Catwoman 34

Edward will be home in a couple of hours. I'm trying to ignore the clock and not freeze to death while I wait for the loaves to come out of the oven.

Alice is cursing because she just burned her thumb on the oven's door. I told her not to touch it, but she did anyway, and now she's sucking her thumb and yelling at me.

"I told you…," I'm saying, while she's dancing around saying, "If you would…."

I lead her to the last pile of snow we hope to have this year and make her plunge her thumb into it. She's laughing, and calls me a bitch and I whack her on the butt.

"I can come back later," Edward says from behind us.

I don't even think, I run to him and jump up, wrapping my legs around him, holding him tight. There are no words, just this hug, feeling him big and alive in my limb-lock. I love him so much the emotion engulfs me. Jasper has come outside because Edward is talking to him, but I can't hear, I just hang on. We must never be apart again.

He is laughing at something Alice has said. I honestly can't follow the words, I just hold him and squeeze like he's my life-raft in the choppy sea of life or something.

He doesn't question it, and seems content to take me through Alice's house and out the front door. He's grunted a few times as I've made maneuvering a little bulky, but I don't open my eyes or lift my head or do anything but be my barnacle self.

It's love. And it's some guilt. I've been telling myself I needed him to go. But truth? I'm no good by myself anymore. I'm in so much trouble, unwilling to change. Unable. I'm so stuck, and yet so excited to not be stuck. I'm just screwed. And about to be.

I am rubbing his hair and his back as we reach the front door. He doesn't try to put me down, and it wouldn't work because I'm a tree frog and he's my mighty oak.

So we're in the house and the kissing starts as soon as he elbows the door closed. No talking, just kissing and moaning, and him plopping onto the couch, rearranging me so he can get at my clothes, my nappy, torn quilted jacket that is really Jasper's, and my flannel pajama bottoms I've had for a decade, and I'm working on his belt and his fly.

I am opened like a package with ripped paper hanging around, he is opened, pants only to the knees. We're using our hands on each other because we want the tactile experience, the, 'you are really here,' slick silky skin confirmation before we connect the other dots.

We don't work on orgasm, just touching and driving each other crazier than already crazy. "Oh I missed you," he's saying. "Don't ever leave me again," I punch, then hug, then kiss, then chastise him a little more, then adore him with words, lips, hands, feet caressing his backside, well one foot, the other is buried behind the couch cushion.

He's between my knees, the vertical line splitting me in two, or holding me together. "Are you sorry, are you sorry, are you sorry," he's saying, his lips just everywhere, wet heat plucking my skin, sucking my skin, little bites, and devouring.

"No. No. Are you? Are you?" Me, panting, grabbing at him, ripping his shirt away, leaving just the T-shirt, the New Orleans one I do pull off of him and toss aside.

He is relentless. I squeak, and freeze as sensation whips me away, out of the room, up and up, and I grip him now as he flattens his weight on me, and we're connected now, yes, the real feel of him centered, yes, right there, right there.

"Bella." One, two, three, "I love you, I love you." Four, five, six, six, six, six…."

"But you could have come," he's saying now as we lay in our bed, the cold rain slapping on our window. All the lights in the house off as the sun is setting and we've been in this bed for hours. Gray clouds blanket us in stormy twilight, but we are together now. So let the trumpets sound.

He runs his fingers along my braids. Alice had braided my hair so well that morning, and then pinned each braid over my head like a crown. After all of my antics with Edward and the braids are still holding.

"That's not what I'm saying. I needed to let you go so I could think."

"Bullshit, Bella. Bulllllshit." He says all friendly, kissing me to punctuate the most annoying word.

"No. I'm telling you the truth. I don't think you realize how…bossy you are."

He laughs now, but I can tell he's piqued. "What? Hey pot, meet kettle."

"Oh, no you don't. You said you weren't mad at me."

"I'm not."

"Bullllshit right back at ya," I say, kissing his lying lips that are so lippy and perfect.

"You wanted to prove a point, and you did. And I had to be without you all week so you could make your…point. That's all I'm saying."

I stiffen and push his hand away from my hair. I rise up on my elbow. In the distance, a clap of thunder rolls across the sky. "You're kidding, right?"

My boobs are on display and he must always address them as if they are additional people, so he's touching my nipples, first righty then lefty, with the back of his long finger, and he's looking at them as he says, "Just look at these gorgeous things. And no, I'm not kidding, Love."

"Is this how you fight? Is this how you do your asshole stuff? With this lovey-dovey cover?"

"Ohhh," he says, "all tough in Forks, right? Bare-knuckle, baby." He grabs me then and rolls back and forth with me on top.

I put my hands on the bed, roofing him. "Stop it Edward. You forget, I've heard the talk on conflict resolution, on two continents now. 'Remember what Mayor Juliani said, in conflict, a leader is the calmest person in the room.'" I try to mimic Edward's teacher voice on that last part about the Mayor. "Yeah, I know what you're doing."

I move quickly, and I'm sitting on the edge of the bed now, looking for my clothes. I think they're in the living room, but they weren't so good anyway, I thought I had more time before his majesty showed, but he'd caught me looking homeless, feral. Too bad.

I get up and walk across the room in my birthday suit. There's another clap of thunder and accompanying lightning, and it couldn't be timed more perfectly.

He kind of hoots, and I hold on to the doorframe and look at him over my shoulder before flouncing out of the room. I hear him running after me then, and I hurry into the living room. I scoop up my pants as he catches up and grabs me around the waist. I am nothing for him to pick up. "Not so fast," he says. "Mimicking me?"

I have to smile. "I was listening, that's all."

He sets us on the couch. I'm on his lap. "Listening so you could entrap me."

"You entrap yourself. Anyone who talks as much as you do has to take the fallout."

He whoops now, throwing his head back and all. He's flushed a nice red color. "I overtalk?"

"I didn't say that."

"Bella…what's really going on?" Suddenly serious. "You're the one who's mad."

"We're both mad. Let's just be honest."

"Define mad," he says.

"Pissed off."

He takes a big breath and lets it out slow. He's not looking at me. "Okay. The situation made me mad. I wasn't mad at you…."

"Why can't you just admit it? Do you think I'm not going to make you mad?"

"No." Deep eye-contact now. "I realize you're going to make me mad."

"Then admit it." Me.

"I'm not mad now. I just don't want it to happen again. I understand if you can't go with me…but for a real reason. I thought you just didn't want to be with me."

"You were right. I thought that was what I wanted. Then when you were gone…I realized I didn't want you to be gone. So I was just frustrated about it all."

"And we had to spend a week apart because of that confusion," he filled in.

"So what are you saying, I should stop being confused and just make the decision you want me to make and then things will be great?" I move off of his lap and cover myself with his torn shirt that is on the floor near my feet.

"Don't cover up," he groans. "I haven't seen you for a week."

"We've been having sex for hours. I'm cold."

He grabs an afghan off the back of the couch and engulfs me with it. It's hard to make my points if he's going to keep being nice. Then I remember it's his way of winning, so I fold my arms and let the afghan slip a bit.

"I'm saying, what the fuck, Bella? You don't want to be with me?" Okay. Rock-bed at last.

"I know. I just got worried that you didn't respect my job."

"What? I respect your job."

"You act like I can just drop everything."

"I don't think that. I…I'm sorry I put that out. I didn't mean it. I just wanted you with me."

"And what I do seems more disposable."

"I…didn't mean it that way. I…you're the most important thing in the world to me. I know we have to talk about this. This thing with Peter…I'm not under contract. Not yet, anyway. We're going to be doing a lot of writing. I'm intrigued. I'm excited about it. I know it will lead to more speaking opportunities, and I've got something to give here, something valuable…but none of it is worth more than us."

"Sound great. You really do know how to put things."

"Yeah. But…the thing of it is, I've had speaking opportunities. I've done things like this ever since college. Why am I going right back to it? You're what I want. You're it. There's no confusion there."

"You do see how screwed I am, no pun intended?" Me.

He stares at the floor, then looks at me briefly, takes my hand and laces our fingers, and looks back to the floor. He breaks out in a smile and laughs a little then.

"I keep wanting to call you Gretchen. With those braids, you look like the cutest little fucking milk maid ever."

I'm not laughing. "I'm not a fucking milk-maid. Do you get that?" I've said this really loudly.

The smile goes quickly away. "Of course."

"I don't think you do. I knew there might be changes…I didn't know how you'd do here…how you'd stay here…Vickie said…my sides hurts."

"Baby. Baby." He drops on his knees in front of the couch as he lays me over. I'm not co-operating, so he says, "Lay down. I'll get the heating pad. Let me take care of you please."

"No," I say. "You don't get to."

I turn my head away from him. I know I'm being childish, but I don't care.

"Bella," he strokes over my hair, my shoulder, my arm, pats my leg. "I'll tell Peter I'm out. That's it. There's no way this is coming between us."

"You'll do no such thing. Don't you see? If it's not this, it'll be something else. You're meant to do more."

"I have one duty in this life, and that's to be your husband."

"Seriously? No way."

"What do you want, woman? You're driving me crazy!"

"I want you to just…I don't know. No, I do. I am not marriage material. I have no give. No…bend. I want you to want to be here…in Forks. I need stability. I can't jet-set all over. I'm not a great traveler."

"You did great on the trip."

"But I need recovery time. I'm not snappy. I don't have great rebound."

"So this New Orleans trip was too soon?"

"Of course it was. But…I'm going to hold you back. I…I shouldn't have mimicked you. You're really good at what you do. You're meant to do it. You were always meant to do it. You married me on a fluke."

"Not this again? Are you serious? What should I do, cut myself? Give you vials of my blood to put all over the house as marks of my sincerity? How about an ear to wear around your neck? Or a hand?" He buries his head against my stomach and shakes his head.

"My side," I whine, and he quickly straightens.

"Sorry."

"I know I'm being ridiculous," I say, "but it's moving too quick. I need time. Don't expect so much. You're…demanding."

"I'm not. I told you to stay home."

"You didn't mean it! You admitted you were pissed!"

"You made me admit it! I was working on it! I love you!"

I sniff. "I know you do. I just…I married a celebrity."

He laughed. "You didn't. You married a wreck, who is no longer a wreck because you love him. Right? I mean…you're not regretting our marriage. Tell me you're not. That is the thing…."

"I'm not. Not because of you. Because of me. I only doubt myself." Me.

"Look," he turns and clears the coffee table. Then he takes one thing, the remote, and puts it back in the table's center, "this table is our marriage, this remote stands for a lack of commitment."

"You mean divorce?" I say.

"Shhh," he hisses. "Don't say that word. Lack of commitment."

"Okay."

Now he takes the remote back off the table. "Whatever else comes up," he says, adding a few magazines he'd just scooped to the floor, and then, my discarded underwear, "we can handle all this crap. We can work it out."

I look at the jumble in the center of the table. "Got it."

"As long," and he puts the remote back in the middle of the crazy pile, "as we don't have this in the mix."

"A lack of commitment," I say.

"Right," he says snatching the remote out of the pile again and putting it where I can't see it on the floor.

I stare at the mess on the table. "Don't forget I was at that same pre-marital class when Ben did that the first time," I say.

"Yeah, I stole it from Ben, but it's good stuff, right?"

"Right," I concur. "It's good stuff."

Edward has run across the street to get the bread. I'm finishing up the pasta as he bursts through the front door and closes it behind. He's holding a big plastic box. He brings it across the room to the open kitchen and sets it there, lifting the lid and the bread to place it on the counter. I slap the cutting board and the bread knife next to him. He takes one of the loaves and slices it through. We're silent as we arrange our dinner. He flicks on the news, and we take our dinner to the couch and sit side by side. The magazines and my underwear are still piled on the coffee table where we now put our feet as we stretch out to enjoy our meal.

"Bread's good," he says, chewing away.

"Yeah," I whisper. My elbow nudges his as I take a bite. Then I realize he's nudging me on purpose. I look at him, and he kisses me, and it's kind of sloppy, with some bread crumbs but so right.

It's just so right.