How challenging was it to love a person you know so well? A person you knew back to front, had taken a peek at what was underneath, the ugly rage and their pitiful fears? Edward asked himself the same question often. It didn't matter how tightlipped they were about their scars and vileness; he was forever in the predicament of hearing them. That beneath all their good pedigree and sweetness, people were all the same.
Forgiveness. A virtue one had to extend, over and over again. Forgive that they could act out of selfishness, forgive that they thought viciously of somebody else, forgive that they were not perfect. Same concept as a family. They didn't have to like each other to love each other, they didn't have to be on good terms all the time, but at the end of the day they made up and it was as if nothing had happened in the first place.
"Stop being so glum, Edward, it's going to be a wonderful time for everyone," Alice chastised him over the phone. She spoke like this all the time, dangling fate in front of their faces, promises of good luck and better fortune. He missed her.
He believed that Carlisle had a halo firmly hovering over his head and causing bouts of altruistic deeds, as if his day job of keeping humans alive and well wasn't enough, as if his charity of not taking honorarium over his operations wasn't enough. He was constantly looking for more, it made Edward feel short in compassion in comparison.
A nursing student had brought the topic of a dilapidating animal shelter into his attention and Carlisle, in his typical fashion had immediately put his name as a full donator to have it cleaned, repainted, and decorated. Once the required funding was worked out with the shelter, the fliers eventually made its way to the local high schools and the campus looking for volunteers, and that was when Edward found out how he was going to spend his weekend: with testy animals who might or might not get aggravated by his presence alone.
Esme, a true mother in nature had just as quickly jumped the opportunity to cook for them when she found out – at the opinion that a home-cooked meal was better than anything bought from a fast-food chain restaurant. It was this scene that Edward came to see at the crack of dawn: A man and woman cooking a storm in the kitchen. Husband and wife, bound by invisible ties and excited over something as mundane as cooking – was one of the most perfect image of a marriage he had ever seen.
"I wish you're here." Because this sweetness is giving me unintentional diabetes.
"I know, miss you too. But I'm getting great education here, it's amazing how many girls and boys wear their own creations to campus," she gushed. It was always a welcome reprieve to hear the new creativity holes Alice got herself into, because she proceeded to talk his ear off thereafter.
§
He knew now why Alice was insistent on him joining the good doctor to the shelter. It was not for appearance sake like she said. He saw her name on top of the volunteer registry, together with the nursing student's name – Bridget Wilson right under Florence Hughes, in print, which meant that she was probably a part of the charity organizing party because everybody else had to re-register by writing down their names in pen. He said as much to Carlisle.
"Well, from what I gathered, she does that very often. What an honorable young lady," he said good-naturedly. Also with a pat on his shoulder, "good luck." A basic you're the one who ticked her off, now deal with the consequences. He might have let Esme know that he and Bridget were currently not speaking to each other. What Esme had, she was more than happy to share.
The volunteers were a group comprised of high school and college students, mostly seeking community service hours and nice charities to put on their résumé. The adults present were either the ones running the shelter or provision. They were divided into smaller groups tasked to either clean or move furniture around in preparation of the repainting, the rest went straight to painting or keep the animals company. The last were left to those happy to help but quite useless in other fields. Florence proceeded to thank Carlisle publicly for funding this renovation, ensuing some clapping and a little speech about doing his part for the community. The reactions varied from awe to infatuation, something they were awfully familiar with.
Florence herself was similarly out of her habitat naturel, she could usually be seen wandering the halls of UR Hospital on tired feet in bright red nursing scrubs and dark hair up in a ponytail, constantly moving from rotation to rotation. Starting as a girl who grew up wanting for nothing - nothing to do, nowhere to be - it was inspirational that she ended up getting into nursing school. She was interested in becoming a surgical nurse, constantly challenging the strength of her stomach from sight-seeing the operation table, and for this she would require a separate certification for surgical nursing. She let Carlisle know this much and as such, he let her shadow him when she was at surgery rotation.
But speaking of the nursing student, he hadn't yet seen even a hair of the other organizer, and she had a particular hair color - something she worked with a hairstylist for sure because he could tell apart the scent of ammonia from the dye. They were a mix of light and dark, ash blond and almost-brunette, highlights and lowlights done intricately well to create dimension because he could clearly see the ribbon-like pieces that cascade over her face. In all honesty, it gave him a neuralgia if studied for too long. And on the topic of the devil–
'Oh for the love of all things good and holy–' he couldn't help the twitch of a smile at hearing the whine. Somebody was late. And somebody just read the volunteer registry by the front door.
Edward heard her long before she came into view, over the talking, barking, and shuffling of kids getting all their tools ready. He could hear the distant echo of her steps, but the best part was ah, the music of doom. The young Ms. Wilson had waltzed in, and when her eyes fell on him the most aggressive, drawn out saxophone attacked. He pretended not to notice, very adamant on getting a painting brush himself. She was very loud today, not any particular score, just a mix and mash of whatever she found most ominous and fitting for her feelings on him at the moment.
'Is she very mad? She looks displeased,' Carlisle mused beside him, mulling over another section of tools labeled for cleaning. 'And very tired' his tone grew worried. Edward could feel his eyes on him, questioning. Unlike him, Carlisle had no qualms on giving Bridget the friendly treatment, all smiles and waves.
Unease seeped into him slowly, though he shouldn't fault himself for getting panicked once in a blue moon, he was raised to be better spoken than a sharp-tongued mocker. Her appearance didn't help make him feel any better. To the untrained eye Bridget looked a little frazzled from being late, but otherwise very well put together. Her dressing sense was anything but simple and informal, so seeing her in older clothes - probably ones that she wouldn't mind getting ruined, was different. She also had a tiny, bright yellow backpack hanging lazily on her back, it was brighter than anything else in the room. Other than that, Edward saw what Carlisle immediately did as a medical practitioner, though it took a little more time; the slight shadows marring her under-eye, the increased frequency of blinking, the drooping of the shoulders, and less control of movements – she was weary. But it didn't eliminate her line of thought that she was very unhappy with the situation. The situation also known as his presence. Her eyes flickered to Carlisle, no she didn't mind him at all, she regarded Carlisle as neutrally as Switzerland. But back to him, she just pictured him falling into a puddle. There were a lot of them outside from the storm last night.
Within five minutes of her arrival Edward was moved from painting to the backyard. He might as well roll his eyes to the back of his head. Of course Bridget knew Florence Hughes, very well he might add, they went to school together. Ever since he was made aware of her existence he seemed to notice just how many lives she had touched, had been connected to like the webs of a spider, and lately everywhere he looked, anyone he laid eyes upon had been at least her acquaintance. She was a socialite in the making, just like her late mother had been.
Carlisle had the audacity to chuckle when he heard the whole behind-the-scene conversation that ended up with Florence coming up to him, smiling very sweetly and saying, "Hi, Edward, right? I'm wondering if you can help with the assembling? New kennel doors are coming in and I didn't assign enough people on it."
How curious, his mind supplied sarcastically. Somebody wanted him outside. The culprit completely ignored his presence, choosing instead to go dive deep into the kennels and to clean them. He had to mention, first and foremost, the smell of the kennel. Carlisle would undoubtedly go in as well if the disinfectant in his hand was any indicator, he was well-desensitized to a lot of smell and noises that had to do with the digestive, reproductive, excretory, integumentary, cardiovascular, and respiratory system. He practically lived with it on the daily and deemed them white-noise.
He couldn't even muster the energy to act affronted when Carlisle was drawn like moth to flame in seeing anyone even slightly showing signs of ill-health. Edward himself felt like a child put on penalty, being asked to go to the corner for being naughty. His fatherly figure had ignored this fact as well and went straight after the yellow backpack, dutifully following her into the depths of unpleasant odor and endless barking. The animals were all excessively worked up from all the unfamiliar new scents of people – a necessary evil, and they must think it Christmas with how many eager hands would be showering them with attention today. It was a good idea to have Carlisle here after all, someone might get bitten by the mutts or the felines. It was also a good idea to keep himself outside, away from the ensuing battle of cleaning the cages.
He once asked Carlisle how old he was when he died, and remembered himself being stunned by the answer. Aside from Carlisle being unsure, he didn't look the age he thought he was. Given, Edward himself did not look the way seventeen year-olds look now, nevertheless, he came to understand that seventeenth century England was not a merciful period. Carlisle recalled growing up during time of upheaval, and he remembered correctly for Civil War had just begun in 1642, and after Charles I was executed the parliament ruled for eleven years without a monarch. Carlisle had lead a life of faithfulness, he loved the church and its people, doing as he was told and very much dictated by the norm, but he did not agree with what his father did. As such he went on to marry and built a home for himself, ensured that him and his wife could eat, that his home had nice furniture, and when she gave him a son he ensured that their son could have clothes on his back, that he would one day have a decent education, even when his wife went out in a coffin to the church soon after the birth of their child. He did them all through the arduous work of tending to the crops and his field, and as much as he despised what his father did within his profession, he was a devoted son — it was that very same devotion that led him to his demise. Unfortunately, the time it took for him to earn a semblance of control over his new nature wasn't quick enough, because after the last bubonic plague that wiped England in 1665, Carlisle was devastated to find that not only his father had passed, he couldn't definitively tell whether his son had survived or not. Was he placed in an orphanage? Did he ever get a chance to grow into adolescence? The thought would forever haunt him.
It was on that thought that every time Edward saw Carlisle and Rose discussing something, face to face, both blond with expressions mirroring each other in their seriousness about medical opinions that he wondered if maybe Rose had reminded him of something he had lost. From the sentiments both Carlisle and Esme made him aware of, and the other moments when parents had to deal with their rowdy children who shrieked their heads off, he got the memo that no parent ever would deem their child any less than beautiful - which objectively, as anybody with eyes were aware, Rose was the definition of.
So seeing Carlisle with young Ms. Wilson, especially when she turned to talk to a father that had once lost his everything, plastering on a smile even though she was exhausted, and have it returned tenfold, a fondness attached itself to him of this sight he would keep tucked in the corner of his mind. He knew little moments like these hold momentum to the other members of his family; he imagined that Alice would love it very much, be the first person to pull out a camera and discreetly take a picture, whilst Esme would look on with a brightness in her eyes that he vowed to safeguard. This was their existence, here for a moment, gone the next.
Outside, he sat on the backyard with a bunch of other teenagers, with a tower of boxes filled with new kennel kits. These were where the bigger part of the cost of the renovation went – the ones currently inside the shelter were a cheaper, do-it-yourself set that had started to bend and lost teeth against the bigger canines, the shelter didn't start out with the intention to be one. Carlisle upped his donation to ensure they have a good quality, robust kennels especially for the outdoor kennels to withstand the weather, but this also meant that they were heavier. He would be lying to say that the effort some kids took to carry a single box around was not humbling in its hilarity. The other half outside were either washing the beds or bringing in newspaper and towel donations. He was paired, well, chose to be paired with a quiet, scrawny high schooler who was doing this for Dartmouth. He knew this because his thoughts stated so, if begrudgingly, because he was not an outdoor person. A few girls collected their courage and tried approaching Edward for a pairing, and he wouldn't have minded had they not chosen to sit under the sunlight. The storm provided a good weather to start the shelter project, but also meant that he had to be mindful of the patches of sunlight that broke through. Loud, obnoxious thoughts he could deal with, but to be under the sunlight where he would risk exposing one of his traits? No thank you, he drew the line there. Leo was a better choice to pair with and actually very quick at piecing together what they were supposed to do with the kennel parts.
Him and Leo was on the process of latching two sides together when a boom of conversation started behind the walls. Since all the windows were opened to air out the paint and to accommodate the presence of a dozen humans inside, even the humans outside could hear them. Especially when Florence objected very loudly, "Who named a kitten 'Chicken Noodle'?!"
Another girl had followed suit. "I thought mine's the only one! There's a pup called 'Atomic Toaster'!"
"I have a 'Gremlin'!"
"I have a litter of kittens called 'Monday' to 'Friday'."
"Oh, Wednesday must me my fox's baby, my fox is 'Mrs. Addams'!" That was Bridget sounding thrilled, with more and more people bursting out in laughter with each name called and then there was a buzz of steady conversation and speculations on the names. There was also a significant number of protests about a particular black tabby that kept spitting out food at random targets. That one was very aptly named. He was immensely glad to be outside.
"You seem to know a lot of the younger kids here," Carlisle noted, dividing his attention between the object of his conversation and the scrubbing. Not the most glamorous picture, but he made it look effortless as per his nature. Mrs. Addams had calmed down from her initial reaction to Carlisle and was now walking around the other side of the kennel space, keeping an eye on Bridget because out of them three, Mrs. Addams correctly decided she was most vulnerable.
"I taught Sunday school when I was in high school," Bridget's reply came very casually, that was, because she didn't know the significance of what she admitted to the person she was talking to. "I was their summer camp counselor – and I have to say, getting into a fight in the mud and dressing up is a good base of mentorship. Right Jamie?"
A seventeen-year-old on the kennel on their side gave a salute. "Yes, ma'am."
"Why are you grounded?" Florence asked Jamie, from yet another kennel opposite them. Jamie was initially serving her grounding sentence, but because this was charity, she was allowed to go. Her parents even called Bridget to ensure that she didn't let Jamie out of her sight.
"Snuck out to go to a seniors' party," she answered plainly with a shrug. Typical teenager behavior.
Bridget snorted and gestured to Florence, "You see, Flo never got grounded because she suffers from a case of mild perfection." Jamie guffawed with an 'are you serious?' on her face.
"Very funny." Florence rolled her eyes. "See, Bridge is the valedictorian of our year because she doesn't go to parties," she retaliated.
Wait, what? He and Carlisle thought at the same time.
"That's not true and you know it," Bridget replied with a knowing look. She scrunched her nose. "Bridge is a terrible nickname."
Carlisle found amusement in their back-and-forth, subtly directing his next thoughts to him, 'She's a social butterfly.'
He knows. It doesn't help.
Click. Finally, the kennel was standing on four feet. Now they just had to move it to the correct location. "Great job," Edward applauded their teamwork, offering a fist, glad when Leo bumped it, cracking a smile. Leo was suffering in his own silence the whole time. Now he knew what it felt like to deal with himself.
Which brought the question of why Bridget was suddenly a master conversationalist when he was out of sight. It was the same during the park opening, she practically gushed words like blood out of wounds when Esme gave her a rundown of her work. Even right now, in the midst of animal feces and saliva she managed to talk and talk about anything and everything. Disappointment bloomed in his stomach. Alice would be more suited to be her friend; surely getting to know a guy wasn't really in a girl's to-do list after a break-up? Or maybe it was as simple as not having many things in common.
The irony was, of course, that they spoke the same language. The kind of self-assurance that came from quiet and comfortable wealth. Wealth that they did not have to acquire themselves, wealth that seemed to grow on trees at the back garden, wealth that fell from the sky - inheritors. The kind of confidence that could not be bought, not without time, and humans were constantly running out of those. Time was the most important currency – if he could have a dollar for every single thought he heard that related to time; twenty-four hours wasn't enough, I didn't have enough time, I wish I could have more time to finish this, next time I will: enter any excuse under the sun, he would be the biggest source of their household income.
§
When human lunch time came around Esme came with food enough to feed the army. The animal shelter restoration had somehow ended up being a Cullen family affair, as many things did.
A round of 'Thank you Mrs. Cullen' went around before the backyard was turned into an impromptu picnic area where everybody milked the scarce sunshine as much as they can, sitting on newspaper to avoid getting damp soil on their pants. Esme took pleasure in greeting and making small talk with anyone she recognized, slipping some kids more food than others.
This was Esme's haven - being around children - albeit this bunch were a little older than her pediatric children.
"How are you?" Esme brightened when she caught the sight of the girls, pulling them in for the customary cheek-to-cheek greetings ladies do. She regarded Florence and Bridget with the same level of familiarity as she handed them their portions of food. Esme placed her hand on each their heads as they left the stand to get a spot in the backyard. To him it was just Esme being Esme, the gestures she did whenever she found herself feeling close enough someone - children, and Florence was also used to this from often seeing her in the pediatric wing of the hospital. But when he felt a sudden searing pain in the middle of his chest that tore to the left side of his body, it was only because he had been around her enough that he knew who to point an accusing finger to. Bridget's reaction was to short-circuit, and then doused him in silence.
It was akin to watching two different people at the same time after the sudden disconnect - she grinned Esme's way before following Florence to their designated seat, but no stream of consciousness came to him. The same way she unintentionally took him to see her beach house, she enveloped him in nothingness. A blank space was sitting beside Florence Hughes.
Pity, unlike hate, could be boxed and put away. So he boxed it and put it away.
All of these people were just doing their duties as they were raised to. They do well at school, they go to church, they volunteer, they discreetly get into trouble, and at the end of the day they come back to their homes and be their parents' children. As he recalled, that was high school life in Spencer Prep, and if Florence and Bridget went to its sister school then he imagined it wouldn't be any different. This suburban society where everybody's parents had gone to school together and now their children were doing the same - it was a feat to integrate themselves into it.
Look at them now. Just the three of them. Carlisle, Esme, and him, surrounded by a barrage of human society and its customs.
Just like old times.
§
Do you like reading from Edward's point of view? What do you think of it?
I read Midnight Sun trying to find crumbs about the rest of the Cullen family and I could find nothing useful whatsoever, which is ridiculous. They are a huge part of his life and SM squandered away the opportunity to show the nuances of living as a rich, never-aging vampire? Midnight sun was completely focused on Bella and excuse me, but haven't we already had that story? I was expecting to see the world from a different point of view, and yet it was just an action-to-action narration of scenes we already have and having what he felt about the topic on top. Oh and the occasional thoughts of other people.
What about the memories, their history, their funny stories? I love using Edward's point of view to think outside the box. With Bridget we are limited within her view, her memories, her knowledge, and her lifestyle. But with a literal mind-reader? A lot of walls were breached to the point that Edward could be narrating someone else's life, or preventing disasters before they happen because teenagers made a lot of those. If anything, the amusement from all the stupid narratives teenagers thought of themselves and others on the daily would be enough to keep him entertained for days. True, there are parts of being human that disgust him and he wanted nothing to do with, but who could deny that we came up with the best ideas? Just argue with all the inventions that happened in the last century alone. So reading Midnight Sun, or what we have of it, I went 'that's it?' What a waste of resources.
But Midnight Sun aside, I saw a lot of age topic on twilight renaissance tag and thought of putting that into this chapter. Carlisle might have been 23 in canon (somebody was too obsessed with the idea of forever young and beautiful) but with how strenuous and manual life was in his era, I wouldn't be surprised if he looked mid-thirty from manual labor. What with all the plague, the hygiene quality, and the poorness they practically fought to live everyday and we are now bathing in luxury in comparison. So when people in tumblr joked that Carlisle would look like *enter 23-year-old actor*, I don't think so honey. Also, what was with SM and the virginal male trope? All the male members of the clan lived a happy human lifetime, unmarried until they met their counterparts as a vampire, but the female human backstories were married, died by the hands of her fiancé, lost their child because of her husband, became victim of their abusive father. All the females had superior emotional strength and maturity and Edward had the nerve to look down on them so often? It makes me sad.
But anyway, I know now to let go of a chapter once I start to hate it and just about ready to bin it. I have to tell myself I can improve it whenever.
Thank you for your comments:
LPWomer: That's so nice of you to say, it warmed my heart.
monica chipicloud : I'm so glad you're enjoying it. Thank you and you too!
BarbyChan4Ever: I remember you! Thank you, and yes, they don't even look eye to eye this whole chapter.