Good Morning, Loves.
Their experience is largely based on my own when I was in Scotland. Like Edward, I had an assignment due day of, and though I'd turned it in early because I was indeed making a turkey for a Friendsgiving, one of my professors had messaged me (late) telling me that the word count requirements were in fact different than I'd asked about (days before). The rewriting, the sprinting on campus, the printing, then submitting before sprinting back because I had an actual turkey in the oven...
yeah, that's all real. If only I'd had an Edward or Bella to cover me through it!
All mistakes are on me.
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Edward
November 24, 2022
Cambridge, England
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I'm sprinting clear across campus to get to the library, pissed off that my advisor has sprung this deadline on me out of nowhere and expects a paper copy, no less. That means once I'm done with my revisions I have to run to campus to the nearest printer, print off my assignment, then run to the admission office.
All while Bella is stuck putting together a party for our friends 15 weeks pregnant.
I'm not an idiot. I know she's not been up to much lately. She's had bouts of what the app calls pregnancy brain that have been pretty bad. That's what I'm attributing the situation with the hedgehog to anyway.
She shouldn't have to put on this holiday on her own, while I'm running across Cambridge to meet my advisor's whims.
Right now, I hate being in school.
It's stressful as hell, but eventually I get my paper printed and submitted. By my watch, I have thirteen minutes to spare before the deadline.
Fucking hell.
I don't even have a chance to take a breath because Bella is back home, cooking for our friends.
I set out back toward the flat, regretting that I haven't been running as much lately. I make a silent promise to myself that I'll pick it up again.
I'm a little winded when I get back, and I burst into the flat, heading straight for the kitchen.
Bella is chopping an onion, aggressively muttering as she slices. It's almost enough to make me smile.
"I'm sorry, Babe," I say, coming into the kitchen and washing my hands.
"Is it done?" she asks, not looking up at me. I nod and wipe my hands on a towel.
"Yeah, I got it done."
She grunts as she continues to chop and I frown, turning to lean against the counter.
"Hey," I say, reaching out to her and gently urging the knife down. She freezes, still looking down at the cutting board. "Are you okay?"
She glances up at me and when I see the tears in her eyes, my heart squeezes. I pull her into my arms, and she sinks against me, burying her face into my chest. "Baby, what's wrong?"
When she speaks, it comes out muffled because she's speaking against my chest. I smile and gently pull her back so I can hear her.
"What was that?"
"I miss our friends and I'm so tired and I want an American Thanksgiving with all the good fatty things but your friends aren't American so I'm going to end up eating weird shit like turnips or something."
I fight my smile. "Turnips are a Thanksgiving dish," I point out.
She sniffs. "Not in my Thanksgiving."
I grin, hugging her again. "I'm sorry," I murmur. "I miss our friends too." Because the UK doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving, no time off was scheduled in November, which meant going home was too difficult. It had been a pretty big disappointment when we realized it.
"Mom and Dad are coming next month," I offer. We'd planned to fly home, but with the baby, my parents had insisted on coming to us. At the time, Bella had been happy not to have to fly.
"I know," She sniffs. "I'm just tired I guess."
I feel like such shit.
"Go lay down," I tell her. "I'll finish up."
She doesn't even fight me. Instead she reaches up, kissing me softly before she turns and heads to our bedroom. I watch her shuffle off, feeling guilty. I have to wonder if some of her transition is being made harder because of the baby. Bella was a complainer before, but generally it was in a teasing way. She was pretty adaptable back in L.A. and despite the difficulties of living here, non-pregnant Bella would have taken it all on easily.
It helps, only just, knowing that most of her struggles are because she's pregnant. There is a reason for it, a cause that we can point to. It doesn't take her struggles away, but at least we can name them.
Sighing, I turn to the counter to pick up where she left off in the cooking.
