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Chapter 2
BPOV

On my seventeenth birthday, Renée told me we were going out to dinner. I stood in shocked silence as she flitted around my room, pulling out one of the party dresses hidden away in the back of my closet and chattering on about doing my hair and makeup, since we were going to a fancy place. I almost couldn't believe it – she hadn't done more than pick up a pre-made birthday cake at the grocery store since I was old enough to walk. And that didn't even happen every year, only when she managed to remember in time.

I didn't really have any close friends at school. Being rather shy and quiet, I mostly kept to myself, plus I didn't have any interest in getting involved with the typical teenage drama. I had responsibilities and goals, after all. So, I never got to have one of those awesome-sounding sleepover birthday parties, with colorful themed decorations and whatnot. I usually just cooked myself dinner – while my mother was out working or "networking", as she called it – sang myself a quiet "Happy Birthday", and opened my single poorly wrapped card and present.

That was the one constant on my birthday: a present from my father, Charlie. Even though he and my mom had divorced when I was a toddler, and I only ever saw him for a couple of weeks each summer, he never failed to send a card and a present the week before my birthday. The envelope would always be torn a little from where the card was forced in, and the wrapping job was less than stellar, but I knew that wasn't because he was careless. No, that just meant that he actually cared enough to do it himself, and I loved him all the more for it.

My dad and I weren't the most openly affectionate people, especially with each other because that just doubled the awkwardness, but I never doubted for a second that he loved me and missed me. The cards he picked out always brought a smile to my face, and even though the presents weren't extravagant – he was getting by on a police officer's salary – they always proved he noticed things, and paid attention to everything I told him. He'd send the next book in a series I had been reading, or a new set of notebooks in my favorite color when I complained I didn't have anything for the new school year. Something small, but with meaning.

My mother had gotten me a sparkly pink tube top when I turned ten, and a set of dolls when I turned fifteen. I guess you could say there was meaning in those presents, too.

This year, Charlie had sent me a plane ticket. The dates were blank, but the destination was clearly filled in: Forks, Washington, the tiny town where my father still lived in the house he had bought with my mother when they first found out about me. The simple note in the card read, "Missed you this summer, especially your cooking. Come visit your old man before he starves to death." I giggled.

I hadn't been able to visit this past summer because a police case had popped up in Seattle that needed my dad's help. Some serial killer went on a rampage, with bodies disappearing all over. He hadn't wanted me to be in Seattle with him near the danger, or to just sit around at home alone, so we decided to put off this year's trip. The case had been wrapped up by now – some crazy vampire cult – and it was nice to know that he was already thinking about me visiting again.

It was certainly more thought than my mother was putting in at the moment, as she just about poked my eye out with the mascara. I figured I should just suck it up since it seemed like she was actually doing something nice.

I had finally started getting excited as she ushered me out the door and into the car, but that quickly faded when the restaurant hostess led us to our table and a man stood up nervously to greet us. He was young – barely ten years older than me, if that – and his slightly wrinkled gray suit must have been from his post-college job-searching days. He was holding two red roses, and awkwardly handed one to me before kissing my mom on the cheek and giving her the other.

"Oooh, aren't you sweet?" my mother gushed. "Isabella, this is Phil. I'm so excited for you guys to finally meet!"

What did she mean, finally? I had never even heard the name Phil before.

"Hello, Isabella," he greeted me with a tentative smile. "Renée has told me so much about you."

"It's Bella," I replied somewhat petulantly. "And I wish I could say the same." I was trying not to take it out on the poor guy, as it was obviously not his fault that I had no clue who he was.

Both Phil and I turned our expectant faces towards my mother, who surprised me by taking Phil's hand as she sat down next to him.

"Bella, sweetie, there's something we wanted to tell you tonight," she started. "Phil just asked me to marry him, and of course I said yes! Isn't that wonderful? We were thinking we'd have the wedding in a couple months, no need to wait, right?"

I just gaped at them from across the table. They were both staring at me with hopeful expressions, waiting for … what, exactly? My approval? For my harebrained mother to marry some kid I'd never met?

It's not like she'd listen to my opinion on the matter, anyway.

I smiled tightly, willing the uneasiness away. "That's great, Mom."

She grinned brightly, turning back to Phil. "See! Okay, baby, so I was thinking we could…" And they were off in their own little world, forgetting about the apparent third wheel at the table.

I sat and watched them until it became so uncomfortable, I just couldn't stand it. "Mom, I'm not feeling well. I think I'd like to go home."

"Sure, go ahead, sweetie. Phil will take me," she dismissed me without even looking my way. No "what's wrong?" or "feel better". No offer to drive me home.

Not even a "Happy Birthday".

I stumbled out to the car and somehow managed to make it home in one piece. Since I hadn't stayed long enough for the food to come, I ended up on my bed with a carton of ice cream and a spoon. A few bites in, I noticed the taste was a little off.

"Too salty," I mumbled to myself. Looking down, I finally noticed my sight was blurred by the twin streaks of tears dripping down my cheeks.

"Shit."

I put down the ice cream and picked up the card from my dad again, wishing with all my might that I was with him instead. Looking over at his present on my desk, a sudden thought came to mind. Could I … really? Yes! Well, I was going to try, anyway.

I started planning that very night.

Ten weeks later, one day before Thanksgiving break and one day after my mom and Phil had a courthouse ceremony and left for their overseas honeymoon, I packed my bags and moved to Forks.