So I just realized that a year ago yesterday I published this sucker. It's crazy that I've been living with these characters for a year. Dang.
This outtake is the much requested Bella freaks out about getting pregnant scene.
One more epi and I think its time to say goodbye. *tear*
On a happy note, I've got a new story. It's pretty cool, I think. Check it out.
Words cannot express how awesome you (yeah, I'm talking to YOU) are for reading, reviewing, recing. Whatever.
Thank you.
January 2015
"I miss my cat," I whine to my friend Carmen as we chat over drinks in Barcelona's Raval neighborhood. According to Carmen this part of the city was once super sketchy, but now its all bohemian, an artists haven.
Which is cool. Because I'm kinda an artist.
Carmen and her long-time lover, maybe-husband Eleazar live down here so this is usual where we end up when we get together. Though it's great and funky, I honestly prefer the Gothic Quarter, despite the mass off tourists always stomping around.
The churches are beautiful and I like to people watch.
Although I would never tell Carmen that. She'd probably never speak to me again.
"What is a cat compared to this city?" she scoffs, gesturing with her glass of wine.
"Carmen, for fucks sake," I groan in frustration. We've been having this argument for the last month and she just doesn't get it. "Just because I'm home sick doesn't mean I'm insulting your city. I love Barcelona. But we've been here for four months."
"Four months is no time at all," she insists.
"Carmen, do you see that man?" I point towards the bar where are men folk are chatting and laughing.
"Of course I see that man. What, do you think I'm blink?"
"That man," I continue as if she didn't speak, "is a healer. A lifesaver."
"A lifesaver," she echoes.
"His hands." I put my own hands in her face for dramatic effect. Also because I'm a little bit drunk. "His hands save lives."
"What else do his hands do?" Carmen asks, waggling her eyebrows at me.
I giggle a lot and turn red.
"You're missing the point," I scold.
"Darling, that is the point."
"Carmen! You're incorrigible. The point is that those life saving hands are current working as a shop keeper for our crazy land lords instead to stitching people up!" I say. "Plus, I miss being around people I understand."
"You're such an ugly American, Isabella. Imagine not learning the language of the locals." She sighs and shakes her head at me in shame.
"I try!" I defend. "I really do. I'm just hopeless at languages. I barely get my own."
"You studied English in school, yes?" Carmen asks with an arched eyebrow.
"I've always been shockingly bad at grammar given my profession. Editors hate me."
Carmen snorts elegantly. Which I imagine is had to do. I don't think I've even met anyone as elegant as Carmen. Sometimes I don't get what this beautiful Barcelonan sees in me. But two days after we moved here I stumbled into her, spilling her coffee. She yelled at me in that flowly, foreign tongue for a solid minute before she realized I had no idea what she was say. I bought her a new cup, joined her table, and that was that.
"When ever you drink you talk about this cat. What is so great about this beast?" Carmen asks.
I finish my wine and slap a hand over my heart. "His name is Waldo. He's orange and he's got these big, green, crossed eyes. He's Edward in cat form," I gush.
Carmen stares at me with mild distaste for a good long minute. "Most of the time I have no idea what you are going on about."
I have a good laugh at that, not even able to stop as Edward takes his seat next to me and slides his hand up my thigh.
"Have I told you that you're gorgeous when you laugh?"
I smile at my husband's typically adorable flattery.
"A time or two," I reply, leaning over to give him a kiss.
"So what are we talking about, ladies?" asks Eleazar, draping his arm around Carmen's shoulders.
"Waldo," I say with a sigh.
"Should Edward feel threatened?" Eleazar drawls.
"He's our cat," Edward explains.
"You have a cat? I've never seen a cat," Eleazar continues, looking puzzled. I snort at this. Eleazar as seen our miniscule apartment all of one time. There is barely room for two people to fit comfortably in there. With four it's just downright uncomfortable.
"He's currently living with my sister in Colorado," Edward explains. Why are you talking about Waldo?"
"I have no idea," Carmen says, putting her palms up as if she is declaring her innocence.
"Because I miss him, Edward. With his big eyes and that way he tilts his head. "
"I miss him too. Even the way he sleeps on my face."
"And the way he licks your nose just once when you're not paying enough attention to him."
"And how clean he is about going to the litter box."
I laugh about that for a second. That's when I realize Carmen and Eleazar are staring at us like they've never seen us before.
"What?" I ask.
"You two are so strange. You talk of Waldo like he's a person, not some sort of flea bitten animal," Carmen says, looking like there is something foul smelling under her nose.
"Aw,' I say, turning to Edward. "He kinda is like a person. Like a child! Our child. I want to see him soon."
"Soon," Edward agrees, nodding.
"Enough of this strange conversation. It's making me uncomfortable. Let's dance," Carmen says, finishing her drink and pulling Eleazar out of his chair.
Edward and I follow close behind.
Our small studio apartment always smells like bread.
This is probably because we live above a bakery. It is both great and terrible at the same time. I've gained at least ten pounds because I'm always munching on various baked goods.
Edward sells the bread. Which is hilarious and a bit weird, but we met this old couple vacationing in Rome and we got to talking. They offered us free accommodations fin exchange for one of us working in their bakery. We don't need the money, of course, but it was just too good of an adventure to pass up. Originally, I was excited to bake, but when it turned out they needed a clerk not a baker, Edward stepped in. There is no way I could communicate with customers. Edward – master of many languages – was just thrilled with the opportunity to speak Catalan. He picked it up quick, which is good because I'm beyond hopeless.
Plus, Edward wanted to give me the chance to write.
It's been pretty great though, living in this city. I love just wandering, getting to know Barcelona on foot. Most days I find myself in some little café in front of big windows, typing away or people watching.
But I am ready to go home. I'm just not so sure about Edward. In the last few years he's had the wanderlust. Bad.
"Good morning, my love." Edward's scratchy voice comes from the small bed behind me. I turn away from the window where I've been sipping my tea and looking out over the city.
"Hey, babe," I reply, setting down my mug and walking over to my hubs. He has a bunch of lines on his face, imprints from how he slept on the pillow. It's too damn cute.
"Nice shirt," he says, playing with the hem of the button up he worn out last night. "Come here."
He scoots as close to the far wall as he can and I kick off my slippers before crawling in next to him. It's almost February now and today is grey and chilly. I press my cold nose against his neck and he shivers.
"How are you this morning?" he murmurs, kissing my hair.
"Actually, I'm feeling a little off," I tell him, even through admitting this to my over protective doctor husband is sure to only bring me annoyance. But this way Edward won't mind staying in bed with me all day instead of making me go to some bizarre museum like he usually does on his days off. "My tummy hurts."
I pout at him and try to look miserable.
"Oh no, wifey," he says, brow furrowing. "Is it bad?"
"Naw," I assure him. "Just a little off. It's a good day to stay in bed."
"What do you want to do?"
Twenty minutes later I'm dozing with my head on Edward's stomach. He is playing with my hair and reading Pride and Prejudice. My hubs can only handle so much Jane Austen, but he picked the book for me, knowing I'm not feeling right. His low voice is so soothing and his skin is so warm.
This is my heaven. Right here. In bed with my man, reading classic literature.
"I don't get it," Edward says with a huff.
"Get what?" I ask with a smile. I can tell by his tone that he is about to get all frustrated and irritated by something completely ridiculous.
"Mr. Darcy. I don't get the appeal of Mr. Darcy. I mean, he's all quiet and annoying and stuck up," Edward says. I don't open my eyes but I can tell by the way his belly moves that he's gesturing wildly with his hands. I can picture it clearly so there is really no need to look.
'Yeah, he's all rich and in to saving the day. It's totally weird," I reply with only a little bit of sarcasm. "Where's the appeal there?"
Edward is silent for a moment.
"Isabella," he says, his voice low and stern. "Did you just compare me to Mr. Darcy?"
"I would never," I reply with a giggle.
Edward lets out a growl and then bends to kiss me. I smile against his lips and throw my arms around his shoulders.
"Don't worry, babe," I murmur between kisses. "I like my men a little more goofy. And ginger."
He pulls away to frown down at me.
"Really?" he asks. "Really?"
I'm about to reply, but then I'm overcome with the sudden urge to puke my guts out. Shoving Edward off with more force than necessary, I sprint to the bathroom with my hand covering my mouth.
I barely make it to our tiny toilet before hurling up the piece of toast and three cups of coffee that made up my breakfast.
My shoulders heave as Edward gathers my hair.
"I thought the days of you holdin' my hair back as I puked were over," I mutter miserably into the bowl.
"Normally I would chuckle at that but at the moment I'm too concerned," he replies tersely. "Did you eat anything weird?"
"Just what you've fed me," I snap back, being unnecessarily rude. "Sorry. I don't like being sick."
"I don't like you sick either," he says, bending down to examine me. Gently, he tilts my face towards his and lays a hand over my forehead. "You don't have a temperature. Your color's returning. When we your last period?"
"What?" I say, bating his hands away. "Gross."
He shakes his head at me. Probably because I just referred to my period as being gross to my doctor husband.
"Bella," he says, grabbing my hand and grinning at me. "Are you late?"
I stare at him blankly. I have no job. What could I possibly be late for?
"Late for what?" I ask, questioning his sanity. I've found in the last few years of world travel and livin' like wanderers that I question his sanity kinda a lot. I've also found that usual its best to just trust the man.
Who knew he's such an adventurer?
"Late late," he says, rolling his eyes at me.
It still takes me another 30 seconds to figure out what his blathering about.
"Oh fuck," I say, feelin' a little like I'm gonna puke again.
Usually, the whole baby thing is something I try not to think about. We haven't really been trying for the last couple years, but we haven't really been not trying either. To be honest, I've kinda giving up on the whole thing. For a year or so a part of me has just resigned myself to the fact that babies aren't in the cards for us. I haven't told Edward any of these fears, but he knows. He always knows.
I mean, I once tearily asked him to get me more tampons. That was probably pretty obvious.
"You better not be fuckin' with me, Cullen," I say, waving my hand in his face somewhat obnoxiously.
"I simply asked a question, Cullen," he says, imitating my snappy tone.
I sigh.
"Take a deep breath," Edward says, running his thumb over my cheekbone.
My deep breath comes out more of a squeak.
My mind is going a million miles a minute, and I'm having a hard time focusing on fucking dates.
"Who needs dates?" I continue in this hysterical, high-pitched voice. "I don't need dates! I only know it's the weekend because you make me stay in bed till noon. I'm a writer with monthly deadlines! And I only know a deadline is approaching because I set my phone to beep at me! I don't even need to pay attention to the day of the week."
Edward raises an eyebrow at me. Who's questioning whose sanity now?
"Okay," he says with authority. "This is what we're going to do, Isabella. Just one think at a time. First, we're just going to stand up and brush that vomit out of your teeth. Can you handle that?"
I nod silently.
I accomplish this one simple task and feel an odd sense of accomplishment.
"Good job," Edward says. He is smiling slightly, and I can tell he thinks I'm a fool, but I don't have space in my head for that.
Baby. Of baby. When was my last period? Baby. Prego. Period, period, period, period. I'm oddly in to the name Tobias.
Oh holy Krishna.
I don't even dare to hope to pray to dream about bein' prego.
"Bella, now that you're all fresh and clean, we're going back to bed."
I scowl at him. There is no way I can focus on that and a time like this.
"We have our best talks in bed," he explains. I nod and grab his hand because he's right. All the big ones tend to happen in bed. I shuffle my feet, vaguely aware that I'm acting like a dazed fool.
Did I mention that I won't let myself dare to hope to pray to dream to be carrying Edward's child again?
I settle in next to Edward, right in the crook of his arm. I slip my hand under his t-shirt in an attempt to ground myself a little.
"Wife of mine?" Edward prompts after letting me just sit in silence for a moment. "When was your last deadline?"
"Last week."
"Okay. Were you on your period?" he asks. I make a face because it's gross before really thinking about his question.
"No," I answer, again oddly pleased that I remember.
Edward smiles at me indulgently.
"What about the deadline before that?" he pushes.
I think for a good solid minute, wracking my brain.
"No," I say, squinting and thinking as hard as I've even thought. "It had just stopped!"
Edward and I grin at each other and than high five.
"And you haven't had it since then?" he asks, hands on my shoulders.
"No!" I say, jubilantly jump to my feet. I let out a girlish shriek and do a happy dance. "I'm late. I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!" I sing.
Edward laughs as I continue to do a little dance.
But then I remember how easily I lost our baby last time and how scary it is to have my hopes up and suddenly I don't feel like celebrating. As quickly as I popped up, I lie back down.
"What just happened?" Edward asks, bending over me to see me lying flat on my back and working my lip. He removes it from my teeth with his thumb.
"I'm putting myself on bed rest. It's the safest option."
Edward lets out a snort, and I glare at him. "Oh, you're serious," he says, beamused as he struggles to keep up with my erratic behavior.
I place my hands protectively over my flat belly.
"Firstly, I'm the doctor here so I will be determining what the safest option is. Secondly, I think you're getting a little a head of things here. We don't know anything for sure. I don't want you to get your hopes to high, Bella. But there is knowing wrong with positive thinking."
I tear up a little because he is so fucking right.
Fuck, even after all these years I'm still such a nutcase.
"I want it to be for sure," I whisper. Edward settles next to me, pulling me into his arms.
"Me too."
"I love you, Edward."
"I love you too," he replies, kissing me softly. "So much."
Two days or a week or five days later – like I said, it's difficult keeping track here in Barcelona – Edward has me pee on a stick. It is a frustrating process being as the fucking thing is in a language I can't read. It probably doesn't help that I've been super frazzled and throwing up every morning.
My hands shake I want this so bad as we wait for the results. I pace around the apartment, biting my lip and glancing over at Edward every few seconds.
He's been remarkably calm through this whole thing.
After what seems like twelve years, I lose patience and go over to harass my husband who is holding the pee stick and looking at his watch intently.
"Well?" I demand. "What does that funny little symbol mean?"
"Thirty more seconds, Bella," he says, still staring at his watch.
I quell the irrational urge to punch him. It's not his fault time has slowed down or that I'm such an insane person when it comes to babies. I really hope I'm pregnant. The disappointment would crush me. Edward too, I think, but he'll be better at hiding it.
I go back to pacing and biting my lip.
"Bella," Edward says hours later.
I pause in front of him, wringing my hands nervously. Part of me doesn't want to know. I'll just find out in nine months if a baby pops out of me.
Fuck, I'm crazy. If the test is false I'm probably going to turn into one of those women who are convinced they're pregnant when they're not. Hysterical pregnancy, that's what it's called. Shit, maybe that's what this was from the beginning.
That is just plain stupid. Edward is the least hysterical person I've even met.
Too bad I can't say the same for myself.
"Bella," he says again. I look up too see him smiling like a fool. "Get out of your head. Did you hear a word I just said?"
I shake my head. I was too busy freaking out to pay attention to words.
My husband's whole face is lit right up like the Fourth of July. That's a good sign, right? Damn, he's pretty.
"It's positive," Edward says quietly, reverence and awe lacing his tone. It's almost like he doesn't really believe his own words. I can relate. "We're pregnant."
I just stand there staring at him with my mouth a gape for a moment while his words sink in.`
When they do, I promptly burst into tears.
Edward rushes to me, holding me as I collapse against him. I cry into his neck as he whispers brilliant things about loving me and loving our baby and how everything is going to be wonderful.
This is so scary. Letting myself believe it is so scary.
When I fail to calm down, Edward brings me over to the bed, settling with me leaning against his chest. He runs a comforting hand down my back.
"What if that shity test is wrong? How can I trust you to be reading it right? What if all this is just some terrible joke of the universe? Damn you, universe! I take that back. My apologies, universe. What if something goes wrong? What if there is another disappearance? What if this is all actually fucked up a dream? Waking up tomorrow is gonna suck balls. What if—"
Edward covers my mouth to stop my hysterical rant. I stare up at him with watery eyes as he removes his hand and encourages me to take deep breaths. It takes another five minutes, but eventually I calm down.
Edward kisses me, briefly but intensely.
I manage a watery smile for him.
"Better?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say, blushing. "Sorry about that."
My freak out is just embarrassing. I wish I could give Edward a normal, happy, we're havin' a baby celebration, but I'm not built that way. I'm too scared to be happy yet. It seems too good to be true, and I feel like if I let myself be happy then something will go horribly wrong, leaving me broken.
"Don't be sorry," he replies, drying my cheeks. "I know this is hard for you in a way I can't really understand totally."
I just nod. He seems pretty understanding to me.
"Part of that is your crazy hormones, you know. I hope you're prepared to get even crazier," he says, teasing me a little. I glance up at him, pleased that he looks so happy, thrilled even.
I'm glad one of us is brave enough to be happy.
"I want to go to a real doctor," I tell him, grabbing his hand and relaxing into him with my head on his shoulder. "In the States. One who speaks English who can give me hard-core proof."
I'm a little nervous that Edward is going to want to stay abroad for the rest of our lives, that we are just going to end up aimlessly floating and he'll never realize his fuck-awesome doctor dreams. He has just loved the travel and the moving so damn much. He says he's never felt this free.
But I just want to go home.
"I booked the tickets the day you threw up for the first time," he says quietly. I hear the trepidation in his voice, like he's scared I'm going to freak out that he didn't include me in that decision.
I'm so motherfucking relieved I don't get even a little bit pissy about him keeping shit from me.
"How many days ago was that?" I inquire.
"Three," he replies.
Huh, it seems like forever.
"And when do we go home?" I don't even have to ask where we are going. Although Carlisle and Esme flew out for Christmas, we haven't seen the rest of the clan for over two years. We haven't even met the newest Cullen, William. Rose is already knocked up – again. It's getting a little ridiculous, and there is no way we aren't flying right to Colorado.
And Waldo. I'm so excited to see my kit-kat.
Where the hell else would we go?
"Six days," he admits, running his hand through his hair. I frown in displeasure.
"Do you want to stay here?" he asks, really flustered now and totally misinterpreting my facial expressions. "I just figured you'd want to be around the family. It's been so long since we've seen—"
This time, I'm the one covering his mouth to get him to shut up.
"Edward, I'm so goddamn ready to get home. Ideally, we'd leave tomorrow," I say.
Edward grins at me. "I think we need a little more time to get our affairs in order."
"Six days," I say, nodding.
"We're going home," he whispers.
I kiss him, feeling so much. Edward pulls away after a moment, resting his forehead against mine and smiling softly at me with such love, he has my tummy fluttering, even after all this time.
My husband tentatively palms my flat stomach, and I tear up a little again. Never breaking eye contact, I cover his hand with my own. I can't help but smile back at him, and in this one perfect little moment, I ignore all that other crap and find the happy. In this one perfect little moment, I let myself believe that everything is going to be wonderful.