*V*V*V*V*V*

"Hey, how was school?" my mom asks me perfunctorily when I arrive home, not questioning why I'm three hours late.

"Um," I say.

Yup, I have her attention now. "It's the English teacher, isn't it?"

Jeez, my face must be ridiculously transparent. "Yeah, about that . . ."

"I thought you were avoiding him. Have you talked to him?"

"I was avoiding him, but he asked me to come back and we ended up talking and . . . uh . . . well, he told me he would wait for me to graduate. You know, to date."

"Oh, boy," she groans, discarding her knitting in favor of rubbing her temples with both hands. "What did you say?"

I cringe, staring at my feet.

"Bella," she prompts again, knowing my answer.

"Of course I said yes," I burst out, flopping onto the couch besides her.

"Oh, Bella," she says again, softer this time.

"I know you're upset and I'm fully aware that there are so many risks involved, but I can't change my heart, Mom. You know how it was with Daddy – that you just knew? I mean, I don't know if it will last with Edward because there are so many obstacles in our way, but I know what I feel right now and I know that if he was anybody but my teacher, we would be together already."

At the end of my ranting explanation, she blinks at me once and calmly asks, "What does he like to eat?"

Her question throws me off. "What?"

"He's coming over for dinner," she states decisively and uncompromisingly.

"You're not going to report him to the police or forbid me from seeing him?" Honestly, those have been the two scenarios running through my head – even if she did give me permission.

When she sighs, she looks like she's aged ten years. "Your grandmother gave me a choice when I started dating your father. She didn't like that he was so much older and a police officer – she thought it was too dangerous and unpredictable, which, it turns out she was right about – and she told me that I could either have a relationship with her or with him."

"Oh my god," I say, thinking of the sweet, little, old lady I remember as my grandmother – the woman I'm named after, for god's sake. "Gran said that?"

"Yes, she did. I picked your father, obviously," she says curtly. "We didn't speak for nine years until just before you were born. I wanted her to know her grandchild and I reached out finally. And you know what? We both sobbed for days, apologizing over and over. She regretted that ultimatum for the rest of her life, Bella. She was with me in the delivery room when you were born and the moment she saw you, she knew I had made the choice that was right for me. I swear, once she gave Charlie a chance and got to know him, I think she liked him better than she liked me."

The story stuns me because it does not at all fit in with my heuristics of the relationship between my mother and grandmother or even my father. "Why haven't you ever told me this?"

"Because I didn't want you to think of her that way. She changed so much at the end and especially right now I realize that she was just trying to protect me from what she thought would break my heart. When Charlie got shot . . . my god, Bella," she breathes, tears in her eyes, "I thought of everything my mother had ever warned me about and even then, I still wouldn't have chosen differently, knowing I wouldn't grow old with him."

I just shake my head, speechless.

"What I'm trying to say is that no, I'm not going to forbid you from being with him. I'm not going to make the same mistake my mother did. What I am going to do is get to know this man and make it excruciatingly clear that I will hunt him down and jam these knitting needles into some unsavory places if he hurts my baby girl or does anything to put your reputation or future at risk." The way her brows arch amidst her utterly sincere death threat is chilling.

"Ok," I say slowly.

"You absolutely can not do anything to put yourself at risk either. You have, what, six or seven months left? This town is too small for carelessness because even if I am being understanding, there is nothing I can do to protect your reputation or that man's job if something happens."

"I know," I say hollowly.

"I'm serious, Bella. He could face criminal charges."

"Mom, I know. Edward and I talked about that today – about how we're going to handle being around each other and waiting without ruining everything." No, it wasn't the best note to end on, but we spent at least half an hour discussing some ground rules about physical contact, communication, boundaries, etc. Basically, cold turkey for seven months – lord help me.

She exhales loudly, the intensity of her speech fading. Rising to her feet, she strides to me and puts her hands on my shoulders. "It's going to be ok. I've told you all along – I just want you to be happy. Even though you're scaring the shit out of me, I trust you, ok?"

I nod solemnly, hugging her. "I'm scared, too, but your acceptance . . . that means everything to me."

"And Bella?"

I pull back, seeing the steely glint in her eyes. "Yes?"

"I wasn't kidding about inviting him to dinner."

*V*V*V*V*V*

"Are you actually going to wait until the end of the school year or is that just something you told your mom?" Alice asks at lunch the next day, biting into a celery stick her mother packed for her.

"That's the plan."

She shakes her head. "You're crazy." All considered, I feel like she took the news of my interaction with Edward far too casually, not at all surprised when I called her last night. She told me she knew it was going to happen – one of her feelings.

"I think that's a lot less crazy than getting him fired. Besides, my mom was pretty clear about her line there and the fact that she was even considering the idea of us dating is huge."

"I think it's super smart, though. It makes him seem very honest and open, like he's purposefully making himself uncomfortable just to show your mom that he's not a creep."

"Hopefully she sees that."

"Jeez, knowing what you're going through makes me feel a little less nervous about having dinner with Jasper's dad next week."

"Wait, you didn't tell me that!" I exclaim. "What happened?"

"His dad invited us to dinner at his house last night. I think we're going next Sunday."

I'm relieved that she hasn't known for long, that this isn't something I've been too self-absorbed to pay attention to. "How are you feeling about it?"

She shrugs, biting another celery stick. "I'm nervous, obviously. I mean, Jasper said his dad had a really hard time with the age thing at first, but he's come around."

"Once he actually gets to know you, there's no way he won't like you," I say without hesitation. Alice has that kind of charm to her. She's bubbly and sharp enough to win over anyone.

She squeezes my hand. "Thanks, Jelly Belly. I kind of feel like I'm paving the way for when Edward tells him about you," she laughs.

I cringe. "God, I don't even want to think about that yet. Dealing with my mom is enough for now." I shake my head. "When are you going to tell your parents about Jasper?"

Alice just groans in response and I nod understandingly. Mrs. Brandon is emotionally turbulent, nitpicky, and conservative in her life views. I can't imagine a twenty-two year old man that bartends on weekends being taken lightly in the Brandon household.

"Well, you know my mom would take you in a heartbeat if you get kicked out." Sadly, I'm not even speaking from assumption. Alice has stayed with us twice after being temporarily kicked out over getting her ears pierced without permission – the same night I got my nipple piercings done – and when her mom caught her making out with Tyler Crowley in her room once.

Alice gives me a long look, like she's recalling the same travesties I am. "I'm so glad you're my best friend." Her voice is unusually serious enough that I put my arms around her.

"I am, too. Are you ok?"

She swallows and nods. "Yes, I'm just glad I have you."

"Me, too."

"Sharpies," she laughs.

"Sharpies," I confirm.

The bell rings and I give Alice a parting wave, practically skipping off to Edward. Everything is so different now. We went from zero contact to having a secret quasi-relationship in such a short period of time. Part of me dreads the uncertainty of it all – not knowing how to act, not wanting to push boundaries, not knowing how it will end – but another part is exulting in the possibilities.

"My mom wants you to come to dinner and wants to know what you like to eat," I say by way of greeting when I open Edward's office door.

He coughs, eyes wide. "I assume telling her went well then?"

"My mom is incredible," I say with a sense of wonder, feeling especially strongly after thinking about how different things would be if I had Mrs. Brandon for a mother instead. "She told me she didn't want to make me choose between you or her because that's what my grandma did to her and she wants to meet you before passing judgment. I mean, she was still worried obviously because this could go so badly, but she's being open-minded."

He nods seriously, a military general gathering intelligence about enemy lines. "I figured. Considering I still have my job, though, I'd say everything is going very well."

I don't find his joke amusing. "I worry about that every day."

"I do, too," he says conciliatorily. "I've thought about quitting and trying to find another job."

"Oh my god," I exclaim, an edge of panic in my voice. I don't want him to leave, don't want to be the cause of his resignation.

"Don't worry. It's more of a last resort. They would probably suspend my teaching license for a year if I broke from the contract like that."

"Then you really can't quit."

"It's not like I have tenure. Maybe I would quit after you graduate," he muses aloud. Fixing his eyes on me and watching carefully, he adds, "Depending on where you go to college."

I freeze. We decided to eventually date yesterday and now he's talking about moving with me when I go to school? Is he that serious about me? I turn it over in my head for a moment, wondering if I should feel scared or uncomfortable – but I only feel relief. This is what I signed up for. He wants to be with me. He's talking about this like it's for the long haul, like I'm not just some stupid high school girl that got caught up in his good looks, like he's taking our impending togetherness seriously. I might be in love with him.

He's analyzing my reaction, so I nonchalantly say, "I've been looking at Northwestern."

The crease in his forehead disappears as his expression eases. "Evanston, huh? I was born in Chicago, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I lived there until I was three and then we moved when Jasper was born."

God, it's still so weird to hear him mention Jasper – they're just not cohesive in my head. "Do you remember it at all?"

"Only a few flashes. I remember what the steps looked like outside of our apartment and the playground nearby had this big, green caterpillar thing that you could climb." He pauses. "I have this image of my mother sitting by the window in the kitchen and looking out."

I swallow. "What did she look like?"

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches for his wallet, flipping it open and handing it to me. A small, worn photo of a beautiful woman with green eyes and curly, red hair smiles at me. Honestly, she reminds me of Tori with her hair, but the angle of her eyes and cheekbones is all Edward.

"She looks like you."

He shrugs, taking back the wallet.

"How old were you?"

"Four."

"Sucks, doesn't it?" I sigh.

My reaction surprises him until realization lightens his face. "Your dad?" he guesses.

"Yeah. He died when I was five."

We stare at each other in a moment of connectedness, realizing the similarity of our life stories. I suppose it's a shitty thing to bond over, but I'll take it.

"How did he –?"

"He got shot during a traffic stop," I say it without inflection, having had to explain myself too often. I only remember his funeral in snapshots – him lying so still in the coffin he could have been sleeping, the sickly sweet smell of the flowers around him, how waxy his skin felt when I touched his hand. It feels like a dream.

"He was a police officer?"

"Yeah."

"We don't have to . . . we can talk about something else if you want. I've never liked talking about my mom."

"I'm ok. This has just been a fact of my life – and I don't mind sharing it with you."

"Is he why you're so mature?"

I shrug. "I'm sure it contributed. My mom had us both go to grief counseling right after, so I imagine being made to identify and communicate my feelings so young helped a lot. Besides, just understanding death at that age kind of puts you in a weird social place amongst peers."

"How did you ever date my brother?" he asks out of the blue, staring at me with curiosity and disbelief. The way it bursts out of him makes me think he's been wondering it for a while.

"Excuse me?"

"I know him. I know he wouldn't understand about your dad or how it affected you. He never understood about my mom. Honestly, how did you date him? I can't imagine you two lasting."

"We didn't last," I point out bluntly. Really, I'm just uncomfortable at his line of questioning. "And no, we didn't talk about my dad. We didn't talk much at all, actually," I mutter, remembering how we were too busy having sex to get into childhood traumas.

Edward's face darkens, probably correctly assuming the reason for our lack of conversation.

"I dated him because he was fun," I say honestly. "He made me laugh and he made me feel special and desired – well, up until he dumped me."

"He's an idiot," Edward says decisively.

"Sometimes. I think he just hasn't figured out relationship stuff yet."

"And you have?"

I shake my head. "Of course not." I'm the poster child for horrific decisions in that regard. "I have a terrible track record in choosing completely unavailable partners – you included, no offense. I mean, my only actual relationship was with Emmett and we only dated for four months."

"Then how bad can your track record be? You're so y–," he cuts off.

"Young," I finish for him when he chickens out. "I know I am, but that doesn't mean I don't have at least a bit of experience."

"What kind of experience?" he asks softly.

I guess I should have known we'd reach dangerous territory in under five minutes. "You'll have to get me significantly intoxicated to get into all of that," I say, thinking of having to explain my relationship with his brother's girlfriend or even my brief flirtation with his father.

"That bad?"

I just look at him. I am not ready for that conversation.

"Speaking of intoxication, is that a habit of yours?"

Hearing the implicit judgment in his tone, I carefully say, "I have had alcohol five times in my entire life. Twice with Alice, twice at Volterra, and once at the office party."

His eyes narrow. "Were you drunk that night?"

"Which one?"

"The night in my car."

"I had a few drinks, yes, but I knew what I was doing," I say diplomatically, imagining that night through a completely different lens – a lens where I'm perceived as drunkenly blowing him in a car instead of acting on my passion as a consenting adult. God, I hope he doesn't see me that way.

His lips purse, but he nods.

"Why don't you drink?"

"My mom died in a drunk driving accident and I can't drink much anyway with my medication." Before I can even debate whether I should ask him what kind of medication, he adds, "Anti-depressants."

"I was on those for a while, too," I admit so he doesn't feel vulnerable.

He shrugs. "I'm not ashamed of it."

"I didn't mean to imply that –."

"I'm not offended. I'm just saying it's not a big deal."

"I agree," I say softly, my skin prickling with unease. "We've, uh . . . we're a bit off-topic."

He chuckles. "Are we? I didn't realize we had a topic."

"I guess not."

"Unless you want to tell me about your exes," he prompts, though his eyes twinkle with humor.

"Would you like to talk about your exes instead?" I ask him cheerfully, deflecting his question.

Although I hope for him to back down from my challenge, his eyes narrow. "What do you want to know?"

Fuck. "I don't know," I admit.

He leans back in his chair, waving his hands in a wide motion. "Open book," he says. Well, that's new. How can I resist such an invitation?

"How many women have you been with?"

"Ten."

"Including me?"

"Eleven," he amends. Considering his looks, eleven isn't a terrible number.

"I suppose I don't count yet," I acknowledge. We haven't had sex, after all.

"You count," he disagrees. "Believe me, there have been many times I wish you didn't, but you count."

"That blowjob did it, huh?"

"The best I've had," he says solemnly.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

I grin at him, flattered. Emmett said the same thing as well, though I feel guilty remembering. "Do you think about it a lot?" I ask.

He groans. "I'm not answering that."

I'm actually smirking at him. Maybe knowing he wants me has emboldened me too much. My mother's words about not taking any risks at school come back to me – and I'm pretty sure talking about that time I blew him counts as risky – but we're so alone in his tiny office, insulated from the outside world.

He narrows his eyes at my smug expression, but his smile ruins any semblance of irritation. "You're going to be a monster for the next seven months, aren't you?"

I beam at him, completely self-satisfied. "Oh, way longer than seven months."

He shakes his head, but I know he's hiding amusement. "All right, what about you?"

"What about me what?"

"Has it . . . has it just been Emmett?"

"No," I admit shyly. This piques his interest, but before he can ask, I say, "And yes, that falls into the same category of getting me drunk first." Somehow, I can't imagine admitting to sleeping with both his brother and his other brother's girlfriend going over well.

He looks at me with open curiosity and a touch of concern. "Look, I already know about Emmett and I'm still here. How bad could it be?"

I sigh. He has a point. "I promise I'll tell you, but not right now, ok?"

"Because we're at school?"

"Because it's a long story."

After a long pause in which his brows furrow, unfurrow, and furrow again, he delicately says, "Maybe we should meet somewhere outside of school then. Not today, obviously, but, you know . . . another day."

Why am I blushing? I shouldn't be. I'm actually thrilled at the prospect of seeing him outside of school, of being on neutral ground where we're equals. Maybe I'm embarrassed because my first instinct is to reply that I have to ask my mother – because in reality I'm still a teenager that lives at home.

"I'd like that," I murmur, easing the look of uncertainty on his face. "Maybe the, uh, the coffee shop again?"

"Did you like it there?"

"I hear the cinnamon rolls are really good," I jest – as if I didn't eat the entire thing.

He rolls his eyes, but smiles. "It's a date."

*V*V*V*V*V*

To all of you leaving me reviews (even you future readers, long after this story is completed), just know that I appreciate it endlessly.