SM OWNS ALL CHARACTERS. THE TRUTH HURTS.

36. Funeral

Saturday slugged by torturously slow. I wish it hadn't. It had felt like life itself was kicking my face in, trying to prove cruelly just how pathetic everything the world had to offer seemed without Edward somehow involved with it.

And I know, I know. I didn't want to be one of those girls who ended up so desperately dependent on a guy that she can't do anything without him. The truth was, I had no trouble at all doing things without him. That was what was so frustrating.

It wouldn't necessarily have been good, but it certainly would have been fitting if my life had changed in some palpable way since Friday night. That was the way things were in the movies. Dramatic and life-altering. Instead, everything except for me was completely and stubbornly normal. Washing my hair and getting dressed and cooking dinner; yeah, totally sentimental tasks that shattered my weak and teary composure to fragmented shards, proving how useless and feminine I was.

Whatever. I still couldn't help but hum a bar of a melody under my breath as I stood beneath the showerhead.

Everything was normal. Everything but me.

Because, deep down, I knew I wasn't accepting things the way they were, accepting defeat, accepting we'd had a fight. I mean, it was an argument. Happily married couples had dozens of them daily. It's probably considered healthy. Healthier than not-ever-fighting would be, anyway.

Surprisingly, Renee hadn't been all that torn up over my delayed call yesterday. She was . . . understanding. And concerned. Not for me—I hadn't gathered enough courage yet to so much as whisper Edward's name—but for herself and her . . . baby. All I knew was that there were some 'complications'. She hadn't really delved too deep into that one, and I didn't really know too much about pregnancy to come up with my own in-depth hypothesis. The whole baby thing kind of freaked me out, period. Add in the fact this was my mum . . . I didn't really want to go there.

Of course, I had mentioned Edward eventually. I wasn't the type of girl who openly discussed her latest crushes with her mother; I couldn't remember a time before when I'd actually been the one to volunteer this type of information in our relationship. Renee was surprisingly understanding, though. And not half as jumpy and/or nosey as I'd expected her to be. Maybe she sensed this was a pretty sensitive subject for me—I didn't normally ask for help or advice or a patient ear.

"Is he cute? Oh my gosh, he's really good-looking, isn't he, Bella? I can just tell," she mused when I'd managed to somehow convey to her that I'd gone out on a date the other night. "Ugh . . . let me guess," she said eagerly. "He's . . . Hm. Smart. But not in a bookish way—you're the bookworm. No, he's smart in a different way. And he's a lot more relaxed and easy about things than you. Am I right?"

I'd nearly dropped the phone. Suspicious that she'd been torturing information out of an all-too-willing Alice, I asked, "How did you know that?"

Renee had laughed. "Yes, so I am right."

"He is"—gorgeous funny hot confident sweet nice caring—"smart."

The suspicion was still evident in my voice. I could almost hear my mother's grin on the other end of the phone as she said, "A mother knows,' rather slyly.

"In all seriousness though, it's pretty basic," she continued after a moment. "It's like putting two and two together. I can't imagine you agreeing to go out with someone who wasn't like that."

This caused a slight flicker of surprise within me. Clearly, Renee knew me better than I thought.

Then I told her the date hadn't ended so well. She was pretty sympathetic, but assured me it wasn't a big deal.

"People argue all the time," she said. "I know it sounds so simple and unhelpful, but the best piece of advice I can give you is to not worry about it. You're too young; life is too short. He'll come round."

I didn't mention the fact he'd tried to call me. Or the simple little message he'd sent me. That was my information and I wanted to keep it to myself.

So, twenty minutes later after promising to give her a ring in a week's time again, I got off the phone feeling slightly better. The whole drama over the Florida trip seemed way behind me—behind both of us. My mother may not have always gone about things in life the right way, but she meant well no matter which direction she took things from.

By that stage, Alice was nearly ready to leave. She'd had work and had slinked off into the depths of her room to give me some privacy when I'd called. Giving me a tight hug and a pinch on the inside of my elbow, she bumped her hip to mine and said boldly, "Go sexy yourself up a bit. Feel special. I'll be home around five."

I probably hadn't filled out her laid out criteria to her standards; I'd painted my nails though. Today, there they were, shiny and perfect and red.

It was now currently nine o'clock in the morning. And I was standing in front of the mirror stuck on the back of the closet door again; a seemingly reoccurring spot for me these days. Hands on hips, looking more confident then I felt, I stared at the girl in the mirror who stared back with extra oomph, uncharacteristic ruby-painted lips matching her day-old manicure. Dressed in smart clothing all similar shades of darkness, with the front section of my hair pinned up carefully at the top of my head away from my face, I felt ready for what I was going to do.

Grabbing my bag in one hand and my cell phone in the other, I turned my back from the reflection, knowing there was a place I had to be.

I wasn't late, thank God. The reception had just begun from what I could tell as I hurried up the last stretch of the path and came to the large glass doors. I paused, hanging back a bit, allowing another couple to enter first before me and slipping in silently behind them, remembering to give a small and polite smile at the lady standing just inside with copies of the programme; I hadn't completely left my head behind at home.

I was flustered and nervous and more than a little scared, but I followed the concession—now dwindling as the ceremony was about to begin—inside another set of doors, into the room where everyone was gathered.

It was packed. That was my first thought and small surprise; the large hall was filled to the brim with grave-looking people, people of all ages and ethnicities snagging the last seats left vacant without the slightest sense of urgency or rush. No, these people were polite, and slow, and sad.

I'd promised Edward I'd go to his grandfather's funeral with him. I didn't want to be the one to let him down in such a weak way simply because our Friday evening together hadn't ended as smoothly as hoped. Even though I was glad I was here, it didn't mean I didn't feel out of place. I hadn't been to a funeral since the passing of my grandmother, and I'd been nine then and ushered along by my family.

This was different to that time in more than one way. There was about seven times the amount of people present here right now than had been for my grandmother. This service was rich and decadent and most likely extremely expensive. And this time, I was surrounded by complete strangers.

I bit back that thought as soon as it had formed in my head. Because my eyes had been scanning the crowd as I stood somewhat awkwardly to the back of the room, right up against the wall, making these assessments. And they had found, right up the front of the hall in the first line of seats, the people I'd been looking for.

The person I'd been looking for.

And it was like the most comforting knowledge in the world, being aware of his presence, knowing he was there near me, after everything and anything; seeing him and being powerful in the knowledge that he'd see me soon enough, too. His hair looked darker in the dim lighting, more brown than ever before, but just as extraordinary as it always was.

Next to him was Emmett, distinguishable by the enormity of him, and on the other side to the right I was fairly positive it was Esme. Naturally, Carlisle was seated right by her side. I thought I could make out the woman I'd been introduced to at Edward's house earlier on in the week as the widowed Mrs. Cullen, but everyone else (and there were a lot of 'everyone else') was a stranger to me.

I didn't have the nerve or audacity to sidle up to the front and make my presence known. What right did I have, anyway? That place was reserved for family. Instead, I managed to find a seat at the very back row spare and sat down next to some man sitting with his wife and kids, right as the lights began to dim and a sweet and sad song played out loudly throughout the hall, reverberating across the stretch of space as people's murmurings died off and became subdued.

The ceremony was beautiful. I was no longer nervous, no longer worried or anxious. Thoughts of the Edward predicament didn't hold any merit for the moment, for they were petty little things that didn't belong here, in this hall, surrounded by loved ones' memories and recollections of the man they had all lost. It was a collection of grief, of remembrance, and of joy—a celebration of the impact this grandfather had had on the lives of those around him.

I watched Edward throughout it, ever now and then. When my eyes found the back of his head—so unmistakeable to me I was sure I could have picked it out with ease in a stadium full of thousands—I felt a burning feeling spread all over my body, but it wasn't unpleasant—just scary. And I didn't care that he didn't know I was there yet. The fact was, I was here, even if he wasn't aware of that fact; it still felt important to me to be there, to be some form of support in any way I could manage, to look on at this beautiful boy and his lovely family and just feel how incredibly lucky I was to be a part of that, even in a very small way.

Widowed Mrs. Cullen went up to speak, but she didn't get very far before she had to sit down again. Still, her story she shared, albeit broken, was a beautiful one, depicting a different time and era when she'd first laid eyes on her future husband. And you could see that she loved him; every word she spoke, every line on her face, every expression she had, all said the same story.

Carlisle spoke too. I'd only met him once, of course, but it was easy to see why Edward looked up to him in the way he did. There was something so steady and true about him. People listened when he spoke. People heard what it was that he was saying, the message that he was giving.

It lasted around an hour, give or take. I lost myself a bit in the surrounding atmosphere, my head filled with too much to handle, the music and sorrows weighing down heavily against me. When a lady stood up at the podium to announce that guests were welcome to gather outside for light refreshments, the gathering began to break up as the ceremony had clearly come to an end.

I stood up, suddenly feeling the nerves come back to kick in again with extra force. I wanted to go to Edward straight away, but I hung back again, because the close family members were talking quietly among themselves, some of the first to leave through a new set of doors that led outside to the stunningly beautiful gardens. I followed along the progression slowly, not allowing myself to feel strange and out-of-place. Apart from the immediate Cullens, I still didn't recognize anyone I knew.

There was a huge marquee set up on the lush green lawn, fresh flowers in bold colours of purple, red and yellow in full bloom. Chairs were set out in one long row towards the back edge of shade the canopy provided, elderly guests already positioned on most of them. Little tables of food and coffee and several other beverages were scattered around the place, even more flowers present. And I was a little taken aback, because the surroundings didn't look the slightest bit mournful; they were bright and cheery and beautiful.

Finding conversation wasn't hard. It seemed that a funeral brought out the best in people: here I was, standing by myself towards the outskirts of things, and a lady in a dark blue dress with a small child clinging to her legs had asked me kindly how I knew Mr. Cullen.

Briefly, I thought she was somehow referring to Edward, until sense smacked me in the face and I realised it was his grandfather she was meaning.

"I don't really know him that much at all, really," I confessed with a bit of a light, embarrassed laugh, hoping I didn't come off as one of the worst types of party-crashers out there.

"He was a great man," the lady said, smiling warmly at me and reassuring me with her voice that I was fine. "He achieved a lot in his lifetime; it's a terrible shame it had to end."

Her daughter tugged on the hem of her dress, and she laughed, looking down. "This here is Annabelle," she explained, giving the toddler the obviously sought-after attention she wanted. She bent down to hoist her up on her hip, turning her absent-mindedly from side-to-side.

"I'm Claire," she continued.

"Bella," I said, smiling at the young girl whose strawberry blonde hair was done up neatly in two tiny pigtails. She stared back at me, eyes wide. "Your daughter's beautiful."

"Oh, she knows it, too," Claire laughed, looking down at her briefly before returning her eyes to my face. "Actually, she's behaved wonderfully this morning, I'm very proud of her."

We talked for a few more minutes before Claire politely excused herself, taking little Annabelle away with her. I had my eye on Edward, but lost him briefly amongst the crowd. The last time I'd seen him was with Emmett and Carlisle; the family were all together, greeting various people and exchanging hugs and murmured words of encouragement to each other—something I definitely didn't want to interrupt.

In fact, the more time that passed, the less-resolved I felt in my decision to see him. What if it only brought back up a lot of crap? Wouldn't it be kinder to postpone that sort of confrontation to another time, another day, another venue? How selfish was I, really? It didn't seem like there was ever going to be a good time to interrupt, to march up and see him, to stand there and stare and say "Hi".

I went to get a drink, my mind already away from here, at the front of the lot, where I could call a taxi for a ride home.

I never claimed to be anything but a coward.

My shaky escape plans were sullied, however, when I heard his voice. It seemed that his voice could stop me, could halt me even if I was in the midst of trying to save my own life. Not that I was currently attempting anything quite that dramatic, but I was willing to bet a large sum of money that if I psycho murdered was running my way, and he spoke in Edward's voice—yeah, I would be pretty much screwed.

"I can't believe you came."

Those words, his voice, lapping gently and calmly against the back of my neck, trickling down my back, made me freeze for a second. As soon as I gained my composure, I set the glass of chilled water back down on the table and turned, amazed that my face was perfectly composed and my body contently relaxed; nothing about me relayed the way that my heartbeat jumped around erratically and my head kept telling me I didn't want to breathe.

"I promised I would, didn't I?" I said, even as my eyes took his form in. His long, tall, beautiful form. His face was drawn, whether from exhaustion or the circumstances we were swathed in, I couldn't tell. But his eyes were the same; still that burning, vivid green of honesty and eternity. He was dressed in black formal clothing—it made me swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.

"I didn't think . . . Well, I didn't think it mattered anymore," he murmured, both hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. His stance was still powerful, but it was stilted by embarrassment and uncertainty—two things that were very rare to see on Edward Cullen. It made him seem younger, more like the teenager he really was.

His words made my hand clench tighter around my bag where my cell phone was stashed, his unanswered calls and message suddenly seeming to weigh ten pounds each.

We stared at each other for a moment, both not quite sure what to say. I'd always hated the way people explained things in a book, wrote cliché lines like "the rest of the world ceased to exist," because I never really thought it was true. Now, I wasn't so certain. I was aware there was a rest of the world, sure, but it seemed very far away, sort of an abstract concept. I no longer cared that we were at a funeral or that there were swarms of people around us or that his family was nearby. All I really cared about was the fact that I hadn't seen him all weekend and that it really sucked and that I was sorry and regretted the way things had turned out and I was angry that everything seemed normal when in reality, everything was totally messed up and horrible.

I opened my mouth to speak at the same time he did.

We both paused, an awkward smile on my face, apology on his. Finally, he seemed to get the message that I was waiting for him to speak.

"Esme told me you were here," he said, and although this wasn't exactly the most brilliant response and didn't exactly cover the things we needed to talk about, I was happy for it to continue. "Actually," he continued, more hesitant, "she said, 'There's someone here waiting for you.'"

I smiled a little at that, suddenly feeling quite shy, like I didn't quite know who I was or who I wanted to be. I was pretty sure I was taking the cue off Edward, who looked less sure of himself every second that went by.

It was such a disconcerting thing to watch and take part in that I immediately attempted to jump in and try to salvage something.

Unfortunately, as soon as I went to speak, Edward attempted to say something, and we both stopped again for the second time.

This time, we both laughed weakly.

"Okay," Edward said, apparently deciding that this was ridiculous and that being tentative would have to wait. "You speak first."

I crossed my arms over my chest, reaching to tuck a strand of hair back and realising too late that the front of my hair was all pinned up and there was nothing there to touch. I cleared my throat a little. "I'm sorry for your loss?"

It came out like a question, like I was asking permission or checking to see if this was right. It made Edward laugh again; still quiet, but building from the one before.

"Your condolences are noted," he said formerly with a nod, but the most heartbreakingly beautiful smile was on his face that he seemed to almost want to keep hidden from me, his eyes not quite meeting mine.

I loved it. I loved everything about him. It was then, standing right there, that I realised that it didn't matter to me whatever had happened with him and other people before he knew me. The thing that mattered was who he was now; what type of person he was, how he made me feel. And I knew that everything in his past would have had to happen for him to be who he was.

I also knew that learning about things that had already happened didn't change anything; he was still going to the same person. He was still him, and nothing could really change that.

Just like nothing could really change how I felt about him.

"Edward . . ." I began, looking up at his face. "I'm really sorry about Friday. About what happened. I know that I . . ."

But he was shaking his head, grimacing. "Bella, don't," he said, waiting until I stopped. "Really, don't. You didn't do anything wrong and the more you apologise, the bigger a dickhead I become."

I tried to keep a straight face, but I failed miserably. "Oh, so you've got a big one, do you?" I said, and then giggled at the look on his face and the absurdity of me saying something like that. "Sorry, sorry," I mumbled, still chuckling lightly. "Moment of extreme immaturity is passing, I promise."

But he just grinned, a big, Edward grin, the type of grin you missed without realising it, not one to get embarrassed over such comments. "And here I was, thinking I was the only one who had problems with indecent thoughts," he laughed. "I missed you."

This he said with complete sincerity, and it made me feel all warm inside. "I missed you, too."

He was still smiling, but he took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair as he exhaled, attempting to become completely serious once more. I, too, tried to compose myself, knowing there was a lot more that needed to be said.

"Look, you really need to know a few things," Edward said, all seriousness now. "I felt awful Friday night once you'd left. I kept going through everything that happened and—"

"It was sort of wrong of me to ask you something so personal like that the way I did," I cut him off. I had intended to be extremely patient, but it felt important to get that out as quickly as possible. "And you were right, I mean, it isn't really any of my business and—"

"I didn't mean that," Edward murmured, so quietly it was hard to distinguish what he was saying. Confused, I cut my rambling off short before it really came to life, waiting for him to elaborate.

"I mean," he said, and I was amazed to note that the tips of his ears appeared to be turning pink. Edward, the boy who seemed to have no ends to his store of self-confidence and experience, was beginning to blush in front of me. "It—I kind of want it to be your business."

I think I was gaping. I didn't mean to, but it took a long second for that to properly sink in as I stared, not grasping the meaning behind his words.

"You want—you mean . . . Oh." I felt stupid and embarrassed; Edward, for once, seemed to be in the same boat.

"I know I acted terribly," he rushed to continue, clearly wanting to focus my attention on something else. I blinked, trying to keep up with him and to yank my thoughts away from hovering over what he just confessed moments before. "I just felt so incredibly—stuck. I didn't want you to know. I mean, I know you have every right to know and I didn't want to lie to you, but I didn't want you to think . . . I just . . . I haven't even spoken to her in months," he finished in a jumbled manner. "We were fifteen and she's not even from around here and we stayed in contact over the years distantly but never . . ."

"It's okay," I said, wanting him to stop, hating seeing him so frantic and desperate, my mind still stuck on his business and how he wanted it to be my business and how he had been fifteen and wasn't that sort of young and what did that mean and how young had he been when he'd first . . .?

"Why don't we talk about it later?" I suggested, suddenly conscious of the people around us. I guess in the long run I didn't really care about what they heard or what they thought, but I still didn't want to focus on this sticky business when we were here in this setting.

Edward exhaled, nodding slowly. "Sure." But his face still looked troubled.

"So are you feeling alright?" I asked gently after a moment, my eyes ranging over his face, trying to discern what lay there behind the momentary melancholy our conversation had brought up. "How is your family?"

Edward shrugged, a small smile on his lips as he looked down at me intently, like I was all that really mattered. "I'm fine, really. My family's over there if you want to—"

"Yeah, I do," I agreed, nodding my head resolutely. "Do you think they'd mind? I mean, am I allowed to just . . .?"

He stared at me for a second, his smile growing wider and warmer, something secret apparently fuelling it. It made it impossible for me to do anything but stare right on back. Finally, he replied, "You don't need permission. Seriously. I think Esme wants to see you pretty badly, actually."

I nodded, my eyes glancing behind his tall form, trying to find where they'd all gone. "That's good then . . ."

"They're over here," Edward said, thoughtlessly wrapping his hand gently around the skin above my elbow to turn me in the right direction. I silently thrilled at the contact—it seemed like a lifetime since I'd touched him, even in the most casual way, so I didn't object at all when he kept his hand there, looking down into my eyes.

"I've got to warn you . . ." he began, eyes shifting over towards the Cullens. There were a lot more there than I'd met earlier this week at his house.

"What is it?" I asked, my eyes following his before glancing back his way.

He cleared his throat, and then grinned. "My family is nuts."

I laughed, rolling my eyes. "Everyone's are. And from what I've met of yours, they're lovely anyway." I went to walk towards them; Edward's hand dropped and he immediately kept in pace with me, eyes earnestly on my face as he hurried to explain things.

"No, really," he insisted. "My other grandfather is a nightmare. And my cousins—just ignore them. All of them. Whatever they say, it's a lie. Especially if it's about me. And don't feel bad if my Great Aunt bursts into tears in an attempt to make you feel bad—she's been doing that all day," he spieled off hurriedly as we walked. We were close to them now: I could see Esme and she turned around to smile warmly at me.

Edward insistently pulled on my arm, making me stop. He stood before me and I reluctantly pulled my eyes away from his adoptive mother to glance up at him and his worried face, trying not to laugh.

"And Bella?" he said, deadly serious now. "I'm apologising in advance on behalf of my aunt. Esme's younger sister Medora—she's . . . evil." He made a face, and I couldn't help it; I burst into laughter.

"It's alright!" I insisted, patting his arm comfortingly. I was about to turn to go to his mother (who raised her eyebrows in acknowledgment at me when our faces met) when he stopped me again. This time, I whirled around, hands on hips, amusement alive on my face.

"What, Edward?" I was sure Esme was watching us, probably waiting and horribly confused at this twisted dance we were displaying in front of everyone.

"I mean it, Bella," he said quietly. "Just ignore her, she has some serious issues and I'm fairly certain she's having one of her 'bad days'. You're—You are beautiful, alright? And she's the most unpopular relative in existence."

I opened my mouth to say something, but realised I was speechless. Thinking he was overreacting and exaggerating, but too flattered at what he just said to point it out, I nodded my head wordlessly at him.

Just how bad could this lady be? I was a bit confused as to why Edward felt the need to assure me of my looks, but too thrilled to really delve deeply into the whys.

Edward visibly relaxed. Sighing in what seemed like relief, he straightened his shoulders and set his jaw. "Alright then," he murmured. "Let's do this."

I couldn't help but smile at him, this strangely beautiful boy who looked like he was preparing himself for a battle. When he met my eyes, he relaxed even more, a crooked grin coming onto his face in recognition of my own beam, probably realising he was overreacting.

Feeling more at ease now, I smiled at him for a minute longer before turning back around again.

Esme was waiting. With a special smile of her own on her face, she stepped forwards to meet me, elegantly done up in a way that made her beauty shine.

"Ah, Bella," she said warmly, and I realised that although her face was happy, her eyes were still slightly sad. "I'm so glad you came."

It's short, I know :) But it felt right to end it here. Obviously, B and E still have a fair bit to talk through. I hope nobody objects to their long-winded conversations; I assure you, it won't just be talking that takes place . . . (If I could do an evil, suggestive laugh without sounding like an idiot, it would be inserted right here.)

If I don't get back on here before Christmas, I hope everybody has a safe and happy holiday :)

I will definitely be seeing you (well, not technically, but you know what I mean) before the New Year.

-love Lina