-85-
Spoiler alert: I never tell Bella shit about how I really came to know her.It's not that the opportunity doesn't present itself, because it does. Many times. When we're lying in her bed, lazily tracing patterns on each other's skin, recovering from another round of lovemaking, we talk about our lives. Our history. Get to know each other in that vulnerable sort of way that only comes when two people are truly intimate with one another; after we've shed the shells that we show the outside world and lay bare before each other.
It's just that...I'm fucking scared. This is a good thing we have going here, and I can't fuck it up. I'd never be able to live with myself if I fucked it up.
Except there's that thought in the back of my head that tells me I'm already fucking it up by not coming clean.
I can be so brave when it comes to logical things, like work, money, responsibilities. But love? I'm a fucking coward when it comes to love.
I'm able to hold Mom back for a solid three weeks, though every time I see her, she is Grand Nagging Station, going on and on about when she'll get to meet Bella, and other, way-too-personal questions, including when she can expect grandchildren from me.
"Ma, chill out. I don't even know if Bella wants kids. We haven't even dropped the L-word yet; stop planning our damn futures."
"But you want kids, right?"
I mean this with all the love and respect in the world, but fuck her for putting that thought in my head.
'Cause, yeah, little mini versions of us walking around with her eyes and my hair? I could get on board with that shit.
"I don't know, Mom. It doesn't matter right now," I tell her instead, because if she gets any hint that it's something I'm considering way down the road, she'll never shut up about it.
"You're not getting any younger, Edward. And she's, what, in her mid-twenties?"
"She's twenty-five, and we haven't even been dating for a month...Dad! Get your wife, please?" I have to scream because my father is clear across the yard, trimming a bush that doesn't even need trimming because he doesn't want to be in this conversation any more than I do.
"No can do, son. You know she can't be stopped," he yells back.
"Look, we're having a get-together for Emmett's birthday next weekend. Why don't you bring her?" Mom pats my knee, smiling. "I just want to meet the girl that makes my son so happy. You know, in case I take a turn for the worse again."
"Oh, Jesus, Ma, you can't play the cancer card. That's not even cool," I groan, my fingers raking through my hair.
"Well, this stupid illness has to be good for something. Bring her."
I mean...I can't really argue with that.
"Fine, but you have to promise me you'll cool it with the damn marriage, children, happily-ever-after talk."
"I promise to try."
Which means, no chance buck-o. Cool.
Coolcoolcool.
Kinda rushed update, but I love Esme so much, I knew yall needed her today. See you tomorrow!
