Sorry for the long delay in updates.

I know in Eclipse it said Carlisle's mum died giving birth to him, but this is a AH fic set in the twenty first century, and it is way less likely for woman to die giving birth these days, so she's still alive.

EsmePOV

I flicked on the light and heard Carlisle lock the door behind us. I couldn't believe it was only two o'clock; it felt like this day had gone on a lot longer. As I headed towards the kitchen I tripped over something small. I looked down to see my ancient tabby cat, George. I had adopted George when I was about fifteen. His previous owners had moved homes and left him behind. He was already four years old at that point, so at sixteen George was now a pretty old cat in cat years.

'Hey, fluffbum.' I said reaching down and ruffling his fur. 'I'm amazed you're awake.'

He meowed in reply, and jumped up on the kitchen bench. 'Oi!' Carlisle said as he came into the kitchen. 'You aren't allowed on the table, cat.'

'It's a bench, Carlisle, and you know you love the cat really.' I said, smiling at him. 'Anyway, George is far too lazy to jump up onto the bench unless something's wrong. What's wrong, little cat?'

Carlisle rolled his eyes, but smiled softly as I patted the cat. 'His bowl is empty, Esme.'

'Right. You fill the food dish, I'm going to have a nap… today really wore me out.'

'Yeah. Do you want me to cook?'

'What do you plan on cooking?'

'Lasagne. Salad. Did you want anything in particular?'

'Nah, lasagne and salad will be fine,' I yawned. Then I trooped up the stairs and collapsed fully dressed on my bed.

Carlisle POV

I pottered around the house and finally decided to my mother in England. I checked the time. Quarter past two. It'd be about nine o'clock in England, and my mother generally would still be up around this time. My father, an Anglican priest, had passed away when I was twenty.

I picked up the kitchen phone and dialled my mother's home number. It went to voicemail. 'Hi! This is Angeline Cullen, and you have reached voicemail. I'm probably out, so try my cellphone. If it's April though to July, I'll probably be at the beach house.'

It was May the eighth, so I called her beach house's number. She picked up after three rings. 'Hello? Ms. Cullen speaking.'

'Hey, Mum.'

'Carlisle!' she shrieked. 'It's been so long! When will you and Esme next visit me, darling? It must have been six months since you last called. Two years since the last visit.'

'You could visit us, Mum.'

'I'm sixty two.'

'That's not very old.'

After a small argument, and exchanging more pleasantries, my mum finally asked a question relating to today.

'So, sweetheart, what have you been up to? I just got home from my friend Stella's and hour ago.'

'Esme and I have been at the 'Phillip Clive Adoption, Foster and Child Welfare Centre'' I said.

'And what were you doing there?' Mum asked. 'Was one of the kids injured?'

'No, well, yes… but I wasn't there on work related business.' I took a deep breath. 'A few months ago, Esme and I decided to adopt a child.'

'Oh, Carlisle.' She whispered. 'Have you chosen a child? Tell me about them! I'm going to be a grandmother, Carlisle. Oh, I'm so excited!'

'Calm down, mum. We found a really beautiful little girl. She's three years old. She has huge blue eyes and a short black hair. She lisps. She's so tiny. Even for a toddler.'

'So cute! What's her name, Carlisle?'

'Alice. Alice Mary Cullen.'

'Alice. Alice Cullen.' My mother's voice was soft, and sounded ever so happy.

'Well, she's a McCarty right now, but she'll be a Cullen soon.'

'A little girl. I always wanted a girl.'

'I feel so wanted, thanks. But Mum, there's a catch.'

'What? Is she ill? Already adopted? Has a mental illness? A family?'

'A family.' I said, choking on the words.

'So you can't adopt her?' The tone sounded worried.

'We can. But she has two older brothers, and we have to take them too.'

'How old are they?'

'One's seven. He's a very nice boy, kind, caring. Watches out for his sister. We won't mind him at all.'

'Is the other brother a right scumbag, though?'

'No! No, he's lovely. Loves his siblings. Uncommonly nice for a teenager. But that's the thing, Mum, he's already fifteen.'

'Well, think of it this way, my darling, three years and he'll be out of the house, the younger boy will be ten and Alice six.'

'Yeah. The little boy is Emmett McCarty and the older on Edward.'

'They sound like sweet kids to me, Carlisle. I'm not sure why you sound so upset.'

'I'm being silly, aren't I?' I whispered.

'Yes, you are. Edward, Emmett and Alice… my grandchildren.'

'Yes.'

'Well, I might just end up visiting you after all.'

I smiled, and, after saying goodbye, wandered into the kitchen. After checking that I had all the ingredients I needed to make dinner, I slipped into my bedroom. Esme was sprawled out on her side of the bed, fast asleep. I lay down on my side, and stared at the roof, contemplating life.

I awoke to Esme gently shaking me. 'Carlisle, my love, it's five thirty, and if you want to make dinner you have to get up.'

Yawning I nodded. 'Sure thing, doll.'

'Doll?'

'Pssh, it's hardly the worst of my pet names. I think Essie-poo-pie and Sweetie-poo are a lot worse.'

'True.' Esme smiled. 'I'm going to go have a shower now, Darling-poo. And I hope you make a damn good dinner, because I'm starved.'

She pecked my cheek, and then vanished from my range of vision. Yawning again, and stretching, I got up. Straightening my crumpled clothes, I stumbled downstairs to the kitchen and attempted to make lasagne. Ten minutes into the preparation, Esme joined me in the kitchen, her hair still wet. She watched me for a few moments, before taking a few steps away from the door.

'Carlisle,' she said gently. 'How about you make the salad and I make the lasagne.'

Not wanting to admit defeat, I struggled in vain to create the perfect lasagne. My cooking expertise were average at the best of times, and when I was bleary eyed and tired, my cooking was like that of a pre-schoolers. Utterly terrible.

Esme giggled as she watched me nearly slice my thumb of with a rather sharp knife. Damnit, why was I even holding a knife? 'Okay,' I sighed. 'I'll make the salad.'

She laughed. 'I knew you'd give in.'

After a rather lame comeback, we cracked increasingly stupid jokes. We spent the evening doing this, until my entire repertoire consisted of knock knock jokes, and jokes like: one day there was a blue flower, and the next day… it was like, red.

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