20
The doorbell rings. Mrs. Cope and I both pop up onto our feet. I run my hand down the row of covered buttons lining my blouse. "Do I look okay?"
"You look perfect, and she already loves you. Open the door."
I take a deep breath and turn the knob.
"…just saying it's not how Raoul helps me up the steps. You don't have to be so sensitive."
"Raoul this, Raoul that. Maybe you'd like to go have dinner at Raoul's, Mom."
"Um, hello? Edward? Everything okay out here?"
"Bella! Hi!" Edward looks as if he wants to add, "Thank you for saving me!"
"Come in, come in. Hello, Mrs. Cullen." I lean in and give her a gentle hug.
"Hello, dear. Don't you look pretty?"
Mrs. Cope holds out her hand in greeting. "Hello, Esme. I'm so pleased you could make it. It's lovely to meet you. The kids have told me so much about you."
"Thank you for inviting me to your lovely home, Shelly. These are for you." She hands Mrs. Cope a white bakery box tied with orange ribbon. "They're triple chocolate chip cookies, my favorites. Just between us"—she leans in as if to reveal a big secret—"I have a bit of a sweet tooth."
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep a straight face as I glance over at Edward, the apple from the sweet tooth tree.
"That was unnecessary, but thank you just the same. Come on in. What can we get you to drink?"
"Oh, a drink sounds nice, actually. Do you have any vodka?"
Edward sputters. "Mom! Are you supposed to have alcohol? What about your meds?"
She whacks him on the arm. "Honestly, Edward. You can be such an old fuddy-duddy sometimes."
Poor Edward turns bright red. I step in as he eases her to the armchair. "Mrs. Cullen, how about if I make you one of my famous gimlets?"
Her face lights up. "I would love that."
"Great. How about you, Edward? You look like you could use a drink." I flash him a smile he doesn't return.
"Something strong."
I nod. "Mrs. Cope?"
"Well, I don't want to be the only one without a drink, now do I?"
"Course not. Edward, I could use your help with all these drinks. Would you mind?"
"Not at all." He follows me to the bar cart and gives me a solid kiss on the lips. "I hadn't given you a proper hello."
"You seem to have had your hands full."
He chuckles. "Yes. Mom gets a little jumpy when I take her from the home."
"Oh, Mom does, eh?"
His eyebrows lift. "Are you insinuating I am acting irrationally?"
I place my hand on his chest. "You might be acting like a worried son. It's kind of adorable."
"Whatever."
"Have I ever told you it drives me wild when you pout like that?"
"Have I ever told you that your blouse has way too many buttons?"
"No, you've never seen it before."
"Then let me tell you now."
"How about getting me some ice?"
"Trying to cool me off?"
"Maybe."
"Fine. Hey, make my mom's drink as weak as possible?"
"Of course. I'll give her a barmaid's pour—lime juice with a floater of Grey Goose." I wink.
"Thank you. I don't think anyone wants to see her get wasted."
I follow his gaze across the room to where the two Mrs. C's are getting acquainted. Conversation seems to flow easily, and I marvel at the circumstances that brought the two women into the same room.
Edward returns with the ice, and I mix his martini first. He gives me a quizzical grin. "What happened to ladies first?"
I shrug. "You know what they say about putting on your own oxygen mask first?"
"Good point," he says, downing half of it in one gulp.
"Go!"
I give him a gentle nudge and follow him to the living room, where Mrs. Cope is complimenting Edward's mother on raising such a fine young man.
"He's always been a well-mannered boy," Mrs. Cullen agrees. "Takes after his father."
"Here ya go, Mom, Mrs. Cope. Happy pre-Thanksgiving, mini get-together, everyone."
Overfilled martini glasses are carefully clinked. Edward and I watch as his mom tastes her drink. I catch the telltale pinch of her face as the alcohol hits her nose. She takes one sip, smacks her lips, and shudders.
"It's perfect!"
.
.
.
Edward's all over the place, rushing to pull out Mrs. Cope's chair, then mine, before escorting his mother to the table. Her steps are noticeably shakier than before the cocktail, causing Edward to shoot me a pained grimace. I have a feeling he'll be much relieved when his mother is delivered back to her caretakers at Shady Acres. For her part, Mrs. Cullen seems to be taking great pleasure in the change of scenery.
"Oh, what a beautiful centerpiece," she says. "Is that ranunculus?"
Mrs. Cope smiles as she regards the arrangement. "Yes. Just last week, Edward and I were discussing our favorite flowers. Next thing you know, mine magically appear on my dining table."
"Just like magic," I say, squeezing Edward's hand in mine.
Edward clears his throat, not a fan of being the center of attention. "Can I pour everyone a glass of pinot?"
"Oh," Mrs. Cope says, "isn't that one of the bottles you kids brought back from your trip?"
"Um…" Edward avoids eye contact with me while he fumbles through his answer. "We never actually made it up to Duckhorn, Mrs. C." I start to giggle, and Edward shoots me a warning glare, which doesn't help the situation. "I bought this at Reno's on the way to pick up Mom."
The two ladies shoot each other knowing grins. If Edward would stop blushing, they'd probably stop knowing.
"I'm sure it tastes just as good from the local shop," Mrs. Cope says helpfully.
"One hopes," he says, pouring her the first glass.
Mrs. Cullen, bless her heart, changes the subject. "So, Shelly, I hear your kids are flying in tomorrow from the east coast? How lovely."
"Yes, it's been a few months since I've seen the grandbabies. They grow so quickly."
"They sure do."
The two swap grandchildren data: names and ages and hair color and personalities and likely careers. All this talk of grandchildren seems to roll right off Edward, who is totally focused on his task of walking around the table, serving everyone off the turkey platter.
The room fills with the pleasant clatter of forks clanging against plates, compliments delivered with hums of pleasure, and a chorus of "Please pass the stuffing/potatoes/green beans." The conversation slows for a bit, which seems to suit Edward just fine. He keeps a careful eye on his mother, who downs her first glass of wine and insists on a refill.
Edward tries a light pour, but Mrs. Cullen isn't having it. "What's this? Am I the designated driver?"
"Mom—"
"It's okay, son. I promise I'm over twenty-one."
He sighs heavily and fills her glass, along with mine and Mrs. Cope's.
Mrs. Cullen takes a triumphant gulp of her hard-won pinot. "How about you, Bella? Where will you be spending Thanksgiving?"
I guess Edward and his mother haven't had this conversation yet. This ought to be fun.
"I'll be here with the Copes."
"Oh? You aren't having dinner with your family?"
"Actually, no."
Mrs. Cope breaks in. "My kids are so excited to meet Bella. We're all looking forward to it." She shoots me a supportive smile from across the table, and I send back a silent thank-you.
"Actually, Mom," Edward says, "I'm planning to cut out of Alice's after dinner and take Bella to her parents' house for dessert."
"Oh?"
Yikes. "Mrs. Cullen, the very last thing I'd want to do is pull Edward away from his family—"
"Bella, it's okay," Edward interjects. "I'm sure my mother understands these things."
Mrs. Cullen cuts in. "This will be your first time meeting Bella's parents?"
"Yes, and her large brothers." Edward puts on a good show, like he expects to be on the hot seat, but we both know I'm the one walking into the lion's den. He's coming along to keep me safe.
I grab his hand. "It'll be short and sweet. 'Hello. Nice to meet you. Pumpkin. It's been real. Gotta run.'"
"What if I want pecan?" He is looking awfully proud of himself for that one.
I shake my head. "Remember that conversation we had about your sense of humor?"
"I seem to remember a surprise ending." He waggles his eyebrows.
Yes, Edward, you're hot.
Mrs. Cullen wags a shaky finger at her son. "Just mind your p's and q's and I'm sure you'll knock their socks off."
Edward chuckles. "Thanks, Mom, I'll try to remember that. Speaking of dessert…"
"Yes, I should go check on the pies."
Edward bolts out of his seat. "I'll help."
"Take your time with the pies, kids," Mrs. Cope calls after us.
The two grannies share a good laugh as Edward and I race to the kitchen.
.
.
.
"They know we're making out in here," I whisper between kisses.
"Yep." He's on me again, taking no prisoners with that tongue.
"What about your p's and q's?" I giggle.
He backs me up against the pantry and kisses me so hard I might crash through the cabinet doors. "I'm more concerned with my x's and o's at the moment."
That does it. Between his breath-defying kisses and his corny jokes, I'm toast. I hunch over, holding my belly, wheezing for air.
"Are you okay?"
I hold up my hand and nod. "Don't. Speak."
He steps back, hands on hips, and watches me with an amused grin. "You brought this on yourself."
"No! This is all you."
"Oh, come on. First you wear that blouse with the Victorian never-gonna-see-the-boobs-again buttons…"
"Stop!"
"And you keep touching me…"
"I was holding your hand!"
"Touching is touching, Bella."
"I think you're losing it."
"You might be right. Mom is getting blitzed out there. So much for your barmaid's pour."
"Um, when you follow it up with twenty ounces of wine, yeah."
"Hey, what am I supposed to do?"
I take his hands. "Edward, it's fine. She's having fun. They both are."
"Yeah," he says. "If Raoul doesn't kill me when I bring her back."
"Raoul, Raoul, Raoul…" I soften my tease with a kiss on his nose, and he comes around with a sigh.
"This is really good," he says. "I'm so glad we did it."
"Me too. And we really do need to take the pies out."
He chuckles. "I'm on it."
I love how well Edward knows his way around this kitchen. He springs into action, laying out the cooling racks and locating the oven mitts on his first try. When he opens the oven door and the perfect pecan pie is staring back at him and wafting its goodness into his nostrils, Edward's expression radiates sheer joy.
You're gonna make someone a damn fine husband one day, Edward Cullen.
It's not the first time my fantasies have run away with me, rocketing me into a happily ever after with this man. One day.
But this time, the fantasy brings a melancholy, and the solid ground under my feet suddenly doesn't seem so solid.
"Bella, wanna grab the—" He sets the pie on the counter and tosses off the oven mitts, his I'm-about-to-eat-dessert smile fading when he senses the shift in mood. "What's wrong?"
"Edward, how do you feel about having children?"
His face registers surprise, but it doesn't last long. "All that talk of grandbabies out there?"
I nod.
He takes my hand in his. "Bella, have you been worrying about having this conversation because of our age difference? You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"
"No, I don't think I've actually thought about it until just now. Is that crazy?"
"Not necessarily. Your five-year horizon doesn't include children. The concept hasn't hit your radar screen."
"Should it?" It's a bit surreal having this conversation here and now, certainly not how I'd envisioned our evening going.
He shrugs. "I suppose it can't hurt to think about it."
"It feels a little weird to talk about this with you after only two months of dating."
"I guess, but it's just another piece of the puzzle, to see if we're going to fit."
I find myself looking for answers in his intense, complicated eyes. "Is it something you think about a lot?"
He rubs his hand over his chin, glances sadly at the pie, and moves next to me with his back against the counter. "I'm going to be super honest with you, Bella. Yes, I always assumed I'd be a father one day. I never thought about it much in my twenties or thirties. I know it's not fair, but as a man, I do have the luxury of time. Forty was a bit of a wake-up call, and that's when I had to have a little talk with myself."
It makes me smile to imagine this Edward-to-Edward heart-to-heart. "How did that go?"
"I hadn't met anyone I could see myself with for the long haul. I'm only getting married once, and it's going to be forever—whatever that means."
A perfect image of Edward in his wedding-day tux pops into my head. That will be one lucky bride.
"This might sound selfish"—he looks up sheepishly—"but I chose my own happiness over settling for a girl who might tick off the boxes and make beautiful babies but not be a true love connection."
"I think it's more selfish to pursue a so-so relationship because you feel you should start a family and then end up with a broken home."
He nods. "So, there I was at the bus stop one rainy day in September, a forty-three-year-old man whose swimmers might be slowing down for all I know, and I met this girl—this beautiful, vital, voluptuous, sweet, confident girl—and…"
"Annnnnd?"
He throws his hands in the air. "And who knows?"
"Who knows?"
"Bella, I'm not asking you to answer the question. Unless you have some kind of physical condition that would prevent you—"
"No."
"I was just going to say, it's not a deal-breaker for me one way or the other. We don't know our future, separately or together, so let's not put this pressure on ourselves, okay?"
"Yes, okay." Even though I hadn't realized how much this was weighing on me, I already feel better. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being good at this."
"I suppose that's where my maturity comes in handy," he says with a wink.
"Edward, while we're on the heavy topic of what the future might bring, there's something else that's kind of been weighing on me."
"What is it?"
"As you know, I've been spending several nights a week at your house."
"Yes, my favorite nights of the week."
"The things is, that's not really the deal I made with Mrs. Cope."
"Ahh. Has she said something to you?"
"No, I don't think she would. She knows how happy I am, and she is genuinely happy for me. I just feel like I'm cheating her."
He places his hands on my shoulders, and I have to tip my chin up to meet his eye. "Do you want to stop sleeping over?"
"No!"
He laughs. "Okay, phew."
"But I don't like feeling this way either."
"I understand. You should talk to her. Address it head on."
"You think?"
"Yes, absolutely. Maybe it's not really a problem for her, and you're feeling bad for nothing. You're here when you're here, still helping her with errands and cooking and keeping up the house, and this is still your home base."
"Maybe." Even if he's right, it only solves my problem for now.
He inches closer, levels his eyes to mine. "Bella, what's going on in your head?"
"What's gonna happen to her when I'm ready to move on? Down the road, I mean."
"Ahhh, I gotcha." He wraps his arms around me like a blanket and eases my head to his chest. His heart beats against my cheek. "Down that road, when you're ready for the next phase of your life, you'll help Mrs. Cope find someone new. Your replacement won't be you, but there are a lot of people out there who need her as much as you did, and who would be good for Mrs. Cope."
"You think?" I tighten my grip around his back. I should have named sturdiness as one of my top five. It'd be a tough competition between hot and sturdy.
"Bella, I know. In fact, off the top of my head, I can think of two women who would be great companions for her, both clients of mine. One of them is a recently divorced mother of a six-year-old girl, who had to move back in with her parents. Can't you just see Mrs. Cope with that little girl?"
"Actually, yes. That'd be wonderful."
"For both of them."
I tip my chin up to meet his gaze. "You have excellent problem-solving skills."
He gives me the sweetest smile and presses a kiss to my forehead. "Do you think it would help if I dropped in on Mrs. C occasionally? That way, she'd feel as if she's getting an extra person, not losing one."
"You'd do that?
"Sure. She's right down the street. I work from home. How hard would it be?"
Not hard at all for a man like you.
"Thank you, Edward. I'll talk to her tonight, when you leave to take your mom back home."
"Oh, god, don't remind me."
###
Author's Note: So, that happened! MWAH!
XXX ~BOH
