Author's Note: Wow! You guys are amazing! I'm not even 10 chapters in and I'm only one away from 50 reviews::tear:: You make me feel special. 3 -- a heart. Anyway, now that I'm done being all emotional ::shudders:: thanks to dick and dunn, remala, Seul Lune, Ame Warashi, NellieGURL, Runs-with-vampires, miss.dramatikkkk, SockShopping, cakeaddict61, and irockupurple for reviewing! You're the greatest, so without furthur ado (unless you count the Disclaimer, of course), I'll stop jabbering and let you get on to the next chapter!

Disclaimer: Twilight, New Moon, Esme Platt, Charles Evenson, and Carlisle Cullen all belong to Stephenie Meyer and her lucky, lucky publishers. Mr. and Mrs. Evenson, Mr. and Mrs. Platt, and Mr. Frank and Mrs. Margaret Bennington all belong to me. (I have an eye out for any spare Edwards going around, though). ;-)

9. The Decision

Weeks passed. The Evensons visited regularly, now. They were here at least once a week, and I found myself, not quite the center of attention (Mrs. Evenson liked to save that spot for herself), but uncomfortably close. I was being drawn into conversation, not just with Mr. and Mrs. Evenson, but with Charles himself. This was the first interest he had ever seemed to show in me, with the exception of his asking me to dance at Margaret's wedding. I kept waiting for my father to tell me what had transpired between himself and Charles, but I was consistently disappointed. In fact, no one said anything about it to me, but it was all too clear that they all knew. The Evensons looked at me with pride, as though I was their own daughter, and my mother smiled imperceptibly whenever she saw Charles and me together. I was growing very frustrated, and I was beginning to wonder just how long I was supposed to be in the dark before someone would decide to enlighten me. Perhaps someone would be kind enough to write me a letter when I was on my honeymoon with Charles and fill me in. Finally, one afternoon, my father asked me to sit down with him in the library.

"Esme," he began, observing me seriously. "You may have noticed that the Evensons' visits have become more frequent, recently."

I nodded. "Yes, father."

My father sighed, and was silent for a moment. Finally, it seemed like he decided to quit beating around the bushes.

"Esme, you're getting older – why, you're almost twenty-two years old! And I believe, and your mother agrees, well… that it's time you decided what to do with your life."

I simply nodded again.

I think that my father must have been expecting a different response, because he sounded rather awkward when he posed his next question.

"Have you… given any thoughts as to how you intend to… go about that? That is, how you want to spend your life?"

Not with Charles Evenson, my mind suddenly intoned. I was startled, but it was very obvious. I didn't want to spend my life with Charles. I couldn't put my finger on why, exactly, but I just knew that I didn't want him. And if that were so, whom did I want?

You know perfectly well whom you want, my mind said nastily. That's no longer an option, though. My father was waiting for an answer just as anxiously as I was. Would life with Charles really be all that bad? I couldn't imagine that it would be. And he was someone to love. Perhaps he loved me. I so wanted someone to love me. It must positively ache to look into someone's eyes and see that they couldn't possibly go on without you at their side. It certainly ached to be a witness to that kind of love, when it was going on between your best friend and her fiancée.

But did I necessarily have to be with Charles? Was there nothing else I wanted to do than to get married and have children? Children. I suddenly saw before my eyes the three children at the wedding. I knew them all very well. I often acted as nursemaid with friends and relatives' children. I absolutely adored children. I always had – everything about them exuded life and hope and promise. I looked up at my father.

"I want to be a teacher."

If my father was surprised with my last response, this one completely caught him off guard.

"I'm sorry?"

"I- I've been thinking… for awhile, of becoming a teacher."

"Esme, there's already a perfectly good schoolteacher in town."

"Well, perhaps I could find some other place to teach. Maybe even out west somewhere. I would love to travel. I'm sure I could find a position somewhere else… perhaps… Chicago, or somewhere. And if things don't work out there… well, there should be plenty of schools in California." If "things" didn't work out in Chicago, I would want to get as far away as humanly possible.

My father stared at me incredulously. "Out west?" he stammered. "California? Have you lost your mind, child? You – a young, unmarried woman – out west? Alone? Esme, be reasonable!"

I hadn't exactly expected him to be thrilled, but I hadn't foreseen him reacting this badly. It wasn't as though I didn't know how to take care of myself. I was an adult, now, and plenty of people lived out west.

"I am being reasonable, father. I've thought this through." Not exactly. "I've known that I want to be a teacher for a while, now." Almost five minutes. "I even have an idea of where I'd like to live." Sure I did. I just might need to search every hospital in Illinois before I could put my finger on it.

My father sighed. "Esme, you're still young. You have fantasies about how life will be when you have no experience with which to corroborate them. Do you honestly believe that you can sustain yourself without a man to help you? Where in your upbringing did we give you the idea that it was proper or even acceptable for a woman to move out west by herself and start a life among complete and utter strangers?"

"I'm not a heathen," I snapped before I could stop myself.

"Esme!" He was beginning to become irate. His voice had raised slightly and I knew that, if I didn't tread carefully, we would both become very angry with each other. I made sure to lower my voice and speak calmly.

"Father," I murmured, "I want this. I love children. I want to be around them."

Father hesitated. "There are other ways of being around children, Esme."

My eyes widened, but I remained silent. I knew what my father was going to say long before he said it. I had known before he had even called me into the room. I had known what his next words would be since the night I sat on the floor listening to him finalize details with my future husband without even talking to me about it. There I had been, straining to hear them through the cracks in the door while they sat comfortably, mapping out the wedding and his future with me. Not our future - his future. With me, the afterthought.

So I was quiet, because the battle was already long lost. All I could do was focus all of the energy that I had previously fought with on not letting any tears escape when he said, "Charles Evenson has asked for your hand, and I think it would be very wise of you to accept."


Dear Margaret,

How are you? How are things going with Frank? The picture that you sent me of your house is hanging on my wall. It is absolutely beautiful! The architectural design is really quite remarkable. I can just see you rocking in a rocking chair on that lovely, shaded porch while your children play at your feet.

Margaret, I need to ask your advice. Charles Evenson has asked me to marry him. My father and mother are both urging me to accept. I do not know what to do. I have gotten to speak with him more often these past few months, and he seems to be charming enough, but I still do not really know him. Can I really base my entire future on something so uncertain? Should I marry someone whom I do not love? I need you, Margaret. I need you to tell me what I should do.

I hope this letter finds you well and leaves you better.

Love Always,

Esme


Dearest Esme,

Things are absolutely wonderful here. I am glad you like the house. And it's funny you should mention children playing at my feet… I am going to be a mother! Frank and I are so excited. We have a room all set up. It's yellow, because we obviously do not know what the baby's gender is going to be (hope for a girl for me, will you?), and Frank's father is building us a crib.

Charles Evenson proposed to you? Well, I suppose that I should not be surprised; he has always behaved differently around you from the way he behaves around everyone else. Esme, you're an adult, now, and I obviously cannot tell you what to do. All I can do is to give you my advice, as difficult as it may be to accept.

Esme, I think that you should say yes to Charles. Now, please understand that I am not saying this because I think that you are wrong, and that he is your soulmate in disguise. I believe that you should marry him because, if you do not, you may never get over Dr. Cullen. I know how sad this must make you, and I only wish that I could put my arms around you and be near to you, but you have to let him go. There is next to no chance that you will ever see him again, and I do not want to see you spend your life chasing after a phantom. You are growing older, Esme, and, although we both know how capable of being independent you are, neither of us wants you to be alone forever. Charles can offer you stability, and he must love you is he has asked for your hand. At least this way, you can still have love in your life, even if it is not the love that you imagined.

As always, I hope this letter finds you well and leaves you better.

Love Always,

Margaret

I re-folded the letter, and set it gently down. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting my decision sink in. I tried to put it off for as long as possible, imagining Margaret as a mother, envisioning their house full of children, but my circumstances were irrepressibly forced to the forefront of my mind.

I felt a heavy layer of sadness settle on me. She was right. I was never going to see Carlisle again, and the sooner I accepted that, and moved on with my life, the better I would be. Perhaps my indifference to Charles was simply backlash to the inevitable truth of this fact. Charles could love me, I told myself stubbornly. And I so wanted to love someone real. I wanted to love someone I could hold onto, someone I wouldn't have to imagine was there next to me when the nights were cold, when I slid in between my chilled sheets and at first touch they felt almost like his hands. Certainly if I was this capable of loving a complete stranger whom I had only seen once in my entire life, I could love Charles just as well. It would just take some time to get used to his very warm hands and his very cold eyes.

My jaw set firmly, I strode from my room, marched across the hallway, down the front staircase, and went to find my parents.

I found them sitting across from each other in front of the fireplace, my mother knitting, and my father reading and smoking his pipe. They were a perfect picture. Perhaps in twenty years that image would be Charles and myself. I cleared my throat, and they both looked up. I raised my chin high.

"Margaret's going to have a baby, and I have decided to marry Charles Evenson."

Then, I turned on my heel and strode from the room.


Author's Note: So? You know, the usual: did you guys like it? And more importantly: what should Margaret name the baby??