Author's Note: a BIG thank you to Kitty Vuitton for rec'ing Turning Pointe for The Lemonade Stand's Fic of the Week! Way Cool!
EPOV
Bella continues to call me for the next three nights. Our conversations are brief, spanning ten to fifteen minutes tops, with me doing most - if not all - of the talking. I thought things would start to improve after the night she told me she missed me, but that hasn't been the case. I try not to get irritated that we aren't making any progress, but every times she hangs up, leaving me uncertain as to where we stand, my anxiety doubles.
Tonight is no different. After I ramble through the mundane details of my day without a single word being spoken from her end of the line, I reach my breaking point.
"Bella, what are we doing?"
When she doesn't answer, I drop the phone to my side and run my hand roughly over my face. I need to reign in my frustration before I say something I'll regret.
Slowly, I raise the phone back to my ear.
"We can't keep going like this you know. We can't just ignore it and hope it will go away. That's how we got in trouble the last time, by living in our own little world and avoiding the stuff we didn't want to deal with. It doesn't work that way."
The resounding silence makes my blood boil.
"Damn it, Bella! I can't do this by myself. Talk to me."
A hitching breath is all I hear.
I slump down on the edge of my bed, holding my head in one hand, as all the irritation evaporates from my body. I'm such an asshole.
"I'm sorry," I murmur. For several minutes, I simply listen as she cries softly into the phone. "Please, love. Please don't cry. You know it kills me."
She takes a deep, ragged breath, obviously trying to pull herself together. I continue to hold my head in my hand and stare at my feet as every sound from her stabs my heart.
"I'm sorry," I repeat. "I didn't mean to lose it. It's just… I feel so lost without you. I don't know what to do."
"Edward, I'm -" Her voice breaks, rough from crying. "I'm scared."
I remember Jacob's warning all those nights ago. "She's terrified that if she lets her guard down, if she lets you back in, she won't be able to survive it."
I rub my eyes roughly with my hand, hating myself more in this moment than ever before.
"I will never forgive myself," I mutter, talking more to myself than her. "I'll never forgive myself for what I've done, for making you doubt my feelings. I promise - I swear - I will never hurt you like that again."
"How – how could you – how could you do that to me? You promised – you promised to never lie to me, and you did. You just threw me away. You – you made that decision without me. You didn't even give me a chance."
She can hardly catch her breath between her frenzied sobs. Overwhelmed by her sudden accusations, I lower myself off the edge of the bed and practically crumple onto the floor.
"I – I trusted you. I gave you my heart, my whole heart, and - and you stood there, you looked me in the eye, and you threw it away."
A blistering flame sears my heart and crawls through my veins, burning me alive. I ball my free hand into a fist and press it firmly into my chest, praying the torture will stop. I'd hurt her, destroyed her, more deeply than I even imagined. How could I possibly expect her to forgive me?
"No," I whisper. My voice is so soft I don't think she hears it. "No, it wasn't like that."
There's no way she can hear me over her sobs and tattered breaths. All I can do is clutch the phone, my only connection to her, and listen as she completely breaks down. I feel so helpless, so weak. She's so far away. I can't do anything to comfort her except softly chant, "Bella, I'm sorry. Bella, I love you," over and over as she cries.
Please don't hang up. Please don't hang up. Please don't let this be the last conversation we have.
"Bella, I love you," I repeat, just in case this is my last chance to tell her.
After several agonizing minutes, her sobs finally turn to soft whimpers. "I'm – I'm sorry," she stutters.
"Please don't. Don't apologize to me."
"But – but I know it's not true. I don't know why I just said that. I know it's not true. I'm sorry."
"No, it is true. I did all those things. I lied to you. I destroyed what we had. It's – it's foolish of me to think I can ever regain your trust, to think you'd ever be able to forgive me. But, Bella, I'd do anything – anything – for that chance. I would spend every day, for the rest of my life, begging for your forgiveness if you'll let me."
"No, Edward. I don't want that. I just want to put this whole mess behind us."
Leaning back against the side of my bed, I run my hand through my hair. I don't know what to say. How can we possibly move past all the pain I caused? How do we start over?
She takes another deep breath, sounding more composed than before. I hear shuffling sounds, like she's moving around or changing positions, so I wait, trying to decipher what she's doing from the noises. "Did you think your past would change the way I feel about you?" she asks suddenly. "Is that why you never told me?"
I consider how to answer that for a moment. Anything I say will only confirm her accusation that I didn't give her that chance, that I didn't have faith in her.
"Yes," I answer sheepishly. "I guess – I guess I didn't think you would understand or that you would be willing to give me a chance when you found out. It's just – everyone else in my life hated me for what I had done, so I just assumed… I'm sorry I doubted you, that I didn't have that faith in you, but I was just so afraid of losing you. I was being selfish. I was trying to keep you with me as long as I could. It's no excuse, I know. I should have been honest with you. I wanted to tell you, I really did, but I was so afraid something like this would happen."
"What would happen?"
"You'd leave. I mean, you'd leave me. And you were right too. You deserve so much better than me, Bella. You deserve - "
"That's not why I left, Edward," she scolds.
"It's not?"
"No. I didn't leave because of what you said, I mean, not what you said about your past. That had nothing to do with it. I just - I needed some time to put all the pieces together. I was hurt and confused and – and completely overwhelmed, and I'm sorry for running away like that. I just – I needed time. That's all."
"I can wait, Bella. Whatever you need. Time, space, I – I just want you to be happy." I take a deep breath, hoping she can hear the conviction in my words. "That's all I want, Bella. I want you to be happy. Even if that means… that we can't be together. You can have whatever part of me you want, or none at all, if that's better. I would understand, and I promise I won't stand in your way if you want to leave me."
"I'm not leaving you, Edward." Although her words are laced with annoyance, the pure relief that rips through me blocks everything else out.
The huff that leaves my lungs is filled with disbelief. "Why?" I ask. The question almost sounds like a laugh.
Bella chuckles. "Because I love you. Your past doesn't matter to me. It doesn't change anything. I love you for you, not for what you've done, or even for what you'll become. I love you, Edward."
I lean back against the side of my bed and cover my eyes with my hand. It feels as if my whole body is limp, weightless, as if my happiness has swallowed me whole. I recognize this feeling. It's exactly the same as the first time she said those words to me.
I laugh quietly, teasingly. "Say it again," I whisper, unable to help myself.
Bella giggles. She remembers.
"I love you. I'm yours. For as long as you'll have me. You are the most important thing to me - the most important thing to me ever."
"You remember."
"Of course I do. I will never forget that moment, Edward. It was one of the best of my life."
"God, Bella. You're everything to me. Everything. I love you."
"I know you do. I saw it. It was there the whole time, in the way you looked at me, in the way you took care of me. I was stubborn, and I tried to deny it, but I did see it. And - and that was the hardest part, the tiny glimmers of the way it used to be. Through everything, I guess I was holding on to the hope that you were as irreversibly altered as I was, and that's what hurt the most. I was afraid if I let myself hope, and it came to nothing, well… that would've killed me. But it wouldn't go away, no matter how hard I tried to suppress it. I guess, deep down, my subconscious knew that I will always belong to you, and you will always be mine."
"Come home," I blurt out. "Come back. I need you. I can't be without you."
She sighs, and all the hope and confidence that had been building inside me vanishes. Not ten minutes ago I told her I'd wait, that she should take all the time she needs, and now I'm begging her to come back.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – I don't want to pressure you."
"No, no, it's not that. It's, well… I'm working on it."
"What can I do?"
Bella giggles. "You can figure out how to reign in my father's unrealistic expectations."
"Oh, is that all," I tease. "Psh, piece of cake. I'm getting to be a pro at parental expectations."
I expect her to laugh again at my mocking tone, but there's nothing but a long moment of silence.
"Edward," she says cautiously, "how did they die?"
Wow. That was not what I was expecting at all. I comb my fingers through my hair and let out a deep breath.
"If you don't want to talk about it -"
"No, it's OK. Um, it was a car accident. Drunk driver." I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my free arm around my legs. "It was a few weeks after my eighth birthday. We were - we had gone out to dinner to celebrate."
"You – you were there?" she asks guardedly. "In the car?"
"Yes. I was the only one who…" I hesitate and tug at my hair again. "I – I saw everything."
With a deep breath, I let my mind wander back to that night. "My dad, he – he never moved. He looked like he was asleep against the steering wheel, except his face was..." I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head.
"My mom… she was awake, at first. I mean, she had her face turned toward me, but she didn't open her eyes at all. I don't know if she couldn't, or if she didn't want to see, but she - she reached for me. At first, I didn't want her to touch me. Her arm was covered in blood, and it – it scared me. I backed away from her hand, and she didn't turn around. When she couldn't reach me she started to – to panic, I guess. She didn't call my name, she didn't say anything at all, but she started gasping and frantically searching the backseat with her hand. She didn't relax until I grabbed it and squeezed. She – she even smiled a little, and then she started to hum. It was so quiet. There wasn't another sound, apart from my mother's voice."
Even now, ten years later, I can remember the sound of her voice with perfect clarity. And, in spite of the horrific memory that floats through my mind, the gentle hum puts me at ease.
"She stayed with me as long as she could. I think she stayed until she heard the sirens in the distance, because the louder they got, the softer her song became until – until she stopped humming all together. And she didn't let go of my hand until they were cutting the roof of the car open to get to us."
Silence lingers between us. I'm sure Bella doesn't know what to say. What do you say to someone who just told you the story of their parents' gruesome death?
"I'm – I don't know what to say. I'm sorry feels so…"
"I know. People would always tell me they were sorry. What does that even mean? I never knew what to say to that. I mean, I was only eight, but I kept thinking 'why are they apologizing to me? It's not like it was their fault.'"
"So, you said you were out celebrating that night," she prompts after another long pause.
"Oh, um… yeah, we went out to dinner because I got a really good grade on a math test. I really sucked at math, and my dad had been tutoring me all week for this particular test. When I passed, I got to pick any restaurant I wanted. Of course, we ended up at the Forks Coffee Shop." I laugh at the memory. "I don't even know why they bothered to ask. Where else would we go?"
"Forks?"
"Yeah, that's where I'm from. It's a little town about three hours from here. It was a great place to grow up. There were these woods surrounding my house, and I would spend hours playing out there. My mom would get so pissed because I would come home caked in mud all the time."
I start to laugh. "This one time, I got so dirty that I knew I was going to be in huge trouble. I think I was wearing my church clothes or something. Anyway, when I was walking back to the house, I saw these flowers. They were right by the backdoor, and I didn't think anything of it. I mean, I was like six or seven so what did I know. Anyway, I decided to pick them and give them to my mom as a peace offering I guess."
"Oh, no, Edward. You didn't?"
"Yup, I pulled up all the daffodils she planted the weekend before."
We both laugh. "What – what did she say?" Bella asks through her giggles. like
My laughter slowly fades away. "She said they were the most beautiful flowers she's ever seen. I'm sure she wasn't too thrilled that I had destroyed her flowerbeds, but she never said anything about it. She just kissed my head and put them in a vase on the kitchen table."
"She sounds like a wonderful mother," Bella says after a quiet moment.
"She was. I – I don't think I ever told her that."
"I'm sure she knew you loved her."
"I know. I just wish…"
"What?" she asks after my words trail off.
"I wish – I wish I would have said goodbye."
We are both silent for a long time as my mind begins churning with more memories from that past life.
"You know, as much as I try not to think of them, I try even harder not to forget. I worry that it's all slipping away. That someday I won't be able to remember what she looked like, or my father's booming voice, or the way our house smelled. Like, I don't want to think of them, but I'm scared I won't remember them if I don't."
"Your – your eyes are the exact shade as your mothers," she whispers. "And you have your father's hair and his smile." She chokes on the last word, and I can tell by her raspy voice that she's starting to cry. "And he loved to fish. And she knitted you a hat before you were born. It was blue and white with this little pom-pom thing on top. And your dad coached your kindergarten baseball team."
"How…"
"Carlisle." She sniffs. "He has this old shoebox full of pictures. Actually, I - I have them right now."
"He mentioned he had some pictures that belonged to my parents, but I…"
"I know. It's OK. All I know is what I pieced together from those photos, but… if you want… you could tell me more about them, and maybe I can help you – help you remember them."
I have to fight against the tightness in my throat before I can speak.
"I love you, Bella."
"I love you, too."
~o0o~
The next morning, my phone buzzes and interrupts one of the best dreams of my life. I might have gotten pissed if the subject of my fantasy wasn't the one calling and waking me up. However, I am a little surprised to see the caller ID display 'Bella's cell' instead of 'Bella's house', where she usually calls from.
"Hey." My voice is rough, and I clear my throat.
"Oh, gosh. I'm sorry. I woke you up. I completely forgot about the time difference. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."
"No way. I'd much rather have the real thing."
"What?"
"Oh, uh, never mind. What's up? You OK?" The fact that she's not calling me at her usual time has me a little nervous.
"Me? Oh, yeah. I'm – I'm great." She doesn't sound great.
I twist my head to the side and glance at the clock. It's not even eight in Phoenix. I sit up quickly. "Bella? What's going on? You sound upset."
"No. I'm OK. It's just… I'm – I'm spending the day at my old studio with some of my old friends."
"Well, that should be fun, right?"
"Yeah, but…" her words trial off, and I can easily picture her nervously wringing her hands and staring at her lap.
"What is it, love?"
"I – I don't look the same," she confesses in a small voice.
"Oh..."
Dr. Weber told me that stuff like this might come up as Bella worked through her recovery. He and Carlisle wanted me to be somewhat equipped to deal with it should it happen. I know, above all, I need to be honest. Spouting off that I think she's beautiful, no matter what, isn't going to help anyone.
"Well," I begin cautiously, "you've been taking care of yourself since you've been home, right?"
Bella sighs, sounding slightly frustrated. She knows what I'm after. "I've gained another three pounds."
I do the math quickly in my head. Seventeen total. Five more to go and she's back to where she started. Five pounds is not that noticeable, but I know better than to say that.
"That's great. OK, so… what are you wearing?"
"Edward!" she scolds as she laughs.
I laugh too. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Um… well… what does that matter anyway?"
"Wow. You don't want to tell me. I'm intrigued."
"It's not important."
"Hmm…." I tap my finger against my chin although she can't see. "What could Bella be wearing that she wouldn't want me to know about? Must be something terribly risqué."
Bella laughs again. God, how I missed that sound.
I lie back against my pillow and close my eyes. "Mmm… just gimme a second. I'm letting my imagination run away with me, you know, since you won't tell me. Let's see… it's warm there, so I'm thinking… that pink tank-top with the hearts all over it and those little matching shorts."
"Those are underwear, Edward, and I've never worn them. Not even in front of you."
"And why is that? Seems like such a waste. They're perfectly good clothes. I guess it's a good thing you're wearing them today, finally getting some use out of them."
This is not how Dr. Weber told me to treat this situation - at all - but I've gone so long without her lighthearted laughter that I can't help myself. Regardless, I must be doing some good because her anxiety seems to be vanishing with every giggle.
"Fine," she concedes, intending to sound annoyed, but failing completely. "I'm wearing black yoga pants, a black tank-top, and…"
"And," I prompt.
"And… the black and grey plaid shirt I wore to Florida."
I grin like an idiot. "You little thief! That's right. You still have my shirt. I want it back."
"Oh yeah?" she teases. "Come and get it."
"Don't test me, woman. I'm not above calling the law on you. I happen to have the Chief's number on speed dial. You're gonna be in serious trouble, missy."
Bella laughs again and then lets out a deep breath. "Thank you, Edward," she says softly.
"You'll be fine. They're your friends, right? They love you."
"And I love you."
"I love you, too. Have fun, and call me when you leave."
"OK, I will."
We say goodbye and hang-up. I run my hand through my hair as I collect my thoughts. After last night's heavy conversation, it's comforting to know how easy it is to fall back into our old routine, almost as if that connection has never been broken. But it had been broken, and we still have to figure out where we go from here.
My mind reels. Starting over. Moving forward. What happens next?
With a shaking hand, I raise my phone again and dial.
"Hello?" A gentle female voice answers.
"Hello. This is Edward Cullen. May I speak to Chief Swan?"
~o0o~
BPOV
Edward is right. I have nothing to worry about.
My friends compliment my new hair, congratulate me on the apprenticeship, and tease me – lovingly – about wearing my boyfriend's shirt. No one seems to notice that I look different. Maybe I'd been away long enough that they didn't remember what I looked like before.
We talk more than we dance, gossiping about our teachers and classmates that have gone on to other things. When we finally make it onto the dance floor, we run through some old routines, competing with each other to see who can remember the oldest numbers. For us, it's the equivalent of flipping through old yearbooks, our way of retelling the memories from years past.
Feeling energized from the fun morning, I dial Edward's number the second I walk out of the studio door. Unfortunately, I have to cut our conversations short. He's eating lunch with Carlisle and Esme, so I simply let him know I had a great time and that I'll fill him in on all the details later.
When I arrive at Charlie's house a few minutes later, I'm surprised to see not only Sue's truck parked in the driveway, but the cruiser as well.
"Hey, guys!" I shout as I open the front door. "I'm back."
"In here, kiddo," Charlie calls from the kitchen.
I drop my bag at the foot of the stairs as I bound through the kitchen door. "Guess who was there to-"
I freeze, taking in the sight before me. Charlie and Sue sit next to each other at the table, both staring at me with somber expressions on their faces. I glance around the room quickly, noticing the simmering pot on the stove. A delightful aroma of spices, tangy tomatoes and earthy basil wafts through the air. It fills the room, along with the scent of freshly baked bread. It would have been a nice lunch to come home to, if the two adults in the room weren't staring daggers at me.
The whole scene reeks of an intervention, and I'm pretty sure I know what the topic is. "I'm innocent, Sheriff. I swear," I blurt out, trying to lighten the tension.
Sue finally breaks a smile. "Sit down, sweetheart. Your father just wants to talk." She pushes her chair back from the table and walks to the stove. I glance back and forth between her and Charlie, who hasn't taken his eyes off me since I walked through the door.
Life with Charlie has been tense the last few days, ever since I mentioned my plans to return to Seattle after the New Year.
He told me no.
That was it. No discussion, no compromise, no input from me, just flat out no. The argument that ensued wasn't pretty.
I had tried to plead my case, pointing out that I had proven I could take care of myself, his only stipulation during the ride home from the airport, but it did no good. Charlie wasn't impressed with my bland, low-fat diet and 'dependence' on calorie-rich smoothies. I defended that my body couldn't tolerate much beyond my current regimen. That only fueled his argument that I clearly wasn't pushing myself hard enough. To some degree he might have been right, but I wasn't going to tell him that. Instead, in a moment of panic-induced immaturity, I blurted out that I was eighteen, and he couldn't stop me from leaving. Then I stomped off to my room and slammed the door.
Very grown-up there, Bella. Way to drive the point home.
Sue begins to ladle the soup into bright yellow bowls. "Can I help you with that?" I ask, desperate to postpone the inevitable. I hate fighting with Charlie. Most of the time, I lose.
Sue hands me a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches and nods toward the table. "Have a seat. I can handle this."
Slowly, I walk to the table and set the plate down in the center, taking the empty seat across from Charlie. I keep my eyes down, focusing on a crack in the wooden table in front of me. Except for the sound of Sue dishing up soup, the room has grown completely silent. She sets a bowl of steaming tomato bisque down, blocking my view of the fascinating wood-grain pattern, before placing a second bowl in front of Charlie.
"I'll see you guys later," she announces softly. My eyes snap up as she gives Charlie's shoulder a squeeze.
"You're not staying?" I ask, alarmed.
She smiles at me, clearly reading the please don't leave me to face this alone expression on my face, and pats my arm gently. "I've got a few errands to run. I'll see you guys tonight."
And just like that, Sue throws me to the wolves – well, wolf.
"We need to talk, Bells," Charlie begins. He lifts the platter of sandwiches and holds it out to me. I take one off the top and set it on the plate next to my bowl of soup. He does the same and waits for me to begin eating before he speaks.
"I want to talk about Seattle."
"Do you really want to talk, or are you just going to tell me I can't go?"
"I wanna talk. I have a… proposition for you."
The only proposal I'm interested in is the one that includes a one-way ticket back to Washington State, but I keep that to myself. "I'm listening."
"I think you should stay home until – until March, at least."
I gasp, loudly, and Charlie holds his hands up. "Bells, three months is more than a reasonable request, considering. Just hear me out."
There is no way in hell I'm staying here for three month, but I shut my gaping mouth and allow him to continue. Hearing him out would be the adult thing to do.
"You're doing really great with your recovery, and I owe you an apology about what I said the other night about your diet. I didn't know how all that worked. But, I just think you need more time. I think you need to focus on getting well and not be distracted by - by other things. I think it would be good for you to get some… distance."
Distracted? Other things? Distance?
"Wait, is this about Edward?" I blurt out.
Charlie looks down as he stirs his soup.
"It is, isn't it? You don't want me around Edward."
"Bella," Charlie says firmly, pointing his spoon at me, "that boy is nothing but trouble. He put that family through hell and -"
"And he's not that person anymore. He's changed. He lived through something so – so horrible that I can't even imagine. And, yeah, he made some bad decisions; he was stupid and reckless, but that's not the Edward that I know. He's different now. He's gentle and sweet and kind. And he takes care of me. And – and you don't even know him."
"Believe me, I know enough."
"It was a long time ago," I argue. "He's changed."
"That boy was arrested for possession of cocaine four months before you moved in. Had I known that, I never would have allowed you to live -" Charlie stops abruptly, his eyes growing wide. "Bella, has that boy ever tried to pressure you into taking drugs?"
"Have you completely lost your mind!" I shout.
"Don't you raise your voice to me, young lady. I'm still the authority in this house, and I expect an answer – an honest answer."
My hands ball into fists, my nails biting into my palms. "No, sir," I spit through clenched teeth. "Edward would never do that."
Charlie stares at me for a moment, probably using all of his detective skills to decipher if I'm lying. I don't move a muscle, glaring back at him with narrowed eyes.
After a tense staring match, Charlie pushes his chair back from the table and stands up, carrying his empty plate and bowl to the sink. He turns around and leans against the counter, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes trained on the floor.
"Look, Bells, I know you think you're all grown-up now, but you're only eighteen. A very mature eighteen, I'll give you that. And as a teenager you've given me very little trouble compared to... well… I'm trying to say you're a good kid. I realize I can't protect you from everything. I realize I have to let you make your own decisions, and your own mistakes -"
"Edward is not a mistake!"
Charlie scowls at me, and I fight the urge to cower under the weight of his glare. There is no way I'm backing down on this point.
"I understand that this boy -"
"Edward," I scold.
Another glare. I'm undeniably pushing my luck. Any minute now, Charlie is going to realize he can simply banish me to my room for the next three months. Problem solved.
"That Edward is… important to you, but I think you need a little distance. This behavior," he casts a meaningful glance at my delicate frame, "it's just not normal."
"This wasn't his fault," I argue. "It was just a…," I try to remember the word Dr. Weber used, "a trigger. I was completely in denial about what I was doing to myself, and if anything, he kept me healthy for longer. And you can't even imagine the things he's been doing to help me get better."
"I have some idea," Charlie mumbles, sounding slightly displeased.
"And you don't know him the way I do. All that stuff he did in the past, it's over. He's not like that anymore. He's not like that at all. He's changed."
"People like that don't change overnight, Bella."
"It didn't happen overnight. It was gradual. There were small signs, small changes, things that I didn't fully appreciate until I knew what he had been through. People can change; they can grow and they can learn, and Edward has. It's not fair for you to judge him for his mistakes. You – you should focus on how he's rectified them, how he's realized his faults, and the effort he's put into making it right again – for himself and his family. And I'm not trying to be disrespectful, I'm not, but you're wrong about him."
Charlie stares at me as if I have just grown another head. After one of the longest and most uncomfortable moments of my life, he finally looks away, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a frustrated breath. "Bella, the right choice isn't always real obvious. Sometimes the right thing for one person is the wrong thing for someone else. I just want to make sure you're making the right choice for you, and that's why I think you should spend some time away from him."
"I can't. I - I love him. And he loves me."
Charlie rubs the back of his neck and stares down at the floor. "Yeah, I have some idea about that too," he grumbles. My eyebrows knit together in confusion.
"Look, Bells…" his words trail off and his mouth twists to the side. He's looking for an angle to argue from, but what can he say? Technically, his hands are tied. I'm eighteen, and he can't force me to stay.
OK, maybe he can. I still depend on him for things like food, clothes, and shelter. That, and the fact I'm not bold enough to completely defy his wishes. Charlie knows that, but in this instance, I don't think he's going to use those things against me.
"I'm gonna to be honest. I'm worried, Bella. I'm worried what this boy might do to you."
"He's never done anything to me."
Charlie shoots me a knowing look.
"All he's done is love me and try to protect me, and when I need him the most, he's always there for me. If you could just see that, see how he takes care of me, you would see there's nothing to worry about."
Charlie considers that for a moment. "Sounds like your mind's made up."
"I'm one hundred percent sure about Edward."
Charlie huffs and a small smile plays on his lips. "You know," he says with a shake of his head, "you're exactly like me. Once you make up your mind, there is no reasoning with you."
I press me teeth together in a sheepish smile, cowering a little as I ask, "So, does that mean I can go back to Seattle? Like, next week?"
Charlie stares at me, and I guess he's making the decision right now whether or not to let me growup, make my own decisions - and my own mistakes - just like he said he was trying to do.
"I'm not saying yes."
My shoulders slump and I slouch down in my chair.
"I'm not saying no either," he amends quickly. "I'm saying… I need to make some phone calls."
And with another tug on the back of his neck, Charlie walks out of the kitchen, leaving me, not hopeful, but less discouraged than the last time we talked.
~o0o~
Over the next two days, negations with Charlie stall completely. I'm dying to ask if he's made up his mind, but I know nagging him about it is the worst thing I can do. So, instead, I focus my attention on Edward.
Thank goodness our wireless plans include unlimited long distance because we spend countless hours on our cell phones. For the most part, we talk about trivial things, but sometimes our conversations wander into heavier topics.
I can tell he's worried about my progress. He hasn't come out and said it exactly, but it's there in the cautious questions he asks. I tell him it doesn't bother me, he can ask me anything he wants, but still I try to offer up as much information as I can before he has to request it. Edward hasn't seen me in almost three weeks, and I remember how Charlie said putting eyes on me made him feel better. Maybe it's the same for Edward.
The night before last, after my morning at the studio and my conversation with Charlie, I come clean about the three pounds I told Edward I gained. While it's true that I've put on three pounds, thanks to Sue's amazing cooking, those pounds only offset the three I lost the week before. I try to reassure Edward that Dr. Weber said it was OK, expected even, and it wasn't because of anything I did deliberately. My weight gain is just slowing down as my metabolism improves. Combine that with all the additional preparation for the Christmas performance, and a loss was inevitable.
Edward took the news rather well. He seemed more interested in talking about the new foods I've added to my diet rather than the numbers on the scale.
I don't bring up his parents again, and neither does he. Honestly, that's probably for the best. I think those conversations are better had in person. Talking about it over the phone made me feel like walking through a minefield - wearing a blindfold. I need to see his eyes; I need to see that I'm not pushing further than he's ready to go. I need to know when to stop. As much as I want to help him, I know I'm not equipped to deal with some of the demons he's facing. I need to be able to judge when I can encourage him to accept help from someone who can, and I can't do that through a cell phone a thousand miles away.
Needless to say, I'm anxious to get back to him, to get home. I'm ready to start again, to put the past behind us and see what comes next.
And what comes next is our first date.
It's New Year's Eve, 11:35 p.m. to be exact. When I spoke to Edward early this morning, we made plans to watch the ball drop in Times Square together. Well, not technically together. We'd be on the phone while watching the same channel on TV, but it's the best we can do under the circumstances.
I thought Edward would have called before now, but when the grandfather clock in the hallway chimes 11:45 p.m., I still haven't heard from him. It dawns on me, yet again, that we're in different time zones. It's only 10:45 p.m. in Seattle, and we never discussed exactly which countdown to midnight we would be celebrating.
I try calling him again, but the phone doesn't even ring, sending my call straight to voicemail. Why would he turn his phone off?
I try not to get aggravated, but I can't help it. I'm stuck home, alone, on New Year's Eve, and I'm missing him terribly.
Another ten minutes goes by and no Edward. The crowd in Times Square is already starting to pair off and kiss their loved ones as the clock ticks down the last minute. I'm watching the repeat broadcast. The real ball dropped two hours ago on the east coast. I'd already seen the little girl perched on her daddy's shoulders. Her funny glasses are covered in glitter and designed to look like the numbers of the new year. I'd already seen the firefighters with arms wrapped around each other singing 'Auld Lang Syne.' I brace myself for what's coming next. The camera cuts to a soldier, outfitted in his dress uniform, as he drops down on one knee to ask the love of his life to be his forever.
I groan. I can't take anymore, and I hit the button on the remote. The entire living room plunges into darkness, along with my mood. I flop down on my back, listening to the muffled sound of fireworks exploding in the distance.
After another ten minutes, the revelry outside slowly fades away. When all is quiet, I give up and decide to just go to bed.
Just as I sit up, my phone buzzes on the coffee table. Finally!
"Hey."
"Hey yourself."
He sounds different somehow, happy. I try not to let that aggravate me even more.
"I'm sorry I'm late," he offers.
"I tried to call you."
"I know. My phone was off. What are you doing?"
"Lying on the couch, alone, in the dark," I respond harshly, fighting to hold on to my frustration.
He chuckles. "That's so sad. Where's your dad?"
"He and Sue went out. He won't be back for a few hours."
"You didn't want to go with them?"
"Charlie said I wasn't invited. Besides, I couldn't handle a bunch of old folks doing the Electric Slide tonight."
"So sulking alone in the dark is more appealing to you?"
"Well I did have a date, but he stood me up."
He chuckles again. "What a jerk."
I can't help but smile. "I know, right?" Damn it. Why can't I stay mad at him?
"So, I guess I missed the ball drop, huh?"
"Yeah you did. I just turned it off. I couldn't watch it anyway."
"Why not?"
"I dunno. I guess having to watch all those people kissing, I just couldn't take anymore. I had to turn it off."
"You don't like to watch people kissing?"
"No, that's not it. It's just… it's not fair. I want to be kissing you, but I can't. It just makes me miss you even worse than I already do."
Edward is quiet for a moment. "I have an idea that might make you feel better, but…"
"But what?" I prompt.
"Bella, if I asked you to do something, would you trust me?"
This sounds interesting. "I'm listening."
I can hear him moving around as he speaks. "OK, you're – you're going to have to go outside."
That was not what I was expecting. "OK," I agree cautiously, but it comes out more as a question.
I stand up and walk to the front door, taking a careful step out onto the porch. The Arizona winters are warm. Jeans and a sweatshirt is usually all I need to be comfortable, so I don't bother with my jacket. I close the door behind me and look around the dimly lit yard. It's severely quiet, and a street lamp in the distance casts an eerie, yellow glow across the empty road.
It feels strange to be outside at this hour, not to mention standing alone in the shadows of the porch. I wrap one arm protectively around my stomach and hold the phone tighter to my ear. "OK, I'm here. What now?"
"Bella, do you to trust me?" he asks, his voice gravely serious.
I have a feeling this question runs deeper than whatever he's going to ask me to do next. "Yes, Edward. I trust you. Always."
"Then close your eyes."
I squeeze my eyes shut. "OK, they're closed. This is weird."
"Don't open them, no matter what, until I tell you to. OK?"
"OK."
"No matter what," he instructs again.
"OK."
It's an odd sensation, standing here with my eyes closed. My other senses seem to kick into overdrive now that my ability to see is gone. I can hear the rustling of fallen leaves blow across the yard. I feel the breeze whip through my hair. I smell the rotten, sulfur sent of fireworks that lingers in the air. I hear more rustling and – and the creak of the porch step.
Everything goes completely still. My heart begins to pound in my chest, and I fight against the driving urge to open my eyes.
There's a presence, like I'm not alone. I try to reach out with my mind, to place the exact direction the feeling is coming from. The porch creaks again, but this time the sound is much closer.
I stop breathing.
Someone touches my forehead, gently brushing my hair back and tucking it behind me ear.
Slowly, the phone is removed from my ear.
I draw in a ragged breath as two familiar hands press against my cheeks, lifting my face up.
His lips, warm and gentle, brush against mine softly as he kisses me. Tenderly, delicately, reverently, he kisses me again and again.
Too soon, he pulls away, but his hands stay pressed to my face. His thumbs gently stroke my cheeks, brushing away the tears that I didn't realize were falling.
"You can open your eyes now, love," he whispers.
I squeeze them shut tighter. "I can't. I'm either dreaming or I'm dead. If I open them, you'll be gone."
He laughs that glorious laugh. "You're not asleep, and you're not dead. I'm here, and I love you."
Carefully, I open my eyes. He is here - really here. Edward. My Edward.
In that moment my body takes over, and I launch myself at him. I throw my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, clinging to him like my life depends on it. He tries to laugh at my enthusiastic greeting, but I silence his mouth by covering it with mine again.
Author's Note: Come on! Supriseward deserves some review love!
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