for a moment, and then he shoved Quil hard enough to make his chair slide backward and Quil tumble out of it. He landed on the floor with a "Not my fault," and a "Nice toes. Emb says they're like jelly beans!" Jacob kicked him under the table and he rolled into one of the legs, causing the table to wobble violently. "You're breaking my house!" cried Bella while Mike laughed and laughed, and Angela got up and thumped Embry on the back. He kept gasping.
Bing Bong, went the doorbell.
Bella kicked Quil under the table, too. "You're breaking my house!"
"You're breaking your house! Ow!"
Bing Bong.
"I'm getting the door!" she said, putting on her shoes. "And when I come back, you better not be a perv anymore!"
That only made Embry choke again.
The Clearwaters' brown Suburban was parked in Bella's driveway. Leah stood on the porch.
Stood.
"Leah?" said Bella. "But how—"
"It's a miracle!" she grinned. "The doctor said six to eight weeks till I healed. Try two! Ha!" She wore her long, shining black hair in two braids over her shoulders. "I got X-rayed at my check-up this morning. I'm fine! So they set me free. Damn, my feet are so itchy, though."
Bella couldn't help grinning back at her.
"I brought you some ice cream." Leah balanced a gallon of mint chocolate chip on top of the large cardboard box of music she kept under her bed. "Valentine's Day sucks so bad. I thought you might be unhappy, so I came over."
"Aw, thanks!"
"What's going on in your kitchen?"
"Quil."
Leah strode into the kitchen and dragged Quil out from under the table. "Emb, hands. Jake, feet." The boys stretched Quil out on the floor between them like a licorice stick, and Leah sat on his chest and tickled his stomach and armpits. He shrieked like a little girl.
"Know your enemy," she said to Bella. "Know his weakness. Get the feet."
Bella took off his shoes. "Your feet stink, Quil."
"Tickle them anyway," said Leah. "Arches. Ankles." She nodded at the table. "Angela, get behind the knees."
Quil squealed and yelped, thrashing and trying to curl up to protect his middle. Leah lifted the hem of his T-shirt and blew loud, sloppy raspberries all over his pudgy stomach. She didn't stop till he was crying.
"Whatever you did," said Leah, "I'm sure you deserved this. And by the way, Bella, what are you wearing?"
She looked down at her enormous plaid outfit. "Er..."
"She looks really nice under the shirt," said Jacob.
Bella stared at him.
"What?" He tried not to smirk at her too much, and Bella unbuttoned the flannel shirt and draped it over her chair.
Mike said he was pleased to meet Leah, and Bella set a seventh plate on the table. As they settled down to eat again, the boys couldn't stop exclaiming over Leah's recovery. Good as new, she said. Embry stared at her for a long minute, looking confused.
After lunch Bella served the ice cream. Charlie wasn't the kind of guy who had dessert dishes or sherbet bowls, so she was compelled to scoop it into coffee mugs and stick spoons in them. They all sat in the living room, where Leah checked out Charlie's stereo. He had a CD player, tape deck, decent speakers, and a turn table that had probably belonged to his parents. "Perfect," said Leah. Most of his records, though, were Emmylou Harris, Dolly Parton, and Johnny Cash. Also, there was a bunch of Linda Ronstadt stuff. "Somebody has a crush," she said. "I can respect that. But what is this?" In a cabinet beside the TV she found an eight track cassette player and an embarrassingly large collection of Lawrence Welk.
"Definitely the grandparents," said Bella.
Leah dug through her own music and put on the Allman Brothers, and they all talked about their Valentine's Day woes.
"My girlfriend is seeing someone else," said Mike.
"Then she's not your girlfriend," said Quil.
This did not make Mike feel better. He sat on the floor beside the stereo, rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes. Jacob and Bella described the guy they had seen in the coffee shop in Port Angeles and the way Jessica reacted to him. This made Mike feel worse.
"You should hit him," said Quil.
"I can't do that. I don't even know who he is, or where he lives."
"You should find him and hit him. Follow Jess around until you find him."
"That's called stalking, Quil," said Bella. She was curled up next to Jacob in a corner of the couch, one of Charlie's blue cushions under her elbow, and she cringed to think of how Edward had followed her. At the time, it seemed like proof of his affection. Now it just made her feel awful.
"Chicks love that," said Quil. He had claimed Charlie's brown La-Z-Boy recliner like a king might claim a throne. "And when you find him, you need to hit him in the face. Go for the nose. Bleeds the most. Looks awesome spilling down some asshole's face."
Mike stared at him like he was out of his mind.
"Well," said Jacob, "I think you have to do something."
Mike looked miserable.
"Cheer up," said Leah. "My boyfriend is seeing someone else, too. He's shacked up with my cousin and former best friend. I gave him three years of my life, and he gave me some lies about love at first sight with my cousin. He dropped me in the woods, and when I finally found some satisfaction in kicking out the headlights on his truck, he freaking broke my feet."
"He did not break your feet," Embry said. "You broke your own feet."
"He broke my feet indirectly. You would not believe how many things are his fault."
"Well, if I see him," groaned Mike, "maybe I'll hit him in the face for you."
"I got no girlfriend," said Embry. He sat on the floor opposite Mike, rounding out their circle as he leaned on the wall beside the arch of the kitchen doorway. Letting one long leg sprawl over the hardwood floor, he bent the other leg and rested his ice cream mug on his knee. His jeans had mud on the tattered hems. "Last summer I met a girl I really liked, but she lives in Canada in a house with no phone. That's hopeless. Now I have an unpaid part time job that keeps me up at night, my grades are shit, and if I even think about girls I get my ass kicked."
"Think what you want," said Jacob. "There's no thought police."
Embry just snorted. Then he looked in his mug, which was now full of mint chocolate chip soup. "Damn it." He looked ready to cry again. "My ice cream melted."
Clinking his spoon at the bottom of his own mug to get the last bit of ice cream, Quil said, "I got no girlfriend, either. I had a plan. I was going to get a van. But now I'm totally screwed." He described the problem at Dowling's.
"That really sucks," said Angela. She sat on the couch with Bella and Jacob. She had pulled her feet up under her and draped one of Bella's grandmother's quilts over her legs.
"You should hit him," smirked Mike. "Go for the nose."
"No, seriously," said Jacob. "The guy is a racist prick. I wouldn't want to buy a van from him if he would sell it."
"Well, it's the only one I can afford," said Quil.
This problem seemed the worst of all. No one knew what to say. Bella brought Quil another mug full of ice cream, and when he had eaten it, he pulled the lever on Charlie's old recliner chair and lay back, staring at the ceiling. "I am so fucked."
She had never seen Quil so unhappy. She stood beside the recliner and put a hand on his shoulder. "Thanks," he sighed. "I feel a little better. Hugs?" So she bent over and hugged him. That's when he flipped her into the chair and squirmed all over her.
"Ack!" she cried.
"Oh, comfort me," laughed Quil.
"Get off!"
Jacob peeled Quil off Bella. "Dickweed."
Quil sighed again. "That groping will have to last me a year."
When the Allman Brothers record ended, Leah looked in her box again and came up with some Grateful Dead. Bella liked the album cover. Skeletons and roses.
"Not the Dead," said Embry. "I hate the Dead."
"You used to like them," said Leah.
"Well, I changed my mind. The Dead suck. What else you got in here?" He dragged her cardboard box over the floor and lifted the flaps. "Zeppelin, Floyd—Ooh, Atom Heart Mother—Neil Young... Hmm, the Doobie Brothers? Okay, I'll let that slide." Setting aside his ice cream mug, he flipped through her vinyl records. "WAR, Blue Oyster Cult, Stones, Doors, Cream, Santana. Wow, you've got a lot of good stuff in here."
She seemed pleased and sat down beside him.
"Jethro Tull," he said. "I love Jethro Tull. And the Beatles, Iron Maiden. So you."
Leah took that as a compliment.
"Wait a minute..." Embry lifted an album with a picture of three men on it. They wore white leisure suits with their shirts unbuttoned to expose their hairy chests and a lot of gold medallions. The background of the photo was neon purple, and there were laser beams shooting from behind the men like a sunburst. "The Bee Gees?" said Embry.
Leah turned pink. "That's Seth's. I don't know how it got in there."
"It's yours." He grinned. It was the first smile Bella had seen from him. "Oh, my God. I'm telling everyone at school that you like the Bee Gees."
Leah reached for the album, but he held it over his head, just out of her reach. "If I can't have you!" he sang in falsetto, "I don't want nobody, baby!"
"You know the lyrics," she growled, reaching again for the.
"If I can't have you! Ah ah ah!"
Quick as lighting, she leaped for record and swiped it from him. He blinked at her.
"I like the Bee Gees." Angela smiled at Leah, trying to be helpful. She raised an arm and pointed at the ceiling, then stretched it across her body to point to the floor on the opposite side. Back and forth, up and down, like a disco dancer. "Bow chicka wow," she sang, imitating the rhythm guitar. "Chicka chicka chicka wow wow."
"That's not the Bee Gees," Embry said flatly. "That's an acoustic porn soundtrack."
Angela blushed.
"Porn?" said Quil. "Yes. Where?"
Bella, Mike, and Embry cleaned up the ice cream mugs while Jacob, sitting on the arm of Charlie's recliner, patiently tried to explain to Quil the many ways he was an ass. He was still doing that when Bella had finished washing all the mugs and cleaned the lasagna plates, too.
"This birthday sucks," said Quil. "I got no girlfriend, no van, and no porn."
Bella suddenly remembered the gift that she, Leah, and Jacob had gotten him. It was still in her truck. "Well," she said, "at least you got friends. Not that you deserve them. Come on."
Everybody trooped out to the porch. It was a clear day. Spring's new grass was fresh and green on the lawn, and white and purple crocuses had sprouted near the porch steps. She hadn't known that Charlie had planted anything there. The redbud tree at the side of the yard looked like it might bloom in a couple weeks. Opening her truck's creaky door and reaching behind the seat, Bella found the box for the shirt they'd bought at the custom printing shop. Like Jacob's birthday shirts, it was black. Size XL.
Quil seemed more solemn as he peeled away the wrapping paper. "Really nice of you," he mumbled. He looked into the box and smiled. "I love it."
Printed across the chest were two words: Space Cowboy.
Bella smiled at him, too. But then he stripped off his old shirt with much stretching and groaning in the direction of the girls on the porch.
"Clothe yourself, Cowboy," sighed Jacob.
Embry nudged Jake's shoe with his own. "I got you something, too," he said quietly.
If he had hoped to keep it from being a big deal, he utterly failed. Everyone trailed him to the trunk of his mom's Tercel. When he opened it, Bella saw a mess of metal. He pulled out an enormous, boxy, steel thing and set it in the grass.
"The VR6?" said Jacob. He looked stunned. "Oh, Emb! How?"
"There's a salvage lot outside of Port Angeles. Free! But let me tell you, I felt like a junkyard dog sniffing this out."
There was, he said, a recently wrecked electric blue VW R-32 in there. From the looks of it, some idiot had been driving too fast and wrapped it around a tree. When Jacob looked concerned, Embry assured him that the driver would have been able to walk away from that, but the car was totaled.
"I can't believe it!" said Jacob. "I can't believe it!" He bent over the engine, tracing his fingers over the casing. "Emb, I love you. But this is— I hate to say it— The VR6 is a monster. And the R-32 is four wheel drive. This thing would tear up the Rabbit because—"
"Drive train differential." Embry tossed a long metal thing on the ground.
"Oh, Emb. I can't. The Rabbit's only got five gears, and this needs—"
"Torque converter." Another mess of metal was tossed on the ground. "And I pulled this shifter out of an A-6. I think it's mahogany."
Jacob fell to his knees in the dewey grass and burst into tears.
There was a CV boot in Embry's trunk, too. It was pretty greasy, and he had put it in a large plastic bag. He promised to drive all this stuff home tonight and leave it in Jake's garage. "And I can help you install some of it tomorrow, if you're not busy."
As far as Bella could tell, Embry had just given him the guts of his dream car, to be housed in the Rabbit's humble shell. She didn't know whom to hug first. But since everyone else was clustered around Jacob, she slipped around him to see his brother. Embry had his hands in his pockets, leaning against the Tercel.
"Life is shit," he said, very quietly.
That was not what she was expecting him to say.
"You and me, we know it."
His eyes were black like Jacob's. He wore the faded Led Zeppelin T-shirt Quil had given him, and there was a smear of pine sap on his sleeve. She stared at it, thinking it was going to be hard to get out in the laundry. When he reached for her hand, she moved closer and he held her against his side, his arm around her shoulders.
"Life is shit, and it's short." He whispered this into her hair. "Nobody can make you feel something you don't. But if you do—and I'm hoping you do—I hope you'll let it show. You can make him equally happy. I know he'd make you happy. I know it. I know all kinds of things, unfortunately." His breath felt warm on her scalp. "Please, Bella," he mumbled, "can you help me? I need you to help me. I can't even remember what happiness feels like."
She felt like he'd taken a knife and slid it under the first layer of her skin. It hurt. He saw too much. He turned her around, looked directly into her eyes, and he saw her.
"You still have a chance. You're a survivor. Be strong."
So softly, he touched his lips to her forehead.
Jacob turned around then and told Embry to get off his girlfriend. "Not your girlfriend," smirked Embry. "Not really." And he slapped her hip so it stung just enough to make her squeak. "How's your Valentine's Day?"
Bella skittered away from him, fanning a hand behind her to fend off further assault on her backside.
She asked Jacob to show her the engine, even though she knew she wouldn't understand any of it. It seemed caring. Mike particularly admired it. Jacob was trying to explain what an intake manifold was when they heard a small tapping sound. And a muffled bleating. "Help..." The sound seemed to come from far away. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
"Leah?" said Quil. "What did you do?"
"Nothing."
"This is not nothing. This is Seth trapped in your truck."
Sure enough, he was in the backseat tapping his knuckles against the glass. "Childproof locks," he mouthed.
"For fuck's sake, Leah, you can open these doors only from the outside." Quil sprung Seth. "He was out here the whole time?"
"Yes. And I was having fun."
"Aw, Seth." Bella hugged him. "Leah, you're a turd."
In the house, she scooped another mug of ice cream for Seth and they all sat in the living room again. Quil resumed his lordly place in Charlie's recliner, and the three girls sat on the couch. Leah put her feet on the coffee table. Bella decided to allow this since she had taken off her shoes. Embry, Jacob, and Mike dragged three kitchen chairs into the living room, and Seth sat at Bella's feet. He offered her a small box wrapped in pink paper: a Justin Timberlake mix tape. Bella looked to Jacob.
"I listened to mine," he said. "I kind of liked it."
"Well, okay then. Thank you, Seth."
She popped it into Charlie's tape player while Leah rolled her eyes.
Bella had to admit that she liked it, too. It was so cheerful, exciting. Fun. Synthesizers. Solid bass lines. Seth said that Jake and Justin Timberlake had the same birthday. Not really necessary to point that out, said Jacob. When "Rock Your Body" played, Quil looked at Seth.
"You wanna go?"
Seth put down his ice cream.
As Jacob had suspected, Quil and Seth had been planning something. As Leah had suspected, those two had spent two weeks in Seth's room watching YouTube videos. And as Seth had said at Jacob's birthday party, girls would want to dance with him as soon as he learned all of Justin Timberlake's moves.
He was amazing. The way he turned, spun on his toes. His quick slides. The roll of his hips. Quil was slightly less agile, but still pretty good. Laughing, Jacob dragged the coffee table away so they'd have more space. Even the way Seth turned his head, popped his elbows to the side, was perfect. Bella had never seen anybody so quick, so assured, in his movements.
"Seth, you're a dancing genius!"
He beamed at her.
Quil grabbed her hand and tugged her off the couch. "Don't be so quick to... walk away," he sang. "I wanna rock your body. Please stay."
And like his father, whom Charlie had said could whistle right on pitch, Quil could actually sing.
She felt the glow of the music blooming inside her.
Seth pulled Angela into the dance. She giggled so hard she could barely stand up.
"Woot! Woot!" sang Mike and Embry.
Bella was a horrible dancer. But Quil spun her around enough so that all she needed to do to keep up was laugh. He bumped her hip with his own. When the song was over Bella and Angela collapsed into each other's arms. Seth and Quil high-fived one another, and Leah pulled Seth down onto the couch with her and put kisses all over his head. "You're really, really good at that. Really good, Sethy."
Bella brought everyone into the kitchen with her after that. She poured herself a tall glass of cold milk. Seth wanted one, too, but everyone else just wanted water, and they all sat around the table, frosted Bella's four dozen cupcakes, and ate every single one of them. After that, they started in on the candy conversation hearts.
"PLAYER" said Quil's. He seemed to like it. He pushed it around on the table in front of him but didn't eat it.
"U R SWEET," said Leah's. She frowned at it.
"TIGER," said Embry's. This made him groan.
"UR THE ONE," said Mike's. This made him groan, too.
"WAIT," said Jacob's. He looked at it bleakly.
"4-EVER," said Bella's. This just made her mad, thinking of Edward.
"HOT STUFF," said Angela's. Suddenly, her face turned pink.
"What's wrong?" said Leah.
"Ben," she said, looking at the table. "He said I was—"
"You don't have to say it, Ange," said Bella.
"He said I was— Well, the opposite of hot stuff. To our friends at school. Not to me." She stared at the white heart in front of her, and her eyes began to water.
With the bottom of his water glass, Jacob ground the heart to powder. "I think you're hot stuff. I think you're beautiful."
"If it's any consolation," sighed Seth, "mine says 'NEVER.'"
Angela used her water glass to smash Seth's candy.
So Bella smashed hers, too, and pretty soon they were all laughing again, talking about the bullshit of this holiday and grinding the ridiculous love messages to dust. "SOUL MATE." Smash. "PURR-FECT" Smash. "SWEET TALK." Bleck. "LOVE BUG." Whatever. "ALWAYS," "CLOUD NINE," "LUV YA," "BE TRUE," "XOXO," "ALL MINE," "CRAZY 4 U." Smash, smash, smash, smash, smash, smash, smash. One of the hearts said, "FILTHY SLUT," and Quil slipped it into his pocket.
"A guy can dream, right?"
Seth licked his finger and stuck it in the candy dust. "Mmm."
"Messy," said Leah. "We should have straws. Like with pixie sticks."
A search through Charlie's kitchen drawers yielded only three straws.
"We'll cut them in thirds," said Mike. "Where's the scissors?"
It was the kind of thing, said Charlie later, that can send a guy to the hospital with a heart attack. Particularly a guy who is a policeman. He had come home at three o'clock and found eight teenagers at his kitchen table hunched over little piles of dust and short straws.
Most of her friends had gone home then, except for Jacob and Embry, who stayed for dinner. Quil rode home with the Clearwaters, and she could tell Embry stayed to cover the fact that Jacob had ridden here on the motorcycle. "How ya gonna get home, Jake?" would have been one of Charlie's questions for sure. "And how did you get here?" These questions that would have occurred to a less observant father than he. And Charlie would have asked them in a way that implied he already knew there wasn't a good answer.
"I had a really good day," Jacob told her as they stood on her porch, saying goodbye. He hugged her, running his hands down her back slowly, swaying with her gently. Almost like a dance. "I had a really good day with you."
That night, getting ready for bed, she looked at the quilt her grandmother had made. Lots of little pieces, stitched together. Shapes that would only have been tiny triangles and squares on their own, but that became big, bright stars together. Blues and pinks and greens. Florals and plaids. Small things turned into a garden of stars, together.
She smoothed her hand over the fabric and looked at the picture of her grandmother that Mrs. Weber had given her. Finally, she felt she understood. And maybe, within this garden, she could find the strength to grow a little more.
It had felt so strange when Jacob smashed that "MAY-B L8R," heart this morning. It didn't feel good. And maybe that was because she didn't want to smash the idea. It wasn't a Yes, in her heart. But it wasn't a No anymore. Maybe it was a Maybe. The thought was frightening. But she didn't want to stop thinking it. Maybe.
I am a survivor.
Maybe.
She put on her nightgown and crossed the floor toward her closet to put her jeans away. But she didn't make it that far. In the middle of the room she paused, her head feeling fuzzy. So heavy. Her stomach hurt, and she fell down on the wood, clutching her middle.
Thank you for reading.
Updated roll call: Hooray for Twilight fans near and far! Readers who joined in are from Aruba (1), Australia (1), Brazil (1), California (1), Connecticut (1), Dubai (1), France (2), Hawaii (1), Indonesia (1), Japan (1), Michigan (1), Minnesota (3), New Jersey (3), North Carolina (1), Ohio (3), Oklahoma (1), Oregon (1), South Africa (1), Sweden (1), and Texas (3). Where are you from? I'll add you to the awesomeness.
Questions for you…
Funny parts or favorite parts?
What do you think about Embry's advice to Bella?
And Who wants Quil? Seriously, like, who wants him? I've had readers make very sweet requests to have their very own character, and Jake, Embry, and Seth are all spoken for. (Sweet little Seth, to be sure, has been reserved for one reader's daughter.) But what about Quil? I don't see anybody beating down my door to claim Quil. Isn't he loveable? Anyone? And if no, why not? Damn it. I like him.
That's all. Previews of Chapter 30 to reviewers. Please let me know if you enjoyed the chapter! I realized this morning that I have been working on this book for THREE YEARS, and it really, really, is rewarding to hear from readers.
I also calculated this morning, according to the website stats, that less than 1% of readers commented on the last three chapters. Truly. Sixth tenths of one percent. Oh, I want to cry. Did I mention this took three years? Won't you take a few seconds to say hello? Your comments are encouraging to me, even when folks just say "hi." It's like, Yay, there are PEOPLE out there choosing to read this. I am grateful for every reader. I don't mean at all to downplay my gratitude for the 1% who speak. I love you. But right now AmandaForks is so sad and painfully discouraged by the silence of 99%. Is this story sucking? Why am I doing this? Hello?
