wow, thank you for sticking with me! toldja i'd update again soon. this one's a shorty (and updated over at a different forest already, i'm just sayin'), but the next one's on deck. thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, it really does mean a lot that you guys are still with me.

dedicated to my jandco, the riley to my bree tanner. and special thanks to ADarnell- you know why.

I am a coward. It's official.

I could not sleep after getting home. All of the usual tricks didn't work- counting to a thousand, TV, internet- it was like my brain refused to let me do anything but think about sexy piano players with green eyes and confusing demeanors. And the word "clit".

Sometime around 4am, I got up, disgusted with myself. I got into the shower, sort of hoping that the water would wash away all traces of the piano bar off of me, but after I realized that I had been washing my stomach for God-knows-how-long while imagining Edward's long fingers arched over a flaming keyboard, I decided something needed to be done.

But first, I called Renee. Of course, she was absurdly awake. Like she knew I needed the pep talk.

"What's wrong, Bella?" Her voice was chipper and I heard metal clanging on metal.

"How'd you know it was me?" I told myself I only sounded irritated because I'd had no sleep, but I knew deep down that it was because she was doing the mom thing, that intuitive, I-know-my-baby's-upset deal that I hated because, well- it was true.

"Who else would be calling me at 5am on a Sunday?" she asked, her voice full of laughter. The clanging continued, and I had to bite back the urge to ask what hobby of the month it was this time.

Clang, clang. "Ah, crap." Clang. Not gonna bite. Not gonna bite.

"So, how's your fella? Did you make out yet?" Clang.

"Yeah, Mom. That's kind of why I'm calling."

"Ooh. Juicy details, or stifling disappointment?"

"The latter, Mom." I had to close my eyes and pray to whomever for patience. Come on, Mom. Make me feel better like you always do.

"Mm. Lemme guess- still haven't talked, eh?"

"No, we did."

"About?"

"He- he took me to a record store and bought me some vinyl. Told me about his Dad. Told me he liked me," I finished softly. He had said that, hadn't he? Maybe it was just 5am, but I couldn't seem to remember anymore.

"Interesting." A clanging resounded followed by a beautiful string of curses. "Sorry. Pans everywhere."

"Mom. How many times have I told you not to cook without supervision?" I asked, irritated and fond all at the same time.

"No! It's candy, this is different. Shit!"

"Candy? Do you even have a candy thermometer?"

"What do I need a thermometer for? Ouch." This was getting stupid.

"Mom. Mom. What about Edward?" I was tired; I was exasperated. Please, Mommy. Help me solve my problems.

"Edward? I thought his name was James."

"What? No, James is the other piano guy."

"Ohh, the greasy one, right? Fratboy date rapist type?"

"Yeah. He's harmless, Mom. He just-"

"Who's hotter, Edward or James?"

"Edward, Ma. Definitely Edward.

"Of course. Describe him for me."

"What? Mom, what does that-"

"Bella. I'm your mother. I need to gauge how much you like him before I can dispense advice. And hearing (clang clang) about him from your mouth will help. So spill. What's he look like again?"

"Green eyes."

"Mm hmm."

"Kind of… reddish-auburn hair. Looks perpetually mussed. I think he does it on purpose."

"Of course he does."

"He does this thing when he's judging you- he's very judgmental- where he's like, sizing you up and checking you out and smirking the entire time."

"Sexy."

"No, it's annoying. He- his piano, Mom. He's been playing forever, and it shows. Like, it's effortless. He barely needs sheet music. And he can play anything. Absolutely anything."

"Sings too, right?"

"Mm hmm. Mom, his voice. He's like a cross between Lindsay Buckingham and Prince and Tom Waits."

"Bella- that turns me on."

"Me too, Ma. God, when he sings, it's like there are guitar strings running up and down my body, and he's plucking them one by one." Good metaphor, Bella.

"So what you're saying is… you want him to pluck you."

"Shut up and let me finish. He's arrogant, Mom. Like, seriously arrogant. It's that 'I'm hot and rich and talented' thing. And it wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for that smirk! But you know, there are these moments when he's himself- like, when he talks about his brother or his Dad- and oh, does he ever have daddy issues. I think he hates that I drink. And he's insulting when I'm playing the piano and just- I dunno, Mom. I think I'm either bipolar or I just need to sleep with him to get him out of my system."

"Higgenbotham women are not bipolar, Bella. We're free-spirited. Listen, you've got it bad."

"Excuse me?"

"Bella. What was the kiss like?"

"Wha- it was good, Ma."

"Not great?"

"Okay, great. He- he's a good kisser."

"A guy like that would almost have to be."

"Right? I don't know, this sounds cheesy, but like- I could tell he was restraining himself, and if that was restraint- shit, Mom."

"Sex would be unbelievable."

"My thoughts exactly."

"The heavens would part. Angels would sing."

"Right."

"Hallelujah would start playing."

"The Buckley version, yes."

"Your world would be rocked."

"Okay, Mom."

"Your eyes would roll so far-"

"Mom. Enough."

"Sorry!" she cheerfully said. A new round of clangs filled my ears. "Okay, so you need a good boning. What's the hold-up?" She may have sounded distracted, but I knew a shark when I was bleeding in the water. It's why I called her in the first place. Like it or not, this was my mother's true skill, and if she could profit from it, she'd be a millionaire. Professional Shit-situation Assessor and Dispenser of Sound Advice.

"He's… Mom, we're total opposites. He's pretty and rich and and and he has baggage, Ma."

"So?"

"So I don't know that I can be with a guy who's obviously so much better than I am and knows it. I don't even know that I can sleep with him." I cringed, the words slipping out without my realizing just how true they were until that moment. Thank you, Mom. I see I'm still as insecure as I was the first day of junior high.

"Idiot."

"What?"

"You're an idiot, Bella. You're so blind to yourself, it's almost embarrassing. I'm not even going to dignify that with a lecture on how great you are. Look at it this way- he's interested in you, right?"

"I think so. But what about-"

"But nothin'. A guy and a girl like each other. He's got hang-ups, she's got issues. Hello, the Human Condition. You've got to try, Bell. It's just chicken shit if you don't. I mean, what're you afraid of, exactly?"

A good question. I thought a moment or two before softly saying, "Getting hurt, Ma."

"Yes, well. There is always that. But honey-" She sighed and I heard the flick of a lighter followed by a deep inhale, "-you'll never know unless you try. It doesn't work? Hey, at least you made a go of it. You are a good person. Obviously, he sees that. Now go and be a brave person, Bella. Make a move."

I laughed. "And what would you consider to be a brave move?"

"Ask him out."

I laughed again. "Mom-"

"It's the twentieth century, Bella. Girls do that. I know I did with Phil."

"Twenty-first, Mom."

"Semantics. Look, the recipe here says I need a thermometer. I wonder if the store is open?"

"Good luck, Ma. Don't stir too much, it'll turn out too textured."

"And good luck to you, honey. Stir up your pot, Bella. And call me once you've tasted the candy."

I groaned. "Nice, Mom. Bye."

Well. I guess that's that.

oh, jandco and i are doing a series of oneshot thingies in a story we're calling "songs from a hat" 'cuz like, we're scribbling down suggested songs on post-its and putting them in a hat (or a brown paper lunch bag shhhh), which we then draw at random and write something inspired by the song when the mood strikes. it's up exclusively at a different forest, so if you're registered there, you can read some jandco/wtvoc oneshots. cheers!