16

Shady Acres isn't at all what I expected. Granted, my teenage memories of Grammy's last days at Cliffhaven are a good fifteen years old, but the smell of the disinfectant that couldn't quite disguise the stench of death and decay still lives in my nostrils.

This place feels more like a luxury apartment building than a hospital. We pass the gift shop in the lobby, where Edward bought his replacement orchid last week. The young girl behind the counter waves at Edward, and he pokes his head into the store and greets her by name. Same thing happens at the reception area on the way to the elevators.

"You've got quite the fan base, I see."

"The son-who-visits is a unicorn in a place like this."

"More rock star than unicorn, methinks."

He shakes his head and grins. "Good thing, because if I were a unicorn, I couldn't hold your hand."

Just then, it hits me: I'm the first girl to stand here with Edward, about to go meet his mother. I lean into his arm, drawing from the strength in the muscles that press back against my cheek as well as the sturdy character below the surface.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for bringing me here."

He drops a kiss in my hair. "Thank you for coming." The elevator dings, we step inside, and he hits the button for the sixth floor. "We won't be in Mom's room long. I just need to pick her up so we can escort her downstairs. They like the family members to do that as much as possible."

"Of course. I don't want you to do anything different just because I'm here."

He squeezes my hand. "Sure, I'll just pretend there isn't a beautiful girl attached to me. Nobody'll even notice."

Edward is even more popular on floor six. "Well, hello, handsome," calls one of the older women at the nurses' station.

He tugs me over to the counter. "Angela, I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, Bella. Bella, this is my mother's very favorite nurse, but don't tell the others."

"Pshh. Nobody can compete with Raoul."

Edward rolls his eyes. "Raoul."

"Who's Raoul?" Two faces turn toward me—Angela's amused smile and Edward's I-don't-want-to-discuss-it glower.

Angela leans in to fake-whisper. "He's kind of a favorite with the female residents."

"Oh my god, wait! The sponge bath guy? He's real?"

Poor Edward moans. "How's my mother today?"

"She's doing great. She's all dressed for lunch, and she's been looking forward to meeting you, Bella."

"Likewise," I say.

"Lovely to meet you, Bella. Have a nice time."

My heart flutters with each step toward his mother's room, and Edward catches me running my hand up and down the borrowed scarf for comfort.

"I promise, she's going to love you," Edward says, squeezing my hand in his.

There's no time to respond before he knocks on her open door. "Happy Spaghetti Thursday, Mom."

A small woman in a big armchair turns her attention from the TV to the doorway. Her pale blue eyes light up as they land on her son. He crosses the room quickly, towing me along. Her gaze shifts to me, wrinkles deepening in her face as she smiles. I can so clearly see the beautiful young woman she once was and her son's handsome lines within the older features.

Edward bends to kiss his mother's cheek, and her eyes drift shut. A shaky hand rises to Edward's cheek for a brief moment, as if she is capturing a memory of the moment to savor after we're gone. Edward pulls back; her hand falls away.

"Looking pretty snappy today, Mom."

She waves away his compliment. "Where are your manners, Edward? Introduce me to your girl!"

Edward shoots me a see-what-I-have-to-deal-with grin. He releases my hand and wraps his arm around my shoulders.

"Mom, I would like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Bella Swan. Bella, this is my mother, Esme Cullen."

She offers up her hand. From what Edward has told me, Mrs. Cullen is not much older than Mrs. Cope, but the last ten years have not been kind to her. Her skin is like tissue paper under my fingers.

"It's such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cullen."

"The pleasure is mine, dear." She smiles sweetly and sets her other hand on top of mine. "I had thought maybe my son had exaggerated your beauty, but I can see now he was being modest."

It's comforting that Edward is blushing too. "Mom—"

"Edward, why don't you go see if Angela can scrounge you up a vase for those lovely mums you brought me?" She has just issued an order, and all three of us know it.

Edward shakes his head and sighs as he walks out, possibly rethinking the wisdom of bringing me today. Mrs. Cullen leans in and giggles. "I thought he'd never leave. Have a seat, won't you, dear?"

The only place to sit is her bed. It's clearly one of those mechanical jobs that lifts and lowers, but at least they've let her use her own linens. She watches as I sit gingerly on the puffy gold quilt.

"Your scarf is just beautiful."

"Thank you. I borrowed it from a friend."

"Well, she has very good taste." She chuckles to herself. "And obviously, so do you—said the mother of the boyfriend!"

"No argument here." I smooth my fingers down the scarf. I wasn't counting on carrying on a conversation without Edward.

"My son tells me you're studying business."

"Yes."

"I envy you," she says. "I never had much of a head for numbers."

"I'm not sure I do either," I admit.

"Still, you're learning. It's admirable."

"Thank you."

Maybe if I can get her talking… A bartender listens; I'm better at that.

My eyes dash around the room, searching for a topic, but there's just not much here beyond the predictable framed family photos, courtesy of her son, the photographer. "So, uh, Edward tells me you like the meatloaf."

She giggles again, and I swear she looks twenty years younger each time. "Can you keep a secret?" I nod. "My son likes the meatloaf, and I enjoy his company. Personally, I like the seafood casserole they serve on Fridays."

"As long as there's dessert, I'm pretty sure Edward would be happy."

"Ah," she says with a broadening smile, "I see you know him well."

"I think I've gained five pounds since we started dating."

"If you have, I can't imagine where it's gone," she says. "He's lucky he's always had a good metabolism, from the time he was a little boy. You've never seen a kid put down chocolate chip cookies like that one, and if we ever got within five hundred yards of a donut shop… forget it."

"Oh, he definitely loves his donut holes."

"Yes, especially the powdered sugar ones!" She seems completely delighted, and I can't help but picture Edward as a little boy, covered in powdered sugar from the tip of his nose to the sweet corners of his mouth.

She sighs, a faraway look crossing her eyes. "It's really a miracle he turned out so well, considering how we indulged him. I was in my late thirties when I learned I was pregnant with Edward. Alice was twelve. I would never say Edward was an accident, per se, but he was most definitely a surprise. Dr. Cullen and I had always wanted a little boy, and we had all but given up."

Imagining a world without Edward makes my heart hurt. I have the urge to thank his mom, but it might not leave the right kind of impression to thank her for screwing her husband. Instead, I silently thank the forces of nature that brought Edward into existence.

"My late husband and I always considered Edward a special gift we gave each other."

"That's very sweet. I'm the youngest in my family, too. The only girl after two boys."

"How lovely for your parents."

I huff. "I think they'd say the boys are a million times easier."

"I wouldn't dispute that." She reflects on that for a few seconds, leaving me curious about Edward's sister, Alice. Mrs. Cullen's attention snaps back to the present like a yo-yo at the end of its string. "Is it true Edward cooks for you?"

"He has… many times. In fact, he's making tilapia for me tonight."

"Tilapia! Are you sure we're talking about the same man?"

"Yes, he's getting pretty good at it, actually."

"I'm getting pretty good at what?" Edward sets down the flowers on the little side table next to his mom's armchair, then looks from me to his mother for answers.

"Cooking," I say, before he gets us into any trouble.

"Ah, thank goodness for YouTube—and Bella. She's taught me most of what I know."

"Not the fancy stuff. You didn't learn coq au vin from me."

"Coq au vin?" His mother regards me with wonder. "You are clearly a better woman than I. No matter what I did, I could not get Edward interested in cooking. I tried everything."

"Truth," he interjects. "She did."

"I even told him he'd catch himself a good woman that way, but he never cared about it before. Not until you came along."

Edward clears his throat. "Shall we head down to lunch? It would be tragic if they ran out of garlic bread."

"They never run out of garlic bread, Edward."

He chuckles. "Okay, Mom." He slips his arm around his mother and lifts her easily out of the chair. Clearly, this is a well-rehearsed dance. "Want your cane today?" he asks.

"Why would I need my cane when I've got you?"

"Good point," he says.

She slips her hand through his bent arm, and I step out of their way so Edward can walk her into the hall. I sling my purse over one arm and trail respectfully behind. Mrs. Cullen looks over her shoulder at me.

"Bella, dear, would you be so kind…?" She holds out her left hand, and I scurry to her side. She clasps my hand with a strength that surprises me. Edward catches my eye and smiles. A ripple of warmth curls down my spine. This feels, suddenly, like a family.

.

.

.

"You're quiet," he says, pulling me closer.

"I might be in a food coma."

Edward chuckles. "I have to admit the desserts are much better on Thursdays. The chef goes all out with the Italian theme."

"Yes, let's hope the bus driver doesn't hit any potholes or my tiramisu might end up in your lap."

"Is it any wonder my mother found you totally charming?"

"Personally, I think she was taken in by Mrs. Cope's scarf."

"Mmhmm," Edward says, barely able to contain the pride beaming out at me. "That must be it."

His thumb traces a lazy arc on my arm. I snuggle into his embrace.

"You're a really good son."

"She's a great mom, and they take great care of her at the home. It's not as if I need to stand over anyone's shoulder and make sure they're doing right by her."

"No, but I'm sure you would."

"Sure, if I had to, but I get to swoop in twice a week with a handful of flowers, take her to lunch, and they think I'm a hero. It's a pretty sweet deal for me."

"It's not just that you go, although that is huge. It's… you share your life with her. It's obvious she cares about staying involved in your life and hearing about what's important to you and how you're really doing. You give her that gift."

"Well," he says, stopping to kiss my temple, "it's easy to share when I'm in a really good place, and I know hearing about it will bring her joy."

I tip my head up so I can see his face. "You don't tell her when you're having a rough time?"

He shrugs. "It's not as if she can't tell anyway, but I don't need to burden her with details, you know?"

"Mmhmm. I guess that's why I don't tell my parents anything."

He's quiet for a couple of minutes, but I can out-quiet most anyone. When he speaks again, his voice is gentle and unassuming.

"I think it's different when you're younger, at least it was for me."

"How so?"

"My parents pretty much let me be, you know, the privilege of the youngest child?"

I grin because he doesn't know I discussed this topic with his mother.

"But I went through my rough patches like all kids do. I pulled away as a teenager, trying to solve my problems alone or reach out to my friends—anyone but a parent, right? They knew when I was having trouble—of course they did—and the less I told them about what was going on, the more they worried. Once you get into that mode, every conversation becomes damage control, not meaningful communication."

"Why is it I seem to be able to talk to Mrs. Cope—or even your mother, a complete stranger—easier than my own parents?"

"It makes sense," he says. "They're safe for you to vent to, and they have no baggage. There's no defensiveness, no taking anything personally, no guilt for them in anything you share."

As much as I don't want to, I climb out from under his arm and shift in my seat to face him. "I feel like I'm doing so well right now. I mean, everything isn't perfect with my schoolwork and I'm not exactly working at my dream job, but I love where I live and Mrs. Cope and… there's you…"

His whole face softens into a smile. "Here's me."

"What if I share all that with my folks, and it's not good enough? I don't want to go away feeling shitty about where I am because I'm not getting better grades or making more money or—"

"Or dating a man your own age?"

"Oh, god, no. Are you kidding? They'd kiss your feet!"

"You think?" One side of his mouth lifts into a charming grin.

"Hmm, let's see… an emotionally stable, financially independent artist who not only owns a slow cooker, but actually uses it, and wears a sports coat even when he's not attending a funeral? Yep, Mom'll be putting down a deposit at the church."

Edward laughs at what just spilled out of my head. "Well, that certainly is a flattering picture you paint, Bella. Oh, and FYI, I have a very classy black suit I wear to funerals."

"See? You're proving my point."

He cups my chin and gives me a peck on the nose. "Actually, I think I took you off your point, and I'm sorry, but it's damn good to know you're not worried your parents won't approve of me."

"Are you worried?"

"I'm confident I could win them over once they got to know me, but I wouldn't be surprised if their initial reaction were to see me as a cradle-robber. All I really care about is how you feel about bringing me home."

"Oh, Edward. I would be incredibly proud to bring you home with me… if I ever go."

"Good to know, and thank you." He seems to be holding back something else he wants to say.

"Go for it, Edward."

He chuckles. "This is what I get for dating a bartender."

"What happened to 'charming'?" I tease.

"You are a highly charming bartender."

"Thanks. Quit stalling and speak your mind, please."

He nods. "Okay, look, I don't know your parents, so I can't possibly give any kind of informed opinion about how they'd respond. If you were my daughter, I would be damn proud of how you've picked yourself up by your bootstraps, moved forward with your schoolwork while making ends meet, and done all that without asking for a handout. On top of all that, you do a fantastic job honoring your agreement with Mrs. Cope. And if I may be so bold as to suggest it, you seem awfully happy. I just cannot imagine they wouldn't be happy for you."

I lean in and kiss him because he's kind of amazing. "Thank you for that."

"For the kiss?"

"That too."

He waggles his eyebrows. "I've got lots more where that came from."

"I'm counting on that. You did promise me an epic marathon."

"Yes, I am fully prepared… ahem… to deliver on that promise."

I tip his wrist so I can read his sexy watch. "We'll be home by three. I have to punch in at Hooter's at four tomorrow. Think you've got twenty-five hours in ya?"

"Hahaha! The better question is, will I have twenty-five hours in you!"

###


Author's Note: Oh, Edward. That was cheesy.

Those of you who read my one-shot, "Wrong Number" might find the opening elevator scene familiar. While Old School isn't Authorward, I believe this meet-the-mom scene was inspired long ago... Thanks for asking for it then, and I hope you found it satisfying now.
XXX ~BOH