oOo

"You're looking very well, darling."

His mum hugged him tight, and Edward kissed her cheek. She smelled like always, like Chanel and hot scones, a beautiful mixture of elegance and warmth.

Esme Elizabeth Platt had been a famous opera singer ever since she gave her debut as Mimi in La Bohème at the Royal Opera House in 1966. Carlisle Cullen, London's up-and-coming newcomer, conducted the production. They married a year later, and nine months after that, Rosalie Cullen was born.

Esme took leaves of absence from the world of opera when her children were born, but she and Carlisle continued to work together whenever they could. La Traviata at the Met, Lucia di Lamermoor and Madame Butterfly at The Royal Opera House.

Her last grand appearance had been seven years ago, singing Tosca.

She had been complaining before that, saying that her voice just wasn't the same anymore. Two months after the gala, Esme had officially retired.

"Mum," Edward panted, "you're crushing me!"

She hugged him even harder and kissed his cheek with a loud smack.

"So there, my boysie."

Edward couldn't help but smile. He'd be her "boysie" in his eighties if she got to live that long. Not that it was probable.

"What've you been up to?" Esme pulled him into the kitchen with her.

"Painting," he shrugged. "I went to the National Gallery yesterday."

"Any interesting exhibitions?" She handed him a cup of tea.

"We just looked at the regular stuff. The classics."

He leant against the counter and watched as she prepared finger sandwiches.

"We?" Esme looked up.

Edward couldn't help the smile that lifted one corner of his mouth.

"Yes. I went with…" He cleared his throat. "With this girl. Bella."

Esme looked equally surprised and excited, and Edward rubbed his temple.

"It's not like that," he added before his mother could say anything. "We're friends… I think."

"Where did you meet her?"

"Ro's party, and then again, at Boots. We went for a walk and then met again yesterday."

Esme nodded slowly. She knew that pressuring Edward into telling her more than he wanted to would not get her anywhere. She turned back to her sandwiches.

"She studies Linguistics," Edward said. If Esme was concerned that her son's acquaintance had to be substantially younger than him, she didn't show it.

"But don't tell Ro, okay?"

"Okay." Esme patted his cheek. "Would you be a darling and get me the large platter from the upper cabinet?"

.

Tea with the family was the same as always. They chatted about books and art and operas and movies. Ro's daughter from her first marriage, Vera, had come down from Oxford. She had moved there for the autumn term, studying Journalism like her mother had done. She was nineteen and the spitting image of Rosalie, blonde, tall and very pretty.

She was the only grandchild, so Esme and Carlisle spoiled her senseless.

Edward knew that his mum had been hoping there might be more grandkids, and there probably would have been, had life gone differently.

As it was, he adored his niece, and the affection was mutual.

"When are you and I doing something together again?" he asked when they had finished tea and everyone was puttering around. He threw his arm around her shoulder. "Your old uncle misses you!"

"Aw…" She kissed his cheek. "You're so cute! I'm up to my ears in work until Christmas."

"Work, or boys?"

"Hmm, a little bit of both," she admitted. "I took a waiting job at a café on campus, you know."

Edward had this odd flash of Bella. She was only a few years older than Vera, his niece. His sister's daughter. For a second, he felt creepy.

He tried to push those thoughts away.

"Okay, but promise me we'll go for our traditional walk on Christmas Eve?"

"Of course!" Vera smiled brilliantly, and hugged him.

Edward sighed silently.

What the hell was going on with him?

oOo