Rosalie dips her paintbrush in the small pool of red glaze and blobs it onto the porous, white fruit bowl she's tasked with decorating.
Esme spontaneously wanted to go to a paint-your-own-pottery place. While she's not the most artistic person, Rosalie decided she might as well make something while they're there.
"So how was New York? Did you spend some time with your family?" Esme asks.
Rosalie pauses her brushstroke and the glaze drips off the bristles, running down the side of the bowl. "No, I just went for some meetings. I flew in on Friday morning and was out by Sunday."
"You stayed in a hotel then?"
"Yeah," she nods stiffly, picking up her coffee from the table and taking a sip.
Her phone starts buzzing. The caller ID says it's her father.
"Go ahead and take that. Don't mind me," Esme says, swirling her brush into a deep blue color and perfecting the floral pattern on the teapot she's working on. It looks like something straight out of Anthropologie.
Rosalie declines the call. "It's not important. I—"
Her phone buzzes again and a message from him pops up: Rosalie, call me now.
Another message comes in from Vera. You're filing a case against Royce?
Her stomach does a flip. This is exactly what she expected would happen. Her secret's out. Everyone knows.
There's no doubt in her mind that the decision she made is what she wants and needs, but it doesn't make it any less difficult.
She turns off her phone. She can deal with them later.
"Is everything okay..?" Esme asks.
Her skin feels chilled. She tries to take a deep breath and it burns. Picking up her brush again, she continues painting distractedly. "Mhm."
Esme isn't convinced. She gives Rosalie that annoyingly sympathetic expression that instantly makes most people want to cry.
She's not going to, though. She's going to keep it together. She's strong.
"I went to see a lawyer because I'm pressing charges against my ex-fiancé. And some of his friends," she manages to say in a low, steady voice. "My parents and my best friend back home didn't know. I'm not sure how, but they just found out."
"Are they taking it well?"
"I don't know. I probably should have told them ahead of time."
She'll have to make some calls later. Royce has to have told his father by now, but it could be any one of his friends who were served their papers this morning. Maybe their parents or siblings or partners gossiped and let it slip.
A tear drips down onto her lap. She blinks away the remainder of it from her eye and swishes her brush in the cup of water at the center of the table.
Esme's still watching her closely. "That's tough. If there's anything I can do to help, let me know."
"Yeah, thanks."
The shop attendant comes by silently and sets a box of tissues on the table because her eyes won't stop watering. And she's starting to sniffle. Rosalie's so embarrassed she'll never be able to return to pick up her project once it's finished firing.
"It's okay. It'll be okay," Esme consoles, offering a hug and proceeding to pat her shoulder.
"When we first met, he sent me bouquets of roses every single day until I went out with him. They were everywhere. Dozens and dozens of roses and violets," Rosalie blubbers almost incoherently. "And then weeks before we're supposed to get married, he goes and gets drunk with his friends and decides it's a better idea to just...to just...butt his way into my apartment for some fun with the boys and they—Esme, they...It was really, really bad. It was awful. I thought I was going to die."
Her voice sounds more like a bird than smart, stunningly beautiful, confident Rosalie Hale. There's a group of preschool kids and their moms staring at her from across the studio, but she's too worked up to care.
"I'm so sorry, Rosalie."
"I don't even know...if the lawyer I got is going to make a good enough case to do anything. They're so fucking rich...It's disgusting," Rosalie cries. "And now...everyone's going to know what happened. I'm...never going to be able to show my face in the state of New York again."
"I'm not too familiar with the social scene out there, but if your friends and family can't find it in their hearts to be supportive, then that's their loss."
She gulps air through her mouth, catching her breath because she's making herself dizzy. "Were your parents...supportive when you left...your husband?"
"No. Um, they weren't. They told me I should stay with him and try to work things out. That doesn't mean the same will be true for you, though."
Unlikely. She's very doubtful of that.
"I think I'm about done with my teapot. Do you need more time?" Esme asks softly.
Rosalie looks down at the asymmetrical blobs of red and blue blobs of paint carelessly strewn across her bowl. It looks impressionistic, and not in a good way. It's objectively ugly. "It's done."
"Okay, let's go take a lap around outside. We can look at stationery or plants or something."
"Sure." She stands to leave. The shop attendant comes to collect their things.
Esme gives her name and phone number for the both of them. "Oh, don't forget your coffee," she reminds her.
Rosalie turns back for it before following her outside.
It's drizzly and cold. Her nose hurts from how nippy the wind is. She wipes away the smudged mascara under her eyes. "Sorry. I'm a mess."
"You're not a mess, and you don't have to apologize," Esme says. "I'm proud of you for standing up for yourself. That takes a lot of courage."
There is a special place reserved in heaven for Esme Cullen, Rosalie decides. She doesn't know what she would do without her.
...
Jasper treks up the hill past admissions and over the 15th Avenue sky bridge to Red Square. He's on his way to meet Alice in front of the library since her morning business class finishes at the same time as his psychology class.
As he arrives in front of the building, he spots her coming down the upper tier of the plaza with an umbrella. She's wearing a light grey tweed skirt with an oversized white sweater and tall, greyish-beige suede boots today. She waves to him excitedly.
"You cut your hair!" she chimes as she hops down the brick steps to him.
He reaches up and pushes back the front pieces habitually. "Oh, yeah. It was getting kind of long."
He only had the barber take a couple of inches off. It isn't as short as he used to wear it, but it's less shaggy than before.
"I like it! It looks really good."
"Thank you," he says bashfully. "I like your outfit."
"Aw, thanks," she says coolly, posing like she's being photographed for the cover of a magazine, but with so much over-the-top seriousness that it's comical. They both laugh. "How was your class?"
"It was mostly review. We started the section on emotional contagion, but I'm writing my midterm paper about it, so I already went through the chapter last weekend," he replies. "How was yours?"
"We talked about big businesses dumping trash in waterways and destroying the rainforests to cut costs."
"That sounds...depressing."
"It's contagious." She nods. "Hey, do you have plans later? Do you want to come over?"
He does want to come over, but he's worried about making an appearance after what happened the last time he was there. New Year's Eve wasn't exactly his brightest moment. "Will it be okay if I do?" he asks.
"Yeah! I don't think anyone's going to be home until late anyway. Esme has an open house tonight that she's preparing for, and Carlisle's working a double."
"It isn't even noon yet. I'll have you for the entire rest of the day then?" he asks with a laugh, reaching out to offer to carry the umbrella for her. She hands it to him and links her arm through his as they walk toward the Ave at a leisurely pace.
She tilts her head to the side thoughtfully. "I suppose you do."
"Then I'm in luck. Usually, you're running around all over the place. What do you wanna do?"
"It depends on what you want to do," she hedges.
"I'm easy. Anything is fine."
She gives him a funny look that's like something between uncertainty and anticipation.
He wonders if she hinted at something already that he missed or forgot. They definitely didn't have plans already or she would have mentioned them, right? And there aren't any holidays or anniversaries this week—it's a regular Tuesday afternoon.
He feels stupid.
"Maybe we can have some alone time," she suggests, stopping in front of one of the many local cafes scattered throughout the University District and opening the door. "I'm going to get a drink. Do you want anything?"
That's different. They've had plenty of what would be considered alone time in the past, but she doesn't usually call it that.
It can really only mean one thing: she's proposing they have sex.
That has to be it, right? It's a reasonable next step.He's definitely thought about it.
They've discussed it in passing, but never directly spoke about them doing it together. She knows his history, though, and he knows her lack thereof.
Damn, but it's been a while since he's last gone all the way with someone. He's going to be pretty rusty.
The binge drinking and overuse of prescription sedatives did a thorough job of killing his more passionate urges. Not to mention he's been too depressed up until recently to really even notice his dry streak.
Regardless, there isn't anyone he'd rather be with than Alice. The idea is exciting.
If he's wrong and she does just want to hang out at the house like they usually do, then that's fine, too. He doesn't want to make assumptions or put her on the spot.
They can talk about it later. It's bound to come up at some point.
The barista working the counter waves them up, and Alice steps forward to order, letting go of his hand. "Hi! Can I have a chai latte and an americano with room, please?"
"That'll be $10.45. Can I get a name for the order?"
"Alice!" she says, tapping her phone on the payment console. The machine beeps to confirm the transaction.
When they get their drinks, she heads back out again, walking further up the Ave in the opposite direction of the car. "One more place," she says.
"Sure."
She leads them to the drugstore up the street and wanders through the aisles for a while, sipping her tea. She pulls Jasper around alongside her and swings their intertwined hands back and forth lightheartedly.
Old pop songs that he's heard hundreds of times play over the store's sound system. He takes a drink of his americano. It's pretty good.
He isn't paying too much attention to where they're going or what she's shopping for, so when she stops abruptly, he looks up at what she's looking at too.
And just like that, his question is answered.
"Which ones?" Alice asks.
He grabs the box of condoms off the shelf that looks the most familiar and heads to the register to pay.
...
Emmett pulls his hoodie on over his wet hair before grabbing his keys and wallet from his locker and slamming it shut.
He finished football practice, got in a quick shower, and now he's ready to devour any and all food that falls in his path.
"Burpees, man. I hate them," Riley says as he passes by. "Are you getting falafel with us, Em?"
"Nah, I have plans."
"Still seeing that girl?"
"Yeah, we're gonna go get dinner," Emmett replies, walking backward out of the locker room. "Some other time, yeah?"
"Sure, sure."
He checks his phone and realizes Rosalie called him fifteen minutes ago. He better hurry. She's already outside waiting.
As he exits the stadium, he hears a girl's voice call out. "Hey, Emmett!"
His head turns in the direction of the sound. A brunette he vaguely recognizes waves at him as she walks by with a group of her friends. He waves back without giving it much thought.
Spotting Rosalie's shiny, red convertible, he jogs over to it through the parking lot. She's sitting in the driver's seat with the door open, her long legs dangling out the side of the car.
"Hey, babe!" he greets with a big smile. "Did you decide on what you wanted to eat?"
"Who was that?" she asks.
"Who was who?"
"The girl that just said hi."
He racks his brain for a moment. "Uh...the girl who said hi? Oh. We had an econ class together last spring, I think. We hooked up a few times, but I don't remember her name."
"You don't remember her name."
"Nah, it was whatever," he reassures her, walking around to the passenger side of her car and waiting for her to unlock the doors.
She seems irritated. He surmises that from the fact that she's staring at him through the spotless passenger's side window and hasn't unlocked his door.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"Nothing."
"You look mad."
"Well, I'm not," Rosalie replies curtly, pushing the button on the door to unlock his side.
He gets in with a loud sigh, nudging her elbow gently with his hand. "Babe."
She shoots him a soul-piercing glare. "Why would she say hi like that when you apparently don't even know who she is?"
"I don't know. She's being friendly?"
She taps her nails against the steering wheel and looks out the front windshield. "I know we never really agreed on being exclusive, and you have needs, and I literally told you to go find someone else...but have you been seeing other girls?"
"No! No, I meant it when I said I didn't want to see anyone else. The last time I saw anyone was, like, October? Or November. It was definitely before we slept together."
She nods and starts the car, pulling out onto the main road and driving towards University Village. "How many relationships have you been in?"
"I had a couple girlfriends in high school—not at the same time! They were back-to-back, okay?—but they weren't serious."
"How many girls have you been with?"
She wants to play a speed round of twenty-one questions today.
"You want a number," he rephrases.
Regardless of how he answers, she won't be happy with it.
She stops at a red light and looks over to scrutinize him.
"I couldn't tell you. I have no idea. More than ten. Less than...thirty?"
"Thirty?!"
"I literally have no idea. I'm just saying numbers."
"So you find someone to go home with a few times and forget about it?"
"I mean, kind of. Usually, we would hang out until they change class schedules or get a boyfriend or a part-time job or something. They never wanted anything more than that, and neither did I," he explains offhandedly. Then, in the hopes of adding something even remotely positive, he adds, "I get tested regularly."
She finds an empty spot in one of the parking garages and backs into the space at a pace faster than most would dare. She breaks just before hitting the wall with her back bumper, jostling them both roughly.
"Rose?"
Her brows knit together in a worried way. "Was I supposed to be like that? When we first met did you still not want an actual relationship?"
"I didn't really think about it. Obviously, I want a relationship now. I like hanging out with you," he replies, reaching over to brush a lock of her hair away so he can see her face better. She won't look at him.
"You said you'd hang out with them too, though, and it didn't mean anything."
She's not wrong, but it is funny that she'd compare herself to someone he admitted he doesn't even remember. He spent weeks trying to make Rosalie talk to him. She's not exactly easy to get to know.
"If you're accusing me of using you for sex, I think we'd have to be actually doing it, right?" He snorts.
She gets out of the car and slams her door roughly, walking toward the street exit with a determined stride.
He shouldn't have said that.
"Rosalie!"
"Shut up!" she shouts back at him.
He runs to catch up with her as she's taking the stairs down to the ground level. "That wasn't meant to be a dig. I'm just saying you probably shouldn't be worried about that."
"How can you be so laid back about everything?" she asks. "Why are you so stupid?"
That's a difficult question. Emmett feels like he could write a doctorate dissertation on a question like that.
"I don't understand why you're so upset. I just said hi to someone," he says, keeping pace with her.
"It doesn't matter, never mind," she huffs. "You're right. Forget it."
...
Jasper sits at the foot of the bed in his jeans and sweatshirt, looking around Alice's room casually as he waits for her to finish putting away her things from school.
He notices the stack of shipping boxes that usually sits in front of the closet is missing, but there's a dress form and a new mountain of fabric bolts in the corner as tall as her. Aside from that, the room is as spotless and organized as always.
"Do you have a lot of homework?" Alice's voice asks from inside the closet.
"No, not really. My paper isn't due until next Tuesday, and it's mostly finished."
"Did you hear back about the internship yet?"
"Yeah, I have an interview on Thursday."
"Oh, yay!"
The walk-in light goes out, and she returns to the room, shutting the door behind her. "Should we watch a movie or something? Listen to music?" she asks, bubbly and dulcet. "Play a game?"
"Sure." He honestly doesn't care what they do as long as he's spending time with her.
Tilting her head, she pushes her lower lip out in a pout like she's thinking very hard about something. She glances over at her vanity table where the small paper bag with their earlier purchase is sitting.
Something tells him she doesn't care much for any of the activities she suggested. He can't help but laugh. Her not-so-subtle hint-dropping is endearing.
"What?" she asks, laughing too.
There's an overwhelmingly magnetic tension in the room despite their playful conversation. She's already taken more than enough initiative. He was a little worried about jumping the gun, but it would be cruel to not say something at this point. He'll meet her halfway.
"If you want to try those out, we can," he offers, hoping to give her some reassurance.
"You want to?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Okay! Yeah. I want to, too," she says with a grin.
He feels as stoked as she sounds. And nervous. His heart feels a little like it's in his throat.
Alice comes over to sit with him, crawling into his lap to get better leverage.
"So, um..." She leans up to kiss him. She's just as nervous as he is, he's sure.
"We'll take it slow. Just let me know if you want to stop."
"Mhm, okay."
While he has a very general idea of what she likes from when they've made out before, he knows he'll have to take extra care not to rush her into anything too fast. He wants their first time together to be good.
His sweatshirt comes off, then his tee-shirt. He slides her slouchy sweater up over her head and is momentarily surprised by the black, lacy bra she has on underneath.
"This is cute," he says, his finger brushing over the small, satin bow in the center.
"Thanks," she exhales. The back of her nails brush against his skin as she rests her hands on his shoulders. Her touch is so delicate he can feel goosebumps rising on his arms.
He lays back on the mattress, taking her with him. She smiles against his mouth, and he breaks away to kiss her neck.
"Jazz!" she giggles, squirming at the ticklish gesture.
"Is this alright?" he laughs.
"Very."
