Chapter Sixteen

I throw the phone onto my desk and stand up suddenly, knocking my chair over. No. No. This didn't just happen. What the fuck? I honestly can't believe what I just read. How dare they? How fucking dare they make decisions for me, as if I don't know what I can and can't handle?

Fuck.

It's true though, isn't it? I don't even know what I can and can't handle.

Before I know it, I'm reaching for my own phone and dialling Jasper. I don't even know what I'm going to say, but I just need to talk to him. He'll know what to say. He'll know what to do. But the phone doesn't even ring. In fact, it goes straight to his voicemail and, when I check the time; I realise that he's probably in the air right now. On his way here. For my mom's funeral.

I throw my own phone at my bed with such force that it bounces right off and lands on the carpet. I start to pace, my mind racing. What am I supposed to do now? What do I do?

Fuck.

I can't even breathe.

What did they do?

What do I do?

I need to get out of here.

Without another thought, I grab for my keys and wallet and rush out of my room. I think I hear Tori say my name, but I don't stop. I'm going. I have to go. I can't be here. That's all I know.

I burst out the front door, and I'm tempted to run. I just want to run, but I know that if I start running; I won't be able to stop. I absently think of Forrest Gump as I make a sharp left and head towards the driveway.

I get in my mom's car, pull out, and drive. I drive and I drive, but I don't even know where I'm going. I'm headed South, I think, but I don't care.

This isn't happening.

But it is.

I drive fast enough that I need to pay attention, my knuckles turning white from the force of my grip on the steering wheel. It isn't until I'm pulling into the parking lot that I realise where my subconscious mind was telling me I needed to go. I take a moment to compose myself, before I convince myself that this is indeed what I want to do. I need to talk to somebody; somebody who's not actively involved in everything.

My talk with Carlisle feels like years ago, and I don't really want Carlisle to know about the part that involves my mom.

After letting out a puff of breath, I climb out and make my way to the entrance. I don't know what I'm doing here, but I'm here now and it isn't the first time. I've been twice before. The first time was after the reading of my dad's will, which was after everything was said and done; and the second was when my mom went into remission the second time.

So, basically, it's been a while. Despite that, I remember the procedure. It's nothing major, because it isn't as if it's a maximum security prison or anything. He was convicted for insurance fraud, not murder.

Well.

My dad is dead, so that remains to be seen.

I get shuffled through to the visitors' centre, which is just a room with tables and chairs that are bolted to the ground. To prevent furniture from going missing, I assume. No; from being thrown.

There are a few people around, loved ones conversing quietly and family members staring each other down. I can't help wondering what they're all in here for. I wonder if their circumstances are as fucked up as the ones that ended up with my Uncle Eli behind bars.

I sit quietly and wait. He wasn't expecting me.

Obviously, because I wasn't expecting to be here either.

Maybe they told him who came to see him because, when he does show up, he doesn't look surprised. He's wearing faded blue pants - they might have been jeans at some point, but I can't be sure - and a plain blue flannel shirt. If I didn't know that he was actually locked up, I'd think it was just casual Friday at work.

I stand up when he approaches, but he doesn't move to embrace me, which is something I appreciate. Maybe he can tell I'm guarded, though his eyes are giving away some emotion that I don't quite recognise.

"Edward," he says, and I blink. "I didn't think I'd see you."

"I didn't think I'd come."

"They told me about Es - " he stops, his voice catching. I don't blame him. I can barely think her name, let alone say it out loud. "I'm so sorry, Edward."

I drop my gaze. I don't actually know if I came here to talk about my mom, so I don't.

"Do you want to sit?" he offers, and my eyes flick towards the seat I've just vacated. After a brief nod, I move to sit back down, and he slides into the seat opposite me. We kind of just stare at each other for the longest time, before he breaks the silence. "How is school?" he asks, as if he's deemed it a safe topic to talk about.

He doesn't even know.

"It's okay," I say.

"What year are you in now?" he asks, even though I suspect that he knows. Peter told me that he asks about me whenever Peter visits. He's the only one of us who's been able to forgive him for what happened. I can't. I see too much of my dad in him.

"I'm a Junior," I tell him anyway.

His eyes shift nervously and, God, this is so fucking awkward. "Are you still thinking of med school?" he asks.

It's a good question, because I don't actually know anymore. I used to be so sure of many things before, but I'm not sure of anything right now. I want to be able to tell him that nothing has changed. I want to be able to feel as if I'm the same boy I was when none of this shit happened to us.

But then I would be lying.

I don't even know who I am right now. Like, the definition of who I am has been knocked off its axis, and I'm flailing. I don't even know which direction to go to get back on course. How do I get back on track when it feels as if the ground has fallen out from under me?

"I'm still thinking about it," I finally say, and it's as much of the truth as I can handle right now.

He regards me for a moment, before he sighs. "I tried to get permission to be there tomorrow, but it was denied," he says. "We weren't family."

They weren't family.

It's odd to think about. This man, who was once such a presence in our house, wasn't even related to my mom. They'd all been so close once upon a time. My dad, my mom and my uncle. The only family that lived in Seattle. They had to stick together.

We're expecting a lot of family to descend on Seattle for tomorrow's proceedings. Distant cousins and forgotten aunts and uncles are going to be in our hometown, and say goodbye to my mom as if they ever gave a shit about her while she was alive; while we struggled to keep ourselves afloat.

Oh, the scandal of insurance fraud. Oh, that poor family. How could Garrett ever do that to them?

I hate them all.

I told my siblings that I didn't want anyone but my grandmother and aunt staying in our house, and they really had no choice but to agree. Grandma Platt is old, nearing the age you don't come back from. As much as it pained my mom to do so, she sent her mother to live with her sister in Louisiana, because she just couldn't handle it, nor could we afford it.

Plus, Grandma Platt loves New Orleans.

Who doesn't?

We haven't been to visit in more than a year. It's been more than a year since my grandmother's seen her daughter, and now she's dead.

"Edward?" Uncle Eli questions, looking concerned.

I shake my head. "You did a fucked up thing," I say, and it opens up a can of worms for which we both aren't prepared. "Both of you, you did a terrible, misguided, fucked up thing. I mean, what were you thinking? How could you do this to me?" If he notices that I don't say 'us,' he doesn't show it. "I trusted you. I loved you, and look at what you did," I go on, unable to stop myself. It's all coming out now. "Why? We were fine! We were going to get through it all, but you had to rip the rug out from under me, didn't you? With your misguided reasoning; with your love."

I'm not even talking about him and my dad anymore, and we both know it. He just sits there and takes it as I vent my frustration. Is it even frustration at this point? It feels like something more; something stronger. 'Frustration' just sounds too weak.

When I'm done, he just stares at me, and I stare back. What the fuck is the matter with me?

"Edward," he says slowly, quietly. "Tell me what's happened."

I don't even know where to start. What do I even say to him right now? How do I explain what's happened when I don't even understand what's happened myself. I want to tell him, but the words won't come. What am I even doing here? What did I expect?

"Edward," he prompts. "Just breathe. Start slow. Tell me."

I breathe.

I start slow.

And I tell him.

He listens as I speak, saying nothing. I can't tell if he's better or worse than Carlisle at this part. He gives nothing away, his face entirely passive. Maybe it's because he's never met Bella. I wonder if he even knew that I was dating the President's daughter before now. Most of the country seems to know.

It's not secret that Uncle Eli doesn't like the President, which is something he reiterates once I'm done.

"Never liked that Swan," he murmurs, and I can't help my smile. Trust him to remind me of his opinions at this time. "Answer me this, Edward."

I wait.

"If it were the other way around and you were in her place; what would you have done?"

It's something I've thought about already, but it's the first time that I truly consider what Bella and I were actually asking of each other. I was the boyfriend to the President's daughter, and she was the girlfriend to the boy who's mother was dying.

It was too much for both of us, and we were naive to think that starting a relationship was ever going to work. I can look back at myself; at how much I pushed for us, and shake my head. Bella was right from the very beginning, wasn't she? I've been a fucking idiot this entire time.

I don't think that I feel any better when I do leave. If I'm being honest, I'd say that I feel worse. Maybe he's helped postpone the inevitable, because my full-blown meltdown doesn't exactly feel imminent anymore. I've delayed it.

I think I'm in the 'depression' stage of my grief about Bella.

I haven't even started with my mom. Those are five stages I suspect are going to take the rest of my miserable life to work through.

I watch him as he reads, just waiting. I can't even sit still, as I sit on the edge of my bed, hunched but alert. My right leg is bouncing uncontrollably, but I'm not doing anything to still it. My energy needs to go somewhere, and the Conservation of Energy is making it manifest this way.

Sue me.

Jasper is seated in my desk chair, turned to face me as he reads from my mom's phone in his hand. I'm tense. I've been tense since he walked through the door. He was supposed to text me when he landed so I could pick him up, but he apparently didn't want me to go out of my way. He should know that I need the distraction.

Also, I kind if haven't had my phone on me all day so the point is moot.

Secretly, I think that he needed the solitary car ride to prepare himself for this house. My mom is alive in the walls, I swear she is.

Wait. Is that part of the denial stage?

"What the fuck?" Jasper suddenly says, and my eyes snap towards him. "What the fuck did I just read?"

I have no words for him.

"That bitch," he hisses, and I feel something protective spark inside of me.

"Hey," I say.

"Not your mom," he adds, somewhat sheepishly. "I mean Bella."

"Not any better," I mutter.

Jasper shakes his head as he sets the phone down on the desk behind him. "I don't even know what to say," he says; "and I always know what to say. It's kind of my job. I'm supposed to know what to say, but I'm stumped. I don't know what to say. What were they - I just - Edward."

Well, so much for the level-headed psyche major making sense of this complete clusterfuck.

"Are you okay?" he asks me.

Am I okay? Well, isn't that the question of the century?

"No," I say; "but I'm considerably better than I was earlier." It sounds like the truth. "I don't think the truth of it has really sunk in yet," I admit. "It's kind of odd to think about your mom and girlfriend conspiring to try to protect you from - " I sigh. "I don't even know what they were trying to protect me from."

"Themselves."

"Myself."

Jasper sighs. "This is fucked up."

We don't discuss it again because, well, fortunately or unfortunately, Emmett and Rose aren't as considerate as Jasper. There's no way they were going to say that they didn't want me to go out of my way and mission to the airport to fetch them. Despite everything that's happened, Emmett is still Emmett and Rose is still Rose. Maybe they realise that it's what I need, because it's what I get.

The fewer things change, the better.

Jasper comes with me to the airport, and the trip is quiet. We listen to soft music that I don't even hear. I suspect that, even if it were playing full blast, I still wouldn't hear it. The words mean nothing and neither does the beat. I definitely don't see myself ever coming back to music now.

The first thing Rose does when I see her again is complain about the rain. She huffs that bit more when Jasper informs her that it only started as we were driving to pick her up, his tone of voice very telling.

"The weather knows you're here, babe," Emmett says, casually swinging an arm around her shoulders as Jasper and I see to the bags. I don't mind because I like having things to do; even the menial, mundane things.

I'm the one to drive us back to the house, which gives Jasper the opportunity to explain how things are going to work today and tomorrow. He doesn't mention anything to do with what we learned from my mom's messages and I appreciate him for it. I don't want it to be some kind of group discussion anyway. Hearing them talk about my mom's funeral is difficult enough.

Even though I accepted having my mom's mother and sister stay at our house; they decided against it. My aunt has her own husband and kids and they're staying at a hotel together. Grandma Platt decided that it's best if she stays with them.

Either way, my extended family has been relegated to the basement.

"Wait," Rose says from the backseat when Jasper brings it up. "I have to share a space with both of them?"

Jasper snickers at the same time that Emmett lets out a 'whoop whoop.' I just about manage to smile at the horrified look on her face. It's either that or she can sleep in my mom's room, and I have a feeling she won't want to do that. We're a little tight for space as it is because nobody actually wants to go into my mom's room.

Well, nobody besides Riley.

While I'm at school, my bedroom is actually Riley's. I think he prefers when I'm home though, because then he gets to hop from bed to bed, thoroughly enjoying when we fight over him. I guess now there's one less warm bed to choose from.

Dinner is already ready by the time we get to the house and I make note of the fact that Charlotte has made extra extra food. She's seen how Emmett can eat - more like wolf down, if I'm being honest - and she's prepared for him this time around. James and Carlisle end up joining us, and the house feels alive for the first time since I arrived in Seattle after I received the phone call that changed everything.

There are a lot of small conversations going on at the dining table and I can't help but love the cacophony of sound; the marriage between Seattle and Chicago. At a certain point, Tori forces us to discuss the plans for the morning: who's doing what and who's going where.

We'll be coming back to the house after the service, which is kind of why Charlotte turns into a drill sergeant once we've eaten. The house has to be spotless and tidy. It has to represent Esme Masen, even though she's no longer here.

We get broken up into small groups and Jasper makes the mistake of comparing red-haired Charlotte to Mrs Weasley from Harry Potter, which invariably gets himself into cleaning the bathrooms.

"The gloves are under the kitchen sink," Charlotte says over her shoulder, and Emmett and I share a laugh. I'm surprised I can laugh.

There's soft music playing throughout the house and I keep catching myself tapping my foot along to the beat. My fingers even threaten to play imaginary keys at some point and it's making me deeply uncomfortable.

Riley is sent to bed first, though he fights it. He looks exhausted but even I know he's not going to sleep. There's just something about this night that demands your consciousness. I'm probably going to spend it dissecting everything that's happened in the last week.

In the end, I'm half right.

I retire to my room last, making sure that Emmett, Jasper and Rose are settled, before I do my customary sweep of the house. It looks so neat that I'd doubt that people even lived here if I was a stranger just walking in. Maybe that's the point, I guess, but it makes me feel disingenuous. I don't want us pretending to be something we're not.

Which is why I shift a few pillows on the couches in the living room so that they're haphazard and turn Riley's shoes skew in the front foyer.

It's the little things that make me feel so much better.

When I'm satisfied with the relative disarray, I finally go upstairs. I shower in an attempt to wash the day off my body. I'm not sure that I succeed though, because I still feel heavy; burdened.

Peter mentioned that I could take a step back but I honestly feel as if the weight of responsibility has increased. Maybe Carlisle and my mom knew I would feel this, which is why they cooked up this weird student loan repayment scheme. Okay, not scheme. That makes it sound illegal or something.

Anyway.

I've just settled into bed when there's a knock on my door, surprising me. I thought everyone was asleep. I can barely respond before the door opens and Rose slips inside, dressed in too-big flannel pajamas with a woolen hat on her head.

"Rose," I say, smiling automatically; "it really isn't that cold."

"I'm not used to all this Seattle rain," she says with a huff as she pads across my room. "Scoot over."

The look in her eyes tells me that she's serious, so I shift to the right and just watch as she climbs into my bed beside me. She sits up against the pillows and drags the duvet up to her nose, exaggerating a shiver.

"Seriously, how do people live here?"

I roll my eyes, absently mirroring her position. "Does Emmett know you're here?"

She nods. "I kind of declared it to them both before I left the basement," she tells me. "I'll go back in a little while, don't get your knickers in a twist. I just - " she pauses.

"You just what?"

Her facial features soften and she regards me with the kind of expression that makes my heart hurt. I've seen that look in her eye before; it's one of understanding. "I just wanted to talk," she eventually says.

"About what?"

"Well, firstly, why didn't you tell me to bring warmer clothes?"

Despite myself, I chuckle. "Oh, come on, Frosty, this is nothing," I say. "You're really losing brownie points here, you know that?"

She huffs in mock annoyance. Then: "Secondly, Bella did not break up with you because she's pregnant."

The sound of her name catches me off guard, but I just about manage to keep it together. "I know," I say, my voice barely a whisper.

Rose blinks. "You know? Did you speak to her?"

"You know as well as I know that her number's been disconnected, Rose," I say tiredly. "How do you know?"

She surprises me by blushing. "Uh, well, I may or may not have sent her several strongly worded emails," she admits.

I should find it funny, but I really don't. "So her email does work," I mutter.

"It was her school one," she says quickly, as if she needs me to know. "It's probably been disconnected now though, given that - " she stops suddenly.

"Given that what?"

"Well, I do believe that Bella is no longer a registered student," she says; "which just seems like an entire waste of a year. I mean, the least she could have done was actually finish the semester. It's only a few weeks."

I don't really know how to respond to that, so I ask another question. "Did she tell you why she did break up with me?"

Rose must hear something in my voice because she turns her body to face me, the questions in her blue eyes. "Do you know why?"

I nod.

"Oh."

"Oh," I echo.

"She wasn't explicit about it," she explains with a shrug. "She just mentioned that it was what was safest. Whatever that means."

I don't know why but, like with Jasper, I have the strange urge to defend Bella. I don't want to, but it just feels like my body's automatic response. I press my lips together and say nothing.

My silence is enough of a tell, apparently. "Safest," she repeats. "As in, for you?"

The inflection in her voice tells me she's asked a question but I don't respond.

"Oh."

"Oh," I echo again.

We fall silent as the truth of what Bella's done settles between us. I think that I'm much more willing to accept Bella's role in this whole mess than I am to accept my mom's. They had no business discussing me and the situation we're now in the way they did.

Bella should have talked to me.

Rose reaches for my left hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. The comforting contact helps quiet the raging war going on inside my head.

"How are you feeling about tomorrow?" she asks me after a while.

I fight a yawn, and fail. "The truth?"

"I'd expect nothing else."

I sigh. "I think I'll be able to get through it," I tell her slowly. "I have the order of events memorized and, if I just take it one thing at a time; I think I can survive the day without completely losing it."

Her eyes meet mine. "'Losing it' seems like an odd way to put it, Edward."

If she only knew.

"How are you, really?"

I make a move to run my hand through my hair but stop midway. I think the action itself is now haunted by my mother. Maybe I really just don't want to end up bald before I turn thirty. Imagine what my ears would look like without my hair there to camouflage them.

"I want to run," I eventually tell her. "Every second, I just have this urge to take off but I know I can't. I have to be here. I have to be strong. I have to - " my voice catches and I look away from her, absently taking my hand back. I don't think I can handle her comfort.

"Why do you have to do these things, Edward?" she asks quietly, the volume of her voice blending into the late night air.

"If I don't, who - "

She cuts me off. "No, I mean, why do you have to be here? Who said that you have to be strong?"

"Nobody has to say it, Rose," I say, slightly annoyed. "I can't just leave. My family needs me. They've always needed me, and I've spent the last few years in another fucking state when I should have been here." The rise in my voice catches us both off guard but she doesn't look at all ruffled. Rosalie Hale, everybody.

"Oh, I see," she says; "so it's all on you then?"

"I don't even know what that means."

She sighs. "Look, Edward; I know about as much about grief as my own experiences have taught me, but I do know this: being strong, being the rock for your family not only hurts you but it hurts them as well. The point is to feel it so you can get through it. You're hurting yourself if you push it out of the way instead of taking it apart. It just creates - "

I cut her off. "Okay, Dr. Phil, enough with the analogies."

She glares at me. "I'm just trying to help," she says, frowning slightly. "We worry about you."

"I know," I say; "I'm sorry. I just - if I can get through tomorrow, then we can deal with everything else, okay? I just want to hold it together long enough to say goodbye, and then the rest can happen. Is that so wrong?"

"Of course not," she reassures him. "Just remember that your strength isn't expected. We're all here, and we're all going to get through it."

I blink. "Together?"

"I'd expect nothing else."

One sight of my family and I'm already starting to cry. In all my life, I never envisioned myself standing at the altar of the church in which my parents were married, about to give a eulogy at my mother's funeral. Never.

Esme Masen is - was - the woman who was supposed to outlive us all.

And yet, here I am. Here I fucking am.

My eyes flicker skyward at my own swearing. Sorry, but I think we're both just going to have to deal with it today.

I open my mouth to speak. "As - " I hesitate. I have to stay calm.

Bella isn't here.

My hands are visibly shaking, and it's so distracting.

I searched every face for hers, but Bella isn't here.

Even with the words written down in front of me, they still seem stuck. Somewhere, I don't know - just stuck.

I suck in a deep breath, turning my head towards the coffin to my left. Even in death, my mom is the most beautiful woman to have ever graced my life. She left instructions, of course. There is no wig, but there is a scarf. She's pale, but she looks as if she's sleeping. Finally. Peacefully.

Grandma Platt and my mom's sister have spoken already, each of them highlighting all the wonderful qualities that my mom possesses - fuck, possessed. It really isn't fair, just how lovely she is. Was. So, between the two of them, they ended up covering a lot, and my eulogy just seems like repetition now. I mean, how many wonderful things can we say about one person?

It's clear, though, that no words can ever do my mom justice.

Despite this, I still clear my throat and try again. I owe her that much. "As many of you here already know, I'm Edward, Esme's second son." I feel odd using her first name this way, but I do it. "First, on behalf of the Platt, Masen and Cullen families, I do want to thank you all for joining us today, in celebrating my mother's life. As short as it was, we all know she would claim that it was a good one. A great one, even, because she was so loved." I look around at the many faces in the pews. "It's easy to tell, from the sheer amount of people here today.

"But, it's not enough to ignore the fact that we shouldn't be here. Not for something like this. But we are. We are all here today because my mother is no longer with us. A disease took her away from our world. But not without a fight. She knew the end would eventually come, and yet she soldiered on. She suffered beautifully and painfully. In the end, yes, she may have lost the battle but one thing she taught me, and those around her, is that life, yes, can be ugly, but it can be beautiful too." It's beautifully ugly, I smile at the memory. "She used to tell me stories about life's silver linings and, you know, I'm trying desperately to find the silver lining in what has happened here."

I take a calming breath because I need it. I don't need anyone to tell me that I'm never going to find a silver lining to the death of my mother. "My mom was a fan of poetry," I say. "It's no secret to anyone who ended up meeting her; she was definitely bound to tell you at some point. Over the years, she's collected poetry, in all forms: books, magazines, brochures, anything she could get her hands on. She liked to read to herself, and out loud. To me. To my siblings. To anyone who would listen, really.

"Marked as one of her favourites, as if she knew I would find it and read it here today, was the poem Success by Bessie Stanley. I would like to share it with you today." I have to force myself to keep breathing. "'To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.'"

I take another deep breath. "My mom was so many things to so many people. She was a daughter, a sister, a wife and, most important to her, a mother. She never said it out loud, but I could tell that she was worried that she would be gone, and it would be like she was never here. She was worried that she hadn't lived a life to be remembered; that she hadn't been successful with the time she was afforded. One of her greatest worries was not living a meaningful life. And, I know everyone who had the privilege of even meeting her would agree with me when I say that she did. Of course she did. She lived a meaningful, important, and successful life.

"She accomplished so much. She gave of herself every day, fighting the good fight until the very end. This disease, this cancer, has claimed its final prize. After her breasts, her lymph nodes, her livelihood and her hair; it has finally claimed her life. But never her spirit." I pause to gather myself. "Today, I leave with words written by William Wordsworth: 'Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendour in the grass, or glory in the flower; we will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.' This is what she wanted for us. All of us." I turn my head towards the coffin again, speaking directly to my mom. "Go well, Mom. We will weep for you. We will miss you. Thank you for your love and the memories you have left with us. I will love you always. Always."

With that, I step down, my legs barely carrying me. Peter stands up to guide me back to my seat, and I drop down immediately, my hands covering my face. I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready for a life without her. Her. My mom. Bella. My mom.

I'm just not ready.

I hold onto Tori's hand as we follow my mom's coffin out of the church. I would have been one of the pallbearers, but my mom was very clear. Her sons are not to carry her; they've carried her enough. I hate her reasoning, but I'm still a little grateful. I don't think I have the strength to help even if I wanted to.

Tori squeezes my hand as we walk. I can tell that she's tired. She hasn't slept properly since - just, since. I know she's having nightmares, and there's nothing I can do to help. What can I do? I mean, I can handle my own pain, but hers… how am I supposed to handle hers? I wish that I could bear it all; just, anything to make her pain even a little less. If I could carry it for her, I would.

The drive to the cemetery is made in silence. I have Riley with me. I don't know if my family decided that it's a good idea for me to be responsible for him, or if Riley could sense that I needed to have my mind focused on anything other than the fact that I will never ever see my mom smile a real smile again.

So Riley sticks close to me, and Charlotte and Peter seem content to allow it. Better to keep us together.

Jesus. I feel like such a child.

But I accept it regardless. Maybe this is what I need - to be micromanaged. Apparently my mom and Bella aren't against doing it either. I mean, what do they see that I don't? Is there something to be seen?

I startle slightly when Tori drops her head onto my shoulder, burying her face against my jacket as she cries. I don't know what to do for a moment of complete panic, before I place a gentle hand on her knee and squeeze. She doesn't look at me, but she does quiet considerably.

We're orphans. We're actually orphans.

The priest says more words, but I can't hear him. I don't want to hear him, because this is it. This is goodbye, and I'm not ready. Holy shit, I'm not ready for this.

The finality of my mom's death hits me like a bulldozer as I sit and watch her coffin be lowered into the ground. All I can do is watch in stunned silence as it happens, and it takes everything that I have not to launch myself at the coffin, and beg it all to stop. I need her to stay. She can't go.

Take me with her.

My fists clench, and my entire body tenses.

Stay in your seat, Edward.

I feel someone's hand on my shoulder, and I glance back at Carlisle. Maybe he feels what I feel; maybe he can see what's happening, because his touch is the only thing that keeps me in my chair.

I look away from Carlisle, and I look at the hole in the ground before turning my attention to the tombstone a few feet away. I'm both surprised and not that my mom still wanted to be buried beside him. I wanted to ask Carlisle how he feels about it, but I figure that he and my mom discussed it.

She might have loved Carlisle, but Garrett Masen was her ultimate.

Is Bella my ultimate? Will there be anyone after her?

I force thoughts of Bella away and try to focus on what is happening right now without actually focusing. I want to be present, but I also don't want to be able to recall any of this in the future. It'll just be a day that I said goodbye to my mom, and that'll be that. I don't want to remember the details; I don't want to remember the words or the sounds or the sights.

One day, this will all be some memory, and I sure as hell don't want to remember the carved pattern in the wood of my my mom's coffin, or the smell of the freshly dug up dirt.

The rest of the brief service goes quickly and, at the end of proceedings, my family accompanies majority of the congregation to the house, but I stay put, seated quietly with Riley leaning against me. Jasper is sitting behind me, staring at the ground and fighting his own emotions.

This was not supposed to happen.

I can feel Jasper's presence behind me; his calming, knowing presence. He hasn't said much, which is something that I appreciate. It's just comforting having him around, knowing he's there. I can't imagine what he's going through, and I don't want to. I can't even look past what I'm feeling.

The air is cool. It's probably going to rain. I sort of hope it does, and I hope it doesn't ever stop.

We sit in silence for the longest time, waiting, just watching. My eyes don't lift from the hole in the ground until I hear Jasper's phone vibrate. I hear him say a few words to someone - probably Rose - but I don't pay that much attention.

It's his hand on my shoulder that makes me lift my head to look at him.

"Masen," Jasper whispers. "We should go."

I wait a beat before I nod, sitting up straight and turning my head to look at Riley. He's asleep, and my relief is almost immediate.

Jasper stands up and moves around the chairs. "I've got him," he says, bending to lift the little boy into his arms.

I stand up, feeling my knees click. Jasper straightens out, and we both look at Riley. Peaceful, perfect Riley.

"I'm so glad he's finally asleep," I say, running a hand over his browning hair. He's been going full speed ahead since I can remember. He couldn't get to sleep last night, in his excitement to say goodbye to his Nana. I don't -

"You ready to go home?" Jasper asks, thankfully interrupting my thoughts.

"No," I say, laughing lightly. "I'm hoping I'll walk through the front door and she'll be there, waiting for me with that smile that she smiles." I look at the hole in the ground again. "Is it ever going to be okay?"

"I don't know," he replies, sighing sadly. "I wish I had answers for you. I want to have answers. But, unfortunately, I don't."

"Thank you for being here," I tell him anyway, my voice catching. I don't need him for answers; I just need him.

He looks like he doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing. Instead, he starts to walk, trying his best not to wake Riley. Dreamland is the one place he can go where he doesn't have to face the loss of his grandmother.

I fall into step beside my best friend, our strides oddly in sync. It isn't easy walking away from my mom, just leaving her alone in the ground and I can't help starting to cry as I do. The thought of her still body being left behind tears through me, making my body ache. And shake.

I have to stop walking, my breathing rapid and my heart racing.

Jasper also stops. "Masen?"

"I just - " I try. "Give me - one - minute."

Jasper watches me with wide eyes.

Is this it? Fuck, is this panic? Is this the breakdown?

"Okay," Jasper says. "Just breathe, okay? Let me put Riley in the car, and then I'll come right back. Just breathe. Focus on your breathing."

Breathing has never been so difficult. I bend over and put my hands on my knees, trying to breathe. I hear Jasper hurry away, and it's the first time I notice that we're already so close to the car; to my mom's Volvo. We're hidden by trees, and I'm suddenly grateful. It isn't as if there's anyone around, but I'm still relieved. Better I suffer through this in private.

I'm tempted to drop to my knees, but I can't. I have to walk away. I have to do it. She's gone. She's gone. She's never coming back.

Before I know it, Jasper is back and he's placing a hand on my shoulder. "Hey," he says quietly. "What did I say? Deep breaths."

I suck in a slow breath, and then let it out the same way. I do this a few times, before it feels like I'm coming back to myself. I feel ridiculous, really, having to dedicate so much brain power to what is supposed to be involuntary. I felt the same way during the eulogy. Once I think I have a handle of myself, I force myself to stand up straight.

Jasper looks worriedly at my face.

"I'm okay," I say hesitantly.

He wants to call 'bullshit' - I can see it in his eyes - but he doesn't. "We can always come visit," he says, as if he's read my mind. "We can always come back. We're not just leaving her here, Edward."

I blink. Logically, I know all this already, but it's quite a relief to hear him say it out loud. Of course, I can always come back. I'm pretty certain that I'll visit her far more than I ever visited my dad.

I'm angry with the both of them now.

"We can come back," I echo.

"Of course," he assures me, squeezing my shoulder. "Any time you want. I promise."

"Any time," I echo again, my head nodding. "Any time."

"That's it," he says, patting my shoulder. "We'll be able - " he stops suddenly, his eyes drifting past my face to somewhere behind me. "Bella."

I frown. "What?"

"Bella?"

"What about Bella?"

"No," he says. "Bella."

"Repeating her name isn't helping," I say irritably.

"No, Edward, it's Bella," he says. "Behind you."

I turn my head around so quickly that I almost give myself whiplash. When I spot her, my mouth automatically says her name, but it gets swallowed up by the wind. "Bella."

She's just a black figure, standing at the hole that now holds my mom and forever will.

She's here. She came.

Bella.