*V*V*V*V*V*
"Mom, chill out," I beg. I have never seen my mother this frazzled before, whirling around the kitchen with a pot on every single burner, frantically cleaning and dusting between stirring – all with a rare full face of makeup.
"He's not the only one with something to prove," she mutters, aggressively sautéing some onions.
"What does that mean?"
She shakes her head at me, blowing hair out of her face. "What time is he coming?" she asks for the third time.
At that moment, the doorbell rings.
"Right now, apparently," I answer, bolting out of my seat and then reminding myself to not run to the door. I have excess nervous energy, too.
When I open the door, Edward is fiddling with the tip of his tie with one hand and combing through his hair with the other. Still, he offers me a crooked smile when he sees me. "Hey. You look nice."
Having changed into a dress for dinner, I self-consciously smooth down the front. "Thank you. So do you. Um, come on in."
His eyes are alert and curious as he enters my home, taking in details haphazardly. But his flicking gaze comes to a halt at my mother framed in the doorway to the kitchen.
"Hello, Mrs. Swan," Edward says politely, offering his hand.
Her eyebrows drift upwards in surprise as she examines him, taking stock. "Call me Renee, please. It's nice to meet you, Edward."
"Thank you for inviting me to dinner. It smells amazing." I think the idea that his invitation was anything less than mandatory is generous, but I appreciate his manners. He gives her an easy smile that vividly reminds me of Carlisle's innate charm – I guess some things are genetic – and she can't help but smile back.
"Well, I just hope you're hungry because I made enough to feed every teacher in the district."
I cringe, but Edward doesn't bat an eye at the mention of his profession.
"I brought my appetite with me, so no worries there."
We follow after her into the kitchen, carefully not touching, sitting down at the table while she returns to her pots.
"So, where are you from, Edward?" she asks, glancing over her shoulder as she stirs.
"I was born in Chicago, but I've lived in Port Angeles for most of my life. My father started his publishing company there, so that's been home base."
"Bella has only had wonderful things to say about interning there."
"I'm glad. I actually did the same internship before I went to college. It's a good thing to have on your resume."
My mother stops stirring for a moment and fully turns towards us, pursing her lips in hesitation. "Speaking of college, I suppose I should just ask outright: what are your plans for when Bella goes to school in the fall?"
"Mom," I groan.
"Oh, come on. We can be open about this. I didn't ask him here just to feed him," she says patiently.
Before I can protest, Edward says, "The simple answer is that I'm not sure yet. Obviously, I want Bella to go to whichever college is best for her. If we need to do long-distance, that's fine." I remember his offer to find a job wherever I go, but can't blame him for not bringing it up right this second. Still, the idea of long-distance being "fine" like he's already thought through all of this is news to me.
"Good answer," my mom says, offering him a smile. A real smile. He's won her over already.
With that out of the way, she starts setting out the food. Steak with onions and mushrooms, mashed potatoes, broiled veggies, and a homemade steak sauce fill the table. It's like my mother has become an alien – an alien that cooks.
"Don't be shy. Go ahead and start eating."
"This looks amazing," Edward says genuinely, tucking in.
The craziest thing about dinner is that it's not an awful affair. Edward asks my mom about her accounting job, charms her with some anecdotes that I've never heard about his first year of teaching, and mentions several times how smart I am, how insightful I am in working with other students, how at ease I am with tutoring. It makes me blush and worry about making our student-teacher relationship more salient, but my mom eats it up. Of course, she still does a full-blown Spanish Inquisition about where he went to college, what his hobbies are, his familial relationships, and his long-term goals – but it's all pleasant somehow. Maybe because Edward gives her some damn good answers.
It isn't until we're all comfortably full – or maybe uncomfortably in Edward's case since he wolfed down at least three helpings of everything like a monster – and considerably more at ease that my mom asks Edward if he's been to some new bookshop in Port Angeles.
"I've visited once. I've thought of taking Bella there, actually – if that's ok with you, of course."
My mom quirks her mouth and takes a sip from her diet coke, keeping us in suspense. It's cruel, really, considering how important her answer is. "You know, when Bella first told me about you, I was very clear that I wouldn't support any relationship while she was still in high school."
"Renee, I didn't mean any disrespect. I –."
"However, I can see now that I would be insane to try to prevent you from dating," she says calmly.
"I wouldn't try to be with her behind your b –.
"No, no," she interrupts, "that's not what I meant. I mean that I can see you care about each other and things are already in motion."
I suppose in motion isn't a bad way to phrase the orbit we always seem drawn into around each other. "Mom, why don't you just tell us what you're allowing?" I prompt.
She rolls her eyes at me. "Relax. I'm not going to be some Nazi about the dating stuff," she assures me. Looking at Edward, she adds, "I don't know if Bella told you that her father and I were nine years apart, but believe me, I'm not one to judge age differences."
"No, she didn't tell me that," Edward says softly, shooting me a furtive glance.
I just shrug at him; it didn't come up.
"Then I'm glad I said it. I want you to understand that I have no problem with your age or you as a person. Like I said, I can see that you care about Bella. But let's be clear that, age differences aside, she is an eighteen-year-old girl – my eighteen-year-old girl – with an incredible future ahead of her, regardless of whether you're in it or not, and I will have no hesitation about starting World War III if you put that at risk. And I don't think I have to elaborate what kinds of activities would be putting her at risk."
"No, you don't," Edward says, flushed, but solemn. "I mean, I would never want to put Bella in that position anyway, but considering my job . . . well, it's not something I would be careless about. She and I have agreed that our relationship will not have, um . . . a physical aspect until she's graduated."
I'm getting sick of them talking like I'm not in the room, but it's not exactly like I want to jump in when they're both discussing my sex life – or lack thereof – at the dinner table.
"I know. I believe you. If I didn't, you wouldn't be sitting here right now. Because of that, I'm not going to stand in the way of you two dating. But for god's sake, don't even look at each other too much anywhere near Forks because anybody with eyes could you two are crazy about each other," she says exasperatedly.
I glance at Edward and realize we're leaning towards each other in mirror postures, our hands nearly touching on the table; we both straighten simultaneously with guilty expressions. Are we that obvious? Or is it just my mom being perceptive?
We sit in silence for what feels like an eternity, my mother's proclamation settling over us like one of her heavy, woolen blankets.
Finally, Edward says, "So I guess I'll take Bella to that bookstore sometime then."
My mom laughs and I feel more relaxed than I have all evening.
*V*V*V*V*V*
"It wasn't too awful, was it?" I ask, stepping out onto the porch under the pretense of walking Edward to his car.
"Not at all," he assures me, pausing at the front door with me. "She gave us way more slack than I even thought to hope for. She's . . . she's something else."
"Yeah, she's been really understanding."
His lips quirk knowingly, a hint of amusement on his face. "You're a lot like her, you know."
"In what way?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.
"You both get straight to the point. I see where you get your directness. Plus there's this warmth that you both have."
I laugh. "A warmth, huh?"
"Practically toasty," he says with mock solemnity.
"I'm feeling pretty warm right now, actually," I admit, fanning myself after an hour of anxiety.
"Your chest is all flushed."
I look at his eyes, but he's definitely caught up in the aforementioned region, causing my smile to widen. He may have been waxing poetically about our lack of physical aspects, but nothing can detract from our attraction. He clears his throat, eyes dancing around, away, askance – anywhere but my boobs.
"Thank you so much for coming," I say softly, taking pity on his awkwardness. "I know it's not an ideal part of being with a teenager, but –."
"It was fine," he says. "Don't worry, ok?"
I nod because he's a grown man. He knows what he's getting into. "Ok."
"I should, uh . . ." He gestures at his car.
"Oh, right. Of course." Before I can think too much about it, I walk with him to his car right up to the driver's side, not wanting to be separated from him yet. But seeing his vehicle from this proximity reminds me of the only other time I was this close to it.
He catches my eye and whispers, "I think about it every time I get in the car."
My eyes widen, goose bumps rising on my skin. It's a ridiculous reaction to hearing he has sexual thoughts about me – like that was some big mystery – but the way he says it like a secret, leaning into my ear, is enough to make my stomach flutter. Especially knowing we can't act on it.
"God, go home already," I groan. "You're killing me."
He smirks. "Good night, Bella."
"See you Monday," I murmur. I can't help but frown. After everything that's happened, the thought of being apart from him until Monday – until we have to act professionally around each other again – is abhorrent.
"Don't look so sad. I'll text you."
"You will?"
"Your number is in your student file." He winks and the facial expression is so unexpectedly playful that I feel like I've never seen him before. It's like
Instead of allowing me to respond, he gets in his car, offers me a last mischievous look, and drives off. For a change, I'm the one left staring after him.
It isn't until his car disappears down the end of the block that I head back inside and find my mother cleaning up the last remnants of dinner.
"So, what did you think?" I ask, joining in clearing the table.
She makes a show of fanning her face. "You didn't tell me he was so attractive!"
"What can I say? I have good taste," I joke. "But seriously, are you ok?"
"He seems very respectful and intelligent. I liked that he doesn't want to hold you back from your education or anything," she concedes. "Like I said, it's not his age that worries me."
"I know, Mama. But the teacher thing is temporary."
She nods. "I know. I think everything will work out fine, baby. Besides, with the way he was looking at you . . ." She smiles knowingly.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
*V*V*V*V*V*