Uploading this differently than normal so if there are any errors, I'll fix them as soon as I can. It's my last day of summer vacation. Teachers report to school tomorrow and I definitely can't complain about the summer I've had. I've spent time with my boys, gone on some pretty amazing vacations, spent a lot of time reading and writing. It's been fun.
Fran beta's, Dani, Ariel, and Gemma preread, you're amazing!
Esme Cullen is exactly what I've pictured in my head.
Except better.
She's small where Edward is tall, soft where he's rough, and a permanent fixture of warmth and comfort. They share the same bronze color hair, like a setting sun too tired to say goodnight but still shining its copper light on the world. While the green of Edward's eyes is piercing, a window to his soul, hers are lighter, calming.
It hits me only a few minutes after meeting her just how much I've missed and needed a maternal figure in my life. Rose has been exceptional, going above and beyond her duties as an older sister to protect and prepare me as best she could for an unforgiving world, but it's different than that of a mother.
I was lucky enough to have a wonderful mother for as many years as I had her, but seeing Esme now, the way she blankets us both in comfort and care with just her presence reminds me how much I've missed it.
How much I've needed it.
"You didn't have to, sweetheart," she hugs me when I show her I've made something for the holiday as well.
When she hugs me, her arms welcoming me with a new yet familiar feeling, my world shifts a little and falls into place.
With just a touch, I don't feel myself wandering the world, guideless anymore.
I feel rooted.
Even more so when Edward reaches for my hand under the table during dinner, his words conveyed through his touch, reminding me everything's okay.
…That I'm supposed to be here.
We spend the next hour preparing the final touches to a meal made for twenty, laughing at how just the three of us are expected to finish it all. Esme already has a plan for a breakfast casserole for tomorrow, as well as leftovers to last us all for several weeks. The three of us work in tandem, setting the table and getting to know each other as we go. Music plays softly in the background as I let the love that is Esme sink into my soul.
"This is delicious," I say around a mouthful of mashed potatoes with gravy once dinner is served. It's as if homemade food, opposed to the catered food I had year after year with my husband, is cooked with extra, secret ingredients that make a person feel whole.
"Not as good as your broccoli casserole," Esme corrects, dotting her lips with her napkin. "It may need to be Thanksgiving more often around here."
Edward nods, and the way he lets his fork clatter against his plate in defeat makes us all laugh.
"It's an old family recipe," I share. "I haven't made it in so long; I'm surprised I remembered how."
"Well, some things never leave you," she smiles at me warmly, "no matter how long."
Her words filter through my head again when I feel Edward's hand squeeze my leg in understanding beneath the table.