Happy Saturday, people!
The usual stuff:
1. THANK YOU ALL so much for all the reviews and the votes in the Golden Onion Awards. #BehindTheIvories came in Third as the WIP of the Year and BCG came in Third in the Farce Fic of the Year category.
Mina came in third for the Behind the Ivories banner and I'm so jazzed her magnificent work was recognized. Midnight Cougar won FIRST place as Beta of the Year, and let me tell you, none of MY stories would exist without her input, so the award is 1000% deserved. Congrats to all the other winners, too. All deserved.
2. HUGE thank you to Team Momo, who work tirelessly to help me make this readable. My stories wouldn't exist without them and I'm so grateful they're in my corner. Alice's White Rabbit and Midnight Cougar are in the editing chairs. AGoodWitch, IAmBeagle, Driving Edward and RobsmyyummyCabanaBoy pre-read.
3. I still don't own - SM does. But I still own a collection of mugs.
The gala was a tad of the clusterfuck but none of it touched our gang.
Who's ready to go to a birthday party? Miss Bea, anyone?
BEHIND THE IVORIES – CHAPTER 34
After a rather eventful evening, we all decide to have a lazy day on Wednesday. Bella and I sleep in, indulge in each other, sleep some more, then indulge in room service for a late brunch.
She wants to show me her old stomping grounds, so we spend the rest of the day visiting with the staff at the original Sharps & Flats and walking near her old apartment building in Alphabet City.
On the way, she's full of stories about the years she spent here with Jake and Ross, and her good humor belies the two unpleasant incidents we experienced last night.
We stop for an early dinner at a place she loves because they have the "best Reuben's ever," and even though I've reveled in how happy and carefree she's acted the whole day, I still want to make sure her mother's abrupt and judgmental appearance hasn't soured her mood. I would hate her to dwell on Renée's thoughtless words.
When she's in between bites of her humongous sandwich, I seize the moment. "Are you okay, Ladybug? After running into your mother like that?"
She shrugs, then answers with a scoff. "She is what she is. I've given up trying to mold myself into someone I'm not in the hopes I'll be good enough for her. I wanted to take the high road last night, avoid going off on her at a serious event because, dammit, not everything is about her, and yet … she brings it out of me. I can't help it. Indifference would be a better way of dealing with her, but I won't allow her to walk all over me either."
I reach for her hand across the minuscule table. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm not related to her, and I was about to blow a gasket, too. I wanted to step in, but you handled her to perfection. She was out of line. Period."
"I'm more astonished that Phil defended me and rebuked her in public. That was a first. Or rather, I never witnessed it myself."
"How so? As best I could tell, he seemed pleased to see you last night."
"He was. For a business guy who's used to guarding his words and his emotions, he's on the genuine side. He's not a bad guy, per se, but he has always indulged Renée; for the longest time, he'd try to placate her if she behaved like that. Either he's had enough of her vitriol or something happened that we don't know about. With Renée, you can't be sure."
"Yeah, I had an inkling that'd be the case. Does Garrett have much of a rapport with her? I had the impression he kept his distance."
Bella sniggers. "Garrett minted the 'Mommy Dearest' nickname. That should be all the answer you need. Renée never even visits them and doesn't interact with Beatrice at all because she says she isn't a grandmother. Can you believe the nerve of that damn woman?"
The whole notion adds to my already stellar opinion of Renée and confirms some of my suspicions. I shake my head, thinking the adorable Miss Bea is better off without dealing with Mrs. Dwyer at all. "Big" people, as she calls adults, aren't that lucky.
"Your mother's trying to hold on to youth, tooth and nail. Being a grandmother would imply admitting she's aging."
After reaching for her herbal tea, Bella nods. "She's always staked everything on her appearance. But I bet you guessed it, based on her attire last night," she says with a shudder. Reminiscing about the orange catastrophe cannot be conducive to good digestion.
"Well, I couldn't care less about her attire, but I care about you, and I don't want her words or actions to affect you because they shouldn't."
She shimmies her chair closer to mine and plants a sauce-encrusted kiss to my cheek, which she promptly cleans off with her finger. "Thank you. My turn now. Are you okay after last night? All of it?"
I draw a deep breath and ponder her question. "I'm starting to gain some perspective on things. It's validating when your peers still value your opinion. Nobody treated me like a failure. Nobody asked why I wasn't in the field or made barbs about me having a desk job. And that's liberating. I'm starting to see that I'm not a failure despite my earlier misgivings."
She's close enough that she can lean her head on my shoulder. "I'm so proud you came to this conclusion on your own. I was prepared to tell you myself, but I'm glad you figured it out."
We clink our tea mugs together in celebration and sip in silence for a minute or so. Then a mischievous smile graces Bella's lips.
"Let's talk about the elephant at the gala for a minute."
I raise an eyebrow. "Which would be?"
She narrows her eyes at me. "I can't believe you're making me say that!"
"Evidently, you're bursting at the seams to say it. So go ahead."
I'm being facetious, and she knows it, but she's giving in to some manufactured pique for effect. Then it all dissolves into giggles. "Come on! We had front-row seats to not one, but two epic shouting matches. Three, if we count the one you and Mac overheard upstairs."
It's time for me to stop playing dumb. "Trouble in paradise, it seems."
"Of the definitive kind. Did I misunderstand the whole shebang, or did Lauren dump Kate?"
I nod. "I didn't even want to talk about it because that's how little I care. But so it seems. Quite unceremoniously, I might add. When the words 'publicist' and 'statement' are trotted out, it doesn't get any more official than that. And aseptic."
"I wonder …" A concerned frown mars her beautiful face.
"Yes, love?"
"All those things Lauren threw back in Kate's face. Would she really be that calculating? That mercenary?"
I grimace, and it's almost a Pavlovian reaction. "Those two adjectives would fit Kate's disposition like a glove, but that was the Kate I knew. I don't know who Kate is now, and there's a possibility Kate doesn't know either. It's none of our business. Thankfully."
"I didn't think you'd be this stoic about it."
"Why would I waste brain cells and valuable time dissecting the behavior of an ex-girlfriend? Especially when my current girlfriend—no, scratch that, love of my life—is sitting here with me?"
She raises her gaze toward me from her perch on my shoulder. "Why indeed?"
&&&IVORIES&&&
On Thursday morning, I wake up before Bella, and after a passing glance at the clock, I turn back toward her. She's still sleeping soundly beside me. Or rather, intertwined into my side. These lazy, quiet stretches of idleness when there are no pressing demands on my time turn into reverent, awe-filled minutes during which I marvel in Bella's form.
I relish the possessive grip of her hand around my hip or in the way her fingers form haphazard, unconscious patterns on my skin while she slumbers in my arms. I let my eyes drink in the shape of her draped over my body. And the trust, love, and devotion I see in every line, every gesture is so overwhelming that my breath hitches and tears come unbidden.
How many things had to align in the universe for us to meet? How long was the chain reaction that brought us from spewing repartees at each other to being irrevocably in love? How much patience and compassion did it take, does it take every day for this woman to completely accept me and love me as I am, warts, scars, and all? And how much has her brand of radical optimism jostled me out of the cynical cave where I've been hiding for the last six years?
Her influence—the influence of her love—has been immeasurable. And this isn't me being a codependent teenager; rather, I'm recognizing that, bit by bit, the light and warmth she brings wherever she goes has thawed the pack ice around my heart, climate change be damned.
Being completely and unreservedly accepted and loved is as euphoric as it is liberating. For the first time in years, I see the world as a kaleidoscope of possibilities. And she's in each and every one of them.
While I'm deep in thought, she opens her eyes, staring at me, still all groggy and rumpled from sleep.
"Happy birthday, my love."
My greeting unleashes a rather unrestrained yawn as Bella stretches and disentangles herself from my arms. When she's done with her "I just woke up" routine, she burrows into my side, laying her head on my chest.
"Thank you. And good morning to you, too," she whispers in between more yawns.
"I have a surprise for you today. Are you up for it?"
"What kind of surprise is this?"
"It involves cake, and a three-year-old who's anxious to see you."
"We're going to see Bea?"
Her eyes are sparkling with joy at the mere thought of seeing the little miss again. And if I'm honest, after the FaceTime calls I had with Charlotte to plan all this, I want to see the kiddo, too. See for myself if that strange case of butterflies returns when Bella interacts with her.
"More like we've hijacked Garrett and Charlotte's place for your birthday. And, yes, I'm totally blowing my cover here, but you would have figured it out once we crossed the bridge into Brooklyn."
She giggles, then kisses my chest. "True. Consider me surprised and grateful." Her lips linger on my skin. "I don't want to talk anymore. I want my birthday present."
Her words send a shiver through me, and in one move, I have her straddling me as I'm sitting up.
"Then take it."
The sheets fall off her, and with her torso on full display at eye level with me, for a minute, I'm the one who just got a wonderful, enticing, sexy gift.
When I exhale, her nipples pucker, and I can't resist taking one in my mouth while my fingers tease the other. She melts into my embrace, but rustling sounds and her moans mixed with frustrated huffs tell me she's trying to kick the covers off me, too.
Once she's done, she sits up on her knees and reaches a hand between us to grip my cock. This time, I'm the one hissing and moaning at her fiery touch. She sinks onto me in one swift move, and something in me ignites. Yeah, slow won't do it for me today.
"I want you with the fire of a thousand suns … Please, please let me have you."
"Yes," she murmurs, threading her fingers through my hair.
She's sheathed around me to the hilt, and that's when I start driving into her. She meets me thrust for thrust, using my body as leverage.
She consumes me. Her sounds, her sighs, her relentless grip on my shoulders, her nails scratching my back, her lips capturing mine every time she descends, drowning my growls with her hungry kisses.
It doesn't take long for our breaths to hitch; when she pulsates and constricts around me, milking me for all she's worth, I explode. I couldn't hold it in even if I wanted to, and we crest and dive into oblivion as one.
We tumble onto the bed together, spent and breathless.
&&&IVORIES&&&
Because we're having a birthday party in a household where a three-year-old lives, who keeps a different schedule than we wayward adults do, we're making the trek to Brooklyn in the early afternoon.
Reunited with Mac and Ross, we spend the cab ride to Park Slope chatting about everything and nothing. Mac is guarding a big, cobalt blue gift bag away from Bella's prying hands.
"I told you. No touching. You'll get this soon enough. Jeez, I swear your niece has more patience than you do."
"Ha!" Ross interrupts him. "You haven't seen the two of them together long enough. Bea is going to be around, right?"
She's asking me because I'm the one who ran the covert op with Charlotte to organize this. "Yes. That's why we're having a late lunch, early dinner, whatever. This was the best way to keep Bea to her usual schedule without too much disruption. Her bedtime might be shot—"
"But if she gets the afternoon nap out of the way, she won't turn into the Hulk before dinnertime," Bella adds. She's clearly speaking from experience. "The nap is king. If she doesn't nap, run for cover."
When the car stops in front of a newly repainted brownstone, Mac whistles. "Nice place."
We step out of the vehicle, and Bella turns to him. "It looked like a dump when they got it years ago, but they got it for a song. The perks of buying property when a real estate bubble bursts. They've been sprucing it up bit by bit. You'll have a ball discussing the remodel with Garrett."
When we walk up the stairs to the front door, it opens in a flash before we even ring the doorbell.
"Beatrice Isabella! What did I tell you about doors?" Charlotte's chiding voice precedes her appearance.
Bea, as impatient as ever, holds the door, swatting her mother away. "But moooommmyyy! Pwetty Ewar is here!"
Mac snickers under his breath, joined by the girls.
I can't see him, but I already hear Garrett grumbling in the background.
Meanwhile, Charlotte is trying to reason with her daughter, to little avail. "You are not allowed to open doors alone. Are we clear?"
Bea pouts, but then points to me. "Ewar?"
"Yes, it's Edward. Still, let me open the door first next time, okay?"
"Otay. I sowwy, Mommy."
The kerfuffle is all but forgotten the minute Charlotte nods at Bea, who catapults herself out the door, colliding into my knees.
"Hello, Miss Bea."
She gets shy on me and doesn't reply verbally. Instead, she raises her hands to me. I'm guessing she wants me to pick her up, but I glance at Charlotte for permission first. When she nods, I gather the little miss in my arms.
And suddenly, she's not shy anymore. "Tiss, Ewar. Tiss," she begs me, pointing to her cheek with her finger.
I concede.
"Fank you." Bea receives my buss on the cheek graciously, but forgets about me the minute she spots Bella. "Aunt Bewwa?" She fusses in my arms, reaching over to Bella.
"No kicking, Bea. Ask Edward to let you down if you want to go with Aunt Bella," Charlotte's voice of sanity warns.
While Bea monopolized my attention, the others have been swapping greetings, and they've made their way inside. Only Bella and I remain outside.
"Down, Ewar." Little Bug is ordering me around without qualms by now, but Charlotte's stern face stops her in her tracks. "Pwease."
Charlotte nods in approval, while I place Bea back on solid ground. It takes her a second to lay siege to Bella.
"Hey, Little Bug! How are you?" Bella welcomes her with open arms, blowing raspberries on her tummy and kissing all over her face.
I watch them together for a second, and yes, the butterflies in my head and stomach are back in full force. Seeing her with a small human does things to me.
After Bea has finished interrogating Bella about all sorts of things, Charlotte ushers us in. She gives us the two-cent tour, pointing to stairs and doors to the powder room, the coat closet, and the kitchen where Garrett and the others congregated while waiting for us.
Bea runs to Garrett, who scoops her up.
"'Tis Aunt Bewwa's biffday. And Ewar give me tiss."
Garrett keeps his amusement at bay by clearing his throat. "Fancy that, princess. Have you shown Ross your new castle?"
"No! Ross! I castle wike Elsa! You come see?"
Ross approaches her. After caressing her face, she replies with an indulgent smile. "Sure, let's go see it now."
Bea hops off Garrett—barely missing a kick to his nuts, I might add—and scampers away with Ross.
"Hey, Ed. How's it going?" He gives me a friendly slap to the shoulder.
"Good to see you. That child of yours surely doesn't bury the lede."
A general chuckle spreads through the room while Charlotte hands out drinks.
"Oh, no. She has a very clear idea of her priorities, too." Then he turns to Bella. "Happy birthday, sis. Come here."
She steps into his embrace, and they exchange quiet words for a minute. It's a tender moment, and for a spell, I feel like I'm intruding.
A few minutes later, we're all sitting outside on the deck overlooking their backyard. Bea is still showing off her castle to Mac and Ross, who look like giants in front of this miniature kingdom of pale blue, purple, and glitter. Because if Bea is involved, there has to be glitter.
Garrett and Char's deck is an oasis of privacy, ensconced as it is between tall buildings with likewise tall walls and hedges. They've decorated it with nice but homey patio furniture that looks well-loved and unpretentious, like the rest of the house. There are signs of Bea's presence everywhere—bins with her toys and books, a jar with her crayons, a tub of building blocks, an Elsa doll lying on the table. They don't hide the fact that a kid lives here, nor do they force her to confine all her belongings inside her room. This is a home, not a showpiece.
"So, speaking of priorities and burying the lede, how come none of you mentioned the scoop of the day yet?" Charlotte asks, sipping her lemonade.
"Maybe they're in vacation mode, and they're not clued in," Garrett hedges.
"Not clued in? Try front-row seat," she counters. At that, she fiddles with her iPad for a second, then folds it upright and turns the screen toward us.
It's showing the website for Page Six. A very predictable scoop is splashed on the homepage. The title reads, "Beloved Food Show Host and Senator's Daughter Headed to Splitsville."
"Ugh, Char. Does the PR hat ever come off?" Bella asks, groaning.
Charlotte gives a little impish giggle. "Nope, especially now that I'm back at work. I'm wondering who the 'source close to the couple' is because they sure had a few juicy details."
"You are?" I ask, in hopes of deflecting her.
She nods. "Part-time for now, but the schedule's flexible, and at least, I have twenty guaranteed hours of adult interaction every week. I love Bea, but …"
"I suppose she has a limited range of subjects. No offense."
Both Char and Garrett chuckle amid knowing nods. Bea reappears with Ross and Mac before Charlotte has time to revisit the gossip topic du jour, thankfully.
"Cake, Momma?" she asks Charlotte, after climbing onto her lap.
"Not yet, baby. What do we do first for Aunt Bella?"
Bea's little face scrunches up in concentration. "We sing happy biffday?"
"Yes. And?"
"And then we … we … give biffday pwesents?"
"Good job. So, what do we say to Aunt Bella?"
Bea, all excited about the celebration, jumps off Charlotte's lap and runs to Bella. "'Appy biffday, Aunt Bewwa!"
"Thank you, Little Bug," the birthday girl replies.
Then, with serious eyes and her hands on her little hips, Bea turns to me. "You too, Ewar. You wiss 'appy biffday to Aunt Bewwa. Now!"
"Of course. Ladybug, you heard her," I tell her, crooking my finger at Bella.
She scoots closer to me, and I gather her in my arms. "Happy birthday, Bella."
Bella whispers, "Thank you."
"I love you," I whisper against her lips.
When I lean down to share a child-friendly kiss, Bea gasps at our display of affection and pulls on my pant leg in a familiar gesture. She climbs onto my lap, then puts her hand to my cheek to attract my attention. Bella pulls back to make space for her niece.
"You tissed her, Ewar."
"I most certainly did." I see no reason to give her the runaround since Garrett and Charlotte freely show their affection around their daughter.
"Is she your pwincess then?" she asks, pointing to her aunt.
The rest of our small crowd is listening in with rapt attention, interspersed with "awws" from Charlotte and Ross. Garrett is shaking his head.
"Yes, she's my princess. Is that okay?"
If anyone told me a year ago I'd be asking a three-year-old spunky thing decked out in a purple tulle skirt and purple Chucks for permission to date her aunt, I would have said, "No fucking way," but here we are. I'm asking Bea for permission to kiss her aunt, and I'm hoping she won't be offended.
After pondering this serious issue for a second, Bea nods. "Yeah. Tiss, please."
I oblige, of course. After that, the little miss scurries away, yelling, "Pwesents!"
"I guess it's fine if you kiss me as long as you keep kissing her, too," Bella comments with a laugh.
"That seems to be the case, Ladybug."
I didn't notice that Charlotte followed Bea inside just now, but they come back together after a few minutes. Charlotte is carrying a basket full of gift bags, and I recognize one of them.
"Come on, birthday girl! Time to open your gifts!" Charlotte says, pushing the basket toward Bella.
She grabs the long, thin purple package I had delivered to Charlotte's earlier in the week in the hopes I could keep my birthday gift a surprise until today. She opens it carefully, undoing one piece of tape at a time, then throws the bow to Bea, who marvels at the purple glitter ribbon.
Bella reads over my card and the info packet on the gift I got for her. "A cooking class? For couples? This is marvelous. Thank you!" she exclaims, demanding another kiss.
She keeps opening her other gifts, which yield a sheaf of customized music paper from Ross; some quirky cookbooks from Garrett and Charlotte; a big painting with blue glitter from Beatrice that depicts Bella as Elsa; and a set of colorful scarves from Mac. Bella coos over every gift, grateful and enthusiastic. She explains that the music paper is a tradition she and Ross have—Ross gives her a supply of monogrammed music sheets every year for her upcoming creations.
Bella cuts the cake—chocolate, of course—with Bea's help, and we pass slices around to everyone.
After Bea's done eating, and she's showing half of her cake on her face, she steps close to Bella and me again. She pulls on my pant leg with a tiny hand that's more chocolate than skin, much to Charlotte's chagrin.
I wave Charlotte off and turn to the little miss. "Yes, Miss Bea?"
"Where's the fairy, Ewar? She no here," she states, a look of serious concern in her brown eyes.
It takes me a second to realize she's talking about Alice. How to approach this in a way that won't disappoint Bea and won't puzzle her? The goings-on of adults don't always lend themselves to child-friendly explanations.
While I ponder my options, Bella precedes me. "She had a fairy garden to protect in Boston."
"She did?" Bea asks, wide-eyed.
"Yes. Remember that corner in my backyard? At the purple house?"
"The purple house wif … wif … the stars in the garden?"
She must mean the twinkle lights in Bella's backyard.
Bella nods. "Yes, Little Bug. There's a secret fairy garden there, so I left the fairy to guard it while I'm away."
The explanation sounds perfectly logical to Bea's ears, who runs to Charlotte to relay the magical tale Bella just fed her.
"How do we tell Triple A that she just gained another job as magical custodian?" Mac asks, snickering.
Ross elbows him but giggles along with him, and so do we. While the others are busy fussing over Bea and chitchatting, I turn to Bella.
"You're so good with her," I whisper.
She shrugs but smiles at me with equal measures of love and amusement in her eyes. "Bea's easy to love. You've seen her at her best, so far. Wait until she's comfortable enough to throw a tantrum around you."
"I have zero doubts that between you and Charlotte, you'd know how to handle her."
"I'm more in awe of you around her, given your recent past as resident brooder," she quips.
"She's easy to love, as you said. And she reminds me of her sassy aunt."
With the sky tinting orange, pink, then lavender and dark blue, the solar lights around the deck kick on and remind us that we've been here for hours. After Bea's had another go playing in her castle with Ross and Bella this time, she's now fighting to stay awake.
Charlotte leaves for a few minutes while Garrett reasons with Bea.
"It's bedtime, princess. We had a deal, remember?"
"But, but, but Ewar still here."
Of course, she'd protest and try to talk her way out of this. Garrett throws me a pleading glance.
"We're about to go home, too, Miss Bea."
"Weally?" she asks me, pouting.
"Yes, really. And I need to take Bella, and Ross, and Mac home. So they don't miss their bedtime either."
Mac's barely holding in a snicker, but I throw him a withering glance.
"Weally?"
I nod. Silence has fallen around us. They must have sensed negotiating bedtime is fraught with road bumps and have elected not to interfere. Bea's perched on Garrett's lap, but her gaze doesn't stray away from me. For good measure, Bella yawns.
"See? Even your aunt is tired."
"Aunt Bewwa tired?" she asks Garrett.
"Yes, see?" he coaxes her. After that, he hands her a bottle with warm chamomile that Charlotte just brought. Bea grabs the bottle greedily and starts drinking.
Charlotte comes to sit beside us. "Oh, good. If she has at least half that, she'll fall asleep faster. She's had an exciting day, and I need all the help I can get."
"Sorry for barging in on your routine on a weekday," I tell her.
"Are you kidding? This was the best idea ever. We're so happy you decided to spend your birthday with us, Bella."
By now, Garrett has disappeared with Bea, who is on the verge of falling asleep. To Charlotte's astonishment, he returns about fifteen minutes later.
"Asleep already?"
He nods. "I'm as flabbergasted as you are. She had a full day, though."
"Hey, Garrett. One thing before I forget," Bella begins. "We ran into Phil and Renée at the CPJ gala."
He groans, slapping his hand on his forehead. "Dammit, I didn't think to warn you. It completely slipped my mind that Dad donates to the CPJ."
"The man donates to half of Manhattan. It's not your job to keep track of that stuff," Char concedes.
"And the other half owes him money," Garrett grouses. "How did it go?" he asks, turning to Bella again.
She shrugs, then grimaces.
Ross, however, preempts her. "It was a fucking train wreck; let's not sugarcoat it. Renée was as nasty as ever—bitch. And she showed up in an orange frock that was two sizes too small."
"And it happened to be the same model gown as Kate was wearing. The face-off was hysterical. For a second or two. Until Renée opened her mouth," Bella adds. With a wave of her hand and a shudder, she continues. "By the way, did she get new tits?"
"I meant to ask you!" Ross pipes up again.
Charlotte nods. "She did. It was a gift from Phil for one thing or another."
Bella shakes her head. "As predictable as ever. Anyway, I just thought I'd mention it in case he calls you, or you run into them, or whatever. He was nice to me. More than nice, actually. He defended me when she started lobbing insults—"
"Did he?" Charlotte asks. "Is that a first?" The second question is directed to her husband.
"That I've heard of, yes. But rumor has it he's grown impatient with her antics lately."
"Lately?" Ross counters, her perfectly groomed eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Renée is as constant as the social calendar. She's never going to change, and she's only now starting to irritate Phil?"
"What can I say? He's trying to retire, so he's spending more time with her," Garrett explains. "My guess? It's not been beneficial."
"They won't divorce, if that's what you're wondering," Charlotte says.
And, yes, that's exactly what I was wondering.
"No?" Mac asks.
"Nope. One word: prenup."
Ross and Bella nod, but it's Bella who speaks next. "Renée won't leave because I bet she gets zilch if she quits. And he's stubborn, so he'll stick it out. Worst case scenario, he'll un-retire if it gets to be too much."
"Nailed it, sis."
"Well, I bet we'll read it on Page Six, whatever happens," Mac concludes.
We laugh at the absurdity of it all, releasing our pent-up doubts and frustrations about a relationship that has weird dynamics none of us can grasp.
Not so secretly, we're all thankful that our lives, our relationships, are nothing like it.
&&&IVORIES&&&
Later, much later, I wake with a start in the middle of the night with a strangled cry on my lips.
A nightmare again. It's been so long since I last had one that I'm more disoriented than usual. Or maybe it's because it's the first time happening while sleeping with Bella by my side.
It's as if the dark, ominous shadow of my mangled dreams contaminates the safe cocoon of love I've built with her. I hardly have time to catch my breath and my bearings before Bella wakes, too.
"Edward? Are you okay?"
Reaching for her is an instinct; her touch and warmth ground me. She loops her arms around me, sitting up to caress my cheek.
"What's wrong, baby?"
I shake off sleep and fright, and turn to her. I swallow the lump in my throat and shudder. "I had a nightmare."
"Oh." She kisses my shoulder while caressing me in slow motions along my cheek and side.
I start breathing to the rhythm of her touch, and bit by bit, I feel my heart rate recede and my breaths turn steadier. My mind also gets clearer, but I still see the horrific, unreal images that interrupted my slumber in a spiral of anguish.
"Want to tell me about it?" Bella whispers through the darkness.
I know that talking about it would help, but I'm leery about unloading my crap on her. "Are you sure?"
"I love you on good and bad days. You do the same, don't you?" There's no judgment, no impatience in her eyes or her voice. She's the steady presence in the middle of my storm.
And bolstered by her quiet strength and her loving touch, I take a deep breath, then revisit this fresh version of Hell concocted by my mind.
"It started like the old ones. Homs. Baba Amr the day it collapsed. It all felt so real—noises, smells, voices. I heard Marie and Mac calling for me. Then Marie's voice subsided, and it wasn't Mac digging through the debris for me anymore. It was me. Somehow, I was unscathed and out of the rubble, pawing at chunks of concrete with frayed and bloodied hands. Until I threw the last broken brick away and saw what—or better, who—lay under the wreckage."
I pause for a second, gathering the courage to utter the next words. "You. It was you under there, Bella. Lifeless and torn with rebar piercing your side. And there was … there was … oh, God," I whimper, crumbling into tears.
"I'm here. You're here. We're safe," she murmurs with the steadying pace of a mantra. "We're here. We're together. We're safe. I love you."
It takes me a spell longer to get a handle on myself, but Bella's words do the trick.
"I love you, Edward. We're safe," she repeats. "Do you feel okay to continue? Do you need anything? Water, tea?"
"Just you, Ladybug. Come here," I plead.
She scoots closer to me, and I sit up to lean against the headboard. I reach for her hand, threading her fingers with mine. Then I take another steadying breath and continue.
"It was you under the rubble and our baby. A child not even a year old, smaller than Bea, but indisputably our child. A riot of ginger curls on their head, matted with dried blood, unseeing brown eyes staring at the sky, petrified in a moment of terror. I couldn't tell whether the baby was a boy or a girl, but it didn't matter. I saw my future snatched away from me before I could claim it, and it terrified me."
"Oh, my love," she coos, enveloping me in her arms. "I'm safe. We're safe. We're here, and I love you."
"I thought I'd lost you. The first thing I did when I woke up was touch you to make sure you were still here. I'm sorry if I woke you."
She shakes her head. "Don't. Don't ever apologize for doing that, for needing me."
She captures my lips in a chaste kiss, but it's not enough for my frayed heart. I'm greedy for her and tangle my tongue with hers in a desperate, hungry kiss.
"I do love you, so much," I whisper to her lips when we catch our breath.
"Can I ask you something? And don't tell me I just did," she warns with a faint smile.
"I won't, but go ahead." I do, however, appreciate her attempt to be lighthearted after this ordeal.
"A baby? Was it because we spent the night with Bea?"
"Maybe. Or maybe not. I've … I've been thinking about it. About this future we both want and about how I want it sooner rather than later. And seeing you with Bea, with a child, with all the love and happiness you spread, it just … I want it for us, Bella. Whatever it takes."
"We haven't even decided where to live yet," she hedges.
It's true. There are things I love about the loft, and things I love about Wisteria House. The same goes for Bella, who absolutely adores the kitchen and bathroom at the loft. Still, a house would be more conducive to raising a family. It would also be homier than an industrial loft in a trendy building.
"We can do that, if we both want this. Do we both want this? You, me, living together? Children?"
She nods. "Yes. Most emphatically yes. I'm not going back on what I told you at Cape Cod. I thought where we live would be immaterial as long as we're together, but I suppose my Bohemian side forgot the practicalities. Bear with me; I'm new at this adulting stuff. I'm twenty-eight, and I can hardly feed myself."
I nudge her shoulder now that she's sitting beside me after disentangling from our embrace. "You can more than feed yourself; don't undersell your progress."
"But back to the issue. Location—can we table it until we get back to Boston? I think we need to do one of my pros and cons exercises. I need to see it on paper. And I'd love it if we reached a decision together."
Bringing her hand to my mouth, I kiss her palm before replying. "That's a fair ask. We'll sit down and do that once we're back home. Wherever home ends up being."
"Thank you. I'm looking forward to it. Do you think you can try to sleep some more? Or …?"
I stretch my neck left and right; a yawn escapes unbidden, but sleep is the last thing on my mind now. Maybe my nerves are still too frazzled.
"I'm thinking a cup of herbal tea would be good. You can sleep if you want."
She starts getting out of bed. "Nope. If you think I'm letting you deal with this alone, you're wrong, Mr. Editor. Let's have a cup of tea. They must have something good in this glitzy kitchenette."
That is how we end up sitting at the breakfast bar in said kitchenette, sipping chamomile tea at three in the morning. We've been mostly silent, but Bella asks me questions every now and then.
"I think your subconscious was trying to sabotage you with that nightmare."
"Interesting take. How so?"
"For the first time in a long, long time, you want things. You have wishes. Dreams. Projects. A future that's within reach. It's natural to have lingering human fears about things. It's also natural to tell your rogue subconscious where to shove it."
I snicker at her characterization. Not that it doesn't have merit. Bella's instincts are usually on point with psychological stuff. "How do I do that?"
"Okay, it's a long-winded explanation, so bear with me. It's a theory; if I'm way off, tell me."
"Not possible. I'd never be that rude to you, baby," I counter, pretending to blow her a kiss. She catches it. "Go ahead."
"So, my theory goes like this: I think you compartmentalized to a fault. All your fears, all your anxieties, your triggers, all stored in neat little boxes at the back of your head. Maybe, I don't know," she says, with a tentative shrug. "Maybe you need to … air out the demons every once in a while?" She accompanies the comment with circular motions of her hands, as if she were waving something off.
My face scrunches up in a puzzled grimace. "Unravel the metaphor for me, please?"
She sets her cup on the counter, then takes a deep breath. "I'll preface this by saying this is what worked for me. What works for you might be different, but it's an example. When I'm on tour, I try to contact local schools and do concerts for kids. Underprivileged neighborhoods, schools that don't have enough funding for music teaching, children's hospitals. I've done it all. But once a local veterans' aid foundation—along the lines of Wounded Warrior, but we were in Britain at the time—contacted Ross and asked if we'd do a concert in one of their centers. A lot of their members had issues with PTSD, and music is proven to have a soothing effect."
"Don't I know it," I murmur with a sigh.
"Well, maybe you can find your own way to give back. To exorcize these demons."
I ponder her words for a second. She's fucking right. I'd cut myself off from any reminders of field journalism after Syria. Not just from my colleagues who are still in the field, but from entire networks of people who've been in war zones and experienced the same shit I lived through. And who, like me, lived to tell the tale.
"I don't know how that could shape up for me, but it's an avenue I'm willing to explore."
"You have contacts at the CPJ. Maybe start there?" she suggests.
"I'm an idiot. I should have thought about this, years ago."
"Years ago you wouldn't have been ready or willing to contemplate this, Edward. Give yourself some credit. There are tons of things you could do. Volunteer with one of those veterans' foundations, maybe? Or give them a voice? I bet there are vets and journalists in Boston who would like a chance to tell their stories."
Once again, she's hitting the nail on the head.
"Thank you, Ladybug. For everything. For loving me."
This woman. The love of my life, my sanity, and my safe haven.
PTSD reared its ugly head. It had to, at some point. But as they say, it's all in the attitude, and EditorWard has turned a BIG corner in how he deals with things.
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Until next week!
