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BAG BOY
CHAPTER 15
CougarCougarCougarCougarCougarCougarCougarCougar
I missed the way he carried my groceries, and I detested that boy, James, who tried to take his place.
I missed his music station playing in my car.
I missed his toothbrush hanging in the stand next to mine.
I missed the disheveled end-of-workday Edward showing up on my doorstep, tie askew, hair a mess, sleeves rolled up past his elbows.
I missed cooking dinner for him. I missed watching him wolf down a big bowl of ice cream and then hold his head and moan. I missed buying him Coke.
I missed the way he brewed our coffee every morning in his tighty whities.
I missed his kisses and his smiles and his laughter and his blushes.
I missed his warm body moving over mine, spooning me while we slept, touching me everywhere I needed to be touched.
I missed his insta-hard-on and inhuman recovery time.
I missed his superhero movies and Netflix series. I missed sharing a bowl of popcorn with him on the couch.
I missed the way he peeled off my clothes as if he were unveiling a precious work of art. I missed being wanted the way only Edward had wanted me.
I missed his arms and his shoulders and all the places I loved to touch him to make him shiver.
I missed his strength and his beauty and his youth.
I missed my cub. I missed my friend. I missed my partner.
I missed the way he challenged my beliefs and called me on my shit. I missed who I was when we were together.
Bagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboy
Cal State Bakersfield was not Syracuse, not by a longshot, but that was cool. I planned to make the most of this second chance. I had a roommate, kid named Mike from outside of Seattle. Seemed destined to end up in the family hardware business, but he was here for the diploma and the education. I could respect that . . . though the kid was about the most boring human being I'd ever met. He actually repelled girls. Made the perfect roommate for me, once he got over his disappointment that I wasn't gonna be his wingman.
On a whim, I'd signed up for a class in nutrition. Figured I'd already learned a bunch about vegetables, thanks to Bella, and maybe it would be an easy A. Wouldn't you know it? I end up fucking loving the class. My class was almost all women. Back in my pre-Bella days, I would've enrolled for the odds alone.
Now? I was relaxed, content. That pressure to go out and be social and do, do, do had simply left me. I watched my peers spin their wheels at night and drag their tired asses into class the next day. I didn't fault them for it, but I sure as shit didn't miss the partying or the hangovers or the pillow parade.
Bella kept her word—no surprise there—and only messaged me the two times I messaged her first: the first night away and during a moment of weakness when Dining Services offered blueberry pie for dessert.
I thought of her often, but the rules she'd laid out for conversation were so restrictive, I found not speaking at all easier than holding back just about everything I wanted to say. I guess part of me worried she might have moved on, and I didn't want to risk hearing that in her voice either. One boozy night had me fighting with my self-restraint, but I won out over the urge to drunk text her. Bella was not the type to be impressed by such a sloppy display.
My life was, as Bella had put it, zero drama, and that turned out to be a pretty good thing. I'd become quite friendly with several of the women in my nutrition class, and we hung out on the weekends. They teased that I was "one of the girls," and I think they not so secretly suspected I was gay. I kept my head down and finished my assignments on time and found—lo and behold—school was manageable when I stayed on top of my work.
Valentine's Day came and went, and St. Patrick's Day turned the whole campus green. I watched the holiday markers from the sidelines like a spectator at a swim meet: I recognized the customs from years of practice, but I had no desire to compete. As the calendar marched toward April break, I found myself growing anxious about going home.
I wanted to see Bella, but I had no idea how that would go. Would she want to see me? Would we be back at the game-playing stage? Was I willing to settle for the giant step backward if that's all she had to offer me? What if she didn't want me at all?
I decided I wouldn't go out of my way to let her know I was coming home. It hurt my heart to think I might not see her, but it was easier that way. If Bella cared, the lady who'd insisted on knowing my work schedule at Nature's Bounty would have had no problem tracking my school calendar online.
There were at least two people who were very excited for my upcoming vacation though Dad's eagerness to see me was tempered by his need to make sure I used "this valuable time at home" to secure my summer employment. Mom was all about baking up a storm and spoiling me with all my home-cooked favorites while I was there. She'd made her last run to the store this morning to pick up the freshest ingredients for her Nonni's Marinara and made sure to let me know, lest I change my mind about coming home.
"The sauce is already simmering on the stovetop. You should start smelling the garlic around Santa Clarita."
"I'm sure the neighbors appreciate that," I replied, my smile cracking into my cheeks as the three of us shared a laugh on the phone—me on my cell, Mom and Dad at their usual, separate extensions in the house.
"Drive safe," Dad said. "There's plenty of beer waiting for you in the fridge. No need to pre-game."
"Oh, Carlisle. No need to be a noodge. Edward's way too smart to drink and drive."
"Thanks, M—"
"And just so you know, dear, I made plenty of pasta . . . if you want to invite that mysterious girl from work."
Dad huffed into the phone. "Now, who's being a noodge?"
"I just want him to know his lady friend is always welcome."
"Let the boy have his space, Es. He's not even home, and already you're hovering."
"Oh, honestly, Carlisle!"
I put them on speaker and tossed my phone onto the bed. They bantered back and forth while I threw shirts and shorts and underwear from my drawers into the waiting duffel bag. It took them a good five minutes before either of them realized I hadn't spoken.
"Edward, are you there? Edward? Oh dear, I think we lost our connection."
"He probably hung up," Dad suggested.
"Now, why on earth would you say a thing like that?"
"Well, it's no wonder, the way you keep going on about the girl. We don't even know if they're still together. It's been three months since he left for school, for heaven's sake. Anything can happen in three months. Have you heard him mention her even once since he left for school?"
"Well, no, but—"
"Did you ever consider it might be a touchy subject?"
"Edward's not like that. Not with me."
I picked up the phone with a sigh. "Um, I'm still here."
"See? I told you! As if Edward would hang up on his mother."
Dad responded with a loud sigh.
"And thanks for the generous invitation, Mom, but it'll just be me for dinner tonight."
"And we'll be thrilled to have you," Mom said. "Speaking of which, what time should we expect you?" Parental translation: What time should we start worrying?
"I have my Fin 2 seminar from two to three, and I'll hop on the road right after that. Should be home by 4:30 if I don't hit traffic."
Dad started in on his one-man Waze routine. "If you don't hit traffic? On a Friday afternoon? We better not see you before five!" The crazies-on-the-road speech was coming next; as long as I'd been gone, I could still recite that lecture word for word.
"Yeah, okay. Got it. Gotta run. See you at 5:01."
My finance T.A. droned on and on, filling the hour right up to its last gasp. I felt a bright burst of relief when I finally stepped outside the classroom, but the lightness at leaving my classes behind for a week dimmed as I started my Volvo and faded with each mile closer to home. The tension thickened like a gathering storm outside my car. By the time I pulled into the driveway, my stomach was tied into knots, and I wasn't sure even Mom's spaghetti would be able to brave the journey.
I shouldn't have doubted the healing power of Mom's marinara and cheesy garlic bread. Three bites in, the warmth of home began spreading from my belly outward. Conversation flowed easily at our dinner table, and I felt my parents' genuine respect as I shared my passion for my nutrition class.
"Well, I think it's brilliant," my father said. "Nutrition is a hot field right now. Matter of fact, the hospital just brought in a whole team to consult with every department from oncology to pediatrics. Even mental health! I'm telling you, get your Master's, and you can write your own ticket."
"Master's! Carlisle, are you listening to yourself?"
"No, that's cool. To be honest, I haven't really started to explore careers in nutrition. I appreciate the insights."
"What about studying to be a chef!" From the starry-eyed look in my mom's eyes, I'd say she was standing in the middle of my future five-star restaurant, being interviewed by the food reporter from the LA Times. "And when did you know your son would become a celebrity chef?"
"Maybe? Like I said, I'm not ruling anything out at this point."
"Smart. Keep your options open," Dad said, nodding.
What a difference to be welcomed home this time as a conquering hero, not the fuckup crawling home with his tail between his legs.
"More garlic bread, dear?"
"No thanks, Mom. I'm stuffed."
"Yes, you will be . . . very, very soon."
"Promises, promises."
Bella. So close. So much harder to resist. Hell, why was I holding back? What did I have to lose? If she was with someone else, wasn't it better to find out now?
"Speaking of careers"—Dad trapped some spaghetti under his fork and twirled—"any thoughts on a summer job?"
"Actually, I was hoping I could give myself a day or two to relax before I hit the pavement."
"Sure, sure," he seemed to agree, "but while you're relaxing, your competition is out getting a jump on all the best jobs."
I set down my fork. So much for the hero's welcome. "Yeah, I hear you."
"Oh!" Mom clapped her hands together. "Speaking of employers, Mr. Banner says to be sure to go down to the store and say hello while you're home."
"You told him I was home?"
"It's not as if I called him up to tell him! He saw me in the store, and of course he came over to ask about you. We got to talking . . ." Of course they did.
"See there?" Dad said. "Your mother has just secured your first summer job offer."
"Dad, I really don't want to go the bag boy route again."
"No?"
"It's kind of soul crushing. Not to sound ungrateful or anything; bagging was a fine job last year. I just . . . think I'd rather try for something more stimulating." More intellectually stimulating, anyway.
"Fair enough. Well, the man obviously likes you, and smart managers keep good people. Maybe you could talk to him about a different kind of job working directly with food if that's something you'd like to explore. If he doesn't have something for you, I'm sure he'd pass along your resume."
Parental translation: You will spend the next two days writing your resume.
"Actually, that's not a bad idea."
Dad gave me a grin. "Why, thank you, son. Glad I can be useful every once in a blue moon."
"I'll go down there and chat with him on Monday."
"Good, good." My promise seemed to satisfy his standards for the moment, and he tucked into his next meatball, effectively passing the baton to Mom.
"Say, Edward, I ran into someone else you know while I was at the store today."
"Lemme guess—Coach Wilcox?" My high school swim coach would have talked my mom's ear off—and vice versa.
"No, this was a woman. Said her name was Bella . . . Gosling, maybe?" Gulp. "No wait . . . it was Swan. Bella Swan. Very pretty girl, nice figure. Just your father's type, actually—if your dad were ten years younger."
Try twenty-five years.
"I think I'm insulted," said my dad. And I think I'm going to vomit.
"She's that lady you did a few odd jobs for last year, painting and such, right?"
Despite every nerve in my body jumping at once, I calmly turned my head toward my mother. "Yep."
"She said you were a real godsend, that she'd really let some of the home maintenance slide after her divorce."
"Mmhmm." Home maintenance, my ass.
Dad piped up, causing my head to ping-pong toward him, as if I weren't already dizzy. "And how did you meet this very pretty divorcée who's too young for me?"
"Oh. Mr. Banner sent me on a delivery to her house."
That shot Dad's eyebrows straight to the ceiling. "Did he now? What a stroke of luck that was!"
"I know, right?" I prayed my smile was innocent, but judging from his curious expression, I'd say I failed miserably.
And that's the moment my own mom gave me a heart attack. "Oh, Edward. You're being modest. Bella told me everything."
My face must have turned as white as the spaghetti piled in the colander over the kitchen sink.
"Do tell, darling." That would be Dad, coaxing Mom for all the sordid details, as if she'd planned to hold back a single one.
"Maybe I should let Edward tell his own story." She seemed conflicted about her decision. So was I.
They both turned their eager gazes on me like two fifth graders who'd just poured vinegar into their baking soda volcano. I was damn close to erupting.
Bella was probably home right now, envisioning this very scene and grinning evilly to herself at her superpower of making me squirm, potent as ever despite our four long months of separation. Mom didn't seem horrified, so Bella couldn't have told her everything, but I'd definitely lost control of the narrative. Asking for Bella's version would have been the easier route, but Dad's suspicion was already heightened.
I tossed out a noncommittal, "I think I'd carried out for her the day before?"
If there's one thing Mom couldn't abide, it was a juicy detail left behind. She slapped her hand onto my arm and rolled her eyes at Dad as if she couldn't believe how horribly they'd failed to pass along the storytelling gene.
"Yes! You carried out for her in the pouring rain, and you managed an umbrella over her head while balancing both bags of groceries. And you didn't break a single egg!"
"Well! That is impressive," said Dad, the man whose daily nine-to-five consisted of saving lives, curing diseases, and easing people's pain.
I shrugged. In the grand scheme of bag boy responsibilities, I had overachieved that day.
"And that's not all!" Mom redirected like a seasoned defense attorney. "She said your manners were impeccable." The color returned to my cheeks in full force, but what son wouldn't have blushed at that? "Not that there was any doubt in my mind about your manners," Mom continued, basking in her own share of pride. "You've always been sweet that way. But she said you were soaked to the bone from the storm, and you didn't hesitate to rush right back out into the weather to help a customer to her car."
"A prince," mumbled Dad out of the side of his mouth.
"Service with a smile," I said, forcing one now.
"Which is why"—Mom paused for dramatic effect—"Bella asked for you, specifically, on that delivery the following day."
Dad threw up his hands. "Who could blame her?"
I breathed a temporary sigh of relief. Dad's sarcasm and lingering suspicions aside, Bella's story was both rich with details and vague enough not to get me into trouble. Mom seemed to be running out of steam, so that was good, but my own curiosity was getting the better of me.
"So, how did you and Bella figure out the connection?"
"Oh, funny story. She was standing behind me in the checkout lane,"—after chasing Mom around the store for how long?—"noticed the garlic bulb and fresh basil on the belt, and started asking questions about what I was cooking. We got to talking about Nonni's marinara recipe—"
"As total strangers do . . ." Dad added with a chuckle.
Mom waved him off. "When I told her I was making a special spaghetti dinner for my son, she laughed and said that sounded like this nice young man who'd done some work for her in her home. Well, after a couple minutes, we realized we were both talking about the same nice young man."
Bella knows I'm home. And she also knows I didn't tell her I was coming. Fuck.
"Did she happen to mention if she needed anything . . . fixed?" Or that she missed me or she was desperate to fuck my brains out tonight?
"Good thinking, Edward," said Dad, whom I'd inadvertently made very proud. "That's two job prospects, and you haven't been home an hour yet!"
"Hmm, not as I recall, but it would be lovely of you to offer when you text her."
I swallowed hard, ignoring Dad's disappointment. "I wasn't really planning on texting her."
"But I promised her you would." Mom dropped this lead balloon as casually as telling me the time.
"What? Why? Did she say she wanted me to?"
I felt the sweat beading up at my hairline. If I didn't blot my forehead soon, the hairs overhanging my eyes—yes, it had been months since my last trim and miraculous Mom hadn't already driven me to the barber shop—would curl and cling to my damp forehead like they were velcroed there, but Dad's side-eye had ratcheted up to full force, and this was no time to show weakness. Chill, man.
"Not exactly." Mom went on, seemingly oblivious to my meltdown. "She wanted my marinara recipe, and I told her I'd have you messenger it to her when you got home."
"I think you mean 'text,' dear," said Dad.
"Yes, sure, whatever. You know I'm no good with all that computer stuff." Mom waved her hand in a way that equated sending a text message with operating a nuclear missile system. "Anyway, she said you had her number."
How crafty of Bella to get around her own rules. She wouldn't contact me, but she would invent an excuse for me to contact her, wrangling my own innocent mother into her scheme so that not texting her would make me look like a complete jerk. Impressive. Good to know Bella hadn't lost her edge.
"Yep." It wasn't easy pulling off nonchalance with Dad's eyes bearing down on me like two high-beam headlights. "Just leave me the recipe, and I'll take care of it after dinner."
"I knew I could count on you." Mom beamed at me, overflowing with pride that I knew how to send a text.
Dad huffed out a chuckle. "Wouldn't it have been easier to just invite that woman over for dinner?"
"You know, I did think about it," Mom admitted, causing the acid sitting in my stomach to spike. "But the truth is, I couldn't bear to share Edward with anyone tonight."
"Present company excluded, I hope," said Dad, shooting Mom a wink.
"I s'pose," Mom teased.
Dad chuckled, then patted his mouth and tucked the carefully folded napkin under the edge of his plate. "Darling, dinner was delicious. Edward, you really need to come home more often. You know your mother feeds me gruel every night when you're not here."
I chuckled too, happy to float along in the stream of their easy, familiar banter. "I guess that explains why you look so gaunt."
Dad gave his belly a two-handed love tap. "I believe the word you're searching for is 'fit.'"
"Yes, that must be it." Truth is, the suburban senior soccer league had kept Dad in fine shape.
"That reminds me, Edward! Bella was absolutely delighted to hear you'd taken up studying nutrition."
"You told her that?"
"Why, was it a secret?" Mom glanced from me to Dad and back again.
"No, but . . . whatever."
"Still hate that word," said Dad, pointing a stern finger at me.
I gave my dad a smartass smirk. "Got it. Thanks for a great dinner, Mom."
"My pleasure, son." Mom rose, plate in hand. "I hope you both saved room for homemade chocolate chip cookies."
"Actually, if it's okay with you guys, my belly needs a rest. I'm out of practice eating three-course meals. "
And there was a certain cougar I needed to have a little chat with.
CougarCougarCougarCougarCougarCougarCougarCougar
I think my mom has a crush on you.
I sent back a smile emoji that couldn't begin to express my joy. It had been months since I'd had any kind of contact with Edward. She's lovely.
And I'm pretty sure my dad knows.
About me and your mom? Damn, I loved yanking his chain.
He sent me back a laughing emoji. Couldn't resist stirring the pot, huh?
Um do you know me at all?
Don't be surprised if Mom tries to fix you up with my cousin Marcus.
Yeah? Is he a hottie? I loved how easily I could conjure up Edward's crooked grin. Damn, I wanted to see that grin in person . . .with the rest of his beautiful body attached.
He's not my type but I guess his first three wives must have thought he was a looker—not much in the brains department.
Quite an endorsement there.
Also, he's a triple dipper.
Just so you know.
Wow, that's extreme.
If they offer up Paul, I'd suggest meeting him for breakfast.
He gets kinda funky when the moon comes out.
Like a werewolf?
Don't want to start any rumors but… yeah, pretty sure.
Got it. Any other spare relatives lying around?
Not counting my dad?
Be still, my heart! The good doctor himself? I tacked on three heart-eyes emojis.
You must look like him. I didn't see a resemblance to your mom.
I've been told he was good looking once upon a time.
Back when he had a full head of hair.
Wow. You're tough!
Maybe I'm not motivated to fix you up with someone else.
Ah, there's my fierce cub! For the record, I'm not looking to be fixed up.
His answer came back before I took my finger off the send button: me neither
We exchanged three sets of smile emojis before I requested his company. Come over tonight?
Wish I could but mom is not sharing me.
Still think she's lovely?
I'll give her one night. After that, the gloves come off!
So we have a date tomorrow?
Aww, what the hell. How do you feel about the beach?
Yellow bikini?
Only if you promise to stick close to me in the waves.
Promise.
Pick me up at eight?
So early!?
You're only home one week!
C u at 8
A/N: Awww, they MISSED each other!
Who needs Tindr when you've got a mom like Esme? *grins*
Who needs Monster when you've got a dad like Carlisle?
I couldn't resist dropping in the tidbit about the haircut- my poor son rarely made it home from the airport without a pit stop at the barber shop.
I so wish this site allowed emojis or even the "at" symbol, but alas, they have to be written out. Hope it didn't spoil your visual of their playful "messenger" convo!
Thank you to my lovely and wise chayasara, beta extraordinaire, and thank you to all you lovelies who keep me motivated to tell this story. Much love for the encouraging words, reflections, wishes, and insights. I treasure each one.
XOXO ~BOH
