The truck isn't pretty, exactly. The fresh black paint job is shiny even in the dismal light between the ancient towering trees, tires thick and brand new and oddly exempt of any trace of dirt. The chrome work gleams, decorating the boxy truck like jewellery worn to accesorize a plain black dress, little shining accents running along the profile. The shortbed has received a lift job that makes it taller, more imposing in stature. It's nothing flash, nothing dramatic- and yet Jules falls in love with it the moment Rosalie tugs the green tarp off, a gigantic goofy grin stretching on her lips.
Rosalie feels the decadent triumph filling her up like a hearty feast at the sight of the childlike glee that made up Jules' entire demeanour. She might have hoped for some squealing, maybe even an excited hug- but her simple joy was enough. She leans a heel on one of the large off-roading wheels, revealing the shiny keys in her hand that she dangles with a jingle between her fingers- perhaps a little excessive in her showmanship. "I figured it was about time you started driving me around."
"How did you- okay, non, wait." Jules shakes her head with a bubbling laugh, running both her hands through her hair and holding it combed back in absolute incredulity. "C'est de la folie, merde."
"Non, je suis un génie, je ne suis pas fou." The fluid, fluent French that Rosalie responds haughtily with is enough to make Jules' jaw finally drop. She snorts with a smug smirk twisting upon her lips, taking gratification in the surprise painted on her best friend's pretty face. Good, she thought. She took a twisted kind of pleasure in showing off, and it had never felt as good as it had showing off for Jules. "Come on. Are you gonna take me out for a spin or not?"
"Don't you mean take the truck out for a spin?" Jules steps into motion, remembering at last that she was even capable of doing so as she goes to take the keys out from Rosalie's grip.
"I'm proud of my work, I'll admit, but not as proud as I am of this outfit I picked out just for this memory." Rosalie flicks her long hair over her shoulder shamelessly while Jules laughs again, hiding the bitterness that stabs at her heart.
The first time she got to drive her grandfather's truck. Rosalie had been doing this for weeks, taking her firsts from her. She always made a big deal out of it, Jules' heart fluttering funnily whenever she saw the unbearably gorgeous girl dressed up in her ruby red car ready to take her out somewhere. It felt like a date, a memory she had curated meticulously just for her. It should have hurt her that they were so fabricated. Everything was so contrived, so planned, down to the weather or a firefly flittering by. Rosalie knew every detail of what was to happen through her sister's visions, and Jules allowed her to steer her through their stolen evenings like being led through a dance she did not know the steps to. She should've been mad at how little control she had over their rare shared time together, and yet, it was so easy to slip into the mirage with Rosalie, to pretend they had more than they did. That they were more than they are. To believe in the illusion was the sickest trick of all.
She would only feel the daydream crumble when she went back home, when she was in her bedroom all alone— as if the magic from Cinderella's ball had fallen away, leaving little behind in its wake. It was then that she would feel the bitterness grow, the cold green fire fed regularly by the lies she told herself. The truth was that she hadn't just had the greatest romantic evening of her life. The butterflies in her stomach flew away from her, the happiness soaring off into oblivion leaving her numb and cold and alone. Her best friend wanted her to remember what she could never have again alive, but all Jules could remember was the pretty girl whose dead heart she would never hold.
For a moment, after she climbs in past the driver's side door Rosalie holds open for her, she is left in her own company. The truck doesn't smell new and she doesn't know why she's so grateful for this unanticipated revelation. The seat within is identical to the one Charlie used to sit on with her on his lap as a toddler. A singular bench seat with warm light brown leather, stitched in with wide ribbed panels over thick, comfortable foam. She knows it's reupholstered because the leather had once been so old and water-damaged that patches of it had gone entirely, exposing the damp and deteriorated foam beneath it. Rosalie had somehow made the new leather feel soft and used and entirely flawless all at the same time.
It's a perfect restoration, Jules realizes as her eyes water a little while she looks around with a soft, heartbreaking smile. All the little details she can notice in her overwhelmed state are perfect replicas of what had been there before. She shuts her eyes as her hands wrap over the black steering wheel, breathing in deeply the heady smell of worn leather and breathing out the emotions twisting inside of her. In her mind's eye, she can see her Grandpa Geoffrey sitting in the car next to her with a warm dimpled smile. He isn't old and weak and exhausted from agonizing pain like her true final memories of the man, no, he's strong and healthy, his white wispy hair thick and full beneath the faded blue Seattle Seahawks cap he was hardly seen without. His elbow rests on the door, teaching her how to drive like she wished he would've lived long enough to, laughing when she sets off the windscreen wipers, patient and kind in teaching her everything she needed to know in the place of Sam Uley.
The familiar perfume infiltrating her nose breaks her out of her reverie, but the smile remains as she turns to Rosalie who pulls the door shut behind her. She knows her smile shines with gratitude from the way the usually hubristic vampire turns as sheepish as was possible for her, tucking her hair behind her pierced ear with a roll of those golden eyes before she raises her chin and looks straight ahead. Jules feels her easy smile stretch into a grin, eager and excited as she twists the key in the ignition and hears the rebuilt engine come to life. "How long did it take?"
"Longer than I usually need." Rosalie hums, haughty once more. "I thought about taking my time, at first. Keeping you stuck indoors in your garage keeps you safer than being exposed outside, of course, so it seemed like the most logical way to go about it. Quite recently, however, I've begun to wonder how selfish it is for me to keep you from driving this thing as long as you can. I know how much it means to you, and you'll have to leave it behind when you turn."
Her grin fades, but she shrugs, nodding her head as she shifts the clutch accordingly and begins to slowly roll out of the Cullen driveway. "I could never thank you enough for this."
"You're going to try to figure out a way to pay me, aren't you?" Rosalie's smile drops, suspicious. Jules laughs. She had done it twice now, slipping money in and getting caught by the vampire's sharp senses.
"You don't need the money." She answers, shrugging. "I plan to leave everything to Charlie. Maybe he can retire a little earlier after I'm gone, pay off any medical bills once he gets older and he starts needing it."
"Smart." Rosalie considers, even though she doesn't really want to. Jules gets more comfortable driving, a goofy little smile on her face again as she slips one hand off to rest her elbow by the side window. "Both hands on the wheel tiger."
"I don't need hands to drive." Jules chuckles, using her now free hand to shake a hand through her tousled hair again.
"Well I'd rather you didn't wreck all my hard work Jules." Rosalie complains.
"I'll use both hands when you put on your seatbelt." Jules argues with a mischievous glint in her eyes, defiance exuding like perfume from her proud jaw and her languid limbs. Rosalie hated it. Rosalie hated whenever Jules turned on her, teasing her and toying with her just because she loved to argue.
"I don't need a seatbelt, you're the one who's gonna get hurt." Rosalie scowled disdainfully. "Why must you be so stubborn? It's not attractive in the least."
"I wasn't aware I was trying to be attractive." Jules laughs, cheeks turning red as she hides the way her stomach flutters at Rosalie's words. "So where are we going?"
"I'll navigate, you drive- with both hands." Rosalie shoots her a glowering expression, and Jules grumbles unintelligibly as she slips her hand back on the steering wheel. Appeased, the blonde at her side pops out a fold-out state map from her glove box, beginning to unravel it. There's a route marked out neatly with a thin black marker, Jules can see it in her peripheral vision, but she can also spot the curious line of red x's that weave in and around a large chunk of familiar forest right down to the coast, following along the line of a river she knew all too well. Rosalie notices her brief glance, senses the way her interest is peaked without ever having to say a word. "Quileute Territory. We're not allowed to cross, it's part of the treaty."
"The what?" Jules frowns with confusion.
Rosalie sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, and Jules only sees it when she glances her way when the silence continues and she does not receive an answer. She looks away just as quickly, fingers gripping a little tighter in an effort to will away her furious blush. "I'll have to talk to Carlisle first before I tell you about it. All you need to know is that we can't cross over onto Quileute land, so you can't ask me to pick you up from there if you get stranded."
Except she wouldn't get stranded. She had called Leah all of twice since that camping trip near a month ago in Bogachiel State Park, and not even once had Leah called or texted to check in on her otherwise. It had hurt her more than she would ever show, but Jules had come to accept the pain because she knew it was for the best now. The more distant she had grown from her friends, the less they would mourn her when she was gone. The less it would hurt her when she had to leave.
She hadn't gone to La Push even once. Her days had revolved around Charlie Swan, attempting to teach him how to cook, and spending the days he went out fishing or working late on her not-dates with Rosalie. It was strange how little she needed in the end. She had once lived her life as if she were dying, flinging herself from one adventure to the next- and now she was dying, except she had the certainty of an epilogue beyond her ending, an infinity of pages she would have left to keep writing. It seemed wasteful to not spend the mortal hours she had left with the people she cared most about; Charlie, and now Rosalie. She wanted to tell Leah— or at least she had wanted to tell Leah, but she knew she couldn't and she knew she couldn't put her through her death. She didn't have a choice with Charlie, but she did with Leah. She had made that choice despite what it cost her.
"Do you miss her?"
Jules starts at the question. For a moment, she's so shocked her mind briefly leaps to the conclusion Rosalie had just read her mind- except she knows she has not, because then she would be in far more trouble for far more than thinking about her estranged best friend. I don't even know if Leah counts as my best friend anymore. "The Quileute girl and her boyfriend. You haven't gone to see her in a while."
She hates that even Rosalie, a stranger on the outside of her situation looking in, talks about Leah with Sam. As if they were two halves of the same person. It makes her feel utterly nauseous, all at once, focusing her glaring eyes on the tarmac ahead of her lined by moss-covered trees. "The less friends I have the better, hmm? I've never been much of a social butterfly…I like tight circles, they're more intimate."
"Trust me doll, you'll get bored of having the same tight circle after the first decade." Rosalie gripes as she turns her gaze out to the trees.
Jules smirks crookedly, her dimples breaking through. "Are you referring to yourself as boring?"
Rosalie snaps her head back so quickly it reminds her of The Exorcist, unable to keep from laughing as the deepest scowl she's ever seen comes across her perfect face, eyes icy cold as her singular response drips with acerbic venom. "Never."
She had never been so insulted in her life.
As Jules' laughter blends down into chuckles, Rosalie's mood only seems to grow more sour. "Of course, I'm sure you've found yourself a more entertaining Cullen."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Jules furrowed her eyebrows as she spared her a glance, quite confused at the turn in the conversation.
"Please." Rosalie rolls her eyes, tone growing all the more sardonic. "As if you wouldn't be taken with pretty little Edward."
"Pardon?"
"Oh it's quite alright." Except it's not. "I don't blame you at all, dearest, though I've never really seen the appeal myself. He's so tightly wound, our Edward…though I do suppose even he isn't immune to your charms."
"I should hope he has quite the tolerance for it." Jules is amused, chuckling with enflamed cheeks. "I'm not attracted to your brother, and as far as I am aware of it, I have not flirted with him."
This time, it is Rosalie's turn to be surprised. Jules can tell that Alice hadn't seen visions of this evening, or at the very least, they had veered off the structured path of her original plans. Rosalie was far too surprised by most of their conversation to have been warned by the insufferable psychic. She doesn't know why she finds so much delight in Rosalie's rare lapse in confidence. "Why, do you think I have been giving him any mixed signals? Has he said as much?"
"I- no, no you haven't. He hasn't." Rosalie is oddly quick to dismiss. "Most of the school has been talking about it, and I've noticed your secret conversations at lunch. You seem…close."
"We are." Jules answers casually. "He will be my brother one day, non? I would spend more time with all of you, I'm sure, but Alice's visions irritate me and she is always busy distracting Jasper with Emmett. One day, I am certain I will become close with all of you. For now? I am grateful to have both you and Edward."
"You talk to him in your mind." It's not a question, but it sounds like an accusation.
"It is easy to share your secrets with someone who can read your mind, non?" Jules shrugs. "I find your brother easy to talk to."
"Easier than talking to me?" Rosalie had been searching for a reason to be affronted, and she had found one.
Jules frowns. You are all of my secrets. "In some cases, yes."
"That hurts, doll." Rosalie pouts with furrowed brows. "I thought I was your best friend?"
"And yet you tell me nothing of your own life, nothing of your own thoughts, and nothing of your own feelings." Jules defends. Rosalie opens her mouth to argue, but she is not done. "Non, I do not mind, Rose. I would never push you to tell me the things you are not ready to face, the things you do not wish for me to know— perhaps not ever. I find it easier to trust Edward because he trusts me in turn. He talks to me, so I can talk to him. I know this is unfair, I do not know how to explain it…I mean, we hardly even touch each other. It's as if the boundaries are tangible, non?"
For a moment, tense silence rings in the cab of the truck still driving smoothly down the singular road, nothing but the rumble of the engine and the muffled sound of tires on tarmac filling the space between them. And then, the scrunching squeal of leather shifting beneath denim, before a cold body lines up next to hers. Jules glances briefly over to Rosalie, startled, just in time to turn her gaze back to the road when the blonde lifts her right arm, moving it to wrap around her hard, frigid body. Rosalie's head leans in to rest on her, a pierced ear pressing against her collarbone, making herself comfortable and burrowing herself in. Jules has to keep her entire focus on the steering wheel and the road ahead of her, her less dominant left hand a lot more unfamiliar to drive singularly with. The move had been to prove a point, to save Rosalie's pride she was certain, but it did not stop the way her mind fogged over with the smell of her conditioner wafting from the soft golden hair that tickled at her bare neck.
"So…I didn't need both hands on the wheel, hmm?"
They drive to the sea, stopping at Neah Bay a little over an hour's drive from the Cullen house. The view is unlike anything Jules had ever seen, and she wonders how she had never gone there in all the time she had spent in the area. She wishes she has until the summer, wanting nothing more than to explore the sea caves she can see through the sea mist. She can imagine the colours of the entire scene before her shifting with the change of the season, growing more vivid as if someone had fiddled with the exposure settings in a camera. She can imagine how pretty the water must look with the sun to shine upon it, and her fingers itch to paint the scene she will most likely not see again through human eyes.
When they return home, it is almost dark and it is raining again. Jules rushes in and excuses herself to shower, asking Rosalie if she could take the chicken she left in the fridge out to bring to room temperature. Except when she comes out of the bathroom after she's finished getting dressed, hair still wrapped up in a towel, it is to find an odd sight in her kitchen.
The blonde vampire who literally did not eat had her hair neatly pinned up with Jules' apron on over her designer clothes, the sleeves of her snug blush sweater rolled up to her elbows and her matching pleated midi skirt swishing around her as she moved from one pot to the next, ingredients neatly arranged around her and not a recipe in sight. "Are you just going to stand there or are you going to come here and taste this?"
"I-what?" Jules is dumbfounded, and understandably so— but it doesn't stop Rosalie from chuckling as she stirred the cream in, almost done with a dish that usually took an hour.
"Well it isn't your recipe and I'm not quite sure how authentic it is, but here— good? Bad? Does it need more salt?" Rosalie asks her curiously as Jules bites into the mushroom covered in sauce that is offered to her.
The flavours that burst in her mouth are exquisite. She can smell the bacon that Rosalie had fried to start off with still clinging to the air in the kitchen, but she could taste the bacon fat that was the secret to the dish's flavour. The enhancement to that of onion and garlic only made this more divine, the mushrooms richly browned yet not charred, the white wine and the cream bringing everything together. It was heaven. It was home. It tasted so unbearably close to her Mamie Éloise's recipe she could almost cry. All it needed now was a sprinkle of chopped parsley and then it would all be complete.
Rosalie had never had to cook a day in her life. She had grown up fortunate enough to have a maid who cooked and cleaned for her, and once she married Royce she would have had a staff of four and a chauffeur. This was never meant to be in the cards for her—and yet the way Jules' eyes flutter shut as she moans, pulling back away from the spoon still in Rosalie's loose grip that lingers in the air, she can't help but feel something deep inside of her reaching out for it. An old, aching yearning that had haunted her for so very long, a familiar envy she had once felt for her best friend Vera and her pretty baby and her heart-eyed husband, who had swept her up in his big strong arms the moment he had come home from work and showered her with affection.
She wishes this was what her life was. She wishes she was just a teenage girl, cooking in the kitchen with her best friend, actually capable of tasting what she had just made and find the same pleasure in the flavours bursting upon her tastebuds the way Jules was. Time slows down in that moment, the sound of Chief Swan shutting the door behind him and lumbering his way to the kitchen enough to have her and Jules both turning in his direction with a smile. He moans too at the smell filling the heart of his home, breathing in deeply and smiling with ease at the scene before him, a tenderness in his eyes that Rosalie had seen in Vera's tired eyes. "Smells good."
For a moment, Rosalie allows herself to slip into the illusion. She's human again, at her best friend's house, cooking a meal they're all eager to share. Later, they'll sit together and watch baseball, and Rosalie and Charlie will both rally together while Jules picks the opposing team just out of the sheer amusement it will serve her to argue with them while they rant passionately. It was a simple fantasy, to have what felt like a real family, to pretend to be a part of it- to pretend to be human. Yet the more she spent time with Jules, the deeper she could bury the truth. The longer she could ignore the raging fire burning at the back of her throat.
