Hooray, Jasper has started chatting away to me again, and we are back on schedule!
I don't own Twilight. I do have a much-younger sister, and some of this chapter may or may not "ripped" from my own life.
-o-
Jasper
I spend Sunday evening reading, but my mind keeps wandering to the group of people I met today, and the dynamics between them. Foremost in my thoughts are Ashton, the man who has two people longing for him; and Jack, who like me is wishing for someone he can't have. I have a feeling that Jack is usually fun to be around, when he's not pining for Ashton. It must have been tremendously difficult for him to sit and watch Ashton and Kathleen's obvious attraction to each other. I can imagine how I'd feel if I had to watch Edward with a new love interest. The more I think about it, the more I think a night out might really do him some good. I know I definitely need it.
-o-
Monday morning I awaken to realize that I've had a good night's sleep, possibly the first since I met Edward; definitely the first since we broke up. I'm glad for it, because I have a meeting this afternoon with Carlisle Cullen and I want to be at the top of my game for it. Not because I anticipate that Carlisle will give me a hard time – far from it, in fact – but because I want to be strong. I don't want him to be sad for me; in fact, I don't want to discuss Edward at all. If I can draw on Jazz enough to be straightforward and professional, perhaps Carlisle will understand, without me having to tell him in so many words, that I'm not there to talk about his son.
At work, Kathleen gushes to me about Sunday's lunch, how much everyone loved me and that they want to get together again soon. I tease her a bit about Ashton, and her face flushes. Her eyes sparkle as she tells me what a wonderful conversation they had (mentally, I snicker a bit at the use of the word "conversation" – as if an almost-entirely one-sided dialogue could be considered as such). As I listen to her, I can't help but wonder if she realizes that Jack is in love with Ashton too. Not that there's anything she can do about it, of course. Ashton is who he is – a straight man. Eventually I give her a good-natured eviction from my office so I can get some work done.
My appointment is arranged for two o'clock in his office, and by the time I leave my office to head up to the floor that houses the department heads' offices, Jazz is reflected in my body language – the square of my shoulders, the uplift of my chin. But not on my face. I don't need to be austere – just candid and direct, with no superfluous chat about my personal life.
When I arrive at Carlisle's office, his receptionist greets me pleasantly; then asks me to take a seat for a few moments, as I am a bit early and Dr. Cullen is expecting an important call. I accept, and sit in one of one of the chairs outside Carlisle's office door, fiddling with the file folder in my hands as I wait.
After a few moments, the receptionist's phone rings. "Dr. Cullen's office, Gina speaking," she answers. "May I tell him your name?...He's waiting for your call, Edward. Just a moment, please."
My ears perk up at hearing the name I love, even when it belongs to someone else. I wonder whether, as time goes by, I'll ever again be able to hear his name without getting a rush of butterflies in my stomach, and a weird quivery feeling in my throat.
Very quickly, though, I am wishing the butterflies were all I felt. My stomach drops to the floor when Gina transfers the call to Carlisle. "Dr. Cullen?...It's your son on the line…You're welcome."
What the fuck? Edward is calling his father, and Carlisle knew it was coming? What the fuck is going on? My heart immediately lurches in my chest and my hands begin to shake. I don't even know what I'm feeling…anger? Betrayal? Chagrin? Gina says something to me, but I have no idea what she's saying. I can't see straight – my head is spinning. There's no way I can face Carlisle – I have to get the fuck out of here.
I stand unsteadily, hoping I can get back to my office without throwing up. "I have to go," I stammer; and though Gina speaks to me again, her voice filled with alarm, I can't focus on her words. I'm fleeing, out the door, down the hall, stumbling towards the elevators. I am vaguely aware of hospital staff in the hallway, the concern on their faces visible to me despite the blurred distortion of my vision; like looking at the world through a coating of Vaseline. Their lips move but I have no idea what they're saying – the ringing in my ears blocks out all sounds except the screaming in my head.
I get to the bank of elevators and, miraculously, the doors open as soon as I push the button. The people exiting the elevator peer at me, their eyebrows raised, but I ignore them and hit the button for my floor, followed by the Door Close button. I grip the handrail that encircles the small space as the elevator lurches down towards the fourth floor. When the doors open I stagger out and down the hall to my office. When I'm a few steps away from the office door, Kathleen steps out into the hallway, her eyes wide with concern.
"Jasper?" she says, catching me in her arms. "Gina called me and said you just bolted out of her office. What's wrong? Are you sick?"
"I need to sit," I stammer.
"Come on," she urges, and keeping one arm around me, she guides me into the office, past her desk and into my own sanctuary where I collapse into my chair. "Jasper," she says. "Jasper? Come on, you're really worrying me. Do I need to call someone for you?"
"Give me a few minutes," I mumble, leaning my head against the high back of my chair, and putting my hand over my eyes. "I need to breathe."
Kathleen stays beside me, her fingers on my wrist as she takes my pulse. "Jasper, your heart is going a mile a minute." She waits a moment for an answer, and receiving none, she continues, "I really think I should call a doctor up here to check you out." She probably thinks I'm having a cardiac incident.
Again I mumble, "I need a few minutes." It's all I'm capable of saying at this point.
"You have five," she tells me firmly. "If your heart rate hasn't calmed down in that length of time, I am calling someone. No arguments."
I can only nod weakly. For a couple of minutes the office is silent. Kathleen continues to monitor my pulse with one hand; with the other she strokes my hair, probably in an attempt to help calm me. I try to breathe deeply, my pulse pounding in my ears as my heart races.
After a few moments Kathleen shifts, her hands leaving me. "Jasper, someone's at my desk. I'll be back in thirty seconds, no longer, I promise." She leaves my office, and I hear her say, "Dr. Cullen! Oh, thank goodness you're here. Something's terribly wrong with Jasper, I don't know what—"
The next thing I know, Carlisle Cullen is at my side. He, too, moves to take my pulse, placing his fingers at my throat instead of my wrist. "Jasper?" he asks, firm but kind.
"I'm okay," I whisper, and open my eyes. Carlisle is kneeling beside me, looking down at his watch as he times my heartbeat. "Carlisle…Edward…"
His eyes meet mine at the sound of his son's name, and I can see that he knows I heard the call transferred to him. It's almost certainly what brought him here.
"Kathleen," he says quietly, "I think he's okay. Gina told me what happened in my office, and I believe I know what's going on. He'll be fine," he assures her. "He and I need to have a chat. Can you give us a few moments?" he asks kindly.
"Are you sure?" asks Kathleen dubiously. "He seemed really bad off…"
"It's okay, Kathleen." I nod at her, and reach out to grasp her hand. "Thank you. I'm feeling a bit better now."
She squeezes my hand for a moment, and then, smoothing my hair back, she leans forward and places a kiss on my forehead. "Okay," she says softly. "I know you're in good hands. I'll be at my desk if you need me," she says, straightening up. She gives me a last smile before she adds, "Thank you, Dr. Cullen."
He smiles and nods at her, and she leaves. Carlisle gets up from his place beside me and softly closes the office door; then he comes back around to my side of the desk and leans back on the desk, watching me carefully. I meet his gaze, and his eyes are full of fatherly concern. For a few moments he says nothing; and I assume he is waiting until I've recovered a bit more.
Finally he asks, "How are you feeling?"
I raise one eyebrow at him, a trifle scornfully. "Just peach," I mutter. "Sorry, Carlisle. I know we had an appointment but I just don't think I can do it today."
"I didn't come because of the appointment," he responds contritely. "Gina told me you were there waiting for me, and seemed fine; and then suddenly bolted from the office looking like you'd seen a ghost. She was concerned that something was seriously wrong." He pauses, and heaves a long sigh. "I assume…you heard her transfer a call to me?"
Again I toss him a contemptuous look. "Don't toy with me, Carlisle," I grumble. "Edward called you. A call you were expecting." I decide to leave it at that; let Carlisle fill in the blanks.
"I'm sorry, Jasper," he says, "that you heard Gina transfer the call. I know it must have been a shock for you, and I'm very sorry that you had to hear that without the benefit of context."
"Context?" I all but spit at him.
"The context of what has happened in our lives – mine, Esme's and Edward's – in the past few days," he continues. "Jasper, on Thursday night, Edward came back to us."
"Came back…?" I repeat, bewildered.
"He showed up at our door," Carlisle says, in a voice so quiet it's almost a whisper. "He collapsed into his mother's arms and cried as though his heart was broken. He stayed with us that night and the next, and we talked, the three of us. We have our son back. You gave us our son back."
"I gave you your son back?" I scoff.
"Absolutely," he nods fervently. "If it hadn't been for you, Jasper…you were the catalyst in Edward's life that made him realize he needed love in his life."
Laughing is probably the most inappropriate response to Carlisle's statement; but I can't help myself, chuckling bitterly. "Well, that's just great, Carlisle," I sneer. "I can't tell you how happy I am for all of you. It was all worth it – walking on eggshells around your son, the broken heart, all of it – just so I could nail myself to the cross for your sake."
He stands, and his eyes are full of the hurt my words have inflicted. "I know you're hurt, Jasper; and I don't blame you for feeling embittered by this." I roll my eyes and look out the window. "I have told you much more than Edward wanted you to know; but please believe me when I tell you that you are very important to him. To all of us. Esme and I know that we owe this to you; we'll never be able to thank you enough. If you ever need anything – anything – just ask."
What I truly want, Carlisle can't give me. So I reply, "What I need is to be alone. I know how important family is, Carlisle, and I'm sure at some point I'll be able to feel happiness for what your family has gained. But today I'm going to be selfish."
Carlisle nods, and reaches for my wrist, saying, "Let me check your heart rate again, and then I'll go."
"I don't think this is necessary," I mutter, but I let him do what he needs to do.
When he's finished he purses his lips and says, "It's still a bit elevated, but much better than it was. Take it easy for the rest of the day, okay?"
"Oh, you can count on it," I reply tersely, even as I feel a bit guilty for being rude to him; and I return my gaze to the window.
He lingers for a moment. From the corner of my eye I can see that he is looking at me, but I refuse to meet his gaze. I hear my office door open, then him speaking quietly to Kathleen, reassuring her that I am okay. She sounds unconvinced, but defers to him. He asks her to try to convince me to take the rest of the day off, and she agrees quickly, then bids him goodbye.
A moment later she stands beside me, and when I look up at her she is peering at me critically. "Jasper, do you have a health condition I should know about?" she asks directly. "Because if there's something I need to watch for, you should tell me."
Is a broken heart a health condition? "No, Kathleen," I reply, "no health condition." I don't even know how to explain away what happened, without telling her the truth; or at least enough that she'll understand. "The guy I was seeing…he's Dr. Cullen's son."
Her jaw drops. "He has a son?"
"They were estranged for a while," I reply, keeping to a minimum of details. "They're not any longer. I got some surprising news about Edward when I was in Dr. Cullen's office, and I didn't react well."
She looks diffident. "Is he okay? I mean, he didn't get hurt or something, did he?"
"No, he's fine," I reply, looking back to the window. "They're all fine."
"Okay," she replies hesitantly; then when she realizes I'm not going to elaborate further, she moves on. "Dr. Cullen says you should go home for the rest of the day, and I agree. There's nothing on your schedule for the rest of the day – just go home and chill. Your brother-in-law is coming to stay with you tonight, right?"
"Yeah," I reply, checking my watch. "He'll be at my place by six or so."
"Go ahead, then," she urges, "and relax for a bit before he gets there."
Slowly I nod my head. There's no way I'll get anything else done here today; and it would be nice to have some repose before Emmett arrives. "Okay," I concede. "You're right."
"Are you okay to drive?" she wonders. "Should I call a cab?"
"No, no," I scoff. "I'm fine now."
"Hmm," she eyes me critically. I guess I pass her inspection because she relents. "Okay."
"What would I do without you, Kathleen?" I wonder aloud, attempting to give her a smile.
"Your life would be too quiet, for starters," she says with a snort, and stalks back to her desk. Mentally, I agree; but I opt – wisely, I think – not to voice my agreement.
I gather up my things from my desk and bid Kathleen goodbye, thanking her again for looking after me today. Driving home, I think ahead to this evening. Having Emmett stay will be good for me. No one can stay in a bad mood when Emmett is around.
-o-
Edward
3 x 5
8 x 10
4 x 6
Two copies
Monday evening, I sit on the floor of my living room, surrounded by photographs. Anyone watching me would think I was in the midst of an uncontrolled mess; but I have sorted the photos according to the year they were taken, more or less. I am going through them now, deciding which I want to frame, which I want to make more copies of, and which will go back into the photo albums I've ransacked. As I decide, I add notes to the list I have going, the one that will tell me how many frames I need and in which sizes; and I place post-it notes on the backs of the photos I've set aside for framing.
It's a slow process, as I haven't looked at many of these photographs in years. Each one is tied to a memory, most of which I have striven to avoid thinking about, for a long time. Now, however, I hold each one individually, letting the memories find me. Alice and me with my maternal grandparents, who both passed away before I turned ten…I wonder how well Alice remembers them. My middle school graduation…my parents and I all wearing huge smiles. The four of us at the cabin we used to rent every summer up in the Olympic Mountains…Alice and I each with the sticky-sweet white remains of toasted marshmallow on our faces.
I am startled out of my reveries by a sudden beep. It takes me a minute to realize it's the building security intercom – someone is buzzing me from the front door. It happens so seldom that I've almost forgotten the sound. I flick my TV on and flip to the station that shows me the image from the closed-circuit camera that monitors the front door. Standing outside the front door is a pretty young woman. I haven't seen her in a long time, but I would know her anywhere.
Alice.
I dash to the door, though she buzzes again before I reach the intercom pad. Without asking her to identify herself, I push the button that unlocks the door, then I pull open my apartment door and listen. She is taking the stairs instead of the elevator, and I hear her light step as she sprints up them. As opposed to a traditional enclosed stairwell you would find in a regular apartment building, this building, an industrial conversion, has a large, wide staircase that is open from top to bottom. It opens into my hallway directly in front of my apartment door, and I see Alice as she rounds the landing below to begin her ascent of the final flight of stairs. She sees me standing in my doorway, and slows; her eyes locking with mine, she takes one step at a time, slowly ascending toward where I wait.
Finally, she stands opposite me, silently regarding me. I do the same, looking her over, trying to believe that this woman is the little girl I left behind when I went to college. Her hair, which used to be long, is now cut in a short, straight style just below her chin. The color is the same, reddish-brown, darker than mine. Having two parents with green eyes has ensured that Alice and I both have them; but hers are rounder, more like Mother's. She's slim; and taller than I would have anticipated, for being so petite as a girl – probably about 5'7".
All this I take in before she finally opens her mouth. "You always buzz people into your building without asking who's there?" Her voice surprises me with its maturity; she's not a little girl anymore.
"Hello to you too, Alice," I reply with a smile, so she knows I'm teasing.
"Hello, Edward," she replies. "It's not very safe to let strangers into a secure building."
"You're not a stranger," I say, at which she lifts one shaped eyebrow. I choose to ignore it, and continue, "Besides, I knew it was you, Squirt."
Alice makes a face at the name I used to call her as a child. "So are you going to invite me in, or what?"
"I'm thinking about it," I pretend to hesitate, then I smile and step back into my apartment, holding my arm out to invite her in.
She strolls past me and heads straight to my living room as I close the door behind her. She stands in the middle of the large, open space, looking around at the floor-to-ceiling windows, my bookshelves, and my furniture; then the television, still showing the camera image from the front door, catches her eye. "That's how you knew it was me," she remarks, her voice impassive. Finally she stands in front of the photos spread on the floor, looking silently down at them.
I try to break the ice. "I'm surprised you came to see me, Alice," I begin. She scowls at me. "I'm glad," I hastily add, "just surprised. Since you wouldn't talk to me when I was at Mother and Dad's last week…"
"I wasn't ready. I still don't know if I am; but I can only deny my curiosity for so long," she mutters.
"Okay," I allow. It's certainly not a ringing endorsement; and I decide I should probably let her lead this conversation. I return to my spot on the floor amidst all the photographs, figuring she will join me if she wants to.
"What are you doing with all these pictures?" she asks, looking down at them again.
"Some of them are going into frames," I reply. "See this list? It's a running tabulation of the frame sizes I'll need. These ones," I indicate a pile of older, square-style photographs with rounded corners, "are ones that need some restoration. I have a colleague who does restoration work. And these," pointing to another stack, "I want copies made. I don't know if Mother and Dad have these ones or if I have the only copies; I thought they might like to have some. There are some of Grandma and Grandpa in here."
Alice sits down on the sofa, the front of which I am leaning against. She leans down to scrutinize the photo I have in my hand – it's her and me with our grandparents. Alice looks to be about three, which puts me at around seven or eight. We are wearing dressy clothes – Alice a soft pastel print dress; me, beige pants with a tie and sweater-vest – and each of us clutches an Easter basket. Our grandparents stand with us, and we clutch their hands and squint into the bright Easter morning sunlight. I am sporting a gap-toothed grin, thanks to the loss of several baby teeth. I remember this Easter well – the last one we spent with my grandparents before they both became ill.
As though reading my mind, Alice says, "I remember that; it's the only Easter I remember with them."
I nod. "It was the last one before they got sick," I agree.
Another moment of silence passes before Alice speaks again. "We looked happy."
"We were happy," I offer candidly; and then we lapse into silence again. Alice slides down off the couch to sit next to me on the floor, and picks up a large manila envelope. It's the one I haven't yet had the courage to go through.
"What are these ones?" she asks.
"You can look," is my reply. She pulls out the stack of photos and starts flipping slowly through them. These ones aren't from twenty years ago; and they're not pictures of our grandparents. In fact, the subject isn't family at all.
"He's the one?" she asks simply as she looks through them, and I nod, staring straight ahead. "This one is really good," she murmurs as she pauses at one. Her comment forces me to look over to see which one she's referring to. It's a copy of my favorite Jasper picture, the one I gave to him. He is in walking in Canal Park, and while everything around him is black and white, he is in beautiful color. "Is this your work?"
I nod silently, and she continues, "They're all good, but this one…look at the way the light plays off the water, even in the black and white. Did you take this with a dSLR?"
"You're into photography?" I ask with surprise.
"Just as a hobby," she replies. "I took a couple of courses last summer." She continues to look through the stack, and pauses again at a photo of Jasper that has several deep scratches on the print. "What happened here?" she asks curiously.
I struggle for a moment, deciding how best to answer; and settle on a modified version of the truth. "I dropped it."
She looks dubious. "From where, the Space Needle?"
"I…dropped it with force," I amend.
"You threw it, you mean," she states, eyeing me critically.
"Yeah," I concede.
"Why?" she presses. Nosy thing.
"It was when we were breaking up," I sigh. "I don't really want to talk about it, Alice."
"Surprise, surprise," she mutters, and returns her attention to the stack of photos.
"What does that mean?" I ask, though I have a feeling we're entering dangerous territory.
"You never want to talk about it, Edward," she rolls her eyes.
"I tried to talk to you this weekend – you were the one who refused to talk to me!" I sputter.
"Yeah, how did that feel?" she asks pointedly. "After your whole dramatic coming-out, almost the only thing I remember you saying in a calm voice was, 'I don't want to talk about it'."
"You were punishing me for something I used to say ten years ago?" I ask in disbelief.
"For something you've said for the whole of the last ten years, Edward," she snaps. "Even when you didn't say it in words – usually because you refused to talk to us. The intent was always there. We weren't the ones you chose."
"It was never about you, Alice," I reply, chastened.
"I was just a by-product," she grimaces. "That makes me feel so much better."
"Did Dad talk to you about family counseling?" I ask hesitantly, avoiding mentally tabulating the list of people to whom I need to make amends.
"Yes, he did; and no, I'm not going," she says matter-of-factly.
My face falls. "May I ask why not?"
"We don't have a relationship to counsel, Edward," she points out. "Two strangers don't start off a friendship by going to counseling."
"I suppose you're right; although two strangers don't have the baggage we have," I remind her.
"Yeah," she replies pensively. "Still - I think we could manage this on our own."
"Manage what?" I ask, suddenly hopeful.
"You and I – we don't need a counselor," she says. "I think we can get to know each other without one – people do it all the time. And the baggage…we can talk about it ourselves."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah; but you're not allowed to say you don't want to talk about it," she warns.
"Um…that's a bit much to ask for, Alice," I hedge.
"Fine – you get…" she screws up her face as she thinks, "two vetoes per conversation."
"Hmm," I pretend to hesitate, then flash an exaggerated roll of my eyes in her direction. "I guess that'll have to do…"
"Those are my terms," she says unflinchingly.
"Jeez, Squirt, I think you missed your calling," I grouse. "You should have been a litigator."
"If you ever need an agent, I could moonlight," she offers. "Even if it is for a beanpole like you."
This time it's my turn to wince as she uses my childhood nickname. I elbow her gently in the ribs, and in return she lurches her upper body into mine. We return to looking at the pictures – of Jasper, of our family; and a guarded truce descends upon us. We chat, mostly about superficial things; but occasionally Alice slips in a deeper question for me, and I find I'm not tempted to use my veto power even once.
By the time she leaves, we have tentative plans to have dinner on Sunday after I return from San Francisco. She hesitates in the door, eyeing me for a second, then in a flash she throws her arms around me and hugs me close. "I missed you, you big stupid beanpole," she says brusquely.
"I missed you too, Squirt," I whisper into her hair.
"Don't you ever pull shit like that again," she warns as she pulls away. "Or I'll make you describe in detail, the time you walked in on Mother and Dad getting it on in the shower."
With a mild shudder, I hold up both hands in front of me, palms towards her in surrender.
"Veto."
-o-
Mmm, Dr. Daddy Carlisle, smexin' it up in the shower.
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Uh…what were we talking about?
Hope you enjoyed meeting Alice! Next chapter, we get to meet Emmett! Reviewers get a Chapter 24 teaser!