Hey everyone! This is another one of those little angst challenges I mentioned in the last update. I wasn't planning to post this for a while, since I didn't think readers would like two angst-shots in a row. But I decided to post it today because I'm doing a poll over on Tumblr and I wanted everyone else to have a chance to vote: between Tale of Years: 2003 and SST, which one would you most like to see updated next? I wanted to let you guys choose as a thank you for sticking with me and my slow updates these days... I know it's frustrating and I really appreciate everyone who has stuck with me through thick and thin. You guys are the best :)

Challenge (from anon on Tumblr): Okay, angsty Edward when he accidentally puts a red sock in with his white wash.

This one really made me laugh and it was a lot of fun to write, so thank you anon :)

Coquitlam, British Columbia, 1985

Edward POV

Every mother, regardless of species, has the same characteristic talent: the ability to infuse a limitless number of meanings when speaking or shouting her child's name. Given enough time, the child learns to decipher these subtle inflections until fluency of this domestic language is achieved. In an immortal family, this fluency is honed to perfection.

So when Esme shrieked my name from the basement of our three-story home, infusing it with a familiar combination of exasperation, hilarity, and tender disbelief, I knew I had committed some mild offense and that I had better report for sentencing. I shuffled down the stairs with the appropriate degree of urgency, preparing an expression which I hoped was a penitent blend of boyish mischief and innocence.

"What have I done now?" I asked, finding her over in the laundry corner. She was tugging a tangled pink sheet out of the washing machine, working hard to keep herself from laughing.

"Recognize this?" she teased, depositing the damp sheet into my hands.

"Rosalie's laundry, obviously. What does that have to do with me?"

"Wrong, mister, this is your laundry. Look." Next she produced my favorite white dress shirt, only it was pink, not white, followed by an equally pink undershirt. Now I remembered: I had run this load a few hours ago, forgetting about it the instant I had returned upstairs.

I clucked my tongue, surveying the ruined dress shirt while she continued to pull out pink shirts, underthings, and socks. "I told Rosalie not to leave her nail polish in my room..."

"Oh no, you're not going to pin this one on your sister. Here's the culprit." Next she fished a wet sock out of the washing machine, only this one was blood-red. "Edward, you can't put red socks in with a load of whites, especially when they're new. The color leaches out into the rest of the load."

"Ah."

"And clothes shouldn't be in with your sheets anyway. Sheets go on hot, clothes go on cold, especially things that have a tendency to shrink."

"I see."

"And for heaven's sake, Edward, if you leave a load of clothes to run, don't let them sit there all night."

"Sorry," I said sheepishly. "I got distracted."

"Mmm, you have a point, though... Rosalie might make use of some of these things, although the sheets won't fit her bed. I'll just give those away. Really, Edward, you didn't need to do the wash at all. I would have gotten to it eventually."

I shook my head. "I don't mind, and I'll do better next time. My hamper was overflowing—the laundry is as slow as the housekeeping to get done these days, now that you're so busy with your classes and the architect job."

The instant the words were out of my mouth, I knew I had made another mistake. My mother's smile soured and faded. "Esme, I didn't mean... that is..."

She shook her head, suddenly very busy with moving the ruined laundry to the basket, destined for the clothesline outside. I know perfectly well what you meant. And you're right, of course. I'm sorry, I'll take care of these things.

"No!" I said in horror, grabbing for the basket. "That wasn't right at all, I shouldn't have said—"

"I said I would take care of it. Just... just leave me alone for a while, please." She whisked the basket out of my reach, zipping over to the outside door before I could stop her.

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I knew when I wasn't wanted. I was quite accustomed to my loved ones hinting—or yelling, as the case may be—that I should clear the premises when they needed space to think. As soon as Esme's thoughts began to hint at the familiar ache for privacy, I drove the requisite three miles away. I kept driving until I reached the sleepy town of Anmore, the last stop before the open wildness of the provincial parks. I thought for a moment about going up into the mountains to drown my guilt in the blood of some unlucky creature, but it looked like rain. I ducked into the rusty-spoon diner instead, taking the ogling of the gum-popping waitress as due penance.

"Just coffee," I told her, avoiding eye contact as I slid into the booth farthest from the stink of sizzling bacon. At least the diner was busy enough to drown out her blaring thoughts. A collection of old timers lined the counter, perched on their customary barstools. A harried young woman two booths over was trying and failing to keep her twin toddlers from playing with the jelly packets. A businessman was methodically eating his ham and eggs, reading the newspaper aloud in his mind in a pleasant, lulling monotone. Fifties music wafted through the cramped space of the diner. Old 45s hung from the ceiling, and the grimy walls were plastered with photographs and memorabilia from days gone by. It was a charming scene; I could easily imagine a high-strung Alice perched on one of the empty stools, looking out the window and waiting for Jasper to come into her life.

My coffee was brought with miraculous haste. I nodded my thanks, but the waitress lingered, letting her fingertips graze the table. "Is there anything else you need, honey?"

"Solitude, please," I sighed, staring down at the coffee. She gave a pert hmph! and moved on to the jelly twins. I slouched back into the plastic wall of the booth, swirling my coffee thoughtfully. I rather liked the aroma of coffee; its taste was repulsive, as I had finally learned a few years ago, but its bitter scent was rich and earthy... so fitting for my current mood.

When was I going to learn to keep my big mouth shut? When was I going to learn to take advantage of my computer of a brain and take two milliseconds to think before I spoke? I slammed the coffee down, almost laughing at the spill that showered all over the table and my trench coat. I couldn't even sulk in a corner properly.

It was true that Esme had less time at home now than ever before. She had taken her first art classes back in '53, branching out to photography, interior design, pottery, and architecture later on. She was taking three classes at the local university this semester, but she also had her very first part-time job in addition to all her usual errands and projects. She hadn't set out to do anything like that, but one of her professors from last year had connected her with a restoration project being conducted by the local historical society. I had heard a few small doubts flicker through her mind, but since the majority of the work wouldn't even involve human contact, there was no real reason not to take it. It probably wouldn't last more than a few weeks into the summer, but Esme was having the time of her life.

Had I just ruined it for her? She was always tentative about these sorts of things as it was. Whether it was simply her personality, the lingering influence of that monster Charles Evenson, or just the clash of an 90-year-old woman trying to find her place in the sexually liberated America of the 1970s, I wasn't sure. But there was one thing of which I was absolutely certain, and that was that I was an idiot.

I knew better than anyone how fragile her self-esteem was... how little it took to reignite the memories of the man who had destroyed her human life. I had destroyed the man himself, but his ugly influence continued to make itself known from time to time. During their marriage, he had not only expected his wife to follow the social rules of their day; he had invented a whole slew of his own. Her journey from abused housewife to architectural consultant broke just about every one in the book, and I had just breezily reminded her of that fact. I owed her more than an apology.

I needed to do more around the house; we all did. If I could earn three college degrees simultaneously, surely I could learn to do laundry correctly. The last thing I wanted was for Esme to come home and feel that she had to scurry to catch up on a role that was as old-fashioned as it was ridiculous. We "kids" had time to burn, especially me. Surely the chores that Esme normally attended to could be divided among us. We had always helped now and then, mainly with the home maintenance and outdoor jobs, but that had little to do with Esme's usual to-do list.

The waitress came to clean up the spilled coffee, but I was too deep in my planning to listen to her syrupy chatter. I took the paper placemat—the one that wasn't drenched with cold coffee—and began to draw up a chart assigning duties. Rosalie got dusting and windows, Jasper got floors, Alice got laundry—scratch that, she'd just cheat and give everything away so she could go shopping—Emmett for laundry, then, Alice could clean the showers... I went down the line, loading each of us up with duties, and began to feel better. I decided to mix it up a bit, creating an algorithm that would rotate the jobs around the roster on a biweekly basis. But then I remembered the errands, too, so they got their own schedule and rotation, the two algorithms running in inverse proportion to the length of time each task might take, so that when one of us got the most time-consuming chores, that person got the lighter errand.

I sat back and surveyed my work, then began to erase. It really wasn't fair to give everyone the same load; I was the eternal bachelor, after all, so it stood to reason that I had more free time. I began to write it all out again, but then thought that to be really fair, I would need to tally the true demand on everyone's time and assign the duty roster accordingly. Alice had her stocks to manage, and there was Rosalie's double major to consider...

After another hour of scribbling, erasing, and calculations, I decided enough time had passed. I left a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the table and took my notes—four paper placemats in all—out to the car.

I slowed down once I turned off the main road, coasting down our dirt-road driveway and anxiously trying to get a sense of what Esme's mood was. The rain had just begun and she was back out at the clothesline rescuing the pink load. She was working with furious speed, finishing her task before I had made it halfway to the house. Her thoughts seemed benign enough, focused on what to do with the laundry and a mental flurry of blueprints, but I thought she still seemed on edge. The wad of paper placemats in my back pocket suddenly seemed a poor peace offering.

When my eyes caught on the hall clock, it suddenly dawned on me that she was missing one of her classes right now. Now I really felt like a cad—she was staying home to get caught up on the housework.

"You OK?" Emmett greeted me as I passed through the living room. He and Jasper were sprawled on the carpet, hunched over one of their convoluted chess games.

"Why aren't you out helping Esme with the clothes?" I snapped, slamming the door shut behind me.

He blinked a few times, turning back to his chess game with Jasper. I'll take that as a "No"...

Tread lightly, Jasper warned, giving me moment's glance before studying his pieces again. She's been in a funk all morning. What did you do?

"Just put my foot in my mouth, as usual."

He smirked down at the game. You might try thinking before you speak. It comes in handy, trust me.

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I met Esme in the basement just as she began hanging up the pink laundry on the indoor clothesline. I picked up one of the sheets and a handful of clothespins. "Hi," I said tentatively.

"Oh, Edward, I'm glad your home. I wanted to apologize—"

"Please don't! I shouldn't have—"

"Will you let me finish?" she asked sharply, flicking out her own sheet to straighten it. I clamped my mouth shut and nodded. "Thank you. I wanted to apologize for storming out earlier. I was just so angry for a moment, I didn't want to say or think something I didn't really mean. You struck a sore nerve, that's all."

I hung up the sheet, reviewing the earlier scene as I clipped on the clothespins. "I'm truly sorry, Esme. I had no right to say what I did."

"No... you were right. I really have been letting things go around here. I've just been so busy lately."

"But that's just it," I protested. "I'm glad you've been doing the things you enjoy, and I would never want you to feel obligated to stay home and scrub floors instead. In fact..." I pulled the papers out of my pocket, unfolding and spreading them out on the lid of the washing machine. "I've made up a schedule, or rather a set of schedules, assigning the housework and errands among the rest of us so you don't have to bother anymore. We each have a ten-day rotation..." I ran down the list, explaining the formulas I had created to determine the duty schedule. Esme listened with her arms folded for a minute or two, but she stopped me before I could move on to the third placemat.

"This is very thoughtful, Edward, but I want to do those things myself."

I sighed heavily, watching as her thoughts sank into the familiar pattern. "No, you only think you want to do them, because you feel like you should want to. You even stayed home today because you felt guilty."

She frowned. "I see."

"I want to help," I insisted. "We all do. Well, they all will once I explain things. It might even be hard for you at first to let those obligations go, but I'm sure you'll be amazed at how much free time it'll give you."

"I'm sure I will."

"You could even look for another consultancy, maybe even a full-time job if you like."

"And what shall I wear on my first day to express my empowerment?" she asked sweetly, smiling up at me.

"How should I..." I paused, finally noticing the twist at one end her smile. "Esme, why do I get the feeling you're making fun of me?"

She laughed, turning back to the wet laundry. "Because you're so adorable. Put away your schedules, you darling boy, and go buy yourself some new sheets. Alice is already out shopping for some dress shirts." She shook out another shirt, wrinkled her nose at the streak of darker pink that had ruined it, and tossed it into the trash.

"I don't understand. You've come so far since... since the beginning, but now you're running yourself ragged. Why can't we help you?"

Like father, like son... she thought fondly, shaking her head. "I stayed home today because I'm losing interest in that particular class, that's all. I dropped it last week. Edward, as glad as I am that you've finally discovered feminism, or psychology, or whatever this is, I think you're missing the point. I want you to trust me to know my own mind, and to understand that I am doing the things that I enjoy. I like being busier than ever, and it's important to me to keep working on the home that I love, from the blueprints to the bathtubs. It means even more to me than the hobbies that take me away from it. If you step in and start making my decisions for me, claiming to know what's best and telling me how I'm supposed to feel, how is that any better than expecting me to stay home all the time, like..." Charles dominated her thoughts for a fraction of a second, and then she swept him away.

"I'm sorry," I said in dismay. "That was what I was most afraid of, that I had made you think about him, and how things used to be for you."

She smiled sadly, reaching up to lay her hand on my shoulder. "Yes, I do think about him sometimes. But that doesn't mean he still has any power over me, Edward. You were right about one thing: I have come a long way from where he had me. It's the love of our family that has made me strong."

"You were always strong, Esme, I'm sure of it." I took her hand from my shoulder and kissed it.

"Thank you, dear. All I'm asking is that you respect that strength. The hampers may overflow now and then, but only because my life is overflowing with good things."

"And you're sure you don't want us to help you?"

"You already have your chores."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, taking out the trash and getting the mail is so much work."

"All right, you can help a little," she said with a chuckle. "Why don't you handle the laundry, at least until this job is over?"

"Wait, all of it?"

"Yes, all of it," she laughed, pushing the basket over toward me. "Just do me a favor... please don't wash any red socks until I come home!"

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