Thank you for reading! BelieveItOrNot and thimbles. xo

Chapter 21

My office seems a different place, down to the slant of the sunlight, none of it intended for me. It used to feel like my office was anticipating my arrival, and only my arrival, as I walked through the door. But today, it expected somebody else. Tanya had moved my desk perpendicular to the window. The window no longer serves as backlighting. By late morning I have to tilt my head or squint one eye to block the sun. My can of pens stands on the opposite end of the desk from where it used to, so that every time I reach for a pen, I reach in the wrong direction first. I leave it all as is, fashioned for Tanya, not for me.

I ignore my pile of paperwork and spend too much time searching potential jobs. Potential offices waiting for me. If that's how it works. If, once I find a job, I walk in and the office sighs, "Oh, there you are." I like to think of it this way, as if a place of work has been born, molded and grown, just for me, and once I'm there, I fit right in. An article catches my eye. I air-trace the blue border of the webpage and re-read the headline: It's Emotionally Harder to Remain in a Bad Job Than to be Unemployed. I don't have to read the article. I am the article.

I close the screen and attack my stack of papers, robotic as ever in my highlighting of words, phrases, X's. Sign here. Initial there. My job isn't necessarily bad, but I am strapped to this chair. This is it for me here, the only potential for change: office furniture rearrangement.

I reopen my laptop and check my email to find, again, the inexistence of a reply from Professor Cameron. I do have an email from Maggie, though—actually, four of them. And another one from Emily. No doubt they're all about the Begin Anew party. I'll deal with the ones from Maggie after work. I click on Emily's and watch the page load.

It's a silly meme, Samuel L. Jackson circa Pulp Fiction, his gun cocked at the screen. "Send me one more pointless email," it says. "I dare you." I laugh. I guess Maggie is copying Emily in on everything she sends me.

I shoot Emily a text: Help!

Be there Sat. morning, she texts back, with caffeine and EXTRA help.

.

Extra help is Rachel. She ignores the shock on my face, hands me a cup of coffee, and pulls me into a hug. "Hey, old friend."

I catch Emily's eye over Rachel's shoulder. She and Rachel seem to have picked up where they left off. Emily's half-shrug tells me she'll fill me in later.

"It's good to see you." I tug at the ends of Rachel's hair, all the way down by her waist. I usher them into my kitchen, racking my brain for something to say that isn't "Long time, no see," or "You haven't changed a bit!"

Emily heads straight to my cupboard and yanks it open. She grabs a bag of pretzels and lifts an eyebrow at me.

"Go for it," I say.

Rachel takes a handful of pretzels and nods her head toward my nook window. "Looks incredible out there. Coach Hottie did it, right?"

"Who?"

"Yeah, the gardener guy who coaches the Dodgers. You're dating him, right?"

She talks over the top of my "No!"

"Yeah, yeah. I thought that was you at Benjamin's game that day." She aims a lazy index finger my way. "Some of the moms are always joking about hiring him. Drooling over the thought of him working shirtless and whatever."

Emily looks between us, her eyes narrowed.

"I'm not…"

Rachel is oblivious to my discomfort. "Oh, my gosh, some of them were so devastated when he showed up with a woman. And I totally thought it looked like you, but I wasn't sure. But then…" She waves her hand towards my window. "And Emily said you'd just had it landscaped. So it all clicked. Is that how you met him?"

Emily chews a pretzel while I try to force my thoughts into coherency. She swallows. "Edward's married." Her tone is hard. I can't tell if her annoyance is aimed at Rachel or me.

"Yes." I nod. Too vigorously.

Rachel lets out a low, "No way." She brushes salt off her fingers. "So it wasn't you? At the sports park."

"No, it was. Edward's an old friend. We went to school together so it was, like, this huge surprise when he showed up to do a quote for me. I hadn't seen him in years." I walk to the fridge and pull out the mixed greens, tomatoes, feta, olives. "I was at the game to watch Garrett."

"That's something I can do," Rachel says and starts rinsing the lettuce.

"Oh, sure," Emily says. "Garrett."

I frown at her and she widens her eyes at me.

"He's Edward's neighbor. Edward coaches his team. And I–I met him when he was helping Edward in my yard. We're old friends now, planted vegetables together." I smile at the memory and pull my largest bowl from my cupboard. I hold it out for Rachel to toss the lettuce into. "Benjamin?"

"My nephew," Rachel says. "Leah's kid."

Emily reminds me that Leah is Rachel's half-sister.

"No, I remember. I just… I still picture him as a little kid."

Rachel grins. "Tell me about it. Can you believe he's almost ten? I have no idea how that happened."

"They grow up too quickly." I look at Emily. "Have you seen Charlotte and Victoria lately? I'm pretty sure they double in size every time I see them."

She gives me a look that tells me we'll be having a conversation later, but says, "Are they coming tonight?"

"I'd have to double check the itinerary." I pretend to flip through an invisible notebook in my hand. "They'll be here for a little while, then Maggie's mom will take them home at precisely nine-oh-five."

.

Rachel sets up the sound system on the patio, just speakers and an iPod. The tunes keep changing. R&B, rock, hip-hop, oldies. I'm dizzy, my brain crazed. If it were Emily, I'd yell at her to pick one already.

Louis Armstrong's rasp turns into Gloria Gaynor surviving and I call out, "This one's good. This one!" The song plays on and my mind relaxes. I hold the string of white lights against the pergola column with one hand and wrap a cable tie around both with the other. Keeping them in place is tricky, but I don't want to hammer anything into the wood, the pergola too new, nails too permanent. I secure the tie as my butt starts vibrating.

I slip my phone out of my pocket. It's Edward. I step off the ladder and turn my back on the girls. "Hey."

"Hi." His voice. One word. My fingers tighten around the phone. I press my other hand against my sternum. It's only been a week, but I've missed him.

"Hi," I say again.

"Um, about tonight."

My stomach drops. Please don't bail.

"Do you need a hand? Setting up and stuff?"

I glance over my shoulder. Emily is standing on a chair, cable ties clamped between her lips.

"I mean, you don't have a great track record of taking care of that turf I laid for you, Miss Let's Picnic on the Lawn." He sounds grittier than usual, like he has just woken up, or he hasn't slept. And though his words are playful, his tone does not emphasize this as it usually would. I press the phone harder to my ear to hear him better.

"I'd hate to get there and see you've stabbed a bunch of those shitty Tiki torches into the garden beds. I'm just saying, some supervision might be in order. From, you know, an expert." Still, not the sarcastic inflection I would expect from him, though there seemed to be an attempt at it this time.

I ignore my inclination to ask him if something is wrong and play along with him instead. It could be my imagination or our connection muddling things. TV, maybe, a ballgame. "Your expertise could come in handy. Stringing lights and inflating balloons is pretty technical." I should tell him we've got it covered, but the excuse to spend extra time with him is too good to pass up. And seeing him before sixty other people get here will help me figure out whether I'm imagining that undercurrent, the feeling that something is off.

He tells me he'll be here within the hour.

I slide my phone back into my pocket. "Edward's coming to help."

Emily's words get mushed around the cable ties. "That's nice of him."

I shrug and aim for nonchalance. "He's a nice guy."

"His ass is nice," Rachel says.

I can't ignore my spike of jealousy. "You can tell those moms he doesn't work shirtless."

"You sound disappointed." That, I ignore.

Emily steps off the chair and drops the ties. "Bella, where are your extensions?"

"I'll get them." I can feel her questions pressing into my back as she follows me into the house. I open the laundry door, and before she even parts her lips I say, "It wasn't like that. With me and Edward." I pull the plastic tub off the bottom shelf.

"I know," she says. "You would never do that."

I look at the floor. "I wanted to."

"But you didn't."

"No." I look up at Emily and I hate the concern etched on her forehead. "He's getting a divorce."

"Seriously?" Momentarily wide-eyed, she lifts the tub. "You really like him."

My eyes sting. The gust of emotion catches me by surprise. "Yes. But…" I blink.

"But…"

"It can't be that simple, can it?"

"I don't know. Can it?" Her brows draw together as her gaze drifts over my shoulder.

"Em?"

She gives her head a little shake, blows a strand of hair from her cheek. I smooth it behind her ear. She thanks me softly.

"Are you – Are you mad at me or something?" I ask.

She blinks slowly. "I'm not mad, girl. I just – I don't really know what you want me to tell you."

"Tell me…" I press my fingers to my temples. "Tell me to go for it, that they're as good as divorced. Or tell me to be careful. Tell me that it's too soon. I don't know, tell me I need to wait. Give it time to make sure he's not on the rebound. Tell me I'm going to get my heart broken yet again. Just tell me something, Emily."

"Bella." She shifts the tub, taking some of its weight on her hip. "I can't." I open my mouth to argue but she rushes on. "I can't tell you what to do. I've never even met the guy. You just told me, literally one minute ago, that he's getting divorced. I know nothing about his wife–" I cringe at her use of the word "–apart from the fact she's got great hair, and is perfect, possibly in an ironic way."

She exhales. "I can't tell you what to do here, darling. It sounds to me like you're well aware of the risks yourself."

I wasn't, or at least I hadn't let myself dwell on them. Giving them voice, though, has lent them solid form, and they stack up in my mind.

"Look," Emily says, dragging my attention back to her. "You need to think about it, and really think about it, but not tonight. Tonight, we have fun." She smirks. "Mags'll kick your ass if she catches you being all introspective on her big night."

"Yeah." I reach out and squeeze her arm. Her bicep, flexed with the weight of the tub, is solid beneath my fingers. "You're right. Not tonight."

I hold the other side of the tub and we trek back outside. Emily dumps the tub on the patio. She grabs my hand and pulls me in to kiss my cheek. "I love you," she says. "You know that?"

I tell her that I do.

.

"Please tell me you have embarrassing stories about Bella from high school." Emily and Edward lift my freshly-painted table and move it across the patio. Maggie texted me a sketch of where she wants everything set up, and apparently, my table needs to be to the left of the sliding doors, not the right.

Edward sets his end of the table down. "I have stories," he says, "but I don't know if they're embarrassing."

I hide my smile and drag the broom across the patio. It's taking me twice as long as it should to sweep, mostly because I can't keep my eyes off him. He's dressed in tight jeans and a fitted, short-sleeved button down. The shirt is a floral-print on a dark background and buttoned all the way up to his throat, and while it's not something I would ever have imagined Edward wearing, he's pulling it off in the best way. My fingers twitch on the broom handle. If I could just undo that top button…

"Damn," Emily says. "You're not much use, are ya?"

"Sorry." He tucks a finger into his collar and gives it a tug.

"So what she was like?" They go back for a bench and each carry it over to the table.

"Because I changed so much over the summer between school and college."

Emily dismisses me with a wave and a "Shush."

I stop sweeping and lean on the broom. "We only had one class together." It's an out, but Edward doesn't take it.

He keeps his eyes on me as he speaks. "She was… kinda quiet."

"Bella, quiet?"

"Around me, yeah. We had art together." His gaze is somehow focused but not. Maybe he's seeing double, the way I have so many times in the last few months. Seeing Edward then and Edward now, familiar and new at the same time.

He reaches for his cap, but he's not wearing one. His hand falls to his side. "Remember when we studied abstract expressionism?"

"Sure. It's still one of my favorite movements." There's so much energy and vibrancy to the work.

"I hated it at first. Thought it was just… a cop-out, you know? People chucking paint at canvas with no real skill. But I remember you said you liked the spontaneity of it. The way it felt like the art extended beyond the frame. That always stuck with me."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. It made me look at it differently. Like, the way the artist, the act of creation, was as much a part of what I was seeing as the finished product."

I lean the broom against the wall, giving up all pretence of working, and drop onto one of the bench seats.

Emily sits down beside me. "Did you hang out much outside school?" I elbow her in the ribs; she knows we didn't.

Edward fingers the hem of his shirt. He eyes me. "No. I tried to get her to talk to me, but it was…" His attention shifts back to Emily. "There was this one time." He raises a finger. " We used to have these bonfires–" His eyebrows lift. "It was the only time I ever saw you drunk. You remember that night?"

"Some of it." I swallow.

The sun shines on Edward's face and for a moment I can see him, seven years younger, sand on his cheek, flames in his eyes.

"You were wearing those short shorts. You wore them a lot. I mean, when you bent over..." A muscle in Edward's jaw flexes and a look of want comes over him. His look of want. He searches my eyes as if in hunt of what's behind them. It steals my breath.

"You looked?"

"Not when you were looking." Edward steps closer to me. "That night, you were glued to Angela and that other girl. The blonde."

"Riley."

"Yeah. I lost you for a while. Next thing I know, you plunk yourself down next to me with this huge grin on your face." He laughs. "You were pretty drunk."

"Oh, God." I cover my face with my hands. "I don't think I want to hear this."

"It was cute." Edward nudges my foot. "I was pretty buzzed, too. But I remember this. You sat down next to me and said, 'I'm going to talk to you.' I was like, 'Finally.'" He folds his arms across his chest. "I have no idea what we talked about, but I remember laughing. Hard."

Beside me, Emily snickers. It's almost shocking. I was so caught up in Edward, I'd forgotten she was sitting right there.

"Let's finish here." I move to the other bench and lift my end.

.

An hour before the party, right on schedule, my parents arrive, my mother carrying a covered tray into my kitchen. "Does the food go out back?"

"What is it?" I take it from her. "I asked for tables. Chairs."

"We brought those," my mom says. "We're not senile yet. But where you need extra seating, you need extra food."

"We're good on food. I told you."

"I just threw together some spinach dip and bread."

"Sounds delish." Emily comes up from behind me and takes the tray. "We're keeping the food in the kitchen because of bugs and heat and stuff." Be nice, she mouths to me.

"Oh, good." My dad waves Edward over. "You have help. We'll borrow him. Folding tables and chairs are in the back of the Jimmy. "

"This is Edward, Dad. He isn't help. He's a guest and the landscape designer."

"It's cool," Edward says to me. "I'm help." He turns to my dad. "Borrow me."

"You're responsible for that masterpiece out there?" My mom steps toward Edward.

"I am. You need a tour? Did you see the strawberries?" Edward looks at me. He remembered. I aim my smile at the floor.

"I've seen it all in all its stages. I've got pictures to prove it." She turns to me. "Crushed eggshells, Bella, if you want those strawberries to survive. Keep the slugs and snails away."

"You're the expert."

I follow them toward the car with the intention of helping, but Maggie, Pete, and the girls are wheeling a Big Green Egg grill through my side gate.

"What are you doing?" I head over to them.

"Take it." She shoos Pete along. The wheels squeak away.

"You brought your Green Egg?"

"It's yours, Bella. Your yard-warming gift. Didn't you read any of my emails?"

I pull my lips into my mouth, then give her a cringey "forgive me" smile. "I was saving them. To savor when you're gone."

"Yes, they'll be plenty useful then." Her sigh is short and sharp. "To sum up, it's not making the move with us. You might as well take it. It's used but flawless. You know Pete."

"I know you." I pull her into a hug. "Mags. Thank you."

"Come on," she says. "Let's check it out back there."

"You're early. We're still—"

"Decorating? I know. But it wouldn't be my party if I didn't take part in the set-up."

.

Under a sky speckled with small clouds, Charlotte and Victoria have gotten a few people to dance with them, their grandparents and one of Pete's friends. He spins and dips Charlotte, and Victoria begs, "Do me next. Me next!"

From my patio, I spot Edward on the lawn, mixed in with the crowd, a beer in his hand. He takes a swig and wipes his mouth with the edge of his hands. For a blink, his eyes meet mine. He looks away fast but I don't miss the movement at the corners of his mouth. My lips mimic his.

Emily and Rachel are at the grill. When my dad asked if they were doing the grilling, Emily said, "The magic egg is grilling. We're just overseeing." A few of Pete's buddies are keeping them company. One of the guys, a shorter guy with a ponytail, tries to pinch a chicken wing from the grill. Emily whacks his knuckles with her tongs.

I watch Maggie mingle, a glass in her hand, and a permanent smile on her face. At the center of the yard she meets Edward and Pete. Edward could fit easily into this group, if he had reason to, and if Maggie and Pete weren't leaving our part of the state. I look closer, hoping to read their lips. I can't make out one word. They glance at me, Pete's eyebrows on the rise and Edward with a smile. They've been few and far between this evening, his smiles. The ones I've caught have been aimed at me. I don't let myself dwell on what that might mean as Maggie heads my way.

I wipe a tear from the edge of her eye. "You had an eyelash," I say and her eyes dampen up again. I can no longer look at her face or I'll start up.

Maggie motions toward Rachel. "Am I being replaced?" Along with her joking tone lingers a touch of bitterness. I choose to roll with the joke aspect.

"We've been conducting auditions. Rach is a good candidate, but she lacks that... that..."

"Vra vra vroom? That je ne sais quoi?"

"I was going to say the ability to balance a book on her head wearing stilettos."

"A book wearing stilettos? This I gotta see."

"Obviously, you could use more wine."

She raises her glass in a feigned toast and takes a long sip. "Good stuff. I know orange wines are trendy this summer, but really, you can't go past a good Chablis."

"I've been thinking." I pull her toward the table and fill her glass. "If I were to tie you at the wrists and ankles and keep you in the closet behind the vacuum, I don't think I'd be a suspect in a missing person's case." I bat my innocent eyelashes. "I could keep you here."

"I wish it were that easy, Sweets." She kisses my cheek, her lips cold. "I'll be back. Me and my girls will commandeer your house. You'll be desperate for us to leave."

"I hope so."

Maggie is whisked away from me. I grab her hand, but it slips from mine.

I look to where Edward was talking with Pete, but they're gone. I scan the crowd until I find Edward down by the apricot tree, next to my dad. Edward's fingers are thrust into the back of his jeans and he's leaning away from my dad who leans toward him, his mouth forming words too fast. I rush toward them.

Emily blocks my path with a plate of chicken wings. "Check these beauties out."

"They look great." I move to pass her.

"I know they do, but are they Maggiefied?"

I put a hand on her shoulder. "She's had enough wine that everything is Maggiefied right now." I nudge her to the side as unrudely as I can. "Be right back."

I thread myself through knots of people, down the slope. Edward's face has fallen, his mouth a straight line.

He speaks as I approach. "It's not without risks, sure. But I'd rather be my own boss than work for someone else."

My father waves a hand, whether to slap away a mosquito or Edward's words, I don't know. "I've worked for someone else my entire career. And you know what I've seen in that time? Do you? I've watched business after business go down, ruin people, while I've been able to move on and up. You young folk might not see it as glamorous, working for the man, but I'm collecting a paycheck every other week, aren't I?"

"That's anecdotal, Dad. Just because you're happy where you are doesn't mean it's right for everyone else." The words pile up in my throat, all the things I'm tempted to say to him. I could tell him money isn't everything, that no paycheck could be worth the utter stagnance he's lived in for the last thirty years. I could tell him that he was wrong about what would be good for me, and how I wish I'd veered off his path sooner.

Before I let the words loose, or my dad argues back, I take Edward's hand and pull him away. "I need Edward for a sec." He comes along easily, through my house and into the living room.

Edward looks down at me expectantly, and I don't know where to start. I find myself hoping for the crack of a smile from him, a sign he's taken all my father said in stride. He waits, straight-lipped.

"Don't let him get to you."

"Don't let him get to me? He told me my business is going to fail while it's in the middle of failing. Don't let him get to me. Did I even need him to say it?"

"He doesn't know what he's talking about. He's always talked at me like that. That's what he does. He talks at people. No wonder my mom—" I stop, recover. "Businesses survive all the time. They – they flourish. They're everywhere you look." I push for my voice to be strong and firm, like I believe what I'm saying. I try to believe it. "Yours can, too. He's wrong."

"I really hope so."

"He is. It's taken me twenty-five years to figure out how wrong he is, but he is." I realize, with these words and my tone of voice, how much blame I place on my father for my false direction in life. I also realize I'm still holding Edward's hand. I let it go. "It's none of his business, anyway."

"No. It's my business, and I've given up everything for it." His finger dives under his collar; he tugs it again.

"Edward–"

"Bella?" Pete gives me an apologetic look as he pokes his head through the sliding glass door. The evening chill and the sound of jazz veer around him and flow inside. "Maggie says it's time for the, uh, the talky-talky portion of the evening." His smile is wry.

"Talky-talky portion?" I raise my eyebrows. "Thanks, Pete. I'm coming now." I touch Edward's forearm. "We'll talk more later, okay?"

"Sure."

"I mean it."

He jerks his head in the direction Pete just disappeared. "Go ahead."

My earlier conversation with Emily rings in my ears, but I look into Edward's eyes and see uncertainty there. Something inside me solidifies. I want to tell him that non-creative people don't think the way creative people do. There's no explanation for it other than that they just don't. They're different. "After the party, will you stick around for a while?"

I think he says "Okay," but his voice is soft and the people clumped on my patio are loud.

Pete calls for everyone's attention and I have to go out there, but before I do, I bring my hand to Edward's cheek and turn his face to mine. "You'll stick around?"

I feel him lean slightly into my hand. "Yeah." His eyes close.