Happy New Year!
I would appreciate if you tell me if Bridget's backstory and personality are alright so far. Of course, a lot of things are still under wraps because tell you what, I wrote her in a 3rd person POV for a reason. Anyway, hope you like this chapter. Please leave me a review :)
She'd only given in because there was a ten-minute break to kill and she didn't have anything more productive to do — she didn't bring her planner, unfortunately, she had left it in her car— so she didn't cut him off as she usually did, decided to entertain him as she sat in her designated chair in the library, eyes roaming back to Edward's honey-colored eyes once in a while as she listened to his theory on Gibbon's History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, an opening intermezzo to his History of Philosophy class.
When he asked for her opinion she said, "I didn't make my essay about that last year." She rubbed her chin. "Though I agree that if the spread of the new religion was halted there might have been hope." She rolled her eyes, turning in her seat to fully face him. "Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions."
"Karl Marx," he mused. He propped his chin on his hand, looming closer and a line appeared between his brows when she met his gaze evenly. "What was more interesting to you?"
"Edward Gibbon himself." Her mouth curved into a smile, reciting a part of her old essay. "In my opinion, Gibbon was a suppressed soul — being under his parents' strict supposition that he must follow their beliefs— and once they died, he voiced his dissatisfaction and showed his true colors: that he was actually indifferent about the belief, and through the book he indirectly explained why the religion might cause a downfall." She followed every one of his eye movements.
"Are you really making Gibbon out as a child throwing tantrum?" He was amused at the conclusion.
"Aren't all writers...?"
"So you don't think that the book was a work of honest observation and hypothesis but written for a self-satisfying mean?"
She grounded her jaw. "If you disagree all you have to do is say so."
"I'm not gainsaying you."
Her nose crinkled. "Okay, stop mocking me then." Who says 'gainsay' these days? She only knew what it meant from Pa's choice of words. And he was an English man who's over eighty years old.
His brows knitted, but a corner of his lips quirked up. "I'm not mocking you."
"Yes, yes you are," she pushed his face away lightly with her knuckles. "Leave my philosophy alone," she groaned.
She looked up when he chuckled, suddenly entranced by what she saw. Something so glaringly obvious, a perfection exceeding the scale of Hollywood stars, a poise groomed more thoroughly than the British royal family. She'd never had the courage to ask why, because there was no closing the pandora box once it was opened. She didn't want to have anything to do with Edward more than she already had. She also didn't understand where his tenacity came from.
As a person who went by intuition alone, Bridget single-handedly chose the people she surrounded herself with. By first impression she decided whether she wanted to get close to them or not, and the rest she would decide as she went along.
Her intuition said a big, fat hell,no to Edward Cullen.
Was it a karmic payback for being such a picky bitch when it comes to friends? Because man, wasn't he insistent.
Bridget had tried and failed at the outwardly-cordial, inwardly-detached technique that she used like a mantra. It didn't work. Her old habit was hard to quench, the one that didn't hesitate to touch strangers she liked the looks of, make flirtatious jokes, and the questions. The fact that she liked people with lives bigger than hers, seen more than she had, and could teach her something new. Edward slowly checked a list he didn't know he had to: opening doors for her to go first, offered to carry her hefty textbooks, wasn't disgruntled when she was being aloof, when she talked over him, or when she snatched the book he was reading right out of his hands.
Try as she might to annoy him away, he was still there.
That usually meant one of two things: He truly wanted to be her friend, or he truly wanted her affluence.
She slouched in her chair, hitting her forehead on the ebony table surface. Fuck. How ever did she manage to get into this position? Would Steve mind running a background check on Edward Cullen? Maybe she should go for that, the safest panacea she could manage to get. Her mind sobered up when pale fingers were waved in front of her face. "What?"
Edward shook his head. "I asked you, what's your plan for the rest of the day?"
Tossing her blond locks back, she straightened up. "Nothing much, I'd probably eat out and hang out." Jade asked to have a night out at a bar that had just opened downtown, and it might be easier to ask Steve in person anyway. "You?"
He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. "Help my mother with her work." His tone was easy, like it was a daily occurrence.
Look at that, another check, her mind whispered. A family man. She tugged at her earlobe. Okay, she was definitely asking Steve before the park opening.
§
The park was called Hearst Park because the land was their personal property, and turned into a public park to make sure it wasn't going to be developed into another building or a chain store. Hearst family personally profited by hiring it out and turning it into a beautiful wedding venue with the view of the Great Lake. She had attended a few and might secretly have a plan to have one there herself someday, or not, who knows.
The path to the center of the park were lined on each side by post lamps, giving an eerie romantic glow in the Fall afternoon. The small building that housed a kitchen had been renovated and modernized, painted a cheerful baby blue color and had more greeneries planted surrounding the space in dozens of window-boxes. But it wasn't what made her jaw go slack; A dozen of gigantic, awkward trees that had been at risk of being cut down a few years ago were now actually in use, holding yellow string lights from and across, and extra nylon strings to hang smaller, green floral arrangements in the shape of little balls that stopped right a head above Bridget's hair.
Two long, wooden tables that held overall around ninety chairs, give or take, was set side by side, their polished surface reflecting the fairy lights above. Silver utensils folded inside white napkins sitting in front of each chair, accompanied by a water and a wine glass. Bridget wondered if Florette's did the flowers, because they did a great job with the yellow primroses and baby purple asters set in tiny glass jars in between the candle arrangements. A few more round tables covered with white cloth were set on the left to seat the hosts and primary guests, decorated in a similar manner. Right beside it sat a group of small orchestra, adding a romantic flare to the ambience. Clearly, no expense had been spared to show the potential of the new park. Moreover, who designed the concept?
"Mon Dieu." Jade placed a hand on her chest above her heart. She looked ready to faint right then and there.
"Fan yourself, woman," Bridget joked in the same language, getting into the mood. She thought the place would look even better as it got darker outside. Bridget and Jade had come as girl dates since their boy dates were the host and his cousin, the girls matching in their black and white attire even down to their pearl jewelries— Jade in full on Parisian, white-collared black dress, completed with white mid-calf socks and oxford flats, and Bridget in a form-flattering black dress with pencil-styled skirt, two white cutouts in the shape of a triangle adorning each side of her medium busts, her blonde hair pinned back to show off the design. "Allons-y," she said, pulling on Jade's hand to greet the hosts and snatch their boyfriends from their families.
"Bridget, Jade, you look wonderful," Mrs Hearst simpered, taking turn to kiss their cheeks. "Steve, Jade's here," she called to a young man clad in dark, long-sleeved shirt that was rolled up to his elbows, showing off toned arms. "Sorry Bree, I asked Charles to pick up his grandmother," she added in an undertone.
Bridget waved a hand in dismissal, watching Steve come up to his girlfriend and giving a kiss on her cheek, Jade instantly dropping her nonchalant demeanor and beamed at him. Jade liked comparing Steve to Sami Frey in Une balle au coeur — dark-haired, light-eyed man with broad shoulders and big arms— he graduated college two years ago and was now pursuing a career in something his father would've never approved: tutoring. He had a robust diamond face and a menacing stature to support the imposing image, but Steven Hearst was also the boy who held her bike steady when she tried to ride without stabilizers for the first time, he even kissed her booboos when she fell and cried like the little baby she was. They were neighbors before she moved to a different suburb in Rochester, and Steve was the most caring big brother person she ever knew of.
"Steve!" She rammed into his open arms laughing and without warning, feeling the rumble of his chest when he chuckled. She felt her hair ruffled and grunted, pushing his hands away. "Spent an hour on this, no touch," she admonished, though couldn't help but grin back when he did.
"Going strong?" his voice was gruff as ever.
"Going strong she is," Jade answered for her, hugging Steve's other side so they looked like a Steven sandwich walking around to greet the other guests. What a lucky boy.
Bridget saw Mr Hearst speaking to a beautiful pair of husband and wife and approached them without hesitation. It was customary to greet hosts first, especially when Mr Hearst was her boyfriend's dad. "Mr Hearst, hi," she greeted the man in his mid-forties, dressed impeccably in long-sleeved shirt, navy blazer that matched his tie, and khaki chinos. He was the definition of cool suburban dad, much like Bridget's own but of course - they were school friends back in the day.
"Bree girl, we meet again." He clasped her shoulder, eyes twinkling with adoration. He turned to the pair he was talking to and said, "This is my boy's girlfriend, Bridget Wilson. Bree, this is Carlisle Cullen and his wife Esme."
As she greeted the pair, she was struck with the fact that her luck had suddenly looked up. Just the people she was looking for. They certainly look the part. Mr Hearst went on, telling her that Carlisle was the head surgeon in the general hospital and taught the medical students in Dexter — an information she got from Steven, and something she wanted to slap her forehead for since she had actually met the doctor, over a year ago for Pa's consultation — and his wife was a talented interior/exterior designer.
Bridget raised a hand in greeting.
Carlisle Cullen was an incredibly handsome, movie star-esque man in his mid-thirties, his blond hair neatly combed back and dressed up for the occasion, leaving behind the scrubs and jacket. The woman standing beside him wasn't a different story. The first thing that struck Bridget was the kind, genuine smile that seemed to be etched permanently on her heart-shaped face. She was dressed modestly in an old Hollywood glamour piece that glittered under the yellow light. Everything about this woman was very soft; her smiling eyes, her nose, her chin, and the waves of her caramel-colored hair. Esme was a subtle beauty compared to her striking husband.
"How's your grandfather?" Carlisle asked her. She was surprised he remembered. He definitely didn't hang his doctor hat by the entrance. "I heard he's transferred to Callahan?" She knew it was a polite question, but she couldn't help it when a small frown formed on her face. You probably know more than I do, he forbid me from interfering with his medical business.
"He's doing alright. He's coming, actually, you can ask him yourself." She smiled, wondering how her old man was going to dress for the occasion. "Are you related to Edward? He's my classmate at Dexter," she explained, feigning a clueless expression.
Carlisle's eyebrows raised, eyes lit up in recognition. "He's my son. I didn't realize you're the same Bridget he told me about." His tone was earnest.
"All good things, I hope," she joked. "Is he coming?"
"Being a new student is a nerve-wracking experience and you pointing him out to the right classes is very helpful." He smiled in the way the corners of his eyes crinkled. "And last I checked, he is."
She shrugged, keeping a polite smile on, eyes sliding onto his wife who was positively beaming. Did I do something?
"Bree, if you like what you see here it's all Esme's work," Mr Hearst informed, gesticulating at the park knowing the Bridget's interest in interior/exterior designing and décor. It was something Bridget and her mom shared, an eye for beautiful household pieces that transcended to party decorations.
Bridget's eyes went round, darting to the woman who was smiling shyly. She probably looked like a love-struck fool. "I'm in love, would you walk me through your magic?" She felt relieved and giddy when the older woman nodded and flashed an ecstatic smile.
"Do you think it's too crowded?" Esme asked her, pointing at the green hydrangeas hung from the strings as they walked away from the men who were wondering whether putting the two together was a bright decision. She also had the pleasant silvery voice that Edward had, but gentler for obvious reasons.
On another note, Bridget had to remember to ask the song they were playing, it made her want to run back to Bernard café and sit pretty.
"I think it's the best part," she sighed.
§
"I think that's enough gushing, the two of you."
Bridget glanced at the owner of the voice, grinned with a childish glee at Edward and said goodbye to Esme. She took his polite offer to place her hand on the crook of his elbow.
"Esme," he greeted his mother with a furtive smile. He looked like he was in a good mood, his face set in a lopsided smile and his features showed that he had a good night's sleep, something that happened once in a fortnight or so. Esme sent her a conspiratorial wink before leaving the two to their own.
"You look… dapper," she pointed out smilingly, checking out his charcoal suit, admiring the subtle detail of the satin lapel binding. Yet again he managed to pull off a classic look so effortlessly. If they were going to have to see each other often in the long run, it might be good on her soul to accept that he would look good in anything and stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of people with his family. "And I actually like your mom, she has a good eye," she sighed, hand gesturing at the party.
"Even with all the girlfriend-material interrogations?"
She glanced at him shrewdly, but then her voice lost half its boisterousness as she answered, "Every mother does that, you know." It's better than having to do it yourself. She clucked. "Anyway, it was a win-win situation; I got more info on you in a fifteen-minute talk with Esme than two weeks of you following me around. I wonder why that is?"
"You never let me finish when I'm speaking," his reply was glum. "And I was not following you around."
"Yes you were."
"No, I was waiting around for you." He smirked.
She snorted. "And what were you waiting for, exactly?"
His answer was unexpectedly straightforward and accompanied with his withering gaze, it was uncomfortably serious. "For you to deem me worthy to be your friend."
She blinked.
Esme had just dazzled her with knowledge of Edward that Bridget couldn't get from a formal résumé. It was like cracking a code she had been on for weeks, or finding a lost family treasure.
It was her favorite kind of high.
His family was not at all the small four-people household she imagined. One, he only ever mentioned a sister once, and two, he acted like an only child most of the time; there was a certain loneliness that came with growing up alone — Bridget would know. Esme told her with massive fondness glowing in her eyes that she and Carlisle adopted Edward, Alice and Jasper who were the same age, and they all went to Alaska for college until Edward decided to come back. Their family was also very close to Rosalie, Carlisle's cousin who had her own little family now.
No, his background check crossed off the possibility of him going after her for the reason she disliked the most.
In fact, they ran in the same social circle, the sometimes-overbearing community of Rochester suburban families. Esme had also conveyed her condolences on the loss of Bridget's parents, even when it had happened a couple of years ago, and she was so sincere that Bridget couldn't think of anyone who deserved her thanks for uttering those words more.
It was really odd that Bridget had never known a Cullen before. Given, they lived in different areas, but she had known people from different schools and went to homecoming dances with some of the boys. She was sure she wouldn't miss a face like Edward's. It was her inner-competitiveness that made her very well-connected, which violently disagreed with the other side of her that could get extremely lazy. Her piece of cookie wasn't math or science (although she was decent at them) but people.
Just now, Edward's simple statement cut through deeper than she thought it would. Truth ought to have more power than lies, as it were. She grasped his suit-clad elbow harder, stopping them both from continuing their stroll. "You know what? Give me your phone." She held out her hand.
He regarded her with a calculating look, before humming to himself and fishing out the device from his breast pocket.
They had the same model. Huh, unsurprising, since it was the hippest release of the year and suddenly everyone was flipping their phones open and close. She pulled up his contacts, stopped herself from reading out all the names listed—which was of a considerable variety— and added a new contact. Punching in her number, she sent a daring glance at her decidedly new friend before inputting her name. "Call me sometime," she said, handing him his phone back. "Or not, whatever, just don't sell it to boys at the bars or something."
Edward's head tilted as he took it, his usually stoic face held a miscellany of emotions that she could only classify as mild surprise, childish giddiness, amusement, and the slightest concern thrown into the mix. "Are you sure?" His eyes were looking for any reaction on her part that might contradict her words.
It seemed that they both knew what it meant. For her, at least.
It was her turn to appraise him. "Frankly, no."
Austen said that seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others. She believed that between her and Edward, the initial notion would be more accurate than the latter.
"But we won't know if we don't try, right?"