Chapter 56
Saturday, April 6, 2013 – Day 169
I wake up to the feel of gentle fingers on my cheek, and I smile as I realize it's Saturday, and Edward and I can spend the day doing whatever we want. Now that it's April, it's getting warmer, and we really should— And then it hits me—today is April the sixth. The day my mother died. I haven't had a thought about it in … months. Not since Christmas. Not since the last time I felt a pang of guilt for not telling Edward. Everything's been going so well for him, and we've been so focused on the future. I haven't thought about my own past in ages. But today, I will. I have no choice, really. But for the first time in four years, I'm not going to do it alone.
I know the smile has frozen on my face, but I pause and take a deep breath, knowing I won't be able to hide what's in my eyes. I open them slowly to find worried green staring back at me from under a deeply furrowed brow.
"Bella? What is it? You woke up and then … something changed."
Damn, he's good. We're so in tune with each other now, our bodies in balance and harmony with each other. I've disturbed the calm, and the little waves are rippling outward … but this isn't a breeze, it's a gale. "I … remembered what day it is," I say slowly, searching his eyes. God, I hope he'll understand.
He rolls on his side to face me and brings his hand back to my cheek. "It's Saturday."
"It's April the sixth. I … need you to do something with me today. Say you will," I beg, my voice quavering.
Now he sits up, and there's alarm in his eyes. "Of course, I will. Bella, what's going on?"
I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to just have out with it. It's long overdue, and I need his support. If he's angry, I'll just have to suck it up and deal because it's my own stupid fault. All of it's my fault. "I … need … to go see … my mother."
His sharp intake of breath sounds like a cannon in my ears, and there's no noise after that, so I know he's frozen and staring at me. "Your mother," he breathes, shocked, shaken, but still I can't look at him. I can't bear to see pain or betrayal in his eyes because on top of everything else I'm feeling right now, I'll shatter.
"Bella, where is your mother?"
A question! A question I can answer—it's short and simple, and two words will explain everything. "Calvary Cemetery."
This time he gasps, and my eyes fly open as he gathers me into his arms, but I bury my head in his chest. "Oh, God, I thought—I mean, I just assumed … when?"
It takes me a minute to swallow past the lump in my throat. "Four years ago … today."
His arms tighten around me, but I have no tears to cry. I'm numb, and I don't want to be in this day. I hold this back always, always, and today is the only day I truly let myself feel it, but I don't want to feel it today. I don't want to burden him with it, even if I should. Even if I should have done it long ago. He's had enough, and he doesn't need any more.
"Edward, I'm so sorry. I know this is a shock, but I don't … let myself think about this anymore. It's over and done with, and it only gets to me on this one day and—"
"Bella, it's okay," he soothes, trailing kisses along my jaw. I lean into them. "I know what it's like to not want to talk about things. I could teach a master class."
I snort and nuzzle under his neck, and he relaxes a little underneath me and rubs circles on my back.
"I'll go to the cemetery with you. And you don't need to tell me anything more—I know how hard it can be when you're in the moment. I'm here, whatever you need, okay?"
Finally, I muster the courage to look at him, and his gaze is warm and tender. If there was hurt there, he's managed to hide it, and for the first and probably only time in our relationship, I'm grateful for that. I feel like complete and total crap because there's so much I should tell him, but for now, I take the easy way out.
We get up and have our breakfast, and Edward watches me thoughtfully. It's so rare for me to have anything on my mind that I don't just tell him. It feels … uncomfortable. As if I'm hurting him somehow, even though he said it was okay. I push the thought away; this is all in the past, there's no point to reliving it. It's over. "Can we go right after breakfast? I want to do this and then …" I have no idea how to finish that sentence because I don't know what I'll do then. The last three years I've spent this day wallowing in misery and drinking myself blind to dull the pain. Today will be quite a bit different.
"Of course, we can," Edward says, covering my hand with his own and looking deeply into my eyes. I can see the questions burning there, but he doesn't voice them, and it reminds me of myself not so many months ago. Touché, Mr. Masen. It appears we've come full circle.
We ride through downtown Seattle, and I stare out the window. I let Edward drive this morning. He's thrilled to be behind the wheel again after so many months without—just one more step on his road to complete recovery and independence.
We drive past University of Washington Medical Center, and I don't think of the countless times I've brought Edward here since November or all the days I've driven in to work—I think of the day I drove here blinded by tears to claim my mother's body, too late to say goodbye. Too late to say anything that needed to be said. I hug my arms tighter around myself, and Edward squeezes my knee, his warm green eyes seeking me out and holding nothing but comfort. I don't deserve his comfort today. I'm guilty. Guilty of doing to my own flesh and blood what I wouldn't let Edward do to himself. What I can't stand to let anyone do, if I can help it.
As he turns into the cemetery, I direct him to make the first left and pull over to the side of the little road. I buried Mom here, in the section dedicated to Saint Raphael. He's the patron saint of people who need healing for their bodies, minds, or spirits and of the people who care for them—doctors, nurses, and counselors like me. I chose it because Mom fell into the former category, and I fell into the latter, but I realized later that because of her, I fall into both. I chose better than I could have ever imagined.
Edward puts the car into park and glances over at me, but I'm frozen. I can see the gravestone from here, and I don't want to go any closer, but I have to. I have to give her today what I couldn't four years ago; I've promised myself that I will forever more. I swallow thickly. "Sweetheart, can you please wait here? I just … need a few minutes."
His brow furrows slightly, and for a second, I wonder if it's hurt I see in his eyes, but it vanishes as he gives me a sympathetic smile. "Of course. I'll be right here."
I stare into the eyes of the man I love, and my heart clenches as I realize he is too good for me, too pure. He's come through hell and burned away all the bad things from his past, yet I still carry mine, and do their penance. He deserves better.
I shake my head and push my door open, forcing my legs to carry me from the car to the gravestone I chose. It's simple—rectangular with a small rise at the top, ivy etched into the sides. "Renee Evalyn Dwyer, beloved wife and mother." I don't even know the man whose last name she took to the grave. They married and divorced during a period when I didn't see her. But she kept his name, so maybe she really did care about him. More than she did about me. At least, more than I believed she cared about me.
I must have fallen to my knees because, suddenly, I'm enveloped in soft but strong arms and my shins are cold against the frozen ground.
"Bella, are you all right?" Edward asks, his warm breath washing over me, but it's not enough to calm me. Not enough to help me contain the grief and the guilt and the need for him to understand.
I tuck my head against his chest, squeeze my eyes shut, and the words just pour from my mouth like a monsoon, built up over so much time.
"She left when I was six, but that wasn't the end. She stayed away until I was twelve, then one day, she turned up on the doorstep. She brought me presents and said she wanted me to live with her. I was thrilled, but after a few days, Dad sent her away. I didn't know why, and I was angry with him for months.
"She came back the following Christmas, but she was too happy, too excited. Dad told me she was high. I wanted so much just to have her in my life, but she and Dad argued, and she went away again. When I was fifteen, she came back clean. Asked Dad to give her another chance, and she moved in with us for six months. On Christmas Eve, she came home high, and it started a cycle that ran for the next three years—she'd use until Dad caught her, then she'd run off for a few months, then she'd come back all clean with presents for me again, and the cycle would start over—until finally, on the last Christmas, she brought a man home with her and Dad kicked her out.
"She made me so many promises over those years. So many times, she said she'd stay clean—that she loved me and Dad, that she'd always be there for me. But she wasn't. She ruined so many Christmases, she was too high to come to my high school graduation, and it just went on and on and on. But I always gave her a chance. Again and again, through my early twenties, she came back, and I'd let her in, only to be hurt and betrayed.
"And then I did my master's in psychology, and I started therapy for myself. I learned what I was enabling, and how to stop it. I learned that after so many years, my only option was to save myself. And I did."
I pause, feeling myself beginning to shake, and Edward just holds on to me tighter. "F-f-five years ago, she came back again, after being out of my life for three whole years. She was … calm. She said she was clean, and she wanted to start over with me. That things were different, and she'd seen the error of her ways. But I'd heard it all before. Things were never different with her, and I always ended up hurt and betrayed. So, for the f-first t-time in my l-life, I t-told her no. I told h-her how much she h-hurt me, and that I never wanted to see her again. I t-told her I c-couldn't forgive her. She cried, but she s-said she understood, and she went away."
"Oh, Bella—"
I squeeze Edward's arms, shaking like a leaf now, and I feel his warmth against me. And I cry. I cry so hard, but I force the words out over my tears. "That w-was the last t-time I saw her. She—she was dying. P-pancreatic cancer—she was clean, and she wanted to m-make peace with me, but she never told me she was sick. She wanted me to let her in, but not b-because she was dying. Because I loved her. And I didn't do it. She died alone, Edward! She d-died in that hospital all alone because I was too stubborn and too stupid to see that she'd changed. She had n-no one because I turned my back on her. I made her die alone!"
I hear Edward's gasp as I dissolve into a mass of wailing, keening misery, and he rocks me back and forth as he rubs my back, murmuring that it's going to be okay. I cry for ages, locked in my own hell, but the feel of Edward's tears against my temple and the quaver in his voice as he comforts me bring me back to myself. He's crying for me. He's crying with me, and I just feel worse because I don't deserve this amazing gift I've been given.
Finally, my tears abate, and I pull Edward as close to me as I can. I bury my nose in his newly-grown hair, and I thank God for him, even if I don't deserve him. He senses the change in me, and he cocks his head down, trying to meet my eyes. I close them and bite my lip for a moment, but I know I have to let him ask me the things he needs to, so finally, I raise my eyes to his.
Now, there is hurt there, and although it twists my heart, I understand it.
"This is why you do what you do—befriend patients who are alone and dying. Bella, why? Why didn't you tell me?"
I sigh and smile at him through my tears. "You had enough to carry. I couldn't add to it. Not when you were struggling and fighting so hard to save your own life."
Edward drops his chin and sighs in exasperation. "Well, we're done with that now. Now, I'll carry this with you—hell, I'll carry it for you. Oh, God, Bella, what did I put you through? Pushing you away, almost making you watch me die alone—Jesus! I'm so fucking sorry!"
He rakes a hand through his hair, his expression distraught.
"No, Edward," I say, reaching up and capturing his hand. "You were fighting your own battle, and I couldn't let what I've done affect that."
"What you've done? Don't tell me you actually believe you're guilty of something?"
I raise my eyes, and he flinches back as if I've slapped him. "Oh, honey, no! Your mom spent a lifetime teaching you not to trust her! She gave you no reason to believe her when she came to you, and she didn't tell you she was sick. How could you have possibly known? She died alone because of the choices she made, not because of you."
"N-no. She tried to make it right and I-I—"
"No, Bella. Just no," Edward says angrily. "What happened to her was horrible, but it wasn't your fault. She knew she'd pushed you too far—that's why she didn't tell you she was sick. I bet she didn't feel she deserved to have you back in her life."
"But I had so much to tell her! I never thought that would be the end! The last thing I told her was she didn't deserve my love. I was angry! I never thought that would be the last thing—" I dissolve into tears again, and Edward holds me tight as I listen to his heart thrumming under my ear. The strong, steady beat calms me again, and I lie there, spent.
"You're doing penance, aren't you?" he whispers, laying a soft kiss on my forehead. "You befriend those who are dying alone to try to make up for what you didn't do for your mom."
I can't speak around the lump in my throat, so I just nod against his chest.
"Bella, you saved me. If your mom hadn't died the way she did, you never would have come to me, and I would have died alone and terrified in the hospital. What happened with your mom was horrible, but it put you on the path to find me, to change both our lives and give us what we have now. Maybe … it was supposed to happen that way. Maybe she gave you … me."
I never thought about it that way. Edward's right—if it weren't for what happened with my mom, I never would have come to talk to him. All those others I befriended would have died alone, and Edward would have died and not been cured. He would have suffered the same fate as my mother did. Of course, she couldn't have known, but could fate … Could this have all happened for a reason? To bring Edward and me together?
"You can stop now, Bella. Not only did you keep me from dying alone, you helped me not to die at all. You've repaid the debt you think you owed—a life for a life. You lost your mom, but you saved me."
He lifts my chin, and my eyes snap to his, mesmerized. There's so much love and warmth and passion there—I can see the rest of my life in those brilliant green eyes, and it's happy and fulfilling. Maybe I have paid my debt, and I can stop now. Maybe, I can stop trying to make up for what I lost and move forward with what's been given to me by the incredibly strong, amazing man in front of me. Maybe.
Edward curls me tighter against him. "The ground is cold. Are you ready to go home now?"
I rest my head against his chest and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to sort through pain and loss and love and redemption, until my very soul seems to suddenly become quiet. I listen to the steady thrum of Edward's heart—the heart that would no longer be beating if it weren't for me—and I feel … peaceful. Maybe, he's right. Maybe, we saved each other.
"Let's go," I whisper, and he gathers me into his arms and makes to stand. "No—" I start to wriggle out of his grip but he silences me with a stern look.
"Let me take care of you."
His gaze brooks no argument, but there's a softness to it too. He really wants to do this. I snuggle against him and hold on tight as he lifts me up and carries me to the car. He's a little out of breath when we get there, but no more so than I would expect any man to be, and it makes me smile. He really is whole and well again.
He gets me settled in my seat, and after he closes my door, I put my hand to the window, as if on top of the little gravestone I can still clearly see. "Thanks, Mom," I whisper as Edward gets in, and we slowly drive away.
The ride home is quiet, and I can feel Edward's eyes on me, his brow furrowed in concern. But I'm not as upset anymore, I'm just … sad. No matter whose fault it is, and no matter how much of a fuck up she was, I still miss my mom, and I wish things could be different. But if she were here, then Edward wouldn't be. I glance over at him, all wild bronze hair and fuzzy stubble and long artist's fingers curling around the steering wheel. I wish things could be different, but if I had to trade, I know I couldn't let go of Edward. Not even for her.
Edward keeps a protective arm around my waist all the way up to the apartment, and once we're inside, he pulls me back toward the bedroom.
"You look tired. Let's cuddle," he says, turning me around and coaxing me to sit, then kneeling down to take my shoes off. I run my fingers into his hair, and he sighs—it's still shorter than it was when I first met him but long enough that I can curl it around my fingers. He peers up at me from under his lashes, his green eyes warm with concern. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I think I am. I'm just tired from crying so much." And I realize it really is true. This will always be a sad day, but now, I'll always wonder if Edward was somehow her gift to me—to take care of me and love me in the ways she couldn't.
Edward circles around to his side of the bed, and I hear two muffled thumps and feel the bed dip beside me. Soft hands pull me backward, and he lays me on my stomach, then he curls up next to me and begins gently rubbing my back. I dream of fields of green, awash in sunlight and swaying in the breeze.
I wake up alone sometime later, and although I remember what day it is, all I can think about is the sweet man who held me through my tears then carried me to the car. We're past the point where I worry that something bad has happened when I wake and Edward isn't beside me, but I'm surprised he isn't still napping with me. Maybe he didn't sleep at all?
Rubbing a hand over my face, I yawn and head toward the sound of soft music coming from the living room. I freeze when I get to the end of the hallway, drinking in the glorious sight before me.
Edward is in the kitchen, grooving to the beat of the music as he whirls around the small space, cooking. Once he recovered enough from his bout of graft-versus-host disease to be interested in food again, I assessed his skills in the kitchen and found them lacking. Well, nonexistent is more like it. So, I slowly began teaching him the basics. He's surprised me by starting dinner a few times now, but whatever he's got going at the moment is way beyond that.
He dances back and forth, poking at this and stirring that, with Sebastian at his feet, weaving between his legs as he moves. I grin as I look at the pots to try to figure out what he's making, but my eyes are drawn to Edward as he suddenly wiggles his ass in time to the music. It's hotter than fuck because his jeans are hugging him just right, but it's so freaking cute—I don't know whether to jump him, hug him, or laugh my ass off.
Laughing my ass off wins because, as he spins to open the fridge, I realize he's wearing my "Kiss the Cook" apron, big red lips and all. He stops mid-motion as I clap a hand over my mouth, his foot poised in mid-air with Sebastian underneath as they both stare at me, wide-eyed. The blush that roars up Edward's cheeks is furious, but when he drops his chin and gives me that shy smile, I fly across the room and into his arms.
I can feel the heat in his cheeks as he kisses me, and it makes me giggle, and he pulls his chin down and away, still blushing and grinning. As I look up into his laughing eyes, I can't help but run my hand up the back of his neck and pull him close again, kissing him for real this time as heat blooms in my belly. We both jump as the timer on the microwave beeps, and Edward pulls back, glancing at the stove.
"What have you been doing? I thought we were taking a nap?"
"Well, we were," Edward says a little nervously. "But I woke up and I was hungry—we skipped lunch, you know—but you were still sleeping so peacefully that I didn't want to disturb you. So … I thought I would make us an early dinner."
My brow furrows, and he blushes again. "Well, not make exactly. I kind of thawed out some of your bolognese sauce, so all I really needed to do was boil the pasta, but I am making my own garlic bread!" he says triumphantly, gesturing toward the counter where he was preparing to chop garlic.
I chuckle and shake my head, but I'm grinning from ear to ear. "Aww, sweetheart, you didn't have to do all this."
He steps close again and wraps his arms around my waist, gazing down into my eyes with love and adoration. "I just wanted to take care of you. You've spent so much time taking care of me. I wanted today to be my turn."
Warmth floods my chest as I gaze up at him, realizing for the first time he really can take care of me now. I can lean on him just as he's leaned on me; we can be there for each other. "Okay, sweetheart, you keep doing what you're doing, and I'll just stay out of your way."
"I've got a better idea," Edward says, turning to the cupboard and pulling out a wine glass.
I shake my head, but his pouty lip stills me.
"Come on, I know you like wine. And I don't mind. I don't miss it that much; I was only a social drinker anyway."
We always have wine around the apartment for when we have guests—which is fairly often because Edward still isn't comfortable in crowded places—but I never have any because he can't. He pushes his lip out further, and I give in, smirking at him.
"There's my girl. And chianti goes well with red sauce."
I raise my eyebrows, and he narrows his eyes at me, but he can't hide his grin. "I know stuff. Red sauce, red wine—it's color-coded."
I laugh out loud, and he turns his back on me under the pretense of opening the wine, but I really think it's to hide the blush I can see on the back of his neck. I wonder if he knows he can't really hide it.
Wrapping my arms around him from behind, I stand on my tip-toes to kiss the heat just above his shirt collar. "Of course, you know stuff, particularly when it comes to color, but food and wine are not color-coded," I tell him, unable to keep the laughter out of my voice.
"Believe what you want," he says, glancing over his shoulder. "Chicken is white and you serve it with white wine. See? Color-coded."
I realize I'm not going to win this one, so I take the glass from him and set it down as he turns in my arms. "Okay, you win. It's color-coded just for you."
He sticks his tongue out at me but I swallow it with my kiss, my arms curling around his shoulders as his fingers plunge into my hair. He moans against my lips, but the damn microwave beep stills him mid-grind.
"I don't want to burn the first dinner I've ever made for you, so why don't we continue this later?" he suggests, winking at me.
"All right, all right," I whine, but I can't keep the smile off my face as I disentangle my fingers from his hair. "You owe me, though."
"More than I can ever repay." I catch his soft whisper, but before I can pull him close, he's turned toward the microwave. "Fine. I owe you," he says more loudly, and I know his first response wasn't intended for my ears. "Now take your wine and get out of my kitchen. Some of us are trying to chef here."
I chuckle, still just standing there, but he raises his eyebrows at me and makes shooing motions until I scoop up my glass and retreat to the kitchen table.
Watching Edward cook is hilarious, but it's so damn endearing that I can't laugh out loud at him, not wanting to hurt his feelings. But it's obvious he's never done most of what he's doing before; his motions are awkward and stilted. He's learning, though, and watching him enjoy the simple things in life is just the balm I needed to soothe my weary soul today.
My thoughts stray back to my mom for a moment, and for the first time, I don't feel the wave of crushing guilt that usually comes with any thoughts of her. The pain is still there, but it feels more like the ache of loss than the bitter stab of regret, and my subconscious helpfully supplies a vision of her sending Edward to find me and take care of me. My eyes well up a bit, but the thought of my mom as my guardian angel makes me smile through my tears. Maybe now, I can truly grieve for her instead of wrestling with her ghost.
I startle as Edward sets a steaming pile of angel hair drowning in bolognese sauce down in front of me with a piece of garlic bread perched on the side of the plate. It smells amazing. Then I remember I made the sauce, so I already know how fantastic it's going to taste, but the apprehensive look on Edward's face as he sits down across from me tells me he thinks this is all on him. Time to play with him just a little bit.
Giving him a grateful smile as I pick up my fork, I twirl some pasta around it and pop it into my mouth. I make a show of swallowing then quickly take a large gulp of my wine. Through the glass, I see Edward's face fall, and by the time I set it down, he's staring forlornly at his own plate. Like a child playing hide and seek, I can't hold in my giggle, and his head snaps up, his eyes narrowing and his frown morphing into a murderous scowl.
"You are an evil, evil woman, Miss Swan. Playing with a man's honor like that. It's just … Well, it's just downright mean."
I truly begin laughing then, and although Edward's still trying to melt me with his death glare, his lips are turning up at the corners.
"Oh, sweetheart, of course it tastes wonderful! You're just such an easy mark sometimes that I can't resist."
There goes that blush again as he glances down at his plate, trying to hide his smile. But his eyes shoot right back up to me. "It's good, really?"
"Yes, it's delicious. You cooked the pasta just the way I like it," I say, stroking his newborn culinary ego. Never mind the fact that all he did was boil water and heat up my sauce—this is important to him! And ridiculously cute, to boot!
"Did you try the garlic bread?"
I try to hide my grin as I shift my eyes to my bread, but he sees right through me. "No fucking around this time. I mean it. My pride can only stand so much."
Covering his hand with mine, I take a bite of his homemade garlic bread and am pleasantly surprised by its tastiness—he had to have added something other than just garlic and butter to achieve this flavor.
Expectant green eyes are probing me, and I can't help but crack a smile. "Mmm, this is fantastic! What did you add to it other than garlic and butter?"
Edward's smile could power a third world country. "I … am not telling," he answers, the smugness rolling off him in waves. "Maybe someday, I'll tell you, if you're very, very good."
I chuckle, but I'm not going to bite on that one. I'm actually hungry, and I want to finish this meal, not end up on the floor next to the kitchen table. "Well, I guess I'll just have to be very good then," I tell him, giving him a seductive smile as I pick up my fork.
He snorts and shakes his head, but he doesn't rise from his seat—he must be hungry too—and we may have made love in this very room not twenty-four hours ago. Now that Edward's well, he's proving to have quite a bit of stamina and creativity in the love department. As I glance around the loft, I realize there are very few surfaces he hasn't had me on. I blush, and the heat seems to go down instead of up, so I steal a glance at Edward, but he's busy eating his pasta. Oh, right. Dinner.
We eat in silence for a few moments, then Edward seems to turn thoughtful, playing with his food more than eating it. "What is it?" I ask softly.
He glances up, and the words tumble out of his mouth. "Paul from Flatcolor called while you were sleeping."
Flatcolor is an art gallery a few blocks from here, but it happens to be one of the most sought after exhibition galleries in Seattle. Edward has been contacting galleries and sending out samples of his portfolio over the last few weeks, but he hasn't received any callbacks yet. I keep telling him they're just busy, but I can see his hope dwindling as the days go by. But right now, he's beaming and barely containing his excitement. "And?"
"And he wants me to bring my portfolio by next week."
I vault out of my chair and nearly knock him over sideways as I throw my arms around him. "Sweetheart, that's fantastic! I'm so excited for you! Oh, my God, a gallery show! This is what you've been waiting for!"
"Well, I don't have a show yet, but Jasper said they don't call you back unless they're really interested," Edward clarifies, but he's grinning like he's just been handed the Nobel Prize.
"Jasper? Wait, am I the last person to know about this?" How long was I asleep? Two hours, maybe?
"Well … no," Edward says sheepishly, ducking his chin and turning a delightful shade of red. "I mean, I didn't call my mom or anything. But I just had to call Jazz right away. You were asleep, and he's in the business with me …"
"… and he's your best friend. I get it. I was just wondering what else went on during my two-hour nap," I say playfully.
I make to let him go, but Edward rests his hands on my arms and scoots his chair out a bit. Then he grabs my leg behind my knee, and I straddle him, catching on quickly. The minute I'm settled on his lap, I take his face between my hands and kiss him thoroughly, my tongue plunging into his mouth and taking all he has to give, over and over. While I'm devouring him, I press my scorching hot center against his very prominent arousal.
Edward tears his lips from mine, panting. "I missed you terribly, that's what went on."
"Mmm, yes … I can feel that you did," I say, rolling my hips against him until I'm rewarded with a moan so erotic my belly twinges almost painfully.
"I'm really sorry I told Jazz first. I was just so excited, and I knew you needed some downtime after the morning you had," Edward says, nuzzling his nose under my chin so he can lay open-mouthed kisses on my neck.
"Ungh, I think I know how you can make it up to me," I pant out, lifting my chin to give him better access as the fire spreads from his lips to my every nerve ending.
We make love on the floor right beside the kitchen table, and it's sweet and playful. Edward's excitement is contagious, and we laugh and tease until my orgasm demands our attention, and his follows soon afterward.
He's still trying to catch his breath as he lays his head on his arm beside me. "Well, that was a spot we hadn't christened before."
I raise my head and smirk at him. "Are you sure? I could have sworn—"
"Nope, I'm totally sure," he states, his green eyes twinkling at me. "We made love right there." He points two feet to our right. "But definitely not right here."
"Please don't tell me you have a map of the floor somewhere, and this was just another achievement in your little game."
"Of course not! But next time I have to come over to your chair because—ow!" He jerks away, rubbing his chest where he just received a sound twacking, but I grasp his chin and pull him back to me, kissing him soundly. He really is too cute for words, so sometimes I just have to show him instead.
When he finally pulls away, he's flushed and winded again, but he's grinning from ear to ear. "Why don't we watch a movie? Let's just put away the leftovers and curl up on the couch. I'll do the dishes later."
I honestly can't think of a more perfect way to spend the rest of our evening, so I just nod in agreement as he pulls me to my feet.
We put away the leftovers together, and Edward smirks as he puts away the garlic bread. I just shake my head and smile. A blowjob should be enough to weasel that particular secret out of him, but I'll let him think he has the upper hand for now.
I go into the living room to choose a movie, and Edward doesn't follow, but I grin when I hear popping coming from the kitchen. Watching a movie without popcorn is sacrilege, even if we just finished dinner. But I remember the days when he'd eat three bites of something and tell me he couldn't manage any more. It just lights me up every time I see him eating as a guy in his twenties should.
He rounds the corner humming to himself, bowl of popcorn in one hand and bag of Raisinets in the other, Sebastian following him like the second car in a parade. I can't help the laugh that bursts out of me—pure joy and giddiness over what I've been given—but Edward doesn't miss a beat. He plops down on the couch before he realizes I'm laughing at him and raises his eyebrows. "What?"
"Nothing. This is just turning out to be a better day than I thought it would be," I admit as I sit down next to him and lay my head on his shoulder.
"Then everything's going according to plan," he whispers, kissing the top of my forehead as he presses play.
We snuggle and laugh, feeding each other Raisinets and popcorn until I think I'm going to burst, but somehow, he keeps munching long after I've stopped. And for the rest of the day, every time I get lost in my own thoughts, he's right there—acting silly and making me laugh, drawing me into some engaging conversation, or just kissing me until I forget I have any purpose on this planet other than to be molded to his lips.
Nothing we do is out of the ordinary, but he's somehow made it a perfect day spent together, a happy memory to lay against all the sad ones I have from growing up. And I just know Edward will never let this day pass without making it special for me, and reminding me that if it weren't for Renee, we both would have been lost.
When we finally climb into bed after another round of lovemaking on the couch, he maneuvers us until he's spooning behind me, his legs entwined in mine and his arm tucked around my waist. I relax back into his chest, and as his warm breath tickles my neck, all my worries, past and present, just fall away. I'll never know for sure if my mom sent Edward to me, or if I would have somehow gotten here on my own, but one thing is certain: no matter how I got here, this is where I belong.
A/N: So now Edward knows and there are no secrets between them. Edward understands; I hope you do too. Pictures in Shadow Fics this morning, and the last chapter of Come Back Tomorrow will post on Thursday.
Music for Chapter 57: Beautiful by Trading Yesterday and Marry Me by Train. Because both are utterly perfect for this chapter and I couldn't choose just one. The links can be found in the Come Back Tomorrow playlist on YouTube and in Shadow Fics.
