Chapter Two

The Thickness of Water

I'm sitting on a pale blue bedspread, the cloth a pure and soft cotton. I inhale deeply, recognizing the scent of the fabric as it lingers in my sensitive nose. I detect other smells in the room as well-the pine, from the wardrobe that sits across from me. Silk from the pile of clothes Esme had left sitting on the bed next to me. The particles of dust which swam in the air around me.

With such a sensitive nose, it was certain I would have ears to match.

I could hear them two floors below me.

After introducing myself to everyone-except, of course, for Carlisle and Esme-the room had settled into an awkward silence. Finally, nervous at the quiet around me, I had began to speak.

I retold me story, with words instead of images this time. When I had finish, the quiet was no more.

Alice was questioning me at a rapid pace, her eyes growing impossibly wider as she wondered and pestered to her heart's content. In between Alice's surprisingly intense interrogation, Emmett was laughing, Jasper speaking in low-obviously suspicious- tones with Carlisle and Esme and then-Rosalie.

Aw, yes. Rosalie.

Rosalie yelled.

She shouted at Alice. "How could you not have seen this…?"

She screamed Carlisle. "You just let us leave her! Leave a baby, all because we were indulging his self deprecating, self sacrificing ass!"

She fumed at Jasper, "Don't even think about trying to calm me down!"

And she raged at Edward. Especially at Edward.

I hadn't taken my eyes off of him-off my father-since he had set foot in the room. I studied everything I could about him, from the set of his brow to the color of his dark eyes.

He was everything my mother had described him as. I wanted to speak with him alone. To tell him how angry I was. To cry on his shoulder. I wanted his strong arms to hold me, and his voice to sooth me.

For the millionth time in my short life, I longed for my father's touch.

Instead-though I could not tear my gaze from him-he had barely glanced at me since my introduction.

My heart broke yet again.

Look at me!

I wanted to beg for it, scream for it, cry for it.

But I just stood there looking at him as he stood across from me, staring straight towards the ground, not even bothering to acknowledge his furious sister as she shrilled towards him. I looked into his eyes and saw an emotion there I couldn't name-it looked more saddened than I had ever seen, and yet sparkled with something entirely opposite.

After a few minutes of pure chaos and noise erupting from the room, Esme stood and walked towards me.

"Quiet." she had said in a low, but firm voice.

The room was surrounded in silence immediately.

"My dear Renesmee," she had addressed me, "I understand you need to sleep-and you must be exhausted from the long journey. Let me show you to your room."

"We aren't going to talk-?"

"My children and I need to have a short meeting first," she told me, her eyes narrowing even as he tone did not. "But I promise you can say and ask all you want in the morning, after some much needed rest."

I has hesitated, but eventually let her led me upstairs to the guest room. She had pointed out the adjoining bathroom and left some pajamas on the bed. With a last smile, and a "sleep well, sweet," she was gone.

And now I sat.

They are back to yelling at each other again, I know, but they had muffled their voices. I could only make out tones and vague guesses at their actual words.

I try my best to drown out the grumbled sound of all their voice. As I change into the smooth silk pajamas given to me, I suddenly realize that I'm completely exhausted. I feel like I been running for miles.

I lie down on the soft, unnecessarily large bed, using my family's shouts as a lullaby as I drift of to sleep.

When I wake, I immediately notice that its late in the morning by the shade of bright, sunflower yellow that pours in from the window to my left. I stretch and yawn, searching for the strength to go downstairs and face them again. To face my father again.

I walk over to the overstuffed sofa sitting the corner of the guest room and begin to reach for the clothes I had placed last night. But when I touch the too-neatly folded attire I immediately realize it is not my own. The fabrics are too bright, colorful and soft to be my usual jeans and t-shirt apparel.

I hold the fabric up and am surprised to find that my outfit yesterday has been replaced with a very pretty light pink sundress. A small note has been carefully pinned to the front of the dress.

Renesmee, it reads,

I hope you don't mind me taking your old things down to the wash. Hopefully this will fit you well enough. The bathroom is yours now, and its already been stocked with anything you might need. Come down for breakfast whenever your ready.

Alice

P.S. There are some shoes in the dresser, bottom shelf.

I open the wardrobe to see that, yes, there was a small shoes box in the last shelf. Nestled inside were a pair of delicate white sandals.

I move into the bathroom and shower, using the ridiculous amount of supplies Alice has given me, including tampons, razors, soap, two kinds of shampoo, conditioner, many towels and four different flavors of tooth paste and floss.

When I am done, I feel cleaner than I have in years.

I also feel strange, in an outfit like this. I've only worn dresses like this when I was a young girl, and its odd to not have the rough denim shielding my legs and almost protecting me. This dress is flimsy and open. I've never felt more vulnerable.

I've also never felt so pretty.

I take a few moments just to look in the mirror like I never have before, twirling and watching as I become transformed into an almost…feminine creature. Its an odd feeling, but certainly not an unpleasant one.

With my new empowering dress I finally make my way downstairs, forcing my breaths to come in and out at a steady, normal pace.

They are all gathered around the living room as I entered. Their positions are relaxed and casual, but I can detect the underlying tension behind it. They are shifting too little and making far to much significant eye contact to even try to maintain an illusion of normality.

"Good morning." I say, purposely forcing my voice to be strong and pleasant.

I see my father's copper hair close to me, facing the opposite direction as he perches on the pale couch.

"Good morning," they chorus back, all but two voices speaking.

"Does it fit well?" Alice asks, standing up and almost dancing to my side. She has a smile lighting her fairy face and it makes her look deceptively frail and child-like.

"Perfectly. Thank you very much."

Suddenly, without so much of a preamble, she reaches up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms gingerly around me and squeeze.

Hugs, I realize, are not just an "Esme thing".

"Pretty girls are supposed to wear pretty dresses." Is all she says in response.

"Renesmee." Carlisle greets me, moving towards us as well. I smile at him- at my grandfather-and say nothing else.

I have no idea how this morning will end.

"I hope you slept well?" he inquires.

"Like the dead," I joke and he gives a gentle chuckle.

"I'm glad to hear it.," he tells me stepping in a little closer. "Our home is your home."

I flush at the reminder that we all, in this room, are connected by blood. I take a deep breath and then decide, for all of our sakes, to direct attention to the large elephant that loomed with us.

"I was wondering if I could speak to you all," I pause. I swallow. "Together."

Carlisle nods and motions for everyone to follow him as he walks around the corner. I stay back just long enough to see him stand, and to memorize his face again, even as he refuses to so much as glance at me.

With one last steadying breath, I walk into a spacious dinning room- a large table made of dark wood and a glossing exterior. Twelve matching chairs surround it. Carlisle takes the chair at the very end of the room, sitting at the head of the table. Its is clear by how no one questions his position and by the way he unconsciously holds himself that he is coven's leader. But he also doesn't show the audacity of some leaders, the arrogance. He doesn't hold himself up as the leader because he thinks he should be, but rather because he has to be.

Esme sits immediately on his right, while Jasper and Alice sit next to her. Rosalie and Emmett separate themselves from their leader by a seat to his left.

Edward sits next to Jasper, and yet he keeps his head down at all times.

I stand at the other end of the table., away from them, as it has always been.

They each, but my father, turn to look at me.

I breath again. They are an intimidating audience; all beautiful, all foreign to me.

"I'm sorry," I begin. "I know my showing up like this was more than a little…surprising to you all, and I'm sorry about that.

"I also need you to know that my reasons for coming here are completely genuine. I'm not looking for your money, or protection or…anything." I give them a look I hope looks strong and determined. "I just wanted to…meet you all."

I sit down then, knowing I want to say more -so much more-to them, but not knowing how to say them, or even if I have he strength to form the words.

No one says anything, as though they can understand I have yet to unleash all of my words. I am grateful for the silence.

Finally, I begin to speak again. To defend the woman who has always defended me.

"Please don't be angry with my mother." I start. Everyone jerks in surprise. Even Edward-my father-looks up at that, his golden eyes widening.

"She wasn't the one who sent me here-"

"She's just the one that kept you away all those years, isn't that right?"

Rosalie is the one to speak, her icy voice piercing my ears and easily drowning out my soft pleas. "She's the reason we haven't met you before? Let me guess," her voice turns even colder, her eyes narrowing as she tries to stand. Emmett grips her arms strongly-barely managing to keep her seated. "Bella filled your head with horror stories about us, about her broken heart. She told you to stay away from us, hmm? That we wouldn't want you? That we were cruel and-!"

"No!" I'm standing now too, my entire mind with shock at her assumptions. My mother had sometimes mention that Rosalie and she were not close but never had she spoke of this apparent….hatred between them.

"She never said anything…anything like that!"

"Then why haven't you been here before?" Rosalie demanded. "Why now do you want to meet us?"

My mouth opens, but silence pours out.

How do I say it? How do I tell them that I hated them? That somewhere deep inside…I still do?

I avoid her questions. "My mother has been trying to convince me to come here for years, it was just that I…" couldn't stand the thought being rejected, hated watching your actions tear her apart for the inside, didn't want to meet the man that had abandoned me from birth. "I was nervous."

Rosalie seethes inwardly, but finally sits down.

"Why didn't she come with you?"

It is a soft voice, and I turn to see Alice looking at me with wonder in her large, child-like eyes.

"What?"

"Your…Bella." She seems to breath out the word. "If she doesn't…detest us then why didn't she come with you. We've all…we would have liked to see her again."

My mother couldn't face you, couldn't face him. "She already had…plans." I lie. "With family friends down in South America."

"Are you in contact?" Carlisle asks me.

"We know how to get in touch," Is all I respond. Some things are best kept private.

"Won't you please…invite her?' he asks, as Esme squeezes his arm gently, in what I guess is a sign of support. "Let her know we would very much like to see her?"

I nod. "Of course."

Again, awkward silence fills the room.

"You can stay here as long as you like," Esme says after a long moment. She leans in close, and her eyes fill only with compassion. "I'm-we're-so glad to meet you as well. Please know that our home is your home."

"Thank you," I murmur shyly. "But I wouldn't want to impose on you gracefulness for too long."

"Its for you," Alice says suddenly, turning to Carlisle. Everyone, excepting Edward who has resumed his long stare at his feet, look at her in confusion. Carlisle opens he mouth just as the shrill ring fills the home. With an affection chuckle and pat to his daughters hand, he stands and leaves to answer it.

He returns a moment later, smiling at his family in apology.

"The hospital." He says in way of explanation. "They need me on site." He gives his wife a small kiss in parting and then comes to me. He touches my arm with a sense of gentleness that almost crimples me. Somehow, though this man is not my father, he is as close as I have ever known. My actual father has barely even looked at me. "Make yourself comfortable." he tells me and walks out. I hear the front door shut with a resounding thump.

"So," Emmett says immediately upon his father's departure. "How 'bout a tour, Missy? I'd be happy to do the honors."

"I'd-" I begin to accept, pleased to find that another member of my mysterious family seemed to warm up to me, at least in slightest, but Esme interrupted.

"Breakfast!" she cries, her face alight with something close to enjoyment. "I made breakfast. I wasn't sure…" her voice trails off uncomfortably as she stands up. Esme places a gentle, guiding hand on my elbow and leads me forward, to the large and beautiful kitchen I had seen yesterday. On the counter sat many larges plates, each filled to the brick with eggs and pancakes, bacon, fresh fruit. I blinked.

"Wow." I said slowly, amazed at all of the work my…my grandmother had put into this. "This is…" mind-blowing. Wonderful. I felt odd, irrational tears begin to prickle in my vision. "Too much. Really I don't…want anyone to go to too much trouble for me."

"Esme would go to trouble for the Volturi guard if they asked nicely enough," Emmett chuckled, his booming voice more than filling the room as it seemed to echo around us. He place his paw of a hand on my shoulder in a gesture that he most likely thought was gentle, and told me, "Come on, Squirt. You can eat in a few minutes-I wanna get to know you."

With that, he began practically towing me away by the arm. I gave a last smile to Esme in apology and captured a final glance at my still statue-like father before allowing myself to be dragged outward.

Emmett gave a much different tour, I suspected, than Esme would have. His actual elaboration or speaking of the grand rooms we entered was little to non existent. Instead, he spent all of the time laughing and questioning me about myself.

I had a feeling that would quickly become a pattern here.

But often, his questions were random and….almost childish.

"Do you drink blood, or just eat human food?"

I could survive on both, but often preferred the former.

"I saw the car you brought here-pretty sweet ride. Is it yours?"

At this I blushed lightly.

It was a…friend's.

He laughed at that. "A little thief, aren't you. Ah, its alright. Kind of unavoidable sometimes, huh?"

As Emmett was saying this he pushed open a set of glass double doors, and they stepped through together.

The room was large, and dome shaped, appearing as though it was meant for royalty. It was full of shelves upon shelves, all layered with rows and rows of books. I suddenly had a strange flashback of Disney's Beauty and the Beast.

"Oh my…" I gasped out, turning and twirling to see all points of the glorious room. "It gorgeous."

Almost mystified, I walked slowly to one of the larger bookshelves, reaching out to pull a book down. I held it gently, cautiously in my hands. Even more delicately, I leaned to place my nose in the crease of the book. I inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet smell of fresh ink. A soft sigh escaped me.

"Emily Bronte. One of her favorites."

I gasped, more than shocked as a low voice that was clearing not Emmett's resounded from behind me. The antique book slipped from between my small finger as I turned in my surprise. I moved down to grab it, feeling almost desperate to protect the old script, but I was too late.

I saw a pale, long fingered hand suddenly appeared beneath my line of sight, snatching the leather bound works a split second before it hit the carpeted ground.

I lifted my head up slowly then, purposely maintaining my steady breathing. I knew it was him. Even without looking, I knew it.

And then we both straightened out our stance and made eye contact. It was the second time now, but I still couldn't stop the flow of tears that suddenly welled in my eyes. His previously expressionless face grew solemn and he turned his gaze away from mine.

He began to walk then, still in silence.

I closed my eyes as he walked behind me, back towards the self, and took several deep, though hardly calming, breaths.

Edward Cullen and I were alone in a room.

My father and I were alone.

My father.

Alone.

I had planned this meeting out so many times in my head, practically fantasying about it. I would be crying in his arms as he soothed me. But in my mind, he was not the distant, almost robotic man I saw now. The man I had always envisioned was practically overcome with emotions. He too sobbed as he held me, letting me bury my tear-stained into his chest. He would tell me how much he loved me, how much I looked like him, how special I was to him. And then finally, after all the yelling and crying and shouting had finally finished he would smile at me. That same glorious crooked grin that my mother had so often spoke of.

And everything would be-if not perfect-better. Because I would have my father.

But instead our meeting was in almost completely silence, with each of us facing away from the other at opposite ends of the room. It was not exactly what I had imagined.

The very thought that this was all a wasted effort-that even after forcing myself to at last gain the courage to meet him-he wouldn't want me almost had me falling to my knees.

But I wouldn't. He wouldn't know he had that kind of power over me.

He couldn't.

After all, look at what had happened to my mother when she trusted him with her heart. I was determined to never be my mother.

I would never that anyone hurt me like that. Break me like that.

So I gathered all the strength I possessed at the time, allowing myself to ask one word in question.

"Emmett?"

"Stepped Out."

His voice was cold and implacable.

"Oh."

We stood in silence again, neither or us turning to face the other.

"Bronte?"

Out of the corner of my unmoving eye, I saw his forming ambling slowly around the room, looking at the shelves absent-mindedly. He seemed very casual-too casual.

"What?"

"Emily Bronte. Are you a fan?"

He still did not look at me, though I was acutely aware of each movement he made.

"Yes." I answer honestly, not bothering to think my answer through. "I love all of the Bronte women-although Jane Eyre is a personal favorite. "

"Hmm."

More quiet enveloped us.

I swallow, anchoring myself.

"Do you read?"

He glanced back at me slightly, a small ghost of a smirk crossing his face. The first sign of an emotion other than pain, sadness, or emptiness. Just the sight gave me a fierce stab of hope.

"I can."

He turned again.

More than a little disappointed by his vague answer, I too turned. The sight of a sleek and dark baby grand piano in the left corner of the room caught my attention.

A memory of my mother's voice echoed in my mind. I had been equivalent to about seven years old-being tucked in for my nightly slumber.

"He was a marvelous player." her voice was years away, her eyes cloudy as she lost herself in the distance of lost but never forgotten years. "I remember sometimes I would just lie while he played, closing my eyes and letting the sounds wash over me. His music could take anywhere I wanted to go-and I've never seemed him more at peace then when he played my lullaby."

My own voice had barely been a squeak at the time. "He wrote you a song?"

He golden orbs twinkled brighter than any star I had ever seen.

"The most beautiful one in history."

I let my hands trace over the glossy surface.

I had wondered-hoped, maybe, that he might someday play me my mother's lullaby.

"Do you play?"

He was speaking to me again. I turned to look at him, returning his earlier half smirk over my shoulder. "No. I've always wanted to learn but…"

She couldn't play.

And my learning would just be another reminder she didn't need.

"Do you?" I questioned, already knowing the answer.

He didn't smile this time as he slowly began walking towards the library door.

"I can."

He pulled the door open, and just as he stepped through, I heard his strong voice speak a last time.

"Stay. Please."

And then he was gone.

My father wasn't yet what I'd imagined?

I couldn't help but fear: would he ever be?