Time was moving faster. She was sure of it now. It seemed like yesterday was the beginning of the school year. Now, it was the middle of December. How had that many days passed already? Morgan pondered the question in a thick haze of thought, gaze drifted somewhere toward the trees outside. They were so green despite the cold weather and she felt the briefest urge to capture it, bottle it somehow. A picture couldn't quite do it justice. The sing-song chime of a bell danced faintly into her ears and her eyes snapped into focus. Customers. The word flashed in her mind like neon. There are customers.
And in a second she was sitting up straight, sliding off the stool behind the register as she smiled at the pair entering the store. Their rich, tan skin and lengthy black hair gave away their ethnicities—but she'd become accustomed to servicing the locals, the majority of them being native. With the reservation so close, it was to be expected, and they tended to be nicer than the non-native residents.
Though, she wasn't sure if it was cultural or simply a symptom of the area. The trees were beautiful, but they had a habit of either bringing out the worst or the very best of everything living within them. "Welcome to Creatures!" she beamed, with faux enthusiasm. Though, they didn't seem to notice. "Can I help you find anything?" It was an older man in a wheelchair, accompanied by a younger boy who helped ease him through the door. He couldn't be any older than Morgan herself. She assumed they were father and son, maybe uncle and nephew—and the idea was warming.
"Just looking for the cat food aisle," the older man returned her smile, though his was much brighter, more natural.
"Oh, that's just over here."
Morgan stepped out from behind the register and walked across the few feet of the storeroom before arriving at the cat food section. A short aisle, cheaper and more expensive brands alike lined the shelves in an array of colors. The boy followed along behind as the older man pushed himself to the aisle, and Morgan turned to face them. "Is there a specific kind you're looking for?" she inquired, politely. "We're having a sale on all the Diamond flavors."
The older man sat back in his chair as he looked up at her thoughtfully, "Well, a good friend of mine's been making friends with the strays in our area. What would you recommend?"
It was like a parent attempting to teach their child to say 'please' or 'thank you' with a gentle prompt. He was giving her the chance to do her job, to do well making a sale. Though she knew this, she still continued into her sales pitch—but her smile turned knowingly coy as she stepped back, patting the front of a feed bag. "The active cat is probably your best bet. If they're strays, they move a lot, and they'll need the extra fat and protein. It's also the best size-to-price option."
"Sounds perfect. We'll take it," the man gave an approving nod, and Morgan scooped up the bag from the shelf.
It was then that the boy finally spoke, sidestepping the wheelchair in a quick jolt. "Oh, I can get it," he offered, a foot aside now. "You've probably been carrying these all day."
The offer was sudden and slightly uncommon, though oddly considerate. He reached forward for the bag and she didn't have the heart to hold onto it, instead allowing him to take it from her arms and sling it onto his shoulder, and she gave a small nod of thanks. But as she stepped around them to lead the way back to the register, she found herself struggling to exhale. She'd gotten a good look at the options in her grade. There were some nice boys in her class. However, none of them she could see introducing to her parents.
Part of her wondered if she'd simply spent too much time around men many decades older than her to accept any male actually suited to her age group. But, then she caught his eyes. They were the warmest shade of brown—a swirl of achingly rich chestnut—and it fluttered in her gut like a sea breeze. Morgan shook her head at herself, stepping behind the register. It was absurd. He wasn't any different from the boys her age she'd already turned down. Although, the other boys didn't look like that.
The bag made a hollow thud as the plasticy paper crushed beneath its own weight when he placed it on the counter, deliberately adjusting it to face the barcode toward her. Another small but considerate act she appreciated. Most times, she was forced to hunt for the barcode, scanner in hand, as she fought with the forty-pound bag of feed. But it was simple this time. She scanned the barcode and placed the scanner away, before asking, "Anything else for you today?"
"No, thank you, just the cat food," the older man replied, just beside the boy on the other side of the counter. "You're one of the Cullen kids, aren't you?"
Morgan paused. "Yes, sir."
Despite the man's questioning and conversation, the boy dug into his wallet for the total and passed it across the counter. There was no mistaking the soft look of embarrassment coloring his features before he turned away, hefted the bag off the counter, and carried it through the door. Her eyes followed him as a pang of knowing sympathy hit her. But the older man's voice swiftly pulled them back to him—something that almost felt intentional, with the odd look in his eye.
"My name is Billy Black," he introduced himself. "I had the...pleasure of meeting your father last week. Almost didn't believe him when he said one of his kids was working—we hardly see any of you out in town."
His words felt like they should be harmless. Still, he was no longer simply bright, but instead there was a subtly to the caution in his eyes. Morgan could feel heat in her skin and her shoulders became rigid—the apprehension was radiating from him. However, acting aware of this change could indicate something unintended, so her smile remained unchanged. "Oh, yeah, my siblings prefer more creative careers. Music and writing and all that. I'm Morgan. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Black."
"Please, call me Billy. I look forward to seeing your career in pet care flourish."
And, just like that, the man was smiling again and his eyes relaxed, void of any negativities—and it felt like she could breathe. It was then that the boy returned, the bell above the door chiming loudly as he opened the door a second time. Morgan returned Billy's smile and gave a small, jovial chuckle. "This is my son, Jacob," Billy turned his chair an inch, tipping his head in a gesture to the reappeared boy.
Jacob, as he'd called him, smiled a closed-mouthed smile and nodded politely, the shade of embarrassment a slightly different hue now. Morgan leaned her hip against the counter and mimicked his nod. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Morgan," she introduced herself.
"Nice to meet you," he agreed, hands dug into the pockets of his coat. "You go to Forks High, right?"
She nodded again, though more energetic. "Yeah. You?"
"Oh, I go on the reservation."
Jacob bobbed his head slowly, lips curled in, the expected answer. Billy sat quietly, seemingly to observe the exchange. But he spoke up then, drawing Morgan's eyes, once again forcing them to focus. "We should get going. It's going to be time to feed the cats before we even get the feed back. Thank you for all your help, Morgan," Billy thanked her, before turning his chair toward the exit.
As Jacob moved to help him over the hill of a doorway, Morgan replied, "Of course. Have a great weekend."
"You, too," only Jacob responded to the well wishes, flashing a small but sweet smile in her direction a second before the door fell closed at his back. Her shoulders deflated, but her skin remained warm. Though Billy seemed polite enough, there was something unnerving about the way he phrased his question.
He wasn't truly interested in her career pursuits or that of her siblings—no, he was fishing for something else. Although, she wasn't sure just what that something else was. What could he even stand to gain from that information? She tried to brush it off as just another secretly disapproving customer. There'd been a few of those, people from around town who disliked her family for one reason or the other. With a sigh, she traipsed through the center aisle toward the fish department and back room.
Morgan took two steps into the back room and paused. Something to her left shifted. A blur across her vision so familiar she could almost mistake it for one of her brothers playing a prank. But, after so many years in the same household, she'd learned to tell the difference. This was not her brothers. Curiosity and concern turned her feet and she stepped backward out of the back room. To her left stood the wall of aquariums, softly aglow a light blue beneath their tank lights, and the quiet hum of filtering systems filled her ears.
Though, nothing appeared out of place. She continued toward the aquariums and looked around either side of the center display of fish supplies. Still, she found nothing worth noting in the slightest. Then, it happened again—a quick and sudden blur of color. Her head snapped to the right and her eyes landed directly on the wall of aquariums. Feet shuffling forward slowly, her eyebrows furrowed.
A veiltail goldfish wiggled left and right, seemingly fighting the current to stay center with its mouth against the glass. And it pushed. It pushed with all the might its tiny body could muster to get out, to get her attention. Two feet from the tank, she could see it, the fish's struggle. "Now just what are you doing in there?" she wondered aloud, lips screwing to the left in a puzzled expression.
"What are you doing out there?!"
A disembodied voice rang loudly in her ears and a jolt shot through her. Morgan's feet shuffled backward quickly in a startle, eyes rounding, and she found herself glancing in every direction—all but the one that mattered. "Can you please keep it down?" a second voice spoke then, tensing every muscle in her body. "It's really hard to get all this cleaning done with you going on and on and-"
The first voice interrupted as the goldfish turned away from the glass, "Why don't you just shut up for a change? What about that?"
"Don't start with me!"
"What the fuck is going on here?" Morgan blurted, as confusion swelled in her throat.
The goldfish turned back toward the glass, bobbing left and right as it fought to hold its place, even as it veered slowly to the left. "We've been listening to you talk for the last hour, blondie! It's getting a little repetitive for some of our more sensitive inmates."
An indistinct mumbling came from the second voice too grumbled to make out, but she guessed it was an under-breath response to the goldfish's statement. Morgan paused, taken aback. "Oh, uh...sorry? I didn't...how am I hearing you talk right now?" she questioned.
"How am I supposed to know that?" it questioned in return. "Usually only things in this dump can hear us."
Morgan scoffed, "Dump? I decorated your tank."
"And it's small! There's a dozen of us in here, and we have one—one!—coral house. And what's with these rocks? Are they glow in the dark? They hurt my eyes."
"Okay! Okay, I'll make some adjustments first thing tomorrow. I'll try not to...think too loud. I guess."
Morgan was a bundle of tightened nerves, dumbstruck by the current conversation—and, more specifically, who she was having it with. Still confused, she turned on her heels and hurried into the back room. There, she pulled on her coat and hat and loosely draped her scarf around her neck before pulling her bag onto her shoulder. She zipped around the store turning off lights and shutting down for the day. Then she clocked out on the computer and surged around the desk for the door.
But as her hand gripped the door handle, door half open, she turned her head to look toward the fish department. "Goodnight!" she called, to whomever might be listening. A chorus of voices filled her head in a matter of seconds, each at a different volume with their own unique tone and sound. The sudden barrage of a response startled her, sending her directly through the doorway into the evening air.
There was no way any of that had actually happened. Was there? She'd experienced some fairly unbelievable things in the past three years—but this? It had to be the most bizarre event yet. Still, something about it sparked a flame of excitement in her chest. A feeling she hadn't possessed regarding the other changes about her body. It drove her to lock up quickly, moving fast to the sidewalk where she broke into a jog. A jog that sped to a run and developed into a full sprint as she recalled it all in her mind.
I was talking to a fish, she thought, disbelief and amazement swirling equally in her gut. I was talking to a fish!
As she sped past businesses and, eventually, homes, she could feel the stares of equally confused shoppers and neighbors alike—but she didn't stop. Even as her lungs began to burn and she struggled to breathe. Her chest heaved the whole way up the drive to the stairs beneath her front door. The walk home was supposed to be nice, a way to calm her nerves before settling in for the night at home. But how could she take so long with so many words stuck on the tip of her tongue?
She fought to keep them within the walls of her mouth, climbing the stairs. The second she pushed open the door and her feet crossed the threshold, she was calling out, pulling off her hat as she moved through the kitchen, the dining room, the living room in a frantic search. "Guys! Where are you?!"
A blur of color passed her line of vision, preceding a rush of wind that forced her hair backward, over the tops of her shoulders, and her feet stopped. Alice appeared three feet from her in the matter of a blink. Then, another blur—Emmett, on the other side of the room, with Rosalie shortly at his side. "What's wrong?" Emmett asked, as the couple took steps toward Morgan and Alice. All wore expressions of concern that bubbled guilt in Morgan's chest, but she was far too focused on her new discovery to truly feel its weight.
"I talked to a fish!" Morgan half-shouted, struggling to find a deep breath as her heart pounded in her ears. "I was just at work and-"
Alice interrupted, her brow gently furrowed, "What do you mean you talked to it?"
"I was at work and the store was completely empty...and I saw this fish acting weird in its tank, like it was trying to get my attention...it just started talking, I don't know. I could hear its voice in my head—and it was responding to me!"
The news was a bit disturbing. But the look Rosalie gave Emmett was born purely out of unadulterated concern. What did this mean for Morgan? She was already so different. Would she need a fish tank soon? Though, what Morgan saw was not-so-subtle disgust, annoyance, or disapproval—with Rosalie, maybe even all three. Her eyes lingered on her a moment as the excitement began to run cold, her shoulders deflating.
But Alice stepped forward, gaining Morgan's attention with a hand on her shoulder. "That's incredible, Morgan," she smiled encouragingly at her. "Why don't you go get cleaned up while I make dinner, and we can all talk more about it when Carlisle gets home?"
Morgan nodded, exhaling. "Yeah. Okay."
She couldn't help feeling like the wind had literally been pulled from her sails. Though, not away. Through them. They hung tattered from the mast as she fought to conceal her disappointment, turning away from them all to find the staircase. For as long as she could remember, Morgan had looked up to Rosalie, hanging on her every word as though they might truly be sisters. She admired her bravery and fiery tongue, unafraid to say what was on her mind or fight for what she believed in.
But, just like a genuine older sister, she had a unique and heart wrenching way of absorbing the joy from her bones with a simple change of expression. All it would take was one word to disinterest Morgan from something she loved, toddling along after Rosalie's approval like a puppy. It wasn't the healthiest bond to have, but she was tangled in it like a mess of silly string, and she wasn't sure just where to start wiping away at the sticky, clingy mess.
Morgan climbed the stairs and tried to focus on slowing her heart back down as she traipsed to her room. A voice called out to her from behind, just as she reached the door, and an involuntary groan bubbled up from somewhere deep within her stomach. "A fish, huh?" it was Edward, she knew, accustomed to the sound of his jestly judgemental tone.
"Yep," she turned enough to see him without craning her neck and pulled her lips inward. "It was kind of rude, to be honest."
"Be careful, or Emmett'll have you conversing with everything with gills that he sees."
Morgan shrugged. "At least someone thinks it's cool."
With a small nod of understanding, Edward's eyes drifted away as he folded his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against the door frame of his bedroom, at the end of the hall. It was then a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes flickered back toward her face. "So, are you gonna ask that guy out?"
Heat surged into Morgan's face, swelling beneath the skin of her cheeks, but her lips fell into a grim frown as her eyebrows lowered. Without a word, she stepped into her bedroom and forced the door closed, resulting in a resounding thud that echoed down the stairwell. Edward nodded to himself as he pushed off the door frame and retreated into his room, easing the door closed as the thoughts of embarrassment and righteous indignation swirling around her mind began to infiltrate his.
It was often difficult—most times, impossible—to shut it out once it started, but the reaction was always worth it. Teasing her, poking at the bruises of embarrassment, was his job as an older brother, was it not? At the very least, he could do this. If he couldn't stomach anything more, she would have this. Of course, it was nothing but an annoyance for Morgan. It felt like an intrusion, a forced bearing of her innermost desires, and it soured her stomach to know they were public domain for him.
Edward could hear anything and then pick and choose what to share with the rest of the family, and it was terrifying. It was hard enough with Alice's clairvoyance. Adding Edward's telepathy made living together a privacy nightmare—especially during puberty. The teen years after weren't much better. At least, not so far. Morgan tried her best to calm down, to unwind as she peeled away her sweat-soaked work uniform. A bath, she knew, would fix it. It always did.
So, she pattered into the bathroom and turned on the faucet, then went to the cupboard to get the salt. Dead Sea salt—a gift from Carlisle. Sometimes, he'd said, certain kinds of salt baths can help with irritated skin. When her skin first began drying out, it started as patches that littered her arms and back. They thought it was an allergic reaction to something and switched to a hypoallergenic fabric softener, rewashing all her clothes in it before she was allowed to wear any of them. When the condition persisted, they tried singling out food groups.
Medical tests and outside opinions would've drawn too much attention to her other biological changes, so they were forced to do most of the guess work themselves. Then, Alice made the deduction that her skin healed over the course of a warm bath—though, it was still tender and easily irritated. They added natural extracts, oatmeal, and finally salts. The sea salt did more for her in five minutes than all their efforts combined. It had been over a week of pain, discomfort, tears, and the entire family being at its wit's end. But daily soaks in salt water and keeping her skin lotioned seemed to do the trick.
Morgan hadn't had a flare up in over a year. However, the dryness seemed to affect the entirety of her skin now. She could feel it turning her limbs to dry rubber, joints feeling like rusted wheels, gears grinding against each other as she added the salt to the bath. It was as if the dry skin was pulling at itself in gentle tugs with every move she made. The sensation was uncomfortable, to say the least. She set the salt on the counter by the sink and began to undress, tossing each piece of clothing into the hamper at the door.
Just as she'd arrived at her last layer—underwear and a cotton tank top—a distinct scraping sound caught her ears. The suddenness of it caused her muscles to tense in a brief startle, but they quickly relaxed, a soft smile gracing her lips as she hurried to the bedroom door. "Nixie? Is that you?" her voice spurred on a frantic scratching against the other side of the door. Morgan pulled it open, tucking herself behind it to keep from view of the hall, and a hyperactive mess of white, grey, and black blurred into the room.
The family dog was just over a foot tall at the shoulders, short and somewhat stocky with a trimmed coat. It bounded across the hardwood of the bedroom and leapt up onto Morgan's bed. As the animal began to thrash around playfully amongst her unmade bedding, Morgan closed the door and trotted barefoot toward the animal. "Oh my god, Nix, did you get a bath today? Look at you!" she gushed, causing the dog to bounce in her direction. "You're such a pretty girl. Wanna hang out while I take my bath? Hm?"
Nixie licked at Morgan's hands before rubbing herself against her torso, asking for attention. Morgan obliged, chuckling as she scratched behind the dog's ears. Nixie was only loosely a family pet. All of her siblings had considered her Morgan's dog since the day they adopted her—after all, they only brought her home to help mask Morgan's changing scent. That, and it helped accomplish Carlisle's goal of teaching Morgan responsibility. She stepped away from the bed and Nixie leapt onto the floor, thudding against the hardwood, and the pair headed into the bathroom.
Morgan soaked in the tub until the bathwater finally chilled. Sometimes, it didn't feel so cold. The change in temperature was almost comforting. Nixie lay stretched out on the rug beside the porcelain, snoring softly after such a high energy burst, and Morgan leaned against the edge to dangle an arm over. Her fingers gently, aimlessly stroked Nixie's side as she sighed a heavy exhale. Then, her eyes shifted to the contents of the tub—to the fish tail taking up most of the space.
It was almost as though it was making eye contact with her, staring her down, daring her to think about it. A foot of the scaley mass hung over the end, the fluke limp where its tips hovered mere inches above the floor. The rusted color was admittedly rather beautiful. Its rich hue was paled but deep like the surface of the sea. Now that she thought about it, Morgan realized she hadn't actually done much swimming since the tail reared its glistening head. The idea of being submerged with nothing but a single paddle to push her back to the surface was more than a little intimidating.
But she was a strong swimmer. She could figure it out, couldn't she? After all, how hard could it be? Suddenly, a series of knocks echoed into the bathroom and Morgan lurched upright, the combination startling Nixie awake on the rug below with a gruff but quiet bark. "Morgan-" Carlisle's voice was muffled through the bedroom door. "-are you decent?"
Her eyes darted to the left, landing directly on the short stack of folded towels tucked into an inner-wall shelf. She plucked a towel from the pile and pulled it into the tub, the ends falling directly into the water, salt soaking into the fabric quickly. Once it was splayed across her chest in a makeshift cover, she folded her arms over it to keep it in place, and cleared her throat. "Come in!"
The sound of the door opening traveled into the bathroom. Carlisle stepped into her line of vision only a moment later, his appearance causing Nixie's tail to beat against the tile floor with a resounding series of thumps. He greeted her with a gentle pat on the head, scratching behind her ear a second before smiling down at Morgan. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he apologized, as he reached for the wooden step stool by the counter.
But Morgan shook her head, "It's okay. It gets boring in here after a while. What's up?"
"The others told me you discovered a new ability," he explained. Morgan nodded slowly, once, as her eyes drifted away. She knew they would tell him. Though, she wasn't quite ready for the conversation she feared they might need to have. However, Carlisle eased himself down on the stool, putting him on a much more even level with her, and rested his forearms atop his knees. "I wanted to hear it from you, if you're up for that. Otherwise, I'd like to ask you how your day went. How is the new job?"
"Well...they kind of go together. Turns out the goldfish at the store have quite the attitude," Morgan responded a bit timidly, arms tightening over her chest anxiously.
"I imagine that was a very startling experience."
"Yeah," she huffed a chuckle, eyes widening briefly in a momentary expression, and Carlisle smiled. "I ran outta there so fast. I've never been able to hear them before. What does it mean, dad?"
"I'm not sure. There's only so much information available to us on subjects like these. But, if you'd like, we can find out the old-fashioned way—get in the pool and...see what happens."
The suggestion was phrased in jest, proven by the humored smile tugging up the corner of his mouth, but that didn't make the idea any less daunting. She wrinkled her nose, "It's supposed to be in the forties all week."
It was then that Carlisle stood from the stool. "Why don't you finish up here and come downstairs? There's something your mother and I need to show you," he said. It sounded a little more cryptic than he'd intended, but the smile remained unchanged before he gave a gentle squeeze to her shoulder and exited the bathroom. She might've declined or insisted on waiting until tomorrow morning had it not built a sudden but toxic swirl of curiosity in her gut.
Morgan was quick to absorb the extra length of her tail, forming it into the human legs she was used to, before climbing out of the tub. She pulled the drain and fumbled for her clothes as Nixie trotted out of the room—most likely to follow after her father. If there was anyone in the house she loved more than Morgan, it was Carlisle. He tended to be the one to care for her when all others were busy or unwilling. Though Esme was the one to drive her to the groomers this afternoon, it was typically one of his errands to run.
When she'd dried enough to haphazardly pull on a fresh pair of clothes—fuzzy pajama pants and a hand-me-down-esque shirt, taken from Emmett's belongings by accident during one of their many moves, never to be returned—Morgan walked quickly out of the bathroom and to her bedroom door, taking the stairs two at a time once she'd reached them. It was an odd combination of curiosity and dread guiding her feet now, worry threatening to join the mix as her mind ran absolutely wild with possibilities.
Carlisle and Esme stood near the bottom of the staircase, waiting for her, and the pair noticed her descent seemingly simultaneously. Esme smiled up at her, "How was your day, honey? I haven't seen you since you got home."
"Sorry, mom," Morgan was apologetic, guilt thinning her lips to bare teeth in a 'yikes' expression. "It was okay—I think I have school friends."
"Really?" Carlisle tilted his head, intrigue aiding his fatherly display of excitement.
"Yeah, but they're not really in any of my classes. We just see each other in between and at lunch. They're in band."
"That's wonderful, sweetheart," Esme wore pride as she stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Morgan's torso from the right, giving her a momentary squeeze. "Are you ready for a surprise? We promise it's harmless."
Morgan didn't fight the small smile that came to her face. "Let's do this."
They lead the way toward the kitchen, but diverted to another hallway—one Morgan hadn't noticed was actually with purpose. She'd assumed it was some kind of means to an end in the broader design of the house. However, the end of the hall opened to another staircase to the left, this one leading downward. "We have a basement?" Morgan questioned, only a step behind Carlisle. Her curiosity was only growing with every foot traveled.
"Of sorts," he answered, as they descended. "We had some modifications done to the house when we knew we were going to be moving in."
The stairs appeared to be carved into the wall, a faux but rustic stone look that was either very artistic or very misguided. Though, once at the bottom, they opened into quite a large room. Every wall was the same faux stone, but they were decorated with various hanging items like antique boat wheels and colorful buoys, a fishnet strewn across a section of wall across the room with what looked like pictures attached at random points. A set of cupboards accompanied a small bar along the far right wall.
Beside it, a corner sofa adorned with nautical themed throw pillows and two fur blankets. The atmosphere was raw but oddly cozy and inviting—but the decor was not what rounded her eyes. No, it was the large swimming pool that ran the length of the room. As her eyes landed on the fifteen feet marker at the far end of the pool, her jaw fell slack. "You put a swimming pool in the basement? And it's been here this whole time?" she questioned, eyes quickly darting to each of her parents in turn.
Carlisle slid his arm around Esme's torso, sidling next to her as she replied, "We didn't want you to feel pressured to use it by showing you too soon. We thought it was best to wait until we knew if pursuing this part of your life was even something you wanted."
"And even now that you know this is here, you never have to use it if you don't want to," Carlisle added.
Morgan looked to the pool. The soft lighting beneath the surface lit the water aglow, a subtle but noticeable current lapping at the lip of the stairs in the left corner nearest her. Something about the situation drew pressure in her throat. Had they truly spent who knew how much money to carve a new room into the house, one dedicated to her and her alone, knowing that she may not ever use it? Part of her felt guilty, weighed down by that knowledge. They'd spent too much. Done too much. How could she possibly repay them for something like this?
But the majority of her was taken aback by the gesture. The left side of her chest cavity felt swollen, too full, and a thought of shock crossed her mind in numbing neon. They love me that much? It was the proverbial straw, her camel crushing easily beneath the weight as her eyes began to sting, and a single laugh bubbled out of her. "I love you guys so much," she sniffled, and lurched at Esme, being the closest.
She wrapped her arms around her and Esme reciprocated the hug almost immediately. Though, it was then that footsteps sounded from the stairs, approaching quickly. "Oh, sweet. She knows about the pool now?" Emmett stopped at the bottom of the staircase, hanging on the metal railing as a wide grin slanted his lips. "When's the party?"
