Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns all.

Rated M for several reasons.

Chapter 19 Meatloaf

BPOV

Rose, my hangover, and a Thanksgiving dinner to cook do not a happy combination make but we manage and everything's going to her rather exacting plan when Esme and Carlisle arrive with a very subdued looking Edward in tow.

"Hangover?" I murmur in sympathy as we meet in the hallway.

His lips quirk up but the smile doesn't go anywhere near his dull green eyes.

Everyone else has made it into the kitchen where noisy greetings are being made but there's something about the set of his shoulders that has me automatically reaching for his hand.

"Hey." I say as I capture it. "Are you okay?"

His green eyes search mine for a moment as we stand there and I'm just beginning to feel awkward and consider withdrawing my hand when his fingers close around mine, squeezing briefly.

"I . . . . we need to talk." He says quietly.

"Okay."

"After dinner?"

"Okay?"

He nods withdrawing his hand and I follow him into the kitchen.

Okay then . . . .

...

I wasn't sure what to expect from today, two devoted couples and whatever Edward and I are these days, and there's nothing wrong with it per se. Dinner was spectacular. We ate, drank, talked and laughed our way through it in just the way I would have expected, wanted. But I felt curiously flat as we retired to the living room. Edward's eyes have been on me all day but nothing else. No hugging, no kissing, not even any casual touching when we were talking. And though we've not been truly touchy feely for years, I feel the loss after the way we've been for the last couple of months. I know I shouldn't, nothing offered and nothing asked for, but I do.

Consequently instead of just flopping out on a couch I feel awkward enough to take the armchair, leaving him, perhaps only in mind, to hover uncertainly for a moment before taking Rose's antique rocker.

"Your turn next year Cyggers." Em chuckles as he stretches out on the couch with his feet in Rose's lap.

"Only if you want it catered." I remind him. "But it would be great it if you could all come."

"We'd love to." Esme assures me as she and Carlisle snuggle up on the other couch. "I've never spent Thanksgiving in New York and I'd love to try Black Friday there. Rose and I would be happy to cook, wouldn't we?"

"Sure." Rose chuckles. "If Bella doesn't mind us popping the cherry on her kitchen appliances."

"Rude." I laugh. "And Edward's done that already."

I don't miss the look Em directs at his younger brother but the conversation moves on swiftly . . . .

...

We continue to talk, laugh and drink until Em decides he's hungry again and we descend on the kitchen to make 'leftover' sandwiches. It sounds disgusting but I would urge anyone to try it, a little bit of everything from dinner, oozing and soggy between doorsteps of the freshest bread. Yum . . . .

By the time we're done I'm beyond drunk and beyond conscious of Edward's eyes on me, so I make my excuses and head up to bed. Charlie always said you shouldn't sleep on a full stomach so I don't, curling up in the chair with a blanket instead. I don't know what I'd do without the Cullens on holidays, I tried spending them with Dad or Mom but that always ended in some kind of disaster that left a pall, like a mushroom cloud.

Edward and I didn't get a chance to talk but we're supposed to be flying to Kentucky tomorrow night so we'll have plenty of time.

...

Attuned to it as I am, the cheeping of my cell wakes me up.

It's in my lap so I peer at it groggily, even as I realise how stiff and cold I am from falling asleep in the chair.

Five am?

'Are you awake?'

'I am now'

'Sorry. We need to talk'

'At five am?'

'Please Bella, I'm sorry, it's important'

'Now?'

'I'm outside'

'Come in, I'll meet you downstairs'

'Can't Em locked me out'

'K'

I unkink my muscles and totter into the bathroom to relive myself. I'm pale and mussed up in the mirror but my body seems to have started working again even if my mind hasn't. I'm pretty sure it's still inebriated, it was very well soaked earlier . . . .

Pulling on my boots and coat I creep downstairs and let myself out to find him waiting on the porch.

"Jesus." I complain immediately. "It's freezing out here."

"But beautiful."

I look around. Everything is covered in frost and shrouded in wisps of fog. He's right, it is beautiful and so I wrap my arms around myself to keep the heat in and sit next to him on the porch swing, his long legs immediately setting it swinging with no perceptible effort.

It's beautiful, but it's cold.

"Why are we out here?" I ask. "Is everything okay?"

"Em and I got in a fight."

"So I heard."

"Did he tell you what it was about?"

"No, he was most resistant to our efforts to pry it out of him."

Edward snorts and fixes his eyes on the tree line.

"It was about you."

Oh.

"I don't . . . . I'm probably not going to explain this very well." He says, glancing at me briefly.

I hum, suitably noncommittal, but able to watch his profile when he turns back to the ghostly trees looming out of the fog and starts to twist his hands together between his knees.

"He reminded me what I, we, were like in college and it didn't make great listening if I'm honest. He said you were in love with me, back then, and I'd thought that too, then, sometimes. But you were always so composed, so easy about everything. It was so natural to take what I needed from you. I liked having you in my life, I liked having you in my family and I liked having you in my bed.

I'll admit, in the spirit of being honest, that I thought about it sometimes. Us. But I was a selfish asshole. I knew that me being the 'defective' Cullen would drive you away completely and I wasn't prepared to risk it. Or you. You deserved more, even I could see that."

He's not looking at me, which is a relief because I'm not sure I'm in control of my facial expression at this point.

"And then he asked me what was different this time. And . . . . I couldn't tell him.

I still want you, need you. But . . . ."

Oh hum, I know this song, two out of three ain't bad . . . .

"Nothing's different. It was easy to ask Tanya to marry me because if she'd said no it wouldn't have mattered, at all. But this, whatever it is with you, it does matter. You and Em were right, I am that Suaveward. I pushed it, us, you, deliberately. I wanted us to be photographed together, I wanted the world to think you were mine. I wanted you to give me something of you. When you kissed me at the airport I felt like I'd won some great victory, I floated out of the place on a fucking cloud.

Because I am still that selfish asshole.

I don't understand what I want from you and have no idea what I'd do with it if I got it, except ruin everything. I'm not good enough for you. And so I think, though I don't want him to be, that Em's right. I, we, should stop . . . . whatever it is we're doing . . . . because I'd rather have you in my life as a friend, family, than in no capacity at all."

Silence. I'm aware that I should say something, but what? That's so much more than he's ever said before but my mind can't seem to process any more than that he's breaking up with me. And I thought . . . .

"Bella." His voice is quiet, his hand warm on my immobile one. "Please, say something."

"I . . . ." I shake my head, instinctively moving my hand out from under his. "I don't know what you want me to say, you seem to have thought this all through and . . . . I haven't, so, um. I don't know."

My legs twitch like they want to be in motion but I just keep sitting there, looking at him, watching our breathing coalesce in the air between us. He is the most beautiful man, capable of such warmth and kindness, I really can't be blamed for loving him. Nature's a bitch like that. And I'm not the only one, our friendship is pockmarked by the blubbering wrecks of beautiful women, girls, who thought they'd fallen in love with him too.

I wasn't a fool, I knew I had more of him then than anyone else, I knew he cared for me in his own way. And it was enough. It was always enough. I can't explain why it never made me sad, it just was, and it just didn't.

But this, I think this actually hurts. My chest feels tight and tears are pricking my eyes, making them the warmest part of me exposed to the frigid air.

I've never given him, told him, anything about what I truly felt but as the tears spill down my cheeks I'm aware that I'm probably submitting a whole book on the subject, for belated publication. But I can't stop them and I don't want to. Weirdly, despite my past efforts, I don't care if he knows I'm hurting. That's probably drink and I'm probably going to regret it in the morning but if I can't let the person I care about most see me cry without the world coming to an end then what's the point to any of it?

Nevertheless old habits die hard and I reach up to scrub the tears away but his hands are already there, cupping my face, thumbs smearing them across my skin.

"You're crying." He observes, face scrunching into a concerned frown.

Oh hell no, don't be nice to me, now is not the time. Tears are one thing, sobbing is completely out of the question . . . .

"Please Bella, don't cry. Shit." His arms wind round me and he drags me into his lap, fitting me easily under his chin, holding me tight, rocking us gently, transferring his warmth into me. Comforting me. Breaking me.

Whimpering I throw my arms round his neck so I can bury my sobs in his chest, his unique scent. Which just makes it so many times worse.

"Bella." He groans, hugging me tight enough that my ribs creak.

The giver and reliever of pain.

He stands with me easily, shouldering us through the door and carrying me up the stairs. I don't see Rose but I hear her voice.

"What did you do?"

"Rose, not now."

"Bella?" I feel her hand on my shoulder but my arms tighten round him and he shifts us around her in response.

"Edward . . . ." Whatever she was going to say is cut off as he closes the bedroom door behind us.

He doesn't even let me go as he lays us down on the bed, tangling his legs with mine and pulling the covers up over us.

This tsunami of self pitying crying isn't just about him anymore. Mom, Dad, Trevisano, my life. It's all such a mess, so dissonant, so far from what I would have wanted . . . . and he's the only thing holding me together . . . . to feel so loved . . . . but not be . . . . it really hurts . . . .

"Let it out Bella, let it all out, I have you, I won't let you go."